The Last Charge (The Nameless War Trilogy Book 3) (41 page)

“Captain!
Sherlock
’s firing!”

As she spun round to the visual display, Willis just caught sight of the last of the first rack of munitions being volleyed off. Even at that they presented an awe-inspiring sight as dozens of missiles sped forward. It might have looked fearsome, but the first volley would still only be in its boost phase when they reached the leading Nameless fighters.

Most of the projectiles weren’t nukes. They were kinetic strike penetrators, little more than solid lumps of metal. Once clear of the boost phase, there would be little the fighters’ guns or missiles could do to break them up or even knock them off course. Even a direct hit from a Nameless cap ship missile might achieve little more than the obliteration of the missile.

But if the Nameless managed to hit their volleys while they were still in their boost phase, then all of
Sherlock
’s calculations would count for nothing. Suddenly, whether through ammunition exhaustion or holding back for the close assault they perhaps expected
Spectre
to make, the Nameless starships and starforts thinned their fire.  Whatever the reason, Willis saw a window in which to deal with the fighters that were now the main threat to the mission.

“Helm, engines all ahead full!” she roared. “Fire Control, concentrate point defence on those fighters. We must break them up!”

Willis felt herself being pressed into her seat as
Spectre
stretched her legs. The Nameless fighters were taken by surprise as the cruiser suddenly lunged forward. As they scattered, astern
Sherlock
fired the last of her payload. Delivery completed, the big ship began to lumber round, away from the planet. By contrast,
Spectre
continued in. Around her, space erupted as the Nameless fighters swarmed in, their guns stabbing out.

“Bridge, Damage Control! We’ve just lost the Number Five engine!” came Yaya’s voice across the intercom. “Hell’s teeth! They’re picking off out point defence guns!”

On the holo, the first of
Sherlock
’s projectiles abruptly transformed into hundreds of separate contacts and Willis knew immediately what it meant. The projectiles had reached the end of their boost. A small backward facing rocket had popped the warheads and penetrators away from the expended motors and released a puff of chaff. Now the scores of contacts that mattered – the warheads and penetrators – were concealed within a cloud comprising thousands of fragments of chaff and burnt out rocket motors. By now the Nameless ships and starforts had resumed their fire. Large and small missiles alike headed into the fast approaching mass but with so many to intercept and no time to differentiate, whether they struck anything of importance was now no more than a matter of chance.

The planet behind them, the one the Nameless sought to defend, was already doomed.

“Helm, come to starboard sixty degrees and get us out of here,” Willis ordered.

Around them, Nameless fighters swirled and space burned as point defence blazed and chaff rockets discharged as fast as their crews could reload them. With their missiles expended, the fighters attempted to nibble
Spectre
to death. On the bridge, damage reports poured in – the starboard wing was shot to pieces, the upper radar kept blinking out as power runs were severed and the Lazarus system found alternatives. Willis didn’t have time for any of that. The Red Line was coming up and they only had to survive another few minutes. Ahead, a few fighters had reached the
Sherlock
, the big lumbering transport turned destroyer of their world, now flailing desperately with its few small guns at those that would have revenge.

“Navigation, are we ready to jump?”

“Drive spun up, we’re ready.”

Even as the Navigator called out another explosion shook the ship. The fighters were trying to get round in front to strike at their jump drive, but
Spectre
kept twisting.

On the engineering display one engine blinked out while another started to stutter. Willis felt
Spectre
’s acceleration drop sharply.
We won’t make it!
Another engine went down. The fighters were overhauling them.

“Bridge, Damage Control!” Yaya shouted. “We’ve lost Point Defence One and Five! We’re wide open to the front!”

Ahead,
Sherlock
crossed the Red Line and disappeared. The pursuing fighters braked hard and came back at them. To port and starboard, fighters overtook
Spectre
, boxing her in, all of them attempting to target the jump drive.

“Roll to port, try to protect the drive!” Willis ordered.

The dorsal radar tower took another hit and half the holo blinked out.

“Keep rolling!” she shouted as she desperately sacrificed bits of her ship.

“Bridge, Sensors. New contacts!”

Two contacts appeared on the holo, right on the Red Line. Flashing the ID codes of
Pankhurst
’s two gunboats, they appeared behind the fighters that had been pursuing
Sherlock
. Taken by surprise, the fighters were torn apart as the two gunboats accelerated towards
Spectre
.

“Helm, turn towards them!” she shouted. “Get us onto a reciprocal course!”

The two gunboats flew in, engines at full burn and guns blazing as they blasted a path through the Nameless fighters, now scattering to left and right.

“Bridge, Coms. Signal from gunboats – road clear.”

Their rescuers sped away and left the
Spectre
behind, getting clear before the fighters could rally and mob them. But they had done enough. The aliens had lost momentum. Some attempted to chase the gunboats now curving back towards the Red Line. Others tried to get back to
Spectre
but they’d lost vital time and ground. Minutes later, Willis’s ship limped across the line and disappeared into the safety of jump space.

___________________________

Out beyond the heliopause, nearly twelve light hours from the system’s star, the human squadron gathered to lick its wounds – and count the cost.
Phantom
had not reached them. And never would.

“What happened?” Yaya asked as Willis washed her face.

The ship had re-pressurised, at least she had in those compartments that could still hold pressure. The air retained that metallic whiff it always seemed to pick up and everything was frigid.

“There was a small starfort close to the largest of the hydrogen facilities,” Willis answered. “Neither reconnaissance nor tactical identified it. It must have held its fire until
Phantom
got close. They didn’t get any warning and it managed to knock out most of her engines.”

Willis shrugged helplessly as she rubbed her face with a towel. Commodore Tneba had taken his near crippled ship far deeper into the mass shadow than planned, deep enough to use the facilities he was targeting as cover from the mobile units. Whether it was a vain attempt to save his ship or a deliberate effort to exact the highest possible price for her destruction, they would probably never know. The reconnaissance ship Willis had sent to him arrived just in time witness to
Phantom
succumbing to a hail of missiles.

“So that puts you in command then, ma’am,” Yaya said heavily.

“Technically the captain of the
Pankhurst
has more time in grade than me, but I’ve spoken to him and he isn’t contesting it.” Willis said with a slightly bitter smile before adding: “This isn’t what any of us joined up for.”

The
Worms’ fighters hadn’t inflicted any real structural damage but they’d pecked away at everything on the outer surface. Three engines were down and the ship’s engineer had already reported that at least one was beyond any field repair. The passive sensor arrays were mostly shot to pieces and the point defence grid was severely compromised. The crew had also suffered seventeen casualties, five of them fatal, while the Doctor had warned that two more were likely to follow.
Sherlock
had got off lightly – the two personnel in the coms tower were dead and engineers were trying to jury rig something, but other than that, the bombard had sustained little more than a few punctures in the outer hull.

With initial repairs done or at least underway, the support ships were moving up to resupply the survivors. But what Willis was really waiting for, were those first light speed signals.

“Bridge to Captain,” crackled the intercom dangling from her waist.

“I’m here,” she replied, putting her earpiece in place.

“Ma’am, it’s time.”

“Alright, I’m on my way up,” she replied before turning to Yaya. “You might as well join me, Commander. The odds are that from here on in, this is the first thing anyone will ever want to ask us about.”

There were more people on the bridge than there should have been. With the ship opened up from action stations, only the duty shift should have been present. But most of the senior officers were already there. Willis made no comment as she pulled herself into her seat.

The main holo was set for visual mode and showed the planet. For the first time, Willis was struck by how pleasant it looked. Green of land, blue of oceans and white of wispy clouds, the landmasses were different from Earth’s, but otherwise it could pass as a twin. The starforts and Nameless ships were also just visible as they broke the illusion of serenity, lashing out with their missiles in sheer desperation. 

“There’s the first one,” someone at the back of the bridge said only to be immediately hushed by others.

No one could have missed the line of fire that cut across the sky. It disappeared, then a moment later there was a sharp flash. Even at such a distance, it was enough to trigger
Spectre
’s computer to dim the display for a second.

It was a nuke, probably one of
Spectre
’s, targeted at a small population centre seventy kilometres outside the main city. The device was set to detonate at two thousand metres to maximise devastation against civilian targets. Another line traced across the sky and seconds later another settlement was erased by a spreading brown cloud.

In orbit, the defending forts and ships redoubled their effort. Abruptly one of the forts blew apart, its orbit intersecting with a kinetic penetrator. Off to the left of the display, the space elevator also shook as a projectile cored it, shearing the station away from its tether and sending it tumbling away into space.

It was a breathtaking sight, but no one on the bridge commented because dozens of projectiles were now entering the atmosphere. Penetrators impacted with duller flashes and irregularly shaped clouds began to overlap and merge. Nukes were still going in but now almost nothing of the surface was still visible. The second wave of projectiles spread out in all directions from the Nameless city, landing strikes all over the visible side of the planet.

A little over fifteen minutes after that first flash, it was all over. The last projectile had landed and now all that remained were the consequences.

Little remained of the green, the blue and the wispy white, which could now only be seen around the edges and it was diminishing fast as material thrown into the atmosphere spread rapidly. Light boiled up from the below the clouds – uncontrollable firestorms Willis guessed. The fallout would already be spreading. Within weeks, few parts of the planet wouldn’t be intensely irradiated. With the space elevator and probably any launch fields gone, it would take Herculean efforts to save the populations of the small towns on the far side of the planet. If the Nameless couldn’t, or didn’t try, the inhabitants would have only enough time to see their doom coming.

“Well that learned ‘em,” someone said from the back of the bridge.

Several people, including Willis, turned to frown at the speaker – one of the younger officers – who visibly wilted under their glares. As she turned back to the holo, she wondered whether the planet had been naturally life bearing or terra-formed. She hoped it was the latter. Better that than to have snuffed out millions of years of development. Mentally she forced herself to set such thoughts side. Now that they knew the results of their attack they had work to do.

“Coms, prepare a message drone for dispatch to the Home Fleet’s position.”

She paused as she looked again at the holo and a world in its death throes.

“Attach our logs with a message: Stage One Retribution successfully complete. Moving to second positions. Get that away within the hour.”

Soon, the depleted squadron would be moving deeper into Nameless territory. They’d take position in the void between stars and deployed scouts to observe the next three closest Nameless worlds. This time though their approach would not be discrete. They’d let the Nameless see them. They’d let the Nameless know that the ships, which had turned a living world into a dead rock, were still there. The Worms would then know that if they were given an opening or space, Willis and her squadron would do it again.

Chapter Eighteen

Barring the Gate

15th April 2069
 

The scout ship
K23
hung in geo-stationary orbit over the dwarf planet situated seventy-two astronomical units from the system’s star. The dwarf was too far out for the Nameless to reach. Otherwise it would have had observation satellites ringing it like the system’s true planets, ready to alert the defenders. Nonetheless, discretion was required.

K23
’s nose cone pointed directly at the planetoid. Astern, her towed passive sensor array spooled out just far enough to peek over the horizon and in towards the depths of the system. On the bridge, Lieutenant Rey frowned as she studied the readings. Their computer didn’t have sufficient processing power to interpret all the data the array was soaking up, but what it could determine was frightening.

“Those are serious defences, Skipper,” said Petty Officer Allen as he studied his screen.

“Yes,” Rey reluctantly agreed. “Observation satellites, weapons platforms, ground bases, minefields and mobile units.”

She paused. There in the centre of that layered defence was the jewel – the Nameless space gate, access point into this arm of the galaxy and their objective.

“If there’s a route in that won’t see us bleed every metre of the way, I can’t see it.”

“Let’s hope better paid heads can spot something.”

“We can but... hang on... New contacts!”

Rey tensed for a moment but whatever had caught Allen’s attention was around the gate, light hours from
K23
.

“We have ships making jump in through the gate station, at least a dozen.”

“Type?”

Allen made a few adjustments before shaking his head.

“Can’t tell at this range.”

Rey studied her screen for a minute. The newly arrived ships seemed to be manoeuvring round the gate. They looked like they were lining up for jump out, which likely made them support ships en route to the front line, carrying the munitions and supplies that were the very lifeblood of conquest. Another few minutes and the new arrivals had disappeared again.

“They don’t hang about,” Allen observed.

“Doesn’t look like they use this system for supply dumps,” Rey said. “Might be too far back or putting too many eggs in one basket.” Then a thought occurred. “Is the gate station’s FTL beacon still online?”

“No, Skipper. It’s just cut out.”

“Now that is interesting. Those are the first ships we’ve seen coming through. What’s the estimated time for them to jump the rift?”

“Intel reckons...” Allen checked a database, “…six to seven hours.”

“And we’ve been on station for four hours and it was on when we arrived. Make a note in the log to check if or when the ship ahead of us saw the beacon come on.”

___________________________

“What we can now confirm is that, as with the Siege of Earth, the enemy is operating on a nineteen hour cycle,” Sheehan reported. “In the past twenty-four hours we have observed one convoy of what we assume were transports jumping out across the Rift, in the direction of the Nameless core worlds, and one jumping in. In the case of the convoy arriving, the gate station’s beacon transmitted for the ten hours preceding their arrival. In the case of the departing convoy, our scouts detected another beacon on the Nameless side of the rift. Again the transmission was continuous for ten hours.”

“So, they need the beacon to be continuous to make the jump across the rift,” observed Admiral Sekhar. “Do we know why?”

“Well, sir, there has been…”

“The why is not particularly important, Captain Sheehan,” Lewis cut him off. “Nor do these readings definitively prove anything.”

“Sir, we have witnessed three convoys arrive across the Rift,” Sheehan replied. “We know that these are coming from the Nameless home worlds because the gate station lines up to receive them. When ships arrive or depart from our side of the rift, the alignment of the gate station is different. Every time ships are in transit across the rift, the beacons, whether on this side or the other, are active. So by extension, we must assume the beacons are necessary. As far as we know, their space gates and ship-mounted jump drives fundamentally work the same way. If the gate jumpers need the beacon, then so do their jump-capable ships.”

As he followed the exchange, Crowe wondered whether he was the only one in the conference room expecting to see the Admiral’s patience snap at being corrected, but Lewis took it calmly. It had surprised Crowe to be summoned to the decision meeting. Several more senior divisional commanders were not in attendance. As a mere commodore, he was somewhat out of his pay grade. Still, he wouldn’t just sit there like a lemon.

“Sir, I think our scout ships have made out one detail that is very telling,” he said.

Lewis’s cold eyes turned towards him.

“It’s the level of defence, sir. We knocked out a lot of gates when we fought on the Junction Line last year. Most were completely unprotected and the Nameless seemed to follow a policy of rapid replacement rather than attempting to defend them, which is in absolute contrast to what we see here.”

“That’s true sir,” Sekhar said. “We never saw anything even close to this kind of defence, even around their biggest supply dumps. If they are defending it, then it must be for a reason.”

“Not to mention that compared to the reading
Spectre
took when she first discovered the system, the defences have been substantially beefed up,” said Admiral Paahlisson.”

“Given that we hit an important position within a few systems of here, that was as sure as sunrise,” Admiral Conrad Kanter responded, “which reinforces the supposition that this is critical ground for them.”

“A reasonable line of thinking,” Lewis replied after a pause. “So if we assume that the gate, and more importantly the beacon, is the key to the system, how do we proceed?”

“Go in hard and fast,” Kanter said firmly. “That gate can’t get out of the way, so we roll in and take it out.”

“And that will take us straight into the teeth of their defence,” Sekhar objected. “With the gate positioned at the Lagrange point between the planet and its moon, the Home Fleet would also have to get between the two. Once there, we’d be fired upon by the orbital installations around the planet, the ground installations on the moon and the mobile units – in short, from every damn direction. I know the new barrage ships are impressive, but that kind of crossfire will overwhelm them.”

“But won’t overwhelm the fleet as a whole,” Kanter replied.

“We would take damage and therein lies the problem, Conrad,” Lewis said before Sekhar could reply. “If it was simply a question of destroying the gate, then a frontal assault would be the simplest and most reliable route. Unfortunately, destroying the gate is merely step one. After that, we will have to hold this ground for as long as it takes for the Nameless to be starved of supplies. That will be a question of endurance, so the more we lose in the first phase, the harder that will be to endure.”

“Long range fire perhaps?” Sekhar hazarded.

“By the time we’re close enough to use even heavy plasma cannons, we’ll be taking fire from the defences,” Kanter said shaking his head. “We don’t have enough ships with heavy calibre railguns anymore and just because that station is at the Lagrange point now, doesn’t mean it can’t be shifted to get out of the way of a long range shot.”

The discussion broke down into several overlapping conversations as various ideas were thrashed out. Lewis spoke only occasionally, mostly to point out why each suggestion would come up short.

“Sir,” Crowe said finally, “I think we have to go back to the plan proposed back on Earth and use the
Mississippi
.”

“That plan was proposed by someone who needed to get out more!” Sekhar said sharply. “You’re talking about charging three ships – only three ships – into the very teeth of those defences!”

“Yet, sir,” Crowe replied, “if it cost us only those three ships it would be a good exchange, they are…” the word caught in his throat, “…they are expendable.”

“Those ships would be better deployed as decoys,” Sekhar countered. “We should use fighters to attack the gate.”

“That would bleed the fighter squadrons white, even if it succeeded,” Kanter replied.

“Using
Mississippi
does have one other virtue, sir,” Crowe said as he turned back to Lewis. “If it fails, it doesn’t block an attempt by the rest of the fleet.”

Lewis made no reply and instead sat staring at the grainy image of their objective on the screen. Finally he stood up.

“Gentlemen, I need to consider the data further. You’re dismissed.”

Crowe was waiting for his shuttle back to
Deimos
when Lewis’s chief-of-staff appeared at his elbow.

“Commodore Crowe, the Admiral is asking to speak to you privately.”

“Of course. On what matter?”

“He didn’t say, sir,” the Sheehan replied.

Lewis was sitting down when Crowe stepped into the cabin, with his jacket cast carelessly onto the cabin’s bunk and his collar loosened. He looked far less forbidding than usual.

“Commodore, please take a seat,” he said.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Commodore, you appear to be the leading proponent of the
Mississippi
attack.”

“Yes, sir, I guess I am. I know the points raised against it are valid and that it must have looked like a good idea from a desk on Earth…”

“Actually, Commodore, the basic idea was mine,” Lewis interrupted.

“Err...”

“Others developed it further, but I still do not regard it with much favour. But this was always going to be an offensive based on intelligence information that was weeks out of date. We needed to bring with us the means to have as many options as possible.”

“Sir, as you said, we need to destroy the gate station without the fleet itself getting knocked about. If we can pull their defences out of position, then I believe at least one of the three will make it through,” Crowe replied.

“Hmm,” Lewis said. “Are you still set on commanding
Mississippi
again?”

“Yes sir,” Crowe replied.

There was a catch in his voice. Lewis misinterpreted it.

“Are you afraid of death, Commodore?”

The Admiral raised his hand before Crowe could reply.

“No slur is intended. The
Mississippi Incident, the Junction Line, Kite String and the Siege of Earth, your record in combat is second to none, but no man is without limits. This plan, the principal reason I do not like it, is because it hinges on courage. It hinges on the courage and willingness of the officer in command to, if necessary, lay down his life to make it work.”

“Sir, I believe I am that officer.”

“Very well, Commodore. You may make preparations to transfer to
Mississippi
.”

___________________________

19th April 2069
 

Journalism was definitely not a profession for those with a thin skin, even more so when you were an embedded journalist in a military unit. Oh, when the camera or microphone was on, they were all polite professionalism but once off, then a journalist was regarded with, at best, a level of enthusiasm usually associated with an imminent dental examination. The most junior officers and ratings were usually less guarded, but the more senior an individual, the more they seemed to look upon journalists with pained resignation.

When Jeff first arrived on board the Myth class heavy cruiser
Freyia
, Captain Hicks seemed to be particularly despondent. Just before Jeff went into the Deep Sleep capsule for the long journey to The Spur, he found out from a friendly NCO why. When the captains of Sixth Cruiser Squadron discovered that they would be hosting an embedded journalist, they’d played poker to decide which ship would get Jeff. Apparently, Hicks was blown out of the water by a royal flush.

Still, there was no point crying. Jeff had signed on for this and at least the accommodation wasn’t bad. He’d expected to be bunked with the ship’s NCOs or officers. Instead he’d been assigned his own cabin. All right, cabin was probably overstating it – it was a partly cleared out storage locker in which he had to sleep slightly curled up since it wasn’t deep enough to straighten out in it without leaving the hatch open. But it was a nice private little spot, which on a warship counted as luxury.

When he heard he’d got one of the precious Home Fleet assignments, Jeff had performed a little dance of joy in the office. This could be the assignment that sealed his career and made him a household name across the States. Then one of the office girls, one he’d been sort of seeing, wished him luck with a sick look on her face. On a starship, a journalist took damn near all the same chances the crew did. There was no way to do the job and not take them. Still, no guts no glory.