Black Legion - The First Trilogy Page 6

  What the hell is that?

  The crew looked about in concern at the sound, but there appeared to be no real damage. The shuttle transport was unarmored and designed more for utility than comfort and would not stand up to much punishment if attacked. Any weapon used by the League would easily be able to damage or destroy the shuttle with little effort. There were no windows to speak of, and the passengers were all required to wear full EVA safe suits for the trip. Only half had pulled on their gear so far, the rest were struggling, and a small number just ignored the order and sat in silence.

  Listen to it, Xenophon thought to himself. The sound of the small chunks of dust and debris from the battle outside pattered the shuttle like a gentle rain shower. It was frustratingly quiet inside, but Xenophon was all too aware of the battle going on. Being blind to the world outside did have its benefits for most of those in the shuttle. Not for Xenophon, he had a vivid imagination and had seen from the station displays the great enemy fleet that had arrived. They wouldn’t have begun an evacuation unless there was the potential for defeat.

  Have we started the fight back yet? We have Titans, and nothing can stand against them, he thought. The Titans were surely so powerful they could hold off an enemy fleet on their own.

  Curious to see what was going on, he remembered the high-speed digital media system built into every suit. He looked about until he found the link buttons. A quick tap and he was connected to the shuttle’s public interface. Various menus popped up inside his visor and by looking and thinking about the options, he was able to bring up a multitude of video feeds and reports. The shuttle was showing three external views and also repeating the public announcement channel from Plymouth Station. He selected the station feed first and almost choked at the sight.

  No, it can’t be. The station can’t take that kind of beating.

  Over thirty heavy ships were lined up and firing thick energy beams into the station. Each impact sent a shimmer around the station as its heavy shielding tried to absorb the energy.

  They’re trying to bring down the rest of the shields, he thought.

  Changing to the feeds on the shuttle, he spotted many ships engaged in a battle that was so large he could barely understand it. The Armada was being hit hard, and the terrible thing was that the enemy fleet was no larger than theirs.

  We’ve been caught with our pants down this time. He nodded to himself.

  The only thing he could think of was that it must have been the arrogance of the commanders and their position. He had been told many times in the last week about how safe they were in the Nebulae. It was either that, or the enemy had found a way to cripple the fleet prior to their arrival. All he could tell so far was that less than ten percent of the Armada was engaged in the fight. The rest of the ships were moored around the station and under attack. He remembered his studies and especially the ancient Terran officer Frederick Lanchester, quickly applying the rules the officer had devised to the facts as he could see them.

  Lanchester had devised a simple set of rules for calculating the relative strengths of a predator/prey pair. This formula essentially required the squaring of the statistical number of forces on both sides. A simple deduction between the two values would show the winner and loser. Most officers found the concept hard to grasp, but Xenophon, with his years of philosophical and mathematical training, had found it easy. If five ships fought three ships, then Lanchester’s Law would state the comparative strengths were twenty-five versus nine. Therefore, the larger force would overwhelm the smaller force by almost a factor of three, and essentially a guaranteed victory with minimal losses.

  “Lieutenant,” he called out to Lieutenant Devereux who sat just two seats away from him. She seemed to be ignoring him. He leaned towards her and called again. Rather than a reply, the side of the shuttle tore open to reveal the great emptiness of space. He felt the tug on his thick harness as the vessel instantly depressurized. Two of the seats ripped from their slightly damaged mounts and blasted out into space. Xenophon watched the two people vanish into the blackness. They were both wearing sealed suits.

  That won’t help them. He knew it would be almost impossible to find a couple of spacesuits amongst the debris and wreckage drifting around the station. The rush of air as the pressure altered was over almost as soon as it had started. Through the breach, a series of colored lights betrayed the position of at least two ships. The pilot of the shuttle must have made a drastic course change as the lights vanished to be replaced by an Alliance battleship.

  “Gods!” he spurted out before thinking.

  The mighty ship was burning from bow to stern as explosions and flashes ran the length of the vessel. A bright red beam move from the right until it made contact with the hull. As soon as the two touched, a bright light almost blinded him. If it weren’t for the automatic visor on his suit, he wouldn’t have seen anything at all.

  A cutter, they’ve had it.

  The common nickname for the heavy laser weapons, a cutter was designed to do exactly as its name suggested. It would make contact with the exterior of a ship and simply burn through, cutting an arc in the vessel. As he watched, the beam slashed through the ship as though it had been no more than soft plastic.

  “Xenophon!” came the familiar voice of Lieutenant Devereux. He spun around to see the survivors of the shuttle trying to help two of the crew that had refused to wear suits. He moved to unbuckle himself, but a blast of power from the shuttle forced him into his seat.

  “Hold on, we’re making an emergency landing on the Valiant,” said a voice over the intercom system. Xenophon assumed it was the pilot, but in all the commotion he had no easy way to tell.

  The impact was rough, and this time his straps gave way. Xenophon was thrown forwards and towards the front of the shuttle. With a crash, he struck an unconscious passenger. The shaking and violence of their trip suddenly stopped to be replaced by the harsh, full gravity of the warship. Xenophon hit his visor just in time to vomit onto the metallic floor. He coughed and then turned around to check on the others. Lieutenant Devereux was lying atop a number of crates that had broken free. Crew from the Valiant climbed in through the damaged hull and proceeded to pull them from the ruined shuttle. He climbed over to the officer and leaned down to her face. She was pale, but it looked like she was breathing.

  “Get her out of here, she’s gonna blow,” called out one of the newly arrived crew.

  He needed no more persuasion and grabbed her limp body. He expected her to feel light, but with the suit and webbing gear she was difficult to move. Pushing himself hard, he managed to bring her arm around his neck and across his shoulder. It took less than a dozen steps to reach the side doorway and out into the space of the hangar. Two men in full hazard suits pushed past him and blasted the burning electrical and fuel system with fire retardant foam and chemicals. He pushed on until reaching the rest of the crew who were trying to help a woman who had refused to wear a suit. Xenophon glanced at her, but as far as he could tell she was dead, probably from the explosive decompression that had already occurred. He was paranoid about suits during transportation on the small craft, and today had only reinforced that idea.

  “Xenophon?” asked a feeble voice.

  He looked down to see a weak smile from the Lieutenant. He smiled back and leaned in closer.

  “How are you feeling?”

  She coughed and shook a little.

  “Not great, suit says it’s coming up with blood pressure warnings.”

  Blood pressure? No, it must be internal bleeding.

  He lifted himself up, so he was more visible to the crew.

  “Hey, I’ve got a wounded officer here!”

  A medical and an orderly were there in seconds. The medical officer attached a cable from his medical analysis tool on his belt. It connected directly into the biological monitoring package embedded into the suit.

  “Yeah, she’s got internal bleeding, pressure dropping. Get her to sickbay, stat!”

/>   The orderly called for another man to come and help and before Xenophon could say anymore, they were heading for the doors. Xenophon moved to follow but was stopped by the arrival of a gruff looking Commander. He was at least a head taller than Xenophon and scarred on the left side of his face.

  “I’m down to fifty percent of my crew. Any of you with combat or targeting experience?”

  Xenophon watched the Lieutenant disappear before looking back to the Commander. Five men had already stepped forward and were talking with him. He moved up to join them, and his heart pounded from the events he had already experienced.

  “I’m a gunner.”

  “What unit?” he replied suspiciously.

  “Gamma Squadron, Sir.”

  “Gamma huh? You guys pulled the bait mission, right? Yeah, you’ll do, come with me.”

  The Commander moved away, and Xenophon stayed close. In the corridor, crew carrying equipment or moving the wounded continually interrupted them. Every few seconds, the heavy thud of pulse weapons striking the ship’s shields sent shivers down Xenophon’s spine. He was aware that powerful ships like the Valiant could take a number of hits but once the shields were down the weapons fire would start to burn or cut through the metal. It was that part of the attack that worried him.

  “Sir, how are the shields?” he asked the man.

  Without slowing down, the Commander threw him a quick reply.

  “Don’t worry about the shields, son. She’s a tough old bird. Just come with me to the gun deck, I need you on the weapons and fast.”

  Another ship and still they won’t tell me what the hell is going on, he grumbled to himself.

  The thuds of weapon impacts continued, and it was clear from the body language of the crew, they were flinching from the strikes just as much as him. As with his frigate, there were no windows in the vessel and the displays limited to the command sections of the ship. The small group entered a wider space, almost like a miniature plaza. Directly in front was a pair of large automated doors. The Commander stepped through and moved into the heart of the ship.

  Wow, this is more like it, thought Xenophon, for a moment forgetting about the apocalyptical battle that was taking place all around them. The first thing he noticed were the massive five-meter tall virtual windows that ran in a wide ring around the room. In the centre were almost two-dozen command officers. He looked at the windows and was presented with a terrible sight. The massive space station was being struck with powerful mass drivers. These electromagnetic weapons were able to hurl great chunks of material at super high speeds. Each strike blasted chunks of armor away and created a series of terrible breaches. What looked even worse was the incredible number of Laconian warships. He gave up counting after reaching thirty heavy ships, and there would be hundreds more cruisers and smaller. Beams and pulses of light hurtled towards the scores of docked ships, resulting in blasts and flashes as far as the eye could see.

  “You, you’re a gunner, right?” asked a half-dressed Lieutenant.

  “Uh, yes, frigate gunner.”

  He considered his words for a short moment before indicating to a lower deck. Xenophon stepped towards it and noticed the rest of the group taking up their positions. It was much like the gun decks on the frigate, but there were only eight seats. He sat at the first available space and strapped himself in.

  “Right, this is a Mark IV heavy laser setup. These are not cutters, and they fire in pulses, not too different to the frigate plasma weapons. Okay?”

  Xenophon and the others nodded.

  “Good. Your job is to help clear a path through the fighters and escorts as we break out.”

  “What?” demanded one of the volunteers.

  The Lieutenant didn’t need to explain any further as the amplified voice of the commander of the ship instantly drowned out his voice.

  “I have just received a distress signal from Fort Plymouth. Laconian ground troops have boarded the base. This sector is lost, so the only question is, how much of a fleet we can escape with? In the meantime, a general evacuation has been ordered. The Titan Prometheus is providing a rearguard for the rest of us. We are the last of the grand cruisers. Over sixty percent of the fleet is gone already. If we’re lucky, we’ll be leaving the Aegospotami Nebulae in one piece.”

  As if to emphasize his point, a volley of plasma cannon rounds smashed into the heavy warship. The vessel shook slightly, but there were no other obvious signs of trouble. The Commander continued.

  “Fighters are already in position to escort us out of here. Man your guns, and watch for pursuing ships. We get one shot at this. The jump beacon is seven minutes away, good luck!”

  He checked the screen. It was similar to the model used on the frigates but with a handful of changes. The first was that he had no crew around him. The status indicator showed seventeen men in the weapons deck, but he simply queued up requests, and they would deal with them in sequence. It was a more automated but distant approach. He reasoned it must be because the larger weapons needed more crew and that they served more than just his guns. The end result was that only the more senior crew was present in this part of the ship.

  Better than being with the rest of the midshipmen, he thought wryly.

  The second big change was that he controlled a battery of four separate turrets; each one equipped with quadruples heavy lasers. It was more firepower than all of the plasma cannons on his frigate put together. He tapped the connection button, and in a few seconds the communication node implanted in his skull connected to the fire system and communication network. He was immediately hit by a number of orders from the command crew.

  “Cruiser unit blocking the beacon, right let’s sort them out then,” he said confidently though only to himself.

  A quick scan of the gun system showed his systems were fully operational. The capacitors were charged and the guns set to short-ranged fire by default. As he watched the raging battle on the bank of screens, a number of diamond shapes appeared on the targets. He looked down but couldn’t find the fire control system.

  The trigger, where is it?

  “Why aren’t we firing?” shouted the XO.

  Xenophon turned around, embarrassed to ask but more concerned with the battle.

  “The trigger, Sir?”

  “Your head, son. This is a Grandcruiser. You’re controlling a quarter of the heavy weapons on the ship. Select targets with your eyes, fire and control the weapons with the communication node.”

  He turned back, feeling stupid for asking. The communication node was only used for oral communication on the frigates, a quicker way for the commander and the officers to stay in contact during the confusion of battle. This level of integration was a feature of all capital ships. The realization he was now in command of enough firepower to cripple a heavy warship, sent his heart pumping almost uncontrollably.

  “Shields are down to thirty percent, minor damage to secondary power systems. Incoming torpedoes,” said one of the senior officers.

  Xenophon had no idea who was doing the talking, but he immediately recognized the flashing indicators on the display. A group of five heavy torpedoes were shown in the centre as well as at least two-dozen heavy fighters. He tasked the gun mount with the torpedoes and sent the mental signal to loose off a volley. It was the first time he had seen, let alone fired, this kind of weapon. The name laser was something of a misnomer, as the weapon was only vaguely related to the ancient Terran technology. The turrets fired a sequence of a dozen shots, each following right behind the other in a bright burst of red energy. Each turret fired at a separate target and struck in a matter of just two seconds. The five torpedoes exploded in a brilliant blue crackle of energy and power. Xenophon almost jumped up with excitement from the success, apart from the arrival of a Laconian battleship that filled his entire display.

  “What!” he whispered.

  Two bright beams came from both sides of his displays. It was the heavy cutters being unleashed. These massive weapons were
the most powerful weapons fitted to the Grandcruiser. Each beam connected with the battleship and cut an arc of almost fifty meters through the hull before stopping.

  “Gunners, concentrate your fire on the battleship’s turrets,” said the voice through the communication node.

  Xenophon concentrated on the port side of the battleship and zoomed in. Its entire flank appeared to bristle with weapons, and most were already blazing away at the myriad of Alliance ships trying to break out to the beacon and safety.

  Here we go.

  His first salvo struck multiple turrets, but there was no visible damage. The shield easily deflected the energy. Instead, he targeted one section of the ship where a small battery of missile tubes were located and watched for the timing. It was something he had read about weeks before. The shielding of capital ships was multi-layered with separate generators producing fields at different points on the ship. Gun turrets and antenna could not be completely shielded as the signals or projectiles would be blocked. The shielding systems were designed to flicker to allow signals to move in and out or at the split second a shell or beam weapon fired. He had postulated the idea of programming the weapon systems to automatically fire on turrets as they fired. It wasn’t easy. The timing was an issue, but it might work.

  He took careful aim at a single missile tube and counted the gap between shots. It didn’t take long, and he timed it as two seconds between the fifth and sixth missile. As he ran the numbers in his head, another missile launched. It was the first in the sequence. In the blink of his eye the turrets opened fire, each sending a salvo of powerful bolts towards the target. The first arrived too early and once more glanced off the shields. The last two managed to strike in the window of opportunity. A flash of energy erupted around the target, and two turrets and the missile system blasted from the superstructure of the ship.

  “Good work, son, you must have hit a launching missile,” said the XO.

  Xenophon grinned to himself, and pleased he had achieved something of note. He moved to the next weapon system and counted the weapon launches.