A Conflict of Orders (An Age of Discord Novel Book 2) (30 page)

Rinharte rose to her feet. The decking thrummed beneath her feet as
Tempest
powered forwards. She walked forwards to stand beside the two helmsmen and gazed out at the ships about her. Having not fired a shot, or even contributed in any way to the battle, she felt detached, surplus. An
auxiliary
. It provoked a powerlessness she found hard to stomach. Her escort,
Szhen
, though only a frigate, had blooded herself. And no doubt the frigate below
Tempest
’s keel to starboard had also given a good account of herself. How, she wondered, did captains of troop-transports stand it? Entering enemy space, barely able to defend themselves. Solely to deliver soldiers. Where was the glory, the sense of accomplishment, in that?

She turned to starboard, her eye caught by the sight of a nearby battleship. From the shape of the superstructure, she identified it as
War Castle
. An old vessel, obsolete, but still magnitudes more prestigious than a troop-transport. She frowned as she caught sight of a dark shape moving swiftly across the face of the planet, some way below the battleship. She glanced back over her shoulder. Her telescope lay on the arm of her chair. Quickly, she strode back to the chair, picked up the telescope and returned to her position at the bridge’s front wall of glass. She brought the telescope to her eye, searched about and found the shape she had spotted.

No, two shapes. In close formation.

Friends or foes?

At this distance—a couple of hundred miles—there was no way of knowing. “Romi,” she said, “have a look at the captain’s console. Can you see a pair of ships to starboard and below?”

A moment later, Maganda replied, “No, ma’am.”

They were occluded by
War Castle
’s bulk then, and invisible to
Tempest
’s passive sensors. Damn.

“Make a signal to
Szhen
. Ask if they’ve spotted them.”

Footsteps crossed the bridge behind Rinharte. A low-voiced exchange followed. Rinharte continued to watch the approaching ships. Clouds drifting across Geneza’s face confused the ships’ lines, making identification difficult. She judged them to be destroyers. But whose?

From behind her: “Ma’am?”

Rinharte took the telescope from her eye, turned and accepted the signal proffered by her executive officer. Yes,
Szhen
had acquired the two approaching warships. They were enemy. The frigate was in no position to intercept, however, but
War Castle
had signalled her intention to engage.

Returning her telescope to her eye, Rinharte focused on the battleship. She was turning slowly, ponderously, her prow dropping planetwards. She fired her main-gun. An intensely brilliant shaft of light sprang from
War Castle
’s bow.

And missed.

Clouds roiled, lit hellishly red, where the beam impacted atmosphere.

Fool, thought Rinharte. The battleship’s captain should have waited a moment longer to guarantee his targeting solution. He’d pay for it now. A warship of
War Castle
’s age took six minutes or more to build up enough power to fire the main-gun again. Had Rinharte met him before the fleet left Linna? She tried to remember. There had been so many, all bought to
Tempest
to be briefed on what was expected of them by the Admiral and “Lord” Casimir Ormuz.

One of the destroyers fired her main-gun.
War Castle
was not the target. The shot went beneath the battleship’s keel. One of the troop-transport’s escorts, perhaps.

The destroyers separated. One continued in its low orbit, the other moved higher. Perhaps her target was
War Castle
. Black specks suddenly appeared, scattered across a patch of Geneza sky, spreading out from the leading destroyers.
Torpedos
. Rinharte tracked their trajectory, saw they would intercept
Tempest
’s course.

“Hard a-starboard!” she yelled. “Thirty degrees yellow!”

That would take the troop-transport beneath
War Castle
. Rinharte hoped other ships in the fleet would spot her manoeuvre and change course to prevent a collision.

The battleship’s bulk swung up and to port as
Tempest
powered beneath her. Rinharte kept her telescope trained on the torpedos. Good. They would miss her now. She scanned back to the attacking destroyers. And swore.

More torpedoes.

And these she could not avoid.

“Get the carronades manned,” she ordered.

“Ma’am, we don’t have the crew,” protested Maganda.

“Then take the bow carronade yourself, Romi.” She looked back over her shoulder. “We have a salvo of torpedos heading straight for us.”

Maganda’s eyes went wide. She turned and abruptly ran from the bridge. Rinharte heard her clattering down the ladder to the poop deck.

But… one carronade. It was not enough.

Where was
War Castle
? As if in answer, the beam of a main-gun shot overhead. It impacted one of the enemy destroyers near her bow. Rinharte saw the ship crumple as if she had run into a glass wall in space. The destroyer’s main-gun was surely destroyed.

Tempest
bucked as a torpedo imploded a mile ahead. Fortunately, it was not close enough to cause damage. A narrow spear of directed-energy drew a line from
Tempest
’s bow to the torpedo salvo. A burst of light signalled that one had been destroyed by the beam. Rinharte silently congratulated Romi on her shooting. Carronade directors were only marginally accurate beyond half a mile. She had done well.

But not well enough.

Another torpedo imploded. The burst of energy hit
Tempest
bow-on, throwing the troop-transport up. Rinharte was hurled backwards. She hit the decking and her telescope shot from her hand. She heard it break. Scrambling to her feet, she rushed back to the bridge windows. She could see no damage.

“Carpenter?” she snapped.

“Lower bow, ma’am. We’ve lost sensors and signal apparatus.”

“But not the bow carronade?” She did not care about the weapon. Dear Lords, let Romi not be injured.

“No, ma’am. Missed the quarter deck by a good forty feet.”

Relieved, Rinharte continued to scan ahead. There was little enough to see: the aquamarine plain that was Geneza, gently curved and blurred at its horizon;
Szhen
to starboard and
War Castle
to port; an armada of pinnaces, black specks against the face of the planet, descending in fire to the ground.

Good, the troops were almost landed. Her job was done.

Lotsman gestured for Tovar and Dai to keep quiet, and bent to listen once again at the wardroom’s hatch. He could hear nothing in the gangway outside, no sentry, no boots against the wooden deck. The ship shook again and he put up a hand against the coaming to steady himself.

“I’m pretty sure there’s no one there,” he told the others. He straightened and turned round to face them. “They’ll have gone to their duty stations.”

“Action stations,” Dai corrected. And then scowled.

“You think this is it, then? The big battle?” He staggered as everything seemed to jerk abruptly to the left. One arm out, as if that would secure his footing, he returned to the table at which Dai and Tovar sat.

“Oh dear,” said Tovar.

No sooner had the cargo-master shut his mouth, then the lights in the chamber dimmed and the entire deck vibrated just below the level of hearing.

“Gun,” said Lotsman and Dai at the same time.

“That definitely means we’re in a battle,” Dai added.

Lotsman nodded “We can’t stay here, then.” Uncharacteristically sober, he peered at the cargo-master and ship’s engineer. “Are we decided? We have to make a run for it?”

“Too bloody right.” Dai folded her arms tightly across her bosom and glowered across the table at the ship’s pilot.

Tovar put his hands palm-down on the table and gazed intently at their backs. Lotsman followed his gaze but could see nothing worthy of the concentration the cargo-master was giving them. “I,” Tovar said, “think we must.” He lifted his gaze. “We have to tell our masters. They need to know.”

All three nodded and rose to their feet. The hatch to the wardroom was locked but that was no obstacle. Dai knew enough to subvert the locking mechanism. And should they meet a member of
Vengeful
’s crew after breaking out… That would not stop them, either. They were men-at-arms in the Order of the Left Hand, they knew exactly how to fight.

Dai had the hatch battens withdrawn in under a minute. She left the fascia to the hatch mechanism hanging by a single screw and something smouldering deep in its workings. Lotsman swung the hatch open and stepped over the coaming.

The gangway was empty. He could hear whistles, screeches and shouts. The thuds and roars of distant machinery echoed hollowly along the passage. None of them had ever served aboard a Renown-class battlecruiser—or even visited one until now—but they knew their way about the vessel’s class. Their training had included plans of all the Imperial Navy’s warships.

Lotsman led the way toward the Port Supply Passage. The wardroom was on the same deck as the boat-bay, so it was a straight run along the passage. Keeping a weather eye open for
Vengeful
crew, the three made their way along the gangway. They did not meet anyone. There was nothing unusual in this—
Vengeful
’s crew were at their stations. But to Lotsman the ship felt abandoned, adrift in space with no one but the three of them aboard. Distant clangs and thuds, however, proved otherwise.

At the junction with the supply passage, they hung back and watched. Here, there were rateds, intent about their business.

“They know who we are,” Lotsman said.

His meaning was clear: someone would try to stop them.

“We’ll make a dash for it,” Dai replied. “Take down anyone who gets in your way.”

“And when we get to the boat-deck?” asked Tovar.

“We steal a boat,” said Lotsman, as if it were obvious. He grinned at the look the cargo-master directed at him. “What in hells are you worrying for, Adril?” he added. And barked a laugh.

“Ssh.” Dai held up a hand. “There’s only a couple of them now. We have to go.”

And she dashed out into the supply passage. Lotsman shrugged, then sprinted after the pilot. He heard Tovar follow him, moving lightly despite his bulk.

They had gone no more than ten yards before the first shout went up. A rated moved to intercept them. Dai took him down with a jabbed fist as she ran past. Another rated rushed towards them, hands out to grab. Tovar grabbed a wrist and threw the man at the bulkhead.

Dai increased her pace. She dropped a shoulder and bowled over a rated foolish enough to step in her way. Lotsman hurdled the fallen man and barged another rated who moved to stop him. She flew backwards, arms and legs wide.

The supply passage stretched the length of the superstructure. The three of them had entered it near the fo’c’sle. Now they were approaching the hatch to the boat-deck. Feet thundered on the decking. Scattered shouts chased after them. Lotsman put on a burst of speed and passed Dai. He dived through the boat-deck hatch, hit the decking and rolled.

A rated stood not five feet away, a half-coiled hawser in his hands, his mouth open. Lotsman sprang to his feet, leapt and kicked the gaping rated in the head. The hawser flew out of his hands and unrolled across the decking.

Dai and Tovar were through the hatch now. Tovar spun back and shouldered it shut. He dogged it and shoved a latch bar through the brackets.

Lotsman gestured: the other hatch! on the starboard supply passage!

The cargo-master hurried to obey.

Dai had knocked out another rated and was now squared off against a pair wielding billy-clubs. Lotsman left her to it and scanned the chamber for more crew. A pair at the end of one jetty. The pilot ran lightly across the boat-deck. He leapt over the dock, his trajectory abruptly flattening as he moved out of the influence of the chargers. And then just as suddenly dropping to the jetty on the other side as its chargers seized him. He landed on one knee, a hand to the deck to steady himself.

The two men looked at him and then at the jetty across the dock. One, a petty officer, turned and gazed out through the slot giving entrance to the boat-deck. Through the force-curtain could be seen something of the battle taking place about them. Dark shapes moving across the black of space. Silent bursts of flame puffing into existence. The bright lances of main-guns.

Lotsman rose to his feet and strolled forward. Navy rateds were brawlers, but these two had just seen three prisoners, crew-members of a data-freighter, take out half a dozen Navy in short order. The worry was plain on their faces…

The last petty officer hit the deck with a thud. Lotsman clapped his hands. “Right,” he said. “That’s that. Now let’s get a boat and get off this bloody ship before she gets blown to pieces.”

After twenty minutes of restlessness, Ormuz made his excuses and took the elevator down to the main deck. As he sank from sight, the Admiral gazed at him and thought once again how very like the Duke of Ahasz he was.

Nature had caused the similarities but nurture had led to differences. For that, she was glad. She liked this “different” Ariman umar Vonshuan. Ormuz did not possess the education of the duke but he shared his sensibilities. And his eagerness to please, tempered by an almost palpable fixity of purpose, made him much the better companion. The Admiral had enjoyed their nights together. She planned to enjoy more before this war ended.

Lieutenant-Commander Voyna was more than capable of commanding
Vengeful
while they waited for the enemy to regather his forces, so the Admiral retired to her suite of cabins. Prompted by her train of thought on the Captain’s Bridge, she entered her day cabin. Kneeling before the sideboard, she opened its door and reached in amongst the papers and books stored within. These were private items, nothing to do with the running of
Vengeful
, and so rarely brought out from storage. It was a moment before she found the item she sought: a large book, a foot square, of dark brown leather polished and aged to a rich lustre. Remaining on her knees, she laid the book on her lap, bent her head and opened the volume.