The Phoenix Requiem (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 7) (28 page)

“I confirm that,” said the Ops chief. “The ISS
Assassin
is leading a force of…one-hundred and sixty-three warships, moving fast, heading directly into the enemy’s center of mass. It is disrupting the enemy formation.”

“Until those hundred and sixty-three warships become no warships,” said Sir Arkwright, recognizing that Fleet Admiral Zeller’s force had already sustained the loss of forty-four warships, just in the initial attack. Even if they had lain waste to four times that number, it was barely a dent in the vast host that was the Dread Fleet. There was no longer any reason for Fleet Admiral Zeller or any of his subordinates to continue to put themselves at extra exposure, just to disrupt the enemy for a few more seconds—until the Fifth Fleet could be entirely dealt with.

“Now the Fifth Fleet has been reduced to one-hundred and fifty-seven warships, sir,” said the Ops chief. “According to my scans.”

“Order Fleet Admiral Zeller to take the
Assassin
, and any other warships left, and withdraw immediately. Have them regroup with the rearguard of the First Fleet,” said Sir Arkwright, wanting to minimize friendly casualties as best he possibly could. The Fifth Fleet had done its job; there was no reason to leave it alone and surrounded, certain to die.

“Aye, sir,” said the Comms chief. “Relaying order.”

“Defense, status report,” said Sir Arkwright. “Shields remain at double front, now reduced to fifty-percent, but holding. All power from the beam systems has been drained, but we are still on secondary reserves, tertiary power remains untapped.”

“And damage to the ship?” asked Sir Arkwright.

“To the
Victory
? Only superficial. We have mostly been the target of beam attacks, none of which has broken through our shield barrier—yet. I cannot say the same for the
Invictus
and the
Buccaneer
at our flanks.”

“What do you mean?” asked Sir Arkwright, surprised and alarmed. Both the
Invictus
and the
Buccaneer
were first-rate ships of the line, mighty dreadnoughts, and, although not a match for the
Victory
, not even together, they had been deliberately built to withstand intense assault.

“I’m afraid the
Buccaneer
has been destroyed, sir,” said the Defense officer. “As for the
Invictus
, it’s quickly buckling.”

“My scans confirm that,” said the Ops officer. “I read no shields on the
Invictus
, with severe damage to its portside armor, including multiple hull breaches.”

“Order them to withdraw, dammit,” said Sir Arkwright.

“Yes, sir,” said the Comms chief. Then he spoke into his headset, “ISS
Invictus
, you are ordered to withdraw to the rearguard position immediately. I repeat, withdraw immediately. Do you copy?”

Sir Arkwright’s eyes glanced back to the tactical display, where more and more lights dimmed and faded, of all colors, alarmingly fast. Flashes of beam weapons fire lit up the windows. In the distance, seemingly small, instantly vanishing explosions could be seen, and every tracking scanner on the bridge indicated an absurd number of missiles being traded between the opposing capital ships. Most were intercepted by heavy gunfire, but many more reached their marks, destroying armor, breaching hulls, and, in several cases, eliminating starships outright.

Sir Arkwright gave additional orders, maneuvering the stronger and healthier ships into the most dangerous positions and commanding the most wounded vessels to attempt to maneuver to the back of the defense force. Some of them succeeded, others failed, their lights dimming on the tactical display.

It seemed like, with every passing second, another dozen or so lights had blinked out, be they red, blue, or green, ships were being lost. It was carnage on a scale that Sir Arkwright had never seen and, though he tried his best, and issued the most intelligent orders he could think of, his force was taking a serious beating. Though he took some small pride in the fact that they seemed to be giving it out more than they were taking it. But not so well as to compensate for the enemy’s superior numbers.

Though the battle took place over a rather large spherical swath of space, explosion-propelled debris became hazards to the surviving ships, as did the skeletons of those who had been destroyed. The remaining forces had to maneuver carefully and, more frequently than Sir Arkwright had expected, his ship, and others, took direct hits to their armor from flying debris. In some cases, causing tears and breaks in the armor, compromising it in places. Since the debris could not be detected on scanners and subsequently targeted by the guns fast enough, each blow gave him cause for concern. His only comfort was, the tightly packed enemy formation, due to its extreme proximity, must have been taking the punishment a lot worse.

And, while a successful missile strike on a friendly craft gave Sir Arkwright cause to grimace, as though he’d taken a punch in the gut, a successful missile strike on the enemy force proved more effective and far deadlier, again due to the proximity of the enemy ships, proximity that, if they abandoned it, would cause the collapse of their phalanx shield. And so, while the phalanx stripped the human and Rotham starships of their ability to fire beam weapons at the Dread Fleet, it also had created a liability for the Dread Fleet, making them extra vulnerable to missile attacks and sprays of debris. They were also easier to strike with guns, though the main guns were mostly kept occupied with intercepting inbound missiles, or else fending off drones.

The battle raged on, increasing in intensity. Lights blinking out on the tactical display at a near constant rate. Sir Arkwright ordered his ships to maneuver to compensate, and to tighten up where necessary.
We’ll make them rue this day
, he promised himself.
They will pay dearly for this slaughter!

CHAPTER 12

“Sir, part of the forward formation is collapsing,” said her Ops chief. “It appears that the enemy is trying to create an attack vector that would enable an additional squadron of capital ships to engage the ISS
Victory
directly.”

“Isn’t the
Victory
already engaged in the battle?” asked Ravinder.

“Aye, sir, it is,” admitted the Ops chief. “But I believe the enemy is trying to weaken the
Victory
’s portside flank, eliminating the ships in the way, so that many more battleships can affix their weapons onto the
Victory
itself.”

“I concur with that assessment,” said the Defense chief.

The
Victory
was not just the flagship of the First Fleet; it was the command ship of the entire defense force. Because of its raw might and power, unmatched by any ship in the galaxy—so far as Ravinder knew—Sir Arkwright had claimed that ship as his own, with permission from the queen, and had currently positioned the massive warship, along with several dreadnoughts, at the front and center of the defensive formation. From that position, Ravinder could tell, by watching the tactical displays, the
Victory
and its partner ships were able to wreak extensive havoc on the enemy’s forward guard.

Obviously, Ravinder could not allow the enemy’s plan to strike at the
Victory
’s portside to be successfully executed; if the enemy were to expose a weakness on the
Victory
’s portside, enabling them to concentrate significantly more firepower directly upon the command ship, then the
Victory
itself could be lost—difficult as that was to believe.

And, though it was mostly a psychological thing, Ravinder believed that, so long as the
Victory
remained in the fight, then there was hope for success. The ship was not only the deadliest and strongest ship ever to take to the cosmos; it was also a symbol of hope itself. To Ravinder, the presence of the ISS
Victory
, front and center, fighting in the throes of the thickest point of battle, was excellent for morale. In her mind, she likened it to the feeling of an infantryman on a battlefield during a desperate, perhaps losing fight, who then looks up and sees proudly his standard is still tall and flapping in the wind, undaunted. So long as the standard remained tall, or, in this case, the
Victory
remained in the battle, then they could feel emboldened to defy the enemy, for hope of success remained. That was what the command ship’s presence meant to her. The ship could
not
be lost; Ravinder would never allow it.

In addition to the value the
Victory
added to morale, not to mention its uniquely expert ability to rapidly shred other warships to pieces—including alpha-class dreadnoughts—there was also the consideration that Sir Arkwright was aboard that ship, and he was the master tactician commanding the defense, to lose either the
Victory
or Sir Arkwright would mean losing the other as well, and neither was acceptable. Not to mention the disheartening effect it would have on morale if the
Victory
, the mightiest warship ever constructed, were destroyed right before their eyes.

“What ships are currently holding that position, protecting the
Victory
’s portside?” asked Ravinder.

“Only three ships,” said the Ops chief. “The ISS
Arthas
, ISS
Pandora
, and ISS
Dakota
, however there were fifteen ships holding that side when the battle began. Now only three remain. No, wait…” his tone of voice darkened, “Make that two. We just lost the
Arthas
…as for the other two, the
Dakota
is holding position, but under heavy assault and the
Pandora
appears to be maneuvering away. Based on my scans, the
Pandora
has lost its shields and most of its armor. No doubt the captain is just trying to keep it in one piece until it can be repaired by a support ship.”

“There won’t be time for any more repairs,” said Ravinder, feeling fortunate that the short reprieve between the vanguard’s retreat and the commencement of the battle proper had given her crew enough time to restore the
Hyperion
’s shields to full. “At this juncture, we fight, with full ferocity and might, but there is no time for retreat, nor resupply, and most especially not repairs. The battle is joined. As I speak, our entire combat force has engaged the enemy’s front. Even our rearguard is exchanging fire with enemy capital ships, is that not correct?”

“That is correct, sir,” said the Ops chief. “The rearguard has taken the lightest beating so far; I believe they have only lost one ship. However they
are
in the fight. All of us are.”

“My point exactly,” said Ravinder. “Which means we must all do our part. And right now, the most important thing we can do is to protect the
Victory
and restore the defensive formation off the
Victory
’s portside flank.”

“The
Dakota
has also begun to withdraw; my scans indicate that it has sustained multiple hull breaches. I am unsure if they have been contained. The ship is fast maneuvering toward the rear of our formation. It’s coming apart! Sir, the
Dakota
has been lost…That means—”

“The
Victory
’s portside is completely exposed,” said Ravinder. She then made a snap decision, believing there was no other choice, even though it put her ship, and the tattered remains of those under her command, the surviving thirty-seven ships of the Third Fleet, into a greater position of vulnerability. She tapped her line that sent a broadcast to all other ships under her command. “General order to the Third Fleet, all remaining ships, immediately form up on the
Hyperion
’s flanks and maneuver to the following new coordinates; they will be transmitted directly.” She pointed to her Ops chief, who nodded and sent the coordinates to the Comms staff, who broadcast them to the remaining thirty-seven ships of the Third Fleet.

Then, as one unit, they moved together, nearly two-score warships, many of which had already sustained brutal damage; some had lost their shields completely, meanwhile others had gaping holes where their armor plates had been blasted loose, or otherwise shredded. But they each had one thing in common, they all had operational weapons. And that, to Ravinder, was what counted most. At least for now.

They quickly arrived at the ideal position to defend the
Victory
’s portside flank, and further shore-up the part of the defensive formation that had collapsed.

“Send a request to the other fleets, especially the First Fleet,” said Ravinder. “We need more ships to reinforce this position, or we won’t hold it for long.”

“Yes, sir,” her Comms chief acknowledged; he and his staff immediately began making contact with the nearest friendly warships, most would belong to the First Fleet, considering their position, Ravinder was certain of it. Meanwhile, the
Hyperion
began taking fire. There were flashes as beam weapons focused in on them, striking their vessel, crashing it with surges and storms of energy, each one trying eagerly to overwhelm the
Hyperion
’s shields.