Into the Darkness: Crimson Worlds Refugees I (25 page)

Compton sat quietly for a few seconds, watching as the waves of enemy ships continued to pour through the warp gate. There were a lot of them…and they were moving at high velocity. Their vector wasn’t directly at the fleet, but it was close enough. First Imperium ships could blast their engines at 60g, more than enough to adjust their heading without slowing down at all.

He flipped on the fleetwide com line. “Attention all vessels. As you can all see, we have a large enemy force transiting into the system. We’ve got ourselves a battle, and that supersedes any other considerations. Whatever disputes we have had, I urge you all now to forget them and join me in facing the First Imperium fleet.
They
are the enemy.
They
are who we should be fighting. Not each other.”

Compton was still angry about what had happened, but he realized none of that was important anymore. He pushed it away, to the back of his mind. He’d been dead serious with his threats. He’d had no intention of letting the mutineers get away with their treachery, at least not the officers. And he had been prepared to fight it out, despite knowing what a wasteful and pointless exercise that would have been. But he no longer had the luxury of being so “by the book.” The urgency of battle brought clarity to him, and the imminent death the First Imperium fleet carried with it sharpened his focus. He had almost made a terrible mistake, and now he was reminded how little chance of survival his people had unless they stood as one. They simply could no longer indulge old prejudices or grievances, not if they wanted to live.

“Fight now, all of you. Stand with me, and I will stand with you. Defeat the enemy here, win the victory as you have so many times before, and we will move forward from this point, forgetting all that has happened. Man your posts, fight like the devils I had at my side in X2, show these machines what a human fleet can do...and we will prevail again. These robots think we are parasites, nothing but primitive vermin to be exterminated. Let’s give them another lesson…NOW!”

Compton sighed hard. Of all the pre-battle speeches he had given, this one had been the hardest. Looking past mutiny, trusting again in officers who had just betrayed him…it went against every instinct he had. But Terrance Compton was nothing if not a realist, and one look at the scanner told him all he had to know. He needed every vessel in this fight.

“I am with you, Admiral Compton.” Udinov’s voice blasted onto the com a few seconds after Compton finished. All RIC units are to obey the fleet admiral. Fight now, as you have never fought…and send these machines to whatever hell they came from.”

Compton smiled. He wasn’t surprised, not really. For all that had happened—the mutiny, his own rage, his willingness to blow
Petersburg
to bits—he’d always considered Vladimir Udinov to be a good officer. They were all on new ground now, and he knew the Russian admiral had only been doing what he felt was right for his people. Compton wanted to nurse his self-righteous rage, but he had to acknowledge he might have done something similar if their roles had been reversed.

Indeed, Compton himself had not hesitated to disobey command directives during the colonial rebellions…orders that would have seen his fleet bombard an Alliance world and kill millions. He was considered a hero now only because the rebellions succeeded, at least partially, and because the First Imperium invasion turned all attention toward defense and survival. Had Alliance Gov crushed the revolt, Compton had no doubt he’d have faced disgrace and execution.

A few seconds later, Lord Samar came on the com, issuing similar orders to the Caliphate contingent. Even Gregoire Peltier managed a brief rallying cry to his forces. Only Zhang remained silent, though even without his command, over half of the CAC ships began to maneuver back into the fleet’s formation. Whatever disputes they may have had, the spacers and their officers had pushed them aside. The fleet would fight again as one.

“All squadrons launching now, sir.” Hurley’s voice was tense. He could feel her frustration at not being at their head.

“It will be okay, Admiral,” he said. “I’d love to go with you and get a close look at the enemy for once, but I need to get back to
Midway
. Still, you can refuel and be back out here in a few minutes, I suspect…in plenty of time to make the party. Especially if you stand behind Chief McGraw and keep your foot up his ass while he’s turning your bird around.”

“Yes, sir.” Hurley suppressed a laugh, most of it at least. She’d just been thinking about how to motivate McGraw to set a new record in arming and refueling her ship.

“Commander Wilder, I’m told you’re the best pilot in the fleet, by none other than your illustrious admiral here.” Compton nodded and gave Wilder a quick smile. “So let’s see how quickly you can get me back aboard
Midway
.

*  *  *

Vladimir Udinov felt almost relieved as he watched the scanner, following
Petersburg’s
movement toward the First Imperium fleet. The robot ships were cold and deadly, the product of a science far beyond man’s. But the Russian admiral had fought them before and his people had blown them to hell. The First Imperium was a nightmare to battle, but they had nothing that would make him sweat like trying to stare down Erica West.

“Approaching missile range, Admiral.” Stanovich sounded relieved in the same illogical way. He too had fought the First Imperium forces before, and he knew just how deadly they were. But, for all the strength and technology of the enemy, at least this was a straight up fight. The standoff with
Midway
had been one of the most deeply stressful experiences in his life, and he was glad it was over—even if the alternative was to leap into the fire.

“Prepare to flush the racks, Commander. All vessels may launch when ready.” Udinov had been impressed with Aki Kato’s daring missile attack, and he felt the urge to replicate the bold maneuver. But Compton had expressly forbidden it. Kato’s near-reckless expedited release of his external racks had allowed him to launch a devastating volley against the enemy in X2. But Kato’s ships had been doomed already, too battered to keep up with the fleet and destined to be left behind. The PRC captain and his skeleton crews had been unconcerned with further damage and determined to hit as hard as they could before abandoning their vessels.

Udinov’s ships, however, were not expendable, and taking damage releasing their own racks was too much of a risk. There was a brutal fact about this battle just beginning, something everyone in the fleet understood, but most tried to ignore. If they couldn’t defeat the enemy, and they had to flee, any ship that was too badly damaged in the fight was likely to be abandoned. And if the fleet was running for its life, it was unlikely there would be time to shuttle the crews off before vessels were left behind. Enough ships would suffer that fate at the hands of the enemy without adding to the gruesome total.

Udinov felt
Petersburg
shake as her external missiles fired. Rack-mounted ordnance could increase a vessel’s firepower by almost 40%, but the system was logistically intensive, requiring the entire superstructure to be replaced between battles. That had been difficult enough back in human space, with bases and lines of supply. But Udinov knew they’d be lucky to manage one more reload from their dwindling stores. After that, they’d be down to the missiles in the internal magazines. Until they ran out of those too.

That’s tomorrow’s problem. Today’s is surviving the next few hours
.

“I want all racks cleared in ten minutes, Commander. Advise all ships. Anyone who is still messing around in ten minutes, ten seconds owes me his ass.”

“Yes, Admiral.” Stanovich hesitated, just for a second. Udinov wasn’t demanding a turnaround as fast as the few seconds Kato’s people had managed with their soon-to-be-abandoned ships, but it was damned quick nevertheless.

Udinov leaned back in his chair.
Compton was right all along. If we’d somehow managed to find a way home, we’d have brought death with us…like some dead ship drifting into port carrying a plague. It was selfish, reckless even, to try
.

He regretted that he’d destroyed Compton’s trust in him, and he was angry at himself for letting Zhang sway his thoughts. He didn’t know what would happen if they made it through the battle, but he was determined to find out. He’d sacrificed his honor, made some poor decisions. But he was still a warrior and, he was damned well going to prove it.

“Advise all ships, Commander. Seven minutes to go. I expect them all to be emptying their magazines by that time. Any ship not launching internal missiles by then will get it easier from the First Imperium than they will from me…”

*  *  *

“Form up on me. We’re going in.” The squadron commander’s voice was stern, angry. Mariko understood. They’d all lost friends and comrades in this war—indeed, the fighter corps had seen two-thirds of its number killed in the fighting in and around X2. They were veterans, and many had fought human enemies as well, but their hatred for the First Imperium was like nothing she’d seen before…felt before.

“On you, Gold Dragon Leader,” she said into the com unit as her hand gently pushed the throttle to the side. Mariko Fujin was younger than most of the pilots in the fleet. Indeed, she was part of the minority that had never fought against a human enemy. But she had rapidly come to be considered one of the best. Training and experience were crucial to creating good pilots, but it was generally accepted that the best fighter jocks had a certain aptitude, a sort of X factor that made them naturals. And whatever
it
was, Mariko had more than her share.

She nudged the throttle, bringing her fighter around, holding position ten klicks to the port of the squadron commander. The Gold Dragons had been in the thick of the fight at X2, but they’d been spared much of the cost. They’d only lost one bird, and none at all in the running fights that followed as the fleet made good its escape through a line of systems afterward. Many of the other squadrons were makeshift formations, thrown together from scattered survivors of multiple units, but the Dragons were used to flying together. Save for the single replacement ship and crew, the squadron had flown with the same personnel for over a year.

“We’re going to hit that Leviathan, and we’re going in close to do it. That thing was hit hard by
Midway’s
missiles, and if we blast it enough we can blow it away. We’ve got six ships…I want six direct hits from point blank range.” The voice on the com was determination itself. Koji Akara had been Mariko’s fleet commander since the day she’d left flight school, and she’d never met anyone as coldly focused in battle. The Lieutenant Commander didn’t spend time with his pilots when they were off duty—he didn’t socialize much at all, in fact. Outside the squadron he was considered aloof, even off-putting. But the pilots who flew with him in battle had learned to respect his skills…and the killer instinct he clearly possessed.

“Prep the torpedo for arming,” Mariko said softly. Her manner was virtually the opposite of the gruff squadron commander, but anyone who thought the tiny officer was the slightest bit less feral was in for a rude awakening.

“It is prepped and ready, Lieutenant.” Hiroki Isobe’s voice was distracted. The gunner was already hunched over his targeting screen, doing some preliminary calculations.

Mariko glanced down at the screen next to her workstation. The enemy defensive fire was heavy, and a large phalanx of missiles was heading the squadron’s way. She felt her stomach tighten. It was the biggest wave of anti-fighter warheads she’d seen in the war so far.

“Alright Dragons,” Akara’s voice blared through the com units, “we’ve got a big wave of missiles coming through, so all you gunners, stay sharp.” The squadron commander’s voice sounded firm enough, but Mariko could tell he was worried…more so than usually in a battle.

She looked back at the incoming barrage on the display, and she understood. Skill and courage played a major part in battle, perhaps the most important. But there was a point when mathematics asserted itself. No warrior was good enough, nor brave enough, to forever overrule the law of numbers. If the enemy threw enough at you, he could kill you. It was that simple. Mariko didn’t think the approaching missiles were enough to wipe out the Gold Dragons, but she had a sinking feeling in her stomach the butcher’s bill was finally catching up with them.

“Okay, Hiroki, we need your best right now. Shoot down as many of those missiles as you can.”

“Yes, Lieutenant, I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will,” Mariko answered, trying to sound confident.

But your best isn’t going to be enough this time
.

*  *  *

“Admiral on the bridge,” the Marine guard snapped, as the lift doors opened and Terrance Compton strode out. He was still wearing the ill-fitting jumpsuit Hurley had found for him on the fighter. He looked like anything but a legendary fleet admiral, but none of that mattered. The fleet was in another fight for its life, and virtually every spacer manning one of its ships knew they had the best chance to come out alive if Terrance Compton was in command. And they didn’t give a shit what he was wearing.

Erica West jumped out of the command chair and snapped to attention. “Admiral Compton, sir. It’s good to have you back. We need you desperately.”

“I wouldn’t say that, Erica. I don’t think I would have handled a thing differently than you did. It’s a stroke of luck I kept you on
Midway
instead of assigning you a command. I hesitate to imagine the consequences of my ill-considered little trip if you hadn’t been here.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, watching him sit before she moved over to a spare workstation and did the same.

“Commander Cortez, it’s good to see you as well. Status update?”

“Enemy missiles entering defensive perimeter, Admiral.” Cortez was staring at the bank of monitors lining his station. He was tracking the missiles heading toward the fleet, as well as their own barrage, enroute toward the approaching enemy.