Two Tahn destroyers took hits in areas vital enough to send them leaking out of battle. And then three of Halldor's missiles found a heavy cruiser.
For an instant it looked as if the Tahn ship's outer skin was transparent, then it turned flame-red as the cruiser was racked by explosions. And then there was absolutely nothing where the ship had been.
The 23rd Fleet still had teeth in its final moments of life.
Sten thought he could still see the blips where his destroyers had been on the screen, even though the ships had died seconds earlier.
Probably an afterimage, he thought.
Sten had wondered what gave people the guts to throw themselves at death, to give the suicidal orders instead of running. And he also wondered, if that situation ever came up, whether he would have enough cojones to do it himself.
But he never formally made the Big Decision. There were too many other orders to blurt out.
"Navigation. Interception orbit."
"Aye, sir. Computed."
"Mark! Engines."
"Engine room, sir."
"Full emergency power. Now! Mr. Foss. Everyone into suits."
"Yessir."
"Weapons... clot that. Give me all hands."
Foss turned the com onto the shipwide circuit.
"This is the captain. We're going in. All weapons stations, prepare to revert to individual control."
Foss had Sten's suit in front of him. Sten forced his legs in and dragged the shoulders and headpiece on.
"We are now attacking," he said, choosing his words carefully, "a Tahn battlefleet. There are at least two battleships with the fleet. We are going to kill them." He should have found something noble to end his 'cast with, but his mind refused to come up with an "England Expects," and he snapped the com link off. "Foss. I want the CO of the destroyers."
A screen brightened, showing the bridge of one of the Imperial ships.
"Captain," Sten began without preamble, "the convoy's yours. We're going to try to slow down the bad guys."
"Sir, I request—"
"Negative. You have your orders. Stay with the liners. Swampscott, out. Foss! Damage control."
"This is damage control, Skipper," came the drawl. "What do you need?" Sten found a moment to regret not knowing that officer—anybody who could sound that relaxed would be valuable.
"Dump the air."
"It's gone."
The suits would make the men more awkward, but the vacuum would lessen the damage from a potential hit.
"Weapons! Are we in range?"
"A wee bit longer, Commander."
And the Swampscott went into its first—and final—battle.
Possibly the Tahn had become cocky. Or, more likely, they found it impossible to take seriously the bloated hulk that was charging at them.
The Swampscott may have been a disaster of space architecture and a ship long overdue for the boneyard—but it was very heavily armed. It had a Bell laser system forward, Goblin launchers fore and aft, secondary laser stations scattered around the ship, and chainguns running the length of those horrible-looking hull bulges. The ship's main armament consisted of long-obsolete Vydal antiship missiles. There were two of them, mounted amidships, between the pagodas that were the command centers.
Kilgour watched the three blips representing Tahn destroyers arc toward him and thumb-activated the Bell assault laser in the ship's nose. The laser was as obsolete as the ship it was mounted on, being not only robot-guided but equipped with verbal responses.
"Enemy ship in range," the toneless synthesized voice said. Kilgour touched the engage key.
The laser blast ravened the length of the Tahn destroyer, and the weapons system decided that the target was no longer in existence. Without consulting Kilgour, it switched to a second destroyer and opened up.
"Target destroyed... second target under attack," the voice said, almost as an afterthought.
The laser ripped most of that second destroyer's power room into fragments.
"Second target injured... am correcting aim."
Kilgour slammed the override and new target keys. The destroyer was out of battle, and that was enough.
Possibly miffed at being told what to do by a human, the laser switched to stutter mode and lacerated the length of the third destroyer before reporting.
Three down, Alex thought. No more'n a zillion to go.
The Swampscott was through the destroyer screen, headed for the heart of the Tahn fleet.
There were three weapons not controlled by Kilgour. They were the huge Kali missiles designed for Sten's tac-ships. There had been three of them left in the tac division's armory, and Foss and Kilgour had jury-rigged rack mounts for them on the Swampscott. Foss had sworn there was no way to run the control circuitry into the weapons control center—it would be easier for him to set up a control helmet/center on the bridge itself.
Sten was fairly sure that Foss was lying, wanting to actually shoot back instead of just being a behind-the-scenes electronics wizard. But he didn't care. Alex would have more than enough hassle trying to make some sense of the elderly and frequently contradictory weapons-control systems already mounted.
Foss had the control helmet plug rigged into his space-suit. Sten stared at the central screen and blanched. The monstrous Kiso filled the screen, and Sten thought they were about to collide before he realized that Foss had the screen at full magnification.
"Sir," Foss said. "I have a Kali on standby. Target... target... target acquired."
"Launch," Sten ordered, with no expectations.
The Kali wobbled away from the Swampscott without the initial guidance the proper launch tube would have provided. Then it straightened, went to full power, and dived toward the Kiso.
And the Swampscott took its first hit.
The Tahn missile tore through the skin of the bridge, went out of control, and then exploded less than fifty meters away from the ship. The blast was close enough to smash the entire bridge.
All that Sten knew was a stunning impact, finding himself hurled through the air to slam against a console and staring straight up at what should have been steel to see—see, without sensors—the Tahn destroyer's nose light as it fired a second missile.
His headphones crackled.
"Stand by." It was Kilgour. "We have an incoming... target acquired... ha-ho. Gotcha."
A Fox missile took out the Tahn rocket. Directly behind it, Kilgour had sent a Goblin. The Goblin scattered fragments of the Tahn ship across a wide area of space.
Sten wove to his feet and looked around the ruins of the bridge. Everyone was dead, down, or hurled out into space.
He recovered and keyed his mike. "This is the captain. Switching command to CIC. Damage control... seal the bridge."
He stumbled toward a hatch, undogged, and went through it.
Outside, in space, the Kali missile circled aimlessly. It had been given its aim point, but the operator had not completed his procedure. The Kali waited for further orders.
The bridge was a still life—"Technocracy, with Corpses"—for a moment, and then a figure moved.
It was Foss.
He looked down at the scrap metal where his legs had been. His suit had already sealed itself, surgically amputating the few bits of ligament and flesh.
Foss felt no pain.
He dragged himself on his hands toward the control panel. It was still semialive. He switched to a still-undamaged tertiary system and became his missile once more.
The Kali surged toward the Kiso.