Ep.#6 - "Head of the Dragon" (The Frontiers Saga) (48 page)

“Excellent.”

“Jump plotted and locked, sir,” Mister Riley reported.

“Whenever you’re ready, Mister Riley,” Nathan advised.

“Jumping in three……two……one……jumping.”

The jump flash washed across the bridge.

“Jump complete,” Mister Riley reported.

“Target is one kilometer dead ahead.”

“Bring us to bear on the cruiser, Mister Chiles,” Nathan ordered.

“Aye, sir,” the helmsman answered as he adjusted their course slightly.

“Fire when ready, Mister Randeen,” Nathan announced.

“Almost there,” Mister Randeen mumbled. “A little more to port, Mister Chiles.”

“Ships are separating!” Mister Navashee reported.

“Firing one!”

Nathan paused, waiting for the torpedo to streak by on the forward view screen as it launched from the leading port side edge of the Aurora’s main drive section. “Translate down! Stand by, two click jump!” Nathan ordered.

“Torpedo impact in ten seconds!” Mister Randeen reported.

“Translating down,” Mister Chiles reported as he fired the topside thrusters to push the Aurora downward in relation to the targets in front of him.

“Five seconds to impact!” Mister Randeen updated from the tactical station.

“Translation complete!” Mister Chiles reported from the helm.

“Jumping!” Mister Riley announced from the navigator’s chair.

The blue-white jump flash swept across the bridge again.

“Jump complete!”

“Two seconds, one……impact.”

“Rear camera to main view screen!” Nathan ordered. The main view screen quickly switched to the rear most camera that sat atop the stern of the Aurora. A brilliant flash of light filled the screen, already beginning to fade as the image shifted. “Magnify!” The camera zoomed in quickly and smoothly until they could see the two ships located just over one kilometer behind them. The secondary explosions in the cruiser had split it into several large sections, one of which slammed into the frigate only two hundred meters off the cruiser’s starboard side. The massive piece of debris drilled into the frigate’s hull, penetrating deep and setting off additional secondary explosions within the frigate. Moments later, the frigate broke apart, the force of the internal explosions proving too much for her structure to withstand.

Cheers erupted from the bridge. It was not the first ship they had destroyed this day, but it had been the most rewarding, having spent only a single torpedo on the attack. The odds of catching a pair of ships in such a compromising position were astronomical. The odds of being able to take advantage of the opportunity and destroy two targets with a single shot were even greater. Abby’s father had been correct, the jump drive was changing everything, and for the first time today, Nathan was beginning to believe that they were going to defeat the empire and liberate the Pentaurus cluster. Even more importantly, they were going to be able to return to Earth long before the Jung attacked.

Nathan looked at the mission clock. “Mister Navashee, how long until targets six and seven receive Answari’s distress call?”

“Five minutes, sir.”

“Then we’d better get moving. Mister Randeen, reload tube one, fixed yield nuke. Mister Chiles, same attack plan; jump us in one kilometer off her stern.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How many jumps to set that up?” Nathan asked.

“Two, sir,” Mister Riley reported. “First jump will put us one light minute out. Second jump puts us in attack position.”

“Very well, start your plots.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“New contact,” Mister Navashee reported.

“It’s the Falcon, sir,” Mister Randeen reported.

“They’re verifying our next target for C2 before they go to recon the Avendahl again.”

“Very well, sync them with our CIC,” Nathan ordered. “I’m sure Commander Taylor will enjoy the data from that last engagement,” he added with pride.

* * *

“The second wave of imperial fighters has been defeated,” Sergeant Davidge reported.

“Losses?” Captain Waddell inquired as he studied the holographic map on the portable table in front of him. The makeshift command post had been thrown together in one of the small maintenance buildings for the athletic field that the Corinari ground forces were using as a staging area.

“I’m afraid they were heavy, sir. We lost eighteen of twenty-five fighters.”

“Survivors?”

“Several of the pilots report seeing chutes, but no one could confirm that of the pilots that ejected had made it safely to the ground.”

“That means we are down to twenty fighters,” Captain Waddell realized.

“Actually, we are down to an effective squadron of ten,” the sergeant corrected. “Two of those that returned are badly damaged and will not be able to go up again. The rest are low on fuel. If we combine the fuel from all the working fighters, as well as the fuel transferred from the heavy cargo shuttles, we have enough to fully refuel and rearm ten fighters. However, there is another wave of thirty imperial fighters due in forty minutes. Our pilots will be outnumbered three to one.”

“Then our pilots will have to fly three times better than those of the empire,” Captain Waddell stated.

“Sir, even Corinari pilots cannot out fly such odds. If the Aurora does not return soon, we will lose the skies to the empire and this attack will be over.”

Captain Waddell looked the sergeant straight in the eyes. “This attack ends when the Ta’Akar surrender or when there are no more Corinari left to fight. Is that understood, Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir.” The sergeant saluted smartly and exited the small building.

Captain Waddell returned to his holo-map, studying it carefully as the continuous stream of data from his men on the front lines caused it to shift every few seconds. The constantly updated display was both a blessing and a curse, providing both a real-time situation report and a constant distraction. The men defending the palace of the Ta’Akar had already laid waste to the first row of buildings in front of the palace’s main entrance in order to deny Corinari rockets a decent line of fire. However, his men had acted quickly, setting up secondary strike points from the tops of building farther out. This had allowed them to knock out several of the heavy guns being used to defend the palace. For the first time since they began their direct attack on the palace, they were at least holding their own.

“Captain,” a man called from behind.

Captain Waddell turned to look at the face of the unfamiliar voice. “I know you,” he stated, sensing a familiarity in the younger man’s face.

“Yes, sir. Durham, sir. Corporal Miles Durham.”

“From Osland? Of course, you lived down the street from us. You played ball on the same team as…”

“Sir, you must come quickly,” the young man interrupted. “Tanner, he is here.”

Captain Waddell’s expression changed, confusion coming over him. “What?” Waddell’s expression changed again, grave concern sweeping over him as he noticed the medical insignia on Corporal Durham’s unit patch.

“Sir, please,” the young man urged.

Tug led the column of sixteen around the corner into a side corridor leading to a maintenance room. He gestured for two of his men to watch the corners as they began to remove their uniform shirts, revealing the reflective body armor underneath. “There are no more security checkpoints. Our masquerade is almost at an end. The first team will attack the main entrance to the command center,” Tug explained as he activated a small holo-map unit he held in his palm. “Here, approach the door as if you are expecting to enter. When they question you, attack.”

“Whoa,” Jessica objected. “How’s that going to work?”

“It will not,” Dumar admitted, “but the attempt will force the personal guards to move Caius to his safe room, over here,” he explained, pointing to the location of the safe room on the map. “From the safe room, he will either wait out the attack or await rescue.”

“How does getting Caius into a safe room help us?” Jessica asked.

“He will not reach his safe room,” Tug assured her. “To get there, he must first pass through the secure throne room. We will be waiting for him.”

“How are you going to get in there?”

Dumar smiled. “I was once the head of internal security for this palace. I will get us in.”

Jessica looked angry. She stepped closer to Tug and Dumar. “When this is over, you both have a lot of explaining to do,” she told them in no uncertain terms.

“You will lead the attack on the command center,” Tug told her.

“I had a feeling you were going to say that. Attacking the command center head-on
is
suicide, you know.”

“And laying in wait to capture the emperor is not?” Tug countered.

“Good point.” Jessica sighed. “What the hell, let’s get this over with,” she said as she donned his armor.

“We must get into position. Do not attack until you receive the signal,” Tug instructed.

“I remember.” Jessica watched as Tug’s team of eight turned to head out. “Hey, Tug,” she called quietly, “good luck.”

Tug smiled. “To you as well, Lieutenant Commander.”

Captain Waddell followed the corporal into the back of one of the heavy cargo shuttles that was being used as a makeshift medical bay. There were four such medical bays in operation, and they were already beginning to overflow with wounded. On his way in, they had passed many times more people, both Takaran civilians and Corinari. Captain Waddell was surprised when he was led to a corner of the bay where several wounded imperial troops lay. “Where did these men come from?”

“As best we can tell, they were off duty, on leave maybe, and in the city during the attack. They were mixed in with the civilians,” the corporal explained. “This way, sir.”

As they made their way forward, the captain noticed that everyone in this section of the bay seemed to be far worse off than the others he had seen earlier. The corporal suddenly stopped and turned to face the captain. “His injuries are grave, sir.” The corporal looked down as the captain stared at his son lying not more than a meter past the corporal.

Captain Waddell tried to speak, but choked on the first word. “Will he survive?”

Corporal Durham hesitated for a moment, not wanting to be the one to break the news that was sure to break his captain’s heart. “No, sir. He will not.”

The captain’s eyes began to well up as he held back his sorrow. “How long?” he asked softly, again choking on the words.

“Minutes, sir,” the corporal responded. “Minutes.”

“I don’t understand; why is nothing being done for him?”

“He has been triaged out, sir. His injuries are too severe. I have given him something for the pain, but only because he is your son. My sergeant will have my…”

The captain put his hand on the corporal’s shoulder, “Thank you, Miles.”

“Yes, sir,” the corporal answered, looking down once more as he turned away to leave the captain with his dying son and return to his duties.

Captain Waddell wiped the tears from his face and knelt down on the ground next to his son. The blanket covering him was saturated with blood, and there was obvious deformity to his son’s legs. Several large bandages were also loosely piled on his abdomen and chest. These, too, were saturated with blood, his son’s blood. Waddell reached down and brushed his son’s hair out of his eyes. His skin was stained with dried blood and dirt. It felt cold to his touch, colder than it should. He had not seen him for over a year, since his forced service had begun. Last they had heard from him, he had been assigned as a gunner’s mate and would be serving on Norwitt. The news had come as a relief, as Norwitt was a relatively safe posting. He could not understand how his son had come to be on Takara, let alone in her capital city.

His son’s eyes began to open at his father’s touch. He coughed, lightly at first, wincing in pain as he did so. The coughing became worse for a moment, then subsided. Despite the medication given to him by Corporal Durham, the pain was obvious on his son’s face. He stared at his father’s face in disbelief for what seemed an eternity before trying to speak. His voice was broken, his throat dry and his words unintelligible.

“Do not speak, Tanner,” his father told him as he fought back the tears. “You must save your strength.”

Tanner coughed again and again, so much so that his father feared the end was upon them. Finally, he settled down. “Do not tell mother,” he whispered in a dry and raspy voice. “She will be angry with me.”

“Yes, best we don’t speak of this to her,” he agreed, if only to ease his son’s mind.

Tanner began to wheeze, small gurgling sounds coming from his chest as he started coughing again. A look of desperation washed over the young man’s face as he realized his pending demise. He looked to his father for help, seeing hopelessness in his father’s eyes. Tanner’s eyes also began to well up. “Father,” he said as he coughed, “I do not wish to die in this uniform. I do not want to die for the empire.” Tanner raised his left hand. It shook as he grabbed his father’s arm. “I wish to die for our people, as a Corinari.”

“Of course, my son,” the captain told him as he removed his battle vest. “Of course.” Captain Waddell removed his combat uniform shirt and laid it over his son, making sure the patch of the Corinari was visible. His son turned his head slightly to gaze upon the gold and red eagle under the Corinairan star. He smiled slightly as his last breath passed his lips, his eyes fixed on the symbol of his people.

Captain Waddell stared at his son’s still face for several seconds, grimacing to control his anguish. Finally, he pulled the uniform shirt up over his son’s face. His head hung down as he tried to maintain his composure. He had men to lead, a battle to fight, a war to win. But right now, it was all he could do not to break down and cry.

“Captain,” the sergeant’s voice called from behind, “I am sorry, sir, but you are needed in the command shack.”

“What is it?” the captain asked, annoyed by the intrusion during his moment of grief.

“We have breached the palace wall,” Sergeant Davidge exclaimed.

Captain Waddell raised his head, picked up his battle vest, and rose to his feet. As he put the battle vest back on, he turned and headed toward the exit, his composure returning in the face of an even greater challenge. As he came down the ramp, he spotted the Corporal “Durham!”