Federation Reborn 2: Pirate Rage (103 page)

“Captain, the bow of a
Derfflinger
has a capital ship force weapon in it, right?” the JTO asked, suddenly nervous.

“Shit! Helm, get us out of here. Max burn negative Y axis. Dive!” Naomi barked.

---<>))))

“Gotcha,” Shantell said with teeth as she watched the
Newman's
frantic OMS burn. “Helm, stay with her. Guns, fire the main and keep firing until that ship is plasma!” she growled.

“Firing!” the tactical officer said as a missile spread got through their starboard shield to rip into the angled armor once more. More craters pockmarked the surface of the ship.

The sudden buckling of the shield and damage to the ship made her weapon fire go off course. However, it wasn't quite enough to stop it from hitting
Maine
totally.
Maine
took a hit from the incredibly powerful force beam and her shields almost immediately failed.

But that was the only shot
Nevada
got off with her main gun. Too many plasma lines had been already damaged between her power plants and the gun, too many of her force emitters in the gun had been scavenged for parts to keep her shields running.

The second attempt at a shot sent a surge of plasma to the gun, but the plasma conduits ruptured. Plasma, free of the gravitational and magnetic constraints, melted the surrounding area, tearing into the bow like molten lava.

“The main gun is down!” the tactical officer said, switching the main viewer to allow them to see a surviving external camera feed. They could see the bow glowing and coming apart. “Ma'am, we can't take much more of this,” he said as the ship bucked from additional impacts. He quickly flipped the main viewer back to the tactical view but brought up a damage control report on a small window.

“We go down fighting. Helm, down their throats!” Shantell snarled, fingers clutching at the arm rests of her chair. “Ramming speed!”

---<>))))

Justice
noted the course change and maneuvered closer to fire with her own graser turrets. The surviving turrets on the
Derfflinger
returned fire, raking her back in passing. Her port shields went down as some of the force beams cut a hole through them. Some of the graser fire got through the hole before the frantic ship could roll a freshly charged shield quadrant against the incoming fire and dance out of the way.

Maine
and
Justice
were taking the enemy ship down, but they were getting chewed up in the process. Neither ship seemed to care. Only the mission mattered. As their final consort
Taurek Ne Dor
came into extreme missile range, she too started to fire into the enemy ship. Bracketed by enemy ships too powerful to destroy the
Derfflinger's
damage mounted. Eventually some of the weapon fire got through to something vital.

Or something let go in the hastily made repairs. It didn't matter. One moment
Nevada
was thundering her defiance back at the other ships and the next moment her weapons were dead and her hull started to come apart.

What was left of
Nevada
attempted to ram
Maine
but failed as
Maine
maneuvered out of the dying ship's course. A piece of her hull did manage to hit the ship's slowly recharging port shield, and four thousand tons of mass overloaded some of her already overstressed force emitters. The shields buckled as they chewed the chunk of hull debris up. Some of it got through to ricochet off the hull while the rest was expelled out into space once more. Force emitters ruptured as they overloaded. Their explosions sent rippling chain reactions through the plasma conduits, rupturing them along the way. They also twisted as the structure holding them in place allowed them to tear free. That buckled the frame and hull like bubbling paint before the emitters lost power and spun down.

Those that ruptured came apart spectacularly as the spinning parts came apart and tore into the equipment and hull around them. Fortunately, most of the parts then kept going off, to drift aimlessly into the void.

---<>))))

Captain Post saw
Nevada
go down. He closed his eyes once in pain. “Good bye, my friend,” he murmured before he opened them once more. An air of hope was in the bridge, the staff seemed to cling to it. They must think he had something, but he didn't he thought. He realized he'd let that show because the hope immediately turned to ash.

Wishful thinking, he thought.

---<>))))

“And now they are down to one,” Admiral White said coldly as he read the report of
Nevada's
death. She'd taken a hefty chunk out of
Maine
and
Justice
, but they would survive.

“Yes, sir.”

“Status on
Osborne
and
Bainbridge
?”

“Both are underway again, sir.
Osborne
took some heavy damage to her port flank. She's making one quarter speed to the jump point.”

“Good. Order all ships to concentrate on the last remaining ship. Feed them our probable location and keep them up-to-date. I want her found and brought down now,” the admiral ordered.

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Sir, the CAGs are requesting we rotate to the reserve fighters and stand down their forces so they can get some rest. Pilot fatigue is becoming a factor,” Kelly reported.

“Those ships that are outside the new hunting ground are to do so. The rest keep on it. This isn't over,” the admiral growled. “We've got one more dragon to slay.”

He knew it would be wishful thinking to see most of his forces get into any sort of position to attack
Massachusetts
in time. It would be up to
Lady Liberty
and her consorts to find and take her down.

“Sir, jump point activity. It looks …,” the CIC rating broke off the report. The admiral frowned and looked up in concern. “Yes, sir, it looks like the fleet train has arrived.”

“Understood,” the admiral replied with a nod. He turned to Kyle. “Order
Osborne
to fall back on them to begin repairs. All damaged ships are to report their status to the flag and to the fleet train. I want them pulling parts and getting ready to make good on repairs the moment the ships are in shuttle distance,” he ordered.

“Aye aye, sir.”

“Sir, we have a contact bearing five degrees off the port bow, low, it looks like twenty degrees low. She's well off course from the jump point,” Kelly warned.

“A decoy?” Garfield asked.

“Quite possible. Launch a fighter division to run it down. They might be trying to get around us. Or just running for deep space with the idea of out-waiting us,” the admiral said.

“Like we're going to leave without killing them first,” Garfield growled.

“Definitely not,” the admiral agreed with a tight nod.

“New contact, ten degrees by four by nine low off our port bow as well, sir. Course is turning inward. Now maneuvering …”

“Gotcha,” Vargess growled over the link to the flag bridge.

“Not yet, but soon enough,” the Neochimp answered.

“Third contact! Port side again, twelve degrees by four by twenty-nine,” the CIC rating said.

“He's trying to split us up. To get us to run down each of them in turn. Two are decoys,” the admiral mused. “But which?”

“Not sure, sir. We've got fighters going for the first contact. I recommend we send fighters from the other battle cruisers to do the same for the other contacts and spread our remaining fighter strength and drones in a net,” Garfield intoned.

“Too wide a net and they'll slip through,” Aleck warned.

“It is a chance we'll have to take I suppose,” the admiral said after a moment. He nodded. “Get it done.”

“Aye aye, sir.”

“He's trying to split us up. Trying to get us to take him on one-on-one. I'm not going to give a sucker an even break,” the admiral growled. “This bastard's more than earned what's coming to him.”

“Here here, sir,” Kelly said, pumping a fist.

“Now go find him,” the admiral said. She nodded and returned her attention to her station.

---<>))))

“They are trying to pin us down, sir,” the tactical officer said. “I don't think the decoy gambit is going to work.”

The three decoys were indeed drawing a response but not one he'd hoped for.
Massachusetts
was going to go down; there was no way to get out of the enemy's recon globe. Not without drawing all eyes on them. The last battle was about to begin he thought.

A small part of him wanted it to be over. He was tired, weary of the chase. He still clung to life, but he'd lost all hope long ago.

“Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide,” he murmured, turning tired eyes to the XO.

“Sun Tzu, sir?” the XO asked as they noted a recon drone lock on and maneuver to get closer to them. “Damn it,” he muttered.

“No. But some of his teachings are fitting here I suppose. The one about 'On death ground, fight' comes to mind,” Captain Post said, settling himself mind and body. “So be it. Let's finish this. We have a date in hell to keep, and I'm not one for being late or keeping a lady waiting,” he said.

Chapter
62

Commander Dutch Lefou turned hating eyes up to the sky. He was now glad he wasn't up there, that he was on the ground. But he was certain there wouldn't be many places to hide, not for him.

Three days had passed since the last warship had been destroyed. Three long days of running and hiding as the lynch mobs came out. Order was breaking down, Colonel Bericus was trying to keep a hand on it but his odds were long despite executing any leader that dared to come forward to raise a hand against them.

Dutch himself had given up trying to stay with the colonel. He'd taken a portable radio, rations, as much money, water, and supplies as he could and then headed for the back country. With any luck he might stay one step ahead of the mob.

He didn't count on luck though. Lady Luck had been brutal to him as of late. His hand fumbled to make sure he still had his pistol before he turned back to the heavens.

It was chance he thought, he certainly didn't proscribe to luck that he saw the falling star. His eyes narrowed and one hand reached up to shield them from the dying light of day as he watched the ship go down. It seemed to brake just before impact, a good sign. He decided to head over and see what he could see despite the risk. He turned his horse about and pointed it in the direction of the fallen star.

---<>))))

Dutch noted the fighter in the crater. It was still smoking, and a battered woman was sitting on the edge of the crater looking down at the fighter while holding her helmet in her hands. When his horse whickered, the woman turned in surprise and pulled a pistol, dropping the helmet into the crater. She looked back to it then to him. “Who are you?” she demanded. “I'll need that … animal,” she growled. “Get off it.”

Dutch reined in and studied her for a moment.

“Don't make me shoot you,” Maya growled. As tired as she was she wasn't sure if she'd hit him or the steed. She needed to separate the two to get a clean shot off. “I mean it.”

Dutch studied her some more then nodded once. “Welcome to Nuevo Madrid, Commander,” he said simply.

“Thank you … I think.” She wrinkled her nose. She was tired, sore, battered, bruised, and in dire need of a shower. She wasn't certain how she was alive. She'd blacked out a lot during the ride back. She remembered the heat of reentry, the plasma, jostling, and alarms she'd set had woken her up enough to crash land. "How'd you know I'm a commander?" she asked. Somehow holding a gun on the short guy didn't seem right. Not when he was that friendly. Slowly her weapon wavered then dropped.

“It's on your uniform," he replied with a roguish grin. "We need to get you out of that flight suit and away from here,” Dutch said, tossing her a coat from his saddlebag.

“Who are you?” she asked, catching the dusty brown thing. She held it at arm's length for a moment.

He looked down to the civilian outfit he'd appropriated. “Sorry. I guess I am out of uniform. Dutch Lefou.
Commander
Dutch Lefou.”

Her eyes widened briefly before she nodded. “Yes … sir.” She was dubious about his claim but she would check it out later. The name rang distant bells, but her mind was too tired to come up with anything right off. If he was lying …

Quite frankly she didn't care if he was lying she thought as she shouldered the coat on. She shivered, not from the cold but from the fatigue seeping into her. She put the gun away. “How bad is it?”

“Bad enough,” he grunted, “which is why I'm traveling incognito,” he drawled.

“Oh.
That
bad,” she said tonelessly. She crossed her arms, hugging herself, not sure what to do.

“Come on,” he said, holding a hand out to her. “We've got to get under cover in case they have satellites in orbit. Come with me if you want to live.”

“They
let
me come in. I was ballistic though,” she said, pulling out her emergency survival case. She knew it was stocked; she just never knew she'd ever have the opportunity to use it. Now the mass she'd thought was stupid to carry around might just keep her alive. Operative word there, might, she thought as she climbed onto the horse.

He looked up to the sky, pursing his lips. “They might send a shuttle. I'm not sure,” he said. “All the more reason to get out of here,” he said.

“She was a good ship. She kept me safe,” she said, looking back to what was left of her fighter.

“Yeah well, hardware comes and goes. It's the people that matter in the end, Commander,” Dutch replied.

“If you say so,” Maya said doubtfully, wrapping an arm around his waist instinctively as the horse moved. She needed to hang on. Her tired body wasn't of much help though so she leaned into his back. “Don't get any bright ideas,” she muttered darkly.

“Me? Wouldn't dream of it,” he snorted in reply as he clucked for the horse to move faster.

---<>))))

They were going to need better tools to take the enemy ships out, Amadeus mused, surveying the damage. It wasn't as bad as he'd feared, just bad enough. Naomi had been damn lucky. They'd all assumed the main guns of the
Derrflingers
had been taken off line long ago. Obviously that assumption had been wrong, and her ship had paid for it.

Short of having large capital ships, the only way he could see to handle the threat was with an antimatter powered capital missile. Antimatter warheads would be nice, but he'd rather see grav missiles. They'd rip the enemy ship's shields to shreds, possibly even tear their hulls apart in the process.

Gravity missiles had come about right along with the torpedo concept. But these created a micro singularity, a pin-point black hole that was powerful enough to rip through any shield. If it got close enough to a mass, it would suck it in and keep sucking until that mass was gone. They were terror weapons against ships and planets.

The Federation had banned them before the Xeno war he knew. John had taken them as the basis for the Nova bomb on
Lemnos
during the desperate time trying to fend the Xenos off.

The problem was the capital missile was a monster. Not just being in range for it but also storing and handling it and firing the damn thing. It ate up magazine space. The warheads had to be disassembled; the antimatter had to be
thoroughly
contained for the safety of the ship.

He shook his head. But they needed something. He didn't believe in fighting fair, of having an equalizer. They needed a qualitative edge to batter the Horathians’ weapons down.

He began typing a missive to the other flag officers outlining his idea and reasoning.

---<>))))

Prowler UFN-001P
exited hyperspace in a short jump outside the normal safe jump zone to scout the B-97a star system. Once they were certain nothing was there, the ship crossed the star system, then jumped to B97B star system, a short jump away.

---<>))))

Renee's division did an incredibly smooth job handling the stress of the fast flight across the sector. They had taken three to four days to cross each star system and had traveled in the sixth octave of Delta while transiting between star systems.

Along the way they had shaken down into an efficient, well-oiled team. Morale was high. The 11.5 light year jump took only three weeks and five days to complete. According to their copy of the shipping schedules, they'd outrun two of the convoys from Pyrax to Protodon.

Once they did the usual IFF challenge and response with the Protodon forces, Renee crossed the star system as usual. They sent their updated logs to the admiralty in Antigua. She received a request for the detailed engineering logs from Admiral Subert. She sent them without comment.

Half way to the B95a3 jump point while scheduling her division's refueling, she got a pleasant surprise, one waiting for her at the jump point.

Renee picked up two divisions of destroyers, a division of light cruisers, another
Sojourner
class courier, a
Prowler
, and a trio of supply ships, all assembling on the B95a3 jump point and waiting for word to go into the star system. The supply ships forced their speed in hyperspace back down to the sixth octave of Gamma. That was fine; she was still far ahead of schedule. They'd even beaten the division of battle cruisers Antigua had sent by over two weeks.

The bumbling tenders would be worth it though, she noted. Two of them were stuffed with parts, equipment, and extra personnel. The third was another munitions courier.

Her excitement was contagious; she knew it. Now that the crews of the ships were seeing the assembled force, they were gearing up mentally for war. They were eager, ready she thought. Poised for battle. It was going to be hard to wait in the empty star system before they could join the party she thought as they sailed through hyperspace.

Well, she had ways and means to keep the boredom at bay she thought with a lurking smile.

---<>))))

It was unfortunate that there was no surviving government on Nuevo Madrid Amadeus mused as he contemplated the disintegrating situation on the planet. Not that he'd expected much, most likely the previous administration had been thoroughly gutted by the invading pirates some time ago. Any survivors had undoubtedly been in the cities hiding when the bombs had gone off.

He hadn't gotten in contact with anyone on the planet despite repeated attempts to do so. All radio calls had been ignored. They'd intercepted radio transmissions, clearly propaganda broadcasts from the surviving Horathians claiming the Federation had set the nukes off. Since he hadn't been
near
the planet, he wasn't sure how that would fly.

But people were cynical. They tended to believe the worst of someone with good intentions. They'd also been under the boot of their oppressors for so long that they had a sort of Stockholm Syndrome going on. Undoubtedly some idiots would insist on being skeptical and believing the garbage despite all the evidence he threw at them. And the more he tried to convince them, the more they would undoubtedly
insist
he'd had something to do with it or something to hide.

Hopefully the problem wouldn't come back and bite him in the ass later. He had his doubts though.

Each propaganda broadcast had been localized, then hit with a surgical KEW strike. They had then taken over those air waves to lay out their own side of what had happened, capping it with a call to unite and throw off the yoke of tyranny and genocide the Horathians had placed on the natives.

That had sparked a few fights that they had seen from orbit, but still no one tried to contact them. And the fights were brutally one sided. The natives just didn't have the firepower or numbers to fight back effectively. By the time they saw a battle going on, it was all but over before the marines could launch to lend a hand.

The capital and second largest city had been destroyed. Both cities had been industrial and population centers, the two largest on the planet. Medicine, education, government … they had all been centered there.

The other nukes had gone off in what they now knew had been concentration camps—death camps. The bastards had been utterly ruthless in disposing of not only their victims but also any evidence of their atrocities.

He was sorely tempted to send down the marine compliments on the warships, but since they didn't have the proper support equipment, he reluctantly held off. Eventually, he decided not to follow through, though marines put in formal request anyway. He called “Major” Bright Comet in and laid it out to the Neotiger straight.

“Sir, we're ready to go. Give the word,” the Marine said, almost imploringly so. Golden eyes searched his own brown ones.

The Neochimp flag officer shook his head. He saw the tiger's ears go back instantly, but he rolled on. “No, we're not going to get tied down here. That isn't the mission. I'm sorry, Major, but the answer is no.”

The tiger nodded once. “Aye aye, sir,” he replied stiffly.

“The good news is, we'll be back,” the admiral said. “Forces are already in motion to move troops to Protodon. From there they'll move into Nuevo Madrid and beyond. You know the plan. This is a bitch, but we've got to stick to the plan.”

“Aye aye, sir,” the cat replied with a flick of his ears.

“I know you don't like it. For the record, I don't either. But I don't want a repeat of Hidoshi's World, or worse, Protodon. We're going to do it, and we're damn well going to do it right the first time,” the Neochimp growled, stabbing his index finger into the table.

“Aye aye, sir,” the cat replied once more.

“Dismissed,” Amadeus said as he turned to look out the vid window. The tiger came to attention, nodded once and then turned smartly before he departed.

There was no one to talk to on the ground to get surrender from, the capital city had been gutted by nuke. He wasn't sure if there were any surviving Horathian chain of command. They'd killed their own people when they'd set the things off; he was fairly certain of that. “Bastards,” he muttered, staring at the crater as the ship passed overhead in low orbit.

He shook his head. No matter, they had a job to do, and he had his people already seeing to it. Half his forces were squatting on the jump point with the fleet train. The repair ship, tenders, and crew compliments had made good on the repairs of the damaged ships the best they could. Fortunately, no ships would have to be scuttled or left behind. Hopefully they could get
Maine
and
Osborne
back up to 80 percent though he had his doubts. If they couldn't get them above 80, he'd have no choice but to send them back to Protodon and then onward to the Antigua yard.