Brink of Destruction, page 8
Bannon was waiting for the ghost ship to slip into an impossible wormhole again, evading its demise and forcing the Thunderer to waste yet more valuable munitions. But something vital must have been hit, because while it managed to shoot down one of the oncoming missiles, it didn’t disappear, and it didn’t evade the second.
The missile slammed into the ghost ship just behind where the smaller ovoid nested with the larger. For a moment, missile and ghost ship disappeared in a blinding flash.
When the screen cleared, the ghost ship was still there. A hole had been ripped in its flank, the edges still glowing with residual heat from the impact, but it was otherwise still intact.
Mostly. As the seconds ticked by, it did not renew its weapons fire, and it became more and more apparent that it was no longer under power. Its trajectory appeared to now be completely ballistic, and it was beginning to tumble, surrounded by the debris kicked off by the warhead’s impact and detonation.
The Thunderer had executed its own skew-flip maneuver already, and was under thrust back toward the wormhole emergence point. It might be feasible to try to send a boarding shuttle to intercept the hulk, but Bannon, remembering his phalanx’s own boarding action above Zhogalgan, doubted it was advisable. Still, just such a shuttle came out of the Thunderer’s launch bay and lit its drive, boosting toward the hulk at just under three gees, pulling ahead of the starship slowly as it changed its relative velocity faster than the bigger vessel.
That was when the point became moot. A bright star lit in the center of the ovoid, visible at first only as a series of pinprick glows through the holes smashed in the ghost ship’s superstructure. It quickly intensified, the light chewing through the ragged remains of the ghost ship’s hull until the entire craft was nothing but glowing debris, propelled outward into the void at terrific velocities.
One of the aliens must have still been alive enough to trigger the self-destruct. Only armed intervention aboard the ship above Zhogalgan had kept that from happening.
The shuttle cut thrust. There was probably little to be retrieved, and the delta-v to try to catch any of the debris was better used elsewhere. Bannon didn’t know how much had been learned from the hulk above Zhogalgan, but having a mostly intact ghost ship for the engineers to study was surely more useful than the shattered remnants that they would need to risk further exposure in this system to retrieve.
Kowalski let out a sigh. “Well, that went better than I expected.” He was already shifting the scanners to sweep more of the space around them. It seemed that, while his words were relaxed, he wasn’t at all sure they were out of the worst of it yet. “Four more hours to rendezvous.”
***
The next four hours went quietly, though the threat wasn’t gone yet. It took some time for the Infiltrator’s sensors to pick it out, but there was another ghost ship in the system, pacing them at a distance, never closing in, staying passive, but always there. It had taken the occlusion of several stars to pick it out of the vastness of space in the first place.
“It’s big.” Kowalski was watching the data stream even as the Thunderer grew in the forward screens, close enough to be seen with the naked eye through the outer ports now. “Easily three times the size of the one the Thunderer sent to hell.”
That was ominous. The ghost ship that their mothership had destroyed had been roughly the same size as the one that Bannon had boarded with Alexius, Hern, and Baddlet above Zhogalgan. And it had taken a beating before it had succumbed to the Thunderer’s fire. A bigger one—a much bigger one—was going to be a challenge that they’d be hard-pressed to face.
Once again, the specter of the smoking ruins of Afa Thura megacities rose in Bannon’s mind’s eye. He’d never seen the ship that had done that, but the firepower had apparently been unstoppable. If it had been one of the smaller ones, what might this behemoth be capable of?
“Anyone who’s still thawed out should probably strap in.” Kowalski turned all his attention toward the rendezvous. With the system being as non-permissive as it was, the Thunderer couldn’t cut thrust for long, not if they were going to reach the wormhole emergence point quickly. The vectors were complicated, and Bannon was glad he could leave the maneuvers to Kowalski. He had gotten some basic training—the possibility that an infantry phalanx might be required to conduct spaceborne operations had necessitated it—but nothing on this level.
He hauled himself back to the acceleration couch and strapped in, barely getting secure before the weight started to set in, Kowalski firing up the shorter-range drives, more powerful and easier to detect than the long-distance ion drive.
The following maneuvers felt brutal after the extended hours—days, really—at low or zero gee. Bannon told himself he needed to spend some serious time in the Thunderer’s training facilities to make sure that the waiting hadn’t made him soft. The maneuvers seemed to take forever, but he knew that was only due to the knowledge of that massive ghost ship hanging out in the void, watching and waiting.
Not that we can do anything about it.
Finally, with a clunk that he felt as much as heard, and a faint shudder through the Infiltrator’s hull, the docking clamps locked in, and they were aboard the Thunderer.
Bannon didn’t wait for Kowalski to announce that they were done. He was already unbuckling from his harness, turning to Hern. “Make sure the rest of the phalanx gets thawed out and reports to their compartments as soon as possible, Sergeant. I have a feeling we won’t have a lot of time before maneuvers start to get intense again.”
Hern just saluted with two fingers. Anywhere else, he might have been more formal, and in front of the two conscious Columbians, perhaps he should have been. But he and Bannon had been NCOs together, once upon a time, and—almost despite himself—Bannon had allowed a certain looseness in the formalities in Third Phalanx since they had been detached direct to Commander Fox’s orders. Being all by themselves, far from support, tended to tighten their brotherhood while eroding some of the distinctions of rank. It was a strange thing among Corvanites, who had been raised from a young age to understand and accept their place in the military hierarchy, whether they were career warriors or reservists. Discipline was the core of Corvanite society, with even industry organized along military lines, but there was something about the actions they’d already been through that changed things.
He thought back to Lieutenant Hatton, who had first suggested that he find a quieter, more relaxed way to lead, rather than follow strictly in Captain Haarot’s footsteps. Interestingly, some of what the captain had told him later had echoed the late lieutenant, albeit in a different way.
War, at some level, became as much art as science, and leadership in war was much the same.
He glanced at the two Columbians, who were also getting up from their acceleration couches. The felt gravity was increasing again, as the starship’s drive kicked in once more. Neither man spoke, but they were watching him, probably wondering whether their men—and their chyotsu allies—were included in his orders about decanting the passengers from cryo.
“You had best come with me,” Bannon said, unwilling to make that decision right at the moment. Now that they were aboard the Thunderer, his independence of command was once again subject to Commander Fox and Captain Haarot. “Once the commander has heard from you, he can determine what we do next.”
Flint and Talon shared a look. Bannon couldn’t quite read what passed between the two men, but he got the sense that they’d expected something like that. There was no formal alliance between Columbia and Corvan Major, so they couldn’t expect to be treated as friends right off.
Without comment, both men nodded and got to their feet, weapons still slung and their helmets under their arms. Bannon pointed to the rifles. “Those will have to stay here, under watch.” When both Flint’s and Talon’s expressions hardened, he shrugged but didn’t back down. “It’s either that, or they’re taken at gunpoint before you see the commander. It’s up to you.” He tilted his head slightly to one side, his hand on his CR-196. He didn’t think either man would start trouble, but he needed to be cautious. “Would you allow a Corvanite to walk around one of your ships armed?”
Flint took a deep breath through his nose, clearly angry. Bannon had to admit that he probably would be, too, in the Columbian commander’s place, but this was a Corvanite starship, and he wasn’t going to back down.
Finally, the Sentinel captain shook his head. “No, I don’t suppose I would.” He unclipped his sling and put the sleek rifle into the rack alongside the acceleration couch. Talon did the same, though with decidedly less grace, his face set in angry lines.
The Columbians took being armed seriously. From what little he knew about their culture, Bannon suspected it had more to do with a man being able to defend himself than any military discipline that made one dread being caught without one’s assigned weapon.
He could appreciate that, but it changed nothing about security protocols aboard the Thunderer.
With that settled, he headed for the hatch, catching Kowalski watching from the cockpit even as he shut down the Infiltrator’s systems.
He wasn’t sure what to expect. With the Thunderer under threat, he suspected that he might have to lead the Columbians to the phalanx’s ready room, there to wait until summoned by Commander Fox. To his surprise, however, as he came down the ramp with Flint and Talon behind him, he found himself facing Captain Haarot and Commander Fox, both men in full hardsuits except for their helmets and breath masks, and both armed.
“Welcome aboard, Lieutenant.” Commander Fox was a giant of a man, even larger than Flint. “These are your contacts?”
That was a euphemistic way of putting it, and the look on Flint’s face suggested he was thinking just that. “Yes, sir. Flint and Talon led the Columbian Sentinel unit that we rescued on Eredin IV.”
Both men’s eyes flickered as he said that. There had to be some instinctive rebellion at being identified as Sentinels, even though there had been little dissimulation about it while he had spoken to them aboard the Infiltrator. Perhaps it was different, talking to a man who had just pulled them out of a firefight with the ghost ship aliens.
“Welcome aboard, gentlemen.” Commander Fox nodded to them both. Captain Haarot hadn’t said a word, but stood ramrod straight, one hand cradling his helmet, the other on his weapon, watching the Columbians with hard eyes. Bannon might tell them that there was nothing about Captain Haarot’s scrutiny or expression that was not also directed at other Corvanites, but that was hardly necessary.
The commander turned toward the exit to the docking bay. “Come with me.”
Under thrust, there was no need for mag boots, though the Columbian hardsuits looked like they might have them mounted anyway. The Corvanite hardsuits were modular enough that they didn’t have mag boot capability installed by default. Bannon considered locking into a pair of the magnetic frames installed near the hatch, but it was unlikely the Thunderer would cut thrust before they reached the wormhole emergence point, which would take at least another day, if his limited understanding of trajectories was right.
Flint glanced over his shoulder, hesitating as he neared the bottom of the ramp. Bannon half turned, wondering what the Columbian commander was thinking. If he was hoping to wait for the rest of his unit to thaw out to back him up, Bannon could assure him that that was not an option.
The commander turned back with a faint shrug and followed the Corvanites out of the docking bay.
The bay was massive, rack upon rack built to hold the various auxiliary spacecraft carried by the Nike-class starship, keeping them secure even under violent maneuvers. It took some time to thread through the carefully laid-out and secured equipment to get to the lift that would take them to the infantry quarters and the phalanx ready room.
The starship was still secured for alert status, so there was surprisingly little activity. Even though the Thunderer was only under just over one gee of thrust, which would ordinarily mean that regular maintenance tasks could be done with ease, the nearness of the ghost ship threat meant that the only other personnel moving around the ship were the damage control parties responding to the hits the ship had taken during the latest fight. So the corridors were nearly empty as they made their way forward—up, under thrust—and finally came to the ready room with its central holo projector.
Third Phalanx had not initially had this space to themselves. When the phalanx had simply been an infantry line unit, they hadn’t had their own compartment apart from the 102nd Company. Now that they were a special mission unit, following the assignment on Zhogalgan, they needed a place for Commander Fox to brief them directly on their orders, not to mention access to considerably more gear and weapons, should they need it.
Commander Fox walked into the room and went to his accustomed place at the head of the briefing area. The seats facing the holo projector were bolted to the deck and had restraint harnesses attached, in case the ship needed to maneuver while a briefing was taking place. That was rare, but if a mission came up while in orbit over a contested world, it could happen.
Knowing that the biggest ghost ship he’d ever seen or heard of was lurking out there in the dark somewhere, Bannon went ahead and strapped in, just in case.
“All right, gentlemen.” Fox stayed standing, though his mag boots were locked to the deck. “First things first.” He looked at Flint and Talon. Haarot had taken a seat behind the two Columbian Sentinels and strapped in, just like Bannon. Though the two men were undoubtedly acutely aware of the armed, scarred Corvanite captain behind them, they gave no sign of discomfort. “Welcome aboard the Corvanite warship Thunderer. I understand that the circumstances of your extract were not what you were expecting, but unless you wish to render matters otherwise, you may consider yourselves guests of the Council of Corvan. We have mutual enemies, it seems.”
In other words, don’t try anything and do what you’re told, and we won’t have to put you in confinement.
“We appreciate that, Commander, and we appreciate your men getting us off that rock.” Introductions hadn’t really been made yet, but apparently Flint was well aware of Corvanite rank insignia. He seemed relaxed, which Bannon didn’t think he would be if he were all alone on a Columbian ship. They might have similar objectives, but that didn’t make them friends.
Corvanites had few real friends.
Commander Fox wasn’t paying Bannon much attention, his focus on the two Columbians. That was to be expected, but something was going on here that Bannon hadn’t expected, and he wasn’t sure how to read the situation. The fact that the Thunderer had arrived in the Eredin system ahead of schedule told him that something had changed, and that the extraction of not only Third Phalanx—they were, ultimately, expendable if the situation called for it—but these Columbian Sentinels had been given a much higher priority than had been explained a month before, when the mission had first been laid on.
“Have you had any further communications with your command, Major Sytsma?”
There was a sudden ratcheting up of the tension in the compartment. Flint and Talon both froze. Flint recovered first, putting one armored arm over the back of his seat. He hadn’t strapped in like Bannon and Haarot had. “You are very well informed, Commander. Well informed enough to make me think that either Corvanite spy networks are far better than I’d been led to believe, or you have, in fact, been in contact with my command.” He looked over his shoulder toward Bannon. “I’ve made no attempt to hide the nature of my unit from your lieutenant, but I don’t recall telling him my rank or true name.”
The shadow of a hard smile crossed Commander Fox’s face. “As a matter of fact, we have spoken with someone in your chain. We learned that your objective in the Eredin system was a bit more than just keeping an eye on the smoldering conflict between our allies and the Zolarians.” Bannon couldn’t help but notice that Fox left out the nature of that conversation. He wondered if it had been an actual liaison or an interrogation. There was no telling. And that was one of those questions that was oft best left unasked.
Flint noticed, too. The faint narrowing of his eyes and thinning of his lips was the only sign, but he noticed. “So, what did they tell you our mission was?” He wasn’t taking what the commander had said at face value, which made Bannon and Haarot both bristle, though Bannon had to admit that he would do the same, were their roles reversed.
Bannon had to remind himself that the Columbians didn’t know the Corvanites. Not really. The Council had long eschewed much concern for their image on the interstellar stage. “Let them hate, so long as they fear,” might as well have been a Corvanite motto. Even so, the warriors of the sons of Corvan were held to a strict code of honor, one which could often lead to whippings or worse if violated. Bannon had not seen such punishments meted out in years, but they were still available if necessary. That they were rare was testament to the effectiveness of not only the training of the agoge field, but also the culture that sent its young men to that field.
But the Columbians didn’t necessarily know that. And knowing that details had been left out, Flint couldn’t really be blamed for suspecting that he was being misled.
It still rankled. And from the look on Captain Haarot’s face—though the captain’s scars tended to twist his mouth into a permanent sneer to go along with his equally permanent scowl—his erstwhile commanding officer was ready and willing to call their guest out on it.
But Commander Fox signaled quietly for both of them to relax and be quiet. He kept his own expression bland. “They told us that your interest was in the ghost ships, and that you were tracking one in particular. Also, that you weren’t alone.” His eyes did harden then. “Understand that you are operating in our sphere of influence, Major. Of course we are going to notice when a special operations unit—with, if our information is correct, a liaison officer of another interstellar power attached—conducts operations of mutual interest in our region of space.”
