wryly.
Even as they had climbed aboard the shuttle, the breach alarms in the station had been sounded. Either heavy weapons fire had cut through the armour and shielding or even worse; Laconian warriors had landed and were in the process of taking control of the base. There was little the crew could do to oppose their professional warriors. Unlike the Laconians, the Alliance crew and military did little actual close quarter combat training. Even the use of firearms was limited to the tiny number of tactical teams used for hostage rescue or guard work. In this era of space warfare, the argument had always been that the Navy made ground combat obsolete, even vulgar. It was considered a rough throwback to the old days of Earth.
Vulgar! Ground combat? Maybe if we trained in it, we wouldn’t be running. What if they take the station? The Armada would have to withdraw back to the homeworld. He was trying to work out what would happen to the Alliance if the battle continued on its present course. It was hard to believe that a force as substantial as the Armada could suffer anything more than a minor loss to the enemy. The complete Alliance fleet had never been defeated in open battle before. The best the Laconians had ever managed was when a handful of frigates had duelled, and it had been indecisive and proved little.
Sat inside the craft, Xenophon thought about the state of the station he had just left. He still had pangs of guilt for leaving so fast. He knew deep down that he had done the right thing. His skills in battle were only to do with operating ship-based weapons. In a stand-up fight with professional Laconian warriors, he wouldn’t stand a chance. The Alliance had no professional infantry. Even the crew of the ships were almost all enlisted for short-term operations. The Laconians, on the other hand, came from a much poorer background but had the advantage of a small, fully professional navy and a substantial ground force of heavy infantry. These forces were known simply as Laconians, as it was the duty of all their citizens to train and prepare for war. Xenophon had always been fascinated by the Laconians and had wanted to visit their homeworld since he had been a boy.
A great thud, like a crate being thrown at the shuttle, brought him back to his senses. A series of alarms echoed through the small space and steam blasted out from a joint on the piping above his head. A dozen cables dropped down where the damage had shredded the cables. Sparks ran along their length before the shuttle emergency system isolated and immobilised the circuit.
What the hell is that? he thought. The crew looked about in concern at the sound, but there appeared to be no real damage. The shuttle transport was unarmoured and designed more for utility than comfort and would not stand up to much punishment if attacked. Any weapon used by the League would easily be able to damage or destroy the shuttle with little effort. There were no windows to speak of, and the passengers were all required to wear full EVA safe suits for the trip. Only half had pulled on their gear so far, the rest were struggling, and a small number just ignored the order and sat in silence.
Listen to it, Xenophon thought to himself. The sound of the small chunks of dust and debris from the battle outside pattered the shuttle like a gentle rain shower. It was quiet and frustratingly quiet inside, but Xenophon was all too aware of the battle going on. Being blind to the world outside did have its benefits for most of those in the shuttle. Not for Xenophon, he had a vivid imagination and had seen from the station displays the great enemy fleet that had arrived. They wouldn’t have begun an evacuation unless there was the potential for defeat.
Have we started the fightback yet? We have Titans, and nothing can stand against them, he thought. The Titans were surely so powerful they could hold off an enemy fleet on their own.
Curious to see what was going on, he remembered the high-speed digital media system built into every suit. He looked about until he found the link buttons. A quick tap and he was connected to the shuttle’s public interface. Various menus popped up inside his visor and by looking and thinking about the options, he was able to bring up a multitude of video feeds and reports. The shuttle was showing three external views and also repeating the public announcement channel from Plymouth Station. He selected the station feed first and almost choked at the sight.
No, it can’t be. The station can’t take that kind of beating.
Over thirty heavy ships were lined up and firing thick energy beams into the station. Each impact sent a shimmer around the station as its heavy shielding tried to absorb the energy.
They’re trying to bring down the rest of the shields, he thought.
Changing to the feeds on the shuttle, he spotted many ships engaged in a battle that was so large he could barely understand it. The Armada was being hit hard, and the terrible thing was that the enemy fleet was no larger than theirs.
We’ve been caught with our pants down this time. He nodded to himself.
The only thing he could think of was that it must have been the arrogance of the commanders and their position. He had been told many times in the last week about how safe they were safe in the Nebulae. It was either that, or the enemy had found a way to cripple the fleet prior to their arrival. All he could tell so far was that less than ten percent of the Armada was engaged in the fight. The rest of the ships were moored around the station and under attack. He remembered his studies and especially the ancient Terran officer Frederick Lanchester, quickly applying the rules the officer had devised to the facts as he could see them.
Lanchester had devised a simple set of rules for calculating the relative strengths of a predator/prey pair. This formula essentially required the squaring of the statistical number of forces on both sides. A simple deduction between the two values would show the winner and loser. Most officers found the concept hard to grasp, but Xenophon, with his years of philosophical and mathematical training, had found it easy. If five ships fought three ships, then Lanchester’s Law would state the comparative strengths were twenty-five versus nine. Therefore, the larger force would overwhelm the smaller forcer by almost a factor of three, and essentially a guaranteed victory with minimal losses.
“Lieutenant,” he called out to Lieutenant Devereux who sat just two seats away from him. She seemed to be ignoring him. He leaned towards her and called again. Rather than a reply, the side of the shuttle tore open to reveal the great emptiness of space. He felt the tug on his thick harness as the vessel instantly depressurised. Two of the seats ripped from their slightly damaged mounts and blasted out into space. Xenophon watched the two people vanish into the blackness. They were both wearing sealed suits.
That won’t help them. He knew it would be almost impossible to find a couple of spacesuits amongst the debris and wreckage drifting around the station. The rush of air as the pressure altered was over almost as soon as it had started. Through the breach, a series of coloured lights betrayed the position of at least two ships. The pilot of the shuttle must have made a drastic course change as the lights vanished to be replaced by an Alliance battleship.
“Gods!” he spurted out before thinking.
The mighty ship was burning from bow to stern as explosions and flashes ran the length of the vessel. A bright red beam move from the right until it made contact with the hull. As soon as the two touched, a bright light almost blinded him. If it weren’t for the automatic visor on his suit, he wouldn’t have seen anything at all.
A cutter, they’ve had it.
The common nickname for the heavy laser weapons, a cutter was designed to do exactly as its name suggested. It would make contact with the exterior of a ship and simply burn through, cutting an arc in the vessel. As he watched, the beam slashed through the ship as though it had been no more than soft plastic.
“Xenophon!” came the familiar voice of Lieutenant Devereux. He spun around to see the survivors of the shuttle trying to help two of the crew that had refused to wear suits. He moved to unbuckle himself, but a blast of power from the shuttle forced him into his seat.
“Hold on, we’ve making an emergency landing on the Valiant,” said a voice over the intercom system. Xenophon assumed it was the pilot, but in all the commotion he had no easy way to tell.
The impact was rough, and this time his straps gave way. Xenophon was thrown forwards and towards the front of the shuttle. With a crash, he struck an unconscious passenger. The shaking and violence of their trip suddenly stopped to be replaced by the harsh, full gravity of the warship. Xenophon hit his visor just in time to vomit onto the metallic floor. He coughed and then turned around to check on the others. Lieutenant Devereux was lying atop a number of crates that had broken free. Crew from the Valiant climbed in through the damaged hull and proceeded to pull them from the ruined shuttle. He climbed over to the officer and leaned down to her face. She was pale, but it looked like she was breathing.
“Get her out of here, she’s gonna blow,” called out one of the newly arrived crew.
He needed no more persuasion and grabbed her limp body. He expected her to feel light, but with the suit and webbing gear she was difficult to move. Pushing himself hard, he managed to bring her arm around his neck
