0130 hours, June 25th, 2673; the bridge of the Skate

Murphy could only stare at the image as it resolved on the monitor. He ordered the image moved from his screen onto the main screen projected on the bridge’s window. The vessel they had discovered was a long cylinder that resembled the barrel of a gun more than anything else.

In fact, the vessel was one big gun, which fired two-hundred-metre-wide spheres, usually at stationary targets. Typically, it was designed to hit only two targets: space stations and space colonies. The vessel was hyper accurate over a ten-light-minute range, and because they made excellent planet bombardiers, they had been banned by treaty for at least a hundred years.

New Terra Firma had used several of them in the last war with Terrace, which is one of the reasons they lost. Other nations had stopped trading with them after they destroyed several of Terrace’s space colonies. They were on the verge of destroying several planet-bound cities when Terrace had negotiated with the other nations in the area to look the other way when they started firing strategic warheads at the space cannons and key New Terra Firma sites, including the shipyards that had created the monster cannons and their support ships. The economic sanctions against New Terra Firma helped to cripple its war machine, and during the aftermath, Terrace was able to push its borders out enough to make a buffer zone before the final armistice was signed.

The Skate had yet to discover any of the support ships, but everyone on the bridge knew they had to be there. The space cannon—or world destroyer, as most called them—only had enough support equipment to house the crew, power the gun, and move it around. The cannon needed a special class of support vessel called magazine ships to act as the breech of the gun and to load each round into the barrel of the ship.

“Lieutenant Bell, plot us a course toward the shield ship on the closest edge of the fleet that is on a tangent to the sun. Most of the patrol ships should be closest to the sun, so there should not be so many at the side. I want acceleration set to zero-point-five G maximum. We need to get back to Clearwater and report.” Murphy unstrapped himself from his chair and stood up.

“I’ll be checking on the progress of the RSG repairs. Move the crew back to half-and-half watches, and let me know an hour before we get within a quarter of a light second of that shield ship.” The Skate was going to take some time to get to the position that Murphy wanted it.

He needed a chance to think, and to get away from the bridge. He was shocked by the discovery of the world destroyer; he thought the Terrace Navy had destroyed all of them in the war. The introduction of the massive ships and the resulting destruction of several Terrace space colonies had encouraged Murphy to make the decision to join the navy.

A lot of things suddenly made sense to him. The pirate fleet was definitely there as a diversion, and to keep the Clearwater fleet busy, while this fleet was there to take control of the Clearwater system. Clearwater did not have the defensive capabilities to hold off the NTF forces, with the Terrace fleet being here in Sigma Delta Four. The presence of the world destroyer would force the surrender of the planet and station without the need of a single shot being fired. They did not need the magazine ships to feed the long-barreled ship; its presence alone would be enough to force the capitulation of the system.

Murphy thought about it as he settled to the floor of the hallway behind the bridge. The 0.5-G acceleration had started. Murphy’s emotions were in turmoil. He knew what those things were capable of. The spheres they launched were not explosive; they just hit with a lot of force. Other treaties had mandated that hypervelocity shells be explosive so they would not run into civilian targets accidentally. The world destroyers had already broken other treaties, and what was one more? They left cities devastated and allowed troops to land without much opposition. They were also one of the reasons for the creation of the Rake class torpedo boats, and for the ability of the Mark 15 torpedo to carry strategic warheads.

During the war, the fleets of the two sides were evenly matched in both technology and conventional doctrine. New Terra Firma had the larger territory and the larger economy to draw on when they went looking for more resources and territory. They also had the world destroyers. The scientists on Terrace made a breakthrough in torpedo design, and the Mark 15 super torpedo was the result of it.

The Mark 15 torpedo was designed to be huge. It had to carry its computers, databanks, shields, shield-bore laser, sensors, and capital ship warhead. When they were first deployed, the smallest ship that could launch them was a battleship that had been specially modified to house the massive weapons. The first few engagements with the torpedo had resulted in Terrace victories, but NTF doctrine changed, and whenever a battleship or larger vessel looked to be starting a torpedo run, the entire fleet mobbed that vessel with anti-ship missiles.

The Rake class torpedo boat was then designed and commissioned in record time to carry the Mark 15, and Terrace doctrine had changed as well. The Rakes were designed to fill the same requirements as patrol torpedo boats of the early half of the twentieth century. They were to be stealthy to get close enough to their targets so they could then race in at high speeds and deliver their torpedoes. The Rakes were stealthy when carrying only four of the massive weapons. Pincer manoeuvres became the engagement of choice for the Terrace Navy. The fleet worked to pin the NTF forces in place while squadrons of Rakes were sent out to the flanks and to the rear to launch their deadly cargo.

The Rakes were also used to carry strategic warheads for raids on the orbital installations that made the world destroyers and their support ships. The boats could get into a system, go dark, and then make a run past most of the static defenses to get at the vulnerable facilities. The Rakes were also quick to accelerate so they could take suboptimal routes between the stars and still make a difference.

Murphy entered the corridor that led to the RSG and found the red depressurized light above the hatch. He sighed softly to himself, closed the visor on his helmet, and checked to make sure it was a good seal. The walk from the bridge was not long enough for him to organize his thoughts, or to settle his feelings, but he had no excuse to be standing outside the hatchway and brooding about things. He walked to each end of the short corridor and made sure the bulkhead doors were closed and sealed before he hit the depressurise button.

The wait gave him some more time to think as he watched the indicator lights change before he was able to open the hatch to the RSG turret. He turned and made sure the hatch was closed and sealed behind him before he started looking around. The corridor outside was repressurised when he closed the last latch.

There was a quick patch on the dome and the floor of the turret where the small-calibre rail gun shells had ripped through the thin armour. The autoloader itself was in pieces all around the turret, mostly along the back wall, which was acting as the floor in the half-G acceleration that the boat was undergoing. The two gunners and two boat mechanics were working with the pieces, trying to figure out the best way to put them back together with the limited parts they had.

“How does it look?” Murphy asked after he hooked his tether and his suit’s umbilical cord to the wall on the inside of the turret. The umbilical cord would ensure that his suit’s batteries were fully charged, and his atmosphere tank filled.

“Not so good, sir,” Lead Gunner Black said as he looked up to see who asked the question.

“What are the chances of repairing it?”

“I’m not so sure yet. I think we might have to build a new one from scratch from parts we have or can manufacture. Maybe an hour before we know for sure. The assembly of a new autoloader from parts will take a good eight to twelve hours, and that’s with all four of us working on it.”

“When was the last time you slept?”

“A good while, sir.”

“The rest of the crew is on half-and-half watches. You should go get some sleep while you have a chance. Move as much of the autoloader as possible out of here and put it in the engineering work bay. I don’t think you’ll be able to jury-rig a suitable repair without sleep. Get our mechanics working on it in the machine shop, and fix it properly. I want the half watch that stays here to practise manually loading the gun. See if they can bring up the speed to match the autoloader.”

“Aye aye, sir. That sounds like a good idea. Fresh minds and bodies will work out the problem faster than asleep ones.”

* * *

0435 hours CST, June 25th, 2673; the bridge of the Skate

Lieutenant Murphy was able to get back to his quarters to lie down and get some sleep. It may have been an hour, but he was not sure, as what sleep he had was restless. His slumbering mind tried to work out how to pull his boat and crew out of the situation. His dreams were filled with nightmares, with the Skate being destroyed in different ways, or with his crew being captured and killed. The nightmares were always from a detached third-person perspective, as if he was not part of it and had no control over what was going on.

He returned to the bridge and the watch officer’s chair after waking. He watched the bridge from the back and slightly above. The position was slightly detached and above the activity on the bridge, which might have been the source of his dreams. They were still unsettling. Since he could not sleep restfully, he decided to come back to the bridge before he planned to. All the positions were manned. The gunners were in the RSG chamber, the air lock was sealed, and the gunners were strapped to the rear of the compartment. They could take higher acceleration that way and still feed the hungry multibarreled gun as it expended rounds.

The bridge crew looked tired, but alert. The circadian rhythm was ruined for all members, and the stress was starting to eat at their alertness and professionalism. Murphy was worried about that, but if his plan worked, then they would be on their way out of the system soon—that is, if they survived. Those were two very big ifs, and one damaged torpedo boat would have to be very lucky to escape.

“Distance to target?” he asked.

“We’re approaching one light second, sir,” the VSO responded.

“What’s our detection probability?”

“Sir, I’m showing several radars in scanning mode, but they’re behind us and toward the centre of the fleet. Everything is quiet in front of us. Communications are also quiet; I think they are doing their best to keep their emissions quiet.”

“Just the facts, PO,” Murphy said to Petty Officer Watts, his voice level, not harsh. “But thank you, we’re close enough for now.” He turned on the boat-wide intercom.

“All hands, we’re about to make our dash for freedom. Prepare for five-G acceleration. We will be passing under the shield ship. Point defense gunners, do what you can to blind their sensors. RSG, your target is the cabling and support structures. Make sure you take out the shield. Helm, full acceleration.”

Lead Hart pushed the throttles to the limits, and the engines responded instantly. The Skate accelerated, quickly reaching maximum acceleration. She guided the nose of the boat downward so that the top of the boat would pass under the shield ship, ensuring that the RSG had a clean shot at the shield ship.

“Coming up to half a light second from the target,” Lieutenant Ridgard reported.

“Have we been detected yet, Watts?”

“I show no activity from the fleet yet, sir.”

“Good.” He watched the range shrink down. He wanted to be at most half his current range before he attacked. A quarter of a light second did not sound like a lot, but it was still close to 75,000 kilometres. The range fell to 100,000 kilometres before Murphy spoke up.

“Unmask the turrets. Point defense lasers, commence firing. Radar on.”

The point defense lasers started to fire, aiming for the camera pods built on all military ships. The beams of light were probably not enough to penetrate into the domes to attack the cameras directly, but they could still blind them. The exposed antennas were still vulnerable to the lasers, but these were mostly communications antennas.

The active radar let everyone in the NTF fleet know that the torpedo boat was there. The radar revealed what was beyond the shield ship and what the accelerating boat would have to contend with after the shield ship was out of the way. The radar detected a pair of frigates near the edge of the shield. Heavier ships were off to the side, nearer to the sun, but they should not matter for the engagement.

“Fleet shield is down. The shield ship is bringing its shield in to protect itself. At least thirty seconds till it can reconfigure.”

“Too late,” Murphy said as the range shrank to well under a quarter of a light second, less than 60,000 kilometres. “RSG, open fire,” he ordered as the boat moved toward its closest approach to the shield ship.

The seventeen barrels of the RSG elevated and rotated slightly to bring them in line with the shield ship. Instead of fanning out like when the Skate was defending herself or attacking hostile fighters, the barrels were kept close together. Seventeen shells were fired at the same target, the main linkage between the reactors and the shield generators. The fragile shield ships did not have much in the way of armour, and in most places, the vital electrical connectors were exposed to the vacuum of space.

The multiple rail gun shots did drift apart, as the barrels of the gun did not need to be perfectly in line with one another for loading. Over the distance they travelled, only three hit the cables and linkage. Three high-speed slugs were enough to break the vital connection between the generator and reactor. Seven more shots were fired from the RSG, going for other vital components: liquid hydrogen and oxygen tanks and the shield emitter towers. The gunners did not even attempt to go for the most protected components, such as the reactors.

By the time the Skate had fired the eight-shot RSG magazine, the damage to the shield ship had been done. The shield generators were disabled, and the ship was leaking hydrogen. There were not any secondary explosions, but it was enough to allow the Skate to make its bid for freedom.

The Skate kept up its high acceleration, its radar still active as the fleet cloak collapsed again. All the active sensors throughout the fleet went on, but only for a few moments. They settled down again, and only the radar of the frigates that the boat accelerated toward remained active.

There was no reason for the Skate to run its skin cooling while it was accelerating at the maximum amount. There would not be a way for the system to keep up with the heat generated by the engine. It was now a two-way race. The Skate was the first competitor; it needed to get past the outer edge of the fleet and into the dubious safety of the asteroid belt.

The second competitors were the sailors on the frigates and the pilots in the fighters that were moving to block the Skate. The crew of the shield ship was the timekeeper. If the Skate got away before they repaired their ship, then the Skate won. If the NTF forces blocked the Skate for long enough, then the Skate lost.

The frigate started its bid to win by firing a set of light anti-ship missiles for the first time at the torpedo boat. With the radar still active, the missiles were easy to detect. With a solid lock on, the DFC was able to direct the lasers to eliminate the missiles before they got too close.

“Drop the acceleration to one-point-five G,” Murphy ordered as they cleared past the first salvo. Acceleration at five G allowed for a fast increase in speed, and allowed the boat to make a quick getaway from the shield ship, but the human body could not sustain that high force for a long time without assistance. The thermal body stockings that all the personnel wore also acted as G suits to help them with the high acceleration, but even the modern suits had their limits. The crew members like Murphy and Lead Hart could withstand acceleration for longer periods; that would have been useful if the crew were a homogeneous mix of sailors from high-G worlds. The crew members from lower-G origins needed a break, and the lower acceleration allowed them to recover and catch their breaths.

* * *

0515 hours, June 25th, 2673; Alpha-Hotel Flight

The fighters were able to close with the torpedo boat when it dropped its acceleration. The Javelins were lighter than the torpedo boat. Even with smaller engines, the thrust-to-mass ratio was higher. The pilots were trained extensively with high-G acceleration and turning, but most importantly, the design of the fighter only took into account one person in one location. The designers could design the cockpit to mitigate the G forces on the human body as much as possible.

Captain Wilmore had another chance at the Rake. His flight was behind it by just over a light second. The three remaining fighters of his flight were matching the acceleration of the boat; he was not willing to risk another member of his flight on a small chance that they would be able to damage the well-protected boat. Three fighters were not enough to mob the boat and push past its point defenses. He also did not want to waste any of his missiles, since the computers and gunners on the boat seemed to be supernaturally effective against the guided munitions.

His eyes constantly moved over the instruments in his cockpit, checking to make sure they matched what his heads-up display was telling him. The fighters were getting old, and computer problems were starting to appear, causing inconsistences between the different sets of instruments. He had a good radar lock on the boat and a fairly good thermal lock, which he was slowly losing as the boat cooled itself after the long acceleration.

The boat’s angle was taking it farther below the plane of the fleet. The outer picket of frigates was moving down to block, but to Jorge’s eye, they moved more like flying pigs than graceful ships. They also could not move too far out of their position. The fleet did not know if a second patrol or more of the Clearwater fleet was going to show up, and the frigates wanted to keep in position just in case. One little torpedo boat was not worth risking the fleet’s defensive posture.

The admiral had not released many fighters to mob the defenses of the torpedo boat; he still thought it was mostly harmless, without torpedoes. Jorge had a different perspective on the effectiveness of the boat. The RSG on top of the boat had proven that it could be very effective on the shields of the fleet, and on the fighters who got too close. The flight leader had to grant that it would not be effective against armoured targets, and the shield ship had only taken minor damage when all was said and done.

If the torpedo boat escaped and warned the Clearwater fleet about the ambush, there was a good chance that the Clearwater fleet would get away from the trap that was set for them here. They would know about the hidden fleet, and the existence of the expeditionary force would not be a secret anymore.

“Three and four, we aren’t going to be able to do anything just sitting back here. Angle below the boat by forty-five degrees and set acceleration to four G.”

The three Javelin fighters changed their direction and boosted their acceleration. They were working their way along a long curve, trying to keep their distance from the torpedo boat, but moving to where their guns could get a better shot at the soft belly of the boat.

Their manoeuvre did not go unnoticed by the crew on the enemy vessel. As the fighters slipped beneath the boat, it pitched upward to keep its armoured stern mostly in line with the fighters. It moved with them by ten to fifteen degrees of their arch and then suddenly pitched downward and accelerated toward them.

“Break!” Wilmore ordered the two fighters in his flight. The three fighters broke wide as the RSG on the back of the boat spit out a set of glowing projectiles at them. The range meant that the fighters had at least five seconds to clear the area before the seventeen glowing projectiles exploded in the area where they just were. The torpedo boat acted much like a wounded animal, telling the hunters to keep away.

“They’ll only let us get so far before they’ll snap at us,” he said thoughtfully to himself, not realizing he still had the channel open.

“We can’t let them get away, lead!”

“I know that, three!” he said, more irritated with himself than with the lead of his second pair.

He seethed in his irritation as the three fighters fell in behind the Rake again. He thought about it as he watched the torpedo boat icon on his threat display. He made sure his radio was off and then muttered to himself.

“We were able to get it to change course a little, but not much. Maybe we can herd it toward the frigates,” he said, expanding the view on his screen and finding the designator for the frigate closest to the course of the torpedo boat.

* * *

0532 hours, June 25th, 2673; the bridge of the Skate

“Those fighters are moving again, sir,” the VSO reported from her station.

“Helm, start adjusting. When they get past ten degrees from our present course, let me know.” Murphy was tired, and he could not remember just how long he had been on the go. The one-hour nap he had caught earlier was not enough. He should have waited a few hours after discovering the world destroyer before ordering the boat to make a run for it.

The 1.5-G acceleration was tiring, even for a heavy worlder like Murphy. It was even more tiring for Bell, who was born and bred on a station. Both of the lieutenants were making mistakes. In fact, the entire crew was making mistakes, and the situation would continue till one of them did something that proved fatal for the crew.

The crew and officers kept their focus on their fighters and waited to see how far they would go. They did not manoeuvre as much this time as the last time. Instead, they were creeping along. They’re probably trying to slip past us, keeping their moves slow and hoping we won’t see them as they slide toward our belly.

The camera operators and the other sensor operators were focused on the more obvious threat behind them. The officers on the bridge were also focused on the three small craft. Their minds were focused on doing their jobs, in that sort of hyperawareness that would ensure that any move the fighters made would be caught and countered. They were so focused, they lost track of the frigates that guarded the edge of the fleet.

The boat seemed to jump downward, and the power was cut from the bridge. The sound of air escaping filled the bridge, and immediately everyone’s hands went to the visors on their helmets. Like Murphy they had decided to wear the helmets instead of just having them on the bridge chairs ready to be pulled in place. The bridge started to brighten as helmet lights came to life.

Murphy turned on his helmet’s radio. It was only short range, but it was powerful enough to cover the area around the boat.

“This is Lieutenant Murphy. Remain calm, and keep radio chatter to a minimum.” Something had hit them, and hit them hard. The boat was drifting, and there was no power to the bridge.

“Lieutenant Ridgard, something hit us. Start getting damage reports, compartment by compartment on channel two. Engineering, call me on channel three. Any medical emergencies, contact on channel one.” He switched channels to talk to engineering.

“Butler, this is Murphy. What happened?”

“We got hit by something. I’m not sure what, but it was probably a small anti-ship rail gun shell. It passed through engineering. I’m having a look at the damage now, but it does no’ look good.” His pseudo-accent slipped back into the conversation as he grew distracted by looking at the damage.

“What about the backup power? Everything is out on the bridge, even the emergency lights.”

“That’s not good, sir. The shell went right through the reactor, it looks like. One minute…” Murphy heard a lot of swearing and grunting from the other side of the communications link. “The reactor got hit. Looks like a shell went right through the fusion bottle. It looks like it snuffed out the reaction as it was going, and the hydrogen that was being fed in was sucked back out through the hole. We have the fuel lines shut down now. We were lucky it didn’t blow the fusion plant.

“It also looks like some sort of overload went through the electrical. The relays didn’t catch it in time, or the breakers didn’t activate. I hate to say it, sir, but the batteries on the backup lights haven’t been replaced since they were installed. Noncritical components and all that. They were probably dead when we left the Charlie, or the spike fried them. Our main backup batteries are also long past their maintenance life. So they’re probably shot as well. No one cares about these boats enough to follow the maintenance schedule.”

“I know…Well, the NTF fleet hasn’t come by to finish us off yet, so that means they’ll probably want to capture the boat or something. What about our backup generator?”

“It wasn’t designed to be hand started, and it runs off the hydrogen and oxygen supply, sir. I can look at firing it up, but I think we want to wait until we know what our supplies are like. Our suits have battery power for at least twenty-four hours. And we can feed directly off the LOX to recharge our personal oxygen supply. There’s one good thing, sir.”

“What’s that, PO?”

“We’re in space, so the hole I’m looking at in the bottom of the compartment isn’t going to sink us. Looks like we got hit on an angle. There’s a hole about three-quarters of the way up the front wall and another on the bottom corner of the bay. The shell went right through the reactor and out the bottom. I think it was an armour-piercing, anti-ship shell. It went right through us and back out into space before it exploded.”

“That’s good, Petty, look on the bright side of things for us. Murphy out.”

* * *

“Julian control, this is Alpha-Hotel lead. I confirm a hit on the torpedo boat. One shell from your salvo exploded sooner and closer in than the others. The target is no longer manoeuvring or accelerating.”

“Roger, Alpha-Hotel. We are also picking up a distress signal. Automated, we’re decoding it now. Maintain your distance and keep them on your sensors.”

“What? Repeat the last, Julian control.”

“Maintain your distance, do not attack. The boat appears to be dead and drifting.”

“After all they did? They killed one member of my flight, and they killed the Reliant!”

“Remember our mission, Alpha-Hotel. They’ll be out of the fleet protection zone in half an hour. They’re drifting toward the decoy fleet, and they’ll make good bait for any patrol from Clearwater if it shows up. Captain Flechard is recommending to fleet command that we leave them drifting.”

“Roger, Julian control.”

“Don’t be a vulture, Alpha-Hotel. We’ve gotten the first decodes from their beacon. It’s using standard interstellar distress coding. ‘TBC-473, unknown cause of complete system-wide power failure.’ It’s showing a complete loss of primary and secondary power. Data connection to crew life suits are negative. The only thing showing power is the emergency beacon itself.”

“They could still repair the boat,” he complained.

A difference voice came onto the channel. “This is Captain Flechard. Yes, they could repair it, if they were still alive. Their crew life support is showing negative. That could mean a complete failure in their systems, or they’re all dead. I just got word from the fleet. They’re sending over a shuttle and a tug. They’ll rescue the crew if they are still alive, and tug the boat out to where it would provide the most effective lure. They’ll be out in four to six hours.

“If the Rake doesn’t get its reactor back online in the next twenty minutes, they’ll have to do a cold restart. That will take more time, and they’ll need a big jolt of power. If they have no secondary power, then they aren’t going anywhere even if they repair their primary power circuits. Fleet orders are to monitor the situation. We’ll keep them under our guns and cameras until they are out of the protection zone. If they show any signs of activity beyond the necessities of life support, we’ll finish the job. Return to your carrier, Alpha-Hotel Flight.”