Broken Halo (Wayfarers) Page 8

  Wong nodded. “Yes, sir.” He gestured to the main display, where the sensor contacts by the scout WGCs had filled in the massive Wayfarer force. “Their fleet contains several cruisers and frigates—not enough to worry us, but enough to give us a decent fight—and several dozen civilian craft that should not carry any meaningful armament. Of course, the traitors command the Concord as well.”

  He shook his head and turned back to Nevlin’s frowning face. “But there is still one element that I believe is missing from their formation, something which could endanger our entire task force if I do not plan for it.” Wong paused, but the admiral did not seem to comprehend his meaning. He continued. “We still haven’t seen any sign of the ship with the mass driver.”

  Admiral Nevlin’s frown grew. “Mass driver, Captain?”

  “Yes, sir.” Wong touched a control and brought up images from Eris—the shattered Guard station before it fell, the ruined capital city in the aftermath. “Analysis of the strikes against Eris have told us that the Wayfarers must have used specialized penetration ammunition launched by a mass driver. It’s the only way they could have delivered that much damage without any warning.”

  With another gesture, Wong brought up a more detailed image of the fleet. “None of the Wayfarer vessels we see here seem to be equipped with a mass driver, which means the ship that does have it is either detached from the rest of them, perhaps on a scouting mission or other such duty, or is hiding to ambush the task force as we move in.” He shook his head again, imagining the devastation a mass driver could cause to the Directorate ships. “If we move in before the scouts have located it, we could take serious losses and wind up unable to pursue the goals of our mission.”

  Nevlin stared at him. “Losses, Captain? Surely you know that every operation has its costs.”

  The comment stung, and Wong replied with a little more sharpness than was his habit. “I do, sir.” He took a breath to steady his emotions and continued. “At the same time, the forces of the Directorate are not limitless. We would be foolish to squander them in a hasty maneuver. I believe it would be best to wait until their entire force is assembled, and if necessary, we can chase them through their next resonance burst and finish them at the following system. The same cannot be said if we lose the bulk of our forces here, or if the Imperious is lost.”

  His superior officer had seemed to be on the edge of a stern rebuke when Wong mentioned the possible loss of the flagship. Now Nevlin paled. “Would it be possible for the Imperious to be destroyed, then? I thought this ship had defenses adequate to meet any assault.”

  Wong nearly frowned, only avoiding the expression with a reminder about the respect the admiral was due. Yet something was wrong. Why was the Hero of Riaskat now afraid, especially when he had been so heedless of the possible risks ahead? “Losses are always possible, Admiral, and the Imperious is the largest, most obvious target in our task force. The enemy would have to assume that we were the flagship, and would likely guess that we hold the task force’s resonance drive as well.”

  “I see.” The admiral leaned back, his face a curious mix of hesitation and animosity. Nevlin did not speak further for another minute until finally he shook his head. “Then we will stand off from the enemy fleet until they’ve finished forming up. You are entirely correct about the need to avoid direct action until we are certain of their capabilities.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Captain Wong knew he should be feeling grateful for the acknowledgement of his decision, but all he felt was a creeping unease—and the terrible feeling that Nevlin cared far more about his own skin than he ever would about the safety of his command, or even the success of the mission. That feeling was confirmed a moment later when Nevlin continued.

  “All the same, I feel it will be necessary to launch an attack at the enemy before they escape. A WGC strike at the Concord would accomplish much. Our rigs would get the chance to scan their fleet and locate the mass driver while we knock out their resonance drive and strand them here.”

  Wong’s eyes narrowed. “Sir, it would also expose the rig pilots to a high level of risk. We could take extremely heavy casualties if the Wayfarers choose to stand and fight.”

  Nevlin waved the objection away. “We have reserve pilots, Captain, and there are WGCs in storage. We can send the SSS squadron in as well if you are concerned about casualties, and you can be sure that they will clear out any resistance easily enough. This strike could help end this entire engagement at a single blow; we must take the chance.” The admiral’s eyes sharpened. “You may consider that an order if you so choose, Captain Wong.”

  Wong stiffened. He bowed slightly. “Yes, sir. The WGCs will be launched immediately.” Nevlin smiled in satisfaction, and he switched off the screen without another word. Wong turned to his rig coordination watchstander. “Signal the heavy attack squadrons to begin their launch sequences. Tell the Fisher King to launch the SSSs in support.”

  Then Wong paused. He had promised to send those pilots into the teeth of the enemy, but he had not said he would send them alone. He looked to the communications watchstander. “Tell the cruisers to prepare missile salvoes. WGC scouts on location will provide spotting. Our target is the Concord.”

  When he turned back to the main display, he studied the ancient carrier with an air of regret. To have survived so much, only to be taken by traitors and destroyed while still in their hands, seemed an ignominious waste for the venerable ship. Wong shook his head and hoped that the Concord would not take too many of his faithful rig pilots with her in death. “Let’s finish this farce now.”

  Susan studied the battle with white-knuckled intensity. Every single civilian ship had linked up with the Concord, and now that their charges were safe, the military ships were starting to fall back as well. The faster escort craft had made their links first, gathering around their assigned positions with smooth, quick maneuvers. Her frigates and cruisers were almost in position as well, and the Directorate fleet was still not in sight. Perhaps the fleet would manage to escape without direct combat after all.

  Gabe’s rigs had successfully scattered the attacking WGCs, but something about the way the enemy rigs were maneuvering made her frown. There couldn’t be more than half a dozen WGCs left functional—even a ship’s sensors, hobbled as they were by their shields, could tell that much—but the Directorate pilots were holding their ground. They were outnumbered and unable to do more than harass Gabe’s rigs once Susan ordered them back to the ship. Even then, the guns of the fleet would be able to drive them off easily if they tried it. Why were they still fighting?

  It wasn’t a question of bravery, though Directorate pilots would have courage to spare. Rig pilots always tended to charge in, no matter what force they flew with. No, it was a question of discipline; no Directorate pilot, no matter how foolhardy or reckless, would break formation or stay any longer than instructed. If the WGCs were making a stubborn, useless stand, it was because their commander had ordered them to do so.

  Susan studied the situation, and her eyes widened in alarm as she saw the pattern. Her only rig forces remaining were Gabe’s CTRs. All the rest of the Wayfarer rigs, from the RSR scouts to the CTRs of Paladin Squadron, had withdrawn to the Concord. Gabe’s rigs wouldn’t mean much, not if the enemy commander intended to attack with his entire force, but if he was holding back for some reason, perhaps using missiles instead of plasma weapons …

  She keyed the communications controls again. “Command to Angel-One, please respond. We need you to get back to the Concord immediately. The fleet will jump as soon as you are recovered. Repeat, fall back now!”

  Before Gabriel could respond, Susan turned to Commander Mesic. “How quickly can we perform the resonance burst?”

  He stared back at her, the urgency in her voice bringing wariness to his expression. “The drive can be ready for the burst in under ten minutes, Admiral, but we would need to perform the burst immediately once the process ended. Holding a drive at burst level without pe
rmitting the cascade to occur would be catastrophic.”

  Susan glanced back at the display and did some hasty calculations. It could still give them enough time. It had to be enough. “Start the cascade preparations. Our target is the fallback system. Inform the rest of the fleet that they have a hard deadline to the resonance burst and that they need to reinforce their linkages.”

  Mesic didn’t hesitate, and his sharp gesture started the navigation watchstander on the task. At the same time, he crossed to her station, his voice kept low. “Admiral, that doesn’t leave much time for Captain Gabriel to board.”

  Susan kept her own voice similarly low. “Agreed, Commander. But if we are facing a missile barrage, followed by a heavy attack from the rest of the enemy WGCs …” She watched his eyes widen, and she tapped her console. On her personal display, the symbol for the Concord briefly flashed. “They have only one possible target. I’d like to believe that the missiles are not already in flight, but if they are, we may not have even as much time as I’ve given him.”

  Gabe had barely enough time to register Delacourt’s latest set of demands before he picked up contacts descending on the fleet. He looked up to find a massive wave of missiles on an obvious intercept with the fleet. It was simple enough to calculate their trajectory, and he felt a chill run through him as he realized their target.

  He activated his communications. “Confirmed, Command. Advise that you have missiles incoming. Estimate … a lot. Angels, get back to the Concord, now!” Gabe broke off from the WGC he had been tailing, triggering a burst of plasma to encourage the enemy rig not to follow, and watched the rest of his squadron do the same. It was now a race between the missiles and the CTRs to see which would reach the carrier first, and Gabe didn’t doubt what the end result would be if the Wayfarers lost.

  Yet something kept him from running headlong for the Concord’s recovery bays. It wasn’t the WGCs that might have threatened to intercept him. There weren’t more than half a dozen of them left, and most of them seemed to be more interested in avoiding the barrage themselves. Besides, the ships of the fleet were starting to add their weight of firepower to the mix, covering the CTRs’ retreat. Gabe knew he shouldn’t want to stay out of the carrier for any longer than necessary, but it still felt wrong.

  Trying to convince himself, he glanced up at the rain of missiles, studying their projected courses. The sheer distance those weapons had to have crossed was staggering—from the estimates the RSRs had dumped on the rest of them, the enemy fleet was still incredibly far away. How had their missile salvo arrived on target?

  The answer came to him in an instant, and Gabe scanned the area below the Concord for confirmation. He found what he was looking for a moment later. Three WGCs hung in space below the carrier, their sensors pointed upward. They probably had a solid lock on the Concord and were feeding the missiles targeting telemetry.

  Gabe diverted his course without hesitation. Susan’s voice crackled across the comm net a heartbeat later. “Angel-One, what are you doing?”

  “Angel-One to Command. WGCs are feeding targeting data to the missiles. I’m going to break up their formation before I hit the recovery bays.” Gabe could almost picture her hands curling in frustration, but when Susan responded, her voice was still calm.

  “Angel-One, if you don’t get back to the carrier, you could be left behind. Our drive is already charging.”

  Gabe grunted in surprise and redoubled his acceleration. “I copy, Command. I’ll do one run, and then I’m headed home. That should give the others time to get on board anyway.”

  The illusory wind that marked his speed now howled in his ears. Gabe lined up his targeting crosshairs on one of the nearest spotters. He knew they must have seen him. His CTR was many things, but at full burn, stealthy was not one of them. They held their positions, though, obviously determined to guide the missiles home no matter what happened.

  As admirable as their courage was, Gabe was not about to let them succeed. He unleashed a wave of plasma fire at his target as soon as his rifle came into range. The WGC hesitated, obviously unwilling to maneuver and risk losing the lock, and then the bursts of superheated gas decided the issue for him. Three shots pierced the armor on the WGC’s right shoulder, vaporizing the auxiliary sensor array fixed there. Two more hit the rig’s torso, tearing gaping holes and sending the rig spiraling away, nonfunctional.

  Gabe tore past the remaining two rigs, dancing aside as they opened fire on him. They’d both been lightly armed. Their weapons didn’t fire nearly quick enough to track him. He rolled easily to bring his rifle to bear again, using his tetherdrive to slow his momentum.

  This time, however, Gabe chose a different tactic. He sprayed shots at both enemy rigs, putting two or three shots toward each target. Scattering them would work just as well as killing them.

  Neither enemy rig flinched, stubbornly holding position with their aux sensor arrays still locked on the Concord. One burst slammed into a leg; two more knocked the other WGC slightly away from its position, trailing a cloud of shattered armor and melted metal.

  Gabe looked back up and beyond them to see the missiles closing in. The rest of his squadron was nearly aboard; only a handful of CTRs were lingering outside the recovery bay. He gritted his teeth. They were almost out of time.

  He fired one long barrage, chewing one WGC scout apart in a rain of plasma. As he began accelerating back toward the fleet, he switched to the last target, which had started to maneuver at last. The WGC again tried to fire back, bracketing him with plasma bursts, but Gabe ignored those shots and aimed carefully. His aiming reticle settled over the WGC, and he tightened his finger on the trigger.

  Plasma bursts struck the WGC in the torso, blasting through the thin armor of the scout and carving deep into the rig itself. For a second, Gabe watched the rig thrash in the bombardment of plasma. Then the power supply for the WGC detonated, and the rig disintegrated in a bright flash of light and heat that Gabe had to swivel to avoid.

  Continuing his spin, Gabe accounted for the other two WGCs that were floating motionless nearby. He fought to suppress the satisfaction in his voice as he came back around to face the Concord. “Angel-One to Command, the spotters are down. Returning to the Concord.”

  “Confirmed Angel-One. Hurry it up! You have two minutes until burst.”

  Gabe obediently poured on more acceleration. He looked up to see the missiles on final approach. The loss of their spotters might have kept the salvo from being as accurate as before, but it was clear that he hadn’t managed to cut them off in time. None of the missiles veered away or lost acquisition; all of them bored in at the Concord. In response, the fleet began to fire, concentrating their plasma cannon on the nearest missiles. Explosions began to light the space above the Concord, and each blast was enormous. With a desperate prayer—both for the carrier and for himself—Gabe lined up for the recovery bay and tried to outrun the incoming wave of destruction.

  He nearly made it to the carrier before the missiles began to hit. The bay he was aiming for shook as the Concord began to take damage. Explosions began to wrack the carrier’s defensive screens, tearing at them in waves of fire. He saw the screens flicker as more and more missiles added to the inferno, and he heard Susan’s voice come over the net again. “Angel-One, our screens are failing. You have forty-five seconds before we burst!”

  “I’m on it!” Gabe gritted his teeth. A second wave of explosions was shaking the Concord hard now, rocking the ship back and forth. The recovery bay was a small opening on the starboard side of the ship, and his target kept heaving like a ship in a storm. “It would be better if you held still!”

  Then the Concord’s screens came down, and the third and last wave of missiles pounded on the armor of the carrier itself. It happened just as Gabe reached the opening to the bay, and he had to dodge sharply upwards to make it into the opening as the ship lurched again. His breath caught as the recovery bay stretched ahead of him. He’d made it.

  Almos
t.

  The BCI sent a scream of agony through him as the bottom lip of the recovery bay tore both the CTR’s legs off at the knees. His rig tumbled wildly through the recovery bay’s entry tunnel as he fought to control the tetherdrive. The Concord wasn’t done with him yet; even as he rolled and scraped along the floor, another blast rocked the ship, and he was thrown up and over. His rig’s right arm snapped above the elbow when he hit the wall. He barely had time to register that new spear of pain before his back hit the ceiling, crushing his tetherdrive in a squeal of gravitic distortion. Gabe, his mind already writhing with agony, felt panic seize him as well as he lost all control of the tumbling machine.

  He had barely enough time for a short prayer for help before the floor came up to meet him again. Before he had any hint that his plea had been heard, the CTR’s helmet slammed into the tunnel floor, and everything suddenly went black.

  Captain Wong watched as the entire Wayfarer fleet vanished. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief. The enemy fleet had obviously been ready for some sort of attack; their point defense against the missile volleys had been well planned. Worse, they’d managed to neutralize the WGCs providing the targeting support, forcing the missiles into easily predictable approach vectors. Without those obstacles, the missile assault would have had a much better likelihood of crippling the Concord and preventing their escape. At the very least, he had not needed to send his WGC forces into the teeth of that hurricane of plasma. Casualties would have been heavy.

  As it was, the engagement had been a stinging reminder that these cultists had teeth. Over twenty WGCs had been disabled or destroyed, with many of their pilots dead or missing. He turned to his rig watchstander. “Begin recovery operations. Instruct the remaining scouts to continue their sweeps.”

  “Captain?” Admiral Nevlin’s face once again stared out at him from the screen. “Might I ask what the point of continuing to scout the area would be? After all, it is clear that you already let them escape.”