Retribution (The Federation Reborn Book 3) (85 page)

“Sir, the DNs are coming out to intercept,” CIC reported.

The admiral grunted. The cameras had gotten enough of a look at them to identify one of the warships as having Tauren origins. That meant INTEL was right; it was the
Bismark
. But the other ship bothered him. The computers and experts hadn't nailed down the class other than that it was the same size as
Bismark
.

“Jeremy, how confident are you of the jump? Can we jump now?” the admiral asked, turning to the navigational officer.

The lieutenant turned his head and then his torso to face him fully. “Sir, I'm not sure. We passed some drifting rocks in the outer system. I don't know what they'd do to a ship in hyper. You know the mass shadows are magnified there, and the closer it is, the more dangerous it is to a ship. I'm not thrilled about finding out to be honest. We're seeing some small pockets of ice further out along the heading we'd take in hyper.”

“So, you are saying we need to get closer to where we jumped in. Understood,” the admiral stated.

“Yes, sir,” Jeremy replied.

The admiral's eyes cut to the plot. CIC painted on the icons of the enemy DNs as well as their vector and time to intercept. He had time it appeared. “Not a problem.”

“Sir, fighters and bombers detected by the eyes craft.”

“Order them to evade if possible. Alert Commander Zakhan,” the admiral stated.

“Aye aye, sir,” Catherine replied.

“Sir, I've run the calculations,” Jeremy said, looking up and over to the admiral a few moments later. “We can safely jump in 132 minutes,” he stated. He pointed to the main plot. A line was drawn there on their heading. “As long as we don't change course again,” Jeremy added.

“On this heading the enemy fighters will be on us in a 103, sir,” Berney warned as he leaned next to the admiral. “And if we're charging our hyperdrives, we'll be in the same fix they were in back in B-97A, sir,” he warned.

“Helpless to fend them off. We'd have to recall the screen too,” Myron said.

“Or leave them out there to die,” Sedrick said. Myron sucked in a protesting breath. “They know the risks and the job,” the spook said.

“They'll do their duty,” Catherine stated.

“But we're not following that route,” the admiral rumbled. “We'll only begin charging the hyperdrives after we've beaten off this attack—not a moment before. So, rig for incoming fighters and bombers,” he ordered.

“Aye aye, sir,” the princess replied. Berney nodded and moved off to issue his own orders.

Cyrano frowned but knew there was little he could do. For the moment they were committed. He'd realized the fight had immediately gone south when Sedrick had spotted and confirmed
Bismark
and the other ship. He should have known the enemy would have reinforced heavily. He'd taken too much time, he thought, mentally kicking himself.

But then again, it had to be done. They had the data; they could run with it. Now he could prove to his superiors that he'd been matched or outnumbered, so his head was theoretically safe.

Hopefully Catherine would protect him he thought as the fleet began to rearrange itself into a defensive matrix.

:::{)(}:::

“All right, people. We're going for damage here, not hard kills. Don't get too worked up about things. Get in, fire and get your asses out,” Commander Vasili Zenkov ordered. They'd had to jettison two of their six torpedoes to make sure they had the range to get to the retreating Horathians as well as to the fuel birds waiting at the halfway point to the carriers. Even with half their load, they still didn't have the loiter time he would have liked. They were going to get one pass at the enemy, and then they'd be near bingo fuel and would have to RTB.

He'd matured a bit more since he'd been assigned overall bomber command. Now he was looking forward to getting in there and driving the torpedoes home, even if they had to disperse their fire across the entire enemy fleet.

“We're covering you,” Commander Meia said over the radio on a different channel. She was in charge of half of the fighters covering the bombers. Commander Wilder was in command of the other half. “Make this count; I don't think we'll get another shot otherwise,” she said.

“Roger that,” Vasili replied. “Bombers designate your targets,” Vasili ordered over the network as the enemy fleet began to turn into balls of snow and flickering images. “The enemy fleet has brought up their jammers and ECM. Decoys are most likely deployed as well people, so make sure you have the right target before you pull the trigger. Anyone who lines up and, heaven help them, fires on a damn decoy will answer to me,” the CAG growled.

“And me,” Commander Bill Paxton,
Illustrious's
CAG growled. “I'm detecting bombers closer in. I'm going to take a wild guess that they took a page from us, and they are on defense. Watch for that,” he stated.

“Right,” Vasili agreed, noting the bombers in a thin half-circle shell between them and the ships that were their true target. Unfortunately, they were riding a bit farther out than he would have liked to have seen. That meant that any torpedoes that were fired at extreme range would have to run their gauntlet before they entered the ship's engagement zones.

It couldn't be helped though. Even with the fuel shuttles arranged to meet them, they'd be on fumes if they tried to drive in deeper. And going in deep against capital ships was virtually suicide.

“Time to plow the road, people,” Commander Wilder ordered. Her fighters were on point. They suddenly lit their afterburners and spread out on all three axes. Missiles began to fly into the face of the enemy fighters.

:::{)(}:::

It seemed depressingly evident that the federation carriers had recouped their losses. Recouped and then some, considering they had staged the fortress bombers and fighters through the carriers, Commander Zakhan noted gloomily.

There were
fourteen
squadrons of bombers coming his way—168
Mitchell
class bombers. Apparently the enemy hadn't been interested in holding much back, he thought wryly. He normally liked it when someone went all out for him, but since in this case they were trying to kill him, he could have done without so much effort.

Fourteen squadrons of bombers and another fourteen squadrons of fighters of various makes and models. Most were
Cobra
,
Cutlass
, or
Raptor
classes. They were split into two groups with one forming a shell around the bombers while the group with the
Raptors
in it, in the point.

“Squadron 1, mix it up with the fighters. The rest of us, we're on the bombers. Ignore the fighters. Throw your nukes into their faces. Force them to jink away. Set your stick to jink randomly by a few degrees on all axis. Load D script. Set it to random.”

D script was a simple defensive script he'd worked out. It popped their flares and chaff at random intervals to help sow confusion. He wasn't playing for time just survival of the fleet now. He was fairly confident they were all dead.

But if he was going to die, he was going to go down fighting.

“We're going to get screwed, you know that, right?” Lieutenant Ashton demanded.

“We either die here, or they get through to
Nimitz
and the ships and we die slow and painfully. Either way we're screwed so let's take as many of them as we can with us to hell,” the commander snarled just as the enemy point fighters spread out. “Brake now and see you in hell!” he barked as the missiles and energy weapons began to fly.

:::{)(}:::

Vasili cursed as nuclear weapons exploded in his flight path. He was forced to jink at the last minute, throwing him off course for the ship he'd been aiming for. His squadron wasn't the only one; the nukes were popping off in front of the bombers. One squadron was unlucky enough to get too close and was torn apart by the rapidly expanding ball of plasma before it was snuffed out by the void.

:::{)(}:::

Jane Daring swore as she saw a squadron of bombers get torn apart. The plan to draw the enemy fighters off to give the bombers a hole wasn't working. Commander Wilder was too busy to issue fresh orders. She just hung on and hoped they'd get through it.

:::{)(}:::

Hurranna grinned savagely as she lined up on an enemy E class fighter. She peppered its rear with particle shots then popped a missile off as it tried to jink.

The missile rode up the wake of the craft and exploded against her stern where her shields were the weakest. They fluxed and went down allowing her to fire her particle weapons again, this time for more devastating effect.

:::{)(}:::

Commander Zakhan had one moment to realize it was his time as his ship bucked and flipped end over end. He didn't try to recover; he just kept the ship spinning in hopes of the enemy would fly past. His hopes ended abruptly as the enemy fighter's particle weapons tore through his cockpit and body, then walked back to where his tiny micro fusion reactor was.

There wasn't enough of him left to care as the fusion bottle let go with eye searing results.

:::{)(}:::

The nuclear road block had thrown chaos into the ranks of bombers just as they had been lining up for their final attack runs. Vasili had initially targeted one of the two dreadnaughts, but his sudden course change and resulting loop to recover had forced him to settle on a destroyer instead.

Two-thirds of the bombers had been thrown off course by the strike. The few that got through launched just outside of the enemy bomber range. Four torpedoes flew from each of the forty-eight bombers.

Vasili swore and then cursed when his bombardier couldn't line up a shot. “We've got a misfire on two of the torps, boss,” the bombardier apologized.

“Jettison them,” Vasili barked. “Fire the rest,” he growled. “Pass the order to the others to fire at will; don't wait on us,” he snarled to his copilot.

:::{)(}:::

Admiral De Gaulte stood stoically as the torpedoes flew in. They were coming staggered, which might save his fleet he thought. The 196 torps from the cohesive group was the main threat. The bombers under Lieutenant Nezier's command lashed out with their energy weapons and defensive ECM to blind and confuse or destroy the enemy torpedoes.

All the while their copilots had an open data feed to the fleet ships. It was risky, highly risky given the enemy's ability for cyber-attacks, but he had been forced to take the risk.

:::{)(}:::

Lieutenant Nezier lined up on the enemy torpedoes and watched as Benny cycled off counter missile after counter missile into them. His copilot Lopez fired the bomber's laser and KEW turrets for good measure, walking the fire back and forth. One torpedo after another exploded. He hardly felt like cheering though. His wing had paid a heavy price to keep the fleet alive.

Of the 196 missiles, 84 got past his all-out efforts. He swore when Lopez continued to fire into their wake. “Save it,” he growled. Lopez fired again until the lieutenant slapped him upside the head. “I said save it! Save the energy, damn it; we need it to get home,” he snarled.

“Sorry,” Lopez muttered as he saved the turrets.

:::{)(}:::

Eighty-four torpedoes entered the outer engagement zone of the Horathian fleet. Counter missiles flew to engage them as decoys sucked them off course. However, the federation had learned something about the enemy's counter missiles, so only ten managed to score hits.

Ten more torpedoes died as they were cut down by the innermost engagement zone. But then the rest entered the point defense zone. They rolled and spat countermeasures of their own as the warships fought for their lives.

:::{)(}:::

Prince Ramichov swore as
Arkangel
shivered with an impact. He swore louder as a second and third hit pounded through her dying shields. “We're hit, port side stern. Torpedo didn't get in too deep however. Damage control reports are coming in from that quarter,” the DCC rating reported.

“No other fire incoming,” the CIC rating reported.

“Well, count our blessings for small favors,” Captain Lovejoy growled. He glanced at the XO.

“I'm on it, sir,” the XO replied with a nod.

“Set priorities. Our hyperdrive and everything needed to run it comes first. Structure too I suppose. The rest can wait,” the captain ordered.

“Aye aye, sir,” the XO replied as he began to punch up a blueprint of the ship. Red and yellow compartments and sections were painted on it as DCC reports flooded in. “We're still getting a head count in those compartments,” he warned.

“Stay on it,” the captain replied as he turned back to the main plot.

:::{)(}:::

Seven squadrons had their coordination, timing, and plan torn asunder by the nuclear weapons. They fired late and sporadically into the Horathian Fleet. The Horathian bombers fired on the torpedoes that they could engage. The rest came in on the warships in penny packets. Their counter missiles and point defense woke to rip into them.