Legion Of The Damned - 06 - For Those Who Fell (48 page)

Admiral Hikko was seated behind the cruiser's captain and his multifaceted eyes were locked on the fractal screen that
occupied most of the opposite bulkhead. Part of the Confederacy battle group was coming out to meet him, just as he had predicted it would, but the attacking formation was so unorthodox that the aging Ramanthian didn't know what to make of it. A cloud of fighters led the way, that was standard practice, but why send two transports in after them? In fact, why bring the transports along at all, unless they were actually warships disguised to
look
like transports? But
why bother with that? The configuration didn't make any sense, which was why Hikko continued to dither as the range closed. His second-in-command, a relative youngster named Thunu, was growing concerned. “Should I launch our fighters, Excellency?”

“Yes,” Hikko said reluctantly, “you should. I don't know what the barbarians hope to accomplish by placing those freighters in front of their warships, but let's destroy them immediately. They're a tricky lot, the attack on Hive serves as proof of that, so there's no telling what they may be up to.”

Thunu knew that the admiral was right, the aliens
were
tricky, but wondered if they were simply trying to make up for the fact that they were badly outnumbered. After all, decoys had worked once, why not twice? He couldn't say that, however, not without being asked for his opinion, so the thought went unspoken. “Yes, Excellency, I will give the necessary orders.”

The ship's crew had been forced to depart so quickly that it looked as if the six men and women had simply stepped down the corridor and might return at any moment. A jacket hung draped over the back of the badly worn navigator's chair, pictures of loved ones remained taped to grimy consoles, and half a cup of cold coffee rested near Teeg Jackson's
elbow. It rattled in sympathy with one of the transport's mismatched in-system engines.

The smuggler glanced up at the main screen, saw that the Ramanthians had launched their fighters, and knew they would close within a matter of minutes. The NAVCOMP had not been programmed to accept his voice, so the ex–navy officer had no choice but to deliver his instructions via a grim
y keyboard instead. The computer advised him against what the human proposed to do but agreed that the maneuver was theoretically feasible, and went to standby.

Jackson checked to make sure that the other transport was still following along behind, opened the ship-to-ship com, and asked for Captain Wells. She appeared on the screen a fraction of a second later. The seemingly perpetual frown looked even more pronounced than usual. “Yes?”

The smuggler grinned. “You look cute when you're pissed—which is nearly all the time. Now listen up. . . Something weird is about to happen. Assuming that it works, the bugs will hesitate for a moment. Get ready to take advantage of that . . . It's the only chance you're likely to get.”

Wells demanded to know what the smuggler was going to do, but the screen had blanked by that time, leaving her to wonder what the smuggler was up to. The
Dominion Star
disappeared three seconds later. “Did you see that?” Wells demanded, turning to look at Posson. “The bastard went hyper! Just like I told you he would.”

Posson stared at the screen. Something wiggled at the pit of the naval officer's stomach. Did Wells have it right? Had he been wrong about Jackson? But the bet had already been placed. His face remained expressionless. “Your concerns have been noted Captain . . . In the meantime, I suggest that you prepare to take advantage of the confusion that Jackson mentioned.”

“Look!” the nav officer exclaimed. “He's back!”

Wells whirled around to discover that Jackson had exited hyperspace
behind
the enemy cruiser, A maneuver so risky, so desperate, that people rarely attempted it. The margin of error for a hyperspace jump was often thousands if not hundreds of thousands standard miles, which meant most of those foolish enough to try it had been reduced to their constituent atoms. But there the transport was, only a few hundred miles off the Ramanthian cruiser's stern, and picking up speed. “Both engines ahead full,” Wells ordered. “Delegate all weapons to central fire control . . . Let's hammer the bastards!”

“The transport exited hyperspace behind us!” the pilot exclaimed. “And it's accelerating. What should I do?”

Three long seconds passed while Admiral Hikko struggled to absorb what had happened and decided to take the easy way out. “Turn toward the transport and destroy it.”

No!
Thunu thought to himself,
that's what they want you to do!
But the
Sun
had already started to turn by then, and there was nothing the XO could do. There were no fighters to the rear of the Ramanthian formation, and therefore nothing to protect the cruiser, except its own weaponry.
But that should be more than sufficient,
Thunu thought,
unless the aliens get close enough to ram.
It was an alarming idea, and the naval officer's beak opened and closed as he stared up at the main screen.

Both groups of fighters had made contact with each other by then and were busy battling it out, as the larger vessels closed and opened fire. Wells had to focus on that part of the battle, but Posson was free to watch the
Dominion Star,
as the bugs let loose on her. The transport had screens, and they flared as the first torpedoes struck, but there was no way
that they could withstand a cruiser's broadside. Light flared, the elderly freighter came apart, and the daring attack was over within a matter of seconds.

But damage had been done. Not physical damage, but psychological damage, as the Ramanthian battle group came apart. One of Admiral Hikko's destroyers fell victim to the
World
's rampaging fighters, a second was destroyed by a well-timed flight of torpedoes, and the third was busy attacking the empty transport when the Confederacy cruiser turned in on the
Hive Sun
. Missiles accelerated away, screens flared, and both vessels suffered as a series of hull-shaking blows were exchanged.

But finally, after a huge gash was opened in the
Sun
's hull, and her last escort had been reduced to scrap, Admiral Hikko was forced to concede defeat. The old warrior ordered Thunu to take command, retired to his cabin, and put a pistol to his head. Nobody heard the shot over the wail of Klaxons, the steady stream of orders being delivered over the ship's PA system, or groans of the ship's badly stressed hull as the old warrior administered his own punishment.

A few hours later, after a boarding party had been put aboard the
Sun,
and the ship had been secured, search-and-rescue craft were dispatched to check disabled fighters in hopes that at least some of the pilots might still be alive.

The S&R crews had special orders to look for escape pods, too, especially those belonging to the
Dominion Star,
but none were ever f
ound. Commodore Posson assumed that Jackson had been killed, that the ex-mutineer had given his life in order to restore his honor, which was why the smuggler's former rank was posthumously restored.

Captain Wells was of a different opinion, however. She took note of the fact that the transport had been equipped with
two
lifeboats, one of which had still been in its bay when Jackson was put aboard, and could have been launched during the moments before the freighter was destroyed. What with a
full-scale battle under way, and a multitude of targets on the screens, it would have been easy for something so small to evade detection.

So, was Jackson out there somewhere? And would she run into him someday? The naval officer certainly hoped so—because she owed the bastard a drink.

Two days had passed since the battle inside the fortress, all of the remaining hypercom components had been uploaded to the Ramanthian transports, and what remained of the 2nd Battalion, First REC was ready to pull out. And, with no homes to return to and the very real possibility of retribution by either the bugs or the Paguum at some later date, the refugees were leaving as well.

Santana had not only gone in search of Qwis Qwan, he had even gone so far as to send Fareye out to look for her, but with no results. Not because the colonist wasn't there, but because she didn't want to be found, and was careful to avoid the officer and his legionnaires. Qwis was going to miss him, though, and watched from a distance as the lanky officer made his way up the shuttle's ramp, and paused to take one final look around. Then the legionnaire was gone, the ramp went up, and the shuttle lifted off.

“So, Lieutenant,” Dietrich said, as Savas fell away below, “we made it.”

“Yes,” Santana replied, “we did.”

Neither said it out loud, but both were thinking about the long trail of graves that led from Savas Prime all the way to Hagala Nor. In fact two-thirds of the battalion would remain on the planet after the Legion's transports broke orbit. Was the hypercom worth it? Santana hoped so. The cavalry officer settled into the web-style seat, felt a tremendous weariness settle over him, and soon fell asleep.