First Comes Duty (The Hope Island Chronicles Book 2) (44 page)

“A shot in a million, Skipper,” Antonia said.

Yeah, not bad for an old guy.

He brought
Insolent
around in a tight arc, back toward the E-boat. Time to finish the job.

“Torpedoes. Torpedoes inbound.” A pause. “Fourteen torpedoes. All nukes.”

“Shit.”
Where the hell did they come from?

Bradman turned bow-on to the mass of destruction. Only a capital ship had the capability of firing so many torpedoes.

Time to live up to your reputation, Bradman.

***

“No,” Nathan gasped. The battleship, still thousands of clicks away, had fired a murderous volley at
Insolent
. The surrounding interference worked both ways.

Insolent
stood little chance of surviving the onslaught. But Bradman had stopped the torpedo that would have decimated Panthera. Right now the E-boat could be loading another one.

Nathan’s first instinct was to rush to the aid of his boat. Fighting against his better nature, he paused with his hands hovering over the controls. Assist
Insolent
or kill the E-boat? One hundred and forty lives balanced against four million. His heart said help his boat, his shipmates, but his duty forbade it. The E-boat had to be stopped. He slammed his fist into his console.

“Damn, damn, damn.”

Swinging the Kamora in a tight turn, he charged toward the enemy boat. Only a stern attack had a chance of doing the job. With only one missile in his arsenal, it would take his very best to kill her. As he closed with the Jackal, no pulsars lanced out at him, confirming to Nathan that her sensors had been disabled by
Insolent
’s attack. He needed to take out two strategically positioned shield blisters. Two impossibly small targets. His pulsar beams bounced off her armor. Closer, he fired again. This one came so close to a blister. A familiar pop between his ears, and his focus immediately sharpened. He fired, hitting one blister. Now, one more blister and he would shoot a missile up her butt. Finally, the E-boat fired blindly with her stern weapons. Even with her sensors out, she put up an impressive defense, broad swinging arcs of fire coming close to hitting him. Avoiding the fire, he maintained his attack, closing the distance. He saw the blister and only the blister. His finger closed on the firing stud.

Fire erupted against his spine. Threat, from below. Nathan tossed the boat over on her side as the deadly beams tore into his shields. 

Out of position and facing fire from two directions, Nathan tried to disengage. His Kamora staggered under a massive impact, power went down, and his holo panels blacked out. His fighter tumbled out of control. 

Totally defenseless, blind and disoriented, Nathan fought to regain some degree of control. A couple of panels on his port screen struggled to life. He tried to slow her tumble, but most of his maneuvering systems had failed. Frantically fighting his damaged craft, he slowed her maddening spin, then brought her to a dead stop. 

He sat, unmoving for a time, breathing heavily, listening for the hiss of escaping oxygen.
Wish I had my V-suit.
The combat sphere appeared to be undamaged. Such could not be said for his Kamora.

“SMC.”

“SMC.”

“Condition report.”

“All sections forward of struts twenty-eight through thirty-six are destroyed.”

“Time to restoration.”

“Those sections are no longer attached to this vessel.”

Shit, they shot my nose off.

“Continue.”

“All weapons destroyed. Reactor scrammed. Energy buffers at twenty-nine percent and falling. Maneuvering hull plating destroyed. Shields destroyed. Primary tactical sensors destroyed. Activating secondary sensor array. Primary and secondary navigation destroyed. Long-range comms destroyed.”

“SMC, just tell me what
is
working.”

“Six maneuvering thrusters operable. Life support available but failing.”

Nathan waited, waited. “That’s it?”

“Affirmative. Selective holo panels becoming available. This unit is damaged and may be una—”

“SMC. SMC?” 

Nathan closed his eyes and groaned as a flood of exhaustion and nausea crushed him into his chair. 

“Not now. Not now.” The weakness of his voice startled him. His knack had chosen this time to extract its payment. He tried to reach the attitude controls, but his hand shook with the effort. With a struggle, he forced his head to move. 

On a panel, down and to starboard, an enemy fighter approached. As he banked into position, Nathan saw his torn underbelly.

“Just can’t keep you out of the game, can I, T?”

The enemy fighter drew closer. Looking him over. Or positioning to take the kill shot? Nathan was powerless to do anything about it. Powerless, like the two pilots he had killed earlier.

A single garbled voice came through his earpiece. Quiet, considered, unhurried. Nathan would bet money T was talking to him. He could imagine the words.

So my friend, you got me a good one back there, but now I’ve got you. Nothing personal, it’s simply the way of the warrior.

He could almost have respected the pilot, if he wasn’t Pruessen.

Without instruments, he could not confirm a lock-on. Nathan stared the enemy in the eye. His back flared.
Oh
Livy, I’m so sorry
.

Pulsar fire ripped into T’s weakened keel. His fighter began to tear apart, then exploded. Lucky streaked through the debris with an enemy fighter hot on his six. 

“Go on, Lucky, run like the wind. Get the hell out of here.”

***

Lucky pushed his throttles so hard he thought they would break off in his hand. Nathan would be safe, for the moment, and now he had his own problems. The Jackal-class fighters were faster than intel reports indicated. But surely they could not catch this beast. A glancing shot to his port wing said differently.

Raking fire hit him again and again. Alarms blared as systems went out. His fighter lurched as his port engine was hit. Rotating through his axis, he fired everything he had at the closing Jackal. He hit it again and again as the Jackal sent the favor back. Finally the stubborn Jackal blew apart. Before his death, the enemy fired. Missiles reached out and ripped at Lucky’s damaged Kamora.

Alarms wailed a final warning.

“Imminent core breach,” the SMC said.

“Shit.”

Seconds later, the Kamora fighter piloted by Ensign Garrison “Lucky” Whitney exploded in a brief fireball.  

***

Nathan followed Lucky’s escape. An explosion marked the end of the Jackal.

“Atta boy, Lucky.”

Nathan’s grin turned into a grimace as a second, much larger, explosion lit dark space. 

His friend had died trying to save him
. That’s three, on my head.

Below him,
Insolent
’s pulsars struck out, destroying one torpedo after another. Stunning accuracy. The onslaught was nearly on top of her. More warheads exploded under
Insolent
’s defenses, but there were too many of them.

Brilliantly accurate defensive shooting stopped all but three of the deadly weapons.
Insolent
disappeared behind a blinding flash as three high-grade nukes detonated. The much larger capital ship warheads were more than enough to hurt her badly. As the nuclear fireball subsided, Nathan breathed a sigh of relief. She had survived the initial attack, but could not withstand another assault. The battleship would reload and finish her off. A helpless spectator, Nathan could only watch, and wait for the death of his shipmates.

A massive explosion erupted from astern. He swung his head in time to see the enemy battleship disappear within a mass of nuclear fire. So numerous were the torpedo wakes leading to the dead enemy ship that Nathan could not count them. It had to be Barrington and her ships.

Nathan struggled to keep his eyes open, the temptation to drift into sleep almost irresistible.

There would be no redemption for him this time. What had his grandmother said, all those years ago? “Telfords’ luck is rarely ambivalent.”
Yeah, and here you are, hotshot.
His tricks had worked for a time. Now he could do nothing but sit in his wasted fighter and wait for someone to finish him off. 

The day could still be lost.
Insolent
was too badly damaged to rejoin the fight, and the Brets were too distant to read what was happening through the interference. By now, the E-boat could have reloaded her torpedo. If she fired, four million people would die. 

A flush of anger welled up, and he shook himself. “No, dammit. You’re not dead yet, Telford. There’s always another plan, another way out. Think, dummy, think. No weapons, remember.” He sat for a short time, working the problem. A weary smile stretched his lips. 

His muscles screamed with the slightest effort. Nathan’s hands shook, but he could move his fingers just enough to reach the touch pad.

Cursing his weakness and the clumsy controls, Nathan forced the boat to move. Time and again he had to adjust his heading, but with bone-weary effort he brought his wreck directly under the E-boat’s stern quarter. Without sensors, he could only assume her shields still operated. A nearly invisible shimmer from her hull confirmed her shield status. She remained static, her nose pointing directly at Panthera. During his approach she hadn’t fired at him, so she must believe he’d been destroyed.

He had already blown the top hatches from both combat spheres. He disengaged the locking clamps holding the second chair in place, and the combat sphere floated clear of the boat, stopping when it nudged the E-boat’s keel shields.

Nathan groped in a pocket for the controller. The effort made him lean back and groan. “Stay awake, you weak bastard.”

Will three-quarters of a megatonne be enough to bring her shields down? Maybe, if they’ve been weakened from
Insolent
’s attack.  

Nathan backed away, hovering a hundred meters from the fantail. He hit the
activate
control and braced for the shockwave. For a little nuke, it made an effective flash. The E-boat heaved over, her nose pitching down at an acute angle. The shockwave reached out and slapped Nathan’s junk pile, pushing it away from his target.

***

“Where the hell did that explosion come from?” Matthes shouted.

“Don’t know, Sir. Our sensors are still down.”

“It has to be that strange-looking fighter,” Willi said.

“How in fuck’s name could he—” Matthes bit back a curse. “Torpedo loaded yet?”

“One minute, Skipper.”

“Make it faster.”

“Sir, the crew are loading it by hand. It takes time.”

“Hurry them up.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

***

With all the difficulty of wrestling a Cimmerian, Nathan fought the hulk of his Kamora under control. He had set all of the controls except the final two, moaning at the small effort. He did not want to linger near the irradiated hull any longer than necessary. Muttering obscenities at his unresponsive controls, he finally positioned his shattered fighter back under the enemy boat. A large hole appeared in her shields, directly beneath her engine room.

Continuing to fight for control, Nathan rolled the boat over. Miraculously, the main undercarriage dropped into place. Not the nose skid: that was gone, together with the rest of the bow. Nathan latched on to the underside with magnetic seals, and locked her firmly on to the enemy’s keel.

An image of Livy and Ellen popped into his head. Taking a deep breath, he pressed the ten-second delay on the boat’s self-destruct and pulled ejection handles.

The timer began ticking down. The combat sphere did not move. He frantically pulled on the handles again and again. “Fucking piece of shit.” Spurred by rage, he slammed his fist onto the control pad.

With a violent surge, the sphere shot from the doomed fighter. Through the few remaining lower panels, he got a glimpse of the E-boat as he streaked away. Three, two, one. Nathan averted his gaze as the Kamora’s reactor exploded.

Nathan blinked away the silvery fireflies. A second, more powerful, explosion lit up the darkness of space as the E-boat vaporized.   

He managed a bone-weary laugh.

“Got you, you bastard.” His eyes began to close.

The shockwave struck out at him, but thankfully no debris accompanied it. The planet appeared to be closer than he had expected. Closer and closer, until he realized that the blast wave had pushed him into the planet’s gravity well.

“You’ve gotta be kidding.”

With power levels dropping, he wondered if he could control the sphere’s reentry and landing. If the power dropped much more, the anti-gravs would not function and he would plow, like a meteorite, into the surface. 

His sphere plunged into the gloomy ionosphere, the capsule shaking as it struck atmospheric resistance.

Finally, he dropped through into clear blue sky. He would come down in the ocean, off the shores of the southern continent. His head fell to his chest. The desire to sleep nearly overwhelmed him. He fought the craving with every gram of his being.

With no SMC, he would have to take his best guess as to when to apply what little of his power remained. For the second time in two days, he hurtled toward the surface of Cimmeria.

Through blurred eyes, Nathan tried to estimate his height, never easy with a flat ocean surface. Engage the anti-grav too early, and he would run out of power and crash into the sea. Leave it too late, and he would die. He stared at the distant green, mountainous horizon, trying to gain some perspective. His approach was angular at about forty degrees to the plane. That might help.

His trembling finger hovered over the touch pad. The flat surface rushed toward him at blinding speed. His back flared and he hit the anti-grav, a short, sharp burst that slowed him just shy of the surface. His sphere stuck the water and bounced, struck the water and bounced, each time losing momentum. Carried by inertia, it tumbled end over end so rapidly that the gee forces threw his limp body about until he blacked out.