Brim fought the controls with all the skill he could muster. Flames and angry sparking radiation obscured the bow and boiled into their wake. When it cleared, Truculent's A turret was replaced by a jagged, blackened hole from which clouds of radiation swirled along the top decks. No hope for that crew, Brim thought as he followed the deadly billowing mist aft where it passed the wreckage of W turret—still apparently intact except for an innocuous-looking hole near the slot for the disruptor—which pointed uselessly off to port.
Then a third tremendous hit battered the ship. Brim grabbed his console as the gravity pulsed again and more loose debris cascaded across the wrinkling deck plates. This time, the steady thunder of the generators began to fade into hoarse, staccato rasping. He glanced around the decks through the Hyperscreens—no new damage topside, at least none he could recognize. The hit was on Truculent's bottom. And it didn't require much imagination to understand she'd taken serious damage. Fresh radiation was already curling into the wake from below—and their speed was beginning to fall!
Everybody seemed to be shouting on the voice circuits. All over the smoldering bridge, damage-control teams were desperately clearing debris. Smashed figures desiccating in torn battle suits were stacked like cordwood in the shredded remains of the chart room.
Instinctively, Brim ducked as more violent explosions went off close overhead, lighting the shattered wreckage on the decks below with a dazzling glare. He scanned Borodov's power exchange in a nearby display. Heavy clouds of radiation billowed overhead and in the background, actual flames fed on some source of combustion from another wrecked systems console. Borodov's soot-covered helmet appeared in the display. "How bad is it, Chief?" the Carescrian asked.
The old Bear shrugged and considered a moment. "Truculent has seen better days," he pronounced slowly. "The last hit destroyed important control logic for the starboard generator—it runs pretty much out of control now. But it runs."
"And...?" Brim asked.
"And," Borodov went on, "we can still steer and run full speed. But doing the latter will quickly destroy the damaged generator."
Brim felt the speed drop noticeably. He watched the third enemy ship again turning toward him.
Moments later, the first ship also turned. Both Leaguers could see he was in trouble. "Full speed, if you please, Lieutenant Borodov," he said quietly.
Borodov shrugged. "Full speed it is, Wilf Ansor," he said, busying himself at his console.
Fourier urged her disruptor crews to even more exertion, and somehow the rate of firing did increase—with telling effect. Bright flashes winked all over the enemy hulls. Additional metal fires began to belch clouds of sparks on the third enemy ship, but she continued to employ her disruptors with the same deadly accuracy. Return fire sprayed Truculent everywhere; her hull jumped and pounded as they burst aboard.
Somebody started screaming over the voice circuits again—but a long time passed before the bloodcurdling sound registered in Brim's mind above the general pandemonium. He turned in his seat to confront a medical team pulling Fourier from her console. Her suit was horribly burned at the neck, and her hands desperately tore at the shredded hole in her shoulder. One of the medical ratings placed a pressure patch over the opening while two others held her arms. The screaming abruptly turned to a liquid gargle, then stopped altogether. Brim turned back to his controls, gritting his teeth as the team dragged her limp figure aft toward the chart room.
"Starboard generator will fail within three cycles, Wilf Ansor," Borodov reported from below. Brim glanced at Ursis.
The Bear nodded confirmation.
"I suppose it will have to fail then, Chief," Brim said. "Keep it going as long as you can."
Borodov smiled broadly. "Give 'em great grief, Wilf Ansor" he yelled over the din as he returned to his readouts.
In the corner of his eye, Brim caught Ursis grinning, too. His thumb was raised in the Universal human sign of approval.
Then there was little time to notice anything except the battle; "Stand by to concentrate all fire on the number-three ship!" Brim yelled at Fourier's replacement. He noticed the man's gloves were almost instantly soaked in blood from the console. "Let's go, then!" he yelled. "One last try!" He skidded Truculent into a tight descending spiral, then suddenly hauled back on the helm until he was flying on a collision course—with all remaining turrets firing as fast as their crews could recharge the 144s.
This unexpected attack once again took the enemy ship by surprise. The Leaguer captain instinctively put up his helm and attempted to climb out of Truculent's way—it was the worst thing he could do.
Brim's remaining 144s all concentrated their fire on the enemy's steering gear just forward of the Drive openings. Pieces of hullmetal blasted loose as the big disruptors tore at her hull. Suddenly, a terrific explosion ripped the enemy's midsection—followed immediately by a second and a third. A deckhouse blew off in a shower of sparks and glowing clouds of radiation. Then, slowly but inexorably, the ship began to shear off course.
"Get another spread of torpedoes in there!" Brim yelled, skidding Truculent to open a clear line of fire for the torpedo launcher—which fired as soon as it bore on the target. Five ruby sparks flashed past the bridge from aft—Brim watched them on their way, noting that this time, his scalded skarsatt had done the outmaneuvering. Then the target was obliterated in a stunning ball of flame that pulsed rapidly four times before it defined itself into a roiling cloud of livid energy that consumed what remained of the enemy ship like a minute star.
Brim put his helm over only just in time to avoid the cloud of debris, then aimed the ship once again toward the first enemy vessel. "Give 'em everything we've got left!" he yelled—just as the damaged port generator gave out with a thunderous rumble that shook Truculent's starframe to its very keel.
In spite of his struggles with the controls, the destroyer slewed around out of control, stars sliding across the Hyperscreens like a billion speeding comets on parallel tracks. Brim almost had to bring the ship to a halt before the steering gear would accept its new offset parameters.
"B turret seems to be jammed," someone reported.
"An' we've no power to the torpedo flat," Barbousse added. "That last salvo did it for my part of the power exchange."
Brim nodded to himself as he carefully eased Truculent around to face his final opponent, now warily closing in for the kill. Seriously afire in a number of places, the NF-110 was not in much better shape than her Imperial adversary, but with propulsion systems evidently intact, she now had an insurmountable advantage. Brim shrugged grimly and continued to fly as best he could—if nothing else, he'd stopped the raid on Tandor-Ra. Perhaps that might make up for what was in store for the destroyer under his very temporary command.
He suddenly remembered Collingswood's mention of Imperial battlecruisers and glanced at his timepiece. He'd been fighting for more than a metacycle and certainly needed the "assist" she mentioned.
The big ships were due any cycle now.
He gritted his teeth. If he could just buy himself a little more time... Then he laughed ironically. Last moment rescues only happened in fables to princes and kings. In all probability Carescrians simply didn't qualify.
Outside, the enemy destroyer approached on an asymptotic curve, always toward the port side where Truculent bad no operational disruptors to bear. Brim tried to turn with it for a forward shot, but to no avail. When he tightened up on the port helm, the steering engine created intense interference patterns with the operational generator and actually opened the effective radius. Helplessly, he stood by as the enemy ship positioned itself, watched the turrets index around to point directly at his bridge.