Gabe stood outside the OMNI chamber, waiting. He looked up and grinned as the door opened. Susan matched his smile with a weary one of her own as she strode out. “So how did it go, Admiral?”
“Well enough.” She glanced at the guards to either side of the door, and he nodded at her unspoken concern about listening ears. Gabe walked beside her down the corridor, passing the ranks of guards until they reached another part of the ship where they could use an unoccupied conference room away from prying observers.
There, she turned to look at him, a momentary pang of vulnerability clear in her eyes. “It was Nevlin. Admiral Nevlin is leading the task force.”
Gabe’s eyes widened. She’d explained, of course, about the man who had been behind her court martial. He took a half step toward her, hoping Nevlin had not somehow harmed her further. “He was there?”
Susan nodded, and contempt filled her expression. “He was, but he hasn’t been the officer behind the strategy. I think he’s been relying on his flag captain for that, since he lacks the native genius.”
Gabe blinked. “That does sound like him. Did they listen to your warning, or no?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. They think that we’re the ones who bombarded Eris. They didn’t even know the Keeper was with us, or that he’d given us the Concord. Whoever is backing Nevlin has covered up everything they could reach, Gabriel. We must be monsters in their eyes.”
He sighed. “I guess that explains why they’re so determined to come after us. We should have expected that.” Susan looked at him curiously, and he continued. “The Directorate couldn’t afford to have the truth about Eris come out. The fact that a mercenary unit—one they’ve apparently hired in the past—had done such damage on a rear-echelon world would have set off an uproar throughout the Known Worlds. You’ve said that nearly half their defenses rely on those kinds of units.”
Susan nodded, her lips pursed. “You’re right. Without those units, the border wouldn’t likely be able to hold. They’d be overrun.”
“Maybe that’s why Nevlin’s been sent to deal with us. They want us hunted down as scapegoats, and this way, their little mercenaries are safe.” Gabe tilted his head as her expression changed. “Susan?”
“That’s not everything, Gabriel. When we were talking, I mentioned Bennett Securities.” She glanced at him, and then turned her gaze away. “Nevlin reacted. He knew the name—and so I might have gotten a bit creative. I pretended that we had been able to salvage the mercenaries’ records, including their client list.”
Gabe’s eyes widened. That sort of data had eluded their investigations; apparently Liliburn Bennett had been so paranoid and dedicated to secrecy that the list of clients had been kept only on his flagship. There hadn’t been enough left of that battle cruiser to fill a thimble after the battle, and so Gabe had given up on ever learning precisely who had hired the mercenary firm to destroy him and his people. He spoke slowly. “And how did he react?”
Susan grinned, her expression allied with an ironic tilt to her voice. “Like he’d seen a ghost from the grave. I think he was behind them, Gabriel—or at least, that he was one of the people behind them. The prisoners always referred to multiple clients, but he may well have been one of them.”
Gabe whistled in amazement. “That’s going to make him want to find every last copy of those records and destroy them. He’s going to come after us blind, wanting blood.” He smiled. “That’s perfect.”
“I know.” Her grin faded slightly. “But I can’t help but wonder how many of the murders those mercenaries committed were because of me, because he hated me enough to hire them. How many people died just because I was there?”
The guilt in her voice stung Gabe to action. He put his arms around her and drew her close. “Don’t, Susan. There are people alive today—me among them—who wouldn’t have had a chance if you didn’t come to us. You helped save us from total destruction, and if an evil man tried to have you killed for it, that’s one more sin he’ll have to answer for when the Lord judges him. It’s not your fault, and never will be.”
Susan pushed away to stare up at him, a wry smile on her face. “You’re not just saying that, are you? Just to comfort me?”
Gabe shook his head, and then grinned. “Why? Would you not appreciate a bit of comfort?”
She swatted him on the chest and stepped back. “Stop it, Gabriel.” Then she fell silent, though he could tell amusement was bubbling just beneath the surface. Her eyes went distant for a moment, as if she was replaying the entire incident again, going over the exchange and evaluating it. Then she sighed. “A shame. Things would have been much simpler.”
A little off balance, Gabe frowned. “What?”
Susan grinned. “I nearly convinced Nevlin’s flag captain to shoot him.”
Gabe’s jaw dropped, and he stared at her in surprise as she laughed. “No, not like that. You see, once I started to talk about the mercenaries, Nevlin ordered me shot.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief, and Gabe caught the edge of the joke.
“And you just happened to position yourself so he would take the hit.” Gabe chuckled at the thought of an astonished Directorate officer standing over an equally shocked, slightly singed Admiral Nevlin. He waggled a finger at her. “You are one devious Admiral, Susan Delacourt. I’m going to have to watch myself around you.”
She stepped forward and kissed him. For a moment, strategy, intrigue, and the universe entire were lost. When she drew back, Gabe saw her smile. “That’s a given, Captain Miller.”
Then her expression went professional again, and she looked around the conference room as if she was expecting a witness to burst in at any moment. “They sent the decoy signals as planned, correct?”
Gabe nodded. “If those Directorate guys are any good at all, they picked them up. They’ll be coming right for us.”
“Good.” Susan’s face settled into a grim expression, and she straightened her uniform. “Then let’s be ready for them, Gabriel. It’s time to finish this fight once and for all.”
Hours later, Gabe flew through space in his newly refurbished CTR, hoping the experience would not end as badly as the last flight had.
The Foundry had worked overtime to finish the repairs to his rig, and their haste showed. Some of the interface’s software had yet to fully integrate with the newly patched and replaced systems, which led to a few twitches during flight. All the same, he had plenty of time to sort out those issues before contact with the enemy.
His entire force of remaining CTRs was with him. This time there was no need for scouting forces; Susan could tell them almost exactly where the enemy forces were, from the Imperious herself down to the WGCs launching from their carriers. Gabe looked up, his sensors probing the darkness before him. Somewhere ahead of them was a WGC patrol searching for Wayfarer ships. He grinned. They were in for quite a surprise.
He switched over to the broadest frequency for the CTRs. “Angel-One to CTRs. Be ready. We should run across the Directorate fliers soon enough.”
The CTRs responded, and Gabe felt a hollow pang of loss. Allen’s voice was not among those answering, and several others were missing. The previous combat had left a gaping hole in their ranks—an account he was looking forward to settling with their enemies. He switched to the SAR frequency and was rewarded with a litany of curse words steadily streaming from Hope-Three. He winced. “Hope-Three, maintain comm discipline.”
Nakani’s swearing cut off for a moment. “Confirmed, Angel-One. Not like I’m the one who wants to attract any attention, right?”
Gabe felt his smile grow. “Don’t worry, Hope-Three, we’ll keep them off you. Just maneuver like you’re holding heavy-assault gear for now, and we’ll make sure you get back to base.” The mercenary’s grumbled oaths died off as she cut her transmission, and Gabe turned his attention back his scans of the space ahead of him. Any moment now …
There. A spot of light showed on his sensors, an errant reflection from the armor of a WGC. He was still clearing his voice for the signal to the rest of the rigs when he heard another CTR, Paladin-Four, call out. “Contact at three-seven-nine. Possible WGC scout. I think we’ve found them.”
Gabe nodded. “Get ready, everyone. The main event is about to start.”
Wong watched as the rigs of the Imperious departed. The WGCs were armed to the teeth for rig combat, sporting additional thrusters, plasma rifles, and missile pods. They represented nearly all the pilots and machines left to the carrier. Every single SSS went with them in a gambit to destroy the entirety of the Wayfarer rig forces in a single blow. Any remaining WGCs were still on board the other three carriers, rearming for a direct attack on the Concord. The heavy casualties Delacourt’s Wayfarers had inflicted on his WGC corps meant that there were nearly no relief pilots left, and no WGCs remained in the storage holds. Any further losses would not be replaced until they returned to the Known Worlds.
He did not like risking his forces this way against a dangerous foe, but it was no longer his choice to make. Admiral Nevlin had finally exerted his authority and taken control of the task force. Whether driven by the stinging barbs of his traitorous former subordinate, or motivated by sheer hatred for his prey, Nevlin now snapped out orders from the flag deck with wearying regularity, and the haggard expressions on the faces of the bridge crew were sufficient to tell Wong how his officers were responding to the change.
“Escort craft, tighten up your formations immediately!” The irritable voice was grating enough to make Wong wince, and not just from the sound. The escort craft would be better able to intercept attacks in closer formation, but they would be less likely to make sensor contact with enemy rigs the task force did not already know were coming. It was a gamble that the only rigs they would encounter would be the ones the WGCs and SSSs were already on the way to fight. Given Delacourt’s obvious experience and skill, it was not the move he would have made.
A second order came through the speakers, following quickly on the first. “Continue to advance in search formation. Report any contact with the enemy main group immediately!” Wong restrained a groan as he watched the ships move to obey.
The task force had been split—on Nevlin’s orders—into four different groups. The Stalwart-class command ships made up the core of three of those groups, along with eight escorts and four cruisers along for support. Formations Oscar, Papa, and Sierra, led by the Oheawai, the Pavlov, and the Sihang respectively, had taken up their assigned positions with a conspicuous lack of enthusiasm, but they followed orders. The Imperious was at the center of a fourth group, Formation India. Two more cruisers, seven escorts, and the SpecOps cruiser came along for companions. Nevlin had positioned that group conspicuously at the rear.
Wong tapped a finger on the edge of his console, trying to settle his own sense of unease. It was an effective formation for the search, but Wong did not like how isolated it left each force. Formation Oscar was nearly an hour ahead of the Imperious, and Formations Papa and Sierra were almost as far out to either side. He admitted that any of the formations could likely fight off a direct attack by the Wayfarers—especially with rig support—but it still did not feel comfortable. Something wasn’t quite right.
He only hoped that he would be able to see the disaster and somehow avert it before Nevlin doomed them all.
Susan took a deep breath to settle her nerves. So far, the opening moves of her plan were coming together exactly as she had expected. Unfortunately, the OMNI battle system was not proving nearly as predictable.
She had begun with the assumption that she would need to make “personal” appearances on each of the ships in her fleet in order to effectively relay her orders. The moment the Concord had placed itself on a combat alert, however, the entire room had shifted.
The chamber was now filled with a holographic display of the entire battle area, oriented along the lines of a stellar compass. It was an old system for cataloging ship positions, referring to the stellar body at the center of the system as “east” while a course for the outer reaches of space was “west”. “North” and “south” were to the left and right of a ship heading toward the sun along the orbital plane of whatever important planets happened to be in the system. In general, it was an arbitrary type of mapping—as most human measurements tended to be—and one that had been abandoned for decades.
Still, she had to admit that the map did offer her the benefit of simplicity. The enemy was approaching from the south in four widely divided formations. Their entire rig compliment appeared to be coming out after Gabriel and his pilots, and as the distance closed, Susan decided that the lure had succeeded well enough. Now it would be time to draw the bait out a little farther. She pointed to the rigs, and OMNI opened a link directly to Gabriel’s squadrons. “Command to Angel-One. Withdraw along your previous course at the SARs’ best speed. Do not make contact with enemy squadrons if avoidable.”
The reply came back almost immediately. “Angel-One to Command, orders confirmed. All rig units withdrawing.” The lights representing the CTRs and their knot of SAR companions slowed abruptly, and then reversed direction. She watched as they fell back before the oncoming enemy force, keeping the distance just wide enough to be out of range for missile or plasma fire. That distance fell, however, as the enemy interceptors began to close the distance, aided by their comparable lack of burdensome units like heavy-assault rigs.
Susan waited to make sure that she had not left the move too late. When she was confident that Gabriel would remain out of contact long enough, she nodded and made a motion that put her in contact with Strike Group, which was waiting off to the east of the enemy. As far as she could tell, the OMNI actually was using the comm systems aboard the distant Surveyor to convey her voice, but the end result was what mattered at the moment. “Captain Ndigwe.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The captain’s voice came back strong and unafraid. “Yes, Admiral?”
Susan watched the SSSs and WGCs continue their pursuit, leaving the enemy fleet unguarded. “Are the AWORs ready?”
Ndigwe paused for a moment before she answered. “Yes, ma’am. They should be closing on their targets now.”
Susan nodded. “Good. Instruct them to begin their attack runs when they are able.” She then turned her attention to a much fainter speckle of dots above the Directorate task forces. Their systems nearly inert, communicating only with the Strike Group via occasional burst transmissions, the remaining AWORs were nearly undetectable. Susan watched them light off their tetherdrives to begin their assault, and smiled.
“Sensor contacts! We have ten—no, twenty …” Wong’s sensor officer paled in disbelief. “Over thirty enemy rigs inbound. They’re starting attack runs!”
Wong’s eyes widened as the main plot showed the new contacts. The only other sign of the Wayfarers before that moment had been the retreating force of their rigs. Nevlin’s orders had carried a definite tone of triumph as he’d directed the WGCs and SSSs to pursue, but now the reason for their retreat was clear. He watched as those new rigs closed with the other three formations, his hands tightening at his sides as they descended like an avalanche on his command. At the very least, the escorts might be able to intercept some of them if—
Nevlin’s voice rang out over the speakers again, this time shock evident in his words. “All ships! Execute evasive action. All escorts will screen the flagship from attack!”
Wong spun to stare in shock at the flag deck, astonished at the cowardice in Nevlin’s orders. His eyes found Commander Hummel’s equally horrified gaze, and then he turned his attention back to the main plot. The careful, precise formations of the task force had unraveled as the cruisers twisted on evasive courses. Escort craft had been pulled away from their formations to try to race back the Imperious. Plasma cannon flashed sporadically as the Directorate crews tried to track the incoming threats.
Then the enemy was on them, ignoring the Imperious entirely as they dove on the command ships of the other three formations. A dozen of them struck at each ship, heavy plasma rifles blazing as they lined up for their final attack runs. Railgun-launched projectiles stabbed out at the ships as the enemy heavy-attack units roared past, and Wong’s fists clenched as he watched the results of the assault.
The Sihang was the first to suffer damage. Projectiles punched through the ship’s defensive screens, ripping through those invisible barriers and the armor beneath them before they exploded. At least four of those projectiles had scored direct hits. The command ship reeled from the blasts racking its hull. The Pavlov, to the right of the Imperious’ formation, listed sharply to the side as a penetrator slashed into its tetherdrive, while others riddled her hull with gaping craters.
Yet it was the Oheawai that took the worst damage. Leading the formation at the front of the task force, she had been the most exposed, the worst abandoned, when Nevlin’s orders had stripped her of protection. She took hit after hit, her defense screens fading and her armor blasted by projectiles. The command ship staggered, brutally handled, yet still intact, and Wong wondered if that had been the worst of it.
Then two tardy shots slammed into the Oheawai’s armor, arriving late enough that the dying defensive screens had not slowed their approach. Armor offered no protection; both projectiles plowed through the hull and into her compartments beneath, detonating only once they had reached the interior. Twin flashes of annihilation-class explosions could be seen through the holes, and the command ship’s hull ballooned out. A trail of debris and atmosphere spread in the Oheawai’s wake. Then its tetherdrive failed and it spiraled out into the void, a helpless cripple.
Wong stepped forward, his own urgency superseding the need to wait for Nevlin to respond. “Imperious to Formations Oscar, Papa, Sierra. Stabilize Pavlov, Oheawai, and Sihang. Give assistance to their personnel. Captains, report to the flagship immediately.”
His orders were almost overridden by Admiral Nevlin’s own panicked call. “All rig forces return to Formation India immediately. Repeat, all rig forces protect the Imperious immediately!”
Wong restrained a curse—together with the impulse to countermand the order—and watched the rig forces deployed against the Wayfarers begin to slow their pursuit. The heavy-attack rigs had obviously expended most of their ordnance, and the escorts could screen the ships if they needed to fend off a second attack. The rigs couldn’t possibly have the acceleration necessary to return in time to catch them if they ran. All Nevlin was doing was reacting on panic alone, and it was going to give the Wayfarers yet another opening to strike.
He looked to Commander Hummel and saw her recognition of the same situation. Yet he also recognized her similar feeling of helplessness. Neither of them had the authority to override the man in command of the task force—they could only hope to survive him, and take command if he fell.
Wong tried not to think about the fact that in order for that to happen, the flag bridge—and the Imperious—would have to fall first.
Gabe heard Susan’s voice over the communications net, and it was hard not to shout at the jubilance in her tone. “Command to CTRs, reverse course and engage. Repeat, engage the enemy and destroy or delay their return to the enemy force. SARs, continue your withdrawal or proceed to rescue missions on your initiative.”
Gabe did whoop then, and spun his rig to face the enemy. He threw every ounce of power into his tetherdrive, braking his speed so sharply the rig’s joints creaked. “Angel-One to CTR squadrons, you heard the lady. Let’s hit them!”
The CTRs around him made similar reversals, and they caught the enemy rigs flatfooted. Their pursuers had fallen easily into the mindset of the victorious charge. They had, after all, the numbers, the equipment, and most of all, the presence of nearly twenty SSSs in their midst. There had been no way they could fail.
Only now they were braking too, burdened by a higher rate of momentum and the confusion caused by the AWOR strike. Most of the WGCs had performed the same roll Gabe had, meaning that their tetherdrives were now vulnerable and their weapons were facing the wrong direction. Even those WGCs who had not made that instinctive roll could only manage a few wild shots, lighting the surrounding space with desperate bursts of plasma which did not come close to the Wayfarer pilots.
Gabe simply settled his sights on the nearest of the WGCs and waited for the crosshairs to turn green. When they did, he squeezed the trigger on his rifle and held it steady as the weapon fired.
Plasma bursts streaked to the target. The WGC took two blasts to the torso and tumbled, armor melted and shattered. Before it exploded, Gabe switched to a second target, sending three more bursts into the back of a fleeing WGC. The first blast cut the tetherdrive’s power; the last two took a leg and put a crater in its side. Gabe winced in sympathy as it whirled away from the battle.
All across the swarm of rigs, similar strikes disabled or destroyed the WGCs, drastically lowering the odds. Then the Directorate rigs swerved back around, committing to the engagement, and Gabe whispered a prayer that the Lord would see the Wayfarers victorious as the Directorate pilots returned fire in earnest.
Then the SSS rigs were there, and Gabe stiffened as one of the great monsters swung into his sights. He saw the Executioner rifle come around to track his movements and remembered the pain lancing through his interface when those plasma blasts had connected. He remembered Allen’s death, and the way his own fire had bounced off the thick armor of another SSS. He remembered the feeling of helplessness, the desperation, and the stars fading to black around him.
And he remembered the way the SSS’s weapons had exploded when Allen had saved him. He smiled.
Gabe brought his rifle up and around, letting the crosshairs settle on his target. He didn’t aim for the other rig’s chest, or even the head of the monster. Instead, Gabe fired at the terrible muzzle of the Executioner itself, praying the Lord would guide his shot.
The plasma blast went true. One moment he was facing a deadly weapon, and the next, the SSS was holding the shattered remnants of a formerly valuable plasma rifle. Gabe saw the Directorate pilot glance down at the weapon, and then the pilot threw the broken fragments aside and tried to aim a shoulder-mounted railgun at him. Before the railgun fired, Gabe blasted it with another flurry of plasma, reducing it to half-melted splinters of alloy.
As the SSS paused again in frustration, Gabe cleared his throat. “Angel-One to all CTRs! Don’t aim center of mass on the triple S’s—take out their weapons. Repeat, take out their guns, and then go back to hitting the WGCs.” He shot a missile launcher, and then sidestepped a charge; the other pilot had to be getting desperate to try actual physical contact. “Keep hitting them!”
Susan nodded as the CTRs tore into the enemy rigs with a hurricane of fire, and tried to push worries for Gabriel to the back of her mind. She could not afford distractions now, not at such a critical juncture.
The Directorate was moving again, this time more tentatively, but moving nonetheless. Three of their ships lagged behind, brutally crippled by the AWOR strike. If her guess was right, those dying ships meant that the Directorate had now lost nearly half of its rig deployment capability. Based on the numbers of rigs they already had in space, she very well could have caught the enemy with their WGCs in the rig bays, which meant that Gabriel would face that much less opposition.
Yet the Directorate was not finished yet. Their ships were reorganizing and reforming. Those few rigs that had launched before their carriers were hit were now trailing in the wake of the AWORs. Their lumbering pace suggested that they had been loaded for heavy assault, and she signaled the AWORs. “Pillars-Lead, keep sensor contact with the enemy rigs. Try to lead them to the Decoy Group.”
Susan watched as the AWORs obediently bent their course west to where Decoy Group was waiting. The hangers of the former mercenary carrier were empty; the Penance could provide relief to any damaged AWORs who needed to land. The RSR scouts that had launched from those hangers were already nearing their assigned position near the very front of the Directorate formation. She contacted them next. “Command to Eyes Squadron, Prophet Squadron, maintain your current course. Prepare to generate missile locks for Strike Group.”
The return signal came a moment later. “Confirmed, Command. Maintaining course.” Susan studied the northernmost formation of the enemy. Their command ship there had already fallen out of formation, but the cruisers were still moving north toward the Concord. That made them a threat, but it was a threat she intended to remove. She contacted Ndigwe again.
“Captain Ndigwe, you are to launch your Javelin missiles immediately. Set them to accept remote guidance from the RSRs, and then turn to intercept the easternmost enemy formation. You should enjoy an advantage in numbers now.”
“Yes, Admiral. Firing missiles now!” The sharp arrows representing those projectiles shot out from the Strike Group, spilling out in a torrent of destruction toward the distant northern formation. The Strike Group then turned south, trusting the Wayfarer scouts to lead the missiles to their targets while the cruisers and frigates hunted other prey.
Susan heard another signal coming in, this time from the Penance. She gestured to accept it. “Colonel?”
Mccalister did not seem as composed as Ndigwe had been. “We’re picking up enemy scouts already, ma’am. We’re going to be spotted a little ahead of schedule.”
Susan nodded. “Indeed you are, Colonel. In fact, right about …” The western enemy formation abruptly changed its course, separating further from the rest of the Directorate ships to close with the Decoy Group. “Now. You have only one formation to deal with, Colonel. I’m counting on you to occupy it while Ndigwe deals with the others.”
His words were heavy with reluctance. “Fine. Just don’t get us killed.”
She nodded. “Keep alert, Colonel. Good luck.”
Then Susan gestured to close the channel and looked out over the chaos of the battle. Her expression grew hard. It was coming together now. The enemy formations were splitting, just as she’d intended. If she could keep them off balance, keep picking them off when they were isolated and confused …
Then the pattern of lights shifted, and Susan cursed as she recognized what had happened.
Wong heard a murmur of savage satisfaction rise from his officers as Formation Sierra let out a wave of torpedoes. The detachment of cruisers moving slowly past the left flank of the task force had been too good a target to pass up. Some of the last rigs to launch from the Sihang had been scout WGCs, meant to lead their own heavy units in. Now they were using their sensor arrays to highlight a target for the missiles.
The strike would likely do little to avenge their previous hurts. The Sihang had already confirmed that fires were raging out of control throughout their compartments; the crew had suffered severe casualties trying to contain the damage. Wong was not optimistic about their chances. The Pavlov had been more encouraging at first, reporting only a series of engineering failures. Then an explosion had rocked the vessel and its tetherdrive had failed, sending the command ship spinning off on an errant course. It was unknown if they would be able to repair the damage soon.
The Oheawai’s situation had been clear from the start. The command ship’s structure had been twisted and warped; her tetherdrive had died immediately. Fires were raging uncontrolled throughout many of her compartments, while others were only spared that fate because they were completely open to vacuum. Wong had already ordered the ship to be evacuated and the ship itself scuttled. No matter what happened, he did not intend for the Wayfarers to take any prizes here.
The Terror-class torpedoes began to reach their targets, raining destruction down on the slowly maneuvering craft. One ship in particular took several impacts; as Wong watched, two missiles snuck through the screens to impact on the hull itself. An animal sound of triumph ran through his officers as the ship broke in two, atmosphere venting along the rents in its hull.
Yet even as Wong snarled in triumph, he heard fresh alerts shriek to life, and he spun to stare at the main plot as a sudden wave of torpedoes swarmed in at Formation Oscar from nowhere. Their tracks were too accurate for chance. Too late, Wong realized that some of the background flickers around the forward formation must have been enemy scouts sent to guide their own treacherous attack on the Directorate vanguard.
Then the missiles were hitting. The Phalanx-class cruiser Menelaus shuddered under repeated impacts, reeling to the side as one projectile made it through to encase the starboard armor in flames and ruin. Her sister ship, the Euobos, weathered the barrage with only a smattering of hits that damaged the forward armor while the Trojan-class cruisers in their wake were struck by a single missile apiece, not nearly enough to down their defense screens.
Their escort craft were not as lucky. Nearly every one of the smaller craft, with their thinner armor and fragile defense screens, took at least one missile hit. With their small size, one hit was enough. Ship after ship flared and broke apart. As the escorts fell away, Formation Oscar was suddenly stripped of its protection against rig strikes even as momentum carried it closer to the rig battle raging ahead.
Even as those new tragedies made themselves felt, Wong heard more warnings, and his face paled as Formation Papa, on the right flank, made sensor contact with an enemy battle group at last.
Susan’s eyes were filled with cold satisfaction as the Deliverance and her sister ships led the charge. On the other side of the battle, the Salvation might have absorbed yet another strike and paid for it with her life, but Captain Ndigwe evidently meant to exact a price for that dying ship.
The four cruisers split to take their opponents in a crossfire, dodging the hastily fired missiles the shocked Directorate cruisers had fired. The Deliverance climbed and the Emancipation dove, while the Redemption and the Liberation skidded out to the flanks. They pivoted as they moved, keeping their heavily protected bows pointed toward the enemy. Their opponents likewise pivoted, trying to form a defensive hedgehog like the one she had used to protect the Wayfarer fleet in the last engagement.
The difference was that now the Wayfarers had far superior numbers compared to the Directorate ships. Even as the cruisers began to exchange long-range plasma cannon fire, their weapons flashing like lightning, the frigates of Strike Group drove in at the Directorate ships’ less-protected flanks. The cannon on the Caravan-class vessels were lighter and the armor and screens were thinner, but the enemy ships couldn’t focus their fire with cruisers pounding at them. Worse, the protection along a cruiser’s sides was not nearly as heavy as it was in the front. Susan watched as enemy screens failed and plasma impacts began to rock the Directorate cruisers. Obviously panicked, they began to fall back.
They weren’t the only ones. The WGCs were retreating as fast as possible, having suffered terrible losses. Apparently disarmed, the SSS rigs were right behind them. Their withdrawal had allowed Gabe’s rig forces to break off as well, and they were now returning to refuel and rearm. He had accomplished his mission, after all; the northernmost enemy force was now stripped of their anti-rig defenses, and the enemy wouldn’t be launching another rig assault any time soon.
Despite the enormous distance between the formations of their task force, the Directorate was already attempting to respond. The ships from the central formation to the south turned east to aid the outnumbered cruisers, as did the remaining ships from the damaged northern group, but she had no intention of allowing them to link up again. Not after she had gone to so much trouble to break them apart.
She looked to the space surrounding the Concord, where the AWORs were finally coming back to recharge and rearm. Those rigs had just barely completed their initial attack run, and Susan felt a flicker of worry as she touched the controls to signal them. “Command to AWOR squadrons. Rearm and form up. Your next target is the closest enemy formation. Hit the cruisers hard and then return to the Concord to prepare for a third strike. CTRs, refuel as quickly as possible to accompany the AWORs to the strike point.”