The Oncoming Storm (49 page)

“Take us out,” Junayd ordered.

Moments later, they slipped through the vortex and headed into hyperspace.

“Captain,” Roach said, “I am picking up enemy ships entering hyperspace.”

Kat nodded. Hyperspace rolled and boiled as superdreadnought after superdreadnought plunged through the vortexes and slid into hyperspace, then set course for Cadiz VII. She had to admire their determination, although she knew it was driven by fear of losing what they’d captured. Normally, navigating through hyperspace within a star system was a tricky proposition, even though it was safer than trying to fly through an energy storm. But they didn’t really have a choice if they wanted to protect their facilities.

She looked at her console, frowning. “Have they seen us?”

“I don’t think so, Captain,” Roach said. “But it’s impossible to be sure.”

“They would have closed to engage, surely,” the XO pointed out. “Or simply launched a few missiles in our direction and fled.”

Kat nodded. Hyperspace was always oddly twisted near a gravity well. Few officers would have dared to lurk so close to a planet’s hyperspace shadow, knowing their sensors and communications would be utterly unreliable. If the fleet they were seeing hadn’t matched the known configuration of the Theocratic fleet they’d observed earlier, she would have feared that it was another series of sensor ghosts.

“Give them five minutes,” she ordered, “and then prepare to take us out of hyperspace.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Weiberg said.

“I did a head count,” the XO said. “They left behind five destroyers, at least.”

“Then we’ll deal with them,” Kat said firmly.

She sucked in her breath as the minutes ticked away. The destroyers alone posed no real problem, but the real danger was enemy gunboats—or one of their ships jumping out in time to alert the main fleet that Cadiz was under attack. She had no illusions about the balance of firepower. If the enemy fleet doubled back, she would have no option but immediate retreat, leaving the people on the ground to an uncertain—probably unpleasant—fate.

“Prepare to raise shields as soon as we exit hyperspace,” she ordered as the seconds ticked down to zero. “Take us out . . . now.”

Her stomach clenched as the vortex flowered to life in front of her, then Lightning surged forward and burst out into real space. The display flickered, then updated; a handful of red icons circled the planet in high orbit. Destroyers, she noted, and a handful of captured freighters, all Commonwealth designs. It looked as though there were no Theocratic freighters at all.

They must have wanted to capture freighters too, she thought, with grim amusement. They can’t fight a war without bullets and beans.

“Target the enemy ships,” she ordered, as the makeshift squadron spread out round Lightning. “Fire at will.”

The destroyers had their shields up, she noted, but they clearly hadn’t seriously expected an attack. Cadiz was largely worthless, after all, compared to the facilities. Kat watched with grim satisfaction as her starships belched missiles, launching far more than strictly necessary to smash the enemy ships. The destroyers, their vortex generators powered down, didn’t have a hope of escaping. One by one, they were overwhelmed and destroyed. The freighters died moments later.

“All targets destroyed,” Roach reported. He paused. “Automated weapons platforms are swinging to target us.”

“Take them out,” Kat ordered. They didn’t seem designed to engage starships, judging from the surveillance records, but that didn’t stop them from being dangerous. And, more practically, they might well have orders to bombard the planet indiscriminately if they believed they were about to lose control. “Then attempt to raise the PDC.”

“Aye, Captain,” Roach said.

“Standard communication links are down,” Ross added. “I’m attempting to make contact through laser now.”

Kat wasn’t surprised. The Theocracy had blanketed the planet in jamming, according to the surveillance reports. It would be a nuisance to their operations, but absolutely nightmarish to any surviving Commonwealth forces. She had the strong feeling that anyone who’d remained alive would have gone into hiding, convinced they were the only surviving Commonwealth personnel on Cadiz. Or they might have been wiped out by the insurgents or the Theocracy.

“See if you can locate the sources of the jamming,” the XO suggested. “We would make much faster progress if we could use radios.”

“Aye, sir,” Ross said.

“Captain,” Roach snapped as the display washed red. “We were just swept by an active tactical sensor.”

Kat blinked in surprise. There were no other enemy starships in orbit and the orbital platforms were being smashed, one by one. They didn’t even have a chance to shoot back, not with weapons intended to bombard a planet rather than engage starships. But why bother with an active sensor sweep, running the risk of revealing one’s position, if there was no way the information could be used? She didn’t like the potential implications.

“Find the source,” she snapped. “And then bring up long-range sensors and sweep the entire orbital sphere.”

“Aye, Captain,” Roach said. He started to work his console, then swore. “Captain, I’m picking up missile emissions in orbit.”

Kat stared as new icons appeared on the display. The Theocracy hadn’t managed to get a supply convoy into the system since they’d booted the Commonwealth out of it, unless the observing destroyers had missed something. But if they were critically low on missile stocks—she knew how many they’d fired during First Cadiz—they wouldn’t have unloaded so many into orbit just to help defend the planet. It would have rendered their superdreadnoughts largely defenseless . . .

And then, as the display identified the missiles, she knew the truth.

“They took our missile stockpiles,” she said, mentally cursing Admiral Morrison. The stockpiles that should have been used to prepare 7th Fleet for battle had been captured by the Theocrats. They hadn’t been able to transfer them into their starships, but that hadn’t stopped their commander from finding a use for them. “Order the transports to fall back, then brace for missile attack.”

“Suggest we use our IFFs too,” the XO added, as the missiles came to life. “We might manage to disarm them.”

Kat nodded. “See to it,” she added. “And use our own shipkillers to thin the herd.”

She braced herself as a tidal wave of missiles roared towards her tiny squadron. If they’d had time to jump out . . . she checked the display and realized they had another five minutes to wait before they could make their escape, no matter the danger. Her shipkillers detonated ahead of Lightning, blowing holes in the enemy missile formation, but there were hundreds of missiles inbound. She gritted her teeth, knowing she might be about to lose her ship, her life—and the entire squadron. They should have anticipated such a trick from an enemy commander who had proved himself alarmingly wily.

“Deploy decoys,” she ordered. If there was one silver lining to the dark cloud, it was that her personnel knew their missiles intimately. Spoofing them would be easier than spoofing a missile of unknown design. “And stand by point defense.”

“Missiles entering terminal attack phase now,” Roach said. “Point defense going active . . . now.”

Kat watched, helplessly, as missile after missile raced into attack range. Thankfully, they’d had several days to test their point defense datanet—they weren’t caught by surprise, not like 7th Fleet—but there were just too many missiles for them all to be blown out of space. Hundreds died, others fell to the decoys and expended themselves harmlessly, but dozens made it through the point defense network and rammed home.

Lightning rang like a bell, twice in quick succession. Kat grabbed hold of her chairs as the compensators fought to keep her ship and crew intact. She saw hundreds of red icons flash up on the ship’s status display. Most of them vanished within seconds, but the remainder glared at her accusingly. Her ship had taken one hell of a battering . . . and yet she’d survived.

“Graceful and Princess Royal have been destroyed,” the XO reported. “Cornwall and Jackie Fisher have been badly damaged.”

Kat cursed under her breath. The missiles had specifically targeted the battle cruisers, the largest ships in the squadron. It was probably the only thing that had spared Lightning from destruction. And each of them had had over a thousand officers and crew . . .

She pushed the guilt aside, promising herself she would pray for them later. There was no time to waste.

She keyed the console. “Damage report?”

“Five shield generators are gone,” Lynn reported. The chief engineer sounded harassed. “Major damage to . . .”

Kat cut him off. “Carry out repairs as quickly as possible,” she ordered. It looked as though they’d been lucky. Lightning’s shields had been weakened, but her drives and most of her weapons remained intact. They could still fight. “We don’t have time to withdraw.”

She turned and looked at the tactical display. It looked as though they’d swept the planet’s orbitals clear of anything threatening, but it was impossible to be sure. And yet she knew it didn’t really matter. They had to move fast before the Theocratic fleet returned and caught them in the act.

“Check with the Marines,” she ordered. “Have they located the enemy bases?”

“Aye, Captain,” Roach said. “They’ve established a number of facilities in and around the planet’s major cities.”

She took a moment to study her squadron’s status, then nodded to herself. “Cornwall and Jackie Fisher are to withdraw into hyperspace,” she ordered. Cornwall didn’t have a working vortex generator, but now that the missiles had stopped exploding, Jackie Fisher could take both ships into hyperspace. “They are to head directly to Gamma Base.”

“Aye, Captain,” the XO said.

“The remainder of the fleet is to close in on the planet and start destroying the bases on the ground,” Kat added. “Do we have a link with the PDC yet?”

“No, Captain,” Ross reported.

Kat grimaced. If the PDC was monitoring near-orbital space, they should know that the Theocracy’s ships and orbital installations had taken a pounding, but what if they couldn’t tell the difference between friend and enemy? What if they fired on her ships, on the assumption the Royal Navy wouldn’t be able to mount a relief mission so soon? Still, there was no time to delay any longer.

“Engage the bases on the planet as soon as possible,” Kat ordered. She glanced at the planetary display. It was dark near Gibraltar, just after midnight. Hopefully, most of the civilians would be in bed, away from the occupation forces. “And then warn the troop transports to prepare to launch shuttles.”

She watched, grimly, as bases on the planet started to die. It looked so simple on the display, as if it was nothing more than a computer game, yet she knew the reality behind each icon as it flared, then darkened. People were dying—and not all of them enemies. There was no escaping the fact that a number of civilians—and perhaps captured Commonwealth personnel—would be caught in the blasts and killed, but there was no alternative. She had no time to land Marines who would eliminate the hostiles while preserving the civilians—and besides, she knew the Theocracy couldn’t be allowed to develop a habit of using human shields. It was easy to imagine them using human shields everywhere if they thought it would deter the Commonwealth from attacking.

And yet, she told herself, the simple survival of the PDC was reassuring. The Theocracy had refrained from using weapons that would take out its shields, knowing it would devastate the entire planet.

But they thought they had all the time in the world, she thought. They didn’t know we would take the offensive so rapidly.

“Captain,” Roach said, “the Marines have identified a number of POW camps.”

“Mark them down for attention from the shuttles,” Kat ordered. She looked up and noted their positions on the display. Thankfully, most of them were well away from the cities. “And tell the Marines they can proceed with deployment . . .”

“Captain,” Ross said, “the jamming is gone!”

Kat let out a sigh of relief. They must have taken out the generators when they’d bombarded the enemy bases on the ground. There was no longer any need to rely on the PDC.

“Transmit the prerecorded message,” she ordered. Davidson would be down there, somewhere. She refused to believe he could be dead. “And ready the second flight of shuttles for immediate departure.”

“Aye, Captain,” Ross said.

The XO grinned at her. “All bases on the planet, apart from POW camps, have been destroyed,” he said. “Their forces are in disarray.”

Kat grinned back. Even if they had to beat an immediate retreat, they’d given the Theocracy a bloody nose as hoped. Its occupation force had been smashed. The Theocracy would have to put together another force for Cadiz, one designed to hold down a civilian population that had learned just how nasty occupation by the Theocracy could be. And the Theocracy couldn’t afford to look weak, not now. The war had barely begun.

“The insurgents will take most of them out, I hope,” Kat ordered. “Do we have any of our own forces reporting in?”

“Several,” Ross said. “They’re requesting immediate pickup.”