The Phoenix Requiem (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 7) (22 page)

“Aye, aye, sir,” they acknowledged him.

“And, Pilot,” said Nimoux, getting Jay’s attention. “Keep us on the move, as fast as possible.”

“We cannot outrun the
Custos
energy vortex,” said Jay, sounding defeated.

“Not in a direct line, perhaps,” said Nimoux. “Try a random trajectory. Maybe it will have as much difficulty predicting our position as—” Nimoux was interrupted by another crash of energy from the
Custos
vortex slamming into their shields.

“Shields down to fifty percent,” said Summers. “I’m re-routing all non-essential power to augment them.”

“Reroute
everything
, essential or not,” said Nimoux. “We have enough air to breath for a while, and we’re strapped in so the loss of gravity won’t make much difference; I want every system available pouring all of its energy, and reserves, into our shields and sublight drives.”

“What about our weapons?” asked Summers.

“Have they had any kind of effect?” asked Nimoux.

“Not that I can tell. Not the beam weapon, nor the missiles—”

“Nor the guns,” Nimoux interrupted her. “Reroute power away from them too. At this point, we run and we hold out as long as we can. Provided we can keep those shields up, we will survive to retrieve our people.”

“And if we don’t?” asked Summers.

Nimoux didn’t feel that her question needed answering.

So instead, he said, “Come on, everybody, get those systems routed. Shields to maximum!”

***

“Sir, another transmission from the ISS
Harbinger
,” reported the Comms chief. Sir Arkwright was sorely tempted to order that damned
Harbinger
to have its communications systems locked out for all the harassment. Queen Kalila had placed Sir Arkwright in charge of the defense of Capital System, and that was exactly what he meant to do. He had no time to be micromanaged—especially not by a lying, stealing, treacherous
captain
whose greatest feat was the destruction of Capital World’s static defenses—defenses that would have been useful in this war.

“Let them eat white noise,” replied Sir Arkwright, deciding he’d had enough. He had a battle to run. The battle that would determine the future of the Empire—whether or not it could hope for one.

Unfortunately, that damned Raidan was right. The vanguard was failing at its mission—the Dread Fleet was not divided, other than a few pockets of warships—and now the vanguard was being positively slaughtered, despite the reinforcements Sir Arkwright had sent. He knew he couldn’t just leave them out there to die. If they were going to die this day, they would die side-by-side with the rest of the defense force, not out on their own while their allies looked on from a distance.

“Give the order,” Sir Arkwright said, after some hesitation. “Pull the vanguard back. Full retreat.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” reported the Comms chief. Then, a few moments later. “Fleet Admirals Ravinder and Faried acknowledge. As does the Rotham Proxitor commanding Bravo Flotilla. The remains of the vanguard is withdrawing to our position.”

Whatever is left of it
, thought Sir Arkwright, upset that their plan to divide the Dread Fleet had failed, and that so much life had been lost in the effort. And all of it pointless. To him it seemed like an omen for how the day would end.
So many, many ships
.

“Casualties,” he demanded.

“I have only a poor estimate of enemy casualties,” said the Ops chief. “But hundreds of ships have been destroyed, mostly enemies. The ratio is about three to one.”

“And what about our casualties?” asked Sir Arkwright.

“The Third Fleet has taken the worst of it,” said the Ops chief. “Of the original two-hundred ships…only thirty-seven remain.”

“Thirty-seven…” said Sir Arkwright, resisting the urge to shake his head. That meant one-hundred and sixty-three Imperial warships had been destroyed. And with them had gone the lives of hundreds…No,
thousands
of Imperial citizens that had composed the crews.

Still, even thousands paled in comparison to the utter massacre that had happened on Centuria V. Billions of lives lost, and for no reason that Sir Arkwright could ascertain. And he, like Fleet Admiral Ravinder, was guilty of leaving those people to die. Just so he could save his ships, and himself, to be ready for this battle.
What futility!

“But the
Hyperion
has survived?” asked Sir Arkwright. The
Hyperion
was the flagship of the Third Fleet and Fleet Admiral Ravinder’s assigned vessel.

“Yes, sir. In fact, the
Hyperion
is one of the ships in better condition, of the remaining thirty-seven,” said the Ops chief.

So, you’re still able to fight
, thought Sir Arkwright about Fleet Admiral Ravinder.
Perhaps the two of us here, today, may scrub clean our hands by shedding our own blood
…

“Some of the thirty-seven are in pretty bad shape,” continued the Ops chief. “About half of them are still in fighting condition, though most have battle damage. As for the rest…” He looked over to the Comms chief, who had been in contact with the retreating vanguard ever since the withdrawal order had been given.

“We’re getting reports of fires inside the ships. Hull breaches on multiple decks. Some of those ships are in really bad shape, sir. From what their crews report,” said the Comms chief.

Sir Arkwright was not surprised. “Order the most damaged ships to the rear of our formation and have them dock with support ships if necessary.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” said the Comms chief.

“But make it clear, they are to tend to their wounds as quickly as they can, then return to the fight,” Sir Arkwright’s eyes narrowed. “We still need them.”

“Yes, sir,” said the Comms chief. He gave instructions to his staff and they began sending out the orders.

“What of the reinforcements to the vanguard?” asked Sir Arkwright. “How did they fare?”

“They are in full retreat as well,” said the Ops chief. I detect that their surviving ships, along with those of the Third Fleet, have cleared the enemy’s range of fire and will arrive at our position in less than one minute.”

“Are the drones a threat to them?” asked Sir Arkwright.

“No, sir. Our retreating forces are away from the drones,” said the Ops chief.

“Is there any chance of the drones overtaking them?” asked Sir Arkwright.

“No, sir,” said the Defense chief. “Our ships, and the Rotham ships, are faster than the drones.”

“But the drones are on their way?” asked Sir Arkwright.

“No, sir,” said the Ops chief, after checking his scanning equipment. “Like the phalanx of enemy capital ships, they appear to be gathering into a swarm, but otherwise remain stationary. No movement from either the drones or the capital ships has been made in our direction, or any direction, for that matter.”

“Not yet anyway,” said Sir Arkwright, knowing the situation wouldn’t last long. “What about casualties to the Sixth Fleet and the Rotham support flotillas?”

“The Sixth Fleet remains mostly intact, as far as I can tell,” said the Ops Chief. “Of its two-hundred and seven ships, including Fleet Admiral Faried’s flagship, the ISS
Colossus
, one-hundred and seventy warships remain. Of those, about eighty percent remain in fighting condition. As for our Rotham allies, the Bravo Flotilla seems to have lost about ten percent of its original one-hundred.”

“So ten ships,” said Sir Arkwright.

“Yes, sir, that is correct,” said the Ops chief.

Sir Arkwright shook his head.
Cowardly bastards
, he thought.
We lose a combined two-hundred ships in the initial engagement, and they, the spineless aliens, those Lizards, they only put ten of their precious seven hundred ships at risk.

True, Sir Arkwright
had
only dispatched
one
Rotham flotilla to support the vanguard, one-hundred ships in total, but, to experience ten-percent casualties, while the humans had endured roughly fifty percent casualties…that, to Sir Arkwright, was a display of cowardice. He would make certain to deploy the rest of the Rotham flotillas, including the surviving ninety ships of Bravo flotilla, in such a way that he could ensure that their allies would equally experience the brunt of the enemy’s assault, once it finally came.

“Let me know the instant any of those drones are coming our way,” commanded Sir Arkwright.

“Yes, sir,” replied the Ops chief.

Not long ago, they had detected a horde of drone starfighters launching from the enemy carrier ships; Sir Arkwright had appraised the entire defense force at once and had ordered the deployment of all human starfighters—and any Rotham starfighters, if they’d brought any—as a response. Like the capital ships, the friendly starfighters seemed vastly outnumbered by the drones, although exact counts had not been provided to Sir Arkwright.

“Can someone get me a reading on the configuration of the enemy fleet?” asked Sir Arkwright.

“Our sensors detect between seven and ten-thousand enemy ships, including support ships,” said the Ops chief. “It is impossible to get an exact count. They are too close together.”

“Too close together?” asked Sir Arkwright. “Does that mean…?” he allowed his question to trail off.

“Yes, sir,” replied the Ops chief. “The enemy force has successfully organized into Phalanx Formation.”

“And the shield?” asked Sir Arkwright.

“They have begun to pool their shields; I estimate that, within thirty seconds, they will have successfully pooled the shield strength of the entire collective of starships together,” said the Ops chief.

“Making them damn near impenetrable,” said Sir Arkwright. He had seen this happen before, back at Centuria V, before he and Fleet Admiral Ravinder had retreated, abandoning the planet to its doom. He remembered how Ravinder’s force had charged headlong into the enemy, as ordered, only to discover that their beam weapons were entirely useless. Of course it came as no surprise that they would employ the same tactic here.

If only our vanguard had succeeded
, thought Sir Arkwright.
If only we could have split them in half—or even smaller groups. That damned phalanx shield would be so much the weaker
…

“That estimate, seven to ten-thousand ships, does that include the drones we detected?” asked Sir Arkwright, praying that the answer was yes. But, of course, that would be too gentle a kindness for the universe to offer them.

“No, sir,” said the Ops chief. His voice did not betray any fear, but he seemed to tremble slightly. Sir Arkwright was unsure whether it was a trick of his aging eyes or not. He suspected not.

They’re afraid
, he thought, scanning over the dozens of crewmembers scrambling to operate the many systems of the ISS
Victory
’s bridge.
We’re all afraid
. As he took half a second to watch them, some of them hurrying about from one station to another, he reflected on the fact that they were essentially walking corpses. For, no matter what they did, and how hard they fought, the force they had mustered was no match for seven to ten-thousand ships. Not to mention the damned drone fighters…

“How many drones do we detect?” asked Sir Arkwright.

“Impossible to tell,” said the Ops chief; Sir Arkwright was unsurprised. “Perhaps…one-hundred thousand. Maybe more.”

“One-hundred thousand drones?” said Sir Arkwright. “
God Almighty
…” he said, mostly to himself. Perhaps ten-thousand capital ships, albeit some support ships, and a hundred-thousand drone starfighters.
What a force!
And all of it here to end them. To end humanity. To end everything, it seemed.
But why?
Sir Arkwright believed there was a divine plan for all life, just as surely as he believed there was a Divine Creator. But even with all his faith—a faith he had clung to despite existing in a purely secular society—he could not fathom what kind of Creator would allow for such an evil force to assemble, and wreak the carnage and chaos they had wreaked—and would continue to wreak—and how any of that fit into some kind of Divine Plan. But then again, he was merely mortal and he could not expect himself to comprehend such things. Just because he could not understand the reason did not mean the reason failed to exist—or failed to be reasonable.

Please God
, he prayed silently,
deliver us from this evil
. Then, he went to work.

“Until that enemy formation, or any of its drones, starts making any kind of attack run against us, we have some time to form up and prepare for them,” he said, his voice a beacon of authority. Then, to his Comms chief, he commanded that his next words be broadcast to the entire defense force.

“To all brave and noble defenders of the Empire, of the Rotham Republic, and of life everywhere that would stand against the Dread Fleet, I salute you. You, each one of you, is a hero, and, no matter what happens, I want you to have that knowledge, and keep it dear in your heart, and remember that whatever sacrifice we make today, whatever it costs us, we are standing as a thin bold line between everything we love and cherish and that which seeks to destroy and slaughter it.