Troy Rising 2 - Citadel (47 page)

“Sound brace for collision,” Admiral Kinyon said, calmly. Remotes were showing the chewing Troy was sustaining. The heavy guns of the AVs, which previously had been deployed against the Thermopylae, were hammering Sector East.

The flip side was that East didn't have anything in it. Which meant he also couldn't engage with his own lasers.

“Fire back, sir?” Captain Sharp asked.

“Why waste the missiles?” Kinyon said. “This is going to be . . . interesting.”

Each of the Assault Vectors massed four billion tons. They were traveling in an initially tight formation. As they recognized their peril, they, in more or less unison, spread out like the petals of a flower.

However, to miss the Troy they had to have a turning ability exceeding nine gravities of acceleration. They barely had nine gravities of acceleration forward much less in lateral.

The Mira Destroyer, Neutron Star and Singularity, in near simultaneity, impacted nose first into the Troy at an angle of thirty, thirty-three and thirty-six degrees, respectively at three wide points of Zone East.

The combined squadron had a mass of twelve billion tons and was going more or less three kilometers per second relative to the Troy, which was, slowly, passing across their nose. The Troy had a mass of two point two trillion tons.

Think of a large pick-up truck being hitting a very small deer. It was about the same ratio. Just a lot faster.

The deceleration constant of their impact was approximately three thousand gravities. High compensator Glatun, and now Terran, warships could handle up to a five hundred gravities of delta v. No ship known could handle three thousand.

“Where'd they go?” Admiral Kinyon said. “Dammit, we need some eyes on Zone East!”

“Troy, Thermopylae,” Commodore Clemons said. The commander of the Thermopylae was shaking his head on the video link. “The gate's more or less closed to non-military traffic for the foreseeable future. Cleaning those up is going to take a while. Pumping video.”

“Screen six,” the CIC control officer said.

The view showed the gate clearly. And the Troy just as clearly.

“Okay,” Kinyon said. “But where'd they go?”

“Sorry, Admiral,” Commodore Clemons said. “Zooming in . . . See the itsy-bitsy bits and pieces? And the three great big craters in Zone East?”

Now that the view was zoomed in it was apparent that one hemisphere of Troy appeared to have a constellation of debris. Since the Troy was still under power, it was leaving most of it behind. A trail, however, was being pulled along in the light gravity so it looked as if the Troy was a comet leaving a spreading trail of solids. And some volatiles.

“Was there a thump?” Kinyon asked. “Shouldn't there at least have been a thump?”

“I . . . think so . . .” Captain Sharp said. “I sort of noticed one. But it was drowned out by the Orion.”

“Good Troy,” Admiral Kinyon said, patting the tactical console. “Good girl . . .”

“It has been one hour, Madame President,” Admiral Kinyon said. “Based on standard Rangora doctrine, if there were more AVs they should have come through the gate by now.”

“Son of a bitch . . .” the Marine Commandant muttered. “Sorry, Madame President.”

“I was thinking much the same thing, General,” the President said, shaking her head. “I think it might just be time to repatriate some prisoners. If for no other reason than to fully acquaint the Rangora with what they face.”

“Going to have a bunch to repatriate, Ma'am,” Kinyon said. “We're getting a lot of distress beacons. From the first group, anyway. No survivors from the second squadron.”

“Admiral, convey my appreciation, and the appreciation of all our people who for once haven't had to survive bombardment, to your crew and the crew of the Thermopylae,” the President said. “How is your damage?”

“We're working hard on it,” Kinyon said. “Most of it is stuck blast doors. The fire from the last assault mostly hit our unfinished side. We'll have about eighty percent combat ability in two hours. I'd like to mention that Apollo crews are doing much of the work. Mr. Tyler offered them triple time and they're pitching right in.”

“Two hours . . .” the President said, nodding. “Missile capacity?”

“Climbing,” the Admiral said. “We used about thirty percent of our onboard capacity which is just . . . a lot of missiles, Ma'am. But we've got ten fabbers running at max speed. Last I checked we were up to about seventy-two percent of capacity.”

“And no damage to laser systems,” the POTUS said.

“Not to the emitters,” Kinyon said, furrowing his brow at the detailed questions. “We're still clearing some of the tubes and we won't have most of the collimeters installed any time soon. But we've still got about fifty percent capacity in output points.”

“So your combat ability is not significantly degraded,” the President said.

“No, Ma'am,” the admiral replied. “We're ready to hold the gate.”

“Admiral,” the President said, looking at Space Com. “Thermopylae?”

“They took some heavy damage in one sector,” the admiral said. “But they're at about fifty percent of their ability before the battle. They've got full SAPL. About shot out on missiles. They've only got one fabber and they weren't full up.”

“Admiral Kinyon,” the President said, rubbing her forehead. “Again, I congratulate you and your crew. Keep working on your damage but . . . Do you have an evacuation plan for non-essential personnel and how fast can you put it into operation?”

“Yes, Ma'am,” Admiral Kinyon said. “And as fast as I call for it. Full evacuation of all civilian personnel will take . . .”

“Just . . . non-essential,” the President said. “I understand you have some pregnant women aboard? Accountants, pay administrators. That sort of thing.”

“If we evacuate them to the Therm . . .” the admiral said, frowning. “About an hour.”

“Start your evacuation,” the President said. “I will be back with you shortly.”

“Paul Allen, report to welding control room four. Paul Allen, report to welding control room four.”

“Jinji,” Butch said, pinging a response. “I gotta go. There's an evacuation but I don't know if we're included. I'll have more news in a minute I hope.”

“Yes, Mister Allen,” the Coptic said. “Go with God.”

The Copts had been quartered in the new civilian wing during the battle. Butch had gone over there to make sure they were okay with being in a defense station during a murthering great assault. The Copts had mostly been quietly praying. When he'd asked Jinji, carefully, if they were praying for their lives the Copt had replied “No. Victory.”

Despite their crappy suits and a bit too much reliance on God making sure things were right, Butch was starting to like his Copts.

Welding four was way across the civilian complex and it took Butch a good five minutes to make it. When he got there, the only person there was Purcell.

“Butch,” the manager said as the welder came through the hatch. “You missed the meeting.”

“Sorry, Mister Purcell,” Butch said. “I was with the Coptics. What's up?”

“All personnel not involved in construction are being off-loaded,” Purcell said. “For certain personnel, the evacuation is voluntary. The Navy needs help with damage control. Apollo has authorized triple pay which is nice. But there's a catch. We're probably going to be in another battle. If you off-load to the Thermopylae, you'll probably be out of it. That's all I know.”

“Does triple pay cover the Copts?” Butch asked.

“Yes,” Mr. Purcell said.

“I'll pass the word,” Butch said. “But I'm good. I'll stay if it's all the same to you.”

“Go find out what the Copts think,” Purcell said. “But hurry. We're . . . in a bit of a rush.”

“The battle's over,” Dana said, watching the boarding civilians on the interior cameras. The Marines had been turned out to get them situated. They all had to have come up in shuttles but they couldn't seem to figure out what a seat-belt was for. “Why the hell are we evacuating now?”

“Ours not to question why,” Thermal said. “Ours but to follow orders. And . . . we're full. I've got a good seal on the latch.”

“Roger,” Dana said. “Shuttle Control, Thirty-Six.”

“Thirty-Six, Shuttle Control.”

“We are full up,” Dana said. “Undocking now. Request movement vector to Thermopylae.”

“Roger, Thirty-Six,” Shuttle Control commed. “Downloading route now. Undock confirmed. Opening bay doors. Hands off the controls.”

“I hate this part,” Dana said as the shuttle backed out of its bay on its own. They'd been loading by the forward hatch airlock and the bay was already pumped down.

“You thought it was cool the first time,” Hartwell pointed out.

“That was because it was new,” Dana said. “Now that I think about it, I've probably got some no-rank FUN playing computer games. Not a good thought.”

The exit was a bit more energetic than the last launch and Dana quickly scanned the local area for debris.

“Thirty-Six, Shuttle Control. Follow vector to the Thermopylae. Be aware of significant debris field at one-one-six mark two. Incoming shuttle traffic at zero-one-four mark neg one.”

“Shuttle Control, Thirty-Six,” Dana said. “Vector to the Thermopylae, aye. Significant debris field at one-one-six mark two, aye. Incoming shuttle traffic at zero-one-four mark neg one, aye.”

“Have a nice day, Thirty-Six.”

“Butch, BFM.”

“Go,” Butch said. All his team had elected to stay on the Troy. Currently they were drawing their suits and doing checks. This time, Butch was even more careful double-checking. And he'd gotten Apollo to spring for running all the really questionable suits through a rebuild. They should be good this time.

“We're working on missile tube eighty-six. You have to go through maintenance tunnels so there's no room for a sled. Grab a power supply and a set of four eighteen heads. Meet a Navy guy at maintenance door fifty-seven. You're team Fourteen B. Got it?”

“No,” Butch said. “That's too many numbers. Hang on.”

He grabbed a piece of paper and fumbled around until he found a pen.

“Say that again?”

“Thirty-Six, Mutant.”

“Go, Mutant,” Dana said. Truthfully, for a milk run like this there wasn't much for the cox to do but sit at her controls and look alert.

The Therm was pretty much like the Troy except for the big upside-down V on the side. And it was like the old days since they were going in the main hatch. Lots of SAPL work going on but it was all on the surface and well away from their route.

“Taking on Thermopylae Marines after civvie off-load,” CM1 Glass commed. “They're going back to our old loading bays. Offload and then wait for orders.”

“Take on Therm Marines, aye,” Dana said. “Pencil bay, aye. Offload and wait for orders, aye. Anything else?”

“Try not to get fancy?”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Dana said, cutting the connection. “Okay, why are we cross loading Marines? Don't they have shuttles of their own?”

“One Forty Third,” Thermal said. “Not enough to carry all of them in one load, though. And . . . I can only come up with one reason but it's crazy.”

“Which is?” Dana asked.

“It's crazy,” Thermal said. “So I'll take a rain check on talking about it.”

“You Fourteen Bravo?”

Butch had the Copts towing the power supply. It had a grav lift on it so it could be moved. But the ton of metal was sort of unwieldy. He'd had to point out to them that getting caught between a wall and the APS would be a bad thing.

The fact that they were having to pull it using their suits didn't help.

“Fourteen B, yeah,” Butch said. “I'm Butch.”

“Ensign Lafferty,” the Navy guy said. “We're in a hurry. Let's go.”

Door Fifty-Seven was part of a lock system big enough to hold the whole group. The corridor beyond the lock was micrograv, smooth-walled, cold, death pressure and unlit.

“This is fun,” Butch said. “Jinji, be very careful with the APS in here. Don't ding it.”

“We are being very careful Mister Allen.”

“What is this thing?” Butch asked. The walls seemed to be smooth-mined raw NI.

“Maintenance support tunnel,” the Navy guy said. “For the SAPL runs and the missile tubes. Do not get separated or you'll get lost as hell.”

Butch figured that out right away. There were dozens of side tunnels and he couldn't have found his way back if his life depended on it.

“Jinji, status check,” Butch said as they made their way through the maze.

“All suits are good, Mister Allen,” the Egyptian replied. “We thank you for getting them repaired. Some of them were getting quite bad.”

“Never, ever go out in death pressure with a bad suit,” Butch said. “God will not help you if you are breathing vacuum.”

“God is with us when we are born, as we live our life, as we die,” Jinji said. “We prefer it that way. It makes life very simple.”

“I need you guys around to work on the Troy,” Butch said. “And I hate doing paperwork. So, I repeat, never ever go out in death pressure with a bad suit.”

“Yes, Mister Allen.”

Admiral Kinyon had about a thousand irons in the fire. He looked at the missive from earth and knew the first and most important thing to do about it.

“Paris, connect me to Mister Tyler, please.”

“You mean Mister Tyler Vernon?” the AI queried.

“You know who I mean,” Kinyon snapped.

✺ ✺ ✺

“Hello, Admiral,” Tyler said over the video link. “Congratulations on another famous victory.”

“Thank you,” Admiral Kinyon said. “Mister Vernon, I request that you evacuate the Troy. You can transfer to Thermopylae in the Starfire along with Benefactor Gorku.”

“Rather like it here, Admiral,” Tyler said. “We haven't installed the DP quarters on the Therm, yet. It would be lacking in creature comforts.”

“Understood, sir,” Admiral Kinyon said, trying not to sigh. “Still, my request . . .”

“Admiral,” Tyler said, smiling. “Save your breath. I was consulted on your orders. And there are reasons for the Benefactor to remain. You really have other things to do. I've also consulted Apollo personnel on the orders, securely, and all the rest of our personnel will remain and continue, for now, to work on your battle damage. Triple pay does that.”