The Last Charge (The Nameless War Trilogy Book 3) (49 page)

“Coms, signal the flagship message received,” she replied. “Do we still have the link to
Saladin
?”

“Confirmed, sir. We do.”

“Order them to tuck in under our port wing. We’ll cover them,” she said, before adding, half to herself: “this isn’t over yet.”

The Nameless might be pulling out but they were determined to exact the highest possible price first. The Second Fleet was still moving forward but now, on the holo, she could see full extent of the gaps in its formation. The Ninth Destroyer squadron was down to just one ship, the icon for the cruiser
Ganges
, was moving in a slow circle behind the fleet, flashing multiple damage codes. Ahead, the Nameless scouts, escorts and a few of their cruisers still advanced, firing as they came.

“Bridge, Sensors. Incoming entering our area.”

“Guns! Stand by to engage.”

___________________________

Guinness took a firm grip of the man’s shoulder and hit him hard on the side of his helmet. He followed up with two more blows before the man recovered enough of his reason to stop his panicked attempt to open his helmet visor and instead defend himself.

“Get your mouth piece in, you fucking clown!” Guinness shouted as he pressed his helmet to the other man’s.

Even if the vomit inside the helmet had shorted out the helmet’s internal speakers, it should be audible. Clearly it was. Guinness saw the panic in his eyes fade before they closed and the man began to reach with his lips for the emergency breathing tube. Vomit and spittle still almost filled the helmet – damn fool must have overeaten before they all sealed up and the ship depressurised.

The first casualty was already on his way to sickbay.

“Get this plonker to sickbay to empty out, then send him back here,” Guinness roared at one of the damage control ratings.

“And take this,” he added, as he grabbed the severed leg that was drifting down the access way. “He’ll probably want his shoe back!”

Guinness turned back towards the rest of his engine crew. Blood had splashed across several of them and odds were that a few other helmets had blobs of unpleasantness floating around inside. God only knew how that missile splinter had ricocheted its way into engineering. Damned bad luck about Rating Hickey standing where he was. Still a man could get by easier without a leg than his head.

“Well don’t stand there scratching yourselves! Check for damage!”

Black Prince
gave another violent lurch and the display beside Guinness indicated the main guns were drawing plasma again. Reactor power had been all over the place over the last hour as the engine performed everything from emergency all back to full ahead. Right now though, they were running at forty percent maximum, from which they concluded they weren’t in full retreat or full pursuit. Beyond that it was impossible to know what their situation was – and that was becoming harder and harder to bear. As a younger man he’d been able to accept it. He kept the engines going and those at the front had the easier job of everything else. But now Guinness knew he would rather know if his last moments were upon him.

___________________________

The front quarter of the Nameless cruiser began to burn as it de-orbited and started to brush against Landfall’s atmosphere. The last of the Nameless ships had jumped away more than an hour ago, the space gates detonating behind them as they went. The cap ships all made it out, as did most of the gateships and cruisers. The scouts and escorts sacrificed themselves to hold off the Second Fleet long enough for the more important vessels to make it clear. Left in possession of the field of battle, the Second Fleet now orbited over Landfall, once again a human world but now a soiled prize. A handful of weapons satellites remained, obviously installed after the convoy into Landfall had offered a final tenuous line of resistance, one the Second Fleet swept away as a virtual afterthought.  As the satellites died, there were at least four nuclear detonations on the surface of the planet. Sensors reported the readings as consistent with fusion reactor breaches. It wasn’t as bad as a fission reactor meltdown but significant sections of the planet were now being heavily irradiated. A few shuttles were on their way down, to establish contact with whoever was left but the fleet didn’t have the capacity for humanitarian operations. Whatever survivors of the planet’s population remained would have to manage for at least a while longer yet.

These were all wider concerns that weren’t part of Berg’s mental list of problems.
Black Prince
was now alongside
Saladin
. From a visual inspection of her twisted hull, Berg could already tell that if they did manage to get her home, it would only be so the dockyards could remove any parts that were still good. Commodore Dandolo had transferred across but not to command. With both his legs mangled beyond any hope of recovery and
Saladin
’s own sickbay now ruined, he’d been brought aboard to stabilise. Once the fleet’s support train arrived he’d be transferred again to a hospital ship. For now, Berg was senior officer for the Twenty-third Cruiser Squadron.

“Final damage reports, Captain – ours and
Zulu
’s,” Commander Chuichi said as he passed over a computer pad.

Berg skimmed down it. The Chief had made his usual careful appraisal of the engine conditions. Any other damage was little more than cosmetic. Their squadron mate
Zulu
had also got away clean.

“Send to the Flagship that we are fully combat worthy.”

“I’ve seen reports from other ships. Looks like the fleet is now divided into two groups, the undamaged and the severely damaged, with not much in between.”

“That kamikaze thing will never work again,” Berg observed. “We’re wise to it now.”

Chuichi opened his mouth to reply just as the command channel of the intercom buzzed to life.

“Captain to the Bridge! Captain to the Bridge!”

“On my way, what is it?”

“Captain, the fleet train has just jumped in. Several ships are flagging damage codes.”

How much things could change in just a few hours, Berg thought to herself as she lay in her bunk. No Nameless forces were present but the Second Fleet was about to have to retreat back to the Junction Line with its tail between its legs. Just as Admiral Gordon had feared, they had either overtaken Nameless or run into units their enemy had deliberately left behind. Whether by accident or design, they had come across the fleet’s supply train. There hadn’t been many Nameless ships but they had pressed in regardless of loss. Before they succumbed to the escort, they’d put missiles into two of the fleet’s biggest fuel tankers. Now the fleet now didn’t have enough fuel to go forward or even hold its position. News had raced around the ship before she or any of the other officers could do anything and morale aboard
Black Prince
dropped like a stone, as the crew figured out that this setback had virtually nullified all the efforts of the past few weeks. One of her communications ratings, a big tough man with a reputation as a hell raiser, had been reduced to tears after he overheard a conversation between the drop carrier
Overlord
and someone on the surface, begging for food supplies.

On her belt her intercom buzzed and Berg wearily pushed the earpiece into place.

“Captain here.”

“Skipper, we’re being signalled by the Flagship. The C-in-C wants to speak to you, privately, ma’am.”

Odd
.

“Put the connection through to my cabin,” she ordered as she pulled on her jacket.

A moment later, Admiral Fengzi’s face appeared on the screen.

“Captain, this will have to be brief,” he said. “You know the fuel situation. If I am to get the fleet back to Junction without leaving ships drifting, then we have to leave within the next six hours.”

Berg’s eyes widened with shock.

“I didn’t realise it was that close to the wire, sir,” she said.

“It’s not. But if we move now, then that leaves us with two fast tankers and their load ‘spare’. Captain, you know our role here was to put pressure on the Worms. Well it’s pretty obvious that they’ve realised that the battle around The Spur is now the only one worth fighting. If they can win that, then everything they have abandoned here can be regained in the long term.”

“What do you need me to do, sir?”

“You put forward the idea of a limited blockade. Well, now we’ll have to go with a version of that. I’m detaching your cruiser squadron and the First Scout Cruiser Group. The two squadrons will travel separately but your orders are to make for the Spur at your best speed and engage targets of opportunity – supply bases and other fixed facilities being the priority.”

“We may not catch them, sir. They’re faster than us in jump space and they have a head start.”

“I know that, Captain, but you can take the direct routes to make up ground and frankly, we have to make the attempt.”

“How far am I to go?”

“The Spur, Captain, or as close as your fuel will take you. My staff is drawing up formal orders now. I know you may not catch them, Captain Berg, but even if you can nip at their heels, that might be enough.”

“I understand, sir. We’ll do our best.”

As the Second Fleet suffered the ignominy of retreat, four cruisers embarked out beyond the borders of human claimed space. To have gone from being a minor cog in a larger whole to fifty percent of the entire show took some getting used to. For days after they detached from the fleet, every time she looked at the bridge holo, Berg caught herself wondering where the other ships were. Curiously however, although morale on board
Black Prince
had nose-dived following the battle over Landfall, it had now soared. Certainly she herself felt better to be on the advance. She’d expected Admiral Fengzi to transfer in a flag officer to command the detached squadron but no such move was made before they jumped away. So even though this formation would normally have been well beyond her rank, Berg remained the commanding officer. 

For days they travelled at a pace Berg judged to be the best compromise between speed and economy. The scout cruisers
Herald
and
Messenger
were to directly follow the path of Nameless space gates, while
Black Prince
,
Zulu
and their tanker the
Ohio
, took the straight line route in its attempt to get ahead of the retreating Nameless fleet. Unlike the Home Fleet when it had journeyed to The Spur, when they dropped back into real space to purge their heat sinks, it was inside solar systems. Several times they found gates and destroyed them but it took six days after departing Landfall before they found something solid.

“Bridge, Sensors. Contacts bearing zero, one, zero dash, zero, zero, one.”

“Strength?” Berg asked.

“Ten to twenty, in close order, accurate count cannot be determined at this range, ma’am.”

This far out from charted space, their star maps weren’t entirely accurate and the squadron had come out only just inside the edge of the system. The contacts were over four light hours away, on the far side of the system, close to but outside the mass shadow of a small moon.

“Twenty ships,” Commander Chuichi said quietly rubbing his chin. “That’s a lot to take on with two.”

“Assuming they are even still there,” she replied studying the holo. “Tactical, give me a current position estimate, assuming enemy contacts hold current velocity and course.”

On the holo a second cluster of blips appeared.

“They’re moving slowly enough to be able to jump at any time,” Chuichi observed.

Berg made no reply. At four light hours the Nameless, assuming they were even still there, couldn’t yet be aware of the human ships. Their long-range real time sensors that gave them such advantages at closer quarters only seemed to be effective up to a few light seconds. So right now,
Black Prince
and
Zulu
were in a fleeting position of advantage. She could consult with Captain Ewald of
Zulu
, but he couldn’t see any more than she could.

“Coms, order the tanker to jump clear, then signal
Zulu
to prepare to jump,” she said before turning to Chuichi. “We’ll make a jump in eighty thousand kilometres out from their port flank. We’ll inflict as much damage as we can, then jump away again before they can counter, assuming anything is there.”

Twenty minutes later the crew were closed up at action stations and from the bows came the rising whine of the jump drive building up.
Black Prince
’s two plasma cannon turrets were already trained out to starboard, ready to engage.

“All sections report ready.
Zulu
reports as ready,” came the report.

“Very good,” Berg replied as she absently tightened her restraint harness. “Navigation, jump.”

The thump of the jump out was followed seconds later by that of the jump in.
Come on, come on
, Berg thought to herself as she waited for the holo. No blips appeared in the estimated position. At some point in the last four hours they’d jumped away, it was the most likely scenario, yet the bitterly disappointing…