Into the Darkness: Crimson Worlds Refugees I (34 page)

“Very well, Commander. You may launch your attack. But I’m afraid you’ll be alone. By the time you catch us, we’ll have executed our strike.”

“Hopefully you will leave something for us, Admiral.”

Hurley was impressed at the strength and defiance in Fujin’s voice. “Good luck to you and your crew, Commander. Hurley out.”

She leaned back and couldn’t help but let a smile cross her lips.
What a team I have in this strike force. If only they weren’t all going to die in the next few hours…

“Okay, John,” she said, putting thoughts of Fujin aside and staring at her pilot. “What do you say we lead the strike in?” Her ship was normally positioned in the middle of the formation. Admiral Garret had been horrified at the prospect of her flying around in something as fragile as a Lightning fighter-bomber at all. He’d have had a stroke if he’d been able to hear her now.
Or not
, she thought. There were a lot of mysteries in the universe, but Greta Hurley was sure that Augustus Garret would die well if he met a hopeless battle—and he would expect any of his officers to do the same. Just as she was sure Terrance Compton was going to do.

“I’d love to lead them in. Those Leviathans are totally fresh…we’re going to have to plant a lot of plasma torpedoes on the mark to take them out.”

Hurley nodded, though the pilot wasn’t looking back at her. “Take us in, Commander Wilder. Let’s show these machines what a motivated human strike force can do.”

*  *  *

“Let’s go, Anton.” Udinov’s eyes were locked on his screen. He’d just watched Hurley’s fighters plow through the enemy’s defenses. They’d plunged into the massive barrage of interceptor missiles and then into range of the laser defenses of their targets—losing over forty of their comrades before beginning their final attack runs. The RIC admiral had been unable to look away as icon after icon disappeared from the scanning plot and still they pushed on, completely ignoring their losses.

Finally, he’d seen them form up into three columns, moving directly toward the chosen targets. The massive ships bristled with weapons, and fighters continued to disappear as they drove straight into the firestorm. But they held, not a single vessel wavering from its course. They blew past normal firing range, bearing down on their targets at 3,000 kilometers per second, closing. Fifty thousand kilometers. Thirty. Not a single bomber fired.

Twenty thousand…and in the lead was Greta Hurley herself, her bomber damaged and streaming atmosphere and fluids as it pushed forward. Fifteen thousand. Ten thousand. Only when she had passed ten thousand kilometers did her ship launch its torpedo…and then its thrusters fired full, barely altering its vector in time clear the massive vessel.

One after another, her bombers followed her in, blasting recklessly toward the enemy ships and unloading their payloads at knife-fighting range. They were so close, hardly a shot missed, and the First Imperium battleships shook as superhot balls of plasma ripped into their hulls and through their decks.

One of the behemoths was destroyed almost immediately as the containment of its antimatter fuel failed. The massive spaceship disappeared in an explosion of almost unimaginable intensity. But the other two were still there. Savaged by dozens of hits each, streaming gases and fluids through gaping holes in their battered hulls, they maintained their place on the flank of the enemy battleline.

Udinov took a deep breath. “Commander…take us between them. The entire task force is to advance.”

“Yes, sir,” came the reply, steadfast, determined.

“All ships, it’s time to unload with everything we’ve got. All batteries on full power. Close range munitions packs ready to launch.”

“All vessels report weapons stations ready, Admiral.”

Udinov tapped his com unit, activating the main task force channel. “Attention all RIC units, this is Admiral Udinov. The fleet’s fighter-bombers have just completed a costly and heroic attack. They have destroyed one of the enemy’s Leviathans and severely damaged two others. It is our turn now. We are going to destroy those two ships, and then we are going to come about and engage the enemy line from the flank. Whatever might have happened before is of no account. We are part of this fleet, and we are in this fight with all our comrades. If we can destroy the two Leviathans quickly enough, we will have a positional advantage over the rest of the First Imperium fleet. I will not lie to you, fellow spacers…we will not survive this battle. None of us will. But, by God, we will make these infernal machines pay a price they will not soon forget. Follow me, follow
Petersburg
, and together we will show the First Imperium what an RIC force can do.”

He cut the line and glanced down at his display. He watched for a few seconds then he turned toward Stanovich. “Commander…all units are to open fire.”

*  *  *

“There goes the second ship.” Mariko was watching on the display as the vessels of the RIC task force drove their attacks home, closing to point blank range, firing all the way.
Petersburg’s
main batteries had fired a concentrated blast at the nearest Leviathan, and an instant later the target was vaporized by a matter-anti-matter explosion of indescribable ferocity. But the second First Imperium battleship was still there. It had taken all the punishment Udinov’s ships could dish out, but it was still firing back, its powerful particle accelerator beams ripping into the RIC vessels.

Mariko watched as Udinov’s task force began to redeploy,
Petersburg
and the two largest cruisers coming about to engage the next battleship in the enemy’s line while the light cruisers and destroyers swarmed the wounded Leviathan. As she was watching, first one, then a second RIC destroyer disappeared from the screen, obliterated by the still active guns of the dying enemy ship.

“What do you say we go help them finish off that sucker?” Her normally high-pitched voice was hoarse, angry.

“We’re with you, Commander.” Hiroki’s voice was rawer even than Mariko’s, his ferocity apparent with every syllable. “Let’s send them to hell.”

“OK, boys, make sure you’re strapped in tight…”

She pushed the throttle, and the force of 8g slammed into everyone onboard. They were already close to their target, but Mariko intended to get a hell of a lot closer before she fired the double-powered torpedo in her ship’s bomb bay.

She flipped the com unit, and struggled to force air into her lungs and speak. “RIC ships, your fighter support is on the way in,” she rasped.

“Forty thousand kilometers,” Hiroki said.

Mariko released the throttle, and the relief of freefall replaced the crushing gee forces. “Don’t you fire that thing until we’re inside 10K, Hiroki.”

“Thirty thousand.”

Mariko watched as her monitor continually refreshed the image of the target, adding details as the range decreased. The schematic had a series of red spots, areas were the enemy ship was leaking atmosphere and fluids. And there was a very large red circle almost dead center on the top, a huge gash in the hull—and a way to drop the torpedo right into the ship’s interior.

“You see what I see, Hiroki?”

“I’ve got it, Commander. That’s a kill shot if I’ve ever seen one.” A short pause. “If we can get close enough.”

“I’ll get you close enough. You just make sure you don’t miss.”

“I won’t miss. Down to fifteen thousand.”

“I’ve got to pull out at seven thousand,” Mariko snapped back.

“Ten thousand.” Another pause…one second, perhaps two. “Torpedo away.”

Mariko slammed the throttle hard, blasting the engines at full power, altering the ship’s trajectory. The course change over the next two seconds was minimal, but it was just enough for the fighter to zip past the enemy ship instead of slamming into it. Her eyes dropped to the small nav screen on her workstation. “Four hundred meters,” she whispered under her breath. She’d come four hundred meters from slamming into the enemy ship. Mariko was a hotshot pilot, possessed of all the craziness attributed to that stereotype, but she’d never cut anything so close before. Never.

She let go of the throttle, cutting the thrust, and she leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath. She could feel the sweat inside her survival suit, pouring down her neck and back. Her hands were shaking, and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. For a few seconds, she even forgot about the target. But only for a few seconds.

“Damage assessment,” she snapped.

“Scanning data coming in now, Commander…” Hiroki paused, his head hunched over his workstation. “I’m reading no power generation at all. My guess is antimatter containment is still running on reserve batteries, but the ship itself is dead.”

She felt a wave of satisfaction. “Alright, let’s get back to
Midway
and rearm. There are still plenty of targets out here.”

It was bravado more than reason. She saw the overall plot, and the despite the success of the fighter strike, the enemy still had seventeen Leviathans, and they were closing rapidly with the fleet. Her fighter could head back to
Midway
, but she didn’t think there was much chance the flagship would still be around by the time they got there.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Research Notes of Dr. Hieronymus Cutter

I still cannot believe our good fortune, and I wonder how long it can last. The intelligence on the Colossus called us the “Old Ones,” believing we are members of the long-lost race that created it so many ages ago, the mysterious beings who forged the First Imperium itself. It appears willing to obey our commands, to serve us without question. Yet I find myself hesitant to explore just how absolute that subservience may be. The intelligence advises that the ship is functional and it proposed reactivating its systems. I have ordered it not to do so, for I cannot be sure it will continue to follow my commands. Without the ship’s matter/antimatter reactor operational, we control the power source that has activated the intelligence, and presumably, we can disconnect it at any time…though I wonder if that is an over-simplification, if the massive computer has drawn enough power to recharge reserve batteries or something of the like.

Still, I am reluctant to move too quickly. I had hoped with all the optimism I could muster that my virus would work, that we would be able to establish at least some level of control over the intelligence. But it had never even occurred to me that we would be accepted as its true masters, as the descendants of those who created it. Is this my virus working in an unexpected way? Or is there something else at play here, something I hadn’t considered? Is there a relationship between humanity and that long-vanished race? Is there a reason other than my virus that the intelligence has come to the conclusion it has?

AS Midway

X18 System

The Fleet:  171 ships, 38,203 crew

“All ships of the battleline report ready, sir.” Cortez sounded cool and calm. Compton knew it was bullshit, but he was impressed nevertheless. He hadn’t imagined any officer could have adequately replaced Max Harmon as his tactical aide, but he had to admit Cortez came as close as anyone could have.

“Very well, Commander,” he replied, his own voice equally controlled.
And that’s bullshit too…but I need to stay strong…at least seem strong. I need to do it for all of them. They deserve nothing less
.

Compton had faced more than one desperate situation in his half century of war, but this was the most desperate, the most hopeless he had seen. If he thought the fleet had any chance at all of escaping he would have ordered every ship to make a run for it. But that was a fool’s hope. None of his vessels could outrun the enemy, and if they were going to die anyway, he had resolved they would die fighting. He wasn’t sure if any of it mattered. Death was death, however it came. But it made a difference to him…and he was sure it did to the rest of his people. They had lived as warriors, veterans of the struggle against the First Imperium and of the endless battles between the Superpowers. Now they would die as warriors.

“Flank forces are in position, sir, and all ships report full readiness.”

“Very well.” Full readiness was a relative term for his battered ships, but he knew they would make the most of what they had. “Report on enemy missile barrage?”

“First salvo is just inside 800,000 kilometers range of our lead elements, Admiral. All vessels ready to initiate countermeasures at 500,000 as per your orders.”

Compton took a deep breath. It felt strange not to have his own missiles in space, but there wasn’t a ship-to-ship warhead on any of his vessels—except in the transports in X20. And they might as well be on the far side of the galaxy. He didn’t know how many of his ships would make it through the massive barrage heading their way. He had some evasive maneuvers in mind, a few tricks that might lessen the impact. But no matter how he figured it, a good portion of his fleet was going to die when those missiles closed, and the rest would limp forward, damaged and bleeding air.

Those survivors would fire when they got to energy weapons range, at least the ones that still had functional batteries. But Compton didn’t try to fool himself. That battle wouldn’t last long. And then it would be over. Everything except the First Imperium fleet chasing down and destroying his transports in the next system.

But that won’t take long. And then the fleet will be gone, the sacrifice we made in X2 rendered moot, and our whole improbable story brought to its inevitable conclusion
.

“Status report on Admiral Udinov’s task force?” The RIC admiral had requested permission to perform close support for Greta Hurley’s fighter strike, and his ships were far in advance of the main fleet…and closely engaged with the flank of the enemy forces.

“They’ve lost six ships, sir.
Petersburg
reports extensive damage, but she’s still in the fight.”

Compton just sat silently. Udinov was directing his meager force masterfully, but he wouldn’t last long. He’d managed to position himself out of the arc of the enemy’s main weapons, clinging to their blind spots. The First Imperium ships would have to turn from their course fleet to fully engage him, and that would mean delaying the final fight with the main battleline—even allowing some of the human ships to make a run for it. So far the enemy had maintained their vectors and tried to pick off Udinov’s vessels with secondary batteries.