Marphissa and Kontos both swiveled to look at the engineering specialist, but he had already moved to implement the command. “All main propulsion units at zero, Kapitan.”
“Maneuvering thrusters pitch up one seven eight degrees.”
The thrusters fired, pushing Manticore’s bow up and over until the bow pointed back down the opposite way the ship was still traveling. With her heaviest armament now facing the oncoming missiles, Manticore’s hell lances knocked out several more.
“All main propulsion units at maximum,” Bradamont ordered.
The engineering specialist hesitated only a fraction of a second. “All units at maximum.”
Manticore moaned as pressure on her hull built rapidly. Her main propulsion, facing in the direction the ship was still going stern first, was braking her velocity at a rate that caused danger warnings to pop up on displays. Those not seated had to brace themselves as the forces of deceleration leaked past the overloaded inertial dampers.
“How long can she hold it?” Bradamont murmured to Marphissa.
Marphissa studied the hull-stress readings climbing quickly into red zones. “Ten seconds at this rate. No more.”
“That’s enough.”
The missiles, accelerating for all they were worth for the point where Manticore would have been if she had kept accelerating all out, now found themselves having to swing onto much shorter intercepts as Manticore decelerated as quickly as the heavy cruiser could. The turns required of the missiles to do that were extremely tight. Far too tight for the structure of the missiles to withstand in most cases. As the missiles slewed about, many of them broke apart under the stress.
Six survived, but their radical maneuvers had brought them, for a few crucial seconds, to nearly a standstill relative to Manticore.
Hell lances stabbed out again, nailing every surviving missile.
“Reduce thrust on all main propulsion units to two-thirds,” Bradamont ordered. The strain on Manticore eased immediately, the stress warnings hesitating before they began shading back down into safe territory.
“All of the Syndicate ships are changing vectors,” the operations specialist said. “Kapitan, the Syndicate flotilla is heading for the hypernet gate.”
“A smart move,” Marphissa remarked, feeling satisfaction that shaded into disappointment. The heavy cruisers pursuing Manticore had veered off and were moving quickly to join up with the Syndicate battleship once more. “Unfortunately. They’re not staying to fight.”
The Alliance warships were storming toward the Syndicate warships but, according to the projections on her display, would not get within weapons range before the Syndicate flotilla could use the gate to escape. “Why couldn’t Black Jack catch them?” Marphissa muttered to Bradamont.
“The plan was to get rid of the flotilla,” Bradamont murmured back. “With or without actual fighting. We successfully tricked Boyens’s ships into firing onto an Alliance-flagged warship, giving Admiral Geary grounds for shooting back. But if CEO Boyens chooses to avoid contact, Admiral Geary can’t force it. This trick will force the Syndicate Worlds’ flotilla to leave, though.”
Still feeling disgruntled, Marphissa checked the track on the rest of the Midway Flotilla, which was coming on a slightly curving intercept aimed at the heavy cruisers hastening back to the Syndicate battleship. The odds in a heavy cruiser–to–heavy cruiser fight hadn’t gotten any better. “This is Kommodor Marphissa to the Midway Flotilla. Ensure that you remain out of range of the Syndicate weapons unless one of the Syndicate ships tries to defect to us.”
“What are the chances of that?” Bradamont asked as she altered Manticore’s vector again, bringing the ship on track to join up with the rest of the Midway Flotilla.
“They could be good,” Marphissa said. “It depends on how many snakes are aboard each ship, how alert they are, how loyal to the Syndicate the officers and crew are, and a lot of luck. But if the Syndicate flotilla is going to use the hypernet gate, there’s little time left for anyone to try a mutiny.”
“Kommodor—!” the communications specialist began, then stopped abruptly, looking puzzled.
Marphissa had barely begun to look that way when an urgent alert on her display began pulsing near the Syndicate battleship. “A Syndicate light cruiser just blew up.” It took her a moment to realize that she had said those words. “What happened?”
“There has been no firing from the Syndicate flotilla except the missiles launched at us,” the operations specialist confirmed.
“From the signature of the explosion,” the engineering specialist said, “it was a power-core overload. There were no precursors, no warning signs. It just overloaded.”
“How can that happen?” Marphissa demanded. “There are safety interlocks, physical and in the software. There are passwords, there are sequences that must be followed, there are automatic corrective measures. How could a power core overload without any warning?”
“Kommodor,” the communications specialist said, her voice subdued. “I think I know. Just before the light cruiser exploded, we received a message broadcast toward us by directional beam. The message ID tagged it as from CL-347. All I heard was freedom or—and then it cut off.”
Marphissa covered her face with one hand, aware of the silence that had fallen on the bridge. She took a long moment to compose herself, then lowered the hand and looked around. “The snakes have a new trick. Or the Syndicate CEOs. They would rather destroy a ship than let the crew escape.” There was no need to drive the point home. Everyone already hated the snakes and the bosses. This incident would only reinforce their determination to fight to the death rather than surrender.
“The Syndicate flotilla has entered the hypernet gate,” the operations specialist said. “The star system is free of Syndicate military forces.”
Bradamont nodded to acknowledge the report. “The operation is complete.” Her voice sounded subdued as well, the death of the light cruiser having cast a pall over any desire to celebrate. “Kommodor, to whom do I return command of Manticore? You or… ?”
Kapitan Toirac stiffened at the question but stayed silent. Kontos, standing behind him, had holstered his sidearm, but Toirac couldn’t see that.
Perhaps, despite everything that had come before, Marphissa would have hesitated to take the final step. But not after watching that light cruiser be destroyed. Her mood left no room for further tolerance of someone who could not, would not, fulfill his responsibilities.
She tapped an internal comm control. “Kapitan-Leytenant Diaz, come to the bridge.”
It only took a little more than a minute, but seemed far longer, before Diaz appeared. “Yes, Kommodor?”
This was not a moment she had sought. Marphissa had to steel herself as she stood up to face Diaz. “Kapitan Toirac, for failure to carry out your responsibilities you are relieved of command and of all duties. Kapitan-Leytenant Diaz, you are promoted to Kapitan and will assume command of Manticore effective immediately.”
Diaz, his expression aghast, then saddened, glanced toward Toirac. He nodded and saluted. “Yes, Kommodor.”
“Kapitan Toirac, you are confined to quarters,” Marphissa said, fighting to keep her voice from quavering. Why did you force me to do this?
Toirac got up and stomped off the bridge without a salute or other acknowledgment of Marphissa.
“I’ll make sure he gets there without any… difficulties,” Kontos said. “By your leave, Kommodor.”