“Commencing fire in five.”
“No damage as of now,” said Grinshia.
The patrol ship corps steadily drew closer. As soon as they lined up with the patrol ships, they would all start firing. They had to hold out until that time.
“Now in contact with the reflection cloud,” stated Ecryua.
The reflection cloud’s friction heated up the hull. Once they cleared away from the cloud, their only defense against lasers would be to avoid them. And the closer they got, the more difficult that would become.
The enemy shells flew close by — too close for comfort. But since the ship was going so fast, there was no way the shells would turn around and give chase.
“Messenger,” said Arbohf, “I leave the enemy shells to you. Prioritize the ones that look like they’re gonna hit us. I’m gonna have my hands full dancing wild and crazy.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll try,” replied a not so confident Gnomboch.
“You need to say that with more confidence,” said Yatesh. “After all, if you fail, we’ll all be dead.”
“Yes, sir.” But Gnomboch couldn’t hide his nervous tension.
Lafier opened her mouth to chide him, but she changed her mind. This was not the time, and besides, this would be a good experience for Gnomboch. When Lafier had been a linewing, she had been under even more pressure.
The ship fired the attitude control engines with nary a pause. Lafier’s palms were damp with sweat. The shadowy figure of the enemy construction site was looming larger in her frocragh, and the ship had approached within reach of the sterns of the patrol ships.
“Firing point in one minute,” said Ecryua.
“Can you hear me, everybody?” Atosryua appeared on the screen. “One ship’s down, but our orders stand. In about a minute, we’ll commence the attack. We’ll start counting down from the thirty-second mark, so start firing in tandem with the countdown.”
“You heard her, I trust,” said Lafier, who’d stood up and turned to address her crew. “All hands, prepare for EM cannon fusillade!”
The alarm went off.
“Arbohf, you devote yourself to steering. Gnomboch, you prepare to open fire,” ordered Lafier.
“Roger!” replied the Linewing shrilly. “Ammo has been loaded. Safeties off. Prepared to open fire.”
“Onboard weapons all in working order,” said Grinshia.
“Onboard environment all okay. None unable to fight,” reported Jint.
“Thirty seconds to commence fire. Twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven...” came the voice of a starpilot with squadron command.
“Arbohf, do you have it in your sights?” asked Lafier.
“The target’s so big, it’d be harder to miss, ma’am. This is in the bag. They’ll be eating our fire, no problem.”
Ship construction sites were gargantuan. Dozens of smaller manufacture-tubes were linked to the winding stretch of machinery that was the main manufacture-tube. The factories were spherical in shape, and situated in rows.
The Flicaubh’s designated target was the factory-sphere thought to be producing antimatter fuel tanks. That sphere alone was 2,700 üésdagh in diameter.
At last, they had lined up with the arrayed patrol ships. That very instant, Atosryua’s command: “Commence fire!”
“Fire!” ordered Lafier.
The EM cannons at the Flicaubh’s bow roared in unison. No sooner than an EM cannon was loaded was the fusion shell fired. The fusion shells shot by both Trample-Blitz Squadron and the patrol ship corps that was working in concert with it were streaking toward the enemy construction site at relativistic speeds. The construction site was firing lasers blindly, but the defensive spray was futile. The site soaked up nearly every single one of the fusion shells. Not even a structure that enormous could stand after such devastation. Unable to withstand the explosions ripping inside the structure thought to be the antimatter fuel tank factory, the sphere burst in an unsightly manner and fell off the main manufacture-tube. Almost definitely no longer a functioning factory, it now resembled an overripe pomegranate. And the people who’d been inside were likely all dead as well.
The other sections of the construction site met similar fates. The tragic structure was now a tortured husk, mutilated and blown to pieces.
“Bombardment complete,” announced Atosryua. “All ships, shift to evacuation procedures.”
The Flicaubh charged through the area of space, which was now the current home of drifting masses too huge to call “shards.” Through a steering error, one of the patrol ships bumped into one of them. That’s the one way I’d hate to die, thought Lafier. Of course, everyone else is thinking the same thing.
Arbohf was sweating. The mood in the air wasn’t amenable to raising one’s voice, even if to ease the tension. They’d cleared the death zone in less than a minute, but they couldn’t relax just yet. The construction site attack corps planned to make use of the planet Akadd’s gravity to put on the brakes. Orbiting Akadd were arsenals and factories of all kinds, as well as fortifications of various sizes. They would have to hold out against an Akadd welcome.
Lafier checked the tide-of-war diagram. The formation of the construction site attack corps was in disarray. While they would have liked to form neat columns, the situation wouldn’t allow for that. There were consort ships all around, but until they assembled via gravity-braking, the Flicaubh would have to act independently.
All fired up, she strained her frocragh. Inputting diverse variables into the fourth-dimensional space her mind was picturing, she searched for the optimal course. If they got too far from the planet, then the gravity well wouldn’t work its magic. If they drew too close to the planet, its dense atmosphere would burn them up. She had to ascertain a course that was the perfect medium, and she had to do it in a hurry. When she finished computing the course: “Arbohf, fire two volleys at Enemy Stronghold 101.”
“Roger that. Firing.”
101 was the identification number applied by the Star Forces. The enemy called it by a different name, but Lafier didn’t know what that name was, nor did she care to know. In any case, two fusillades were fired at the stronghold. This was purely to contain the enemy.
Without asking whether the volleys hit their mark, Lafier laid down her next command and sent Arbohf on the course she’d determined. “Begin full-power deceleration.”
“Roger!”
The Flicaubh about-faced and began decelerating at full power. Thus would they charge toward the planet Akadd. They would pass under the assemblage of orbital strongholds. This rankled her somewhat, but there was nothing else to be done.
As it happened, Enemy Stronghold 101 was unscathed, but it seemed as though that fort couldn’t afford to worry about a ship zooming past them and out of their sights.
Many ship captains besides Lafier had come up with the same tactic after getting showered in dozens of fusion shells.
“Information link interrupted,” reported Yatesh. It was a phenomenon that wasn’t uncommon when surrounded by ionized air.
“No matter,” stated Lafier out loud, since Gnomboch had an uneasy look on his face. “It’s only temporary, and right now, I am the one commanding,” she said, to reassure him. “It has happened before.”
As the Flicaubh decelerated, it flew through Akadd’s gravitational field. Now they were no longer in danger of getting attacked by the enemy.
“Communications back online,” said Yatesh.
Lafier searched for the flagship through her frocragh, but she couldn’t find it. She figured it must be outside her spatiosensory range.
“How much time lag?”
“10.1 seconds.”
They were farther from the flagship than she’d imagined.
“All ships, assemble by the flagship,” came Atosryua’s voice.
“All hands are relieved from their shifts,” said Lafier. “The crew is to take breaks in sequential order. Good work, Arbohf.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Though he looked like the dictionary image of “total exhaustion,” his voice was tinged with his usual pluck.
“You are to rest for eight hours’ time. I shall steer the ship.”
“Yes, ma’am. Allow me to take you up on your offer.” Arbohf saluted.
“Everyone else is to rest as well. Except for Yatesh. You will work more hours, alongside me.”
“It’s an honor,” smiled Yatesh, saluting, though the smile seemed a bit hollow.
After the eight hours elapsed, Lafier gave the Ship Captain’s Seat to Ecryua before retiring to the ship captain’s room.
The ships of Trample-Blitz Squadron 1 had assumed a file formation and were following the return route while decelerating. It was a far more peaceful journey than getting there had been, and it would be a long one, too.
Shortly after entering her quarters, she flopped onto her bed, loath to so much as take off her uniform beforehand. She fell fast asleep, but her slumber was soon disturbed, as her wristgear (which she had placed beside her bed) was beeping. She pulled it toward her. “What?”
“Ship Commander.” It was Ecryua. “It’s Commandant Atosryua.”
“Does she want me?”
“She wants all crewmembers. In ten minutes.”
Lafier interpreted this statement as Commandant Atosryua will, in ten minutes, address the soldiers of the squadron. “Understood. I’ll go to the bridge right away. You had best wake up the off-duty crew.”
“Do we assemble?”
“No, no need. Just have them listen wherever they are.”
“Roger.”