Susan couldn’t help but gloat as she watched the results of Gabe’s attack. Her plans had worked like a charm. The Outriders had responded to the raid on their flagship by completely rearranging their formation. Every single escort craft in their fleet had come forward to present a scattered net of patrol ships, obviously attempting to prevent a similar massed rig attack on their formation. She’d lured their most fragile ships out into the open, right where she wanted them.
Behind their patrol craft, she could see that the effects of Gabe’s strike still lingered on the Outrider commander. The cruisers had separated into three distinct groups. Two of them, located on the right and left of the main group, contained three gunships and a single vessel that the CTRs had marked as a rig carrier. The third contained not only the flagship, but also the other three carriers and the last two gunships. It seemed that the commander was worried enough about another rig strike that he had gathered more than half of the rig deployment capability of his fleet into a single spot to fend them off.
Fortunately, her strategy did not call for such a maneuver. Instead, she separated her fleet into three groups of her own. In each of the wings of the formation, she placed two Deliverance-class cruisers and half of the Caravan-class frigates. Four of the twenty-four Samar-class escorts went along for the ride to keep the swarms of MSSRs they were sure to face from having an easy time on her flanks.
The central group was composed of Concord, flanked by the cruisers Deliverance and Salvation. Sixteen Samar-class escorts trailed in the carrier’s wake, carefully protected from the heavy fire that was soon to be unleashed on both sides. Though it left her center formation a bit weaker, she knew she could count on her rigs to even the odds. Concord was no slouch, either; what little damage they had done in capturing the ancient vessel had already been repaired, and she could still endure far more damage than the rest of her fleet. Her only hope now was that it wouldn’t be necessary.
The two fleets had been closing on each other at an impressive speed. The timer that had kept track of the distance before they reached maximum firing distance continued to count down. She looked over as the door to the bridge hissed open and found Elder Miller stepping through the portal. The Speaker glanced around the bridge of the Concord, nodding to Commander Mesic before he turned to her. “Are we prepared, Admiral?”
She nodded. “Yes, Elder Miller. The rig pilots are all prepared to launch again, and the fleets are nearly in position.” She hesitated. “Will you be on the bridge for the battle, Elder Miller?”
The man smiled. “I hope you aren’t nervous about having an observer for your maneuvers, Admiral. When it comes to the disposition of the fleet, I trust in you completely, and the fleet will answer your orders.” He looked to the main projection of the two fleets, and his eyes grew sharp. “They are in your hands, Admiral Delacourt. Proceed as you must.”
Susan nodded. She turned her attention back to the reports that had been coming in from Gabriel’s assault. Abruptly, all her satisfaction drained away. What had he been doing so close to the line of fire? Her plans had called for a brief strike, not an actual attempt to damage the enemy flagship. What could he have been thinking, changing the plan like that? He had almost been killed!
She tried to restrain her sense of frustration. He was only one rig pilot, after all, and a frustrating one at that. One she relied on, true, and one who had been there for her when she needed him, but nothing more than that. Right? Still struggling with her own emotions, she stood. The fleet could progress without her for the moment. Before the battle began, she needed to be sure Gabriel wouldn’t have another change of heart during the fighting. She relied on him too much for him to risk everything by improvising, especially now.
Gabe leaned back against the bulkhead and hoped that it would be enough to keep him from falling over. The exhaustion he felt was not physical, really. There was no actual muscular fatigue from using a rig. Mentally, it was a different story. An interface so heavily taxing on the neurological system did not leave a pilot in good condition for a while afterwards.
“Tired, Captain Gabriel?” Susan’s voice broke him out of the haze that had entangled him. He looked over to find that she was standing only a short distance away. Gabe hadn’t even heard her arrive. With a weary smile, he answered.
“I’ll be fine in time for the next phase of the attack, Admiral. You don’t need to worry about that.”
“That is not my concern, Captain Gabriel.” Susan seemed different somehow; he could not remember seeing her so quiet, so uncertain. Still, her words stung badly. He’d thought she would have cared by now. Gabe fought a scowl as she continued. “Your report says that you put your flight at the rear of your formation, where you were the most exposed to attack.”
Gabe smiled, remembering the explosions on the flagship’s hull. “Well, I figured I should let the Outriders shoot me this time instead of doing it yourself. Luckily they’re a bit easier to dodge.” To his surprise, she winced and dropped her eyes. When she met his stare again, her face had flushed red. She stepped forward, her stance suddenly tense.
“Why would you deliberately put yourself at risk like that? We need you for the upcoming battle. You know that.” There was anger in that question, and some other emotion that sounded like hurt, but couldn’t be. Not from Susan. Gabe shrugged, uncertain.
“I did what I had to do, Admiral. If I wasn’t willing to put myself in the line of fire, I wouldn’t have agreed to your plan.” He studied her, worried. “Are you starting to second-guess me? We can still do our part, I promise.”
Delacourt stepped forward again, suddenly close. Her voice was low. “I know. I just…” Her words trailed off, and she looked away. “You should have been more careful, Captain. You’re important to me.”
Gabe made a valiant effort to keep frustration out of his voice. “Look, I did the best I could out there. Why are you making such a big deal out of this? Don’t you trust me by now?”
She threw her hands in the air, looking about as frustrated as he felt. “Of course I trust you. I just—” She stepped closer now and Gabe tensed, ready to be shoved or punched. “How dense can you possibly be? Should I put it in terms a brainless oaf like you can understand?”
It had just registered in Gabe’s tired mind that he wasn’t having the fight he’d thought he was when Susan launched herself forward and kissed him, hard.
The first time had been full of fire and passion, one that had given Gabe the chance to express exactly how he felt about her. The second kiss, so unexpected, felt more like a bolt of pure lightning running from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. His breath caught, his hair tried to stand out from his head, and it was all he could do not to shout for joy. As it was, he grabbed Susan by the shoulders as she leaned into him, not sure whether to pull her in or push her away.
After an eternity, Susan solved the problem for him by stepping back. Her face was still flushed red, and her breath seemed to be as uneven as his own. She stared at him for a moment, wordless. Then she straightened her uniform with a few sharp jerks and ran a hand through her hair. Her voice was almost insultingly calm. “Was that clear enough for you, Captain Gabriel?”
Speechless, Gabe just stared at her. His brain was still struggling to catch up. She nodded. “Good. Now get out there and fight hard. I expect your best from now on.” Susan spun away, and then paused. “And be careful. Goodbye, Captain Gabriel.”
She strode away, her face still crimson and her stride determined. Gabe watched her go until she went around a corner and left his sight. Bewildered, he turned back to where his rig was waiting for him.
At which point he found that he had an audience.
The crowd of rig pilots, led by Allen and Derek, broke into a round of applause. Cheers accompanied the clapping, along with the occasional hoot or howl. Gabe wished he could sink through the floor. He scratched at the back of his neck with one hand. “Don’t you guys have something else to worry about? Go get some rest. We’ve got rigs to fly in the next couple of hours.”
With bursts of laughter, the rig pilots dispersed. Derek was among those who did leave immediately, but Gabe waited until there were no other pilots within earshot. He glared at his former flight mate. “How long were you watching?”
Derek chuckled. “Oh, I’d say about long enough. Good luck and good hunting, Gabe.” The pilot strode away laughing, leaving Gabriel wondering what had happened to the world. He needed to find someplace to sort it out. Life was about to get busy soon, and he didn’t know if he would have another chance.
Susan’s face was still burning as she entered the bridge. The pilots hadn’t been there when she started; she was sure about that much. Then again, she wasn’t quite sure how long it had gone on, so they could very well have gathered during it all. She tried to shove those thoughts aside and concentrate on what she was doing. There was still a battle to win.
When she sat at her station, Elder Miller was on the bridge. He turned a curious glance in her direction, and then returned to his own private thoughts. Some of the bridge crew seemed a bit less disciplined, however. They nudged at their companions and whispered a bit—had the rig pilots already started to spread rumors? She shook her head as she activated the controls.
The time for hesitation was over. She keyed the console to transmit to the entire fleet. “Command to all units. Begin firing on my mark. Target escort units, focus your fire on Type 3 units until they are all destroyed, then fire on Type 1s and finally Type 2s. Continue evasive maneuvers to avoid return fire, and prevent screen failure. Rig units, launch once the battle has begun and maintain formation as we close. Swift and Boulder Squadrons will remain aboard until my specific direction.”
There was so much more she wanted to say, but the timer marking the delay before contact with the enemy was drawing to a close. The pirates were already shifting, as if anxious to begin. She bowed her head, drew in a deep breath, and for a moment she prayed. When she opened her eyes, the timer hit zero. “All units open fire. May the Lord guide our aim!”
As Gabe dropped away from the Concord, the entire fleet opened up with a wave of plasma cannon fire that tore across the distance between them. It was answered a moment later when the longest range weapons on the Outrider ships shot back. At such a distance, however, there was little hope of a decisive hit. He saw one fortunate blast strike Concord’s shielding, but few other shots even came close.
His head ached with exhaustion from his previous three-hour mission, but there was little chance to dwell on his fatigue. Every other pilot who had flown the mission before was just as bad off, but at least he had been given an hour’s rest to be ready for the second act. Gabe wondered if the MSSRs had been given a similar break; perhaps the Outriders hadn’t already sent them forward because their pilots were just as tired. Fortunately, the first part of Delacourt’s plan didn’t involve much of anything. His part was going to come in once the big guns had done their work.
He did a visual check of the surrounding area before he formed up beneath the carrier. The first flight of Angel Squadron took their places around him, and he smiled as a second flight launched. “Angel-One to all rigs. Get ready. We might be tired, but they’ll be worse off. Let’s make sure they remember whose side the Lord is on!” A chorus of acknowledgements echoed back to him, and Gabe settled in to wait, watching as the waves of plasma burned.
Susan studied the situation intently as the fleets continued to close and the barrage intensified. The weight of fire had initially been on her side, since the escorts carried very little in the way of long-range weaponry. As the cruisers entered the engagement envelope, however, the Outrider gunships began to pound away at the Wayfarer shields. None of their shields had failed yet, but it was already becoming clear that her ships would not be able to stand up to such punishment forever.
The Outriders, however, had been learning that same lesson the hard way. One Outrider patrol craft after another fell victim to the steady barrage of plasma fire. Their light defensive screens and fragile armor simply didn’t stand up to the fire of heavier cruiser cannon, and their ships were quickly gutted by plasma fire as the cruisers’ fire grew more accurate. As the other ships of the Outrider fleet moved forward, they began to pass the wreckage of their fellow mercenaries, and their rage-filled salvos grew even more intense.
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She turned her gaze from the gun battle to the rigs. Already a cloud of them filled the space below the rest of the fleet. The MSSRs opposing them formed their own clouds, avoiding the plasma cannon shots filling the space above them. Then she found a series of friendly contacts much farther ahead of the others, a series of RSRs belonging to the Eyes of Judgment Squadron that hovered within striking distance of the escort craft. Susan smiled and opened a transmission with another gesture.
“Command to Eyes RSRs. Bracket with targeting lasers and maintain locks.” She shifted the direction of the signal with a flick of her hand. “Command to all cruisers, begin Javelin launches when ready. Repeat, begin Javelin launches immediately. Reaper Squadron, Pillars One Flight and Two Flight, begin run on target C-3. Grapes Squadron, Pillars Three Flight and Four Flight, begin run on target C-7. Remaining squadrons, continue to hold fast.”
As she spoke, the projection lit up with signals coming from the scout rigs. Missile launches poured from all six Deliverance cruisers. Moments later, nearly twenty-four Javelins shot out towards the escorts, who began their own desperate evasive maneuvers. A few escorts attempted to shoot down the scout rigs painting them with lasers; others directed their plasma cannon toward the incoming missiles. Neither move had much success before the projectiles began to impact.
Explosions blossomed in violent bursts of annihilation. The patrol craft on the wings were especially hard hit, as Susan had directed the RSRs to focus their efforts there. Shattered patrol craft drifted out of devastation, tetherdrives ruined, hulls warped and broken. Two-thirds of the Outrider vanguard had very suddenly been wiped clean, leaving only crippled and dead warships where they had once been.
In the wake of that wave of destruction, CTRs and AWORs came forward, their tetherdrives blazing. The CTRs went in first, quickly being caught up in a rolling dog fight on both ends of the battle. Plasma rifles sparked and seared in the void as the rigs twisted through their maneuvers, quickly becoming an unintelligible brawl. The AWORs did not pause to take part in the fight, however. They bulled on past with a few parting shots at the MSSRs and dove straight toward the nearest cruiser.
The cruisers, as if sensing their danger, switched targets to fire on the approaching rigs. Susan watched as they weaved back and forth, avoiding the plasma cannons attempting to sweep them from space. At a predetermined point, all eight rigs of each flight fired off a steady barrage of heavy plasma rifle hits that started to baffle the enemy cruisers’ sensors, allowing them to accelerate on a simple, straight-line course. Just a thousand meters from the cruiser’s hull, the heavy rigs fired their railguns. Projectiles fast enough that even cruiser-level shielding could not hope to repel them now zipped toward their targets. Behind them, the AWORs broke away, their plasma rifles still firing.
Impacts popped the defensive screens as if they had been giant, vulnerable balloons. Each projectile hit hard enough that armor plating burst away from the strike point, followed by ignited atmosphere and melted hull plating. C-3’s tetherdrive received a direct hit, and the entire aft end of the ship sheared off as a gravitic anomaly occurred. C-7 was luckier, if only by a small margin. The projectiles only managed to cut power to the drives—along with half the other systems on the ship—leaving the gunship to hurtle helplessly through space, defenseless and open to attack.
The virtual destruction of two of their cruisers provoked the reaction Susan had been dreading. All across the line, MSSRs boiled forward from the center, their rifles already blazing as they attacked. Now it would be up to Gabriel, and she sent a fragile prayer that he would come through for her one last time.
Gabe watched as the enemy rigs sped in. There were an awful lot more of them than there were of his CTRs. A slight remnant of the panic that had once haunted him faded away as he remembered the stakes. Delacourt had warned him that the Outriders might send their rigs forward for one last charge. She was counting on him to hold them back. He shook his head. Failure was not an option.
He transmitted to the rest of the rigs, keeping his voice firm. “Angels, Paladins, we have incoming MSSRs. Reapers, Grapes, it looks like you have more on the way. Keep them off the cruisers at all costs. The Concord has to get through. Accelerate and meet them halfway, and may the Lord be with us all.”
Derek’ voice answered him. “Paladin-One-Five, confirmed, Angel Lead. Let’s hold the line, guys!” The other CTRs echoed his affirmation, and the thirty-six so far unengaged CTRs in the center formed up to face their enemy. Gabe led them, narrowing his eyes. The rig’s view magnified, and he found himself staring at his first target, an MSSR that continually tried to evade his targeting sights. He prayed that the Lord would grant him the chance to see his people free, and then he pulled the trigger.
The timing had to be perfect.
Susan watched her fleet stagger forward. Defensive screens were failing under the continuing bombardment. Redemption, on the left flank, had taken several direct hits, but remained operational. On the right, Heritage was beginning to fall behind due to drive damage. Each of these heavier hits had caused pain to flare through her as well as she thought of the casualties, but she shoved that guilt to the side. She could handle it later, if she survived.
She had to deal the enemy a harsh enough blow to scatter them. It was the only way they could hope to survive. Their morale had to be suffering badly; the earlier raid had shaken them, and now the terrible losses aboard the vanguard and the two destroyed cruisers could only have worsened the problem. She could manage it, if Gabe came through, but she needed to find exactly the right time to strike.
Timing was everything. If she gave the order too soon, the Outsiders would have enough room to maneuver and time to anticipate her tactics. The fleet would end up outmatched and overwhelmed. They’d be destroyed piece by piece. Too late, and there might not be enough left of the fleet to do what had to be done.
Susan waited, agonizing, as the rigs met. At first, it seemed like Gabe’s pilots had been overwhelmed—the number of MSSRs seemed to be limitless. Yet even as the MSSRs tried to skirt around the tiny formation of CTRs, Gabe and his pilots held them back. Their rifles picked apart enemy rigs and their missiles kept the enemy formations off balance. The Outrider’s forward momentum slowed, struggled, and then stopped far short of the Concord. Her breath caught. The line was holding!
Deliverance, hovering off Concord’s port side, took a terrible blow that staggered the cruiser and left armor rent and smoking. Foundry and Healing both lost shields and reported power surges as the remaining escort craft made firing runs against the frigates. Yet her eyes kept focused on that roiling dogfight in the center, searching for Gabe’s signal. She prayed silently that he was still alive.
The Outriders were almost at point-blank range now, and her every nerve ached to give the order and end the fight. The gunships loomed large, their heavy cannon blazing. Outrider carriers were collecting a few limping, crippled MSSRs and launching new ones. At the center of it all, directly ahead of the Concord, was the enemy flagship, and it finally drew her attention back to her duty. It was a blemish in space, a terrible leviathan ready to rip and tear at her ship. Concord’s shields fell, and she felt the great, ancient ship rock gently as the battlecruiser fired into her. The babble of voices on the bridge grew more frantic as the enemy began a turn to bring the mass driver to bear.
Then a hand landed on her shoulder, and Susan looked up into Elder Miller’s face. He caught her eyes and held them for a moment. His face was calm despite the havoc all around. “Susan, the Lord knows. He is with you. Do not doubt.”
The words were simple. They should have been ridiculous, laughable even, on the bridge of a war-torn ship about to be destroyed. Somehow they reached her, calmed her. Susan nodded slowly, and without looking back at the projection, she activated the communications controls. “All ships, repeat, all ships, this is Command. Execute formation maneuver Alpha-Omega-four-one-five on my mark. Three, two, one. Mark!”
Bennett smiled as the Wayfarer fleet continued to struggle forward into his fire. The pitiful fools. What had they thought would happen when they faced a real fleet?
Around him, his crew was starting to recover. There had been a few bad moments when the escorts had been hit, and another when Blood Hunter and Raven’s Claw had gone down. It had taken extraordinary effort to restore discipline, but it had been worth the cost of one lieutenant’s life, and the blood stains would come out easily enough. He kept his hand on his pistol in case he again needed to illustrate his desire for calm, though he doubted it was necessary now.
The Concord continued its doomed course forward. With its shields down, the great carrier was fruit ready to be plucked. Already his weapons technicians were warming the mass driver; it would be the perfect weapon to deal the Wayfarer scum a final blow. With their rigs overwhelmed and their last efforts doomed, the cult had finally been stopped. Bennett opened his mouth to give the order.
Then the enemy formation changed. The cruisers on the wings both came around, exposing their flanks to dive above and below his central formation. The little escort craft that had trailed along in their wake mimicked the maneuver, while the frigates continued straight into the teeth of the wings of his formation. Concord put on a burst of speed, aiming to pass even closer to the Security, while her cruiser escorts came toward the gunships at his sides.
Baffled by the maneuver, Bennett paused, wondering what foolishness the Wayfarers were hoping to accomplish. Already the gunships on the flanks were turning inwards, directing their volleys at the exposed sides of the enemy cruisers. Didn’t they know the maneuver would make them a much better target? And the suicidal charge into his main formation. What would possess a commander with an already vulnerable warship to drive it even closer to its attackers? It would foul up the driver’s shot, but then, the plasma cannon on the gunships could still easily pick it to pieces.
He was still pondering their foolishness when he caught a burst of movement on the projection. Something had happened near one of their cruisers. Frowning, he glanced at his brand-new watchstander at the sensor controls. “Lieutenant, what was that?”
The officer paused, his face now pale. “It was likely a rig launch from their cruisers, sir. It was too big to be a missile.”
“A rig launch? Direct the MSSRs to take care of them once they finish with the units they are fighting.” Unease suddenly took hold of him. The Wayfarers had kept some rigs in reserve? When they were already heavily outnumbered by MSSRs? It made no sense. They needed all the support they could get. Unless the rigs they had been holding had no anti-rig capability, there was no point. He stared at the projection as the Concord loomed closer. What was his opponent planning?
Then it came to him, as sudden as judgment and as terrifying as an avenging angel. He came out of his seat and shouted. “Recall the MSSRs! All units, concentrate fire on the Concord. Repeat, all units concentrate fire on the—”
“Boulder Squadron, execute your attack runs. Samar Flights, begin your strikes now.” Susan watched as the escorts and AWORs went into motion. The heavy rigs maneuvered to strike the gunships on the flanks and the center, just as their companions in Pillar Squadron had. Launched from the cruisers, the AWORs only struck in pairs, but their projectiles made all the difference. The gunships lost their screens and staggered as the heavy rigs tore into their side armor with plasma rifle shots. Still, with only two Wayfarer rigs attacking each cruiser, they would easily survive until MSSRs returned to drive off the attackers. Their shields would recover, allowing them to continue the fight.
Or they would have if Susan had planned on letting them. The Samar-class escorts who had ridden for so long in the formation’s wake now came around to face the gunships and charged. Four to a cruiser, they sped past the rest of the fleet with the eagerness of newly trained hunting dogs. Their small plasma cannon chipped away at the heavy front armor of the Outrider ships, seemingly without effect.
Then the particle cannon came to bear, and beams of utter destruction carved through the gunships. Armor didn’t matter; the beams simply eroded it away and continued to dig deep into the cruisers’ hull. Explosions heralded critical equipment failures, and the frantic, evasive jerks that followed the brutal assault told of the crews’ terror. The Samar-class ships continued their assault until they had passed their victims by, mauled, crippled, and wounded, before swinging around to dive toward the massive dogfights that now spread across the battlefield.
The larger ships, now free of the bombardment the gunships had maintained, now targeted the rig carriers. Smaller than the gunships had been, and somewhat less heavily protected, the carriers began to take a terrific beating. Shields began to fail, and Susan smiled as she thought about what had to be going on in those ships. In one terrifying instant, the Outriders had gone from victory to catastrophe. They were ready to break, given the least excuse.
An excuse she was about to provide.
Bennett watched in horror as his gunships reeled away from the engagement. Half of them were bleeding air and crew members; the rest were as crippled as if they had been facing battleships. How had the Wayfarers managed this? How? Even if he managed to escape this disaster, his fleet was going to be years in rebuilding. His life’s work had been ruined.
He looked at the carrier that now drew close, not out of desperation, but for the kill. The words of Elder Evans rose up in his mind as he watched the screen. More rig launches from Concord, at least sixteen of them. Liliburn Bennett, General and Commander of Bennett Securities, was going to die.
Bennett whirled on his navigator, pistol in his hand. “Commander, bring us about. Get us out of here!” The rigs descended toward his ship. Toward him. “Now!”
Gabe dove toward his next target. The MSSR looked as if it had seen better days; about half of the enemy rig’s right arm was a melted piece of slag and its missile launcher was gone. He opened fire, stitching plasma bursts up and across its back until its tetherdrive exploded. A stream of plasma cut across Gabe’s path, and he jerked up and away from the blasts as another MSSR shot past.
The maneuver took him away from the dog fight for a few heartbeats. Looking out across the battle, he could see that the Outriders were retreating. The mauling of the gunships had shaken the MSSRs. Then the sight of their carriers coming under heavy fire had nearly broken their will to fight. His enemies were wavering, nearly ready to run, but that didn’t mean that everything was over, or that the remainder didn’t still have teeth.
Then the sixteen AWORs of Terrible Swift Sword Squadron unleashed their fury along the length of the enemy flagship. Railgun projectiles sprayed along the length of the battlecruiser, smashing holes in the defensive screens and armor plating before twisting wildly through its guts. Plasma cannon from the Concord and the AWORs’ heavy plasma rifles followed them, letting superheated plasma lick at the edges of those wounds, widening them to gashes. Then a volley of missile fire from the cruisers, two per ship, slammed home with final, terrible force as the AWORs swung clear.
Even the Outrider’s flagship trembled under the barrage. Then its annihilation core exploded. One moment, the flagship was there; the next, it was nothing but a wave of light and fury. The blast faded, leaving a drifting cloud of debris that flickered with residual heat.
The MSSRs broke instantly, along with every other ship Gabe could see. They ran, with Wayfarers ships nipping at their heels. His rig pilots came around and fired potshots at their routing foes, and MSSRs exploded like firecrackers. Gabe settled his sights over another targets, fighting to get a clear shot as weariness crashed in on him. Then one of the carriers in his peripheral vision exploded and the firing stopped. For a moment he wondered what was happening, and then Susan’s voice came over the communications net. “This is Admiral Susan Delacourt to all ships. The Bennett Securities ships have now surrendered. Wayfarer units, cease fire and regroup. Rigs, return to base.” She paused. “It’s over. We’ve won.”