The White Fleet (Blood on the Stars Book 7) Page 35

  The way is the way…

  He could see on the display that the Confederation battleships had already opened fire, at least the ones that still had operational primary batteries. That was about half of them, he noted as his eyes moved across the screen. He’d seen those weapons in action before, witnessed their deadly effectiveness. But, they were fragile, the immense systems of energy transmission that powered them highly subject to breakdown. The new Confederation ships were tougher than the old ones, and significant progress had been made in toughening up the systems, but some of the fragility still remained.

  The Confederation fire was beginning to have an effect, but the enemy ships were so maneuverable, they reduced the hit rate far below normal. Cilian had seen those batteries slicing into Red Alliance ships during the civil war, and he’d watched as the weapons utterly obliterated Palatia’s vaunted orbital defenses. But the targeting against the Hegemony vessels was falling short, a third, and perhaps less, of the hit rates he’d seen against the Union fleet at the Bottleneck.

  Still, when those particle accelerator beams hit, even the advanced and high-tech Hegemony vessels took damage…and those ships had already been savaged by Jake Stockton’s bombing attacks. Globus knew the squadrons, including the ones from his own ships, were the only thing giving the fleet a chance. They’d done their part, and now it was up to the battleships like Fortiter to finish the job.

  He watched the display as the distance to the lead enemy ships dropped steadily, his hands closing slowly into fists as the numbers slipped below his batteries’ maximum range.

  He turned toward the tactical station, staring across the bridge for a few seconds. Then, he said, simply, “All ships…open fire.”

  * * *

  “I want everybody landed in fifteen minutes…I don’t care what it takes or what the bay crews have to do.” Stockton was nearly shouting, more a reflection of the adrenalin flowing through him than any real anger. “And tell Chief Evans—and the other crew chiefs in the fleet—they’re not only going to turn these ships around in record time, they’re going to convert the interceptors to bombing kits.”

  “We’re doing the best we can, Jake…but the evasive maneuvers are interfering with landing operations. It’s going to be more than fifteen minutes, I can tell you that much. You’d better plan on getting partial forces back out, because you’re never going to get all your birds back aboard in time.”

  Stockton felt his face heat up, a flush of anger. The voice on his comm was Stara’s, and his rage wasn’t targeted at her, just at the hard lesson in reality she was giving him. But, it was still a wave of fury, and he couldn’t hold it back. “You tell those idiots in the bays that my ships are coming in, and we’re coming in fast. And, every damned battleship in this fleet better be ready for that.”

  His tone was raw, angry…and he immediately regretted unleashing it on her. But he could see the raging fight the fleet was in, and he knew the battle was a desperate one. His gut told him, even with Barron’s leadership, and whatever tricks or tactical wizardry the admiral might try, they were going to lose…unless he could get another fighter strike out.

  He shook his head. That need he felt…he realized it didn’t change reality. The fleet’s battleships were executing wild nav programs to evade the fire from the Hegemony ships, and especially from the devastating railguns. That was good tactics, and the only way the fleet had a chance to survive the enemy’s incoming fire…but it played havoc with landing fighters. His pilots had to approach motherships that were changing their velocities and vectors every few seconds, and at times, in intervals of even less than a second. The only way to land was to connect with the ship’s main nav control, and to sync up with the evasion programs…but that was a damned difficult thing for a fighter pilot to do. Stockton knew he’d lose people trying to get his birds back into their bays, but there was no choice. His fighters were the only advantage the fleet had.

  “Alright, listen up…” He was on the command channel, speaking to his squadron commanders and above. “…we’re going to have to land while our motherships are bouncing around like crazy, trying to avoid that incoming fire. That means one hell of a tricky landing. Wing commanders, line up your squadrons, one after the other. I want the most experienced ones landing first. That way, we get them back out the fastest, and…” He hesitated, just for an instant. “…that way, were bringing in the pilots most likely to land, and not risking leaving our best squadrons stuck out here if somebody loses it on landing and trashes a bay.” Which will almost certainly happen. “Let’s go…get it done.”

  Stockton didn’t particularly like his cold-blooded approach, but he knew what he had to do, and there was no sense thinking about it any further. “Ships already equipped as bombers first…we’re going to be able to launch those without escorts, and I want maximum turnaround.” He really wanted to send his entire strike force back in one combined attack, but he knew that just wasn’t possible. Admiral Barron, the fleet, needed whatever attack power he could get out there…as quickly as possible. Besides, waiting would only mean more bays knocked out of action and fighters destroyed as their mother ships took damage in the fight.

  “Dauntless wing,” he said after he flipped the comm back to the channel for the flagship’s group, “we’re going in one squadron at a time. Blues first…then Scarlet Eagles, Reds, Yellows, and then Greens.” He’d violated his own rule about bomber-fitted squadrons landing first. The Blues were the best he had, and he wanted them back out first. “I want everybody sharp as a razor here. Dauntless is jerking all over the place with evasive maneuvers, and you need to link your AIs with the main navcom and match those shifts.” A short pause. “I’m going in first, and the rest of you follow.”

  Stockton had intended to stay where he was, but the landing was so dangerous, he decided to go first…to lead the way. Besides, he’d flown around without a weapon during the first strike…and he was determined to draw some blood with the second.

  He angled his throttle, his other hand extending forward to his control panel, flipping switches to link his own system with Dauntless’s navcom. A small blue light flicked on, confirming the link. He could feel the fighter shifting on its own, as his onboard AI took over, matching the moves Dauntless’s main system transmitted.

  Stockton always hated to allow a computer to fly his ship, and now was no different, but he knew there was no choice. Only the AI could read and execute the exact vectors and thrust strengths and angles coming in from Dauntless’s navcom. The problem was the delay caused by transmission and execution of the maneuver, which put the fighter and the landing platform slightly out of sync. In the end, a pilot’s ‘feel,’ his intuition, played a role in making the combat landing work…and Stockton was the best.

  He glided his ship toward Dauntless, feeling the fighter jerk hard as the AI swung it around and blasted thrust in different directions. The fighter was coming in for a landing, and that meant it couldn’t just match the big vessel’s moves. It had to maintain its approach vector, line up with the opening to the landing bay.

  Dauntless shook hard again, as yet another enemy beam slammed into its side. Stockton was close enough now for visual contact, and he could see the gash in the ship’s white metal exterior, and the explosions blasting up from inside. The pilot had a career of experience in assessing the severity of hits, and he could see that last one had been bad. Not critical, perhaps, but it had knocked out some systems, almost certainly.

  And killed some crew. Comrades of his. Friends.

  He gripped the throttle as his ship moved toward the battleship, ready to adjust the AI’s course. Dauntless was gyrating now, spinning around and firing thrusters, even as she lurched back to bring her guns to bear on the enemy. The dance was a complex one, almost impossible for a human mind to follow, but it was one the ship’s AI executed well…as Stockton’s scanners confirmed by displaying two more enemy beams, both of them missing Dauntless by a few hundred meters.

 
He could see the bay opening coming up…on his screen and also through the cockpit. He was approaching slowly, at least relative to Dauntless’s course and velocity, and his ship seemed to crawl forward, closer to the bay doors, even as they shifted, and his own ship blasted its engines to restore alignment.

  Dauntless’s evasive maneuvers were heavy, more so than any he’d seen before. He understood…the enemy’s targeted was just too good, and Admiral Barron was doing everything possible to protect his ships. But it made landing fighters that much harder.

  Stockton had known he’d lose pilots in the combat landing operation, but he could feel that number rising now. He’d ordered all his people to come in at minimal velocity. He didn’t want some pilot losing it and smashing into a bay at high speed. That would just be a gift to the enemy. But, even at a crawl, a fighter missing the opening and hitting the hull was going to be a real problem, especially for the pilot of that ship.

  Stockton’s hand tightened around the controls, and he shifted his arm slightly, keeping his course aligned with the bay opening. He could feel the sweat running down his back, and for all his veteran’s coolness under fire, his heart was pounding hard enough that he could feel it in his chest.

  Dauntless jerked hard to port, and the opening shifted away, coming back half into his field of view a second later as the AI reacted to the battleship’s evasive maneuver. He moved his arm again, slightly, a minor adjustment…and his ship zipped through the opening and came down on the landing pad. He was a little off to the side, as opposed to his usual ‘right on target,’ but it was close enough.

  He reached down, pulled the release that opened his cockpit, even as he unhooked his harnesses. He jumped up, climbing out onto the fighter’s stubby wing, even before the flight crew had gotten the portable ladder in place.

  He scrambled down as soon as they set it against his ship, and even as he climbed down to the deck, his eyes darted all around, finally settling on who he was looking for.

  “Chief,” he yelled, jumping down the last few rungs of the ladder and jogging across the deck toward the large, perennially grouchy man who ruled Dauntless’s flight decks like a dictator. Evans had a reputation for scaring even officers who outranked him, but Stockton was like a man possessed. He knew to what extent the battle rested on him, and on his squadrons, but he wasn’t about to take shit from anyone, not even the legendary Chief Evans.

  “I want these fighters coming in refit and ready to go…and Chief, I mean instantly. Do you understand me?” Evans was technically in Stara’s chain of command and not his own. Pilots on the flight deck were mostly expected to stand around and wait for their birds to be cleared for takeoff. But Stockton didn’t have time for that shit…not now.

  Evans stood still for an instant, even as several members of Dauntless’s flight crew gathered around, watching, even cowering a bit before the crackling rage of their terrifying boss. They’d seen Evans explode at far less, and even Stockton’s high rank seemed unlikely to quiet the storm that was coming.

  But, Evans just nodded, and said, “Yes, sir.”

  And, with that, the legend of Jake “Raptor” Stockton grew yet again.

  * * *

  “The cure, sir…it was a success. I’ve treated the last of the infected parties, and the virus should be completely eradicated in even the sickest of them within two to three days.” Dauntless shook from another hit, even as Doc Weldon’s words came over the comm. Almost immediately, the control center lights flickered as the flagship’s quad primary battery returned the fire. The new Dauntless packed not only double the number of main guns her predecessor had carried, but the whole system was a damned sight more durable, too, with multiple backups for the energy transmission system that had been knocked out so frequently on the first ship to carry the name.

  “That’s wonderful news, Stu. I can’t tell you what a fantastic job you’ve done, or how grateful I am.” Barron had been focused entirely on the battle when Weldon’s comm had come in. He’d almost refused the call, told the comm officer to instruct the doctor to stand by until the battle was over. Now his attention was almost entirely on his gifted chief surgeon and on the incredible news he’d just delivered.

  “Thank you, sir.” Weldon’s voice was somber, hesitant.

  “Cheer up Doc…you licked it. You should be very proud of yourself.” Barron was concerned about the battle, very concerned. But, Weldon sounded somehow…down…and it was almost automatic for him to support his people, especially when they’d accomplished the near impossible, as the doctor had. Barron didn’t know what was bothering Weldon…perhaps the people who died before he completed the serum?

  “Yes, sir…but, well…there’s something else.” A long pause. “It’s Atara.”

  Barron felt his blood run cold. The last he’d heard, Atara hadn’t even shown any signs of the disease. Had she become sick? Not responded to the serum? He could feel his stomach tightening…even more than it had been already. “What is it?”

  “Her blood, sir. She has an immunity, and I used blood samples from her to develop the serum. But…we needed more, Admiral, much more.” Another uncomfortable pause. “She insisted…she ordered me.”

  “What happened?” Barron’s tone was harsher now, demanding.

  “We took a large amount of blood, sir, almost all of it…and we pumped her full of drugs to stimulate production. The drugs were dangerous, especially in the large doses we used. I put her into one of the medpods, so her body could function with so little of her own blood…but, combined, all of it together…well, it was too much for her, Admiral.”

  Barron felt as though he was going to vomit. No, not Atara… “What do you mean, ‘too much?’”

  “She’s in a coma, Admiral…a deep one. I’ve tried all I can think of, every treatment…but she hasn’t responded to anything.” A pause. When he continued, his tone was grim. “I don’t know what else I can do, sir.” He hesitated again, and Barron felt as though he heard the doctor’s next words, almost before they were spoken.

  “She’s dying, Admiral.”

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Troyus City

  Planet Megara, Olyus III

  Year 315 AC

  “Here is the information I promised, Senator. I think you will find it very…interesting.” Desiree Marieles extended her hand, dropping the small data crystal into Farrell’s pudgy palm. She looked up at the Confederation politician and smiled. “I can think of no one better suited to see that these crimes reach the light of day and that the guilty are punished.”

  Actually, pretty much everything on the crystal was a fabrication. Holsten’s extended absence from Megara had allowed her data people to plant all sorts of things into the mogul’s financial records, evidence of bribes, proof of personal perversions of the worst kinds, illegal use of influence to feed war business to the Holsten interests. She’d designed it all herself, created the perfect image of a man who was a vile criminal in his public and business affairs, and a hideous monster in private.

  She had more to back it all up, a list of sympathetic past ‘victims’ of Holsten’s manipulations and abuses. They were also all phonies, of course, but Marieles had learned long before, that actual truth was of marginal value at best. She had no doubt Holsten could discredit the accusations…his wealth and power gave him the resources and access to the media he would need. But seeing the head of Confederation Intelligence ultimately convicted of crimes wasn’t her goal. Creating chaos, and discrediting Holsten for long enough to prevent him from interfering with her plans…and perhaps keeping him imprisoned, at least for a while, were goals well worth the effort.

  “I thank you again for your patriotism, Desiree. If more of our citizens were as devoted and conscientious as you, the Confederation would surely prosper.” Ferrell moved slightly, bringing himself a bit closer. Marieles felt the urge to recoil, but her discipline kicked in. She’d certainly never hesitated to utilize seduction as one of her tools, but the Confederation Senator re
pulsed her to such an extent, she’d taken that option off the table…at least unless the situation became desperate.

  “Men like Holsten threaten the freedoms we all hold dear, Senator. It is the duty of every citizen to fight such corruption…and I daresay, evil…wherever we find it.” What an imbecile. Her cover was strong, one designed to stand up to considerable scrutiny, but she’d planted triggers to warn her if anyone was poking around too much in her manufactured background…and there hadn’t been a thing, not the slightest indication the Senator, or any of the others she was dealing with, had made even a token effort to check her out. The fools deserve what is coming…

  “I am just gratified I was able to find a public servant who is himself a true patriot.” She paused. “In my business, I’m afraid I see the underside of things far too often. It tends to make one cynical.”

  “I certainly understand that, Desiree…but in this case, you can be assured justice will prevail. Even now, the ship carrying Mr. Holsten is approaching Megara. He will soon be in the Senate’s custody, and he will be compelled to answer not only for his crimes on Dannith, but also on those you have brought to light.”

  Marieles smiled, its warmth and apparent sincerity a testament to her immense skill at tradecraft. Yes, Senator…you will do just that. Marieles didn’t trust Ferrell—she didn’t trust anybody—but the small part of her smile that was genuine was powered by the fact that she possessed a second data crystal, one she’d placed in a very secure location. Its contents were much like those in her Holsten file, with two important differences. The crimes and perversions listed on the second crystal were all true, unlike the lies about Holsten…and they all detailed the clandestine activities of one Senator Emerson Tolbert Ferrell.

  Marieles knew very well that Gary Holsten had his own files on Ferrell…and she didn’t have the slightest doubt that, for all Ferrell’s hatred of the spymaster, he would fold almost instantly when Holsten threatened to destroy him. She had equaled that score, and she knew there was a meeting in the future, a quiet conversation when Ferrell came to her making excuses for dropping the case against Holsten…and she assured him that, if he stopped the investigation or failed to bring the head of Confederation Intelligence up on charges, she would crush him as surely and completely as Holsten would.