Then the S-80 drone exploded. It was a shape-charged nuclear drone. The blast, heat and radiation would primarily go forward in a ninety-degree arc at the enemy.
Everyone in the William Tell donned his or her helmet.
“We surprised them,” Osadar said.
Even as she spoke, enemy missiles accelerated at them from one of the supposedly destroyed shuttles.
A painful knot tightened Marten’s stomach. Shuttles and patrol boats lacked the size for big engines. Therefore, they lacked lasers or particle beam weapons. For them, it was missiles, anti-missiles and cannons. It meant you could kill your enemy and from the grave, as it were, your enemy’s pre-launched weapons could still come and destroy you.
“Ready the cannons,” Marten said.
Nadia nodded.
An object brighter than a star appeared outside the window. Marten knew he witnessed one of the missile’s exhaust plumes. Then a second and third “bright star” appeared, rushing toward them and quickly growing bigger.
“The first missile is headed for the decoy,” Nadia said.
Marten clutched his IML. He began shaking his head, as if by his thoughts he could deflect the missile from their boat.
“The second missile is also headed for the decoy,” Nadia said. “Oh no,” she whispered. “The last one is heading here.”
Twenty second later, a bloom of brightness showed the HB missile destroying the decoy. As the flare of it died down, they saw the last “bright star” headed toward them.
The point-defense cannons began to chug from both patrol boats.
Fourteen seconds later, Nadia said, “I think we disabled it.”
She was wrong, or wrong enough that it didn’t matter. A pellet hit the missile. Then the missile exploded. Thankfully, it did not explode with a nuclear detonation. At extreme velocities, shrapnel spread in a small cloud. Although the William Tell was in the lead, none of the enemy shrapnel hit it.
Four pieces, however, pierced the skin of the second patrol boat. One of the pieces cut an ion coil, letting coolant spread in a vapor. The same piece of shrapnel the size of a pinky-fingernail sliced through a heating unit. When the vapor touched the hot surface of the unit, an explosion occurred because of the oxygen seeping in from the living quarters. The explosion caused an overload in the remixing core, and it ignited, obliterating the Jovian craft in an impressive detonation. Forty-two space marines died, most of them cooked in their combat-suits. The others died as debris smashed through their faceplates.
On the William Tell, Marten closed his eyes. His marines’ death numbed a little more of his heart. The war was so unrelenting: modern battle so unbelievably deadly.
“A Centurion Titus is hailing us,” Osadar said.
“We didn’t kill all the shuttles?” Marten asked, his voice betraying his bitterness.
“The jamming has stopped,” Osadar said. “I don’t detect any more missile launches.” She turned around. “The signal is coming from the Mao Zedong.”
“Let’s hear it,” Marten said.
Osadar put in on the boat’s speakers.
Marten opened his helmet’s visor. The deepness and arrogance of the voice told him a Highborn spoke.
“You are weak warriors, striking from the dark,” Centurion Titus said. “You fear to face us man-to-man. Very well, face the ship’s weapons then.”
“The Mao Zedong is moving,” Osadar said. “I think they’re turning the ship to bring a missile-port to bear.”
With a mental effort, Marten pushed aside the death of half his men. He had been with them a long time, but he couldn’t let that affect him now. He needed to think, to outwit a Highborn. The trick with them was to play to their arrogance. They thought of themselves as so superior and premen as cowardly and small.
Marten wanted to grind his teeth in rage. Instead, he forced himself to say, “Tell him we surrender our boat.”
Osadar and Nadia turned around in wonder. Osadar spoke first. “You want to surrender to the Highborn?”
“No,” Marten said. “I want to get close enough so we can board the missile-ship.”
“I do not understand,” Osadar said.
“Let’s hope he doesn’t either.”
“You are twisting your words?”
“These are the Highborn who planned to castrate me,” Marten said. “They stamped a number on my hand and treated me like an animal, a preman. I don’t like twisting my words, but this is war and he just killed half of my marines. Now open channels, and I want a direct video link with him.”
Osadar did as he requested.
In his combat-suit, Marten sat down clumsily on the pilot’s chair. He twisted off his helmet, letting it float in the air beside him, but out of sight of the video link.
In seconds, the wide face of a Highborn appeared on the screen. Centurion Titus had white hair in a buzz cut and he was missing his right eye.
“You are a preman,” Titus said.
“I’m Marten Kluge.”
Titus curled his thin lip. “I’ve heard of you. Prepare to die, preman.”
“I’m ready to surrender my boat to you,” Marten said.
Titus paused. “You are defenseless?”
“No. I have my PD cannons.”
Titus showed his teeth in a grin. “You fear the missile-ship. You are wise, preman. But it will not go well with you. Therefore, I do not understand why you are unwilling to die fighting like a warrior.”
“I have people with me,” Marten said, “my wife among them.”
“Ah,” Titus said. “You are weak with your emotion of love. Yes, I accept your surrender. Turn you craft and begin immediate deceleration.”
“I will comply,” Marten said.
“No,” Titus said. “You will obey.”
Marten knew how to satisfy Highborn egos. So, although it grated upon him, he hung his head. “I will obey,” he said grudgingly.
“You were a fool, preman. You destroyed a few shuttles, but failed to kill many of us. For the few you did kill, your fate will be a hard one. Yes, I will accept the surrender of Marten Kluge.” Titus leered. “I see you’re wearing combat-armor. I hope you decide to fight, preman. It would give me joy and increased rank to kill the insolent Kluge.”
“I’m surrendering my boat to you,” Marten said. “You have won this encounter.”
Even as they spoke, Marten turned the William Tell and began deceleration.
“Enjoy your last minutes of freedom, preman. For the rest of your life will be one of agony.”
Marten forced himself to shudder. Then he switched off the channel. Turning to the others in the compartment, he said, “We’re surrendering our boat, but we’re not finished fighting.”
Group-Leader Xenophon grinned.
“I’m never going to surrender to anyone,” Marten told the marines. “As we begin to dock, we will exit the William Tell. Let them have the patrol boat. It’s us they’re going to have to deal with.”
The ion engine burned its hottest, slowing the William Tell as it approached the Mao Zedong. The missile-ship used side-jets, slowly rotating. Just as slowly, one of the undamaged particle-shields began to move.
The thick mass of shielding was attached to gigantic struts that moved in grooves along the outer hull. It allowed the warship’s captain to rotate shields as needed. As the shielding moved, it revealed a row of big PD cannons, many times larger than those on the patrol boat. The shield moved just enough for the cannons to fire. Later, it could move more to allow the boat to enter a hanger. Titus had already instructed them to prepare for boarding. Highborn would come out and make sure this wasn’t a suicide vessel meant to explode once past the shielding.
The ion engine shut down. Slowly the patrol boat drifted toward the big cannons.