Atago started to speak, then rethought. "Very well. I shall follow your orders."
The monitor screen went blank, and Lady Atago strode toward her battleship. She would follow orders—but soon, she realized, there must come a reckoning with those rulers of the Tahn who were more interested in paper achievements than in real victories.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
Two of the Empire's destroyers survived the spoof attack, broke contact, and set a deceptive orbit that rendezvoused them with the escaping liners.
Fact—the fast liners were moving at many multiples of light-speed. But to Sten it felt as if they were in one of his least favorite nightmares, fleeing some unknown monstrosity through waist-deep mud. Another illogical perception he had was that the Tahn ships were coming after them, even though there was no particularly valid military reason for them to pursue the shattered elements under Sten's command.
The first casualty—of sorts—was the underpowered picket ship. Less than two hours off Cavite, it was already faltering far to the rear.
If there had been room or time for humanity, Sten would have ordered one of his two destroyers to take off the picket ship's crew and blow it up. But he was sadly lacking in either department.
He found himself with the very cold-blooded thought that the picket ship, limping farther and farther to the rear, still might be of use. If the Tahn were after him, the rust bucket might provide an early warning.
Cold-blooded—but there were too many corpses from the past few months. All Sten could do was try to keep the living alive.
He put the two modern Imperial destroyers in front of the liners, Y-ed to either side of the three columns of ships. There were more Tahn ships potentially to worry about than the ones that might be coming up on the tail end of the convoy.
Commander Halldor's Husha and the other 23rd Fleet destroyer were positioned as rear guards.
The Swampscott flew two-thirds back and above the liners. Sten was very grateful that Sullamora had very experienced crews on the liners—at least he didn't have to concern himself with proper station keeping. He had more than enough troubles of his own.
Spaceships in stardrive, being relatively nonstressed, did not creak.
The Swampscott creaked.
They also did not feel as if they were about to tear themselves apart.
Every frame on the Swampscott shuddered as if a largish giant outside was working out with a sledgehammer.
"And we're only at full power," Tapia growled. She touched the large red lever controlling engine power. It was marked quarter, half, and full speed. Then there was a manual safety lock. If that was lifted, the Swampscott would, at least in theory, go to war emergency power, guaranteed to strain and destroy its engines if applied for longer than minutes.
Sten, Kilgour, and Tapia were in the Swampscott's main engine control room. Sten had immediately promoted the ship's second engineer to chief and assigned Tapia to him. He semitrusted the man but had privately told Tapia that if the man broke, she was to relieve him at once.
"And if he gives me lip?"
Sten had looked pointedly at the miniwillygun holstered on her hip and said nothing.
Warrant Officer Kilgour would run the central weapons station in the Swampscott's second pagoda. Just below his station was the cruiser's CIC and second control room. The rest of the men and women from Sten's tacships were scattered throughout the ship.
Sten had decided to promote Foss to ensign. He had also told Kilgour that warrant rank or not, the Scot was to assume command of the Swampscott if Sten was killed or disabled. He guessed he had the authority. If not, that was something to hassle about when and if they reached safety.
For the moment, there didn't seem to be anything for him to do. The crew was at general quarters—modified. Half of them were permitted to sleep or eat. The food was mainly sandwiches and caff brought to the stations. Those who chose to sleep curled up beside their positions.
Sten turned the bridge over to Foss—the ship was on a preset plot—while he and Kilgour made the rounds.
The engine room was hot and greasy and smelled. The late van Doorman probably would have fainted seeing his carefully polished metalwork smeared, the gleaming white walls scarred and spattered. But spit-shining was something else there wasn't time for. Just keeping the Swampscott's engines running was herculean.
Sten looked around the engine spaces. Tapia and the engineer had everything running as smoothly as possible. He started toward a companionway.
"Commander," Tapia said, rather awkwardly. "Can I ask you something?"
"GA."
"Uhh..."
Kilgour took the hint and went up the steps to the deck above. Sten waited.
"You remember—back at the fort—when I said I wanted a transfer? I was being funny then. Now I'm serious. When we park this clotting rust bucket, I want reassignment."
Sten wondered—was Tapia starting to crack?
"Ensign," he said. "If we get this time bomb back, all of us'll get reassigned. Hard to run a tacdiv when you don't have ships. My turn. Why?"
"I just checked Imperial regs."
"And?"
"And they said you get your ass in a crack if you go to bed with your commanding officer."
"Oh," Sten managed.
Tapia grinned, kissed him, and disappeared down a corridor.
Sten thoughtfully went up the ladder and joined Alex.
"Teh," Alex clucked. "Hold still, lad."
He swabbed Sten's chin with an arm of his coverall. "Th' lads dinnae need't' ken th' old man's been flirtin't wi' th' help."
"Mr. Kilgour. You're being insubordinate."
"Hush, youngster. Or Ah'll buss y' myself."
The com overhead snarled into life.
"Captain to the bridge. Captain to the bridge. We have contact!"
Sten and Alex ran for their battle stations.
Contact was not the correct description.
The skipper of the picket ship had seconds to goggle at the screen, and then the Tahn were on him.
Two destroyers launched at the picket ship without altering course.
The ship's captain snapped the com open.
" Swampscott... Swampscott... this is the Dean. Two Tahn—"
And the missiles obliterated the picket ship.
The Tahn fleet knew they were closing on the liners. They spread out into attack formation and moved in.
Commander Rey Halldor may have been a clot, but he knew how and, more importantly, when to die. Without waiting for orders, he sent the Husha and its sister ship arcing up and back, toward the oncoming Tahn.
The Tahn were in a crescent formation, screening destroyers in front and to the sides. Just behind were seven heavy cruisers and then the two battleships, the Forez and the Kiso.
Halldor's second destroyer died at once.
But the Husha, incredibly, broke through the Tahn screen.
Halldor ordered all missiles to be launched and the racks to be set on automatic load launch. The Husha spat rockets from every tube, rockets that were set on fire-and-forget mode.
The Husha spun wildly as it took its first hit near the stern. A Tahn shipkilling missile targeted the Husha and homed. It struck the Husha amidships, blowing it apart. Probably Halldor and his men were already quite dead before they got their revenge.