Considering the number of missiles racing toward him, he was going to need it.
He spared a moment for what was happening at the head of the column. He could see nothing through the plasma murk, but the intensity of fire appeared to have dropped away. Sula’s fight, at least for the moment, was over.
“Course change, my lord,” said Choy. “From the Supreme Commander.”
Tork’s new order aimed the squadron again for the original interception point, near Magaria’s sun, and reduced acceleration to a standard gravity. Apparently, the Supreme Commander had looked into the flights of enemy missiles coming at him and figured he’d gotten close enough.
Martinez decided Tork was probably right. Unless Tork was actually going to use tactics—something the Supreme Commander seemed determined to avoid—he might as well slug it out at this range as anything.
From what Martinez could see, the rear squadrons had given up trying to double the enemy. So it was just going to be hammer-hammer-hammer until the two fleets reached the intersection point, when things would turn very interesting indeed.
Data from the pinnaces was flooding in. Martinez kept shifting between the points of view ofIllustrious and the two pinnaces, trying to spot the enemy missiles coming in, as well as approaches by which his own missiles could get nearer the enemy. He fed the data to Chandra, and at least occasionally she followed his suggestions.
The Naxid missiles came closer. Point-defense lasers and antiproton weapons lashed out. Plasma bursts were filling far too much of Martinez’s field of vision. He remembered the data from First Magaria, the way the squadron defenses held up perfectly well until suddenly they collapsed and whole formations were wiped out in seconds. He began to feel as if someone had pasted a large target symbol to his chest.
“Permission to starburst?” he sent to Chandra. It was more than time.
He received his answer in text:“Squadcom says not yet.”
Martinez clamped down on his frustration and began again the business of trying to visualize trajectories. He checked plots from the two observation pinnaces againstIllustrious’ s own spectra, plotted possible missile courses against the expanding, overlapping spheres of plasma that raged between the two fleets…and then, when he saw his opportunity, he almost gave voice to a cry of pure joy. Tork’s Daimong squadron just ahead was heavily engaged: a dense cloud of plasma from Tork’s fight was going to pass between Squadron 9 and the Naxids in five or six minutes.
If Squadron 9 fired now, the missiles could be launched behind the plasma bursts that were currently screening it from the enemy. The missiles would dash ahead and make the approach through the cooling plasma from Tork’s battle. The attack would arrive from an unusual angle, and the Naxids might not see it at all—or if they did, it might be glimpsed for only a few seconds as the missiles dodged from one plasma cloud to another.
Nearly stammering in his haste, Martinez informed Chandra of this opportunity. The answer was immediate: fire a full fifteen-launcher flight following his trajectory, and then launch another full barrage straight at the enemy to keep their attention occupied.
Missiles leapt from the tubes, and this time Martinez fired Pinnace 3 along with them. The pinnace pilot couldn’t accelerate with the same angry speed as the missiles, but would follow them and perhaps be able to see the enemy from a perspective useful enough to make vital last second corrections.
Another flight of missiles roared in on Squadron 9, and was destroyed by lasers and antiproton beams. Martinez felt anxiety gnaw his nerves with sharp, angry teeth. The enemy missiles were getting so close that it was difficult to launch countermissiles in time—the missiles just took too long getting clear of the ship in order to ignite their antimatter engines. He would have to depend entirely on the point-defense beams.
His head swiveled within the virtual environment as he saw ahead a horrific, violent series of flashes. The Daimong squadron vanished into overlapping blooms of plasma light. Martinez felt his heart lurch against his ribs. Very possibly Tork, his flagship, and his squadron had all been destroyed, annihilated in an instant like so many squadrons at First Magaria.
He wondered how hot the fireballs would be whenIllustrious flew into them, in just a few minutes.
Chandra’s urgent voice sounded in his ears. “All ships prepare to starburst.”
About time,he thought.
“Engines,” he told Mersenne, “cut engines. Pilot, swing to course two-four-five by zero-six-zero. Engines, prepare to accelerate at eight gravities.”
Mersenne triggered the heavy-gravity warning.
“Starburst!” Chandra cried in Martinez’s earphones. “All ships starburst!”
“Engines,” Martinez said, “fire engines.”
The onset of eight gravities was like being kicked in the stomach by a horse. The sound of the engines was the roar of a fire-breathing monster. The cruiser’s spars and hull groaned aloud.
Martinez fought for breath. The virtual world in his head began to dim, and elements in the display flickered and faded out. The cruiser’s unexpected maneuver was making it impossible for the two observation pinnaces to maintain their telemetry.
“All ships fire by salvo.” Chandra’s voice was a hoarse, throaty cry against gravity. Martinez repeated the command.
“Missiles…fired.” Husayn’s voice seemed to have chirped up about an octave—or perhaps, Martinez thought, heavy gravity was affecting his perceptions.
“My Lord!”Pan’s shout showed no strain at all from the gravity.“Missiles!”
Martinez barely saw them coming before half the virtual display flared white, and then went completely dead as every sensor on that side of the ship was burned out.
“Roll ship!” Desperate urgency filled Martinez. Without sensors, the point-defense weapons couldn’t see the enemy missiles coming at them.
The pilot rolled the ship, and the darkness of dead sensors exchanged places with the white of a fireball. The burst had already expanded beyond the ship, filling the vacuum with radio hash, and neither Martinez nor the sensors could see anything beyond. Martinez looked at the radiation indicators. Neutrons, gamma rays, and pions pulsed as missiles detonated nearby. The hull temperature was spiking.
The half of the universe that had gone black slowly turned white as sensors were automatically replaced.
An enormous radiation pulse blacked out half the sensors again. This was no mere missile going off. Something that big had to be the destruction of an entire ship with all its antimatter fuel and ammunition.
“Twelve gravities for two minutes!” Martinez shouted.
The engines thundered. Martinez screamed against the onset of gravity, at the darkness filling his mind. He clamped his jaw muscles and swallowed to force blood to his brain. His breath was harsh in his ears.
Oblivion was a glorious release.
He fought his way to consciousness moments later. Michi’s voice rang in his ears.
“All ships fire by salvo!”
Martinez tried to speak around what seemed to be a felt-covered rubber ball in his mouth.
“Weapons, did you receive that? Fire by salvo.”
Husayn didn’t reply. He was probably still unconscious. Martinez was stumbling through the sequence of oral commands that would give him command of the weapons computer when he heard Husayn’s muzzy voice.
“Never mind, Lord Captain, I’ve got that.” There was a pause. “Missiles away.”
Illustriouswas still inside a plasma fireball, though the fireball was thinning and cooling. Martinez returned his attention to the radiation counter. The pulses were small and therefore distant. Hull temperature was beginning to drop.