Straining under the oppressive weight of flank acceleration, Nathan could not cheer as the Junkyard flashed into fire and light, but he desperately wanted to. The last four warheads of the salvo exploded almost simultaneously, and every bit of their energy was expended into the structure of the alien vessel. The ship ballooned up with light and broke apart into kilometers long chunks and smaller, skyscraper-sized pieces of burning, out-gassing debris. If it had appeared unformed and purposeless before to their human eyes, its form had been highly functional art compared to what it was now.
Nathan, unable to really move or speak under this level of acceleration, twitched his fingers in the appropriate brevity pattern, sending a text command to Weston on the Helm. Responding to the order, Weston cut the acceleration and slewed the ship bow-on toward the Junkyard’s expanding debris field.
Nathan surged upward in response to the sudden freefall, restrained by his seat’s straps and the confining gel. His heart raced wildly and his eyes felt as if they were about to pop from his head. It took a conscious effort to slow and shallow out his rapid, gulping breaths. Counter-meds pumped into his bloodstream, slowing his heart to a calmer rate and bringing his blood pressure back to a normal range. He tried moving tentatively, fighting the confinement of the gel.
His movements were sluggish, and every muscle and joint ached in protest, but nothing more adverse seemed to have occurred. He keyed his mike. “XO, Captain, SITREP.”
There was a pause, and then Wright responded, his voice hoarse. “Captain, XO, the Junkyard appears to be demolished, sir. The energy sources we registered with our recon probe before are either gone or they’re lost in the haze from the warhead explosions. We aren’t picking up any purposeful signals or activity among the major pieces of debris, and we are un-attacked at the moment.”
“That’s always nice,” Edwards said, breaking into the net.
“I’m rather fond of that myself, COB,” Nathan answered back, smiling. “How’s the crew, XO?”
“Strong vitals on all, sir, but it looks like Sarmiento up in Railgun control and Blake back in Main Propulsion may have been rendered unconscious. WEPS and CHENG are both trying to wake them verbally. The general net is a litany of groans and complaints, if you want to listen in.”
Nathan frowned. “No thanks. I’m sure they’re just expressing what I feel. On Blake and Sarmiento, let me know if they can’t be woken and I’ll authorize you to shock them or give them an extra dose of ‘happy-wakey’. I don’t want anybody out of their pod, though, unless it’s a last resort.”
“Roger that, Captain.”
Nathan shifted his attention back to the debris field. The globe of demolished ruins began to flatten out into an irregular, concave ellipsoid, giving some measure of shape and definition to the unknown fields holding the Deltan ships in position around the drive’s equator. Some pieces of the Junkyard had achieved escape velocity and now sailed out into the infinite night. Others had been thrown down below the ship’s orbit and burned away in the upper reaches of the drive-star’s roiling plasma.
“TAO, Captain,” Nathan said into his mike, “How are we for collision avoidance? Do we need to haul out to the north or south of the orbital band, or can we stay in this plane? We’re going to need to be close in to the drive at the equator if we’re going to only engage one ship at a time.”
“Looking, sir. Wait one,” Simmons said. It was a quiet minute until Simmons responded. “Sir, if we close to within 300 km of the drive and stay in this plane, we’ll avoid most of the debris. The helm may need to dodge a few big chunks, and I may need to shoot some away, but we can get through from this orbit. In approximately 10 minutes, I can have us in position to engage the Cathedral.”
Nathan nodded to himself. “Very well, pass your recommended course to the helm and execute.”
The ship accelerated again, this time at a more reasonable two g’s. After experiencing seven and a half times as much, it felt almost pleasurable—just a subtle sensation of weight on their chests.
Edwards keyed in on a private chat channel, his voice only slightly strained. “Hey, Skipper. What are the odds we’re going to find three expanding debris clouds like this one when we cross that fake horizon?”
Nathan shook his head. “I’m not laying any. The Junkyard was the first target reached. The salvoes for the other three ships wouldn’t have hit until after this strike was complete, so chances are if they have any sort of command and control channel to the other side of the drive-star, they weren’t that surprised by what our missiles could do. And I’ll be amazed if the Control Ship proves as easy to take down as the Junkyard was.”
“Well, I’m going to do a little positive thinking along those lines. Maybe I can skew fate our way if I wish for it hard enough.”
Nathan smiled. “That ever work for you?”
“Not since I was eight years old.” Edwards chuckled roughly.
The private channel closed, and Nathan turned his attention back to his three-dimensional battlespace VR. The Junkyard’s debris tracks all had false color velocity and acceleration leaders overlaid upon them, with ghostly traces showing where the pieces would be at their closest point of approach. It was a mess, but the layout of the display clearly pointed out the hard spots. The helm’s path input showed the course Weston threaded through the swarm of debris, and it appeared as if his maneuvers would neatly avoid any damaging collisions. Nathan grunted his approval and moved on from that immediate problem to the tactical one that still lay before him.
Three ships to go, and to take them one at a time, the Sword of Liberty would have to stay as close to the “deck” as possible, that deck in this case being the fiery surface of the drive. That would create a horizon they could peek around, and which they could interpose should they need to beat a hasty retreat. However, it would also further expose them to the heat and radiation pouring out from the miniature sun, cripple their radiator efficiency, not to mention cutting the tactical reaction time even more, and, unfortunately, closing off an entire direction to free maneuver.
In this case, the goods slightly edged out the bads, but too narrowly for Nathan’s liking. If he could distract the Cathedral when they made their emergence, though, the odds might improve a great deal.
He keyed his mike. “TAO, Captain, I want to flush another 10 missiles. We know the general location of the Cathedral, right?”
Simmons sounded uncertain. “Yes sir, assuming they haven’t shifted their orbit.”
“We’ll have to chance it. I don’t want them watching for us at the equator. Send two flights of five Excaliburs each to the north. Have them cut in along two different longitudinal paths to intercept the Cathedral, and along a higher arc than the one we’re making.”
“Captain, there’s a hell of a strong magnetic field at the north pole, opposite the thrust axis. I can’t get the birds too close to it without frying their electronics.”
“Understood. Do the best you can. I just don’t want them looking to the east when we pop up. Time the intercept so the warheads are lasing when we come into visual range.”
“Aye aye, sir. And what if we’ve lucked out and the Cathedral’s already gone?”
Nathan smiled to himself. “Then, by all means, program our bloodthirsty little birds to go for the Control Ship. It’s the next one on my target list anyway.”
“Yes, sir!” Simmons dropped out of the connection to pass Nathan’s orders on to his watchstanders in CIC.