On the Dominion Vengeance
Cookie dove for cover as a fusillade of flechettes pinged off the bulkhead just above her. The two Marines immediately in front jerked backwards, blood spurting in waves as their headless bodies crashed to the floor. Cookie snatched up their air guns and passed them back. “Give these to someone who only has a spear,” she told the private behind her. Gods of Our Mothers, what she would give for a powered battle suit. Armor. Weapons. Amplified sensors. Medical support mods. March right through the bastards and take the bridge in ten minutes. Kill ‘em all.
If wishes were horses, she thought ruefully, beggars would ride. She turned to the soldiers behind her, thirty or more, all armed with air guns, and all staring at her wide-eyed. “There’s only three or four of them in front of us. You, you and you-”she pointed. “Lay down suppressing fire. The rest of you run right at them. We are running out of time. Now move!”
Two minutes and five dead later, they moved another corridor closer to the Bridge. Off to their left and behind them, they could hear the steady tattoo of gun fire and the intermittent crackle of a heavy energy weapon. Cookie smiled ruefully. Using a heavy energy weapon inside the ship? We must have really pissed them off.
“Keep moving!” she told her soldiers. A private skidded around the corner, saw her and flopped down beside her, breathing heavily. “Sergeant, Master Sergeant Zamir told me to tell you that the second wave did not transport aboard.”
“What!” Cookie said, biting back a scream of frustration.
The runner nodded. “Master Sergeant thinks something must have gone wrong, but no more troops came through.”
Cookie’s mood swung between panic, anger and disbelief. “Where is the Master Sergeant?”
“Well, that’s the second part,” the private said. “The Ducks have some soldiers in powered armor. They’re somewhere behind us but moving up. Master Sergeant says we can’t stop them with the pop guns we have, so you have to take the bridge real quick. He says he’ll try to buy you some time, but that you need to, uh, well, he said you need to move your ass.”
Unbelievable, thought Cookie. She stood up. Somewhere in front of her was the Dominion Bridge.
On the Space Station Atlas, Hiram Brill’s assistant, Nina, approached him hesitantly. “Commander, this just came in from Sensors.”
Hiram was trying desperately to move more missile mines from the front of the Atlas to its rear, where the Dominion force was threatening them. “Can you handle it, Nina?” he asked distractedly, not taking his eyes off the hologram.
“Commander,” she began, and then stopped. He looked up in alarm; uncertainty was not one of Nina’s traits. “Hiram,” she said softly. “We’ve had four Code Omega drones. The Galway, Kent, New Zealand and Yorkshire. They’re all gone. I’m sorry.” She turned and left.
Hiram sat numbly in the chair, staring at nothing. In all of his life he had had only one real friend, and in all of his life he only loved one woman. Now they were both dead? He couldn’t understand it. Wouldn’t understand it.
“Nina!” he shouted. From across the room she looked up, startled and worried. “Send the data from the Omega drones to my console,” he told her. Dammit, they weren’t dead until he saw it with his own eyes.
On the battle bridge of the Vengeance, Captain Pattin leaned over to Admiral Mello. “I’m getting reports of enemy soldiers onboard. There is shooting around the mess desk and in some of the corridors.”
Mello looked at her, eyebrows raised. “How?”
Pattin shrugged. “They must have gotten close enough to land a shuttle on our hull and cut through. I don’t think there can be very many of them. I’ve alerted DSD and they’re hunting them down.”
Mello turned back to his battle display. A few men with guns were an annoyance, but not a threat. The Security Directorate thugs would hunt them down. The lucky ones would be killed; those not so fortunate would be captured. The Dominion Security Directorate had a certain, ah, reputation when it came to prisoners. Well, not his problem, was it?
He pointed to the display of the Dominion warships grinding their way through the Victorian minefield. “Won’t be long now.”
Two thousand miles behind the Vengeance, on the Dominion battleship Fortitude, there was a knock at Admiral Kaeser’s door. He took that as a good sign: if Captain Bauer were treating him as a prisoner, he would have just opened the door and come in. Knocking was a touch of civility, a sign of respect. It meant there was hope.
Admiral Kaeser opened the door personally, rather than simply barking “Come!” as was the general practice. “Come in, Captain,” he told Bauer, then ushered him to a chair. Bauer sat down, looking nervous and distracted, more nervous than he would have been just because he was visiting his admiral under house arrest.
“Perhaps you should tell me, Fritz,” Kaeser said.
“It’s Admiral Mello, sir,” Bauer said in a rush. “He’s lost another cruiser to a Vicky raid. His attack force is down to the Vengeance and four cruisers. I think he’s got enough force to break through the rest of the minefield, but if the Vicky ships return from the worm hole, Admiral Mello’s force will be overwhelmed.”
Kaeser nodded. Mello was bull-headed and unrelentingly aggressive, and a firm believer that every war culminated in a “decisive battle.” If Mello thought this was the decisive battle with the Victorians, he would risk everything for it. Kaeser sighed. How was it that fools like this always seemed to reach positions of power?
“What is our status, Captain?” he asked.
Bauer took a deep breath. “The Fortitude has been ordered forward to join the Vengeance. We are about to enter the passage they’ve blasted through the minefield.”
“Reinforcements? Are any more ships coming from our force around the Vicky home world?”
“Six cruisers, Admiral, but they are two to three hours behind us.”
“Just so,” Kaeser sighed. He ran his hand through his hair, feverishly calculating the number of hulls available and the throw weights they represented. God damn Mello to hell for eternity and a day for squandering his forces to break through the minefield! Mello spent his entire career treating every problem like a nail and himself the hammer. And now this.
Whine or lead, Admiral, Kaeser chided himself. Which will it be?
“What are you going to do, Fritz?” he asked softly.
“I don’t know!” Bauer blurted. “I–I think Admiral Mello is going to get us all killed, but if we don’t try, the space station Atlas will escape. But if we are all destroyed and it does escape, then who will be left to protect Timor and the rest of the Dominion? And if I do the wrong thing, DSD will arrest my family…” He stopped, breathing hard, his face fluid with mixed emotions of doubt, fear and shame. “I don’t know what to do, sir. I honestly don’t.”
Kaeser stood and buttoned up his uniform tunic. “Fritz,” he said kindly. “I think it would be best if you and I went back to the bridge together.”
Relief showed on Bauer’s face. “What are you going to do, sir?”
Kaeser smiled ruefully. “I don’t know yet, Fritz, but when the time is right, I’ll do it.”
The H.M.S. New Zealand reached the inner edge of the minefield. Space Station Atlas was a mere sixty minutes away at a high speed run, visible now on passive sensors. In fact, it was as stealthy as a bonfire in a dark room.
Worse, there was still no sign of Admiral Douthat and the rest of the Home Fleet.
“Send a courier drone to the Atlas, Alex,” Emily said. “Let them know we’re here and we are preparing to attack the Dominion ships as they come through the minefield. Tell them if they have any ships available, we urgently need reinforcements.”
The Kent and the Yorkshire called in that they were on station. Emily had Merlin project the point where the Dominions were most likely to break through the minefield, then ordered the other ships to use their tractor beams to move nearby missile mines to that area. For the fifth time, she obsessively reviewed their weapons inventory and came to the same conclusion: they might get lucky and take out one more Duck cruiser, but that was it. The rest of the cruisers and that gargantuan Dominion battleship were going to break through and reach the Atlas. Her battered ships just didn’t have the firepower to stop them.
An idea struck her then, but it was so dark and repulsive she didn’t want to consider it. She certainly didn’t want to say it out loud in front of her Bridge crew.
“Minefield breach imminent!” Merlin announced.
“All ships, go to battle stations!” Emily ordered, working to keep her voice calm. “Merlin will identify the target. Fire all lasers and missiles on my order.”
On the battle display, she watched as the last line of missile mines blinked rapidly and disappeared. Then there was the telltale red symbol of an enemy ship emerging into open space.
“Mine field has been breached,” Merlin said solemnly. “Enemy missile cruiser is emerging.”
Gods of Our Mothers, help us now, Emily thought. She thumbed the comm button. “All weapons, fire! Fire!”
On the Dominion battleship Vengeance, Cookie peeked cautiously around one corner. Nothing. There was a large sign on the far wall with an arrow pointing to the left. She turned to her troops. “Anybody read Dominion?”
A private held up his hand. “I do, Sergeant. Lived on Timor for a year with my grandparents and learned it pretty good, I guess.”
“Get up here,” she hissed. He trotted up and she saw his name tag read “Albert Meyer.” “Can you read that sign, Meyer?” She pointed to the end of the corridor. He peeked around, then pulled back.
“Says the Combat Command Center is down there to the left,” he reported.
“That sound like the Bridge to you?”
He nodded. “Actually, the Bridge on a Dominion ship is just used for docking and stuff like that. The CCC is where they control the ship when they’re in a battle. That’s what we want, Sarge.”
Cookie looked back. She had about thirty men, all armed with either Tilleke air guns or captured blasters from the Ducks. Many of the Savak air guns had run out of ammo or air, and most of the captured blasters were getting low as well. Wisnioswski still carried a spear; his ‘lucky charm,’ he called it. She had lost about half of her force, but had just teamed up with the survivors from another. There was some pretty heavy fighting going on behind them, and the sounds of gunfire were steadily moving closer.
Time to move.
“The room we want is just up ahead,” she whispered to the others. “Once we get in, shoot everybody you see, got it? That’s why we’re here, to take out the people in that room.”
Everybody nodded. Some looked scared, some excited, some like they just wanted to finish it one way or another. Another deep vibration ran through the deck; the Vengeance had just fired its main batteries again.
“Let’s do it,” Cookie said.
The lasers and missiles from the New Zealand, Yorkshire and Kent smashed into the first Dominion cruiser. For a long moment nothing happened, then it seemed to physically swell, its hull plates bubbling like the skin of a frying sausage. Then rents tore through its hull in a dozen places, venting air and flame into space. The ship leaned slowly to one side, as if it were slowly losing its balance, and began a slow head-over-tail tumble.
Moments later, the second Dominion cruiser emerged, lasers and missiles firing as it came.
Emily’s battered little task force sat naked and helpless. It would take a few minutes to reload their missile tubes — the ones that still worked — and their lasers had empty capacitors. “Chaff and decoys!” she ordered, then hit the comm button to connect her to Skiffington and Stein.
“Get back into the minefield!” she said crisply, tucking her trembling hand back under her thigh and sitting on it. She paused, closing her eyes. Run or fight? If I run, the Ducks will be all over Atlas in minutes. But fight with what? Nothing left but three battered hulls. She wanted to weep, but forced herself to speak calmly.
“The big Dominion battleship is going to come through any minute. I want you to evacuate all nonessential personnel. If a weapon is not functional, send that crew off as well. Put them in shuttles and send them to Atlas.”
Grant Skiffington and Lissa Stein exchanged a look. She knew what they were thinking: first she fired her Omega drones, now she was evacuating crew.
“Emily, listen-” Grant Skiffington began.
“When the big battleship starts to come through, we are going to ram it,” Emily said matter-of-factly, both of her shaking hands now tucked under her armpits. “All three of us. I’m pretty sure that the battleship is the one carrying the anti-matter missiles. If we can take that out, Atlas should be able to hold its own until Admiral Douthat arrives. Save as many of your crew as you can, but be ready in ten minutes. New Zealand out.” She punched the comm button.
Her bridge crew stared at her, open mouthed.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “But I need all of you to command the ship. Alex, designate the nonessential crew. If in doubt, send them to the shuttle bay. We can control most of the weapons from here.” The weapons didn’t really matter, she knew. They weren’t going to kill that big bastard ship with less than a dozen missiles; they were going to kill it by ramming it with three Victorian cruisers accelerating to full military speed.
The crew continued to stare at her, and her eyes fell on Tobias Partridge. He is so young, she thought. And what’s more, Partridge was assisting Chief Friedman, not in charge of the sensors himself. Alex Rudd was watching her from behind Partridge. He sensed what she was thinking and nodded, pointing at the young man.
Chief Gibson nodded as well. “He’s just a lad,” he said softly.
“Mr. Partridge,” she said, “Go to the shuttle bay and evacuate to Atlas. Quickly, if you please.” Partridge looked stricken, glancing at the two Chiefs and back to Emily. She said nothing. He stood abruptly, jaw clenched, then left without a word. As he left, Emily felt herself loosen a little. At least I could save him.
On the Atlas, Queen Anne and Sir Henry sat in a small room, watching a duplicate battle hologram that showed the second Dominion cruiser emerging from the minefield.
“Why don’t they fire?” the Queen asked in frustration, referring to the three Victorian ships led by Emily Tuttle.
“I rather suspect that they are out of missiles,” Sir Henry said harshly. They had been arguing on and off for hours, with Sir Henry urging her to take a fast ship and leave for Refuge, and the Queen stubbornly refusing.
On the holo display, several small dots of light suddenly appeared, leaving the three Victorian cruisers and heading slowly towards Atlas. The Queen frowned, leaning forward to see more clearly.
“Are those courier drones?” she asked.
“No, Your Majesty,” said Hiram Brill from the doorway. “They’re shuttles. Captain Tuttle has ordered all nonessential crew to try to make it to the Atlas.”
Queen Anne looked at him in confusion. Sir Henry blanched, then cursed under his breath. Hiram nodded grimly. Anne glanced at Sir Henry, then back to Hiram. “What?” she asked, half perturbed, half alarmed.
“Emily has sent off the nonessential crew because she is preparing to ram the Dominion battleship, Majesty.”
“Oh,” said Anne Radcliff Mendoza Churchill, queen of all Victoria, in a very small voice.
Cookie peeked around the corner. There it was, the entrance to the Combat Control Center. With ten guards milling about in front of it. The actual entrance was probably thirty yards down the corridor. There were no side doors, no joining corridors. Once they rounded the corner and attacked, they would be exposed for the full thirty yards.
Nothing for it. Do, or die trying. She smiled, despite herself. We’re havin’ fun now.
Behind them, the sounds of fighting grew louder. The Duck armored troops were getting closer. Runners had told her that three of the five armored troops had been killed, but the butcher’s bill among the Victorian Marines had been gruesomely high.
“Wisnioswski!” she whispered. In a moment, the big Marine was crouched beside her, pistol in one hand, spear in the other.
Cookie looked him full in the face. “Havin’ a good time, Wisnioswski?”
He smiled broadly and held up his spear. The shaft was red with blood almost its entire length. “Wouldn’t have missed this for the world, Sarge!”
Cookie leaned closer to him. “We’ve picked up about ten grenades from the dead Duck soldiers. Gather them up from our guys and bring them to me. Be quick about it!”
Wisnioswski grinned and nodded, then slid away, still brandishing his spear. It’s like having my own Polish Viking, she thought, bemused. And thank God for him.
On the H.M.S. Lionheart, Admiral Douthat sat and fumed. “Can’t you go any faster?” she asked harshly. They were still an hour away from Atlas and even further from the minefield where the fighting was taking place.
Captain Eder shook his head. “We are now at three gravities above full military acceleration. We have exceeded all of the safety limits. If we accelerate any harder the probability of failure goes to one hundred percent.”
Douthat muttered a curse.
A bridge officer handed Captain Eder a tablet. He glanced at it, then turned to Douthat. “The Ducks have broken through the minefield. Several cruisers and a very large battleship. The last three ships of the Coldstream Guard are preparing to attack.”
The last three? Douthat winced. “And the Queen?” she asked.
“She refuses to leave the Atlas,” Eder replied.
“God dammit!” Douthat snarled. “Can’t this thing go any faster?”
Emily commed the Kent and Yorkshire. “Merlin estimates the Duck battleship will come through in about ten minutes, maybe fifteen. From the time we see it to the time we hit it, we’ll have about one minute to pile on as much speed as we can. Full military acceleration all the way.”
Stein looked at her sourly. “Who goes first?” she asked.
Emily smiled thinly. “This is the Navy, remember? We all go together.”
Grant Skiffington shook his head. “Emily, there has to be another way, something better than-”
“What?” Emily demanded. “Tell me another way to stop that damn battleship from getting through! Give me a bloody alternative and I’ll take it!”
Grant stared at her. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it. Emily turned to Stein. “Do you have a better option?”
Stein glowered, but said nothing.
Emily nodded. “Be ready in ten minutes. Switch your AI to ‘Max.’ And when I give the order, don’t do anything fancy. Straight in and ram the bastard. New Zealand out.”
Cookie wiped the sweat from her hands and primed the first grenade, then the second. She stepped out from the corner and threw them. Beside her Wisnioswski threw four more that he had taped together. They had four left, but she was saving them in case the armored Dominion soldiers caught up to them.
They jumped back.
BaaWHAM!!! The explosion jolted Cookie to her knees. Metal fragments pinged and ricocheted off the bulkhead. Screams and shrieks sounded from the corridor. “Get ‘em!” Cookie screamed and all thirty four of her soldiers dashed down the corridor, screaming and shooting as they ran.
But at least four of the Ducks were alive. Stunned and wounded, but still fighting. They sprayed the corridor with flechettes that cut a swath through the attackers. Two of the Royal Marines simply blew apart, chucks of flesh splattering wetly into the faces of the Marines behind them. Eight more screamed and fell, punctured by dozens of steel darts. Cookie’s troops opened fire in a raging fusillade, but their fire sputtered and died as one by one their air rifles ran out of ammunition or air.
There was nowhere to hide.
More Marines fell. Cookie brought up her captured pistol, fired five quick shots into one of the Ducks, stitching him across the chest and neck, but then her weapon clicked empty and she threw it at the last gunman in sheer frustration. The last Dominion killed two more of her Marines before his eyes bulged in horrified disbelief as a six foot spear shaft suddenly grew out of his chest. He fell to his knees, struggling once more to bring up his assault rifle.
Wisnioswski shot him in the head, then kicked the corpse and spat. He grabbed his spear with one hand and yanked it out, then kicked the corpse a second time.
Cookie snatched up one of the assault rifles, checked the load and did a fast scan of the corridor. Bodies lay everywhere. Pieces of flesh stuck to the walls and ceiling. A severed arm lay alone, its fingers still twitching. Blood puddled beneath bodies and ran in streams down the corridor. Of the thirty four men and women who charged the entrance, at least fifteen were dead. And just out of sight, she could hear increased firing as the Duck armored troops steadily worked closer.
“Grab as much ammo as you can,” she told her soldiers. “Follow me.” Then they simply walked into the Command Control Center of the largest battleship in the Dominion Space Fleet.
On her battle display, Emily could see all four of the Duck cruisers slowly circling the area near the breach in the minefield.
“Active sensors, Captain,” Chief Friedman reported. “They know we’re here and they’re trying to find us.” But finding them would be hard. The New Zealand, Kent and Yorkshire were all powered down, hiding behind the innermost layer of the minefield. There was so much clutter that Emily was confident they were invisible… until they started up their drives. Then they would look like candles in a dark room.
“Merlin! Time to arrival of the Dominion battleship?” she asked.
“Approximately seven minutes,” the computer replied.
Emily nodded. “Merlin, please switch to Max.”
There was a pause, then: “Who shall I attack?” Max growled.
“Chief Gibson, send a fast courier drone to Atlas telling them what we’re doing. Also, leave a reconnaissance drone behind so that it can report how things come out.” One corner of Emily’s mind marveled at the practical simplicity of that order. They’d all be dead, of course, but at least the recon drone could report.
Chief Gibson took a deep breath. “Yes, Captain.”
Emily fretted, unconsciously stroking the bump on her nose. Was there anything she was forgetting? She sighed inwardly. It wouldn’t matter soon.
On the Vengeance, Admiral Mello watched the battle display coming in from the cruisers. The enemy ships were out there, but they couldn’t find them. No matter, there were only three of them and they had to be low on missiles, had to be beat up from the previous fighting. He would push through them and head for Atlas, no more than sixty minutes away.
And the great Victorian empire would die by his hand.
He looked up in consternation at the noise just outside the CCC, then the grenade concussion slapped him off his chair onto the floor. Smoke and debris filled the air for a long moment, but he was conscious of screaming and shouts, followed by the sewing machine sibilance of flechette guns on full automatic. With an effort, he struggled to his feet. Captain Pattin was sitting on the floor, feebly pressing her hand to a gash across her forehead and scalp, red blood spilling through her fingers to stain her tunic. Then he heard a voice in a language he recognized as English, but he didn’t know what it meant.
“I want one alive to show us the controls! Keep one alive!”
Admiral Mello frowned in anger. Where were the Dominion Security Directorate guards? They should have been here!
On board the Dominion Ship Fortitude, Admiral Kaeser had been trying to hail the Vengeance, but no one replied. He turned to the Sensors Officer.
“On my authority, override the Vengeance’s control room camera and set it to ‘Admiral’s Discretionary Monitor.’” The Sensors Officer nodded and rapidly typed in commands. The main communications screen went blank, flickered, then the CCC of the Vengeance was on the screen. Smoke filled the room and figures darted through the picture. A harsh voice rang out and Admiral Kaeser, a student of English since grammar school, felt a chill run through his spine.
“I want one alive to show us the controls! Keep one alive!”
Then the firing began, and the crew on the Fortitude watched in raw disbelief as the bridge crew of the Vengeance was massacred before their eyes.
“Full military speed!” Admiral Kaeser ordered. “Tell the DSD to gear up and report to the shuttle bay. The Vengeance has been seized by enemy troops and we are going to take it back!”
And then he watched in revulsion as a giant, blood-splattered Vicky Royal Marine walked up to Admiral Mello, the Grand Admiral of the Dominion Fleet, and thrust a spear all the way through his chest.
Cookie stepped into the Command Control Center, her fellow Marines crowding beside her. A dozen astonished faces looked back her. She held up a hand.
“I want one alive to show us the controls!” she ordered. “Keep one alive!” Then she lowered the assault rifle, picked her target — a woman with captain’s braids on her shoulders — and opened fire.
When the firing stopped a few seconds later, only two Dominions were still alive: one was a trembling young man standing next to the sensors console, and the other was a hard-looking older man who had been shielded by a large console. He stood up, glaring, and Cookie saw for the first time that he was a very senior officer, probably the admiral. Good. She raised her rifle to shoot, but stopped at movement from the corner of her eye.
Private Otto Wisnioswski swiftly stepped forward, snarled something under his breath and violently thrust his spear into the chest of the Dominion officer. The Admiral screamed, head thrown back, and Wisnioswski thrust harder, the point of the spear emerging bloodily from the man’s back. Then Wisnioswski kicked the body off the shaft of his spear and turned to Cookie.
“Now what?” he rumbled.
Cookie took a deep, exuberant breath. Gods of Our Mothers! She could hardly believe it; they had taken the bridge of an enemy battleship!
Now they had to stop the ship.
“Meyer! Albert Meyer!” she called out.
“Right here, Sergeant,” Meyer said from just behind her.
“Good.” She pointed to the young Dominion soldier standing near a console. “Who is this guy?”
Meyer asked him, speaking with surprising gentleness. The young man hesitated, then blurted out two sentences. “His name is Karl Kappel. He is the junior officer in the sensors section.” Kappel muttered something, pointing to one of the bodies lying on the deck. “The First Sensors Officer is dead,” Meyer said blandly.
“Ask him where the dark matter brake control is. Tell him that if he doesn’t tell us, I am going to give him to Wisnioswski.” Beside her, Wisnioswski grinned and hefted his spear. Blood dripped from the point. The young Dominion swallowed hard and went pale.
Meyer asked him. Kappel pointed to one of the other consoles.
“Show us,” Cookie ordered.
Evidently no translation was needed, for Kappel walked over to a console near the Admiral’s chair and pointed to a large red button. He talked briefly, then cast his eyes down and fell silent.
“That button will activate an emergency stop,” Meyer explained. He listened as Kappel said something else. “He says there is a control for slowing the ship more slowly, but he doesn’t know where it is. Apparently you hit the button and it brings the ship to an emergency stop.”
Cookie nodded. “Everybody hang onto something!” she shouted. “Full DMB stop in ten seconds!”
Men and women scurried to find something to hold. A few just sank to the deck and curled up, protecting their heads. Karl Kappel looked at them in alarm, then dropped to the deck and held onto a console.
One of the Marines guarding the entrance to the bridge called: “Hey, Sarge! Better hurry it up, the armored Ducks are almost here!”
Cookie punched the button.
On the command deck of the H.M.S. New Zealand, Emily Tuttle closed her eyes and let out a long breath. Soon now, soon it would be over. There would be no more time for doubt, for fretting, for self-recrimination. She would be shed of the responsibility that hunched her shoulders and plagued her dreams.
She felt…not happy, but relieved. Free.
What was that old phrase? “Iacta alea est.” The die is cast. She chuckled ruefully; those old Romans certainly understood war…and the people who fight them. Well, she had one more order to give, then it would be done.
“Estimate one minute to emergence of Dominion battleship,” Max rasped.
The bridge crew waited, casting strained, exhausted glances at the battle display. The four enemy cruisers were clearly visible, but there was no sign of the battleship. Chief Gibson solemnly leaned over and shook Chief Friedman’s hand. Betty McCann murmured a prayer under her breath. Alex Rudd wiped shaking hands across his sweating face. “Let this be over,” he muttered. “Let this be over.”
The minute ended.
Emily stared at the battle display, willing the battleship to come.
Nothing happened.
Grant Skiffington commed from the Yorkshire. “What’s happening?”
Emily shrugged. They couldn’t send a recon drone in because it might give away their position and the Duck cruisers would attack.
“We wait,” she told Skiffington. There wasn’t anything else they could do.
They waited.
Another minute. Then two. Five minutes dragged by.
They waited.
Emily drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair, her earlier feeling of relief draining sourly away. “Come on, you big bastard,” she muttered. “Come out and play.”
“Coffee, Captain?”
She looked up. Seaman Tobias Partridge stood there with a tray and five mugs. She stared at him for along moment, her eyes pricking with tears, a surge of anger, sadness and pride sweeping through her. Beside her Alex Rudd grinned while Chief Gibson scowled, muttering, “You bloody idiot.”
Emily considered what to say, but decided to keep it simple. “Thank you, Mr. Partridge,” she said, helping herself to a mug and a packet of sweetener. She sniffed the coffee and raised her eyebrows.
“It’s hazelnut, Captain,” Partridge explained earnestly, as if it were a matter of great importance. “It was all they had ready and I didn’t want to take the time to find anything else.”
Emily’s lips twitched. “Yes, well, Mr. Partridge, next time we are in this type of situation, I expect nothing less than French Vanilla.”
“Suffering Christ! Will you two stop playing silly buggers and give me some of that coffee?” Alex Rudd demanded. Partridge handed him a cup. Rudd took it carefully in both hands. Emily could see they were shaking. She held up her two hands. They were steady.
“Well, now that you’re back, young Mr. Partridge,” Alex Rudd told him, “give the chiefs and Betty some coffee and resume your station. Maybe we can get on with this thing.”
But Betty McCann was standing rigidly at her console, one hand on her ear bug. “Captain, I am getting a call on the Guard channel. A woman says she is calling you from the Dominion battleship Vengeance.”
Emily unceremoniously spat her coffee onto her lap. “Who?” she choked out.
“She says she is Sergeant Maria Sanchez from the Yorkshire and that-”
“Put her on, Betty! Put her on!”
The comm screen blossomed to life, showing a combat bridge that looked like a charnel house. In the center of the screen Cookie smiled grimly, a long cut on her cheek dripping blood, and eyes that looked weary beyond exhaustion.
“We did it, Em,” she said, waving a hand behind her. “We’ve got the bridge of the battleship. I’ve activated the DMB and we’re almost stopped.”
For the first time in hours, Emily felt a surge of hope. “Cookie-”
But Cookie interrupted her. “They’re bringing up armored troops, so I don’t know how long we can hold out. If there’s something you need me to do, tell me now.”
And with that, Emily felt the heavy iron collar of command lock back around her neck. She looked at clock, calculating when Admiral Douthat’s squadron should reach Atlas, and when Atlas should reach the worm hole to Refuge. “Cookie, can you give us an hour?” If the Dominion could not attack Atlas within the hour, they wouldn’t be able to stop Atlas before it went through the worm hole.
Cookie’s shoulders visibly sagged and the smile ran away from her face. But she nodded and said, “Maybe. We’ll do our best, Em.” They stared at each other in silence for a moment, and it suddenly struck on Emily that this was it.
She would never see Cookie again.
Never laugh with her, never tease her about the teddy bear she had smuggled into Camp Gettysburg.
Never see her marry Hiram Brill.
It felt grotesquely obscene that she could talk so clearly with her friend, like they were standing in the same room together, but could not hope to rescue her.
“Oh, Cookie, I’m sorry,” she said, her voice thick with unshed tears.
Cookie shrugged. “Yeah, well, this is what we do, Em.” Her smile held a hint of devilish mischief. “Remember that first week at Camp Gettysburg, when Sergeant Kaelin had us line up and shoot each other?” She laughed. “I shot you in the leg and you fell over, screamin’ like the end of the world.”
Emily nodded, not trusting her voice.
“Long time ago,” Cookie mused. She wiped a hand across her face, leaving a smear of blood behind. The tattooed blood tears stood out in stark relief against her skin.
“Cookie, how many troops do you have? Can you fight your way out?” Emily asked, hating herself for breaking Cookie’s reverie.
“Nineteen, including the wounded. Most are out of ammo.” She sighed, the leaned in toward the camera, her voice softening. “Take care of Hiram, Em. Tell him he’s the best thing that ever happened to me. Tell him-”
In the background, there was suddenly the sound of men shouting and shots being fired. Someone called out: “Sarge, they’re comin’!”
Cookie looked over her shoulder, then back to the camera, her face set and hard.
“Time to go,” she said simply.
The screen went dark.
For a long heartbeat, Emily just sat there staring at the blank image. She didn’t want to think about what she had just done, so she willed herself to stop thinking. About the war, about the damn Dominions, about Cookie and Hiram and their never-to-be-born children. She would think of none of it.
She wanted to weep.
Alex Rudd squatted down beside her chair. He spoke very softly. “Emily,” he said, “we don’t have to stay here and die. Your Marine friend has disabled the Duck battleship, at least for now. They don’t have anything else that big.”
She stared at him for a moment, uncomprehendingly.
“Emily,” he said more urgently. “Dammit, don’t go kamikaze on me! We do not have to die here. We should run for the worm hole as soon as Atlas clears the fail safe point.”
Emily took a deep breath. Haltingly, reluctantly, she allowed herself a glimmer of hope. Slowly, she nodded to Rudd. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.” Then she took hold of herself.
“Max!” she called. Her voice sounded far away.
“Who shall I attack?” the AI asked again.
Sweet Gods of Our Mothers, she was sick and tired of Max. “Switch back to Merlin.” There was a momentary pause, then:
“Your orders, Captain Tuttle?”
“Display two clocks. The first showing how long before Atlas enters the worm hole to Refuge. The second showing how soon the Dominion ships on your sensors will have Atlas in missile range. Do not take into consideration Dominion ability to shoot lasers.”
The screen flickered and words appeared:
Time to Refuge worm hole: 36:14.
Earliest Dominion missile launch window: 32:28.
Emily nodded. If the Dominions did not start their pursuit within four minutes, they couldn’t get close enough to hit Atlas with missiles before Atlas dove into the worm hole.
“Message to the Kent and Yorkshire: If the big battleship has still not emerged in exactly four minutes, we are going to do a speed run to the Refuge worm hole! Get ready!”
Grant Skiffington’s face appeared on the comm. “But the Dominion battleship, where is it? Why hasn’t it come through?”
“Cookie took the bridge,” Emily explained. “The battleship has stopped, at least for now. She’s going to buy us a little more time, and we only need a little. Admiral Douthat’s force should be back soon.” She fervently hoped she was right about that.
Skiffington’s face lit up. “We can go in and get her, Emily,” he said excitedly. “If the battleship is stopped dead, we can go in and find Cookie’s team and bring them out.” He looked at her imploringly.
Emily closed her eyes. He didn’t understand, or he didn’t want to understand. He could not knowingly sacrifice his people.
“No.”
The word hung there. She could hear it reverberate in her mind.
Now Skiffington sounded frantic. “I can get her, Emily. I-”
“No, Grant. We need to rearm. We need to be ready in case the cruisers take a shot at Atlas while they still have time.”
“But-”
“You have your orders, Captain Skiffington,” she said flatly. “New Zealand out.” She closed the comm screen. She watched the clock count off the seconds. Four minutes later, they started their speed run to the Atlas.
Leaving Cookie and her soldiers stranded on the Dominion battleship.
Emily tucked her shaking hands under her thighs and sat on them.
Fifteen minutes later, Chief Freidman called out: “New contact! A battleship has just come though the minefield behind us and is joining the four Dominion cruisers. Merlin identifies it as the Dominion battleship Fortitude. Last known commander, Admiral Kaeser. They are accelerating in pursuit!”
But the Ducks had waited too late. There was no way for them
to catch the Atlas. Now the question was if the New Zealand, Kent and Yorkshire could escape before they were blown to atoms.
“Chief, you’re sure it’s not the big bastard?” Emily asked, anxious to confirm that this was only a terrible tactical situation and not an utter nightmare.
For the first time since his return from Sick Bay, Chief Friedman’s weathered face cracked into a smile. “It’s only a regular Dominion battleship, Captain Tuttle.”
“Barely anything to worry about then,” Rudd added dryly. “Four undamaged cruisers and a battleship against three yard-jobs with barely any ammunition left.”
Emily called to Merlin: “Set new clocks. First, time for us to reach the worm hole. Second, time to missile launch window for the Dominions to fire on us.” Instantly the clocks hovering over the battle display changed.
Time to worm hole: 31:15
Dominion missile window: 20:12
Emily winced. They’d be in range for eleven minutes. She thumbed her comm. “It is going to get very hot around here in twenty minutes. Prepare chaff, decoys and anti-missile mines. Set anti-missile system to full automatic, but make sure the ammunition pods are fully loaded. We need to buy ourselves eleven minutes, then we’ll be through the worm hole and covered by the Refuge defenses.” Unless the Refuge defenses mistook them for Ducks and blew them apart, she thought. Then she sat back and let her crew do their jobs, and prayed there was enough crew left to get it all done.
Fifteen minutes later there was a piece of good news. “Captain,” reported Chief Gibson, “the Atlas just passed into the Refuge worm hole. In two minutes she’ll enter Refuge space.”
“Where are Admiral Douthat’s ships?”
Gibson adjusted his display. “They’ve formed a rear guard behind Atlas and are following it through the worm hole,” he said. Emily noticed for the first time that his face was covered with sweat.
We are on our own, again, she thought. But the Atlas was safe. And Queen Anne. Maybe something good would come out of this. The Atlas could start building warships almost immediately. Rebuild the Fleet, go after the Ducks-
“Why aren’t they firing?” Rudd mused. Emily looked up, startled. He was right; they were in missile range of the Dominion war ships, so why weren’t they firing?
It was Toby Partridge who figured it out. “They’re herding us through the worm hole,” he suggested. “The Fortitude must have anti-matter missiles. They’ll follow closely behind us and try to hide behind our FOF transponders, just like we did with those Duck supply ships. Once in, they’ll take a shot at the Atlas.”
“That’s nuts-” Emily began, but then fell silent, considering. She turned and raised an eyebrow at Alex Rudd. “Alex, what if they don’t intend to come through behind us, but want to get close enough to the wormhole entrance to shoot a missile carrying an anti-matter warhead, programmed to go through to Refuge and identify Atlas? If the missile sees Atlas, it pursues it. If it doesn’t, then it picks a secondary target, like maybe the Lionheart or some other nearby Victorian ship. The missile would actually be protected by our ships’ FOF transponders for the first minute or so.”
Chief Gibson had been listening in, and now he turned to them with a frown. “Be a long shot to expect just one missile to reach the Atlas,” he said gruffly.
Rudd shrugged. “Who says they only have one? Maybe this new battleship of theirs has several, and it and all four cruisers fire everything they’ve got. All those missiles would come flying out of the wormhole two minutes later, maybe a hundred or more. Heck more like one hundred and fifty, plus the usual EMC drones and decoys. Yeah, it’s a long shot, but what have the Ducks to lose by taking it? One anti-matter missile gets through and Atlas is crippled. If a couple get through, she’s ruined, maybe even destroyed.”
Emily shook her head. “Are they that smart? I mean, they have been coming at us like a sledgehammer all this time. This, this has finesse, this is a rapier thrust instead of a battle axe.”
Rudd and Gibson looked at one another. “Well,” Rudd temporized-
“Begging your pardon, sirs,” Partridge interrupted, “but you’re forgetting that this is a different admiral you’re fighting now.
Emily cursed under her breath. She raised her head. “Merlin, display time when the Dominion ships will be within missile range of the wormhole!”
Almost before she stopped speaking, the display changed:
Time to missile range to wormhole: 07:33
“Merlin, prepare a courier drone with the following message!” She spoke rapidly for thirty seconds. “Launch drone!”
On the Dominion battleship, Fortitude, Admiral Kaeser stood with his hands behind his back. The three Vicky ships would reach the worm hole soon. He marveled that the Atlas had managed to escape. Mello was a fool, he thought bitterly, an arrogant, self-centered fool.
“About fifteen minutes to the worm hole, Admiral, but we can launch in about seven minutes. That will leave the birds with enough fuel to maneuver on the other side.” Captain Bauer told him. Bauer looked at the battle display. “They must have figured out what we’re doing by now,” he said.
Kaeser pursed his lips. “Knowing what we are about is the easy part. Stopping us from doing it, that is the hard part.” On his order, his ships would launch every missile they could, and launch a second volley as soon as they were able. The Fortitude would fire its three precious anti-matter missiles, each programmed to recognize the Atlas and home in on it. “Still,” he said wryly, “we’ll need more than a little luck to make this work.”
“It is a very bold plan, Admiral,” Bauer said.
Admiral Kaeser made a rude noise. “Not bold, Captain, just desperate. I will not risk any more of our ships to kill the Atlas; we have few enough as it is, thanks to Admiral Mello. But I am happy to spend the rest of our anti-matter missiles on a long shot.” He turned to face Bauer. “Status of the three Vicky ships?”
“Still running for the wormhole, Admiral.”
Admiral Kaeser pursed his lips thoughtfully. He would use the Vicky ships to cover his missiles for the first critical moments they entered Refuge space. Or, if that plan didn’t work out, he would turn the missiles on the Victorian ships and simply return to Cornwall.
“Just so,” he murmured, and turned back to the battle display.
Emily told her plan to Skiffington and Stein. “Timing is the key here. If they figure out what we’re doing, they might just decide to kill us and call it a day,” she explained.
“How much time do we have?” Skiffington asked.
Emily glanced at the time display. “Five minutes. Turn your fire controls over to my Merlin. And remember; don’t brake for more than five seconds. We just need a good sensor flare.”
“You know this is pretty goddamned chancy, don’t you?” Stein grumbled.
Emily stared at her coldly. “I think it’s called ‘war,’” she replied.
On the Victorian battleship Lionheart, Admiral Douthat gave a quiet prayer of thanks as the space station Atlas moved slowly away from the worm hole, deeper into the Refuge sector. A single ship appeared on her sensors, its transponder displaying that it was a Victorian warship. The Lionheart’s comm display had opened to show a young woman scowling at her.
“This is Captain Elizabeth Neuwirth of the H.M.S. Frigate Matterhorn of the Third Fleet. To whom am I speaking?”
Douthat blinked in surprise. She knew some Third Fleet ships had been left behind when Second and Third Fleets went to Tilleke, but what the hell was a Third Fleet frigate doing here in Refuge? “I am Admiral Douthat, commanding officer of the Home Fleet. What can I do for you, Captain?” She tried, almost successfully, to keep the sarcasm from her voice.
Neuwirth didn’t back down. “I was sent here by Lieutenant Brill to prepare Refuge for Atlas’s arrival. Where’s Brill?”
Before Douthat could reply, someone on the screen whispered to Captain Neuwirth and she nodded. “Admiral, I just received word that Lieutenant Commander Brill is calling me from the Atlas. Tell your ships not to enter further into Refuge space until Brill has confirmed your identity. I will get back to you shortly.”
Admiral Douthat bristled. “Matterhorn, I intend to stay with the Atlas. I have thirty warships with me. If you think your little frigate is going to stop us, you are sadly mistaken.”
Neuwirth smiled wolfishly. “Admiral, before you do anything you might regret, may I suggest that you first make a sensors sweep of the area?”
The comm screen blinked off. Douthat scowled. Who the hell was this frigate captain? And just what did she mean, ‘Until Brill confirmed her identity?’
“I’m the damn admiral here,” she muttered. Then her attention was caught by a harsh trilling sound. It was the alert that warned they were being painted by targeting sensors. She turned to Captain Eder. “What?” she asked.
Eder pointed wordlessly to the battle display.
Douthat stared for a moment, then unexpectedly smiled. The battle display showed not one, but two large forts on either side of the worm hole entrance, studded with missiles, lasers and even some of the rail guns that were too bulky to put on anything but battleships. Even Lionheart didn’t have one.
And emerging from behind the forts were dozens upon dozens of Refugian gunboats, nimble little warships that carried three missiles and a bow laser, but had no armor at all.
“Well, well,” she said happily. “A little surprise for the Ducks if they come through.” She nodded briskly. “Message to all ships, activate Dark Matter Brake and hold in place pending further instructions from our hosts.”
And so they sat, until a sensors officer called: “Courier drone coming through the worm hole from Victorian space. Signal indicates an emergency message!”
Douthat looked up in alarm. Dammit, it could only be one thing: the surviving Coldstream Guards were in trouble.
On the Victorian side of the worm hole, Chief Gibson called: “They’re starting to come through!”
Emily’s relief was almost palpable. On the battle display, five ships had emerged, oriented themselves and began moving towards the Dominions. Behind them another came, then another, then two more. These, she knew, were decoy drones, not real ships, but the Dominions wouldn’t know that.
“Are the recon drones in place?” she asked Alex Rudd.
“In place and ready,” he assured her.
“Merlin, fire the chaff. Be sure to leave the line of sight to Recon Drone Number One.” They would communicate with the recon drone by needle laser and she didn’t want the chaff to block the connection.
In twenty seconds, two hundred chaff rockets launched and spread out on a predesignated matrix. When they exploded, chaff spread out to form a sensor wall between the advancing Dominion warships and the ‘ships’ that were arriving from Refuge. It wouldn’t completely block the Dominion’s sensors, but it would create a lot of doubt and second guessing.
“We have an open channel to the recon drone!” Gibson confirmed.
Emily nodded. Soon now. “Order the Kent to eject its missile mines. Anti-missile system on full automatic.”
On the Dominion ship, Fortitude, Captain Bauer turned to Admiral Kaeser. “We are in missile range of the wormhole, plus three minutes time under power.”
Kaeser nodded. “You may fire, Captain.”
“Fire all missiles!” Bauer commanded.
“Fire the stingers!” Emily ordered. “Merlin, advance the ECM drones! Chief Gibson, put one nuke into the chaff cloud and trigger an electromagnetic pulse. Let’s see if they’ve hardened their missile guidance systems.”
Sixty drones each fired their stinger missile. The fast missiles leapt from their launchers and sped through the chaff cloud.
“Activate Dark matter Brake for five seconds only!” Emily commanded the Yorkshire and Kent.
The Chief Sensors Officer on the Fortitude blanched. “DMB flash! DMB! The Victorian ships are braking and turning!” Then his sensors display caught the first signs of the stingers through the chaff. “Incoming missiles! Can’t determine how many due to chaff interference, but sensors showing many missiles.”
“Sensors, any evidence of new ships, more than the three we’ve been following?” Admiral Kaeser asked.
The Sensors Officer adjusted his instruments. “Sir, we are picking up signs of multiple ships. Readings are weak and distorted because of the chaff, but there are at least thirty distinct emissions sources!”
Frowning, Kaeser asked Captain Bauer: “Decoy drones? Or have some of the Vicky warships actually turned around in Refuge and come back?”
Captain Bauer shrugged.
“Some of the drive emissions are consistent with Refuge warships, sir,” the Sensors Officer said. “Additional missile launch! This one’s from the Victorian ships!”
Kaeser sighed. If they were bringing Refugian and Vicky ships back through the wormhole, he and his little flotilla could find themselves mobbed. He needed more ships, and thanks to Admiral Mello’s recklessness, he didn’t have them. If they were just decoys, well…he had no real choice. Honor the threat, he reminded himself. He couldn’t risk losing any more ships until more reinforcements came from Dominion. Someone on the Victorian side had played his cards very cleverly.
“Just so,” he murmured to himself. “Message to all ships,” he ordered crisply. “Break off attack and return to the planet Cornwall at full military speed.” He swallowed his disappointment. Maybe, with luck, his anti-matter missiles would get through.
By the time the Victorian missiles reached that space, the Dominion warships were gone.
Meanwhile, the stinger missiles and Dominion missiles entered the chaff cloud at the same time. The stingers sensed the oncoming missiles and exploded, but they barely put a dent in the numbers the Dominions had fired. One hundred and twenty enemy missiles, including the three deadly anti-matter missiles, burst from the chaff cloud, made a course correction toward the worm hole and pressed ahead. The Kent’s anti-missile mines killed fifteen more, and laser fire took out another six.
Ninety nine Dominion missiles, including the anti-matter missiles, reached the worm hole intact and plunged into it. Two minutes later they emerged in Refugian space and the three anti-matter missiles began to scan for the Atlas.
Sitting in his command room in the larger of the two Refugian forts, Uri Ben-Ari saw the missiles come through on his high magnification screen. “Fire” he said softly. Golda, the fort’s AI, released the missiles.
One thousand anti-missiles launched from the fort and met the oncoming Dominion missiles. Twelve of the Dominion missiles somehow survived. The other Refugian fort fired its volley of anti-missile missiles. Only one Dominion missile emerged from the roiling cloud of explosions, wobbling as it did so. A laser beam from the waiting gunboats killed it.
On the New Zealand, Chief Friedman wearily lifted his head from his sensor display. “The Dominion warships have gone, Captain. No sign of anything between us and the worm hole.”
Emily nodded. “Thank you, Chief.” She felt drained, incapable of emotion. She just wanted to lie down and sleep. And forget, if she could.
“Message to the Yorkshire and Kent, activate transponders and follow us through the worm hole. And Chief Gibson, please send a courier drone though ahead of us. Let them know we’re coming through.” Wouldn’t do to get shot after all this effort, she thought, without any humor at all.
Five minutes later, the last three ships of the Coldstream Guards disappeared into the wormhole that would take them to Refuge and safety.