Half of the weapons rematerialized around the shield, barely inside or outside the defensive energy bubble. Several others completely missed—and three five-hundred-megaton warheads exploded amidst the modules that made up the massive vessel.
Between the explosions directly on the shield and the damage to the Guardian, the shields went down—and the Lancers were there, twenty seconds behind the missiles.
“Target is still active,” Turrigan snapped. “Engines are damaged but still operational. Shields are down but I’m reading at least three still-active plasma turrets.”
The squadron XO didn’t even need to report the lasers. The defensive systems that had targeted the missiles now turned on the charging starfighters. Gravity shields distorted and deflected the beams, but more and more lasers were coming online as the fighters closed.
“Plasma turrets firing.” It took Henry a moment to realize the calm voice reporting the massive plasma weapons activation was his. His own fighter drew the short straw, with one of the big guns aimed directly at his craft.
The GMS allowed him to easily dodge the incoming burst, and then they were in range. There was no detailed plan for how to attack a capital ship with six starfighters’ defensive lasers. The lasers were occasionally used for this—but usually with closer to a hundred starfighters.
Henry targeted the turret that had fired on him, blazing a beam of coherent light down its barrel as it tried to track him. The laser gouged through the armored barrel, and for a second, nothing happened.
Then the turret tried to fire again, and its containment failed. A multi-hundred-megaton explosion tore apart one of the weapons modules, sending other pieces of the big warship flying as the starfighters dove in again.
“Raven-Two is down,” O’Flannagain said flatly. “Guardian turrets are down. All turrets are down. Target the power pla—”
Henry wasn’t sure if it was a hit on one of the power plants or backlash from the destruction of the turrets. One moment, the broken-but-still-formidable Guardian was rotating in space, trying to bring intact defensive lasers to bear on the mosquitos killing her.
The next, two fusion reactors and an engine containment vessel failed in less than a second. Three massive new explosions tore through the modular ship…and then there was silence.
“Raven-Three is down,” O’Flannagain reported in the quiet.
That was Lieutenant Commander Turrigan’s bird, Henry realized. The odd-numbered starfighters were the wing commanders, the senior half of the squadron. That meant they had Four, Six and Eight left alongside O’Flannagain’s own Seven.
All of the CAG’s senior pilots were gone. Phạm was at least in sickbay, but Raven’s squadron had been cut in half.
“We need to get out of here, CAG,” Henry told her. “Fall back to Raven. We should be clear enough to use lasers to open the chasm up a bit to get back in.”
Whatever happened now, the starfighters had more than done their part.
Chapter Forty-Four
“And here they come,” Iyotake said calmly.
Henry was back where he belonged, on Raven’s bridge. He hadn’t changed out of the flight suit. It had his proper rank insignia, the steel oak leaf emblazoned on the right side of the collar, and he didn’t have much time.
“Time?” he asked.
“Admiral Cheung will likely declare us out of contact in just over eight hours,” Moon reported. “Twenty to twenty-one hours before relief, ser.”
He nodded; his eyes focused on the screen.
Bandit Three was definitely damaged. She was accelerating at point five KPS2, blood in the water if he’d had any ability to engage her…and if she weren’t being accompanied by the clearly completely undamaged Bandit One.
The two Guardians might have been a match for an undamaged Raven. In her current state, well…
“I don’t believe I have ever been quite so appreciative of ice in my life,” he murmured.
“You, I see, do not vacation in the Caribbean,” his XO said with a chuckle. “When you’re on those beaches and there isn’t a cloud for five hundred kay in any direction…you really appreciate ice.
“But you’re right; today I might appreciate this chunk of ice more.”
It wasn’t going to buy them twenty hours, Henry suspected, but it had bought them almost thirty already. More than he’d had any right to hope for, really.
“Any clever ideas, people?” he asked. “According to the fabricator reports, we are up to twenty-four total missiles.”
He supposed they could fill one or both of the pilots in the medbay with painkillers and stims and send out a five-fighter strike. It was very clear from their maneuvering, though, that the remaining Drifter ships knew roughly what had happened to Bandit Two.
“Bury our heat signature as they get close and hope,” Iyotake told him. “That’s Song’s option. We still haven’t needed it yet.”
“It might buy us a few more minutes,” Henry conceded. “I just don’t think it will buy us enough for them to completely bypass our hiding spot.”
“Ser… No, that can’t be right.”
Henry turned to look at Ihejirika, the tactical officer rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. None of the senior officers had taken any breaks since they’d embedded themselves in the meteor. Even with internal networks regulating fatigue toxins, it was starting to show.
“I confirm, ser,” Ybarra said quietly. “Multiple skip signatures at the Ra-One-Seventy-Five skip line. Drifters are turning, sers.”
“Ihejirika?” Henry demanded.
“Guardians are turning; course is for Kozun space,” the big African officer replied crisply. “I make the new signature three capital ships and seven escorts, high probability that the central capital ship is a Crichton-class fleet carrier.
“It’s Scorpius, ser,” Ihejirika said wonderingly. “We’re too far and using sensors without enough resolution to be certain, but I believe I’m picking up a full deck launch.”
Henry stared at the data as it appeared on his screens. A Crichton-class fleet carrier had a hundred and twenty SF-122 Dragoons aboard. At this point, having flown a Lancer into combat, he knew the Dragoon was obsolete—but it was still the second-most powerful starfighter he knew of.
“Maneuver cones, Commander, please,” he said, his tone distracted.
They were already flickering onto the screen, and they told him everything he needed to know: the Guardians weren’t going to escape. They only had a third of the acceleration of the starfighters pursuing them. They couldn’t make it to the skip line. They couldn’t make it to Raven.
“Ser, incoming transmission,” Moon reported. “Two transmissions,” she corrected. “One is on Vesheron protocols; one is encrypted on UPSF protocols.”
“Play them both,” Henry ordered. “Vesheron first.”
“This is Rear Admiral Cheung Jian Chin,” the familiar-looking short Chinese Admiral said in rough but clear Kem. “To the Drifter forces in the Lon System. We are fully aware of your treachery, of your betrayal of both the United Planets Alliance and the Kozun Hierarchy.
“By the time you could reach Kozun space, the Hierarchy will be fully aware of your crimes…but you will not reach Kozun space. Surrender, or my fighters will run you down like the rabid dogs you have proven yourselves to be.”