The Mandate of Heaven (42 page)

“You mean the
bow
of the ship, my Lord,” the Captain corrected him.

“No, I mean the
front
of the ship.  Now stop debating semantics with me and get this ship moving.”

“We’ve still got a small problem; we’ve got no engines.”

“Seriously, what do I pay you for?”

“I don’t know my Lord; you’ve never paid me yet.”

“Good, then I’ll just deduct it from any future pay.  Now, listen carefully, as I’m only going to say this once, on the account that if I have to repeat myself we’re likely to be already dead.  Use the ship’s reaction control systems.  We repaired a small number of the thrusters to help control the orientation of the ship.  Just you try landing on a ship this size which is pitching, yawing and rolling.  Now fire all the left side thrusters, they should give us just enough power to bring us around.”

“Understood my Lord, but this is only going to buy us a little more time.  We cannot match the speed or rate of turn of that battlecruiser.  The
Valkyrie
will simply out manoeuvre us.”

“One problem at a time.”

“Lord Granville, Captain, the
Valkyrie
has commenced firing!”

Still almost one hundred kilometres distant, the
Valkyrie
opened fire, at the very outermost reaches of its weapons range.  Situated in deep space, with no celestial bodies nearby, there was no gravity to act on the almost two and a half thousand kilogram shells, hence, the range of the guns was practically unlimited.  The only restriction was the high velocity of the battlecruiser, as the ship’s gunners had to compensate, effectively aiming for where the target
will
be, rather than where it was currently.  At such high velocities even an error of only a fraction of a degree in the firing solution could result in a miss by kilometres.

It was therefore little surprise, that the first barrage missed entirely, passing by several hundred metres to the starboard, but the next salvo was far more accurate, as the fire-control computer on the battlecruiser compensated.  The shells passed only meters away, where the bow of the ship had been seconds before, as the port thrusters had slowly and ponderously swung the bow round to point towards the on-coming battlecruiser.

“Activate all the weapon systems,” the Captain cried along the length of the bridge to the Tactical Officer.  “Pass complete fire control over to the ship.  Target those incoming shells!”

The conflict took place in the depths of space, between the two mighty warships, with the massive guns from the battlecruiser being intercepted by the high-speed, point defence weapons, from the dreadnought.  With almost one hundred cannons, each capable of firing twenty-five hundred rounds per minute, the Dreadnought literally put up a solid wall of iridium tipped rounds.  The collisions, when they happened, were spectacular and easily visible from the bridge of both warships, because their combined velocity approached the speed of light and instantly converted the dense mass of the rounds into kinetic energy.  They were like miniature supernovas, as the light being the visible radiation from the massive amounts of energy, released by the collisions.

However, as the battlecruiser continued to approach at high velocity, the intercept time became less and less, and the fire control computer on the
Elysium Fields
struggled to keep up, matching range, distance and bearing.

First one shell managed to breach the inner defences of the warship, followed closely by a second.  The first missed, with the smaller target silhouette offered by the dreadnought, with its bow now faced directly into the storm of incoming fire, but the second shell didn’t.  Striking squarely on the first thirty-two inch gun turret, at the very bow of the ship.  The force of the explosion tore the entire rotating turret from the superstructure, exposing the projectile breech loader and the magazines beneath.  It was fortunate that the magazines had been emptied during decommissioning, as the resulting explosion from their detonation would have torn the ship in two.  Instead the gun turret, sent flying by the explosion, bounced back down the length of the foredeck, in the direction of the ship’s bridge…

“By all the High-Lords,” Granville cried in terror, staring, mesmerised by the sight of the almost five hundred tonnes, seventy-five metre gun turret bearing down upon them, before diving behind the captain’s chair—for protection.

“Close the blast shields,” the Captain screamed.

With only seconds to spare, a giant armoured cupola ascended, unfolding like a petal to enclose the bridge, wrapping it in half a metre thick, armoured plating.  Even with such thick shielding, the noise of the collision was deafening, the sound waves being conducted through the very hull of the ship, resonating inside like a silver bell.  The force of the collision followed close behind, with everyone being thrown from their seats and sent sprawling on the deck.  All the lights flickered and died, and were replaced moments later by red light, from the emergency lighting.

“Damage report?” the Captain cried.

“We’ve lost a gun turret,” the Tactical Officer shouted back.

“How about telling me something that I don’t already know,” the Captain muttered.  “What’s the status of the fire control computer and weapon systems?”

“Still on-line and active Captain, but—”

“Yes?”

“We’re firing all of the point defence guns simultaneously, each turret has already expended all their internal magazines and as a result they’re all currently drawing ammunition from our central magazine.  If the magazine was at full capacity it wouldn’t be a problem and we could keep up this rate of fire all day, however—”

“Just give me the bad news, how little ammunition do we have left?” the Captain asked, already fearing that he knew the answer.

“We’re at less than five percent of reserve capacity Captain, at this rate of fire we’ve only got a few minutes left before all the guns run dry.”

“Don’t even think of saying it, Captain,” the muffled voice called out, still hidden behind the Captain’s chair.

*****

Alex ducked to avoid the metal bar a second time.  Even then he could feel the disturbance of the surrounding air, caused by its passage, brush past his cheek, as he only just narrowly avoided it.  Taking a step backwards, to give him some room, he waited until Stanton had recovered from the wild swing, reversing the direction of the bar, to once again aim it at his head.  But this time he was ready for him.  Using his forearm to block the blow, he deflected it away from his head.

Obviously frustrated by his inability to land a crippling blow, Stanton bellowed in rage, a blood vessel throbbing dangerously on his forehead, as he reared back, lifting the bar high into the air, before bringing it down, with the full force of his weight behind the blow.

Widening his stance, to better brace himself, Alex crossed his wrists, catching the metal bar at the base, slowing its descent, until it hovered between the two of them.  A bead of sweat ran down Alex’s forehead as he found himself pitched directly against Stanton in a battle of strength.

“Now die,” Stanton hissed, pressing home his advantage, as slowly but surely the metal bar inched forward, until it was suspended between Alex’s eyes, only a finger’s width from his forehead.

“You first,” Alex muttered between clenched teeth, as he quickly realised that in a contest of strength he was going to lose, badly.  Therefore, he took the only option available to him, and instead of pushing against Stanton, reversed direction and pulled him closer—

Stanton suddenly found himself off-balance, plunging headlong directly into Alex, who was no longer there.  Having used his wide stance to pivot, he turned his shoulder into the collision and ducked down, using the High-Lord’s own strength against him.  Stanton flew through the air, soaring over Alex’s shoulder, landing in an undignified sprawl on the floor a few feet behind him.

“My turn,” Alex spat, reaching down to his side and picked up the metal bar that Stanton had dropped.  Hefting it in his grasp and getting a feel for the weight of the weapon, he brought it down, with frightening force, directly towards Stanton’s head.  But once again the High-Lord’s enhanced strength saved him, as he blocked the blow with his forearm.  A collision that would have shattered any other man’s arm, but all Stanton did was grunt in pain.  Lashing out with a foot, Stanton struck Alex around the knee and, with a cry of pain, Alex’s knee gave out from under him.  With his leg not being able to support his weight, Alex went crashing to the floor, beside Stanton.

The two antagonists didn’t even bother to try to get to their feet, instead exchanging a flurry of blows and kicks, but neither opponent was able to get a sizable advantage over the other due to their relative positions.  It was Stanton that recognised this first and used his position, next to the corridor, to his advantage—he blocked a kick to his head and, using his superior strength to push Alex away, levered himself against the wall to help get him to his feet.

Alex suddenly found himself at a disadvantage, with Stanton looming above him.  Rolling to the side, he narrowly avoided a boot which, had it hit his head, would have decapitated him.  The manoeuvre brought him a momentary reprieve, as Stanton found himself once again off-balance and Alex took advantage of the lull to stagger to his feet.  He was nursing his shoulder, which was now bleeding profusely. Stanton had quickly identified the injury and focused his merciless attacks there.

Stanton was by far the strongest opponent that Alex had ever faced.  His strength and endurance was incredible.  An injury that would have felled any other normal opponent, barely slowed him down.  Alex was momentarily transported back in time, to a similar dark passage, where he faced Stanton the last time.  He’d won that round, just, having had surprise on his side and the advantage of almost twenty years combat experience.

It was obvious that Stanton had improved since then.

Alex narrowly avoided a punch to the face, ducking under the blow, to deliver a blistering repose to the man’s chest, which had absolutely no affect.  Meanwhile, he only just parried a follow up blow to his face, with Stanton’s fist glancing off his cheek and only just missing Alex’s eye.  But Alex was far from yielding, as he replied with a massive roundhouse, which as expected, Stanton easily blocked.  However, he was distracted just long enough to fail to notice Alex’s forehead descending towards his face.  The
crack
and splatter of blood, clearly indicated that the impact had its desired effect—breaking Stanton’s nose, for a second time.

“Five years!” Alex roared, taking a step forward, as Stanton simultaneously took a step back.  “That was how long I was down there; in that hole where you threw me.  Well, it was time well spent, as every waking hour I imagined this encounter.  I planned every possible action, and your reaction—”

As if to demonstrate the point, Alex easily blocked a wild swing by Stanton, countering with a fist that caught him just under the jaw, snapping his head back and rendered him momentarily senseless.

“—There isn’t anything that you can do, that I haven’t already considered and counteracted.”

With a roar of pain and fury, Stanton charged at Alex like a raging bull.  The strength and speed of the movement caught Alex off guard and he was helpless in the face of such ferocity, no more able to stop him than he could an out-of-control express train.  The force of the impact sent Alex sprawling backwards and, carried by the momentum of the collision, the two went crashing into the wall, the breath rushing from Alex’s lungs by the force of the impact, as he gasped for air.

He didn’t have a chance to do this, as Stanton caught him round the throat with both hands, blocking his airways, and repeatedly slammed the back of Alex’s head against the bulkhead until all he could see were stars.

“You are nothing,” Stanton snarled, the blood dripping from his broken nose was smeared over his face and he looked like some sort of demon from another realm.  “I’m a God and you are an insect that crawls along the ground.  It almost isn’t worth my effort to crush you beneath the heel of my foot, yet in this instance I’ll make an exception, as I will take great pleasure in doing so.  Listening to your puny bones crack, one-by-one, while watching as I pulverise your head, while you choke to death.  It’ll be all the more interesting to see which you succumb to first.”

*****

Sanderson pounded on the sealed bulkhead, but with no result.

“Damn,” he cursed and kicked the door for effect, but it made no difference.  “It’s shut tight and it appears that the last impact cut all power to this section.  Only the High-Lords know what’s going on out there, but it sounds like one hell of a battle.”

“What do we do now?” Jessica asked.  “Is there another way to the shuttles?”

“Perhaps,” Sanderson muttered, rubbing his jaw.  “But we’ll have to backtrack almost all the way that we’ve come and try to find another way through.  If I had some explosives I might consider blowing the door, but it’s too dangerous.  We’re up against the outer hull of the ship and all it needs is a tiny breach and we’d all suffocate to death.”

“Perhaps I could suggest an alternative solution?” High-Lord Hadley spoke up.  The small group all turned to face him in surprise, as up until then he hadn’t spoken a single word, seemingly in shock at the sudden turn of events.