Valor At Vauzlee (36 page)

* * *

Admiral Holt relaxed slightly and expelled the breath that he'd inadvertently been holding. Only two torpedoes of the almost three hundred fired at his ships had done serious damage. The Buenos Aires and Thor were hit, but both were still reporting themselves as battle worthy. It was time for their next move. The Raider ships were still bearing down on the seven Space Command warships at 5,000 kilometers per second, their seeming intent being to plow through the defenders and attack the station directly.

"All ships, execute India-Four," Holt said.

Almost as one, the seven warships turned up on end and flew perpendicular to the plane of attack established by the approaching ships. The Buenos Aires, an enormous fissure apparent on its larboard side just aft of its maneuvering engine,
was
just a bit slower than the others, and there was a hole in the Thor's bow large enough to fly a shuttle through.

* * *

"What the
devil
are they doing now?" Admiral Nazeer said as he watched the holographic image of his fleet's closure on the station. "Tac?"

"Sir?"

"Suggestions."

"I— uh, don't know, sir. There's nothing like that in the Station Defense Operations Manual. They seem to be deliberately exposing their keels to our energy weapons."

"It has to be botched maneuver. Let's take advantage of their screw up. All laser gunners open fire. Fill their bellies with holes."

As the Raider ships saturated space with pulses of coherent light, Admiral Nazeer's tac officer suddenly screamed, "Admiral, minefield ahead."

"All ships break off," the Admiral shouted, but it was too late. Traveling at five-thousand kps space normal, the front wave of eighteen ships couldn't stop or turn away in time. They plowed directly through the minefield.

Ten of the lead wave of ships encountered a fusion mine, with eight being almost obliterated as the mines exploded against their bows. The proximity triggers fired their mine just ahead of actual contact with the ship, and the ship's speed insured that the effects enveloped the ship from the bow to the stern. The other two ships, suffering the effects of the blast against either their larboard or starboard hulls, were so badly damaged that they were permanently out of the fight. The second wave was able to avoid the minefield completely.

"Dammit!" Admiral Nazeer screamed at his tac officer. "Where did that minefield come from? Didn't you scan the area before we began our attack run?"

"Yes sir, Admiral," the nervous tac officer said. "Those mines definitely weren't there when we launched our torpedo strike a few minutes ago."

"Then where the hell did they come from?" he screamed.

"They must have been dropped somehow by the Spacc ships, sir."

"Dropped?" Admiral Nazeer's face grew even more angry as he realized that he had been suckered yet again. "Yes, dammit. That had to be the reason for that crazy maneuver and why they exposed their bellies to our fire. They distracted us by offering so easy a target that we never noticed them dropping the mines. Dammit," he bellowed, "I want some Spacc butt." Pressing the com control on his chair, he shouted, "All ships, attack the station. Blast it to space dust and rubble."

Admiral Nazeer leaned back in his chair and watched the action on the bridge's large monitor as his ships, now scattered all around the station, began to launch torpedoes from all operational tubes. There would be no more formations, no more coordinated attack strategies. Each captain knew that once they reached this point, they were on their own, with orders to destroy the station at all costs. They were free to maneuver however they wished to accomplish their mission.

The Spacc ships had taken up positions within a few kilometers of the station. There would be no more maneuvering as they prepared for the final slugfest. They would hold position and do their best to knock down any and all torpedoes from the twenty-six remaining Raider ships, but at almost four to one the numbers were still significantly in the favor of the Raiders. The Raider ships began to circle the station, following unplanned and uncoordinated circular and elliptical paths. They seemed to be everywhere as they fired torpedoes from their bow, broadside, and stern torpedo tubes. The space around the station was alive with surging death. With no preset pattern being followed by the Raider ships, the danger from running into one of their sister ships, or one of their torpedoes, seemed to be as great as the danger from Spacc torpedoes.

Inexorably, the advantages of numerical superiority shifted the tide of battle from the series of sensational kills by the Spaccs to significant strikes by the Raiders. Even with the station's own defenses fully engaged, more and more of the Raider torpedoes began to penetrate the defensive umbrella and strike their targets. The Spacc ships began to take serious hits, each of which reduced their ability to defend themselves and the station. Nazeer had always known that, in the end, the volume of torpedoes he could fire at the station and its defenders would make all the difference.

* * *

Captain Payton sat cursing the fates under his breath. A Raider torpedo had taken out a significant area of his bow in the last barrage, leaving the area open and exposed to space. Airtight emergency doors had immediately sealed off the area, but he had lost all of his bow tubes, and at least a hundred crewmen that were working in the four forward torpedo rooms involved. He'd turned his ship to face the station so his stern tubes pointed out towards the circling Raiders, but the Bellona class battleships only mounted eight tubes back there, half the number of tubes he'd had in his bow.

His energy weapon gunners were doing a good job so far, but several torpedoes had gotten by them and struck the station, two hitting the docking ring and one striking the station itself. He felt incredibly impotent. His ship, while still firing torpedoes as fast as the tubes could be loaded, had to remain in position and take a pounding by Raiders ships free to maneuver at will. On the front viewscreen he saw a circling Raider ship suddenly obliterated by a brilliant flash of light. A torpedo from one of the defenders had scored a killing hit. A brief cheer went up on the bridge a second before Payton was flung violently sideways and everything went dark.

* * *

Gavin sat quietly, watching the battle rage in front of him. Throughout his long and distinguished career he'd never felt so helpless. Even during the years before becoming a ship's captain, when he'd had to sit by and watch his commanding officer make all the decisions, he hadn't felt so ineffectual. But he knew his duty, and he would do it.

The images of Captain Payton of the Thor, and Captain Simpson of the destroyer Bonn, had disappeared from the monitor by his right hand. He could only assume that meant that their ships had been severely damaged, or perhaps totally destroyed. He couldn't take the time now to check. His people needed to concentrate on the tasks at hand.

So far the Prometheus had been lucky. Only three torpedoes had gotten through the invisible barrier established by the laser weapons protecting the ship, and they had all been fission type warheads rather than fusion weapons. But tritanium armor had still been ripped away or melted, and great rents had been opened in the hull. The worst was just aft amidship, but no major systems had been compromised there. The maneuvering engines were still intact, even though they weren't needed at present. Oddly enough, the worst internal damage was to the torpedo room lost during the Battle of Vauzlee. The hull had been covered over in that area because parts weren't available to repair the damaged tubes, so the area had been empty of personnel.

Perhaps it was a blessing that the crew of the Prometheus was so nominal at present. Other than torpedo room personnel, and engineers needed to handle emergencies and report damage, most everyone on board was either in one of the weapons control centers, the AC&C, the bridge, or one of the Secure rooms. All located along the center axis of the ship, these areas were the most heavily fortified and protected.

* * *

Admiral Holt watched the holographic representation of the furious action outside the station with rapt fascination. It reminded him of an old movie he'd once seen that attempted to recreate the craziness of a dogfight in the skies over France during Earth's First World War. That the maneuvering of modern destroyers weighing more than a hundred thousand tons each could be evocative of the choreography employed by the paper-covered kites they had flown back then was amazing. But such were the advantages of total weightlessness and massive maneuvering engines.

The Thor and Bonn were out of the fight, and had several minutes ago been officially listed as destroyed. The hulls were still there, but the damage was incredible. With just five of his ships still fighting, twenty-four Raider ships still circled the station. All bore the unmistakable signs of severe battle damage, but they were still maneuvering, and still firing waves of torpedoes at the station and protection fleet. The Space Command ships also bore the conspicuous signs of battle involvement. The great battleships were only still operational thanks to the incredible armor they carried. The Chiron had so far withstood the devastating effects of four nuclear-tipped torpedoes that would have destroyed most lesser ships, and the Prometheus had suffered three. The question now was how many more hits could these behemoths withstand and still remain in the fight. For that matter, how much longer could the severely damaged Calgary, Geneva, and Buenos Aires remain battle ready? With each injury, less torpedoes and laser fire came from the struck ships. Without checking, the admiral knew that personnel were being called away from Secure rooms and weapons consoles to fight fires and seal atmosphere leaks, while other personnel carried bleeding, wounded, and irradiated comrades to emergency triage centers where their injuries could be evaluated and basic medical treatment begun. The medical personnel aboard those ships were no doubt being taxed to their limits.

* * *

"The CIC GI channel reports that the Raider fleet has attacked the station in two massive assault waves, Captain," CPO Hannigan aboard the Song, said. "Most of the lead ships were destroyed by mines, but the others have broken formation and are now attacking independently. The fighting is fierce. The station has already suffered great damage."

Jenetta slumped slightly in her seat before remembering that she must appear unperturbed in front of the crew. She immediately re-assumed the apathetic posture that she always strove to project when on the bridge. She knew that independent action on the part of the Raider ships indicated that the battle had entered the final stages. She began to fear that the Song would arrive too late of be of any help in protecting the base.

"Astrogation, how long before we reach Higgins."

"Sixteen-minutes forty-three seconds, Captain."

Jenetta clenched her jaws and stared at a front view-screen devoid of pertinent information.

"The CIC is calling, Captain. They want to know how far we are from the station."

"Astrogation?" Jenetta said.

"Approximately ninety-six billion kilometers, Captain," the astrogator said.

"Relay that, Chief," Jenetta said.

"Aye, Captain."

Several more minutes passed as Jenetta stared intently at the front viewscreen, as if searching for any sign of the station, but knowing all the time that it was far too distant to see yet.

"Captain, there's something strange here," CPO Hannigan, said.

"What is it, Chief?" Jenetta asked.

"I'm picking up com signals coming from an area where there shouldn't be any."

"How far away, Chief?"

"I've taken several reading over the past ten minutes to plot the position. The computer estimates they're coming from a point some fourteen billion kilometers from Higgins."

"Is the traffic heavy?"

"Extremely! That's why it caught my attention."

"Could it be a relay satellite?" Jenetta asked.

"Doubtful, Captain. The transmissions appear to be originating from that location."

"Tactical, send a plot to my right-hand monitor, and send the coordinates to astrogation. Astrogator, how much additional time will we expend if we divert to that location on our way to Higgins?"

Jenetta stared at the small screen while the calculations were performed.

"Four-minutes, fifty-two seconds, Captain; if we don't stop there," the astrogator said.

"Four minutes, fifty-two seconds," Jenetta whispered to herself as she stared at the plot image on her monitor. Not very much time in the normal scheme of things, but right now she knew that it could measured in lives lost.

"Captain, message from Captain Gavin," CPO Hannigan said, "He says to tell you that—
the Indians have them surrounded?
"

A hint of a smile crossed her face and then was gone. "Acknowledged. Tell him the cavalry is on the way."

In the westerns that her brother Richie so enjoyed as they were growing up, the cavalry almost always managed to arrive in the nick of time. She hoped that they would be in time to help the besieged defenders at Higgins.

Jenetta knew that losing five minutes at Higgins could be crucial. Their forces were being pounded, and the firepower of the Song was needed desperately if they were to have even a remote chance of prevailing. The battle at Vauzlee had lasted less than thirty minutes from the time the first torpedoes had been launched, and less than seventeen minutes following the arrival of the Prometheus. This battle had already been raging for nineteen. If she diverted, and was wrong about the transmissions, her career in Space Command would be over. Not only that, many people at the station might die in that interval and she could be court-martialed for her action.