Embers of Rebellion, page 43
Less than a minute later, fresh energy spikes signaled a combined salvo from the enemy destroyer and the fort. The angles of their fire left no doubt—they were targeting Peregrine.
It’s her turn to take a beating, Caleb thought grimly. There was no satisfaction in the realization, just understanding. The enemy commander believed Falcon had taken enough damage and saw Peregrine as the bigger threat. She was the only ship still at full acceleration and firing regularly, and if she managed to slip behind the fort, the battle could turn against them.
But Caleb already knew the truth—the fort was never in any real danger. The enemy just hadn’t figured that out yet.
“Divert all power to the guns,” Caleb ordered. “They’ll turn their fire back on us soon. We need to hit them again before they do!”
As the enemy focused their fire on Peregrine, Jenning’s auxiliary cruiser wove back and forth, but to Caleb’s amazement, she wasn’t maneuvering as drastically as expected.
“What is he doing?” Freya asked, her brow furrowed.
Caleb saw it immediately. “He still thinks he can get past the fort.”
Freya’s lips pressed into a tight line as she grasped what Caleb meant. Jennings was desperate. Even if they managed to destroy the enemy destroyer now, the battle would still be, at best, a draw. Worse—his squadron wouldn’t have the strength to return and try again.
Unless Jennings got past the fort now, the mission would be a failure.
Caleb felt a pang of sympathy for him. Having lost an armed freighter in his first battle, and now another, Jennings couldn’t bear the shame of yet another defeat. But it was reckless.
The consequences of his decision were inevitable.
Over three more salvos, seven AP slivers tore through Peregrine. To her credit, the auxiliary cruiser kept pushing forward at nearly full thrust, even as her rate of fire slowed. But she was still twenty-five minutes from passing the fort—more than enough time for the destroyer and fort to fire another four salvos at her.
Caleb focused on what he could control. He worked to coordinate fire from Swan, Supernova, and Falcon. Now that all three were firing down the same vector at the enemy destroyer, their shells could better saturate a single area with AP slivers.
For every hit Peregrine took, the Republic destroyer suffered another. Five more AP slivers slammed into the enemy ship—three of them full penetrations.
For a fleeting moment, Caleb thought Jennings might actually beat the odds.
Then the Republic’s fourth salvo ended Peregrine in an instant.
Five slivers hit her at once. One struck something critical. A second later, Peregrine erupted into a massive fireball.
In mere moments, she was gone.
Caleb stared at the holo display in shock.
Minutes ago, Jennings had been bellowing at him over the comm channel. Now there was nothing left of him or his ship.
It took Caleb’s mind a handful of seconds to process the change in circumstances.
Then reality hit him like a hammer.
The enemy destroyer and fort had just eliminated Peregrine. Now, all their firepower would be redirected onto Falcon.
Chapter 37
Caleb’s first instinct was to order Falcon to turn and run. If she stopped firing entirely and used her few remaining drones to generate fake energy spikes simulating rail gun shots, she might just escape. The enemy destroyer had to be more damaged than it looked.
But then his eyes fell upon Swan and Supernova. Both ships were retreating as fast as they could, but Supernova’s only real chance of survival was to abandon the crippled Swan. Even then, if Caleb tried to hide, the Republic destroyer would simply turn its guns on Swan, finish her off, and then chase down Supernova.
He forced himself to look back toward the last known position of the Republic destroyer. He had no choice. Not if he wanted to save his friends.
Swallowing hard, Caleb swept his gaze across the bridge. His officers looked exhausted—drained but resolute. When his eyes met Freya’s, she was already staring at him. There was worry in her eyes. Fear even. Yet when she spoke, her voice was firm.
“There’s no other way, Captain.”
Caleb was caught off guard. “Are you sure?” Freya had remained as Falcon’s XO to protect her crew and ship—was she now willing to risk both?
“I know you well enough by now.” Her voice softened, but her resolve remained. “There’s no other way. Not for you. We won’t turn and run.” She gave him a reassuring nod. “She’s your ship to command, Captain.”
Despite the danger, Caleb smiled. We understand each other now. She knew he wouldn’t put his career or reputation above their friends, and he knew she wouldn’t put Falcon above them. He returned her nod and took a deep breath.
“Listen up, officers,” Caleb called out, making the bridge crew turn toward him. “We are the only thing standing between that destroyer and Swan and Supernova. We have to buy our friends time to escape. The destroyer is damaged. We just need to hit her enough times that she can’t follow us.” He let the weight of his words settle. “This is what Falcon was built for. We can do this.”
Heads nodded. Eyes brightened. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.
“All right then, let’s get to it!” Caleb said with renewed energy. “Santiago, what’s the status of Reactor Three?”
“Chief Maguire has it up to eighty percent,” Santiago reported.
“That’s good enough for now. Rodgers, you’ve got full power to the engines. Keep us from getting hit.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Rodgers said with a confident grin.
“Freya, how easy a target do we look?”
“We’ve removed the two HE slivers from the hull, but we’ve taken a lot of damage,” she admitted. “We’re bound to be leaking enough electromagnetic radiation to be easily tracked.”
Caleb nodded. Then we need to stay at range.
“Rodgers, take us along this trajectory.” He traced a line on the holo display, leading Falcon away from the fort.
Then he turned to Rodriguez. “Everything rests on us, Tactical. I’ll work with you. We need to hit that destroyer again and again until she can’t follow us!”
“We’ll do it, Captain,” Rodriguez promised.
Caleb’s gaze shifted to Santiago. “We’re going to take hits. Hold us together.”
Santiago gave a sharp nod.
Finally, he turned back to Freya. “Prepare a bait-and-switch. Use our last drones, all our shuttles—everything. If we damage them enough, it’ll be our escape plan.”
“Understood.” Her voice was serious, but Caleb could tell she already had the plan forming in her mind. The maneuver was one Caleb had used on her in a simulated battle—a tactic he had refined over years of simulations
And one Alexander knows all too well.
His head snapped back toward the enemy’s last known position.
At that very moment, three fresh energy spikes flared on the main display. The Republic destroyer had just fired.
Caleb’s eyes narrowed. Who else in the Republic Navy could have fought off five enemy ships?
He was almost certain now. Alexander was commanding that destroyer.
He will recognize the move as soon as we try it, Caleb knew. Normally, his favorite way to execute Bait and Switch was to turn away as the fourth energy spike. But Alexander would expect that—that’s what Caleb always did. Which means I can’t do that.
Turning away as the second decoy made the most sense. But what if he suspects I know he’s commanding the destroyer? If Alexander did, he would anticipate Caleb adjusting his tactics and expect him to go second.
So… do I go first? Caleb considered it. It was by far the riskiest option—especially with a damaged ship. Or maybe… I don’t go at all.
Yes! That was it. That was the best bet.
“I want six decoys,” Caleb ordered Freya. “Make them as good as you can—don’t forget to factor in our damage.”
“I’m on it,” she assured him, already working on the deception.
Caleb turned to his sensor officer. “Gomez, I need an estimate on how long it will take Supernova to tow Swan far enough away from the fort that they can go dark and escape.”
As Gomez worked, Caleb refocused on the battle. Falcon’s reloading rate had slipped to five minutes and thirty-three seconds due to earlier damage. He reviewed Rodriguez’s proposed firing solutions. They were calculated based on the passive sensor readings of the enemy destroyer’s damaged sections—particularly the heat emissions and the single HE sliver still embedded in its hull.
By the time Falcon received the data, it was already two minutes out of date. Then, it would take another ten minutes for their shells to reach the target. That meant Rodriguez had to predict where the destroyer would be twelve minutes into the future.
Such calculations were inherently difficult. But two things made them manageable: First, the spread from an AP shell was wide enough that absolute precision wasn’t necessary. Second, Rodriguez was coordinating fire with Supernova’s six-inch gun and Swan’s remaining six-inch and four-inch guns. Six shells could cover a huge area.
Caleb made a small tweak to Rodriguez’s firing solutions and sent them back to the Third Lieutenant’s console.
“Fire when ready, Lieutenant,” Caleb ordered. Then he turned to Gomez. “Sensors?”
“I have that estimate for you, Captain,” Gomez called out. “I’ve put it on the secondary display.”
Caleb looked over as Gomez explained.
“At their current thrust, they need another forty-nine minutes to reach a safe distance. That might shorten though—Nashville just spoke with Armitage. They’re hoping to get another engine working at twenty percent thrust, but they’re still trying to repair the cut power relays.”
“Understood. Thank you, Ensign,” Caleb said, processing the numbers.
Fifty minutes. That meant eight or nine more enemy salvos before they could attempt to escape. It was going to be tough. But we can do this.
Swan and Supernova fired first. As their shells passed Falcon, Caleb’s three guns launched their own barrage, sending tungsten slivers streaking toward the enemy.
Before their rounds reached the target, the Republic destroyer’s shells detonated first.
Everyone on Falcon’s bridge braced as a cone-shaped wave of shrapnel shot past them. One sliver connected. Caleb was jolted in his command chair. As soon as the tremors stopped, he spun toward Santiago.
“It hit our port side. A glancing blow,” Santiago reported. “But it took out sections of Deck Nine. Five casualties reported so far.”
Caleb clenched his jaw. It could have been worse.
Then his own shells detonated. They all missed. Caleb swore under his breath.
Before he could even check on Santiago’s repair teams, the second salvo from the Republic destroyer and the fort exploded.
This time, two AP slivers slammed into Falcon.
Caleb felt the shockwaves roll through the deck beneath him. Multiple alarms blared at once. These hits were bad.
“Primary power line severed—Deck Five, Section Four,” Santiago called out.
“Gun Three is only getting ten percent power!” Rodriguez shouted in alarm.
“Diverting power down secondary and tertiary lines,” Santiago responded. “Some of them are damaged too. You’ll have to fire the other two guns until we can reroute enough power.”
The attacks came so thick and fast that Caleb started to lose track of time. His second salvo scored at least one hit on the enemy destroyer, yet again without any obvious effect. Then another AP sliver slammed into Falcon. It struck a relatively unarmored section and nearly ripped its way straight through the hull, tearing apart secondary systems in its path.
Caleb barely registered the damage before seeing two flashes—his third salvo had detonated. This time, he punched a fist into his palm as Falcon’s sensors detected debris and internal fires erupting from the enemy destroyer.
His victory was short-lived, however.
Within a minute, the Republic’s fourth salvo smashed three more slivers into Falcon. Two penetrated her armor. One burrowed deep, nearly reaching Reactor Three. It was stopped just ten meters short by the final bulkhead in its way. The reactor didn't shut down completely, but its power output plummeted to twenty percent.
Alarms blared, and officers shouted fresh reports of damage.
“She’s feeling very sluggish!” Rodgers called out, his earlier enthusiasm gone. “I can’t keep up our previous maneuvers.”
“Do your best,” Caleb responded, keeping his voice steady. “Their targeting sensors have taken a beating. You can still keep them guessing… Here, like this,” he said, sending Rodgers a series of evasive maneuvers that relied on fewer thrusters.
He wanted to help Rodriguez more but as damage and stress mounted, Caleb found himself pulled into every department’s crisis. Systems were failing faster than they could be repaired. Officers were getting overwhelmed. Looking around, he could see fear creeping in. If the bridge crew lost their discipline, they’d all be dead.
Caleb forced himself to stay calm, barking out orders for repair teams, coordinating targeting data with Swan and Supernova, and tracking the enemy destroyer’s movements.
Yet, inwardly, his mind kept flashing back to Ajax and the last hour of his battle commanding her. The cruiser had been torn apart all around him.
It is happening again.
The nightmares that had haunted him for weeks were unfolding around him in real time.
The one other rock on the bridge was Freya. Even as Falcon was torn apart and her crew cut down, outwardly, she remained just as steady as Caleb, repeating his orders and ensuring they were carried out. Together, they held the bridge together, forcing the officers to stay focused.
But no matter how much discipline they kept, they couldn’t stop the enemy’s fire.
Two more slivers smashed into Falcon before Caleb had even gotten a full handle on the previous damage. Then another salvo shredded the power lines to Gun Two.
“It’s useless!” Santiago shouted over the alarms. “We can’t get any more power to the gun. One and Three are all I can give you!”
“You’re doing your best,” Caleb called back. Just minutes ago, Santiago had managed to restore Gun Three’s power, giving them at least two working guns.
A glimmer of hope came from Ensign Gomez. “Captain, I’ve been tracking their firing rate. Look—it’s really starting to drop off.”
Caleb turned to the display. The enemy’s last two salvos had been spaced out by six minutes and fifteen seconds. They were hurting them.
“Good work, Ensign!” Caleb said, his voice firm with determination.
“Nashville, how are Swan and Supernova doing?” he asked, spinning toward the comm station.
“Swan has regained twenty-two percent of her thrust,” Nashville reported. “Armitage says they’re using Supernova to build up more momentum. Once they do, they’ll cut the tow line and go dark. They should be ready to break away in fifteen minutes.”
Caleb exhaled sharply. That was something.
He turned back to the bridge crew, voice raised for all to hear. “Did you get that, everyone? Fifteen minutes! That’s two—maybe three more enemy salvos. We can hold that long!”
Caleb’s words didn’t have the desired effect. The bridge crew still looked shell-shocked, their eyes distant, barely registering what he had said.
Then Gomez raised a hand. “Look there.”
Caleb followed her finger. The main display showed the enemy destroyer engulfed in multiple explosions. They had scored more hits. More importantly, one of its turrets erupted as a sliver detonated its capacitor bank.
Weak, ragged cheers rippled through the bridge. Caleb’s voice broke as he joined in. Finally, they were dishing out as much punishment as they were taking.
“Come on, everyone—two more salvos!” Caleb urged his officers.
And let’s pray she holds together that long, he added to himself, eyes scanning the secondary and tertiary damage displays. Almost every section of Falcon flashed red or orange. Only the areas protected by the nano-carbon armor remained structurally intact. It was a miracle the auxiliary cruiser’s frame was still holding together.
The next enemy salvo came six minutes and thirty-three seconds after the last. Just one sliver hit Falcon. By now, everyone was used to the sickening tremors that rolled through the ship whenever they were struck. Alarms wailed as yet more sections turned red on the damage readouts.
Muted cheers followed moments later as the destroyer was hit again. Caleb counted at least three impacts—two failed to penetrate, but one had dug deep.
Another round of Republic shells struck just under seven minutes later. Only one AP sliver found Falcon, a testament to the enemy’s faltering fire control. Just like ours did on Ajax, Caleb thought grimly.
Even so, the single sliver did devastating damage, slicing through the main power lines leading from Reactor One. Immediately, the reactor went into emergency shutdown before it could overload.
“We’re down to fifty-seven percent power,” Santiago reported. “If our thrusters weren’t so shot up and we weren’t already down a gun, I’d say we didn’t have enough left to maneuver and fight, but…”
Caleb nodded. “But we can still power what we’ve got.”
They both exchanged dark grins.
Knowing it would be bad—but unable to stop himself—Caleb pulled up an external view from one of the damage assessment drones. He cursed at what he saw.
Falcon was a wreck. Deep gashes and craters pockmarked her hull. Jagged holes spewed debris into space. Over half of her maneuvering thrusters and passive sensor nodes were gone.
Caleb swallowed hard, mourning the destruction of his ship and the loss of his crew. He had worked so hard to make Falcon a formidable warship. Now she was barely holding together.
A sharp, high-pitched voice snapped him out of his thoughts.
“Captain!” Nashville called out. “Armitage has hailed us. They’ve broken the tow line and gone dark. He says we’re free to disengage.”
