If Squadron 9 fired now, the missiles could be launched behind the plasma bursts that were currently screening it from the enemy. The missiles would dash ahead and make the approach through the cooling plasma from Tork’s battle. The attack would arrive from an unusual angle, and the Naxids might not see it at all—or if they did, it might be glimpsed for only a few seconds as the missiles dodged from one plasma cloud to another.
Nearly stammering in his haste, Martinez informed Chandra of this opportunity. The answer was immediate: fire a full fifteen-launcher flight following his trajectory, and then launch another full barrage straight at the enemy to keep their attention occupied.
Missiles leapt from the tubes, and this time Martinez fired Pinnace 3 along with them. The pinnace pilot couldn’t accelerate with the same angry speed as the missiles, but would follow them and perhaps be able to see the enemy from a perspective useful enough to make vital last second corrections.
Another flight of missiles roared in on Squadron 9, and was destroyed by lasers and antiproton beams. Martinez felt anxiety gnaw his nerves with sharp, angry teeth. The enemy missiles were getting so close that it was difficult to launch countermissiles in time—the missiles just took too long getting clear of the ship in order to ignite their antimatter engines. He would have to depend entirely on the point-defense beams.
His head swiveled within the virtual environment as he saw ahead a horrific, violent series of flashes. The Daimong squadron vanished into overlapping blooms of plasma light. Martinez felt his heart lurch against his ribs. Very possibly Tork, his flagship, and his squadron had all been destroyed, annihilated in an instant like so many squadrons at First Magaria.
He wondered how hot the fireballs would be whenIllustrious flew into them, in just a few minutes.
Chandra’s urgent voice sounded in his ears. “All ships prepare to starburst.”
About time,he thought.
“Engines,” he told Mersenne, “cut engines. Pilot, swing to course two-four-five by zero-six-zero. Engines, prepare to accelerate at eight gravities.”
Mersenne triggered the heavy-gravity warning.
“Starburst!” Chandra cried in Martinez’s earphones. “All ships starburst!”
“Engines,” Martinez said, “fire engines.”
The onset of eight gravities was like being kicked in the stomach by a horse. The sound of the engines was the roar of a fire-breathing monster. The cruiser’s spars and hull groaned aloud.
Martinez fought for breath. The virtual world in his head began to dim, and elements in the display flickered and faded out. The cruiser’s unexpected maneuver was making it impossible for the two observation pinnaces to maintain their telemetry.
“All ships fire by salvo.” Chandra’s voice was a hoarse, throaty cry against gravity. Martinez repeated the command.
“Missiles…fired.” Husayn’s voice seemed to have chirped up about an octave—or perhaps, Martinez thought, heavy gravity was affecting his perceptions.
“My Lord!”Pan’s shout showed no strain at all from the gravity.“Missiles!”
Martinez barely saw them coming before half the virtual display flared white, and then went completely dead as every sensor on that side of the ship was burned out.
“Roll ship!” Desperate urgency filled Martinez. Without sensors, the point-defense weapons couldn’t see the enemy missiles coming at them.
The pilot rolled the ship, and the darkness of dead sensors exchanged places with the white of a fireball. The burst had already expanded beyond the ship, filling the vacuum with radio hash, and neither Martinez nor the sensors could see anything beyond. Martinez looked at the radiation indicators. Neutrons, gamma rays, and pions pulsed as missiles detonated nearby. The hull temperature was spiking.
The half of the universe that had gone black slowly turned white as sensors were automatically replaced.
An enormous radiation pulse blacked out half the sensors again. This was no mere missile going off. Something that big had to be the destruction of an entire ship with all its antimatter fuel and ammunition.
“Twelve gravities for two minutes!” Martinez shouted.
The engines thundered. Martinez screamed against the onset of gravity, at the darkness filling his mind. He clamped his jaw muscles and swallowed to force blood to his brain. His breath was harsh in his ears.
Oblivion was a glorious release.
He fought his way to consciousness moments later. Michi’s voice rang in his ears.
“All ships fire by salvo!”
Martinez tried to speak around what seemed to be a felt-covered rubber ball in his mouth.
“Weapons, did you receive that? Fire by salvo.”
Husayn didn’t reply. He was probably still unconscious. Martinez was stumbling through the sequence of oral commands that would give him command of the weapons computer when he heard Husayn’s muzzy voice.
“Never mind, Lord Captain, I’ve got that.” There was a pause. “Missiles away.”
Illustriouswas still inside a plasma fireball, though the fireball was thinning and cooling. Martinez returned his attention to the radiation counter. The pulses were small and therefore distant. Hull temperature was beginning to drop.
Radars and ranging lasers lashed out into the radio murk. The images of a few ships nearby resolved out of the gamma ray haze, other survivors of Cruiser Squadron 9.
Three, Martinez counted, four. Five if you countedIllustrious.
A few minutes earlier they had been nine.
“All ships fire by salvo.” It was Chandra’s voice this time. Presumably she’d just regained consciousness.
Another salvo was fired at the enemy they couldn’t see. Martinez wished he could link his sensors with those of the two observation pinnaces.
The plasma fog was cooling and dispersing rapidly. A ship appeared, vaguely, ahead, proving there had been at least one survivor of Tork’s Daimong squadron. Ahead of the single Daimong ship, Martinez could see the flares of missile explosions. There were many more explosions behind.
And then, within the space of a few seconds, the plasma surrounding the ship dispersed to the point where the ship’s sensors were suddenly able to receive data from one end of the fleet to the other.
Martinez looked at first for the enemy squadron he had been engaging, and saw nothing but the flights of missiles he had just sent at them. He supposed the Naxids were still concealed by cooling plasma bursts.
At least no missiles seemed to be heading in his direction.
Astern, opposing squadrons were still smashing at each other. Ahead, one more Daimong cruiser had materialized, and this one was tentatively identified by the computer as theJudge Urhug, Tork’s flagship. At any rate, it was maintainingUrhug ‘s course.
Farther ahead a battle blazed against the brightness of Magaria’s sun. Martinez saw ships whirling around the action in a series of irregular curves, and his heart gave a shout as he realized that Sula’s squadron was still fighting, still deploying the new tactical system.
She had destroyed the squadron she’d first engaged, apparently, and then decelerated to attack the next enemy squadron from its unengaged flank, the classic doubling maneuver that the rearmost squadrons had failed to accomplish. After destroying the second group of enemy, Sula and the second loyalist squadron were now dropping back to engage a third enemy force.
He could see at least five of Sula’s ships, and their pattern of movement implied that there were more survivors that he couldn’t detect. A song of relief caroled through his heart at the realization that Sula was almost certainly alive.