Rebellion of Stars (Starship Blackbeard Book 4) (8 page)

The forts were still holding their fire. They’d absorbed
Pussycat
’s barrage, seemingly unconcerned about whatever minimal damage their dug-in armaments were taking. Neither did they attack
Blackbeard
and her fellow ships from the rear.

Vargus hailed him again, this time more urgently. He put her on.

“Torpedo boats,” she said. “They’ve spotted the pod and are going after it.”

“Get in there. You need to protect Tolvern as she goes down.”

“I won’t last five minutes against those forts.”

“They’re not even shooting,” he said.

“That’s what worries me. What are they hiding?”

“Vargus, get down there and cover her.”

“Look at your screen, you dolt! That’s what I’m doing. Now I need you to cover
me
.”

Ah, now he understood. He’d been so worried about Lindsell, who was now splitting off two destroyers to gnaw at
Blackbeard
’s flank—driving off the missile frigate that was protecting that side of Drake’s formation—that he hadn’t taken close enough note of Vargus’s own skirmishes. She was chasing three torpedo boats that were skimming a few hundred miles above the atmosphere.

Vargus and her fleet had both speed and power enough to deal with three torpedo boats. But the action was taking place to the northwest of one of Hot Barsa’s orbital forts, and a second fort came swinging around the planet over the north polar region. Vargus would shortly be caught in a devastating crossfire.

Drake cut his connection with Vargus and turned to his tech officer. “Smythe, get me Rutherford.”

Lindsell was coming at him again, having weakened Drake’s center by forcing him to address the attack on his missile frigate.

“Rutherford is still five minutes out,” Smythe said. “
Vigilant
’s batteries are at the ready. Rutherford is hot for battle and awaiting orders.”

That explained Lindsell’s fresh attack. He was trying to get his licks in before
Vigilant
and her support craft arrived. Yet there was no attempt to force the rebels closer to the orbital fortresses. That’s what Drake would have done; smash his enemy against the planetary defenses. Unfortunately, Drake couldn’t take advantage of this lapse. He had to relieve Vargus.

“Capp, take us down.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Commander—” Drake turned to the commander’s chair, but of course,
Captain
Tolvern wasn’t there. Instead, it was Lieutenant Oglethorpe.

Oglethorpe had been filling the role of first mate since Tolvern’s promotion. An able man, but without her ability to juggle multiple tasks. Oglethorpe was coordinating with the gunnery at the moment and couldn’t be torn away. So Drake sent orders to his beleaguered frigate and the single destroyer he’d sent to relieve her.

Pull back toward
Vigilant
, he told them. Captain Rutherford was to take command of the frigate and her support craft, then hit the enemy hard enough to get Lindsell’s attention.

By the time Drake turned back to his console, Capp had taken
Blackbeard
away from her protective screen and was charging after Vargus near the planet’s surface. Moments later, they were in range. Drake hit the closer, more powerful fort first, pounding the surface with missiles, while holding his cannon in reserve, ready to blast any exposed armaments.

At last, the fort responded. It launched two torpedoes and let loose with its cannon.
Blackbeard
rolled to present a broadside. The hull vibrated with outgoing fire.

“Class three detonation expected in eight seconds,” Jane warned coolly.

One of the enemy missiles had locked on and snaked its way past countermeasures. Drake braced himself. It crunched into the fore shield, just above the bridge. The explosion knocked Capp from her seat. Alarm bells clanged.

“Bloody hell!” Capp said, picking herself up.

“Fore shield at eighty-two percent,” Jane said.

More sound and fury than actual damage. Drake relaxed his grip as the ship stabilized. A brief, pungent smell of burning plastic entered the bridge, but the filtration system whisked it away. The alarms shut down, and lights went from flashing red, to orange, to green.

Eighty-two percent. That wasn’t bad. Not good, either, and he didn’t want to take any more blows if he could help it.

“Get us beneath it,” he told Capp. Then, to Oglethorpe, “Tell the gunnery to ready the lower battery.”

Capp rolled the ship as they approached the fort from beneath. Now belly up, they let loose with the smaller lower battery. Lights flashed along the length of the orbital fortress. Dust and debris spouted into space like ash from miniature volcanoes. The fort fired back, but the response was subdued.

“They’re still holding back,” Drake said. “What is going on?”

Perhaps if Tolvern had been there, she might have had a response, but nobody on the bridge seemed to have any suggestions. Never mind—he’d take the weak response and hope it lasted.

With
Blackbeard
guarding the pirate fleet’s rear,
Pussycat
and two schooners got into a scrape with the polar fortress. That left Vargus’s own
Outlaw
free to hunt the torpedo boats. The torpedo boats had been shooting their guns at something now entering the upper atmosphere, but had to abandon the chase. They bobbed and weaved, trying to come back toward the protection of the fortresses.

Outlaw
caught one of them, disabling her engines. Drake drove off the other two with missiles.

“Where’s that pod?” Drake asked. “Is it in the atmosphere yet?”

“Must be,” Smythe said. “I can’t detect it, anyway. Not giving off any sort of signal, either.”

Was it supposed to? He couldn’t remember what
Outlaw
had been carrying. Navy tech, he thought, the pod modified to double for both away missions and escape. Those torpedo boats had been tearing off shot from their Gatling guns. A small pod plummeting through the atmosphere hardly made an easy target, but they’d thrown a lot of metal out there. One on-target burst would tear through that pod like it was a tin can.

He couldn’t worry about that now. Tolvern was either safely descending, or not. Nothing he did here would change that. It was time to pull free of the planet. Rutherford’s forces were now fully engaged with Lindsell’s larger fleet and barely holding on.

Blackbeard
swung toward
Outlaw
, now pulling up with her schooner escort. Still exchanging fire with the nearest fortress, the combined force now fought their way to
Pussycat
. Once
Blackbeard
and the entire mercenary fleet had formed a single unit, they broke clear.

He braced himself for a final surprise from the orbital fortresses. A nasty departing gift that would explain why they’d held back during the battle. But no, the forts seemed content to let them depart. How strange.

A thought occurred to him. What if—? No, there would be time to worry about that later.

For now, he had to worry about Captain Lindsell. The man was proving an able commander. His own ship,
Churchill
, was the equal of
Vigilant
and
Blackbeard
, and he used his armaments to full effect, while sending in his destroyers and corvettes to drive off
Vigilant
’s support craft. The smaller ships Drake had left behind were helpless to intervene. In fact, Lindsell’s advantage was growing with every passing moment. He’d already wounded several craft, while suffering minimal injury himself.

And then Drake came roaring into the fight. He brought
Blackbeard
straight at Lindsell, while
Outlaw
and
Pussycat
targeted his vulnerable left flank. That left the enemy cruisers pincered between
Blackbeard
and
Vigilant
. The two sides exchanged blows for several moments before Lindsell ordered a retreat. He first tried to get past
Blackbeard
to reach the protection of the fortress guns. Drake landed two torpedoes against the lead enemy destroyer. Explosions rippled along her surface.

Lindsell now ducked down on the vertical axis. Destroyers formed a protective screen to guard his rear. Drake and Rutherford weren’t able to prevent the enemy’s escape, but they pounded Lindsell’s destroyers as they fled. All of them suffered damage, some serious. One lost its entire rear shield, and if the rebels could have landed one more blow, they’d have either destroyed it or forced its surrender.

Unfortunately, Drake’s forces were all out of position, and he was unable to give chase. By the time he regrouped, Lindsell was gone.

But it was a victory. Only four crew members had died across the entire fleet, these lost when a shell penetrated a schooner’s bridge and killed her officers. The schooner itself would be easily repaired, but that was one captain who wouldn’t be enjoying his mercenary bonus.

A subspace had been waiting for Drake when the battle ended. It came from a source in the fleet, one who had already passed Drake valuable information on two other occasions.
Dreadnought
had jumped into the Gryphon Shoals. That was not the course for Saxony. It would, however, bring
Dreadnought
toward Hot Barsa.

Rutherford came on the viewscreen as the fleet reorganized several hundred thousand miles out from Hot Barsa. His face was flushed.

“Lindsell, hah! Cocky shopkeeper’s son. Did you see him tuck his tail and run? That was a beautiful thing.”

Drake would have smiled to see his old friend abandon his decorum. And he was feeling some of the same. They’d fought an able opponent and thrashed him. But the truth was that Lindsell had escaped with his forces intact. Those two destroyers were still maneuverable and keeping up with the enemy fleet as it made for Cold Barsa, some fifty million miles farther out from the sun. Wait until Lindsell joined Admiral Malthorne.

“Your pirates did well enough,” Rutherford added. His tone was grudging. “I expected them to cut and run, but they went right up against those orbital fortresses. Of course, it helps matters that the forts offered such a feeble defense. The fools were confused, I dare say. Didn’t know if they should defend themselves or defend the planet.”

Yes, that. Drake had now had a chance to think, and he doubted Rutherford’s explanation held. This was the second attempt at Hot Barsa. Admiral Malthorne was the largest landowner and slaver on the planet by far. He knew they had the antidote. Surely, he knew by now why the rebels were so keen to get a team planetside, and had ordered the most vigorous possible defense to prevent it from happening.

“Does this mean you trust Isabel Vargus at last?” Drake asked.

“I trust her far enough not to abscond with our plans and join the enemy. I will concede that much.”

“How about our silver? Would she abscond with that?”

Rutherford narrowed his eyes. “How do you mean?”

“Because I mean to send the mercenary fleet back to San Pablo with our remaining coin.”

“Excuse me?”

“If the mercenaries leave now, they have time for a quick trip to San Pablo and back. Buy as many arms as we can afford. Hire on a couple of merchant galleons if we can.”

“We’ll need more than our remaining coin to pay for all of that,” Rutherford said. “Might have to see if your friends at the yards will offer the goods on credit.”

“Credit is probably necessary,” Drake agreed.

HMS
Melbourne
may or may not be finished with her repairs by the time Vargus arrived. If not, Drake could offer the cruiser as collateral. If she were ready, he’d face the small matter of fitting her with a crew. Might not be possible in such a short time.

“I am not sure it is necessary,” Rutherford said. “We are well set for arms already. And why wouldn’t we accompany the mercenaries if there’s time for a round trip?”

“Because you and I are going to attack those orbital fortresses. This time, we’ll go in with all guns blazing.”

Rutherford’s frown deepened. “That little scrape was one thing. A full-on assault is another matter entirely. What makes you think they won’t hit us with all their firepower this time around?”

“It’s not a question of
won’t
,” Drake said. “It’s a question of
can’t
.”

Chapter Nine

The first torpedo boat missed Tolvern’s away pod with its guns. It was past them in a blink, tossing the pod in its superheated wake. A second boat came in, guns flaring. Most of the bullets zipped harmlessly past, but at least one slammed into them. It punctured the pod.

Something splattered Tolvern’s face. Brockett screamed. She wiped away the splatter, thinking it was liquefied science officer, but was relieved to find it was meat sauce. The bullet had hit a crate of food. Brockett was uninjured.

And if that crate had been ammunition, the whole pod would have gone kaboom. Lights out. End of mission.

As it was, they were still in space, and their air shrieked out through a hole the size of a half-crown. Nyb Pim had the presence of mind to shove a pulverized can of food at the hole. It made a final slurping sound as the vacuum outside grabbed the can and held it tight.

They were now spinning crazily, and Tolvern scrunched her eyes shut. Waiting. The torpedo boats would come by for another pass, this time at a slower speed. This time, the bullets would find them, find the ammo.

Nothing. Only the howling wind as they entered the atmosphere. Must be Vargus. The pirate captain must have followed the torpedo boats toward the planet, risking the fortress guns to chase them off. Slowly, the pod stabilized. It was still spinning, the planet swiping across the port window every few seconds and then disappearing. But more slowly now. The lurching in Tolvern’s stomach stopped.

“We are okay,” Carvalho said. He sounded like he was talking to himself, not the others. “A little hole—nothing terrible. The parachute is undamaged. It will deploy.”

“No, we’re not okay,” Brockett said, voice pinched. “It’s all wrong.”