“Then fire as ordered,” Jackie snapped. Commodore Kipling was combining his ships into groups, hoping to delay the enemy superdreadnoughts long enough for the freighters to escape, but she knew the plan was futile. The freighters couldn’t repower their vortex generators fast enough to escape, nor could they run to the planet’s fixed defenses before they were overwhelmed. “And target the incoming missiles!”
Invincible shuddered as she unleashed a barrage of missiles. They looked pathetic, compared to the wave of destruction raging down on the freighters, but they would have to do. If nothing else, the enemy CO might be a little alarmed by their fire. She wouldn’t have cared to operate so many ships without a shipyard, not when even relatively minor damage could be impossible to repair. The enemy might take out the convoy—there was no doubt they’d do immense damage—but if the engagement cost them their superdreadnoughts, it might be worth it . . .
Should have randomized our exit point, she thought. They’d taken precautions everywhere else, but not here. Maxwell’s Haven had been safe. Besides, there had been a very real chance of a friendly fire incident if they’d opened a vortex outside the designated emergence zones. This would never have happened during the war.
“Enemy missiles entering engagement range,” Lieutenant Poitiers reported. “Point defense is engaging . . . now.”
It won’t be enough, Jackie thought grimly. Invincible was free to cover the freighters, but she didn’t mount enough point defense to take out all the missiles. And the enemy superdreadnoughts were still closing. It really won’t be enough.
Admiral Zaskar had honestly not expected the plan to work. Maxwell’s Haven was nowhere near as busy as it had been during the war, when warships and freighters had been mustered before passing though the Gap, but it was still busy enough for him to be seriously concerned about a wandering freighter picking up a sniff of his presence. The Commonwealth’s freighters tended to have top-of-the-line sensor suites, particularly when they were entering disputed space. But Maxwell’s Haven was also the only waypoint where they knew where the convoy would return to realspace.
This would never have happened during the war, Admiral Zaskar thought as his missiles slammed into the enemy flotilla. They wouldn’t have allowed themselves to follow a fixed flight path when they thought they might be intercepted.
“The enemy missiles are entering engagement range,” the tactical officer reported. “They’re . . . they’re very good.”
“Order the point defense to engage,” Admiral Zaskar said. The enemy couldn’t match the sheer volume of missiles he’d thrown at them—he’d risked expending his external racks on the freighters—but their missiles were better. He didn’t need to do more than glance at the display to know that his ships were about to take a beating. “And put the damage control teams on alert.”
He allowed his smile to grow wider as his missiles started to strike home. The Commonwealth had designed the freighters to maximize the amount of goods they could carry, not for defense. Their shields were so weak that a handful of missiles were more than enough to blow them to atoms, while they maneuvered like pigs in muck. They had no hope of evading his missiles. There was no way they’d be able to reopen their vortexes and return to hyperspace before he ran them down. No, the only smart thing to do was scatter . . .
A low rumble ran through the superdreadnought, followed rapidly by two more. He glanced at the report, silently relieved that the enemy didn’t seem to have improved their warheads or their seeker heads. He’d made some careful estimates of their fighting power, relative to his, but it was good to have hard data. The Royal Navy didn’t seem to have concentrated on making bigger and better weapons since the end of the war. Unless, of course, the ships in front of him had been at the back of the line for improved missiles. The Commonwealth’s industrial base was terrifyingly large, but they had to have some limits.
And they wouldn’t need first-class missiles against pirates, he reminded himself, as another missile slipped through his defenses and expended itself against his shields. They’d be quite capable of swatting pirates with prewar weapons.
“Admiral, they’re switching to rapid fire,” the tactical officer said. “And they’re closing the range.”
“Order all ships to watch for suicide tactics,” Admiral Zaskar said. The clerics might insist that the Commonwealth’s officers weren’t prepared to die, but he knew better. A light cruiser could take out one of his superdreadnoughts by ramming her. “And prepare to engage with energy weapons.”
“Aye, Admiral.”
“Seventeen freighters have been destroyed, Captain,” Lieutenant Poitiers reported. “Seven more are significantly damaged.”
And they switched their targeting to any ship trying to open a vortex for the freighters, Jackie thought. Sweat was trickling down her back. The squadron was pinned in place, unable to either run or fight. They’re going to smash us like bugs.
“Orders from the flag,” Lieutenant Sanders called. “The freighters are to scatter!”
“Adjust our fire and ECM decoys to cover,” Jackie ordered. Some of the freighters would get away. The Theocrats simply didn’t have enough ships to chase them down before they powered up their vortex generators or made it to the planet. “And stand by energy weapons.”
The enemy ships drew closer, their weapons blazing furiously. They were damaged; one of the superdreadnoughts was leaking atmosphere but still operational. Jackie knew it was only a matter of time until they entered energy range and then . . . no battlecruiser ever designed could stand and trade knife-range blows with a superdreadnought. Her shields wouldn’t last long, certainly not long enough to let her inflict the sort of damage that might slow the enemy down. Unless . . .
Lieutenant Poitiers raised his voice. “Captain, Crescent has been destroyed!”
Jackie cursed under her breath. The commodore was dead. The datanet shivered, nearly coming apart before recovering. She mentally kicked herself for not demanding that they worked more on squadron operations. Losing the datanet, even for a
