Rob’s memory flashed back, startling him, remembering Ninja explaining how she worked. “Firewalls aren’t walls, you know. They’re not solid. The idea is to have a flexible series of defenses so that something that gets past one gets stopped by the next.”
How could that help? He didn’t have multiple layers of shields. He only had one set covering each part of—
Could that work? Why not try? “Lieutenant Cameron, cut main propulsion now.” That would be a little earlier than the incoming warbirds expected, throwing off their approach a little. They’d have to focus on correcting for that on their intercepts.
“Cutting main propulsion,” Cameron echoed, entering the command.
As the mighty propulsion units on Saber’s stern fell silent, Rob swung one finger through the air to illustrate his next orders to Cameron. “I want the pivot to put Saber bow on to the attack to start at the last possible moment, so we’re just swinging our bow onto that vector as the aerospace craft intercept us.”
“Uh . . . yes, sir,” Lieutenant Cameron said, clearly puzzled. “Getting us stopped bow on at just that moment might be—”
“I don’t want us to stop, Lieutenant Cameron,” Rob said. “I want Saber to keep pivoting as we engage the warbirds.”
“Sir?”
He knew everyone was watching him. Rob spoke with quiet confidence, trying to convince them of something he wasn’t certain of himself. “None of our shields can stop the fire of all eight warbirds. But if we’re pivoting while they hit us, we might be able to take most of the hits on the bow shields while the ship rotates to present our amidships shields to the later hits. If we can distribute the hits across more than one set of shields we might be able to avoid having them collapse.”
“That’s—” Lieutenant Cameron’s eyes widened. “Yes, sir. I see. Setting maneuvering systems to initiate pivot maneuver at last moment possible and to allow the pivot to continue past bow-on aspect.”
Ensign Reichert shook her head. “It wouldn’t work against another warship on a firing run. The hits would come too fast for the pivot to make a difference. But at warbird engagement speeds . . . it’s possible. We don’t have time to run simulations to test it, though.”
“Do you have a better suggestion?” Rob asked.
“No, sir, I do not. Thirty seconds to intercept. Pulse particle beams are opening fire.”
Almost simultaneously with her announcement Saber’s thrusters fired, kicking her bow around and to the side to face the approach of the aerospace craft. In space, the warship would keep moving in the same direction at the same velocity until the main propulsion lit off again but could turn to face the greatest danger. The warbirds would expect that. “War is based on deception,” Mele had told him. “That Sun Tzu guy said that, too. Let the enemy expect one thing and do another.”
Ninja had nodded in agreement. “The easiest mark is someone who thinks they know exactly what’s going to happen.”
With nothing else he could do in the final seconds as Saber swung around and the warbirds closed in, Rob hoped he’d get the chance to thank them both for their advice.
One of the warbirds on final approach blew up as a particle beam struck some of its armament.
The other seven bore in, weapons firing.
As the warbirds flashed past, Saber jerked from hits, the lights dimming as power was automatically diverted. Rob kept his eyes on his display, seeing another warbird come apart as it caught a volley of grapeshot head-on, and a third spin away after a particle beam sliced through it.
That left five opponents.
“Shields held except for spot failures,” Chief Petty Officer Quinton reported. “We took a few hits through those spots.”
“Number two pulse particle beam projector damaged,” Ensign Reichert said, then paused very briefly before continuing. “Correction. It was destroyed. Initial casualty report, four dead, two wounded.”
“They’re coming back,” Lieutenant Cameron said, grim. “Using full acceleration. They’ll burn through their fuel fast at that rate.”
“Fast enough they’ll have to call off the attack?” Rob asked, feeling sick at the thought of the sailors Saber had lost.
“No, sir. Not that fast. Not unless we change something.”
“Chief, can we get those shields back to full strength before they hit us again?”
“No, sir,” Quinton said. “We’re rebuilding shields as fast as we can.”
With only a few minutes to think, Rob looked at the data from the engagement. Saber’s bow shields had taken about half the hits, the other hits walking down the amidships shields as the ship kept turning during the attack.
The weakened bow shields couldn’t hold against five warbirds. Neither could the amidships shields. And he couldn’t risk presenting the stern shields to the warbirds and possibly taking hits to his main propulsion.
“Let’s see if we can fake them again,” Rob said, surprised by how steady his voice was. “Same maneuver, but this time stop the pivot facing them, just as doctrine calls for.”
“So maybe they’ll expect us to keep pivoting and get thrown off?” Lieutenant Cameron said. “Yes, sir. Maneuver entered. Do you have any orders regarding main propulsion?”
“Chief Quinton, what’s our fuel cell status?”
“Twenty-eight percent,” the chief replied. “I am required to recommend breaking off action and refueling.”
“Thank you. I don’t think the enemy is going to let us do that,” Rob said. “Lieutenant Cameron, keep main propulsion off to conserve fuel. That’ll also simplify our fire control solution as much as possible. If we can take out three more of those birds we’ll have a chance.”
The warbirds had strained to come around in a faster arc than even a destroyer could manage, now “diving” down to an intercept, aiming to hit Saber again as quickly as possible. “Get us some hits, Ensign Reichert,” Rob said.
“Yes, sir,” she replied, her voice almost distracted as she focused on the incoming aerospace craft.
Saber came around again, thrusters firing, but this time other thrusters fired to halt her pivot just as the warbirds zoomed into their intercept. Bow straight on to the enemy attack, Saber rocked from several impacts, followed by the wail of an alarm.
“Forward shields have collapsed. We took five hits forward,” Chief Quinton said. “Losing atmospheric pressure in the bow section.”
“One dead, four wounded, estimated casualty count,” Reichert said. “One aerospace craft destroyed. A second appears to have suffered serious damage, but is coming back around with the three other remaining enemy warbirds.”
“Lieutenant Cameron,” Rob said, “pivot Saber this time to take the attack amidships.”
“Pivot to place amidships facing attack,” Cameron repeated. “Maneuver entered.”
“Captain,” Quinton said, “our amidships shields will fail if four warbirds hit them. We’ll take serious damage.”
“We can’t afford any more hits forward with the bow shields collapsed,” Rob said. “And we can’t afford to take serious damage aft on our main propulsion. I don’t see where we have a choice.”
“Yes, sir. Just advising you as my job requires, Captain.”
Rob’s eyes jerked to part of his display as another alert sounded.
“The damaged warbird came apart during their turn,” Reichert said. “The force of his maneuvering thrusters was too much for the structural damage caused by our hit.”
“What are our chances against three?” Rob asked Quinton.
The chief shrugged. “Better. Not as much serious damage. That’s all I can say. Too many uncertainties.”
“Understood. Let’s pray the uncertainties fall in our favor.”
The three remaining warbirds came in at full acceleration, their weapons hurling energy and projectiles at Saber’s midsection. Saber jolted again, the vibrations of the impacts carrying noise to Rob and the others on the bridge.
“Sir, number one grapeshot launcher fired!” Reichert said. “They must have gotten it online seconds before it needed to fire. We took out two of the remaining enemy aerospace craft. There’s only one left.”
“Amidships shields collapsed,” Quinton reported. “Numbers one and two grapeshot launchers temporarily off-line due to hits sustained. Number one pulse particle projector damaged. Number three pulse particle projector off-line due to overheating. No estimated times to repair available. Estimated casualty count four more dead, seven wounded.”
“There’s only one left,” Lieutenant Cameron said, smiling for just a moment before his elation faded. “Most of our shields are gone and we have no working weapons. One is all they need to finish us off.”
“Yeah,” Rob said, glaring at the image of that last warbird, already starting to come around again. Deception. That was the only weapon that Saber had left. “Intercept course for that warbird. Main propulsion at full. Go!”
“Sir? We don’t have any working weapons,” Ensign Reichert protested as a bewildered Lieutenant Cameron carried out the order.
“Would we charge to intercept that warbird without any working weapons?” Rob demanded. “Who in their right mind would do that? If we’re moving to attack, we must have weapons, and that sole warbird can’t handle us on its own if we have working weapons.”
“That bird doesn’t have the sensors to evaluate all the damage to us,” Chief Quinton said. “But he can evade us.”
“For how long, Chief? How’s his estimated fuel state?”
Quinton rubbed his chin, thinking. “He’s going to be deciding about now whether to keep fighting us here and run dry or head for home with just enough fuel to get back and docked.”
Saber had come around, her hull pitted by damage, her bow section still open to space, but accelerating toward another meeting with the sole remaining warbird.
“One minute to intercept,” Cameron said.
“Is this kind of action on any of the Earth Fleet checklists, Lieutenant?” Rob asked.
Cameron shook his head. “No, sir.”
Ensign Reichert inhaled deeply. “Sir, we avenged Claymore. Even if this guy takes us out, we hurt them worse.”
“Yes,” Rob said. “But I’d still kind of like to get home again.” He’d already checked the status of Saber’s escape pods. The idea of ordering abandon ship was almost too hard to think about, but if that warbird raked Saber in her current condition he might not have any choice.
Ninja had come to believe in the ancestor worship becoming common out here, far from Old Earth, crediting them with saving Rob’s life three years before. He knew she would’ve been praying to them daily since Saber had left Glenlyon. His own beliefs were far less defined and certain, but at the moment he really hoped that Ninja was right and those ancestors were listening right now.
“Thirty seconds to intercept.”
“Any repair status on those weapons?” Rob asked.
“No, sir,” Quinton replied.
“Ten—He’s breaking off!” Cameron cried.
Rob let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as the aerospace craft swung away under the push of its maneuvering thrusters on full, avoiding another engagement with Saber.
He slumped back in his seat as the warbird steadied out on a vector headed back toward the enemy invasion fleet. “Reduce main propulsion to one-third. Get us on a vector to assume station one thousand kilometers in higher orbit above that enemy formation. I need repair estimates on all weapons and time until shields can be restored. I want us ready for action again before that enemy destroyer realizes we took as much damage as we did.” Rob paused, his elation at survival darkening. “And a final casualty count as soon as possible.”
“Doc Austin knows what he’s doing, Captain,” Chief Quinton said. “If they can be saved, he’ll do it.”
“Thank you.” But even Doc Austin couldn’t help those already dead. Rob knew that. So did Chief Quinton.
Damn.
Sometimes victory tasted only a little less ugly than defeat.
Something had happened. Mele could tell that much. But she had no way of knowing what. The enemy had suddenly surged forward, not stopping despite their losses, and Mele had been forced to order another fallback. At least the militia was learning how to retreat in sections, one group covering another as they ran for the next set of defensive positions.
The food court, silent and deserted, briefly filled with soldiers racing through it without stopping, wending their ways between tables and chairs, the cleverer ones among them shoving over some of the chairs as they went to hinder whoever came behind them. The food court was too large, with too many ways into it, to offer any hope as a place to make any kind of stand except a last stand.
Behind them came the enemy, stumbling over the chairs, having to pause to take cover and orient themselves as militia snipers fired from the corridors down which their comrades had retreated.
Mele, judging the level of panic among the militia, had to abandon the idea of urging on laggards, instead racing ahead with strength she hadn’t known she still had to get in front and stop the retreat. It took knocking down a few who tried to run past her, but with the help of Lieutenant Freeman, she got the militia into place behind the next set of cabinets, desks, and chairs piled across exits where the enemy would have to enter junctions before they could proceed farther into the facility.
“Corporal Gamba, how’s it look?” Mele called.
“We’ve merged with the militia that were to the left of us,” Gamba reported. “They lost their lieutenant. The remaining lieutenant . . . Captain, her armor is covered with blood and brains from someone she was fighting next to that caught a burst full on. She’s like . . . robotic, you know. Not showing any feelings at all and going through the motions but liable to break down any second.”
Mele sighed. “That sort of thing is hard for veterans to handle. She was probably a marketing manager or sales associate a couple of weeks ago. Try to get her to gradually cede authority to you. Give the orders for her and let the militia with you get used to your giving them. How’s Yoshida?”
“Okay as long as his meds hold out. The wound isn’t life-threatening, but it’ll probably hurt like hell once he can feel it again.”
Mele rubbed her faceplate, wishing the entire orbiting facility hadn’t lost atmosphere as a result of the fighting so far. The inability to scratch an itch was probably the worst part of being in sealed battle armor. “Lieutenant Freeman.”
“Yeah, Captain.” Freeman had been talking to some of his militia but came over at Mele’s call.
“We lost one of the other lieutenants.”
Freeman nodded slowly. “Danzig. I was talking to him when he . . . went off-line. Veren is okay, though.”
“Veren’s about to crack,” Mele said.
“Oh.” Freeman sounded suddenly even more tired.
“This is the next-to-last set of defensive positions before the final positions near the dock. You know these people better than I do. Can they still hold?”
“Yeah,” Freeman said, his head coming up to look at her. “They can hold.”
She wasn’t nearly as confident as he was, but Mele didn’t question his assessment.
And when the enemy came swarming forward along every available avenue of approach, the militia did hold. They stopped the first assault, and an hour later another.
But there were still too many ways for the enemy to advance through and too few defenders to cover them all. Mele saw the transient sensor readings that told her the defensive positions were about to be outflanked by invaders coming through two maintenance shafts. She gave the order to fall back just as another attack hit the force now effectively commanded by Corporal Gamba.
Mele wasn’t sure how she got the militia’s retreat stopped this time. Maybe it was because the enemy was so tired they couldn’t pursue quickly even when Gamba’s defensive position was overrun. Maybe it was because the militia was so worn-out they could no longer muster the strength for flight even in the throes of panic. Maybe it was the Marines offering a steady example. Whatever the reason, the militia fell into position at the last line of improvised barricades, not far behind them the hatches leading out onto the dock, and beyond them an open stretch before Shark.
“Corporal Gamba, give me your status,” Mele called. No answer. “Corporal Gamba. Talk to me.”
Someone else finally replied. “Captain, this is Private Yoshida. Uh . . . Gamba . . . I’m pretty sure . . .”
“Spit it out,” Mele ordered.
“She’s dead, Captain. During our fallback to here.”
Damn. Damn. Damn. “How are you doing?”
“Still, uh, functional, Captain. Right arm is still no good, though.”
“How’s Lieutenant Veren?”
“I don’t think she made it back here, either, Captain. All the militia keep asking me what to do. Am I in charge?”
“Yes, Private Yoshida, you’re in charge,” Mele said, anguished to have lost Cassie Gamba. “Do you understand? Those militia with you are looking to you. Be the leader they need. Can you do that?”
“Uh . . . yeah. Yes, Captain. I can do that. I think. But, Captain . . . they’re almost beat. They’ve been doing good, but they don’t have much left. I think.”
“Hold on.” Mele looked around for Lieutenant Freeman. “Freeman?”
“By . . . the hatch . . .” Freeman replied, his voice halting. “Main hatch.”
“Have you been hit?”
“Yeah. I’m okay. I’ll—”
“Stay at the hatch. Have your people got any portable sensors left? Stick them up to watch here and nearby areas.” Maybe they could hold a little longer here. But Mele felt the currently unseen enemy presence in front looming and knew she had to plan now for the next, and last, phase of the defense.
“Private Yoshida. Listen up, Yoshi! If there are any portable sensors left with your group, have the militia stick them up in good spots to watch the area leading to the dock. Got that? Good. Now, I’m sending you an image from my display. See? When the militia with you fall back, on my orders and not before, take them to this area on the docks. There’s a lot of heavy equipment there that’ll provide cover. We’re already close to you. I’ll bring my own group to the same spot.”
“Shouldn’t we—?” Yoshida paused, his voice wavering with stress. “Shouldn’t we fall back to the ship, Captain?”
“Look at the layout of the dock,” Mele said, putting force into her words. “There’s a clean path from the air locks and cargo doors of the facility to the dock so they could move people and junk easily. There’s no cover along that route. With the enemy still pushing us and close, they’d catch us partway to the Shark and cut us down.”
“But—”
“Listen. We join up in this area, lots of heavy stuff to give us cover, and when they charge Shark we’ll be able to hit them in the flank. They’ll be the ones without cover. And we will plant ourselves among that heavy gear, and if the enemy tries to come after us there we will kill every single one of them.”
Yoshida took a moment to reply, but when he did his voice was steadier. “Got it, Captain. I got it. Will do.”
“You gonna hold until you have to fall back?” Mele pressed.
“Hell, yeah. I mean, yes, Captain.”
“Is Private Lamar there?” Where was Lamar? Had Penny Lamar let her down? Had she misjudged Lamar that badly?
“Yes, Captain. Flat on her back and a little doped up, but she’s got a weapon.”
“Make sure you’ve got people assigned to carry her with you when you fall back. Assign those people now, and make sure they don’t leave Lamar behind.”
“Got it, Captain.”
“All right. You’ve got your orders. You know what to do. Make me proud, Yoshi.”
“Will do.”
Thirty minutes later the enemy came at them again. Whoever was pushing them was pushing them hard, giving them barely enough time to rest enough to enable them to charge again. “Hold ’em!” Mele yelled into the circuit for all of the remaining militia as armored enemy soldiers stumbled forward.
Cursing at the lack of any more grenades, she dropped two attackers, but the militia soldier on her right lost part of his head to a hit. Mele tried to divide her attention between aiming and firing and keeping track of losses as green markers on her display went dark.
They threw back the first attack. Mele took a long look at how much of the facility they were still trying to hold, how many different approaches the enemy could make, and tried to judge the state of her battered and exhausted force.
Know yourself. Old, old advice. Mele didn’t want to admit it, but these militia couldn’t hold again. They were wavering on the verge of collapse. She either admitted that now or tried to hold again and watched her remaining force fall apart.
“We’re pulling back,” Mele said, trying to speak clearly and calmly. “You all have the position on your helmet displays. Out the hatches onto the dock, then left into the heavy gear located there. Do not run toward Shark. Out the hatches, then left. Lieutenant Freeman, are you still at the main hatch onto the dock?”
“Yes, Captain,” Freeman said, his voice thin.
“Override the air lock controls so both the inner and outer hatches stay open. That’ll get us out quicker. Can you make it to the last bastion?”
Absurdly, she realized that the last bastion sounded oddly romantic. Captain Mele Darcy died defending the last bastion. That wouldn’t be a bad epitaph.
Except that she still had no intention of dying here.
“Start falling back,” Mele said. “Everyone. Now. Maintain your discipline. Yoshi, make sure Lamar is with you.” She shifted her circuit, hoping that despite the nearby enemy jamming she could still get through to the dock. “Shark! We’re falling back out of the facility and heading to one side of the dock. None of our people will be coming your way. Anyone you see charging across the dock toward you is an enemy.”
“Understood,” Shark replied. “Captain Darcy, the enemy destroyer has been badly damaged and is almost out of fuel. And the enemy just expended what were probably their last aerospace craft attacking Saber. If we can get Shark clear, we’ve got this.”
“Thanks for the update.” Mele wondered who she was talking to over there. It didn’t sound like Commander Derian. Probably the watch officer on the bridge or the . . . what did squids call it . . . the quarterdeck. Someone who couldn’t help with the repairs but could help defend the ship until those repairs were done.
By the time she reached the air lock everyone else had already passed through. If the enemy had realized that the defenders had fallen back, they must still be advancing cautiously, having been hammered during pursuit before.
Outside on the dock she ran along the hatches, slapping the air lock overrides back into the off position so the outer hatches would close. Having to open those hatches again would slow down the enemy slightly and give Mele’s people a little forewarning of the next attack.
As she ran to the left side of the dock, herding a few stragglers from the surviving militia ahead of her, Mele caught a glimpse of Shark. Some sort of barricade had been thrown together on the dock just outside an open hatch on the ship. Shark must have defenders behind that barricade, ready to make a last-ditch stand outside the ship if the enemy got that far.
It felt strangely peaceful out here, where fighting had not yet come, the lack of atmosphere causing heavy shadow wherever lights didn’t directly play on something, few noises carrying as vibrations through the dock structure, the stars and the endless dark of space above both beautiful and unbearably cold and distant.
More tired than she’d thought possible, Mele staggered in among the heavy equipment on the left side of the dock, seeing her militia and those who had been with Yoshida sprawled about in postures of exhaustion. There were times that called for encouragement, times that called for persuasion. This wasn’t one of those times. “Get up, you useless, pathetic excuses for men and women! Are you waiting for your mommies and daddies to show up and rock you to sleep? We are not done! There’s a fight to be won, and we will win it even if I have to personally kick each one of you in the butt so hard that you’ll wish you’d been shot! Get on your feet! Cover those hatches! You’ve got weapons! You’ve lost friends! Fight! I’m not giving up, and neither are you!”
She could almost feel the hate and anger radiating from the militia, but they got up and rested their weapons on convenient places on the equipment. “Yoshi! Where the hell are you?”
“On our left, nearest the ship,” Yoshida called in reply. “I, uh, thought some of them might try to run to it from here so I sort of stuck myself in their way.”
“Good job.” Though, looking at her surviving militia slumping over their weapons, Mele wondered if any of them could run anywhere. Their own tiredness might have been the only thing that had prevented a panicked dash for the apparent safety of the ship. “Where’s Lamar?”
“A little to my right. Even though she’s lying down she’s got a clean shot under some gear at anyone trying to run toward Shark.”
“Hatch opening,” Lieutenant Freeman gasped. “Two hatches.”
Mele joined the others, standing behind a very thick, sturdy-feeling piece of loading equipment, her rifle leveled toward the hatches she could see cycling open. A group of enemy soldiers burst out of the hatches onto the dock and began their own exhausted run at Shark. Mele yelled “fire!” and what were left of the defenders opened up on the flank of the enemy. Taken by surprise and hit from an unexpected direction, several attackers fell at the first volley. Others turned and ran back inside. A few, too far forward, tried to keep on toward Shark and were cut down by the sailors defending the quarterdeck.
Mele waited for another charge, but nothing happened.
“What’s going on?” one of the militia asked, sounding almost too tired to care.
“They must be regrouping,” Mele said. “It’s not over. Everyone stay sharp.”
As more time crawled by, the lack of visible activity increasingly worried her. Why would the enemy commander, who had pushed them this far, suddenly let up the pressure with success in sight? Mele scrolled through the few portable sensors the militia had been able to post in the inside area leading to the dock and that hadn’t already been spotted and destroyed by the enemy, trying to see what the enemy was doing despite the interference that nearly rendered the data feeds unreadable.
What was that? A bunch of enemy soldiers wrestling a big object toward a solid bulkhead facing the dock. Because of jamming, the image was grainy and static-riddled, breaking repeatedly into pixel fields, but Mele thought she recognized the object. Of course. The enemy would have brought something like that to ensure that Shark didn’t get away. They’d hauled it with them all the way through the facility, and now its target was finally within reach. “Hey, Shark, what does this look like to you?” she asked, relaying the feed.
The reply took several moments. “We can’t see enough to tell, Captain Darcy.”
“To me it looks like a portable medium antiair weapon. Oh, yeah, there’s the power section being brought up. Shark, you can’t see it because they’re behind a solid bulkhead, but they’re setting up a particle beam to fire through that bulkhead and into you.”
“Can’t you stop them?”
“Negative,” Mele said. “It’d be suicide to charge them with what I’ve got left. Can’t you shoot first?”
“Anything we shoot will go on through the facility.”
“It’s already beat to hell, Shark, and there’s nothing and nobody friendly left alive past that bulkhead.”
Another pause, while she watched with growing nervousness as the power section was linked to the antiair weapon.
“Yeah,” Shark finally said. “Yeah. We can’t bring any weapons to bear until we pivot the hull a bit. Hold on. Keep your people where they are.”
“No problem.” Mele felt the vibration running through the dock as Shark’s thrusters fired on very low settings to slightly shift her hull without moving the ship away from the dock. “Shark, they felt that. I can see them working faster. They’re getting ready to shoot.”
This time the answer came in the form of a sudden blur of extremely fast-moving objects fired from Shark at the flat outer surface of the bulkhead the enemy weapon was sheltering behind. The bulkhead bent inward, dozens of large holes suddenly appearing in it. The image from Mele’s sensor vanished as she stared at the result of warship grapeshot fired from close range. The shock of the grapeshot impacts could be felt through the structure, followed by an extremely rapid series of fading shocks as the same ball bearings slammed through other obstacles in their paths before finally being stopped somewhere deep in the facility.
An instant later light flared through the holes and the bulkhead ballooned outward as the damaged power supply for the heavy weapon let go all of its stored energy at once.
She heard a ragged gasp, the best cheer they could manage, from what was left of her defenders.
“Think that did it?” Shark called to Mele.
She nodded even though Shark couldn’t see her. How many of the remaining enemy soldiers had been close enough to that destruction to be killed by it? Anyone not hit by the metal ball bearings or shrapnel from whatever they’d hit would have been caught in the power discharge. “Yeah, I’m sure that did it. Thanks, squids.”
“You’re welcome. Oo-rah, right? That’s the Marine thing?”
“Yeah. Right. Oorah.” Mele watched, waiting, but didn’t spot any more enemy activity for the next twenty minutes. Beside her, the remaining militia waited, slumped at their places.
“Captain Darcy.” That was Commander Derian calling this time. She was sure of it. “We’re going to go any moment now. Bring your people in.”
Surprised, Mele looked out over the dock and over that long open area leading to Shark’s quarterdeck. She had no idea where the enemy soldiers were now, how many of them were probably covering that area with weapons too weak to threaten the destroyer’s hull from this range but plenty strong enough to penetrate the protection her Marines and the militia wore. And the remaining militia wouldn’t, couldn’t, move fast. It had all the makings of a massacre. “Thanks, but we’d be targets in a shooting gallery trying to get to you. We’re a lot safer staying holed up among this equipment.”
“I promised to bring you off when Shark could get under way,” Derian objected.
“And you’re offering to do so,” Mele said. “But it’s my judgment that withdrawal to your ship would result in most of those of us left being killed or wounded. Sir, we can’t run. I believe the enemy, to the extent they still are willing to attack, will lose that motivation once Shark gets clear. We’ll sit here, nice and comfortable, until you get back.”
“I want it clearly understood that we’ll wait for you if you want to try to make the ship,” Derian insisted.
“That is understood,” Mele said. “But I’d rather live a little longer than try that run for your ship, sir.”
“Very well. We’ll be back for you, Captain Darcy. Us or Saber.”
“Have fun attacking those enemy ships and give my best to Commander Geary.” Mele braced herself before calling her troops. “Shark is pulling out. It’s too dangerous for us to reach her. But that’s fine. We’re safe here. We’ll wait until they come back.”
Private Yoshida backed her up quickly. “All we have to do is sit and wait? I can do that, Captain.”
“We’ll be okay,” Lieutenant Freeman agreed.
A few moments later Mele felt the dock trembling again, this time hard enough to shake her a bit. She looked over at the stars and saw the dark bulk of Shark eclipsing them as the destroyer moved away from the dock.
She gazed at the sight, smiling, never having realized how beautiful and graceful a warship could look as it moved. Mele called her surviving defenders again. “Congratulations, you apes. The space squids got their ride going, and we gave them the time they needed.”
“So we wait now?” one of the militia called back, his voice too exhausted to carry emotion. “We’re not giving up, are we?”
“Why the hell would we give up? We just won. Is there anybody left who can set me up to broadcast to the enemy troops?”
“Seamus,” Lieutenant Freeman called. “You still with us? You do it.”
It only took a few seconds before Mele’s comm light glowed green. “Hey,” she called. “Invading troops. This is Captain Mele Darcy, Glenlyon Marines, to the invading force aboard this facility. Are you ready to surrender?”
The reply that came was almost strangled by frustration. “You’re the one who needs to surrender! Now! You’re trapped! If you want any mercy, you’ll surrender now!”
Mele heard someone laughing and realized she was the one doing it. “You got it wrong. You got it all wrong. We’re not trapped. You are. Think about it. We’ve got two warships out there now. You’ve got one half-broke warship that’s almost out of fuel. Your warbirds have been cut to pieces during the fighting in atmosphere and up here. What do you think is going to happen to the ships you came here on? And to any one of your shuttles that try to fly from this point on?
“It’s simple,” Mele continued. “You, and your entire invasion force on the planet, are about to be cut off. You can keep fighting until your ammo and power and rations give out, after which you’ll get to find out what the people of Kosatka are going to do to the people like you who trashed their planet, or you can surrender now to me, a representative of Glenlyon. I might not be as unhappy as the people of Kosatka are. No promises, though, and the longer you wait, the unhappier I’ll get.”
“Damn you!”
“Let me know when you get to yes,” Mele said. “You are the enemy commander, right?”
This time the voice sounded beaten. “Lieutenant Ostis. Senior surviving officer. You killed Captain Bostick when you destroyed our heavy weapon.”
That explained the lack of enemy activity since then. Not only massively tired and suffering from terrible losses, but they’d lost their commander again, leaving leadership to a worn-out lieutenant who might have as little combat experience as the militia lieutenants Mele had worked with. “All right. You know the situation. I have no interest in wasting more lives, mine or yours. Sit there as long as you want and think about it. I’ll wait for your surrender. As long as you refrain from attacking again, I won’t attack you. But if you come after us one more time, we’re going to hit back at you until every one of you is dead. Darcy, out.”
Suddenly dizzy, Mele grabbed at the loading gear in front of her to keep her balance. “Shark, can you still hear me?”
“We hear you,” Commander Derian replied. “You’re one hell of a soldier, Captain Darcy.”
“With all due respect, sir, I’m a Marine.”
“Right. Sorry. You’ll want to know about your people. We’ve got a Corporal Giddings aboard. I’m told he’s stable.”
“Thank you, sir. That’s good news.”
“Who’s the surviving senior militia officer there?”
“Lieutenant Freeman, sir. He’s hurt but still combat capable.”
“Have him . . .” Derian paused. “Have him put together a consolidated casualty report when he can and any supply requirements you have. The militia took some heavy losses, didn’t they?”
“Yes. They did good, Commander. They did real good,” Mele said.
“Thank you. Do you have any messages for Commander Geary?”
Mele gazed upward at the stars. “Tell him we got the job done here. Finishing the rest of it is up to him.”