Authors: Christopher Nuttall
“Because he’s in the best position to obtain the data the raiders used against their targets,” Sandy finished. “Can't we arrest him?”
“We don’t have any proof,” Cynthia said. “Just ... suspicions. And he has a
lot
of contacts in high places. We will need absolute proof before we arrest him.”
Sandy sighed. “So ... what do we
do
about it?”
The Captain spoke into the growing silence. “We stop the attack on Bottleneck,” he said, simply. “And I need you to do something for me.”
Afterwards, Sandy sat at her desk in her cabin, staring at the bulkheads. It was strange just how little
personality
she’d brought to her cabin, even though she'd known that it would be her home for at least a year or two ... barring promotion or transfer. There was nothing on the bulkheads, apart from a Dragon flag she’d captured during a boarding mission and kept for herself. The weapons and tools her father used as wall decorations were conspicuously absent. If she left tomorrow, she knew, the crew could simply scrub the deck and hand it over to her replacement.
And what would I do,
she asked herself,
if it does come down to war
?
The picture the Captain and Cynthia had worked out sounded plausible. It didn't answer the question of
why
anyone would want to trigger a civil war, but it seemed to explain everything ... unless, of course, there were two rogue groups involved, with different aims and objectives. But common sense suggested that there was only one.
She looked down at the datapad, which showed the strategic situation. The Bottleneck Squadron at Fairfax, blockading the planet. Only bare light years away, the Colonial Militia was gathering, massing its ships to break the blockade. Soon, she knew, they would come to Fairfax ... and then Admiral Porter would have to choose between starting a war or falling back, abandoning the blockade. And, once the shooting actually started, it would be harder for the diplomats to stop the slaughter. Even if there was only one real battle, there could be no return to the
status quo
. Both sides would demand restitution for their losses.
“Shit,” she muttered, miserably.
She cleared her throat, then looked into the terminal. “Record message,” she ordered. “Father, I have important news for you ...”
***
Once,
Jason would have admired the Bottleneck. It was the most remarkable natural formation within hyperspace – and, if it was artificial, it was certainly the greatest piece of engineering in the history of the galaxy. Nothing humanity had been able to build, with the possible exception of the static bombs, had been able to manipulate hyperspace. But now, with the certain knowledge that their time as raiders was coming to an end, the Bottleneck was just another obstacle for his fleet.
They may see us coming
, he thought. The Bottleneck System was difficult to approach in hyperspace, with only a handful of possible approaches ... and the Bottleneck itself was easy to patrol. But then, there shouldn't have been anything hostile coming out of the Fairfax Cluster ... he pushed the thought aside, dismissing it as little more than wishful thinking. The Federation Navy knew that
something
was about to explode in the cluster, even if they didn't know
what
.
“I need to return to my ship,” Mr. Ford said. He'd come onboard at the RV point, seemingly to inspect
Havoc
and her comrades. “I ...”
“Can remain here until the fighting is done,” Jason snapped, sullenly. He had his doubts about the wisdom of the whole idea, but he would carry out his orders, particularly if Mr. Ford remained on his ship. “We wouldn’t want anything to go
wrong
, would we?”
He’d hoped to provoke something – anything – from the man, but Mr. Ford just nodded, as if he’d expected that reaction all along. Perhaps he had, Jason thought, or maybe he just never allowed his real emotions to show on his face. Instead of shouting or blustering, Mr. Ford merely sat down at a disused console and viewed proceedings with a dispassionate expression that suggested he didn't really care at all.
“Take us to battlestations,” he ordered. By now, the long-range sensors at the edge of the Bottleneck would probably have identified his fleet. The base would be rushing to battlestations itself, all the while screaming for help that wasn't going to get there in time. “And then take us into normal space.”
The transit felt rough as they passed through the portal and back into normal space, but he forced himself to remain calm. Everyone knew that hyperspace was dangerous near the Great Wall. They’d been lucky, in a way, to escape with as little unpleasantness as they had when entire starships had been destroyed in the past. The squadron spread out behind
Havoc
as she headed towards the colossal naval base, which was already launching starfighters.
“Automated weapons platforms coming online,” Dana reported, as new icons appeared in the display. “Not enough to make a difference.”
“Point defence is to handle the starfighters,” Jason ordered. It didn't
look
as though the base had launched antishipping strikes, but that would change soon enough as they evaluated the threat. “Lock missiles on the station itself; prepare to fire.”
He smiled. “And send our formal demand for their surrender.”
There was a long pause. He glanced over at Mr. Ford, wondering what their noble benefactor would make of it, but saw no reaction. The message formally declared war – in the name of the Bottleneck Republic – and demanded that the base surrender or be destroyed. By the time a garbled version of events reached Earth, it would look like unmasked aggression and force the Federation to declare war in turn. Even if cooler heads prevailed, it would be hard to prevent immediate and savage retaliation.
“No response,” the communications officer said. “They’re locking weapons on us.”
Jason grinned. “Attack pattern Delta-Three-Zero,” he ordered. “Fire at will.”
Havoc
shuddered as she unleashed her first spread of missiles. The base opened fire at the same moment, trying to force the attackers to keep their distance. Not a bad tactic, Jason had to admit, although it was also pointless. The base was a stationary target, allowing him to actually fire his missiles from beyond their effective range; in the meantime, as long as they remained outside the station's range, they could avoid damage. But then, there were the starfighters ...
“Second flight launching now,” Dana reported. “They’re torpedo-bombers, sir.”
“Priority signal to all ships,” Jason said. The antifighter starfighters couldn't do more than scratch their hulls, but the antishipping torpedo bombers were quite another matter. “Those craft are priority point-defence targets; I say again, those craft are priority point-defence targets.”
He braced himself as the starfighters screamed down on his ships. There was something too precise about their formation for his liking, suggesting inexperienced pilots rather than flyers who’d cut their teeth against the Dragons. But they were brave enough, he had to admit; even as the first of his missiles were slamming against the station's shields, the flyers were pushing in and unleashing their own missiles.
“
Fortify
has taken heavy damage,” Dana reported. Moments later, the green icon on the display was replaced by a blinking yellow icon indicating an expanding wave of debris. “
Fortify
has been destroyed. Enemy craft regrouping, preparing a second attack.”
“Aim to scatter them,” Jason said, darkly. The enemy craft couldn’t pick out the flagship, but with only five light cruisers left, it was only a matter of time until they got lucky. And if he moved his ships to cover
Havoc
specifically, he might as well run up a flag for them to shoot at. “And continue firing on that station.”
He keyed his console. “Troop ships are to break off and head for the planet. I want the planet hit hard, then abandoned.”
It was risky, he knew, but it was the only way to satisfy Mr. Ford and his mysterious backers. They wanted an atrocity, they wanted something that would ensure a war ... they’d get their wish, he knew, and he hoped they would choke on it. There would be nowhere safe for him and his men now, nowhere save beyond the Rim. They’d have to take service with the Dragon warlords if they wanted to make money ...
“Direct hit,” Dana snapped. Part of the station's shields flickered and snapped out of existence. “Redirecting missiles to take advantage of the gap.”
The enemy starfighters resumed their attack, slashing into his ships savagely.
Havoc
shuddered as a missile slammed into her hull, yet she kept firing, trying to pound the station into scrap. Piece by piece, the station was being worn down ... he saw a warhead donate inside her hull, crippling her internal dockyard. Even if they broke off now, they would have accomplished their objective ...
“New portal opening,” the sensor officer snapped. Jason’s gaze snapped around to stare at him. There shouldn't have been
anyone
in range to assist the stricken station. “It’s the Federation cruiser!”
Glen had hoped that they would beat the raiders to Bottleneck. It had seemed possible; the raiders would have needed to regroup, while
Dauntless
could just race directly to the threatened system. But the moment they burst out of hyperspace, it became clear that they had failed to win the race. The station had already taken considerable damage and was screaming for help.
“Take us directly towards the enemy ships,” Glen ordered.
Dauntless
yawed slightly as she threw herself at the enemy. “Lock weapons on target; fire as soon as we enter range.”
He skimmed through the record from the station. One of the enemy ships had been destroyed, two more had been heavily damaged ... but the station had lost its ability to reload its starfighters, forcing the torpedo-bombers to fly fake attack runs in hopes of distracting the enemy ships. Given the problems inherent in defending a stationary target from a mobile force, Glen was impressed that they'd done as much as they had – and with just how well the enemy had timed everything. If the Bottleneck Squadron had started back the moment the base sent a distress signal, the raiders would still have several hours before it arrived.
“Enemy craft are swinging round to face us,” Cooke reported. “They’re locking weapons on our hull.”
“Deploy ECM drones,” Glen said. It was unlikely that the raiders had learned enough from the last engagement to reprogram their weapons to counter the ECM, although it had to be borne in mind at all times. The latest Federation counter-ECM gear was designed to adapt automatically. “And bring point defence to full power.”
He braced himself as they came into range. “Open fire.”
Dauntless
spat a stream of missiles towards its target, then bore in, rather than breaking off as a superdreadnaught might. The enemy returned fire, launching wave after wave of missiles towards the heavy cruiser, only a handful diverted to strike harmlessly at the drones. Several more were cut down by point defence fire, the remainder striking hard against the ship’s shields.
Dauntless
shook violently, then fired a second barrage of her own, hammering the enemy ships. Inch by inch, they were coming into energy weapons range.
“Locking energy weapons on target,” Cooke reported.
“Aim to disable, if possible,” Glen said. One thing the raiders would
definitely
not want to do was hang around in the system, not with the Bottleneck Squadron on its way. The Federation Navy would be murderous when they finally reached the system. “I want as many ships intact as you can swing.”
Dauntless’s
phase cannons opened up, hammering the closest enemy cruiser. She angled away, firing back with her own weapons, but Helena was remorseless. The cruiser threw itself into following the enemy craft, as if she was nothing more than a starfighter, and lashed out until the enemy shields failed, allowing her to blast the starship’s rear section into debris. It fell away, trailing plasma, as the remainder of the enemy formation altered course, bombarding
Dauntless
with their own energy weapons.