The Phoenix Requiem (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 7) (27 page)

“Send the following command,” said Sir Arkwright. “To all ships of the First Fleet, hold no guns in reserve until I say otherwise. All ships are cleared and ordered to use every means to eliminate any attacking drones.”

“Yes, sir, relaying command,” said the Comms chief, who gave instructions to his staff; the group of them rushed to communicate the order.

“Sir, the drones have begun their attack,” said the Ops chief. “There are more than a hundred within our shield radius alone.”

“We are taking fire,” said the Defense chief. “They are concentrated on the starboard bow. Only a fraction of our guns are able to target them. I suggest we rotate the ship to face the drone squadrons with our starboard broadside.”

“Do it,” commanded Sir Arkwright. The view out the windows changed as the ship yawed hard to port. Seconds later, tiny flashes could be seen as drones were destroyed by the
Victory
’s many guns.

“Our response is working,” said the Defense chief. “But they are not withdrawing; instead, we continue to take fire, but the attack is less concentrated.”

“Threat assessment,” demanded Sir Arkwright.

“From these drones, minimal,” said the Defense chief. “The armor is holding—it’s designed for far more punishment than these gnats can give. Unless more come to help them.”  

“That is exactly what is happening, sir,” said the Ops chief. “Our scanners detect another wave of drones on an intercept course with our exact position.”

“How many of them?” asked Sir Arkwright.

“More than two-hundred, sir. Headed right for us.”

“Defense,” said Sir Arkwright, “Is that enough to represent a legitimate threat to our starboard armor?”

“More than enough, sir. Especially if they concentrate their attack, like they were before,” said the Defense chief. “Enough strikes could eventually cause a hull breach.”

“And our guns,” said Sir Arkwright, “Are there enough to deal with this second wave?”

“I don’t know, sir,” said the Defense chief, looking anxious. “All gun batteries on the starboard side report active…I think we need more guns.”

“I agree with you there, Mister Adolphus,” said Sir Arkwright. He then turned to his Comms staff. “Mister Elliot, send a maximum priority message to the Star Chief Marshall and find out just where the hell our starfighters are. Tell him we need them here to deal with these drones.”

“Yes, sir,” the Comms chief acknowledged, then got to work sending the message. His response came quickly. “She reports that all of her squadrons are currently engaged. They are spread too thin to divert any additional fightercraft to our position.”

“Damn her,” said Sir Arkwright, though he knew the Star Chief Marshall was probably right. The starfighters, much like the capital ships, were simply too outnumbered to contain the assault. “In that case, order the ISS
Buccaneer
and ISS
Invictus
to move closer to our position and assist with these drones. We cannot risk a hull breach this early in the battle.”

“Aye, sir, relaying order.”

Then, a moment later. The Ops chief spoke up again, “sir, the
Buccaneer
and
Invictus
are closing in tightly on our flanks, they’ve brought their weapons to bear. They are attacking the drones, as ordered.”

“Status report,” demanded Sir Arkwright.

“Our shields are at full strength,” said the Defense chief.

“Of course they are,” snapped Sir Arkwright, the battle is taking place
within
our shield radius—so far anyway.”

“Right,” said the Defense chief. “Our gun crews report that all guns remain operational, and they have over one-hundred and fifty confirmed kills from the starboard gun crews alone.”

“How many remain?” asked Sir Arkwright.

“Few of the first two waves,” said the Ops chief. “But more and more are coming. Swarms of them.”

“What is the state of our starboard armor?” asked Sir Arkwright.

“There is some damage,” said the Defense chief. “But it remains superficial.”

“Bad enough that we should yaw starboard and show them our portside?” asked Sir Arkwright.

“I don’t believe that is necessary, sir, not yet,” said the Defense chief.

“The new waves of drones are quickly closing,” said the Ops chief. “They will be on our position momentarily.”

“Any friendly starfighters nearby?” asked Sir Arkwright.

“No, sir,” said the Ops chief. “My scanners show that all squadrons near our position have been destroyed or diverted elsewhere.”

“I guess it’s up to us dreadnoughts, then,” said Sir Arkwright. “Warn the
Buccaneer
and
Invictus
to prepare for imminent attack.”

“Yes, sir,” said the Comms chief.

“And Mister Adolphus,” said Sir Arkwright. “Make sure your gun crews are careful not to overheat the guns. If they have a shot, they should take it, but don’t waste ammunition, and especially don’t put any of the guns out of commission; we’re still going to need them…” he looked down at the tactical display where a massive force of red lights remained still. Thousands and thousands of capital ships, just sitting there, waiting. Sir Arkwright wasn’t sure what they were waiting for, but he knew, soon enough, they would become part of the battle. And, when that happened, it was hard to imagine what the defenders could do.

“Yes, sir,” said the Defense chief. “Sending message to all gun crews.” A moment later he spoke up again. “Message acknowledged by all gun crews. Reducing rate of fire to prevent gun disruptions and preserve ammunition.”

The battle went on like this for some while, the swarms of drones surrounding and attacking the defending capital ships, nipping and pecking at them from inside their own shields. Scratching away at their armor wherever they could. The defense starfighters did everything they could to engage, distract, and destroy the enemy drones, but they were overmatched, and it remained the capital ships’ responsibility to deal with the majority of the drones.

To Sir Arkwright, it felt a great deal like swatting at mosquitos. Endless pests, any one of which was no threat at all, but in numbers could be overwhelming—if they were not dealt with. Fortunately, the guns on the defense’s capital ships seemed enough to handle the drones, and as the seconds and minutes went by, fewer and fewer enemy drones remained. Though their numbers still defied counting, and the threat they represented remained keenly on Sir Arkwright’s mind.

He gave orders to other ship captains, including fleet commanders, maneuvering his forces like pieces on a chessboard to both counteract the drone swarm but also keep his forces in line, ready to charge the enemy capital ships at the first sign of movement. Only then, Sir Arkwright knew, would the battle begin in earnest. Once the fleets of capital ships locked horns, the situation would become very chaotic and very deadly very quickly. He was not eager for that to happen, but he knew it was coming. And coming soon. Every now and again his eyes would flick to the tactical display and stare at the mass of red lights, unmoving, as if taunting him, and he would then look to the mass of blue and green lights, and realize how much smaller and fewer they were by comparison.

Intervention from God
, he thought.
That is what we depend on today. For no strategy, artifice, or cunning can win us this battle
. He did not share these thoughts with any of his subordinates, however. Partly because few of them, if any, shared his belief in some kind of supernatural being. But mostly because he did not want his people to believe their hope rested in the hands of a deity whose existence they doubted; he wanted them to believe, if they fought hard enough, and long enough, and showed no fear, they could prevail through their own efforts and their own cunning. Sir Arkwright knew better. Probably, they all did. But, wisely, no one admitted it out loud.

And then the moment came, the moment he most dreaded. And as he heard the words, “The enemy fleet is advancing,” come from his Ops chief’s lips, Sir Arkwright felt a deep fear seize his insides, and he understood exactly how the Dread Fleet had gotten its name.

“General order to all ships,” said Sir Arkwright, in the strongest voice he could muster, his words were being transmitted to every vessel in the entire defense force. “Advance and attack. I repeat, advance and attack. Full charge ahead. Get to missile and gun range and then hold position. This order applies to all ships and all fleets, intercept the enemy, full keel, we move together,
now
!” He watched as the swarm of blue and green lights on the tactical display moved to meet the incoming swarm of red lights.

“We have accelerated to maximum sublight speed,” said the helmsman.

“Weapons range in fifty seconds,” said the Defense chief.

“Mister Adolphus, order your gun crews to hold half the batteries in reserve and to standby for missile interception,” said Sir Arkwright, as the armadas began to converge on one another, clash imminent.

“Aye, sir!”

There was a flash, followed by another, then a third, all in quick succession.

“We are taking fire,” said the Defense chief. “Our anterior ships have gotten within range of the enemy’s beam weapons.”

“Shields double front,” said Sir Arkwright. “Helm, whatever you do, do
not
slow. We must clear the distance.
All
of us must. Only then can we engage the enemy.” They
had
to get in range to use their missiles and guns, otherwise the defenders were dead in the water, mere fodder for the Dread Fleet’s countless beam weapons.

More flashes of light, again in quick succession; Sir Arkwright lost count of how many.

“We are taking heavy fire,” said the Defense chief. Sir Arkwright had expected nothing less, but it was still unwelcome news.

“Status of our shields?” asked Sir Arkwright.

“Holding at sixty-nine percent,” said the Defense chief. “I am rerouting all power out of our beam weapons and into our shields, with secondary reserves standing by.”

“Excellent work, keep it up,” said Sir Arkwright. “Whatever you do, keep those shields up. They are going to continue to pound us with those beam weapons, even when we are in missile and gun range.”

“Understood, sir,” said the Defense chief.

Sir Arkwright looked back at the tactical display; the swarm of red lights had stopped their forward motion and now held position, but the blue and green lights continued forward, racing to get their weapons into range—weapons that negated the advantage of the phalanx shield.

As the swarms of light converged upon each other, and his Ops chief counted down the seconds until missile range was achieved, Sir Arkwright watched blue and green lights flicker and disappear at an alarming rate.

We’re losing too many ships
, he thought.
Just to close the distance. Just to begin the battle. It is costing us dozens of capital ships
… 

“Order all the commanders of each fleet to coordinate their attacks with their warships; they are to focus fire on the same targets, as best they are able, in order to eliminate enemy warships at the speediest rate,” said Sir Arkwright, just as his Ops chief was about to finish his count.

“Yes, sir, relaying order,” said the Comms chief; he and the rest of his staff scrambled to get the message out, giving more specific instructions to the other fleets, tailored to their exact courses and positions, along with their assigned duties in the battle. All of which had been determined in advance, mostly by Sir Arkwright.

“Sir, the First Fleet is now within missile range!” announced the Ops chief.

“Full stop! Order to the First Fleet, full stop at once and commence fire,” said Sir Arkwright. “Defense, fire at will. Comms, order the squadron commanders to coordinate with their ships and focalize their attacks on selected priority targets.”

“Yes, sir,” his staff acknowledged. They were close enough now that, although he could not see the forms of the ships of the enemy through the forward window, he could see many of their operating lights. And, true to form, the whole lot of them seemed tightly clustered together, packed like sardines, yet expansive as an ocean. Their running lights were so bright and so numerous, they seemed to block out any view of the stars themselves. On first glance, Sir Arkwright hadn’t been entirely sure he wasn’t looking at the stars, except the lights were too bright and too clustered to be celestial bodies.

“General order to all fleets,” he said, again tapping the switch that sent his message to the entire defense force. “Once you achieve weapons range, fire at will! But hold some percent of your guns in reserve to intercept inbound missiles. Otherwise let loose! Let us make them pay and pay dearly for ever coming here!” he released the switch.

Moments later, his Comms chief spoke up. “Acknowledgement from all fleet commanders, they have engaged the enemy. Except for the Seventh Fleet. The Seventh Fleet is still
en route
.”

Sir Arkwright nodded. “And the Fifth Fleet, has it engaged the enemy force from below, as ordered?”

“Yes, sir,” said the Comms chief. “Fleet Admiral Zeller reports that his ships have already dealt significant casualties to the enemy. They are adapting to his position, but he says the tactic was effective, although he is concerned it will ultimately leave him and his fleet exposed.”