Shadows of the Gods: Crimson Worlds Refugees II (28 page)

“Yes, Admiral. I’ve confirmed with all commanders twice.”

“Very well.” A short pause. “Get Admiral Hurley on my line.”

“Admiral Hurley, sir,” Cortez responded a few seconds later.

“Greta, are your people ready?”

“Ready, sir.” He couldn’t remember Hurley ever
not
sounding ready.

“One pass, Greta. I need your people to accelerate with every gee they can stand. Get there and finish your attack run. Then clear the enemy formation and form up to link with the fleet on the far side. We’re making one pass, Greta, and then we’re heading straight to the X49 gate. No second attacks, no hanging around and slugging it out. We hit what we can and then bolt.”

“Understood, sir. After we finish our pass, we’ll lock onto the fleet navcom and sync up our velocity.”

Compton nodded to himself at how easily the words rolled from Hurley’s lips. Landing a hundred fighters, syncing velocities at speeds in excess of 0.01c, was nobody’s idea of easy. Not even Greta Hurley’s he knew…though he doubted she’d ever acknowledge that.

She might not admit it, but she’d going to lose people on the landings…on top of the ones she does in combat
.

“Very well, Greta. Good luck to you all.” A short pause. “You may launch when ready.”

“Yes, Admiral Compton. And good luck to you as well, sir.”

Compton leaned back and breathed deeply. It was time.

“As soon as the squadrons are launched, I want the fleet to accelerate at 4g. All capital ships are to prepare to commence missile barrage. We’ve got half-f magazines, so I want them flushed in record time. We’re going to unload them all…then we’re going to execute navplan Delta-one.”

“Yes, sir. Understood.” Cortez relayed the orders through the fleetcom. Then he turned toward Compton. “Delta-one, sir? I’m…I’m not familiar with that one.”

“That’s because I just created it.” Compton punched down on the controls along his chair’s armrest. “Sending it to you right now. I want all ships to lock it in…once we begin there will be no deviations.”

“Ah…yes, sir.” There was confusion in Cortez’ voice, uncertainty. But he turned back toward his workstation without question.

I know, Jack…you don’t understand. Just do it. Maybe I don’t understand either
.

Compton’s hand slipped down to his side, punching at the med AI button for another dose of stimulant. He took in a deep breath as he felt the chemical energy moving through his bloodstream, his mind opening, sharpening. He knew it wouldn’t last long…he was pretty strung out already, and each dose was fading more quickly than the last. But he needed every bit of sharpness he could get. When the fleet’s captains got a look at the navplan, they were going to go crazy. It was wild, fiendishly complex…and it was going to take everything he had to pull it off. But if he could manage it, he’d give the enemy something to think about…and maybe get out of X51 as close to intact as possible.

And if he didn’t swing it, the fleet would be strung out across the system in total disorder.

He punched down with his finger, retoggling the switch and giving himself a double dose. He needed
everything
he could get to pull this off…

*    *    *

“Mariko, I want your whole wing to hit that Leviathan. The guns on that thing can tear apart even a
Yorktown
like
Midway
or
Saratoga
in a couple blasts. You’ve got to get in there first. It’s got to go…whatever it takes.”

Fujin felt her lips forming into a feral smile, the predator inside her awakening. She’d bristled at her defensive duties in the last battle, hated every minute of flying around and hunting down missiles. She couldn’t help but see this as her peoples’ just due, payback for missing the previous fight chasing around enemy warheads. The fact that anti-missile duty was far safer, that her crews would face vastly greater danger going up against the enemy’s battleship seemed an alien concept. She understood, intellectually at least, knew that the Leviathan was more than capable of blowing all fourteen of her ships out of space. But somehow, it just didn’t matter. The fleet was fighting for its life…and she only knew one place to be when that was happening…right on the forefront of the action.

“Yes, Admiral…understood.” A pause…then, “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of it.” It was an unnecessary addition, she knew…cocky. Arrogant. But it forced its way out anyway. She was determined to bury enough plasma torpedoes in that thing to take it out…however close her birds had to get to do it.

“Good luck,” Hurley said, her voice as coldly focused as it always was just before a battle.

Fujin heard the faint click, Hurley cutting the line. The admiral had other wings to command, more duties to address. But she'd just simplified Fujin’s job. It was dangerous, almost suicidal perhaps, but it had gotten much more straightforward.

She leaned back in her chair. It felt odd, vaguely uncomfortable. The fighter was the same—exactly—as the one she’d been forced to ditch, but it just didn’t feel like home. Not yet. She’d flown her old bird since before the fleet was trapped at X2…a lifetime ago, it seemed. She was grateful Hurley had managed to find her a new ship without snatching one from another crew. She’d have taken someone else’s bird to get back into action, but she wouldn’t have felt good about it.

“Okay, Lieutenant,” she said, staring over at Wainwright. She was impressed with the pilot’s performance, and she was making an effort to put aside her resentment at watching him sit in what she still thought of as her chair. “Put together a course toward the Leviathan.” She glanced down at the display. “See if you can make some use of this asteroid belt…there’s a lot of particulate matter over there that might degrade scanner performance. We might be able to get close before they can get good targeting on us.”

“My thought exactly, Commander…,” he said, his tone cold, focused. He leaned over his workstation, his hands moving over the controls for perhaps a minute. Then he looked back up. “I think I’ve got it, Commander. It’s a longer route, about 400,000 kilometers…but it takes us around the heaviest of the enemy interdiction areas. If you think everybody can handle some 8g thrust, we can still make it to the target on time.”

Mariko smiled, still staring down at the display. She’d found the same course he had—though she had to admit he’d done it a bit quicker. It would be uncomfortable…a wild ride that would be hard on the crews. But that wasn’t even a consideration in her mind.

“Do it,” she said, her voice firm with certainty.

*    *    *

Terrance Compton watched the display in stunned silence. His eyes were focused on eleven small icons, symbols representing one of Admiral Hurley’s fighter wings. They’d taken a wildly irregular course, endured brutal high gee maneuvers for extended periods. But now they were moving in on the enemy’s single Leviathan. And they’d gotten close—damned close—before the thing had detected them and opened fire.

The First Imperium battleships were larger than the Alliance
Yorktowns
, killing machines bristling with weapons across almost four kilometers of dark-matter-reinforced hull. They were the most fearsome warships Terrance Compton had ever set eyes on, even imagined…at least until he’d first seen the enemy Colossus’ at X2. He’d been focused on the Leviathan since his forces had moved to engage. He knew perfectly well its massive batteries could tear
Midway
to shreds. But now he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Greta Hurley had send one of her wings against the massive dreadnought…fourteen fighters and seventy crew going up alone against a ship he could only describe as a vision of hell.

He stared down at the screen, poking at the icons, pulling up identification data.

Mariko Fujin’s wing…

He felt a small twist in his gut. Fujin was one of Hurley’s very best, he knew that. But he also knew she and Max Harmon had some kind of budding relationship…though he doubted either of them realized he knew. He wasn’t sure how serious it was, but he hated the idea of his top aide—and friend—losing someone he’d managed to find in the dark emptiness of the fleet’s isolation. It hurt him when any of his people were lost, but no one had struggled harder to help the fleet survive than Max Harmon, and the thought of him losing Fujin so soon tore at him.

He sighed softly. There was nothing he could do about it now. He knew Hurley was fond of Fujin too, that she’d come to look over the young commander, who had so recently been a lieutenant and the pilot of a single fighter, as a mentor of sorts. Compton felt a touch of surprise that Hurley would have picked Fujin for such a dangerous mission, but it faded almost immediately. Greta Hurley, the woman was affable enough…smart, interesting, pleasant to be around. But Admiral Hurley, the fleet’s strike force commander, was stone cold, hard-driving, relentless. She didn’t let affection and friendship interfere with the performance of her duties. Indeed, when her forces were in battle, she was as cool a customer as Compton had ever known. If Mariko Fujin was there it was because Hurley thought the young commander could do the best job. And Compton knew he couldn’t interfere.

His eyes shifted to the side, checking out the bank of monitors to the right. The fleet was getting close to missile range. He didn’t have a full barrage, not even close to one, but he intended to launch every homemade weapon he had in his ships’ magazines. And it was almost time.

He had nothing to give Mariko but his best wishes. She was good, one of the best. No one could take care of her and her people better than she could herself. And he pushed thoughts of Harmon aside too, worries that took every chance to bubble out from the place he’d submerged them. There had still been no sign of
Wolverine
…and he was starting to get very worried. About Harmon, and about the entire expedition. The fleet was moving back toward X48…it was being
driven
back. But when they got there, what would they find? Would there be anything left? Was Max Harmon still alive? Sophie? The expedition? Anyone?

He forced it all out of his mind. There was nothing he could do about it…and he had plenty to deal with right here, to see the fleet through this battle and press on back toward X48. If he managed that…if he got past this enemy force and through the next two systems…then he would know what had happened in X48.

“Commander Cortez, all missile-armed vessels are to commence their barrages in one minute.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

Compton stared out across the flag bridge, his eyes blazing with grim determination. There was no time for pointless worries, no place now for personal emotions. He banished all thoughts save those of war. His fleet was going into battle.

*    *    *

“Stay on target.” Fujin’s voice was cold, hard, not a trace of fear discernible. Her wing had gotten close before it started to take serious fire, the heavy metal asteroids and particulate clouds giving her fourteen fighters a fair amount of cover against the enemy’s scanners. But then they’d emerged into open space, near to the Leviathan, but not close enough for their short-ranged plasma torpedoes, not yet. They still had a gauntlet to run and, even accelerating at 8g, it would take at least ten minutes for her ships to make it to launch range…six hundred seconds when her fighters would be exposed to everything the enemy battleship could throw at them.

The constant acceleration was wearing her down, as she knew it was doing to all her people. But she didn’t dare cut the thrust. Every extra second it took her fighters to reach the attack point could be the one an enemy laser struck its target, and more of her crews died. It was agony enduring the crushing force, but the alternative was worse.

She’d lost three of her ships already, picked off by the Leviathan’s defensive fire in the short time since they’d come clear of the asteroid field. That was bad, and every one of them hurt, but she knew it could have been worse. Much worse. She’d jumped on the mission when Admiral Hurley had ordered it, driven by the predator instincts that made her such a natural combat pilot. But she also knew, in the back of her mind if not the forefront, that a lot of her people would die in the attack.

The Leviathan was a deadly opponent, more powerful by far than any warship ever built by man. But its defense against Fujin’s attack was a ramshackle affair, far less efficient than that a human vessel of similar size and strength would be expected to mount. The First Imperium didn’t use small attack craft and, in the early campaigns of the war, the human fighters had benefited from the inefficiency of the enemy’s interdictive fire. But it didn’t take long for the intelligences that ran the First Imperium’s fleets to develop tactics to redeploy their anti-missile batteries to a fighter defense role. They still weren’t as effective as a purpose-built system would have been, and that was one of the reasons fighters had been such an effective weapon in the war. But they had learned to make the squadrons pay for their successes.

“The fire is thick, Commander.” Wainwright didn’t sound scared, not quite…but the pilot’s cockiness had subsided to a great degree. Fujin doubted he’d ever flown through fire like this.

“All ships, increase evasive maneuvers,” she rasped, struggling against the crushing pressure. “Frequency, 5.0.” Her fighters were still accelerating toward the enemy, their crews struggling to endure 8g of pressure pushing down on them. But they were also conducting evasive maneuvers, blasting out random bursts of thrust in various directions, creating something of a zigzag effect to their advance. It wasn’t enough to seriously upset their course, but it was helpful in shaking off the enemy targeting systems. It didn’t take much thrust to move a five-man fighter out of the hit zone of a laser turret…or shift a bird an extra kilometer or two from a missile’s blast radius.

“All ships confirm, Commander. Evasive maneuvers at 5.0.”

Fujin leaned back in the chair, focusing hard on her breathing. The eight gees were really getting to her. And the random bursts of thrust were shaking things up even more. Mariko Fujin had a cast iron constitution, one she’d long believed impervious to any kind of motion sickness. But now she was struggling to keep the bile from forcing its way up her throat.