The Phoenix Requiem (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 7) (38 page)

“I see it,” said Raidan. “Those are the coordinates that Fleet Admiral Ravinder had attempted to hold. And now our formation is broken there.”

“Yes, exactly,” said Mister Ivanov.

It certainly wasn’t good news, but neither was it surprising. When Ravinder’s efforts had failed, and none of the seven fleets, nor any of the remaining Rotham flotillas, moved to recapture and occupy that space, it had become a foregone conclusion to Raidan that the enemy would move into it, and, from there, begin making strikes against the
Victory
, along with whatever else it allowed them to reach. Raidan hated having that knowledge, mostly because he understood the threat it represented, but simultaneously he lacked the power to actually do anything about it. And, if he tried to do something about it alone, with just his ships and those under his command, his fate would be much the same as Ravinder’s.

“Now look at
this
,” said Mister Ivanov, pointing to the large symbol on the 3D map that Raidan understood to be the
Victory
. There were other symbols near it, some of them friendly, but many were highlighted—identified by the IFF system as foes. Including a countless number of extremely small symbols, moving rapidly around the
Victory
, which, Raidan was sure, must have symbolized drones.

As for the enemy capital ships that were obviously exchanging fire with the
Victory
and the few friendly dreadnoughts that remained alongside it, Raidan did notice that the enemy force had amassed along the
Victory
’s portside flank, attacking the mighty vessel in just the manner they had wanted to all along. And, now that Ravinder was dead, and no defenders had moved to prevent this assault, the
Victory
and its nearby friendly craft, were more exposed than ever before, and having to deal with far more firepower bombarding them.

“You’re showing me this because you think the
Victory
is going to be destroyed by this attack, since we, and everyone else, left it exposed,” said Raidan, raising one eyebrow. “Well, you’re probably right.” He turned, as if to walk away, but Mister Ivanov stopped him.

“No, actually I don’t think the
Victory
is going to be destroyed,” said Mister Ivanov, catching Raidan by surprise. “
Look!
”

Raidan turned back toward the display and watched it carefully.

“Do you see?” asked Mister Ivanov.

“What am I looking for?” asked Raidan. The entire display, including the position of all the ships, seemed to perfectly reflect his expectations, considering how events had gone.

Mister Ivanov pointed directly at the
Victory
on the map. “Watch the command ship carefully.”

Raidan stroked his chin with one hand, curious to know just what the hell had gotten Mister Ivanov so animated. He watched carefully.

At first, it seemed, there was nothing unusual going on. And then, ever so subtly, he noticed the
Victory
rotate a bit, then a bit more.

“Are they attempting to show their attackers their starboard broadside because the portside has become too damaged from the assault?” asked Raidan.

“That’s what I thought at first too, sir, but, if you look carefully, you will see that the other dreadnoughts, here, here, and here,” he pointed. “Have begun to rotate as well. Toward the planet.”

To Raidan, that seemed like it could only mean one thing. Retreat.

“We’re withdrawing?” Raidan asked, confused, not directing his question to anyone. Wondering,
has the situation at the front already become so dire as that?

Almost immediately, he got his answer.

“Sir,” said the Comms chief.

“What is it, Mister Gates?” asked Raidan, as he began making his was back to the command position.

“We have received a direct order from the flagship, sir.”

“The
Harbinger
has?” asked Raidan. If so, that would be strange indeed, considering the
Harbinger
, and the Organization’s flotilla did not recognize anyone else’s authority to command them.

“Well, no…” said Mister Gates, as if to clarify. “I mean there has been a general order given, to all allied starships, and that order is to be considered direct and immediate.”

“An order to withdraw,” said Raidan, by then he’d returned to his chair. “Am I right?”

“Yes, yes, sir, you are,” said Mister Gates. “The entire allied force, the Imperial fleets, the Rotham, us, the Remorii—if any of them are still around—”

“They’re not,” said Raidan, having watched them go. They had done considerable damage, for such a small group, and, although he missed their presence, he had been glad to see at least some of them had escaped.

“Well then,” said Mister Gates. “I
should
say, to any and all starships currently participating in the resistance against the attack of the Dread Fleet—”

“Yes, that’s us, go on,” said Raidan. He was in no rush to hear the exact details of this
order
that Sir Arkwright thought he had the authority to give, since Raidan was about ninety-five percent sure he already knew the gist of what it would be.

“All ships are to retreat toward the planet immediately and with all haste,” said Mister Gates. “At which point, fleet commanders will provide instructions for where and how to deploy so that our defensive formation can be restored. Coordinates have been provided. Move with all haste.”

Raidan nodded. It was exactly what he’d expected. The collapse of the formation along the
Victory
’s portside flank had ultimately created a vulnerability so threatening that Sir Arkwright was actually going to move the fleet away from the enemy, losing some ships in the process, just so he could get the fleets back into line, and restore the formation.

Raidan wondered if he would have done the same thing, were he in charge. But then he decided it was irrelevant; had he been in command of the defense force, he never would have allowed the formation to collapse at that point, or any other point, when warships were available to bolster any of the weak points under pressure from the enemy. The mistake Sir Arkwright had made was that the ships that would have been able to help had been too poorly positioned; therefore, few to none of them could have reinforced the line before it collapsed.

“So, Captain, are we to obey his order or ignore it?” asked Mister Gates.

“Well, we’re certainly not going to obey his order,” said Raidan. “To do so would be to falsely admit that he has any authority to give us orders of any sort.”

“Ah, so we shall ignore it then,” said Mister Gates. “Where would you have us go instead?”

“I didn’t say we were going to ignore it,” said Raidan, taking note of the movement of all the blue and green lights on the tactical display—all retreating toward the planet. “I only said that we won’t recognize his order as an order. Instead we’ll consider it friendly advice. Now command the flotilla to retreat toward the planet at once!”

“Yes, sir,” said Mister Gates, and he and his team got to work.

“I take it that applies to us as well, sir?” said Mister Watson from the helm.

“For the most part,” said Raidan. “Do bring us close to the planet at speed, but wait until the rest of the flotilla has a head start. I want to keep this ship in a position to protect the others, in the event that the enemy sends interceptors to pursue.”

“Aye, aye,” said Mister Watson. “Holding position for now, awaiting your command to proceed. At which point I shall accelerate us to maximum and bring us to a position closer to the planet. Shall I use the provided coordinates?”

“Yes, that’s fine,” said Raidan, confident that the coordinates would simply place them among the rest of the ships of the defense force, probably somewhere near the center.

He gave it a full thirty seconds, knowing that with each tick of the second hand on his watch he was making the
Harbinger
that much juicier of a target. Once time expired, he immediately said, “Hit it.” And the ship moved. Or, at least, all the instruments said they were moving. The planet, which dominated the view out the forward window, seemed to remain the same size as they approached. So there was no reference by which to tell that they were actually moving, other than what the ship’s instruments reported.

Fortunately, the enemy did not aggressively pursue them, or any of the retreating ships, or do much of anything to stop the defense’s tactical withdrawal, aside from showering them with several volleys of missiles and repeated beam strikes. None of which hit the
Harbinger
, he was happy to know. However, as a less happy fact, Raidan’s prediction proved true and, as the defenders withdrew toward the planet, several retreating ships were lost. Raidan watched their lights fade from the tactical display. After each one, he cursed inside, knowing that, due to their far fewer numbers, each loss to the defense was that much greater.

They reached the coordinates and found themselves surrounded by the rest of the defense force, most of which were scrambling starships racing about to get into lines and formations, restoring their original defensive pattern as best they could with far fewer ships. Raidan sent an order to the scattered ships of his flotilla, commanding them to form up on the
Harbinger
, and, while his Comms staff got busy sending out that order, he looked to his Defense chief and asked the question he most dreaded to ask.

“Mister Demir,” said Raidan, getting the man’s full attention.

“Yes, sir?” he asked as he hurriedly stood up straight—having just been hunched over some kind of terminal.

“Tell me, as soon as you’re able, are we, or any part of the defense force, presently within range of the Dread Fleet’s beam weapons?” The implication of course being, if they had retreated away from the enemy, which meant losing missile and gun range, then they were only doing the Dread Fleet a service if they remained near enough that the Dread Fleet could continue to strike at them with their beam weapons, and the defense force would be powerless to shoot back, due to the deployment of the phalanx shield.

“No, sir,” said Mister Demir, after briefly checking. “The enemy ships are presently too distant for any of our beam weapons to lock onto them. Assuming they haven’t had some kind of breakthrough in long-range energy-weapon targeting systems, I believe it is safe to assume that if we cannot target them, they cannot target us. As for whether or not
some
defending ship
somewhere
is or is not within range of the Dread Fleet, as to that, I cannot say, However, I believe the coordinates provided by the
Victory
and the other fleet commanders were deliberately chosen to position the entire defense far outside beam weapon range. Although, I am merely speculating.”

Raidan nodded. That seemed reasonable enough.

While the defense force rushed to form up, getting all the remaining ships and fleets back into the best defensive positions possible, the Dread Fleet did not simply sit around. Rather, after apparently allowing the defenders to withdraw and get back into formation, the Dread Fleet was on the move. And not just parts of it, the entire colossal thing. Raidan watched on the tactical display as the tightly-packed horde of red lights moved closer to them, seeming to accelerate as they came.

His assumption had been that the Dread Fleet would reach beam weapon range and then stop their approach, careful not to get inside the missile and gun range that the defenders could use against them. Then, from that position, resume attacking the helpless defense force by raining upon them an endless stream of beam weapon blast after beam weapon blast. That would force the defense fleet to make another bold charge to close the distance, so they could get their weapons in range, and such a charge had proven costly the first time; the second time could easily prove to be worse. That was what made sense to Raidan. That was what he would have done, had he been the person, or being, or entity, or whatever the thing was that commanded the Dread Fleet.

However, the Dread Fleet did not simply reach beam weapon range and stop; rather, they kept moving, fast, swiftly closing on the defense force…as if the Dread Fleet was making a statement that it did not care about all the defenders’ guns and missiles…they were nothing to it.

As the swarm of red lights, that greatly dwarfed the combined green and blue lights—seemingly even more so than before—charged toward them, rapidly approaching missile and gun range, Raidan got the distinct impression that no one in the Dread Fleet had even the slightest fear at all. Yes, it was easier for anyone to be brave when one greatly outnumbered and outgunned one’s opponent. But this, this felt like something else. It was like…the concept of fear was so foreign to the members of the Dread Fleet, whoever and whatever they were, that someone would literally need to explain it to them, and, even then, they would not understand it.

What am I thinking?
Raidan’s senses retook control of his thoughts.
There’s no way I could know that, even if it were somehow true. Besides, what would it matter? It still wouldn’t be possible to scare them away. Not a force of ships that powerful and that many; hell, it’s probably the largest military force ever assembled in the history of the galaxy.