Out of the Black (Odyssey One, Book 4) (50 page)

The word gnawed at Tanner as he walked, though he supposed that it shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did. His request had been far outside the scope normally afforded his command, and certainly presented a degree of risk that could be seen as excessive.

It’s still the right thing to do, however,
the seething admiral told himself.

“Rael?”

Nero was waiting for him as he approached, the big man almost literally dwarfing him in every aspect, but Tanner wasn’t a self-conscious sort. He supposed that was a good thing, since most people made him feel physically small.

“I take it from your expression that your request was denied,” Nero said, his tone deceptively light and dry.

Admiral Tanner snorted. “You can safely take it that way, yes. Central flatly refused consideration of the plan.”

Nero shook his head. “Then it ends. The council will not consider going against Central in a matter as critical as this.”

Tanner growled, his emotions welling up and getting the best of him despite his normally rock-solid control.

“The critical nature of the situation is precisely
why
they must do just that,” the admiral ground out through tightly clenched teeth. “Forget what we owe the Terrans, forget all they’ve done for us . . . Every system that falls to the Drasin is hundreds, thousands, more!”

He clenched his fist, falling silent for a moment as he tightened his control and calmed slightly.

“Every system that they consume is that many more of the Drasin we’ll have to face eventually,” he said, taking a deep breath. “To gain so many more enemies while losing our only allies in this war? That’s not only unthinkable, my friend, it’s deplorable and utterly insane.”

“What will we do?”

Tanner sighed. “I go before the council and tell them either we do this . . . or they may begin looking for another Commander of the Fleet.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“WATCH OUT,
HERACLES,
” Steph hissed under his breath, sweating in the air-conditioned environment, his muscles twitching as he sat stiffly in his seat. “They’re trying to box us. Split to port. I’ll go starboard, on three.”

Upon reflection, Stephen supposed that piloting a pig the size of a small island wasn’t all bad. With the stick controls and NICS interface, tactical flying was almost as much fun as a fighter, and you didn’t go up like a matchstick if the enemy put a laser on you for a couple of seconds.

He pulled to starboard as the three count went off in his head, calling out over his shoulder as he did.

“Milla, darlin’, watch for a target lock in thirty seconds.”

“I will not miss,” Milla Chans said determinedly from the weapons and tactical station behind him to the right.

“I know you won’t,” he said, noting that the alien bogey was turning to follow the
Heracles
. “Coming back around on him . . . get ready . . .”

“I have him,” Milla answered. “Target has been locked.”

“Fire at will,” Admiral Gracen ordered.

The command was hardly needed. Milla’s hand was already moving as it was given. The forward laser mounts pulsed in response, lancing out to tear into the Drasin as it dropped into attack position on the
Heracles
. The six linked beams burned hotter than the corona of a star as they slashed into the Drasin ship, frequencies sweeping across the spectrum automatically until they hit the best absorption frequency.

The
Odyssey
’s lasers could cut through a Drasin’s armored hull in a few seconds of optimal burn, but the
Odysseus
packed weapons a thousand times more powerful. When the frequency hit the optimal point on the spectrum, they dumped enough power into the enemy ship to power a small city for a decade.

The Drasin ship simply ceased to
exist
.

“Splash one. Good shooting, Milla,” Steph said, grinning.

“We have thirty-two more on our screens, Commander,” Gracen said tightly. “Let’s save the congratulations for later, shall we?”

“Yes ma’am,” Steph said, eyes flicking over his displays before he looked out over the panorama that showed deep space all around the occupants of the bridge. “
Heracles,
Odysseus
is coming around. Stay with me, Cardsharp.”

“Roger, Stephanos.
Heracles
standing by to warp space.”

The
Odysseus
and
Heracles
came about in a tight sweeping curve, holding so close that their warp fields interacted. Both ships shuddered in response to the gravity waves each put out. They stayed glued together through the turbulence, however, as the two former fighter pilots adjusted for a new attack
vector and started to come back on the center group of their convoy, where several of the Drasin had managed to sneak in close enough to be a threat.

To the unaided human eye, the lasers crossing the intervening space between the fighting ships were invisible until they struck. But to those in the ships, the computer-aided augmentation of their instruments clearly showed the beams as they sliced space into cross sections. Explosions tore through the
Achilles,
gas venting from several points on her kilometer-and-a-half frame, but the big ship was firing back just as furiously at the four Drasin that had jumped her. One blast of the
Achilles’
beams meant one less enemy ship.

They learned after their second lost vessel, however, that staying in the
Achilles’
primary firing arc was a bad place to be. The remaining Drasin hugged in as close as they could to her stern and mid-fuselage as their lasers tore into the cruiser’s armor.

“Cardsharp, split low right. We’re going to scrape her hull clear of those pests,” Steph said, his voice as cold and calm as if he were ordering a burger.

“Roger, Stephanos. Call the play.”

Steph smiled slowly. “Pincer in three.
Achilles,
Odysseus
. . . hold
real
still.”

Admiral Gracen’s eyes widened and, for a brief moment, she considered demanding that he explain that comment, but as fast they were moving toward the
Achilles
and the enemy ships, she was honestly afraid that distracting her pilot might be disastrous.

Fighter pilots. What idiot idea possessed me to put fighter pilots at the controls of starships?

“Stand by to go dead stick,” Steph said. “
Achilles,
do you copy?”

“Roger, Stephanos. Dead stick in five,” Burner’s voice sounded a half second later, just a touch of nerves in his voice. “Do I want to know?”

“If you have to ask, Ray,” Steph cracked without pausing in his work.

“Right. Dead stick in three.”

Steph didn’t reply as he finished tapping in a few commands to his console and put his hands back on the stick controls. “Cardsharp.”

“I’m ready, Steph. Call the play.”

“Clean sweep in two.”

“Roger that. Clean sweep.”

“Milla, lock targets. Watch for the
Achilles,
” Steph said. “The
Odysseus
is going dead stick on my mark . . . Mark.”

“Targets locked,” Milla called. “I have them. Firing.”