Looking Glass 4 - Claws That Catch (43 page)

“It was just a method of thought,” Miriam said, standing up and taking her place at the keyboard. She looked at it distastefully but powered it on. “I've had so much poking around my brain, I've sort of learned to poke in odd spots myself. I'll see if I can do it again.”

“Okay,” Weaver said. “What do you want to play?”

“Anything but J-pop . . .”

“Colonel, are your dragonflies prepared?”

“Now that they've been resupplied, Captain Prael,” Colonel Che-chee replied. “I even have calmed my males. They very much did not care for waiting in space with no way home.”

“Glad to hear they're okay,” the CO said distantly. “It's important that you stay close to the ship. Our maneuvers will be minimal on the firing end, but we will be maneuvering. Especially on the second jump.”

“Understood, Captain,” the colonel replied. “Are we going to do this or not?”

“Dreen fighters redeploying in our direction, sir,” the TACO said.

“We'll do a multidirectional jump, then,” the CO replied. “Set it up. I want to jump into the boarding group, out to a point triangulated between them and the main fleet then into the main fleet and back out.”

“Into the main fleet, sir?” the TACO said.

“Yes,” Prael said.

The Blade exited warp at whatever velocity and vector she had had prior to entry. This meant that each time she entered a star system, she had to adjust to the local vectors. More importantly, it meant that to attack a ship, she first had to match course and speed, then flash in, drop out of warp, fire, and flash out.

Her approach was superluminal, making locking onto her nearly impossible. But for the brief seconds she was exposed at the firing end, she was vulnerable. And Dreen destroyers and cruisers had excellent targeting software.

“Sierra 31 is releasing vapor,” the TACO reported. “We got in some hits at least. No change in delta V.”

“CIC, Damage Control,” the Eng reported. “Hull breach in section forty-two. Two KIA, one WIA.”

“They got in some licks, too,” Prael said. “Colonel, lock your flies to the hull for this one. Maximum spread.”

“Acknowledged,” Colonel Che-chee said. “Must report one dragonfly and rider destroyed.”

“You have my condolences, Colonel,” the CO replied. “Now lock down. We're going to be maneuvering on this one. TACO, set mines for release on approach of Dreen emissions. Launch all tubes, minimum ejection, hold in field. Set course for the middle of the fleet. Go for one of the heavies. On exit from warp, maneuver in normal space, vector one-one-four mark zero.”

“Attack orders set,” the TACO said. “Target Sierra Five, superdreadnought. Mines deployed and holding inside field.”

“Engage.”

The Blade flashed in again, this time to the middle of the oncoming Dreen fleet. On exiting warp, she fired all twenty Chaos guns on either side, the starboard targeted on the three-kilometer-long superdreadnought barely ten thousand kilometers away.

All but three of the Chaos balls hit, smashing meter-square holes into the side of the superdreadnought.

But the massive ship barely seemed to notice the damage, responding with deadly accurate plasma and mass driver fire. The Blade had a Hexosehr plasma screen, but under the hammer of the gigawatt plasma guns it flared and died in a nanosecond and the stripped atoms tore at the skin of the ship, punching huge holes into the hull and ravaging the interior.

More fire poured from the ship's sisters that were massed around the brain-ship, creating an impenetrable wall. The area around the Blade for a moment became a blaze to rival the output of the Tree. And then she was gone . . . 

“Damage report!” Captain Prael said over the communicator. At the first pop in his ears he'd slammed down his helmet and he could tell by the shadows the compartment was now completely in vacuum. Given that there were at least a dozen air-tight doors between CIC and the hull, that was a bad sign.

“Multiple hull breaches,” the Eng replied. “Nine chaos guns down portside, four starboard. Rear torpedo room out of action. Forward reports two tubes damaged. Hits went deep into the ship. Casualty reports still coming in.”

“CIC, Dragonflight,” Colonel Che-chee said. “Four dragonflies destroyed by fire. Are we going to do that again?”

“I sure hope not, Colonel,” the CO replied, sighing. “Colonel, your people are getting slaughtered by this. Grab some drop-tanks and stay out here. Cover us if any of the fighters get close. If we're destroyed, you can still make it back to the Tree. TACO, did any of the mines survive?”

“We got feedback reports from two out of the ten, sir,” the tactical officer reported. “I don't know if the Dreen detected them or not.”

“Well, if they did, we just took all that damage for nothing. . . .”

When the smart warhead on the SM-11 space-torp detected Dreen emissions in range it didn't fire its engines. That would have been far too much signature. It simply fired the exploding bolts holding the terminal stage to the main torp. With everything that was still popping and sparking in space around it, including the ravaged shells of eight of its brethren, the release of the bolts was hardly noticeable.

The warhead didn't use its powerful radar nor its laser range finder. It didn't engage its targeting engine. It simply drifted, just another bit of space debris. With its electronics heavily shielded and running on the simplest of battery systems, it appeared as nothing more than a rock. Just a rock. Nothing to endanger a Dreen warship.

That was, until it came within a thousand meters. Then, again, it did a very minor thing, jets of air puffing off a plastic shroud.

And releasing two thousand space-spiders into the vacuum.

But space is vast. A bare three hundred actually impacted on the hull of the Dreen superdreadnought. Of those, most were killed by kinetic energy. Others bounced off. A few though, a bare handful, woke up in time to grab on. They paused there, drawing on their last shreds of food energy to produce enzymes capable of converting the Dreen armor into more food energy. And, as an important byproduct, drilling into the hull.

“Matched on course and speed of Sierra 31,” Conn reported.

The Dreen knew what was important in the boarding task force. The Dreen destroyers and cruiser had surrounded the troop carriers in a tight shield that required taking out one or more before the Blade could attack the vulnerable transports.

Perhaps he should have targeted one of the more vulnerable destroyers to start. But the Navy doctrine was always the same: Go for the Heavies.

“Damage control?”

“We got one more gun up on the port side,” the Eng replied. “The rest aren't going to get repaired short of a Hexosehr space dock. Well, and possibly a few months of fabber time.”

“Understood,” the CO replied. “Conn, adjust vector to come in on our starboard side.” That one had taken the lesser pounding when they'd made the run on the fleet.

“Vector adjusted, CIC.”

“Engage attack system.”

Analysis.

Enemy Space Combat Unit uses a previously unreported superluminal drive. Primary weapon system: Species 27314 instability generator. Signals analysis indicate unit controlled by Species 27264. Instability Generators previously unreported type, seventy percent smaller than previous units. Effect estimated minimal on Class One through Four Space Combat Units. Multiple hits on Unit 30,440. Reports minimal damage. Effect increases as units decrease. Effect on Class Three Ground Combat Carrier rated high.

Ensure security of Combat Carrier Units. Dispatch additional Class Fourteen escorts.

“Dreen cruiser is still decelerating,” the tactical officer said. “But it's trailing vapor like mad. We're hitting it hard. Fire level was down at least twenty percent on that last run. But the fleet just dispatched reinforcements; nine more destroyers. With their drives, they'll be up to the troopships before they enter the warp-denial zone. Fighters are also deploying forward and opening up their spread. I think they're trying to figure where we'll come out to intercept us.”

“CIC, Damage control. Two chaos guns down starboard side. Hull breaches in section forty-nine, seventeen and sixy-three. Three KIA, one WIA.”

“At this rate we'll take it out just in time for it to take us out,” the CO said sourly. “But set up another run. Get in close and pound her. What's that line from Nelson?”

“ 'I could not tread these perilous paths in safety, if I did not keep a saving sense of humor'?” the TACO said.

“No,” the CO said.

“ 'Desperate affairs require desperate measures'?”

“No. But close.”

“ 'If I had been censured every time I have run my ship, or fleets under my command, into great danger, I should have long ago been out of the Service and never in the House of Peers'?”

“NO! Something about running your ship alongside the enemy. Trafalgar, I think.”

“Hmmm . . .”

“CIC, Damage Control. Hull breaches in section forty-two, section nineteen, section twenty-three . . .”

“ 'First gain the victory and then make the best use of it you can'?”

“No.”

“ 'There is no way of dealing with the Frenchman but to knock him down—to be civil to them is to be laughed at'?”

“No, but I like that one . . .”

“CIC, Damage control . . .”

“ 'Gentlemen, when the enemy is committed to a mistake we must not interrupt him too soon'?”

“No. God, the guy could talk, couldn't he?”

“ 'Firstly you must always implicitly obey orders, without attempting to form any opinion of your own regarding their propriety. Secondly, you must consider every man your enemy who speaks ill of your king; and thirdly you must hate a Frenchman as you hate the devil'?”

“No, but another one I like. It was something about get in close . . .”

“Oh!” the TACO said. “That wasn't a quote. It was a signal. 'Engage the enemy more closely.' First signal at Trafalgar, even before they were engaged.”

“That's it,” the CO said.

“CIC, Damage Control. Compartments Eleven, Twelve and Ninety-Six breached. Six KIA, two WIA. Forward Torpedo Room out of action. Laser Two deadline. That's a cut in the power system, we might have it repaired in about thirty minutes. Down to six guns starboard. Most of them are unrepairable and I just lost one of the gun teams in the last run.”

“Damage Control, CIC. Get the laser back up; fighters coming in,” the CO said. “What's the status on our friend?”

“Bleeding air and various other components,” the TACO said. “In the case of Dreen ships, it's not a metaphor, if you know what I mean. They really bleed. Still under power, though, so we can't get through to the troopship.”

“Come in from our port,” the CO said. “We've got more guns left on that side and the starboard damage control teams need a break. But keep hitting their starboard. We're going to get to the guts sooner or later.”

“ 'If a man consults whether he is to fight, when he has the power in his own hands, it is certain that his opinion is against fighting.' ”

“You can stop now, TACO.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Hey,” the CO said, looking around. Something that had been nearly constant, so much so that it had become background, had stopped. “What happened to the music?”

“And I will write her name and cast it to the sky,” Miriam sang, drifting shining beams across the wall of gas. The formed silhouettes of light, a circle, a swirl that resolved into a dragonfly. “Silhouettes recede into a mother's tearful eyes . . .” Her eyes were wide and staring into the distance, lost in a world of music.

“Miriam, bring it down and to the right,” Bill said. “Miriam . . .”

“I think she's out of it, sir,” Carpenter said over the officer's implant.

“It's not much good if she's not going to target it,” Weaver responded. “I don't want to break her concentration, though. Come on, girl, down and to the right . . .”

As if his will drove it, the image of the dragonfly dove, swooping into the Dreen fleet, and appeared to grasp one of the destroyers protecting the upper side of the fleet. The destroyer, under the power of a dozen Earth suns, flashed in fire and disappeared in an instant, simply adding some constituent molecules to the gases filling the system.

“I felt that,” Miriam said, shaking her head as the beams of light collapsed, the dragonfly left as a glowing image for a moment and then fading. She grabbed her head and squeezed. “There was feedback. I don't understand the feedback. But I could feel the ship dying.”

“You're going to have to take it,” Bill said. “You've got to get into the brain-ship and take it out.”

“I know,” Miriam said, wincing. “I'll try. I need something more soothing for now.”

“Yes!” the TACO shouted as the Dreen cruiser erupted in fire. It stopped decelerating and drifted away from the formation, trailing air and water then detonating in a flash of white. “Sierra 31 is toast!”

“We're not much better,” Captain Prael said, looking at the damage report. “And if we don't get one of the troopships in the next five minutes, we're going to have nine more destroyers to deal with.”

“We got some accidental hits on Sierra 50, sir,” the TACO said, still jubilant. His job was killing other ships, other officers had to deal with the damage to this one. “Recommend next run be on Sierra 50.”

“Sir,” one of the tracking technicians said. “Sierra 41 just detonated.”

“Blue on Blue again?” the TACO asked.

“No, sir,” the technician replied. “I'm not sure why . . .”

“Sir,” the sensor tech interrupted. “The Tree has been making some odd emissions. I thought they were random, but a series of them just tracked across the position of Sierra 41. Emission levels were approximately six hundred exajoules of energy in the area of Sierra 41. I repeat. Six. Hundred. Exa. Joules.”

“Holy Hanna, our biggest nukes are less than a thousandth of that,” the TACO said. “That makes taking out that cruiser a pretty minor accomplishment.”

“Not really,” the CO said. “So far, that's the only hit that the Tree's gotten in. And if somebody doesn't stop this task force from taking the Tree, then they're not going to get many more. Set up an attack run on Sierra 50.”