Last Measure of Devotion (TCOTU, Book 5) (This Corner of the Universe) (30 page)

“Sound
the dive bell,” Diane Selvaggio ordered from the captain’s chair in
Ravana
. 
Her ship, indeed her entire dive force, was already at battle stations.  They
would be diving into Seshafi just three seconds late, a feat of spacemanship
that would have impressed even the most experienced navigator.

The
dive bell, its sound both antiquated and charming, chimed in succession three
times throughout the snow and Selvaggio closed her eyes tight against the
anticipated onrush of nausea.  The chime, an ocean of difference from a proper,
two-toned, Brevic dive alarm was yet another reminder of her first command’s
origins. 
If someone had told me five years ago that my first ship would be from
the Commonwealth…

She
grunted against the blast of disorientation and clutched at the arms of her
command seat.  When it was possible, the New Milani native forced open her eyes
and searched desperately on
Ravana’s
tactical plot.  Her three-ship flotilla
had appeared from the Ugrit tunnel point a mere 12
ls
from the Saden
vanguard.  Years of navigation experience reduced her next course-plotting
effort to a few seconds.  “Starboard turn four degrees, positive plane two degrees
and make our speed point one-four-C.  Go, go, go!”

Her
bridge crew reacted instantly as Selvaggio repeated her orders over the
formation’s communications frequency.  Behind her own ship, tactical plots on
Rindr
and
Anakim
were updating with steering points relayed from their leader. 
Her commands would position the dive force for a battle pass on the opposite
side of the Saden vanguard from
Hawk
and the rest of Seshafi’s van.

“Thirty-one
seconds to contact,” Selvaggio warned with a fierce smile. 
Ravana’s
computer was projecting a nearly perfect run down the leading ships of the
enemy vanguard.  She counted out ten seconds silently and ordered, “Free to
maneuver to best facing, helm.  WEPS, fire at will.”  To her surprise, she barely
recognized her own voice.  The stress embedded into her words added decades to
her normal tone and reminded her of her mother.  Sweat dripped down her sides,
plastering her duty uniform blouse to her skin, inside her shocksuit.

Selvaggio’s
first combat as observed from a captain’s chair would be longer than most.  During
the planning sessions, Admiral Heskan had been adamant that her small squadron’s
first pass against the Saden vanguard be a decisive one even if it meant
lingering in GP laser range against larger ships for longer than usual.  The
risk associated with the extended engagement window against superior ships was
mitigated not only by the factor of surprise they would achieve but also by
firing at the virtually unprotected flank of
Triumph
.  The Saden third-rate,
like her sister ships, was unconventionally armed and protected.  Each of the
monster ships could orient an impressive amount of weaponry and shields toward
their “battle face,” but the line ships were extremely vulnerable along the opposite
beam.  Given the scriptures of corporate warfare, the unusual design was the
natural evolutionary response to combat that had strict rules and favored
straightforward conduct.

Selvaggio
grinned openly as light from
Triumph
reached
Ravana
and she
witnessed the line ship’s thrusters begin firing in a desperate attempt to
abort its run.  She knew the effort was in vain.  A bright flash erupted on the
side screen showing the optical of the twisting line ship.  For an instant, a hazy,
light-green circle flickered into existence before winking out. 
That would
be our particle beams piercing their AIPS,
Selvaggio thought gleefully.  She
resisted the urge to compliment her weapons officer. 
Captain Heskan never
distracted us during combat.  I need to let them do their jobs
.  Showers of
debris burst forth randomly along the length of
Triumph’s
exposed beam
as
Ravana’s
forward GP lasers lashed the vessel.  To the young captain’s
disappointment, the line ship’s frantic maneuvering avoided the short-ranged carronades
of the Hollaran snows, but the long line of destruction their GP gunners had
painted down its side bespoke of heavy damage inflicted within the vessel.  Additionally,
Triumph
had masked several of her own heavy lasers with her evasive
tactics that, otherwise, would have poured death into
Hawk
.

Ravana
shuddered as she absorbed a
parting gift from the third-rate’s aft-most Maclex.  Ten seconds after that,
the ship rocked harder as an engineering compartment decompressed from a second
salvo.  The Hollaran snow streaked out of
Triumph’s
weapons range but
right past the next Saden vessel in the section.  As she flashed by each vessel
in turn, spewing particle cannon and laser fire, hits from her adversaries
began to accrue on the snow.

Thirty-two seconds
after first contact, Selvaggio’s dive force rocketed away from the battered
Saden formation.  Fifteen light-seconds off their starboard bows, Lieutenant
Covington and his van sailed with them on a virtually parallel course.  In
their wake, three Saden vessels burned brightly in the dark of space.

*  *  *

Third
in line inside the Seshafian main, Commander Joseph Tannault’s jaw dropped as
he gaped at the destruction wrought by the twin passes of Covington’s van and the
surprise dive force. 
More
Seshafian deception,
he thought with
revulsion.  Making matters worse, his own bridge officers were cheering the unexpected
appearance of the Colossus-class snows from the tunnel point.  His stomach
churned at the reversal of fortune.

“Ninety
seconds to contact,” Lieutenant Merriweather announced intently.  “We’re right
on course and locked tight onto Superb.”

Captain
Augilar,
reflected Tannault,
now there’s an honorable corporate captain
.  The
cheap tricks by his own fleet admiral served only to confirm his decision, made
weeks earlier.  A sense of satisfaction washed over him. 
Turnabout is fair
play.
  “Navigator, rotate ninety degrees to starboard.  Increase speed to
point one-seven-C.”

Falcon’s
navigator twisted in her seat to
face him with a look of utter disbelief.  “Excuse me, Captain?  What?”

Tannault
felt his mouth turn upward as he answered, “You heard my order correctly,
Alisha.  Break the line.”  He moved his hand to his panel and tapped in
commands.  “I’m striking our lights.  We are, by law, out of this fight.”  The
smug smile spreading over his lips faltered.  He signaled surrender a second
time on his console but, as before, the order failed to process.

“We
ain’t striking jack, you traitor.”

Surprised
by the loud rebuke, Tannault turned to face his gruff Operations chief.  “How
dare—”

“Shut
yer trap,” Brown boomed over the commander.  “By special order of Admiral
Heskan, command of this ship has now passed to Lieutenant Merriweather an’
you’re under arrest, you son of a bitch.”  The side screen on the bridge,
previously holding the optical of the Saden brig
Superb,
flickered.  Short
and simple orders issued from Admiral Heskan and countersigned by Archduke
Covington replaced the image of the lethal brig.  The size of the lettering and
brevity of the wording gave no room for misinterpretation.  Seconds later, an
armed Seshafian marine detail rushed through the bridge entrance.  The youthful
marines’ eyes were wide open and uncertain.

“L-T,
you’ve got a ship to fight,” Brown advised Merriweather.  He shot a
blood-chilling look at the nearest marine guard and instructed, “Escort
Commander Tannault to his quarters an’ keep him there.”  He gestured at the
side screen.  “There’s yer authority.”

Tannault
rose from his chair indignantly.  “This is
my
ship!”  He spun to face
the marine and pointed ferociously behind him toward Brown’s station.  The ship
captain’s eyes locked onto the uncertain private first class and stared
imperiously at the youth not yet out of his teens.  “I
command
you to—”

Tannault
never saw the large fist that connected powerfully to his right temple.  Stars
exploded in front of his eyes but, curiously, the pain originated from inside
his knees.  Before he could even raise his hands to protect himself, he hit the
alloy deck of the bridge.

“Well,”
Brown stated as he shook out his fist, “maybe I am strikin’ somethin’ after
all.”  He readdressed the marines with a look that dared defiance.  “Drag him
out an’ lock him up in his quarters…
now
.”

The chief watched the
marines spring into compliance before he turned to Merriweather.  “L-T, I’ll remove
the lock-out on the capt’n’s chair… everybody on Falcon’s countin’ on you.  Thirty
seconds ‘til contact.”

*  *  *

Fifteen
light-seconds ahead of
Falcon
and oblivious to the drama unfolding on its
bridge, Commander Vernay issued rapid-fire orders that would deliver her line
ship to the best position and heading as it entered weapons range.  Although
Ajax
was the only line ship in the battle with “old style” armament running down the
length of both beams, she would still outgun the brig she would face with her
massive, twin Maclex heavy laser battery atop her superstructure.

Ahead
of her,
Dioscuri
was making a final adjustment to the main’s overall course
that would place the five ships sailing behind her between four and six
light-seconds from their counterparts during the run.  The pass was a
conservative one that would allow ships more equally matched to close within
the knife-fighting range of light lasers, while permitting the snows near the
end of the section an opportunity to merely skim the decisive range and increase
their odds of survival.

“Starboard
thrusters at maximum!” Vernay growled out angrily.

“Captain,”
Lieutenant Commander Ricot cautioned, “wouldn’t it be better to stay outside of
five light-seconds?  Renown doesn’t have heavy lasers; our opponent wouldn’t
even be able to return fire.”

Vernay
shook her head fiercely.  “Ajax is the hammer, Sam.”  She pointed at the screen
displaying the optical of the target brig cruising toward them.  “That ship
dies on this pass.”

“We’ll
be risking unnecessary damage to Ajax, ma’am.”

“I
don’t care,” Vernay dismissed coldly.  “We’re making every, single pass count. 
The admiral is counting on us to do our jobs and ours is to knock a ship out of
combat on every pass we make.”  She paused for a moment to calculate the final
math of the looming pass.  “Damn,” she cursed.  “Nguyen should’ve brought us in
at a sharper angle.  We won’t be able to use our KDTs against them.”  She clenched
her jaw.

Ricot
exchanged skeptical glances with
Ajax’s
weapons officer.  “Captain, we’d
have to close the range to one light-second!  Can KDTs even be used against
ships?  They’re purposed for missile defense.”

Vernay
snorted.  “I’ve seen kinetic defense turrets sweep hundreds of sloop-sized
vessels from space.  We need to work on adding that potential to our second
pass.”

“Hundreds?”
Ricot echoed incredulously.  “What battle was that?”

“Breaching
ten light-seconds,” the weapons officer announced.

The
news brought Vernay to the edge of her seat.  Her chair arm console showed that
the twin barrels of the Maclex turret were firmly locked onto the Saden brig. 
She had again succumbed to her desire to replicate the WEPS console onto her
own but had, so far, resisted providing assistance. 
I’m the captain,
she
told herself. 
I have to trust my officers.  Garrett never stepped on my
toes.
  Instead of stewing over having her hands tied, she tracked both her ship’s
course and its target.  “WEPS, after we’re done with Renown, you should be able
to fire a heavy laser burst at the ship behind it—,” she paused to squint at
the tactical plot then added, “—Superb.  I want center mass hits on that brig
as well.”  She shot Ricot a ferocious look and announced, “We’re adding to
Ajax’s legend today, people.”

The
weapons officer nodded acknowledgment but remained focused on his panel. 
Vernay rode the next fifty-eight seconds in silence.  During that period, she
divided her attention between her replicated weapons panel and the ship’s
system status display.  The opposing vessels roared past each other at a
combined speed of .26
c.
  After the pass was completed, Vernay quickly
tallied the results.  By her count,
Ajax
scored six of her eight heavy
laser shots and an astounding thirty-three of forty light laser bursts.

In return,
Ajax
had endured her own thrashing during the run. 
Renown
, a
Greywolf-class brig armed with two quad GP laser turrets and a side-mounted
dual turret, had foolishly not attempted to avoid such decisive contact and
unleashed her own bombardment against her enemy. 
Ajax’s
shield
generator, in conjunction with her AIPS screen, deflected the first eleven
seconds of directed energy fire but eventually yielded to the hostility pounding
her.  The Seshafian warhorse now looked like a striped tiger, sporting multiple,
savage laser wounds along her side.  Her port drive flickered for six seconds
before spitting out plasma and growing cold.