Last of the Immortals (The Jessica Keller Chronicles Book 3) (30 page)

It would be no stain on his honor to win ugly.

On balance, when he killed Keller, he might just be poised to win the eternal war against
Aquitaine
. Certainly, Kasum had nobody else as good, and the
Fribourg Empire
, while she had been battered by Keller’s antics, was still driving to victory.

“Captain,” Emmerich said firmly. “Time to primary range.”

“Imminent, Admiral,” came the reply.

Odd. Normally, they would time the missiles to arrive about the time the primaries began to engage, attempting to overload the human tactical computer with noise and chaos. These missiles were fired later than they should.

Was she slipping? Had he finally pushed her hard enough up against a wall
?

Good
.

A flash of light dazzled the whole room for a moment, before filters cut the gain on the offending monitor. Simultaneously, the room’s lights flickered for a moment and the background hum of ship’s system took on a deeper pitch.

“What was that?” Emmerich asked fiercely.

“Stand by,” the sensor officer replied, his calm tones working to infuriate Emmerich.

“Admiral,” another man said, a quiet tenor from a corner that normally never spoke during battle. “The
Aquitaine
missiles appear to have opened fire on us from a stand–off distance.
Amsel
’s shields are down nearly forty percent. The scenario suggests an upgraded version of the defensive Archerfish missiles you encountered at
Petron
. These are engaging us with Type–3 beams instead of Type–1’s. Two of them exploded instead of firing.”

How had Kermode managed to cram an entire beam package into a missile casing
?

The same way she had put primary shells on the wings of bombers to fire. It was a surprise weapon. A sudden mix in the normal array of tools available to a good commander, forever altering how wars were fought.

Damn her. Damn them both
.

Amsel
’s hull rang. His gunnery deck had just opened fire with their primaries. In the projection, incoming lightning bolts flickered from the
Aquitaine
vessels like viper tongues, tasting for weakness.

And he had just had his shields mauled.

Had she just beat him?

Chapter LVI

Date of the Republic June 16, 394 Above Ballard

It was the most boring battle Tomas Kigali had ever been in. Which was not necessarily a bad thing, considering where he was and what he was doing right now.

CR–264
continued to slither slowly into the hollow spot between the enemy capital ships, apparently unnoticed. Or, at least, ignored.

Good enough
.

“Aki,” he smiled at her. “How are we doing?”

“Nobody’s noticed us yet,” she replied. “You do realize that the escort frigate outguns us, right?”

“Yup. And I expect that she’ll be busy trying to keep bugs out of the big girls’ hair, when
Stralsund
and the destroyers start launching the regular missiles into the mess. We’ll be on top of them before anyone realizes it. Remind engineering that I’m gonna want to burn out the engines when we pull this stunt, okay?”

“Trust me, boss,” she smiled sweetly back. “They know.”

Ξ

Each beam weapon was coded with a different sound, to help the crew identify what some wags called the symphony of war. By now, Jessica could even identity if the primary firing was the one on
Auberon
’s port wing or starboard, just by the different ways the hull rattled as the shell emptied its destructive potential downrange and got ejected to return to stores. The Type–3 beams would start up shortly as well, as
Auberon
and her consorts began to pour as much fire into the two Imperial warships as possible before they could recover from the sudden damage to their front shields.

“
Jouster
, this is the flag,” she said into the comm, letting her voice take on an almost laconic lilt. “We should have his undivided attention. Start your run.”

“Roger that, Commander,”
Jouster
replied. “We’ll give ’em hell.”

Jessica had to smile. After all the troubles with
Jouster
when she had first come aboard, she wouldn’t trade him for any other flight wing commander now. He was just crazy enough, just aggressive enough, just
enough
enough, to execute her crazy plans.

That he had finally learned to be a team player meant she didn’t have to waste any effort trying to compensate for something stupid he might do that wasn’t in the script. Like the old days.

The key was making sure to write crazy things into the script for him to handle, to keep him from getting bored.

Auberon
rattled and the lights on her flag bridge flickered for just a second.

That was something impacting the front shield hard enough to cause a generator somewhere to surge, but it wasn’t accompanied by the jarring crunch of damage leaking through. At this range, even the primaries were more like hammers and less like stilettos.

That would change shortly.

“Squadron, this is the flag,” she continued. “All vessels transfer to local command for melee engagement. Tactical officers, stay alert for when the Red Admiral finally decides to start launching missiles back at us. Feel free to keep him defensive on that score.”

She didn’t know Galina Tasse on
Stralsund
, but Tamara Strnad would take those words as carte blanche to start committing art with every weapon in her palette, as would
Brightoak
and
Rajput
. Screens lit up almost immediately.

Movement on the projection caught her eye.

“
CR–264
, this is Keller,” she said, sounding like a school marm she remembered from her distant youth.

She didn’t ask Kigali if he was nuts.
Gaucho
might be the only person in the squadron crazier. But still…

“Go ahead, Commander,” Kigali replied brightly.

“What are you doing, Kigali?”

She didn’t bother trying to order him to do anything else right now. He was committed to this path. It would be like swallowing a sword. You didn’t turn it sideways trying to get it out.

“Very shortly providing a really awesome distraction, Commander.”

“And then?”

“Out the back like shit through a goose, boss. See you on the other side.”

Truly, insane.

“Tactical officers, this is Keller. Adjust your defensive horizons down and move
CR–264
out of the mix until further notice.”

The starboard primary turret answered her with a grumbling thump as it fired.

Ξ

“Flight wing, this is
Jouster
,”
Furious
heard him say over the comm. “Let’s maintain this formation and close.
da Vinci
, I figure you’ll get a sudden targeting lock when they realize we’re too close. All teams maintain radio silence until you hear that call, then peel away and go to strafing. All units form on
da Vinci
.”

Party time
…

Furious
fought to contain her excitement. Jitters on a control stick were nothing new, but this was excitement at finally being able to show these people what she could do, instead of the iron control she used to have to show, when the boys were rating her on her tits instead of her piloting abilities.

This was
The War
. The
Eternal Battle
between
Aquitaine
and
Fribourg
.
Furious
felt like her whole life had been centered on coming to this very moment.

On the feed from
da Vinci
’s slippery little scout, they were on an approach that would mask them from that nasty little escort frigate until they came blasting over the battleship’s head, unless someone caught smart and drifted.
Aquitaine
did that, but everything she had studied about
Fribourg
suggested that they were more rigid in their processes.

Certainly, they were flying like all the dead and mangled escorts were still around. And it wasn’t like the little guns on the fighters, or the slightly bigger guns left on the bombers and the GunShip, could really damage a battleship. Unless he had already pulled his shields entirely forward and then had those banged around too. Then it would be like a woodpecker chopping down an oak tree.

Oh, shit. This might actually work? Keller and
Auberon
going in hard, with the fighters coming in right behind them
?

Furious smiled and dialed her engines in a little tighter. The
M–6
could do things the
M–5
could not. When they got into knife–fighting with a battleship, that might matter.

Chapter LVII

Date of the Republic June 16, 394 Above Ballard

Denis considered the bridge crew in the calm quiet before the storm erupted. In the movies, the commander always chose this moment to make some rousing speech, something plucked from the descendants of Moirrey’s favorite writer, that Terran fellow Shakespeare.

That wasn’t Denis. He was calm and professional, holding the ship and crew together with quiet competence and keeping the snarls and harshness private behind closed doors. It was why he and Jessica were such a good team. She was flamboyant and larger than life, and appreciated all the little things he did to keep things moving smoothly.

Still, she was the acting Fleet Lord today. Her voice was guiding all of the squadron, inspiring these men and women to their greatest possible potential. His was
Auberon
, as she had always promised.

“
Auberon
, this is Jež,” he spoke quietly into the comm. Let everyone know the truth now, regardless of how he said it. From the heart.

“It has been my greatest pleasure to serve and explore with you all. We’re about to go into battle with the best
Fribourg
can throw at us, and even then, they had to bring a battleship to balance the scales. Let that be the mark of their respect for us, and my respect for you. Out.”

He took a deep breath and looked around.

From the piloting console, Nina appeared to be on the verge of tears.

Tamara appeared stoic, but she was in the zone. She was about to become the center of the combat universe in ways that only a tactical officer understood.

Still, she smiled at him. A tight, wry flash to let him know what was going on underneath that hard shell.

He nodded at her.

“Tactical, you have the bridge.”

She nodded back and took a simple breath.

He watched her chin come up, almost in defiance, as she stared at some invisible horizon.

She nodded again and keyed her comm.

“Emergency bridge, this is tactical,” she said firmly.

“Em bridge. Brewster.”

Good old Tobias Brewster. Once upon a time, a class clown, fuck–up, lothario. Until he redeemed himself and turned into a certified hero at
Qui–Ping
. Now, a rock–solid emergency tactical centurion they could rely on.

Wonders of the universe.

“Tobias,” Tamara continued. “I’m locking down the Type–3 beams and designating the Type–2’s purely for outer defensive fire only when the Imperials finally launch missiles at us. Primaries only from here on in, and only to keep them honest. You take charge of having engineering route every erg of available energy possible into the two facing shields as we do this. If that means locking empty linen closets and shutting down their life support, do it. We have to survive the next eight minutes on this heading and the Red Admiral is going to hit us with everything he has. We’re the
main–gauche
today.
Rajput
and
Brightoak
hold the blade.”

Denis smiled broadly. He wondered if Jessica knew how much of her personality had infected this crew, that they spoke to each other in a battle vocabulary drawn directly from her and
Valse d’Glaive
. Because this was nothing if not a repeat of her duel with Ian Zhao at Petron, when she took the crown away from him. Maybe on a grander scale. Maybe.

History may not repeat itself, but it certainly played harmonies.

“Acknowledged, Tactical,” Tobias replied. “I have engineering covered.”

And he would. That same single–mindedness that he had employed to seduce crew members, once upon a yesterday, had gone into professionalism. Brewster might even make Command Centurion, one of these days.

And now, into the valley of death.

Ξ

“Gunnery, concentrate your fire here,” Galina ordered, drawing a targeting dot on her screen and sending it over.

Arott fought to keep the smile off his face. Only Galina would try to line up a shot pattern that tight, from two moving warships that far apart, both desperately weaving and bobbing.

Still, it might work.

Six big guns thumped in quick succession. It would probably take the after–action report to confirm, but the gunner might have just put four of them into Galina’s target, and another one close enough. The third shot in the sequence had flared wide. Arott sent a quick note to the damage control teams to check that mount for wear. Equipment got used up faster in five minutes of battle than a year’s sailing.

Arott’s smile faded as
Stralsund
rang like a bell. That was followed by a hollow crunching sound, the kind you might get if you dropped a can of beans off a fourth floor window onto the street when you were eight years old. Or so he might have been told.

The lights went out.

For half a second, total darkness engulfed them.

Emergency lights kicked in. There was dust everywhere. Nothing could keep a starship completely clean. You got crud in every crevasse and corner. Thumps like that bounced it into the air.

At least the air systems could suck it all out of the room now.