Test of Mettle (A Captain's Crucible Book 2) (20 page)

Let it pass. Let it pass. I love my baby. It’s the third trimester. It’s too late.

“I want you to abort my baby,” she said. She wasn’t sure if the words were hers, or the telepath’s.

J
onathan took a few subtle, deep breaths to calm his nerves.

The task group had been traveling at seventy percent speed for close to a day. They had chosen a sunward trajectory that would take them around the first alien task unit, but those Raakarr had altered their course to intercept. At the closest point of the flyby the enemy would pass within twenty-five thousand kilometers. More than enough to combine their particle beams and cause some damage to whatever ship they targeted.

The task group had assumed an inverted Y formation in three dimensional space, with the
Marley
in the lower right portion of the configuration, situated on a declination of forty-two degrees below the fleet plane. Meanwhile the
Dagger
occupied the lower left position and would pass nearest to the enemy during the flyby.

Each ship was separated by a relatively close distance of fifty kilometers from its nearest neighbor. The
Callaway
had taken point, but the assumption was that the enemy would choose the closer
Dagger
as the target. That ship had been the least damaged six months ago, and she had used much of the downtime to 3D print extra armor for her hull. In theory the
Dagger
could take a combined shot from the enemy at that range without suffering any breaches. With the emphasis on the
in theory
part.

If Jonathan lost a ship, there would be no time to turn around and collect any lifepods. He hated the thought of leaving anybody behind for the aliens to capture.

I promised myself I would never leave anybody behind.

Famina’s face flashed into his head for a moment. Famina, the woman he had abandoned on that mountaintop.

And then she was gone.

With the telepath off the ship, Jonathan noticed he no longer had nightmares about those who had died under his command. Even last night, despite the coming battle, his six hours of sleep had been peaceful and rejuvenating. He hadn’t needed any medication to ensure his rest—not that he would have taken any sleep aids anyway, not that close to a battle.

There had to be a link between those nightmares and the telepath. Obviously the man had some ability even when sedated; the deputy medical officer who had freed him claimed she had no recollection of doing so, despite the video evidence showing her turning off the anesthesia infusions and removing the life support apparatus, and then helping him into an exoskeleton. But her dreams had been haunted with strange visions the night before, she said.

Jonathan just hoped the telepath hadn’t embedded any nefarious commands into his own subconscious during the nightmares. Other officers had reported having similar problems sleeping while Barrick was aboard, so the captain wasn’t the only one who might be affected.

He studied the incoming enemy task unit, which was close enough to get a visual on: a square-shaped enemy capital ship, capable of launching fighters; six of the slightly smaller dart-shaped ships, including the prison ship, which had rejoined its brethren three hours ago. The latter’s new designation was T300, to avoid confusing it with any of the other T-labeled targets. The alien fighters escorting T300 had docked with the capital ship, no doubt so that the entire unit could approach at maximum speed without worry of leaving the smaller crafts behind.

The second enemy task unit, containing the thirty reinforcements, trailed the human fleet by a day and a half behind. The hope was that once the humans bloodied the noses of the first, nearer unit, it would retreat to join the others, buying the time Jonathan needed to complete the plan. If he failed to drive off that first unit, his task group would have to suffer repeated flybys until the reinforcements caught up. By then the human fleet, if it still existed, would hardly be able to put up a fight against the other thirty.

“ETA to flyby?” Jonathan asked the first watch ops officer.

“Thirty minutes,” Ensign Lewis said.

Thirty minutes. The true test was about to begin. His stomach knotted as the nerves got to him all over again.

He folded his hands and tapped his chin with his thumbs. He mentally repeated self-affirmations.

I am the commodore of the fleet. The commander of the flagship. I will lead us through this.

Jonathan felt a repeated vibration coming from the deck, and he realized his first officer was tapping his foot unconsciously.

Jonathan extended his noise canceler around him and said: “Are you all right, Commander?” 

Robert stopped tapping immediately and then nodded. “Better than ever. I live for moments like these.” There was an edge of steel to the commander’s voice. Though the fleet had agreed not to target the prison ship T300 for destruction, Robert no doubt wanted vengeance against the remaining enemy. The man who had once overflowed with optimism and goodwill had died when his wife was taken.

“I live for these moments, too,” Jonathan said. It was mostly true. He just wished there wasn’t so much at stake.

He repealed the noise canceler.

“We’re getting a tap-in request from the telepath,” Lazur abruptly announced. “Audio only.”

Jonathan felt an overwhelming sense of suspicion. Reluctantly, he said: “Let’s hear it. And Maxwell, observe the bridge crew very closely during the call. Watch for any physiological changes, or trance states.” He was worried the telepath might employ some kind of trigger word to activate subconscious instructions planted during the nightmares.

“Yes, Captain,” the AI returned.

Some of the bridge crew regarded the captain curiously, but no one said a word.

“Captain Dallas,” the telepath’s voice came over the comm.

“What do you want, Barrick?” Jonathan returned.

“If you surrender now,” the telepath continued. “The Raakarr agree to spare the crews of all your ships. You will be placed in custody aboard different Raakarr vessels, with a select few officers remaining behind to serve as skeleton crews.”

A smile flitted across Jonathan’s lips. “Surrender? I do believe that word isn’t in my vocabulary. Do you know this word, Commander?”

“No sir,” Robert piped up.

“You have their assurances that neither you nor your crew will be killed or experimented upon,” Barrick transmitted.

“And how am I to trust anything these Raakarr say,” Jonathan responded. “When they already
assured
us that we were allies working together for the common goal of returning home. And then as soon as their reinforcements arrive, they turn around and stab us in the back. So to hell with your assurances.”

“Captain,” Barrick sent. “Please. You know how the military works. The Raakarr captain agreed to an alliance of convenience, yes, but when the reinforcements arrived, his commanding officer nullified it.”

“I see,” Jonathan said. “And what about those six ships that came out from behind the gas giant? When were the Raakarr going to tell us about
them?
They pretended to be the only vessel in the system.”

“It’s complicated, Captain,” the telepath returned.

“Alien-human relations always are,” Jonathan said. “Tell your masters it is I who asks for
their
surrender. This is their last chance before my fleet blows them out of the stars.”

“You’re hardly in the position to make such a demand,” Barrick responded immediately. “They outnumber you five to one. I urge you to take the offer, Captain.”

“Five to one?” Jonathan said. “Overall, maybe. But the last time I checked, we were evenly matched with your incoming task unit, Barrick.”

“Hardly,” Barrick responded. “Only five of your vessels are warships, and their firepower is no match to the seven Raakarr ships and you know it. And we haven’t even begun to talk about the fighters.” 

“What about the rogue faction you told me about earlier?” Jonathan said. “The Elk or Giraffes or whatever you called them. They’re just going to sit back and relax while all this goes on? What about the little peace agreement you claimed they wanted to sign?”

“The Zarafa faction is presently indisposed,” Barrick said.

Jonathan felt his lips crook in a sad smile. “There never was a faction, was there?”

Barrick didn’t answer.

“All right then,” Jonathan continued. “I think we’re done, telepath. Tell your masters what I said. I’m offering them their lives in exchange for surrender.”

“As you wish.” Barrick was silent for a long moment. And then: “The Raakarr refuse, of course. And...” His voice became grave. “They have told me they will execute Bridgette if you don’t comply. I’m sorry, Captain.”

Jonathan was hoping they wouldn’t use Bridgette as a bargaining chip. He had steeled himself for that possibility, but the mental preparations had done nothing to lessen the pain he felt in that moment.

He glanced at Robert.

The commander remained stock-still. Robert understood what the captain was going to do. He knew that Jonathan had no choice. 

But that didn’t make him feel any less regret.

If they execute her, guilt will hang over me for the rest of my life.

And yet he knew if he agreed to the Raakarr’s terms he would feel even more guilt—for the short time he remained alive after surrendering, anyway, as he doubted the Raakarr would keep their promise of leniency.

“Tell them,” Jonathan said. “If they execute Bridgette, then we will show their survivors no mercy. Not a whit. Every one of their ships will be blown to the stars. And any lifepods out there will be shot down. Captain Dallas out.”

He tapped out and purposely didn’t look at Robert.

“Maxwell?” Jonathan said. “Any physiological changes?”

“I am detecting evidence of elevated levels of adrenaline secreted into the bloodstream of most members of the bridge crew, especially Commander Robert Cray,” the AI responded. “But otherwise, no.”

“Good.” The captain stared at the tactical overlay. “ETA to flyby, Ensign?”

“Twenty minutes,” Ensign Lewis responded.

“Are we detecting any gamma ray bursts directed at us yet?” Jonathan asked.

“Negative.”

“They’re probably waiting until they cause a breach,” the tactical officer, Miko, said. “They know our armor shields us against the rays, otherwise.”

The captain tapped his lips with splayed fingers.

“They’re starting to brake,” Lewis said. “At this rate, they’ll be motionless relative to us five minutes before our closest approach.”

“Do you have an update on the distance away they’ll be by then, based on their reduced speed?” Jonathan asked.

“Thirty-six thousand kilometers,” the ensign said. “Increasing by the second.”

Jonathan frowned. “Helm, compensate so that the closest point during flyby remains twenty-five thousand kilometers. Miko, transmit the course changes to the fleet.” While his fleet would take less damage beyond that range, it worked both ways, and Jonathan feared their combined Vipers would have little effect if he allowed the enemy to pass by too far.

The moments ticked past.

“ETA to flyby, Ensign?” the captain asked.

“Ten minutes,” Lewis answered.

“Miko, launch Avengers fleet wide. Assume escort positions.”

On the tactical display, blue dots appeared around the
Callaway
,
Aurelia
,
Salvador
, and
Dagger
. The
Maelstrom
, as a frigate, didn’t carry a fighter complement. Nor did the
Grimm
and
Marley
, of course.

Black Squadron and Blue Squadron moved away from the
Callaway
to protect the
Grimm
and
Marley
respectively. Yellow Squadron from the
Salvador
broke away to escort the
Maelstrom
. The respective vessels braked very slightly to allow the fighters to maneuver into place, then the fleet resumed its seventy percent forward speed, the maximum the fighters were able to match.

With the Avengers in position, all Jonathan could do was wait.

“ETA five minutes,” Ensign Lewis eventually announced. “The enemy has completed its full stop, and is now accelerating in the direction of our forward motion. They’re moving inward, too. Attempting to close the gap.”

“Helm,” Jonathan said. “Compensate to ensure we remain at a distance of twenty-five thousand kilometers to the closest vessel during flyby.”

“Compensating,” the helmsman said.

“They’re launching fighters,” Ensign Lewis announced.

Jonathan nodded slowly. That was the best time to launch fighters, because it allowed the smaller crafts to skip paying a duplicate Delta V cost.

He watched the smaller red dots appear and then break away from the enemy units.

“Should I compensate for the approaching fighters?” the helmsman asked.

“Negative,” Jonathan said. “Keep us within twenty-five thousand kilometers of the closest vessel.”