The Phoenix Requiem (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 7) (40 page)

“Yawing hard starboard!” said Mister Watson.

“Are you sure you want to intercept the missiles with our portside?” asked Mister Watson. Our starboard side is in better condition; the portside armor is…severely damaged.”

“But the portside has more operational guns,” said Raidan, remembering seeing that on Demir’s display. “I would rather destroy all of the inbound missiles, with a chance to take no damage—risking a more serious injury if a missile gets through than make a choice that almost guarantees we will be hit by some number of missiles, although the damage to the ship would be somewhat mitigated by the vessel’s armor.”

“As you say, sir,” said Mister Watson.

Raidan was quiet then, watching and listening, as Mister Ivanov counted down the number of missiles on course to strike them—and how soon. Meanwhile Mister Demir counted the number of missiles his gun crews successfully destroyed. It took only a few seconds before Raidan realized it would come down to the wire, and he genuinely did not know whether the
Harbinger
could stop enough of the missiles—even with every possible gun assigned to the task—to prevent crippling, possibly fatal damage to the ship.

Then he got his answer. “Sir!” cried Mister Demir. “Several of the gun crews report their guns have overheated. It will take time to get them online again.”

“That means—” Mister Ivanov began to say.

“That we cannot stop those missiles,” said Raidan. “At least not all of them. How many are predicted to successfully strike this craft, and where?”

“About eleven missiles, sir,” said Mister Ivanov. Raidan grimaced when he heard the number.
Eleven missile impacts!
Especially to a part of the ship that had compromised armor. “And, even worse, sir, the missiles appear to have been fired deliberately at the weakest points on our portside.”

“Will the missiles destroy us?” asked Raidan.

“Impossible to know. But…”

The expression on Mister Ivanov’s face was not positive.

“Time to impact?” asked Raidan. It felt as though he were asking the Reaper of death how much longer he had to live. As it turned out, not much.

“Nine seconds.”

Raidan took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for the possibility that the
Harbinger
would not survive. He counted down in his head.
Seven. Six. Five
. By the time he got to four, his thoughts were interrupted by Mister Ivanov. “Sir! All missiles have been destroyed. I repeat, all missiles have been destroyed.”

“
What?
” demanded Raidan.

“Sir, we are being hailed. Incoming message from the
Arcane Storm
,” said Mister Gates.

Then it suddenly made sense to Raidan what had happened.
The
Arcane Storm
must have been closer to us than I’d thought
. “Patch the message through to the loudspeakers, Mister gates.”

“Aye, sir.” Then, a moment later, Mister Gates signaled Raidan with a thumbs-up.

“So, Tristan, you loyal bastard,” said Raidan. “I suppose I have you to thank for eliminating some missiles that otherwise had my number.”

“Naturally,” Tristan replied. “I considered letting you die, of course, but then what fun would that have been? Besides, I thought you asked me to join you in this fight specifically to keep your ass alive—if possible.”

Raidan chuckled. “Well, whatever the reason, thanks for the assist.”

“Now that’s three you owe me.”

“I suppose so,” said Raidan. “But for now, back to the fight.” He then signaled Mister Gates to end the transmission. At this point, not only had the rest of the flotilla arrived but, by quick examination of the tactical display, Raidan could see that the ships from the Fourth Fleet had arrived as well.

Just in time too, since the enemy attack force had regrouped and appeared ready to charge their position.

“Now this is more like it,” said Raidan, noting the seemingly equal number of blue and red lights near his position on the tactical display. “Message the rest of the flotilla: prepare for imminent attack.”

CHAPTER 15

The battle raged all around. By this point, nowhere in the formation was safe; even the rearguard was exchanging fire and losing warships. Adiger gave his commands; he was very comfortable ordering his crew…he knew how to make them work hard and through their efforts, and perhaps a bit of luck, the
Black Swan
remained in the fight.

When it came to giving orders to the Seventh Fleet, his charges, that had proven much more difficult. One by one, their strength of ninety starships were picked off until only forty remained. At that point, he chose to appoint the most qualified of the other captains and gave him control of the remaining ships in the Seventh Fleet. Adiger could then focus solely on the
Black Swan
, and making certain that it was put to the best use for the queen and the Empire.

Although the battle had stretched on for some time, it seemed far from over. If anything, the affected region of space was more filled with missiles, heavy gunfire projectiles, and weaponized beams than at any point before. In the distance, he watched as a starship began taking so many beam strikes that it seemed constantly lit, almost like a candle. After a few seconds of this, the starship’s shields failed, as did its armor and hull, until it was no more than a burned out husk. All within the space of ten seconds.

This is madness
, thought Adiger, as he observed the carnage.
This is pure and utter madness. How did it possibly come to this?

His thoughts were interrupted by his Comms officer. “Sir, receiving multiple distress calls. General frequency.”

This did not surprise Adiger, given the state that most of the ships were in; everybody needed help and nobody was in any position to offer any. Still, there had to be something unusual about these particular distress calls, otherwise his Comms department would have filtered it out rather than drawn attention to it.

“The first is from the Star Chief Marshall,” said the Comms chief. “She says that she has grouped together all remaining starfighters and is moving them to assist the ISS
Victory,
which is under heavy drone attack. She requests all able ships in the vicinity—including us—

to move into position to help attack the drones.”

“Well, obviously we have to respond to that one, we
cannot
allow the
Victory
to fall,” said Adiger. “What were the other distress calls?”

“There was only one other one, sir, that I thought important,” said the Comms chief. “It was from Sir Doran on behalf of the Second Fleet. He says that the portside flank of the formation is nearing collapse and that any and all available warships—again, including us—move with haste to help bolster the defenders there; otherwise they will be overrun for certain.”

Suddenly it became a more difficult choice. On the one hand, if the drones were numerous enough to represent an actual threat to the
Victory
, he needed to help save the command ship by eliminating as many drones as possible. Then again, other ships, including all of the remaining Imperial starfighters were responding to that call; if no one came to assist the failing Second Fleet, and they were destroyed or else forced to retreat, then the defensive formation would collapse in on itself—just as it had once before.

“Move the ship to the coordinates provided by Sir Doran and inform him that the
Black Swan
is
en route
to assist,” commanded Adiger.

“Aye, sir,” his men acknowledged, getting quickly to task.

“How long can Sir Doran and the other defenders hold the position?” asked Adiger. “And what size of force are we up against?”

“It is difficult to determine how long the defenders can remain at that position,” said the Defense chief. “But it should probably be noted that the defenders are not just the remains of the Second Fleet but also the combined remnants of the Delta and Foxtrot Rotham flotillas. In all, the defense includes some one-hundred and sixty warships, sir.”

To Adiger that sounded like a sufficient force not in imminent danger of being overrun. “And the enemy moving against them. How many have they sent?”

“Again, it is difficult to determine, due to the close proximity of their starships, however I do have an estimate. But, you’re not going to like it, sir.”

“I don’t restrict questions to ones I like,” said Adiger. “Now tell me, what will we be up against?”

“I estimate some four-hundred and fifty capital ships, along with an unknown number of drones, sir,” said the Defense officer.

No wonder Sir Doran sent his distress call; he really was about to be overrun. Unfortunately, it seemed, judging from the tactical display, that only the
Black Swan
was on course to respond to the plea for help. And, although the
Black Swan
was an alpha-class dreadnought, it was certainly not enough to turn the tide of battle in their favor. In fact, Adiger didn’t even know how much of a difference they would make, if any.

But he had to at least try to help. Should the position collapse, then the entire defense force would be thrown into disarray. Not to mention the ISS
Victory
would become far more exposed to attack, and really, at that point the battle would effectively be over. A victory for the Dread Fleet, which was then likely to destroy all life on Capital World.

His hope in joining the
Black Swan
to the battle at the portside flank was twofold. First that the sight of it, knowing it had come to support the existing defenders, would help rally the morale of those defenders, making them far more likely—Adiger hoped—to stand their ground and not begin routing. His second hope was that, by moving to that position, he would embolden other starship captains, or, better yet, their squadron and fleet commanders, to direct more ships to the coordinates given. Sometimes, Adiger knew, all it takes is one brave soul to be the first one to jump, after that it seems easier for all the others. This might be one of those times.

“Wait!” said the 2O stepping to the center of the bridge. “Helm, stop the ship immediately.”

“Aye, sir,” said the helmsman, firing the braking thrusters.

What the hell is he doing?
Wondered Adiger as he watched the 2O, now standing near dead center of the bridge, approximately four meters ahead of the command position.

Adiger could think of no reason why the 2O would know something that none of the rest of them did that would justify stopping the ship, and, the longer they waited to rendezvous with Sir Doran, the likelier it would be that the defenders there would fall or flee, or both.

“Helmsman, belay that order,” said Adiger, using his most authoritative voice. “You will proceed on course, as fast as this ship can go, until we arrive at the given coordinates. Any order to the contrary, unless it comes from me, you are ordered to ignore.”

“Aye, sir,” said the helmsman.

“No,” said the 2O angrily. “Belay
THAT
order.”

“Belay the Captain’s order?” asked the helmsman. “Sorry, sir, I cannot comply.”

“Oh, is that right?” asked the 2O, still sounding angry and, perhaps, slightly afraid. Either way, the man had clearly lost it. Probably the result of the intense stress of battle—especially one such as this. Adiger was about to speak, but the 2O spoke first.

“So you can’t follow my order, even though I’m a commander and you’re just an ensign, is that right?” he stared at the helmsman.

“Yes, sir, that’s right. The captain outranks you, sir,” the helmsman replied.

“Oh, yeah? Well there’s something here that outranks the captain,” said the 2O. He suddenly drew his sidearm and waved it around the room, to the shock of the entire bridge staff. He then pointed it at the helmsman and said, “You see this thing in my hand?”

The helmsman didn’t reply; meanwhile, Adiger subtly began to undo the fastening that held his own firearm.

“I asked, do you see it?” the 2O demanded sharply, still staring at the ensign.

“Yes, sir, I see it,” the ensign said, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “You have a gun.”

“This thing in my hand,” said the 2O, “Is a fleet admiral. No, better than that, it’s the goddamn queen. You hear me?”

The helmsman nodded.

By now, Adiger had successfully undone the first of two restraints that held his firearm inside its holster. Freeing the weapon was proving to be rather difficult, considering that Adiger had to rely on the subtlest of movements—since the deranged 2O had now moved to a position where he could see the entire bridge, and his eyes stared with the determination of a hawk, searching for anything suspicious. 

“Now, listen to your queen,” said the 2O. “She’s just given you an order. She says stop the ship. Are you going to obey your queen?” asked the 2O, waving the gun around. “Or do you want to be executed as a traitor?”

The helmsman, a junior officer, glanced to Adiger, who subtly nodded, indicating that it was all right, he should go along with what the crazed 2O was saying, for the time being, rather than risk getting killed.

“I’m stopping the ship now, sir,” said the nervous-looking helmsman. After a moment, “We’ve now come to a full stop.”

“Good, that’s very good,” said the 2O. “Now set an alteredspace course for somewhere. I don’t care where. Just, any place other than here.”

By this point Adiger had managed to undo the second and final restraint; his handgun was now free to be drawn, should he decide to draw it. Although now the 2O had moved far enough away that, should Adiger draw and fire, it would be difficult for either of them to strike the other, so long as they each used handguns, which was all they had.

I have hundreds of marines on this starship, just a few decks below
, thought Adiger.
And yet I never bothered to post so much as one on the bridge.
Adiger wanted to slap himself. Although he could not have foreseen this exact scenario, he could think of many reasons why having some security forces on the bridge would be a good idea.

“Calculate the jump,” said the 2O. “Tell me when it is calculated—and make it fast!”

“Uh, yes, yes, of course,” said the helmsman, who appeared to be a nervous wreck.

Adiger decided it was time to speak up; hopefully he could not only get the 2O’s attention, but actually lure him close enough that Adiger could reliably shoot him—assuming he was unable to talk him down from this insane stand he had made. “Mister Anderson,” said Adiger. “Maybe you should tell us just what is going on. I think you owe us that much, at least.”

The 2O stayed planted where he was, back still against the window. “What is going on,” said the 2O, “Is that I’m saving your lives. All of you. And I’m doing it without so much as a thank you. Well, you’re welcome. You ungrateful bastards.”

“It’s funny,” said Adiger. “To me it doesn’t look so much like you’re saving our lives as you are threatening us with a gun. But maybe the difference between the two is just a nuance.”
Come on, get over here
, thought Adiger.
React to me and walk closer
.

The 2O responded with a question. “Do you have children, Captain?” Then, before Adiger could reply, the 2O said, “All of you,” his eyes scanned the bridge from left to right, “Do any of you have children? If so, raise your hand. Do it! Go ahead. Raise them high.”

Several hands shot up into the air.

“Now, if you love your kids, keep your hands in the air,” said the 2O.

None of the raised hands lowered.

“Now, if you don’t want to be there to see your kids grow up, graduate school, get married, and give you grandkids, and all the rest, go ahead and lower your hands.”

All hands remained.

The 2O nodded, looking pleased.

“You see,” said the 2O. “I’ve got kids too. Two little girls, four and five. They live on Saitera-Alpha III. Don’t be surprised if you haven’t heard of it. It’s only got a population of about one billion people. Well, my two little girls are there. And I love them. And…they’ve both already lost their mother. She died two years ago!” It seemed that the 2O began to cry a bit, although he still continued to rave loudly.

“And, the thing is,” the 2O continued. “I don’t want those little girls to be orphans. Just like the rest of you with your hands up, I want to be there to see my little girls grow up, every step of the way—I want to see it. And I’m certain that you all feel the same.” His eyes swept the bridge again, left to right. “You can go ahead and put your hands down now,” said the 2O.

“Helmsman, have you calculated that course, yet?”

“I have.”

“Good, then jump the ship.”

“
Wait
,” said Adiger. “Do
not
jump the ship.”

“And the Captain speaks up again at last,” said the 2O. This, ladies and gentlemen, brothers and sisters, fellow humans, this is the monster who would rob us of all future memories we could share with our children. Yeah, that’s right. Because this man, who, because of the color of a pin on his chest, for some reason gets to boss us around. Like we’re somehow less of a person than him…and not just that, he gets to tell us when to die too?” The 2O finally did take a few steps closer to the center of the bridge, then stopped.