There was no way to avoid the fact that it made the three Alliance battleships much easier targets for the Syndics, too.
The remaining specter missiles and grapeshot blasted out from the three battleships as the leading wave of Syndic light cruisers and HuKs entered their engagement envelopes. A lot of the light enemy ships evaded away, swinging far out to either side or up or down to avoid the fire of the Alliance battleships and thereby losing so much ground that they wouldn’t be able to catch the Alliance fleet now.
About twenty HuKs and a half dozen light cruisers tried to charge past and through the Seventh Battleship Division. As the HuKs entered the engagement envelopes, the battleships’hell-lance batteries filled space with charged particle spears that tore into the light HuKs from multiple angles.
Space lit with impacts as shields flared and failed, then more hits tore holes in ships and their crews. HuKs and light cruisers exploded in balls of fragments and gas, broke into pieces that tumbled wildly through space, or simply went silent as their systems were knocked out, the dead hulks twisting away under the force of impacts.
None of the Syndic light units made it through, but right behind them were heavy cruisers and battle cruisers, none of those ships individually a match for a battleship, but in overwhelming numbers.
Clenching his fists, Geary gazed helplessly at the main body of the Syndic flotilla charging down on Mosko’s battleships.
“Specters,” Desjani stated in a clear voice.
She was right. There was one thing he could do. Combat systems confirmed that the rear guard was within extreme range for the specters remaining in the Alliance fleet. “All ships, fire all remaining specters targeted at the Syndic warships around Audacious, Defiant, and Indefatigable. I repeat, all remaining specters.”
The missiles began launching, flinging into space, choosing targets, then accelerating toward the embattled Alliance battleships and the Syndics flaying them. Not nearly enough specters, just enough to distract the Syndic pursuers somewhat and draw some fire away from the battleships, but something. They scored enough hits on one Syndic heavy cruiser to knock it out and managed some blows against battle cruisers whose screens had been knocked low by the hell-lance fire of Audacious, Indefatigable, and Defiant. But there were so many more Syndic heavy cruisers and battle cruisers, with the Syndic battleships coming into range now as well.
Defiant was catching the worst of it, glowing with the force of repeated enemy hits. Audacious took out another heavy cruiser, then turned its hell lances on a Syndic battle cruiser. Indefatigable reeled under the fire of a full division of enemy battle cruisers but punched back, getting in a solid hit with its null field when one battle cruiser tried to pass by too close.
It physically hurt to watch the three battleships being pounded by increasingly overwhelming numbers of Syndic warships, but they were accomplishing their mission. The leading elements of the Syndic flotilla were slowed, hurt, or evading, and the Alliance fleet was within reach of the jump point. They’d bought the time they needed at the price of three battleships and their crews.
The Alliance fleet came at the jump point from slightly above and to one side, about to clear the Syndic minefield. “All units, reduce speed to point four light and follow Dauntless’s movements,” Geary ordered. With every second critical, he didn’t want to order exact courses now or worry about every unit maintaining its precise location in the formation.
Dauntless had pivoted around, her bow to the enemy now, and her main propulsion units kicking in again to force her velocity down. All around her, the other ships in the fleet were doing the same with varying degrees of quickness depending on the state of their propulsion units.
And the displays updated as the Syndics kept coming, getting past the reeling ships of the Seventh Battleship Division, closing faster now that the Alliance warships had been forced to slow down.
Desjani was watching the display intently as Dauntless crested the estimated top of the Syndic minefield to one side of the jump point. “Alter course down one eight zero degrees, port zero five degrees, now,” she ordered.
Dauntless swung over and down, as if diving toward the jump point, the rest of the Alliance warships following suit in a wave.
The Syndic force that they had last seen at Ixion, built around four battleships and four battle cruisers, chose that exact moment to flash into existence and make an automated turn up, the arriving Syndics and the fleeing Alliance forces right on top of each other in an instant’s time.
The only thing that prevented last-minute disaster was that the Syndics hadn’t been expecting to encounter an enemy force literally the moment they arrived at Lakota. In the few seconds required for the Syndic crews to recognize what was happening, then activate and give firing approval to their weapons, the frantic Alliance warships surrounding them unleashed a firestorm of hell lances that wiped out the lighter units and ripped open three of the four battle cruisers.
But the four battleships blundered onward, shields shredding under the Alliance fire but now shooting back desperately as the heavy enemy warships headed straight for the four auxiliaries. With only seconds before contact, Titan, Witch, Jinn, and Goblin didn’t have time to evade.
But Warrior, Orion, and Majestic were still there, still hanging as close to the auxiliaries as they could. Orion seemed to shy away in the moments before contact, and Majestic was slightly to one side, but Warrior was right between the auxiliaries and the Syndic battleships. She held her ground, pouring hell-lance fire from her working batteries into the enemy warships while the four Syndic battleships pounded back at the single Alliance battleship.
If the fight had lasted for more than seconds, Warrior would have been doomed, but the Syndic battleships veered away in panicked flight, two of them riddled by Alliance fire and barely operational. Warrior, torn up anew by Syndic fire, doggedly kept up as the auxiliaries fled toward the jump point with the rest of the fleet.
In a matter of moments the Alliance fleet had met the arriving Syndic force, decimated it, then passed onward, taking more damage itself and leaving the shocked Syndic survivors in their wake.
There wasn’t much left of the Seventh Battleship Division. The Syndic battleships had caught up with it and were now methodically smashing Audacious, Defiant, and Indefatigable. Indefatigable only had a single hell-lance battery still firing. Audacious was silent, a ball of wreckage falling off to one side. Defiant took several broadsides almost simultaneously and blew apart as two massive explosions erupted amidships and near the stern.
“Captain Geary? Captain Geary! The fleet is at the jump point!”
He tore his eyes from the final moments of Defiant, trying not to notice the debris of battle that seemed to fill the universe, the Syndic missiles reaching for the trailing ships in the Alliance fleet, the crippled Alliance warships straining to keep up with their fellows, the broken wrecks of the Syndic warships that had run head-on into the Alliance fleet at the jump point tumbling away. “All units. Jump now.”
The stars vanished. The blackness between the stars disappeared. The last gasps of Defiant, Indefatigable, and Audacious were gone. So were the distant, abandoned wreck of Paladin and the equally far-off constellation of debris which was all that remained of Renown. The hypernet gate had vanished, the Syndic flotillas gone with it. Where an instant before desperate battle had raged and the wreckage of battles littered space, now there was only the endless gray nothingness, the silence and the wandering lights of jump space.
He’d never jumped straight out of battle, never imagined fighting literally on a jump point’s doorstep. Geary felt his heart pounding, his breath sounding loud in the sudden hush that filled Dauntless’s bridge as everyone sat stunned by the abrupt transition from combat to stillness. He closed his eyes, trying to deal with the reality of what had happened. Three more battleships gone. Four battleships and one battle cruiser lost all told. Two heavy cruisers. Light cruisers and destroyers. Dozens more warships in the fleet with s
ignificant damage. Most of the remaining Syndic fleet in hot pursuit and still far outnumbering the Alliance fleet’s survivors. The Syndics would take a little while to get organized, to finish off Defiant, Indefatigable, and Audacious; then they’d come through that jump point. They couldn’t touch the Alliance fleet in jump space. They couldn’t even see the Alliance ships here, where every group of ships seemed to occupy its own drab reality.
But the Alliance fleet would come out of jump at Ixion, and the Syndics would come out behind them.
Geary stood up, feeling as if he had spent several days straight in the command seat. He looked toward Captain Desjani, who gazed somberly back at him. He should say something. “Thank you, Captain. Dauntless did well. Please see to your ship’s damage and your crew.”
Looking up, Geary saw the watch-standers gazing back at him as if they were about to drown and he were a lifeline. What to say to them? “Well done.”
He started to leave, but a young lieutenant spoke desperately. “What’ll we do, sir? At Ixion?”
Damned if he knew. “I’ll consider my options.” He forced a look of reassurance. “We’re not beaten.” Technically, at least, that was correct.
They nodded and looked comforted as Geary left the bridge, Rione going along silently beside him.
THE grayness of jump space seemed to have invaded his soul. Geary sat in his stateroom, slumped in a seat, his mind running in endless circles while ships died over and over again in his memory.
“It’s been a full day,” Rione said in a hard voice. She was sitting nearby, her face looking like she’d aged a decade or maybe two in that day. “Get over it. We have to prepare for Ixion.”
“Ixion?” Geary didn’t bother laughing scornfully. “Just what am I supposed to do at Ixion?”
“I don’t know. I’m not the commander of this fleet. And if you don’t do something, you won’t be the commander much longer either.”
“If that’s an oblique reference to the fact that this fleet’s destruction at Ixion seems inevitable—”
“No!” Rione made a choking motion with her hands. “It’s not. That’s a major problem and one I can’t help you with, because I don’t know how to command a fleet. But it’s not just the Syndics you have worry about,” Rione stated. “Your fate, your standing, is bound up in the fate and condition of this fleet. Right now this fleet is wounded, and that means you are, too. What happens to a wounded stag, John Geary?”
The vision that brought up wasn’t comfortable, but he recognized the truth of her words. “It becomes an attractive target for wolves, who gather, attack, and pull it down.”
“You know some of the wolves in this fleet but not all of them. They’ve been testing you since you took command, looking for weaknesses, trying to trip you up. But you kept winning, kept guessing right, so they couldn’t attract enough support. Now there’s blood in the water, and at the next opportunity, they’ll go after you.”
“You’re mixing your prey and predator metaphors,” Geary noted sourly.
“The results are the same for the prey regardless of the nature of the predator. The first opportunity your opponents in this fleet get after we arrive in Ixion, they will move against you, and because of what happened at Lakota, you will get little support from the disillusioned and the frightened.”
Geary managed to work up enough feelings to glare at her. “If this little speech of yours is supposed to be inspiring me to get going again, I have to let you know that your motivational skills could use some work.”
She glared back. “Do you think you’ll be the only target then? I’m known as your ally and your lover. At least some of your opponents in this fleet have learned that my husband was still alive when captured. Yes, I’m certain of it. They’ve been waiting to use that information for when it will do the most damage. They will employ it at Ixion, where your lover will be exposed as an opportunistic whore lacking in honor and you will either share that stain by defending me or look weak by letting me be shunned and isolated. Not every weapon aimed at you will strike you directly.”
There wasn’t anything he could think to say except the weakest possible thing. “I’m sorry.”
“Should I be grateful for that?” Rione shot at him, then stood up, turned, and paced angrily. “I don’t need you to defend me. I chose to come to you. Any shame is mine.”
“I’ll defend you.”
“Spare me the chivalry!” She thrust an angry forefinger at him. “Defend this fleet! It needs you! I can’t save it. I can tell the men and women of this fleet how much I admire and respect them, I can tell them how the Alliance honors their service and sacrifice, but I cannot command them! I don’t know how. Nor can any of your allies in this fleet. I know you expect Captain Duellos to assume command, but he will be in a far weaker position than you and likely fail.”
Now he was getting angry, too. “I’m indispensable? Is that what you’re saying? I’m the only one who can command this fleet? Ever since we first exchanged words, you’ve been telling me that I don’t dare ever actually believe that! That if I do, I’ll be dooming this fleet and myself and the Alliance. And believe it or not, Victoria Rione, I do listen to what you say and consider it very carefully. I’m not Black Jack.”
“Yes, you are.” Rione came close, held his head in both hands so she could gaze straight into his eyes. “You’re Black Jack. You really are. Not a myth, but the only person who can save this fleet and the Alliance. I didn’t believe that for a long time. I didn’t believe the myth. Maybe you’re not that myth, but the legend gives you the ability to inspire and lead. You haven’t misused that. Just as important, you brought knowledge with you of how to fight, which has saved this fleet several times already and hurt the Syndics badly. And you can do it again, because so many believe you are Black Jack and because you’ve done the sorts of things only Black Jack was supposed to be capable of.”
“I can’t—”
“You must!” She stepped back again. “I’m not saying the right things. We’ve shared a bed and known each other’s bodies, but our souls remain hidden from each other. You need someone whose words you’ll believe, someone who can speak to you in the terms you know as a fleet officer.”
The anger was gone, replaced by weariness again.
“Words aren’t going to make a difference, no matter who speaks them.” Words could not change the state of this fleet, change the losses and damage suffered at Lakota, change the size of the Syndic force coming after this fleet.
“We’ll see.” Rione left, only the automatic closing mechanism on the hatch keeping it from slamming behind her.
Some indeterminate amount of time later, his hatch alert chimed, which at least meant it wasn’t Rione back to give him another pep talk since she could have walked in on her own. “Come in.”
“Captain Geary, sir?” Captain Desjani stood in the entry, betraying uncertainty.
Geary struggled into a more upright sitting position and straightened his uniform a bit. “Sorry, Captain Desjani.” He ought to say something else. “What brings you down here?”
“I…may I sit down, sir?”
She never asked that. This wasn’t routine business. Well, he should have known that. “Certainly. Relax.” Ask about her ship, you idiot. “How is Dauntless?”
Desjani sat but of course didn’t relax. “We’ve got all of our hell lances back online. Only a single partial volley of grapeshot left in our ammo lockers, and no specters. Hull damage won’t be totally repaired by the time we reach Ixion, but we’ll patch things up well enough to fight.” She paused. “We lost seventeen personnel and had another twenty-six wounded badly enough to be out of service for a while.”
Seventeen dead. He wondered how many of those seventeen he would have recognized. Probably most. “I’ll be at their services. Tell me when.” The funerals couldn’t be until they reached Ixion. No one’s remains were ever consigned to jump space.
“Of course, sir.” Desjani looked away from Geary for a
moment, then spoke quickly. “Sir, Co-President Rione asked me to speak with you. She said you’d taken our losses at Lakota very hard and that I might be able to discuss that with you.”
Great. As if he wanted Desjani to see him depressed. Why couldn’t Rione let sleeping dogs lie? Or in this case let a depressed dog stay depressed? “Thank you, but I don’t think that’s necessary.”
Desjani’s eyes came back to Geary, flicking over his face and uniform, then lowered. “Sir, with all due respect, it doesn’t look that way.”
He could get mad at Desjani, but that would be unfair and probably too much work. “Point taken. Okay.”
She paused again as if waiting to be sure he’d agreed, then spoke with sudden intensity. “I knew you’d feel the losses, sir. That’s who you are. It’s one of the things that makes you such a great commander. But you’re also someone who understands the need to keep fighting. I’ve seen that so many times. You don’t really need my words or anyone else’s. You’ll come around, and you’ll figure out what to do, and then we’ll beat the Syndics again.”
He had to say it. “We didn’t beat them this time.”
Desjani frowned and shook her head. “That’s not true, sir. They wanted us trapped and destroyed. They didn’t achieve that. We wanted to get out of Lakota. We did.”
That made Geary frown, too, because Desjani was right. Seen that way, the Syndics had lost, and the Alliance fleet, by surviving and escaping, had won. Still…“Thank you. But…Tanya, we lost a lot of ships. A battle cruiser. Four battleships—”
“I know, sir,” Desjani interrupted. “I wish this victory had been like your others, with our losses negligible. But every battle can’t be like that, especially when we’re facing those kinds of odds.”