“Any idea where the scree is coming from?” Reba asked Waverly over the comm link.
“No idea at all. We haven’t secured all the buildings here at the port, and it could be coming from anywhere in the city,” he replied calmly. “We don’t know the range of the thing, but my money is on the civilian ships.”
“I’m worried that we could be attacked from a ship in orbit,” she replied, “but I don’t want to be out of position on the far side of the planet if someone comes in. I’ll just stay here and be ready to go if needed.”
Hours later, as Waverly and his men slowly worked their way through the civilian ships and buildings, a Chessori trader came streaking in at low altitude from the west. The moment it appeared, two Chessori traders parked on the far side of the field took off. Reba lifted her ship to attack, but to her amazement, both traders were taken out by the three weapons platforms on the field. She grinned at the thought of Walters and his crew getting another chance to use their newest toy.
Reba followed the first trader and allowed it to reach orbit, then set her own gunners on it. The trader’s weapons were insignificant against a frigate, and her gunners quickly prevailed. As the Chessori turned into a brief, roiling fireball, the scree ended.
When she returned to Orion III, she made her way to Korban’s office. Her Raiders were still clearing buildings in the city and at both space ports, but Korban’s men were getting back on their feet and taking over as quickly as Waverly could brief the commanders. All that remained was a mopping up exercise, and everyone knew it.
Val met her outside Korban’s office with a shaky embrace, still recovering from his own ordeal with the scree. Korban came out into the foyer to greet her, offering a deep bow.
“My Lady, you and your men have saved the day.”
She collapsed into a chair, returning his bow with a stern glare. “The day, perhaps. How goes it for Chandrajuski?”
“Struthers’ reinforcements have not yet arrived. Chandrajuski just called the rest of his ships into the system, and that should put them in front of the Rebels. I’d like to help him, but you’ve told me my sailors will be completely ineffective against the scree. Now that I’ve experienced it myself, I’m convinced.”
She considered long and hard, then looked to Val. He raised his eyebrows and said, “Korban has seven squadrons, four of them in excellent condition, the others lacking only crew. Unfortunately, you’re the only pilot we have who is immune.”
She looked at Waverly. “Then we’ll just have to train some more, eh?”
He shook his head. “I’ll give you all the gunners you want, but my guys are not psychologically fit to be pilots. It’s a whole different mindset from ground fighting.”
“I know, but we’re sitting at the bottom of a gravity well with everyone falling toward us. What if Chandrajuski’s forces lose, or what if they let a squadron or two get through? We’re dead meat. I’d like to set up a last ditch defense. We can forget the small ships. How about if we just try to man the cruisers?”
“We could just as well make plans to get out of here if necessary.”
“We could, Jim. They’re your men. It’s your call.”
Waverly stared at her, then looked to Val, then Korban. His lips tightened. “We’re not just here to rescue this sector. We’re here to defend Earth. We’ll stay, and we’ll fight even if they land. We’ll make plans for both contingencies. I’ll personally select your pilots, but I beg you to find a better solution.”
Korban issued orders to all seven of his squadrons to return to the planet. Reba would pilot one cruiser, and eighteen Raiders were chosen to fly the other six. The plan was Reba’s, and though it was unorthodox, she would train three pilots to fly each ship. Only one could do the actual flying, but that one pilot would be coached and helped by two others.
Val shook his head at the audacity of these Terrans, but he jumped in with both feet to help with the training.
T rexler
Chapter Twenty-three
Chandrajuski rejoined his forces, still shaken by the extended experience of the scree. “What’s the plan?” he asked M’Coda.
“The governor’s reinforcements are due to arrive soon, but we don’t know their strength, and we don’t know if they’ll be grouped together or come at us from all directions. We don’t want to show our fast ship advantage unless it’s absolutely necessary. Those are the ground rules.”
“Agreed, but they can’t possibly know what’s gone on here. I’m fairly confident they’ll arrive as one group, and I doubt if they’ll be prepared for an immediate fight. Their orders will be to back up the governor, theoretically an easy task.”
Trexler spoke. “Are you confident enough to position our forces based on that assumption?”
“No, but it doesn’t matter. We don’t know where they’ll appear.”
M’Coda continued the briefing. “The only solution is to position ourselves inside them. If we scatter our slow ships, they might never make it to the battle. We’ll have to plan on something close to the planet.”
“I concur. I want all of our ships in a position to engage. We’ll have to cover as many eventualities as we can. Let’s get everyone moving.”
Chandrajuski had sixteen squadrons, ten of them slow and six of them fast. The fast ships were instructed to keep their beacons off until further notice. The slow ships would keep their beacons on, enticing the enemy to them.
The sixteen ships formed into four battle groups of four squadrons each and were dispatched to enter the system as close-in as they could, each battle group equidistant from the planet and from each other. In just a few hours, ships began emerging from hyperspace one after the other, grouping up, and speeding toward Orion III.
One day later, thirty-seven Rebel squadrons dropped from hyperspace in the far fringes of the system, all grouped together.
Chandrajuski, Trexler, and M’Coda studied the display intently, M’Coda’s whiskers getting a hard workout.
“Our ships are not in good position for this. It will definitely be a close-in battle,” Chandrajuski announced, “and the odds are not in our favor. It’s 37 against 16.”
“We’ve handled worse in training, and it might not be so bad if we can stretch out the timing,” Trexler replied, working the controls of the holographic display intently. He began moving ships around, exploring possibilities.
M’Coda caught on quickly and helped. “I think it will work, Ray,” he announced after a few minutes. “The Rebels were lazy. They exited hyper quite far out. We have time to reposition and keep the battle away from the planet.”
“Unless more come in from a different direction,” Trexler worried aloud.
M’Coda’s upper hands started a rapid preening of his whiskers. “If more come, the numbers will be against us. We’ll have to consider retreat. Remember, we have another battle to fight after this one. We cannot afford to lose all our forces in this first encounter.”
They both turned to Chandrajuski. It was his call. “I might be the grand admiral, but I don’t feel so grand all of a sudden,” he said.
His great eyes blinked, then he made his decision. “We cannot lose Aldebaran Sector. Retreat will remain an option, but we fight here until and unless the odds worsen.” He stared at them in contemplation. “They’ve sent thirty-seven squadrons. What an odd number.”
M’Coda’s whiskers began a new, refreshing preening. “Could it be all they have?” he asked.
“They certainly have many thousands of squadrons, but they might be limited in the number of trained Chessori crews, just as we are limited with our Terran crews.”
He began issuing orders to his squadrons. Soon, three of the four battle groups turned out-system. The 12 squadrons would travel outward for a day, jump into hyperspace, then jump back in as close as they could. They would be only slightly behind the Rebels when they returned. The four remaining squadrons would have to slow down the Rebel approach so the rest of the fleet could catch up.
Trexler began playing with the controls again while Chandrajuski conferred with his battle groups. M’Coda
