Hawk’s commanding officer called in. “I’m almost within range of 743, Kommodor, and he’s not showing any signs of slowing down.”
“Try warning shots,” Marphissa directed.
“Kommodor,” the comm specialist reported, “HTTU 333 and HTTU 712 have surrendered but say they must restart their power cores.”
“Inform all surrendered units that they must report to me the status of any snakes aboard them,” Marphissa said.
“No response to warning shots,” Hawk’s commanding officer said. “Still accelerating all out. I can stay with HTTU 743 as long as you want, Kommodor, but— There are escape pods coming off.”
Marphissa watched as the transport’s entire complement of escape pods shot free in a staggered volley.
“We have communications with the escape pods,” Hawk reported. “They say the snakes on 743 have control of engineering and the bridge, that they have barricaded themselves into those compartments.”
“Transports don’t have citadels,” Diaz said. “The snakes must have improvised something.”
“That doesn’t leave us any choice,” Marphissa said. “Hawk, fire upon HTTU 743. Target main propulsion units.” She glared at her display, knowing that a substantial fraction of 743’s crew must be stranded aboard since there hadn’t been enough escape pods for the whole crew. She wondered if the crew had selected places in the pods in a disciplined and fair process, or if there had been bloody rioting at the pod bays as men and women fought for what could well be their only chance at life.
“Kommodor,” Diaz said. “From the reports from the surrendered transports, they each had three or four snakes aboard. Two transports say they took one of their snakes prisoner. The other snakes are all reported to have been killed.”
“Two snakes left alive?” she asked. “That’s odd.”
“Maybe they weren’t bad, for snakes.”
“Maybe. The snakes wouldn’t occasionally execute one of their own if they didn’t sometimes let someone with a tiny bit of humanity through the cracks of their selection system. Have word sent back to those two transports to ensure those two snakes are heavily guarded, under constant visual watch by multiple people, and cannot access anything.”
Hawk had matched velocity to HTTU 743 and swung in directly astern, slamming shots at the transport that collapsed its relatively weak rear shields and went on to impact on 743’s main propulsion units.
Unable to accelerate anymore, but still moving at the same rate through space, HTTU 743 hurtled helplessly toward the distant jump point for Kiribati.
“Put a boarding party on him and find out the exact situation,” Marphissa ordered.
But as Hawk moved in to attach a boarding tube, thrusters fired on HTTU 743, creating vector changes. “We can’t get a boarding team over as long as the snakes can fire those thrusters and jerk the ship around,” Hawk’s commanding officer reported with frustration.
“All right,” Marphissa said. “Match vectors with 743 as best you can, then use your hell lances to hit his bridge. Hit him enough times to be sure nothing is left working on the bridge.” Which would also mean no one was left alive on the bridge, but that didn’t need to be said.
“I understand, Kommodor.”
Normally, hitting a specific place on an enemy ship was simply impossible when tearing past each other at fractions of the speed of light with engagement times measured in tiny pieces of a second. Simply hitting the enemy at all was an amazing achievement under those circumstances.
But with Hawk positioned near the crippled transport, matching speed and direction of travel, it was like shooting at a stationary target while also sitting still. And since the HTTU 743 was a Syndicate design, Hawk had a perfect set of deck plans for the transport, telling the warship exactly where to find the Syndicate ship’s bridge.
It took a lot to stop hell lances. The streams of extremely-high-energy particles went through most obstacles without hindrance, leaving large, neat holes in hulls, equipment, and any humans unfortunate enough to be in the way. With 743’s shields down, and with only the light armor that transports boasted, Hawk’s hell lances could pierce right through the transport.
The light cruiser fired again and again with merciless precision, tearing holes deep into HTTU 743 and completely through the transport’s bridge. Marphissa watched, trying not to feel sick at the thought of what was happening to everyone on the bridge of the transport. She managed to maintain her composure by switching her attention for brief periods to the process of her other warships’ intercepting, surrounding, and matching vectors with the eight troop transports that had surrendered.
“I need to rest my hell lances,” Hawk reported. “They’re overheating.”
“Understood,” Marphissa said. “Try to get a boarding party over again. Give me a link to whoever leads it.”
This time no thrusters fired when Hawk moved in close to HTTU 743 and latched a boarding tube onto the transport.
Marphissa activated the link to the head of the boarding party from Hawk and called up a view from that person’s survival-suit helmet. She watched as breaching tape opened an access in the side of the transport where the boarding tube was attached, and as Hawk’s boarding party entered the transport.
“Got some dead,” the officer leading the boarding party reported tersely. “Looks like they were fighting over places in the escape pods. Only here, though.”
The transport was big inside, big enough to carry hundreds of ground force soldiers and their equipment. Hawk’s boarding party headed for the bridge to see what was left, the passageways of the transport spooky with only emergency lighting on and all atmosphere vented through damaged areas of the hull so that only the exact spot where a beam of light fell was illuminated, pitch-blackness reigning instantly beyond the margins of the beam.
Marphissa pulled herself out of her focus on that, concentrating once more on the bigger situation. “Do we send boarding parties onto all of the surrendered transports?” Diaz asked.
“No,” she decided. “We’ll have them go the planet, where Midway is waiting with all of the people in her crew to back up our boarding parties, and we’ll deal with all that there. As it is, we’re going to have our hands full picking up the survival pods from 743.” She tapped their current orbit, then a location in orbit about the habitable planet, waiting impatiently for the second it took for the automated systems to recommend a vector. Then she had to do it again because the automated systems had assumed only the warships were going back and had used accelerations based on that. After specifying this time that all ships here were going to the planet, the maneuvering systems produced a different vector that took into account the slower acceleration of the troop transports. Having spent way too much time shepherding around freighters, which made the clumsy troop transports look like sleek greyhounds of space, Marphissa didn’t waste any effort being annoyed at the extra time it would take for all of the ships to get to the planet.
“Kommodor, our landing party has established contact with surviving crew members of 743,” Hawk’s commanding officer reported.
Marphissa glanced at the small virtual window that now showed the leader of the landing party facing a group of transport crew members in survival suits.
“All of the snakes aboard 743 are dead,” Hawk continued. “Our fire killed everyone on the bridge, and while we were destroying the bridge, the crew members remaining aboard were able to get into the engineering control compartment and finish off the two snakes there. But they tell me the engineering controls are wrecked, and the entire main propulsion section aft was torn up when we shot out their main propulsion units.”