It was a relief when Chief Harris interrupted his zombielike focus on the timer.
“Command, XO.”
“Go ahead, chief.”
“The team from 166 has completed testing the hangar breach, and it’s 100 percent; with your permission, I’d like to return them to their ship. I’m sure Lieutenant Chen will be happy to have them back. I’ve got everyone I need.”
“Make it so, chief. How’s the rest going?”
“Pretty good, sir. The damage to the surveillance drone hangar has been sealed finally, and we are just running the ultrasonics across the plug to make sure there are no flaws, but so far it’s looking good. Say another ten minutes and we should be done. I’ve sent the foamsteel generators up to the blowout from Weapons Power Charlie to get started up there. We’ve started to get the final bracing in place, so I’d say we’re looking good for being jump-ready by 09:30 at the very latest. Should be earlier with a bit of luck.”
“Well, the engineers have got everything right at their end, so earlier would be good, chief.”
“Working on it, sir.”
Thursday, November 19, 2398, UD
DLS-387, Hell Nearspace
Michael’s heart lurched in shock at the news. For the first time that day, the Feds could expect some serious opposition.
The surveillance drones in orbit around Commitment had just reported the departure of twenty-three Hammer ships led by a heavy cruiser positively identified as the Hammer Warship Bravery. It had taken the Hammers an inordinately long time to get a proper response together, but finally they had. And contrary to plan, it looked like 387 would still be in Hammer space when the bastards dropped in-system.
“Damn, damn, damn,” he muttered as he commed Mother to run a formal threat assessment even as Jaruzelska ordered 166 and 387 to turn away from the threat.
Fear mixed with frustration in equal measures whipped his stomach into a mass of churning acid bile. 387 wasn’t that far away from being ready to jump, and now this. Well, there had to come a time when the Hammers finally got their shit together, and maybe he should be grateful that it had taken them this long.
“Not what we wanted, sir,” said Cosmo Reilly. The voice of 387’s chief engineer was thick with concern as he and Michael watched Mother’s threat assessment. Her conclusions were brutally simple. The last Fed ships in Hammer space were very badly exposed, and their destruction was assured if they didn’t jump into the safety of pinchspace soon. The two heavy cruisers Al-Jahiz and Sina were beginning to run short of missiles. Even with the Crossbow and Bombard in support and assuming they had time to get two salvos away, the four ships could put only 1,300 missiles down the throats of the Hammers. That wouldn’t be enough even if they got lucky and timed a rail-gun salvo to hit the Hammers as the missiles closed in.
Not that rail-gun slugs fired across hundreds of thousands of kilometers at a drop datum of extremely doubtful accuracy would make the Hammers sweat. Things were not looking good.
Michael looked across at Reilly. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Cosmo?”
“I’m afraid I am, sir. We can’t hold everyone back just to save our skins.”
Michael nodded, the fear and frustration turning to fatalistic resignation. He’d been through too much to waste energy on things he couldn’t control. “I’ll make the call. You go. Do what you can to speed things up.”
Reilly nodded. He paused for a moment, patted Michael on the shoulder, and left without another word.
Michael took a deep breath as he put the comm through to Chen.
“Bill, I’m not going to fuck around on this. You cannot wait for 387 any longer. Mother tells me that you’ll be ready to jump any moment now. So jump when you’re ready. For God’s sake, don’t wait.”
Chen’s tortured face filled Michael’s neuronics.
“Michael. I can’t do that. 387 is one of my ships now.”
Michael laughed. He hadn’t expected Chen to behave any differently. “Thought you’d say that, so it’s only fair to let you know that my next call is to Admiral Jaruzelska.”
Chen couldn’t quite conceal the faint flush of relief that crossed his face. “Okay, Michael. Make the call. Your right as a captain in command.”
“Go with God, Bill.”
Michael put 166 out of his mind as he put the comm through to Jaruzelska. He didn’t waste words as her face, gray-tinged with fatigue and stress, came up on his neuronics.
“Yes, Helfort.”
“Admiral, sir. As you know, our battle damage is pretty severe, so we’re going to be around for a while. Sir, I cannot allow the rest of the task group to be put at risk just on our account, so please, jump. We’ll take care of ourselves. The Hammer is bound to drop short, and I’ve got full driver mass bunkers, so catching 387 will be hard for them.”
Jaruzelska’s eyebrows shot up as Michael spoke. As a rule, junior lieutenants were not in the habit of telling vice admirals what they would or would not allow. But on this occasion, she’d make an exception. Helfort was absolutely right. Sacrificing four capital ships for the sake of one badly battle-damaged light scout and its already depleted crew was not a sensible option. But in her heart she knew full well that abandoning 387 to the Hammer would be the right decision only if 387 survived. If it was destroyed, she would be known forever as the commander who left a defenseless ship to the Hammer. She took a very deep breath. So be it. The ability to make the hard decisions was why she was a vice admiral.
“I agree, Helfort. I’ll comm orders to 166 to jump as soon as she’s ready. I’ll hold my ships back until we can get full missile and rail-gun salvos away, and then we’ll jump. You’ll be on your own then.”
“Sir, I understand. It’s the only sensible option. Let’s do it.”
Jaruzelska had to smile. Helfort might only be a junior lieutenant, but he had balls like titanium coconuts. Even better, he thought straight under pressure. She hoped to God he survived.
“Thank you, Helfort,” she said wryly. “I do appreciate your endorsement.”
Michael flushed as he realized that he’d been speaking to a full vice admiral rather more firmly than protocol allowed. “Oh fu-Uh, sorry sir. Shit. I, er-”
Jaruzelska cut him off with a smile. Her voice softened. “Enough, Michael. Do what you have to do and you’ll get home safely. Go with God.”
“Thank you, sir.”
With the comforting presence of Jaruzelska and her ships gone, Michael had never felt so alone. Judging from the faces of his scratch combat information center crew, the rest of 387’s crew probably felt the same way.
Jaruzelska’s final efforts on his behalf had come to nothing. A coordinated rail-gun salvo from the four heavy ships had duly ripped through the Hammer’s predicted drop point datum. The only small problem was that the Hammer commander, clearly no fool, had neutralized the salvos by dropping short and low and splitting his ships into two groups. The swarm was now just another forgotten entry in the knowledge base of space navigation hazards as it disappeared at 3.6 million kilometers per hour into the void.
The follow-up missiles were no more effective. Three salvos in all, they were too spread out, too small, and too far from the drop point to trouble the Hammer ships much. But worst of all was the fact that for once that day the Hammers seemed to know what they were doing. A good clean drop, warships well positioned, sensors up smartly, and their first salvo away quickly-all spoke of a commander who could be relied on to get things right.