Loyalty to the Cause (TCOTU, Book 4) (This Corner of the Universe) (44 page)

Wallace
stared in cold rage at the tactical plot.  The privateer and his nightmare
vanguard were still intact.  Seshafian ships from the rearguard were closing
with the main in an effort to reconstitute the depleted section.  In contrast,
his own ships were spreading further into disorder.  Two snows had rotated away
from their section, following orders to sail with the crippled line ship,
Courageux
.

Wallace
ground his teeth and muttered, “The indignity of it.”  He growled at his
assistant, “Order Formidable and Courageux to strike.  Redeploy our brigs and
snows.  Form them into two sections.  We’ll place our two strongest brigs, Scepter
and Superb, in the vanguard.”  He searched over the remaining brig on the
tactical display before continuing, “Keep Renown in the main section to lead it.”

His eyes found their
way to
Elathra
again.  “We’ll see who takes this battlefield today.”

*  *  *

Heskan’s
fleet, just eight ships, formed into a full vanguard and an undersized,
three-ship main.  He had just issued an order setting them back on course
toward the Saden ships as he watched the invaders begin to scramble back into
formation.  He quickly sent a comm request to
Ravana
.

Lieutenant
Clayton Covington was a handsome, blonde man, in his mid-twenties.  “Yes,
Captain?” he questioned with a curious expression.

“Captain
Covington, I need your advice,” Heskan stated as he spoke into his helmet mic. 
“If we push in hard right now, we can catch Wallace’s fleet while they’re still
forming up.  Is that against the corporate code of war?”

Covington
dipped his head.  “Afraid so, Captain,” he admitted.  “Think of these combat
passes as an old medieval joust.  You can’t tip your lance until the other side
is ready.”

Heskan
sighed.  He looked around the bridge in disgust, but noticed containment fields
appearing near the ceiling.  “Very well, we’ll wait.  Thank you, Clayton, and
thank you for your support earlier.”  He glanced upward at the fleet status
screen.  “Ravana is pretty badly damaged.  Are you sure you can continue?”

The
young man nodded eagerly.  “I’m
not
giving up, sir.”  The transmission
terminated on Heskan’s console.

From
outside his helmet, Heskan heard Vernay’s voice.  “We have atmo’ again,
Captain.”  Visor raised, she wiped at her brow while she spoke.

Heskan
immediately broke the seal of his shocksuit and wiped the sweat from his own
eyes.  Once he finished, Lieutenant Hall stated, “Captain, you should know that
Lieutenant Covington is the Archduke’s son.”

Heskan
felt his eyes widen in surprise. 
That explains the determination,
he
thought. 
What happens if Ravana is lost?  Will the Archduke still pay me if
his son follows me to his death? 
Heskan frowned immediately in response to
his question. 
You ass, Garrett!  Maybe you should be a little more
concerned with the lives of the people under you than the size of your
paycheck.
  He looked once more to the tactical plot and promised himself
that this was his last battle as a mercenary.

Heskan
stabbed the fleet command channel and ordered, “All ships, line ahead, follow
your section leader.”  A study of the tactical display revealed the main was
now comprised of the snows,
Fame
and
Dart,
and the corvette,
Fly
. 
“Lieutenant Chadsworth,” Heskan ordered the main’s leading ship, “mirror the
van’s moves but maintain your nine light-second interval.”  He leaned forward
slightly as he commanded, “Diane, come to three-one-one, same plane.  Make your
speed point one-six-C.”

The
navigator acknowledged as Heskan watched Wallace’s ships intently.  As he
hoped, two of the three brigs were entering the enemy vanguard. 
That’s the
problem with pride,
Heskan thought. 
You lose focus and let combat
become too personal.
  The taunt issued earlier had obviously struck its
mark as the two brigs took station at the front of Wallace’s van.

Vernay
noticed Wallace’s reshuffling as well.  “You know we just finished a pass on a
second-rate, Captain.  Do you enjoy facing these types of odds?” she asked
sardonically.  After a moment’s consideration, she added, “Well, at least brigs
don’t carry missiles.”

Heskan
turned toward Vernay and shrugged.  “One of our sections was going to be
doubled-up on.”

“Yeah,
and I’m sure your comment to him had nothing to do with who he wants most,” she
retorted.

The
defenders of Seshafi followed each other single file through a gentle turn
designed to orient them toward their quarry.  In return, Wallace’s fleet
assembled and made way on a course that would slice near Heskan’s formation in approximately
four minutes.

Heskan plotted the
course results and increased his fleet’s speed slightly while simultaneously
angling into a higher plane.  One by one, each ship behind
Elathra
executed
his command as it was received, starting with
Rindr
.  As the minutes
counted down, Heskan ordered Truesworth to replace the fleet status display
with an optical of Wallace’s lead ship,
Scepter
.  When the fearsome brig
appeared onscreen, Heskan sent a final command to his fleet.  “Attention, ship
captains.  Maintain present course and speed until after the pass.  You are
free to orient to your best facing.  Rindr, do not, repeat, do not match
Elathra’s course or speed.”  Heskan watched receipt signals flash through his
fleet and finally said, “Diane, this is going to require some finesse.”

*  *  *

Lieutenant
Jaynee Baldwin,
Honor’s
captain, sat anxiously in her command chair. 
Her corvette was the trailing ship in the Seshafian vanguard and had mercifully
escaped most of the day’s brutality.  Through luck or skill, her tiny ship had
lost only a single GP laser and a small fraction of its propulsion.  She
understood that
Honor’s
luck would soon run out.

Her
section had already executed two passes, both times matched against superior
foes.  How the rearguard turned van was still able to function was beyond her
understanding.  In Line Tactics and Theory, her instructors assured the class
that given the confines of corporate war, no conflict would ever require a
third pass.  Baldwin’s hand lightly quivered as she zoomed the focus on her
chair arm tactical view.  She was no coward and, more than that, was determined
to ride out the battle to the bitter end, but their privateer-captain seemed
hell-bent on the entire section’s destruction.  She had never witnessed such
ferocious resolve from a privateer before.  Part of her wondered if rule under
IaCom would be a fair exchange for the lives of her and her crew.  Captain Heskan
obviously thought it would not.

“Ma’am,
I’m getting something strange,” Sub-lieutenant Tengu reported.  “I’m picking up
a personal distress beacon thirty-five thousand kilometers off our bow.”

“What?”
Baldwin asked.

“Someone’s
floating in space about thirty thousand K ahead of us,” the sensorman
clarified.

The
captain shuddered lightly.  “It’s just remains, Casey.  We’ve turned this part
of space into a graveyard.”

“No,
ma’am.  I’m getting life signs.”

Baldwin
knew she could never break formation in the middle of combat for a single
soul.  She spun toward her first officer and asked, “Recommendations?”

She watched the
officer run through possible options before blurting out, “Send our shuttle!”

*  *  *

The
fleets crashed toward each other at a closure rate of .26
c
.  On board
Scepter
,
Captain Gael Harrist was waiting for what must be the enemy commander’s final
fleet maneuver.  Both
Superb
and
Scepter
had been ravaged on
their starboard sides and were sailing inverted, relative to the rest of the Saden
vanguard, to present a fresh and operational port-mounted dual GP laser turret
toward the enemy.  Wallace had given Harrist
free rein to maneuver, and with
the Seshafian van’s earlier speed increase, she was forced to increase her own
section’s speed and accept an intercept farther out than originally planned. 
The extra effort was required to have any chance at bringing the Seshafian van
to a final and decisive defeat.  It was clear the enemy commander was
attempting to skirt a lengthy engagement by speeding ahead to minimize exposure
to
Superb’s
and
Scepter’s
combined weaponry.  When
Elathra
was 34
ls
from
Scepter
, the light from the snow’s full military
power burn reached Harrist’s bridge. 
He’s running even harder now, trying
to race in front of us in a desperate attempt to avoid destruction,
she
thought.

It
was inexcusable but understandable.  As a privateer herself, she knew that ship
survival was paramount and the enemy snow had already been thoroughly wrecked in
previous passes.  Its only armament was a scant dual GP laser turret and
single, damnable particle cannon.  When compared to
Scepter’s
and
Superb’s
dorsal tri-laser emplacements and side-mounted dual turrets, the snow was
clearly living on borrowed time.  She hated the notion of destroying another
privateer’s ship but the deed would have to be done. 
He had his chance to
retire.  This is what happens when privateers forget they are privateers.
 

She looked at the
estimated time until contact with a heady smile.  There were still two full
minutes to make the required correction. 
He tipped his hand too early. In
his panic to escape us, he’s given me just enough time to close the jaws of the
trap.
  She leered at the tactical plot as the enemy’s van formation began
to stretch apart.  The Seshafian lieutenants behind the privateer captain were not
matching their leader’s disgraceful flight.  The result was the privateer’s
snow racing farther ahead, abandoning his section.  “Increase our speed to
point one-eight-C,” Harrist ordered.  She knew that increasing speed would also
increase the closure rate, especially relative to the brave ships of the
Seshafian van not attempting to escape, but she no longer cared about them.  “Wallace
said, ‘Kill their leader and it’s over,’” she justified to her bridge.

*  *  *

Thirty-three
seconds later, Heskan watched
Scepter’s
vector lines on the tactical
plot increase, followed closely by the rest of Saden’s vanguard.  The enemy ships
were moving in from
Elathra’s
port side, increasing the closure speed to
.28
c
.  Heskan’s snow and the enemy van were now 12
ls
apart.

“He’s
taken the bait,” Vernay said exultantly.

Heskan’s
brow furrowed.  “Diane, hard to port and make your course three-zero-three,
negative plane five then rotate to face the enemy.”

“But not for long,”
Selvaggio reminded herself.

*  *  *

“Course
change!”
Scepter’s
sensorman called out.

“You
mean speed change,” Harrist corrected. 
Run all you want, you can’t escape
us now.

“No,”
the lieutenant insisted.  “
Course
change.”

The
captain stared at the tactical plot dumbfounded. 
He can’t skip over or
under us, we’re too close for that
.  The vector line on
Elathra
remained the same, but the ship’s bearing was changing. 
He must be trying to
thrust directly away from us!
 Harrist sat at the edge of her seat in
excitement. 
We’ll run him down like an animal.
  As she watched
Elathra
settle on a final trajectory, the captain’s eyes grew wide.  “What’s his new
course?”

The sensorman gulped
before answering, “Us.”

*  *  *

Elathra
dashed to 6
ls
from
Scepter
in the dozen seconds after the brig’s captain had first seen the light from its
radical course change.  Bow facing the larger brig,
Elathra’s
lone
particle cannon blasted its deadly beam from maximum range.

On
the bridge, Vernay cried out the moment Pruette’s cannon pulsed, spurring
Selvaggio into action. 
Elathra’s
thrusters activated again and spun the
agile ship quickly to port.  The rotation would have negligible effect on the
snow’s course and speed, but when the five-second maneuver was completed the
ship’s entire starboard broadside would bear for action.

Two
heartbeats into the bearing change,
Scepter
and
Elathra
ranged 5
ls
. 
Scepter’s
gunners, though surprised at the snow’s suicidal turn, were
still prepared to fire.  Five separate lenses on the brig gushed powerful
bursts of charged energy at the snow.  In return,
Elathra
could muster
but twin streams of light from Thomas’ forward GP turret.  This lop-sided
process seemed destined to repeat itself every two seconds as the ships blazed
toward each other.

The
ships breached the 4
ls
barrier while issuing violence a second time.  A
moment later,
Elathra
completed her thirty-degree turn away from
Scepter
. 
An instant after that, the range between the ships reduced again to a mere 3
ls
. 
Elathra’s
third salvo was augmented this time by her starboard
carronades.  The hyper-cycling lasers spit forth their fury in a relentless
tirade of annihilation.  Though underpowered and short of range, the tiny
lenses of the blister turrets streamed forth destruction with every passing
second.  To a human eye, the rush of fire appeared almost continuous.