“I’ve lost engines!” Blue Three’s voice was high and tight, cutting through the static. “Going in — ”
Sure enough, the 302 was arrowing toward the hive’s stern, trailing debris, engines dark.
“Thrusters,” Blue Four called, “hit the thrusters — ”
Mel hit the emergency channel. “Hammond! 302 in trouble, can you beam the pilot —?”
EM crackle drowned her words, drowned any answer, and Blue Three hit hard, erupting in a ball of flame and smoke. Blue Four screamed a curse. Mel flinched, and then she realized what she’d seen.
“Hammond, this is Blue Leader. The hive’s aft shields are down. I repeat, the hive’s aft shields are down.”
“Roger that, Blue Leader,” the Hammond’s comm officer said. “Pull back — ”
The rest of the words were lost in static, but Mel was already switching to her command channel. “Blue Four, fall back. Rejoin Gold Flight.” She spun the 302 as she spoke, clearing the hive. She hoped to hell Hammond had managed to get Rob, but there was no time to think about it. She hit the throttle, steadying onto the fastest closing course for the melee surrounding the Daedalus.
The hive swung to meet the Hammond’s dive, more sluggish than before, but all guns firing.
“Forward shields at forty percent,” Franklin said.
“Stay with her, lieutenant,” Sam said. This was what she’d been hoping for, that the Wraith power plant wouldn’t be able to handle the demand, that they’d compromise either shields or maneuvering. She’d assumed they would give up shields first, but if they wanted to sacrifice maneuverability, that was fine with her. The gap in the shield was easy to spot, a smoking scar on the dark hull, a pit where the emitter had been. The hive pulled up, slower, but still dangerous, and Chandler spun the Hammond, fighting for the shot.
“Missiles,” Sam said, and the weapons officer confirmed. She heard the thump of their release, and in the same moment the shields flared blue under a barrage of shots. Something shorted on the secondary environmental console, and an airman grabbed the nearest fire extinguisher, sprayed foam. For an instant, the air was thick with the smell of burning wire and the stink of the foam, and then the ventilators cleared it. The hive was firing short now, trying to kill the missiles; she saw one explode prematurely, and then another, but the third struck home.
“Forward shields at twenty-five percent,” Franklin reported.
Chandler was already looping away, turning to present their aft shields to the hive. The railguns flashed again as they turned, but the hits were minimal, caught by the hive’s remaining shields.
“The hive’s lost hyperdrive,” Franklin said. He bent closer over his console. “They’re venting atmosphere aft — no, that’s sealed now.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Our rear shields are at fifty percent.”
“Anything from Daedalus?” Sam asked.
“No, ma’am. She’s still not underway.”
And if Steven could do anything to help, he would, Sam thought. Darts flashed past, a 302 in pursuit: Hocken’s wing doing what she could in support, and the Hammond shivered again as a shot struck a failing shield.
“Ventral shield at twenty-five percent,” Franklin said.
Chandler pitched the ship into a tight corkscrew, trying to keep the good shields toward the hive. He was gaining ground, too, putting a little distance between the ships, attenuating the hive’s fire — buying time, Sam thought. The Hammond wouldn’t win a straight slugfest, was already getting close to the point where she’d need to break and run — but the hive was still vulnerable. If they could get a decent shot at the unshielded stern —
“Get us one more good shot, lieutenant,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Chandler said, and Hammond turned on its axis, trying again for the stern shot. The ship shuddered, the ventral shields taking fire as they rolled past, and red lights flashed on Sam’s console, warning of damage in the empty 302 bays. Harmless for now, she thought, and concentrated on the hive as it dodged and turned. Chandler matched it, but the hive’s guns were striking home, the shield warnings flashing.
“Forward shield at ten percent,” Franklin said. “Ventral shields at minimum.”
“One good shot,” Sam said.
The railguns were still firing, groping for the target, and Ellefson launched another missile salvo for good measure. For an instant the hive loomed in the screen, and then Chandler broke away, rolling to catch the return fire on the dorsal shield.
“The hive’s shields are down,” Franklin said. “We’ve lost ventral shields, forward shields holding at eight percent. Rear shields at twenty percent.”
They needed to get clear, Sam thought — well, they needed Daedalus’s support, but that wasn’t happening. But they couldn’t let the hive get close enough to see that Atlantis was undefended. And they couldn’t afford to lose the Hammond, either. The hive was turning, a little faster now that the shields were down, all its power channeled to the engines, and Chandler drove past its nose, turning again to put the dorsal shields between it and them. The railguns were firing, shots solid on the hive’s leading edge, but the hive’s guns were still intact. The Hammond rocked as a blast hit somewhere aft, and an alarm shrilled for an instant before the duty engineer slapped it to silence.
“Hull breach in compartment C14. I’m rerouting shields.”
“Good,” Sam said. She looked at her screen again, looking for another way out. “The cruiser,” she said. “Lieutenant, put the cruiser between us and the hive.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Chandler said, and pitched Hammond into a tight turn. The hive followed, wallowing, and Franklin looked over his shoulder.
Sam forced a smile she didn’t entirely feel. “Let’s play dodge’em.”
Caldwell watched the Hammond drawing the hive ship away from Daedalus, getting a little more maneuvering room every time she broke away in a tight turn the hive ship apparently couldn’t quite follow. It bought him some breathing room, but it also meant he couldn’t bring Daedalus’s weapons to bear on anything but Darts that unwarily ventured under his guns.
“Sub-light engines are still not on line,” Meyers said, as if he had any doubt about why she wasn’t closing the distance.
“I can see that,” Caldwell said. He resisted the urge to tell Meyers to take evasive action, since she was obviously already doing that to the extent that she could. Two Darts streaked across the forward viewscreen, with 302s in pursuit. Marks’s hand twitched on the weapons controls, but he held his fire, his shot fouled by the 302s.
“Dr. Novak, we need those sub-light engines,” Caldwell said, raising his voice to carry over the comm system. “Can you give me anything?”
“I’m trying!” Novak said from down in Engineering. “They’re just not responding. We’re trying to re-route power around damaged components, but I think the ignition system itself may be shot. I’m just not sure I can get this back online without doing major repairs.”
“Do what you can,” Caldwell said. “Right now pretty much all we can do up here is watch.”
“I know,” Novak said unhappily. He suspected she was wishing Hermiod was here muttering to himself in Asgard and coming up with some improbably fast fix for their problems. At the moment, so was he.
He could see Sam maneuvering to keep Hammond behind the derelict cruiser, getting off shots from her railguns whenever she could bring them to bear. The last thing she probably wanted at this point was a full-on exchange of fire, but the hive kept maneuvering for one, trying to get clear of the cruiser’s bulk.