The Honour of the Knights, Stephen J. Sweeney [reading women .txt] 📗

the bridge's lift, heading to the lower decks. Parks returned back to the mission still in progress, preparing to co-ordinate and delegate duties further when the time came.

“Beginning final approach,” the flight leader said.

Perhaps I've overestimated the Enemy, Parks thought, feeling his spirits lift. Maybe I can do this, after all...

“Target is live! Target is live!” the voice of the flight leader suddenly cried over the bridge's comms system, shattering Parks' illusions and bringing him back down with a crash. The stunned man strode to the very front of Griffin's bridge for a clearer view, feeling the need to look upon the battleship with his own two eyes, rather than rely on the carrier's cameras. The flight leader was not wrong. As lights on Dragon sprang back into existence, disbelief hit him full on.

“What the hell just happened?” Parks spun back around.

“Power has just returned to Dragon! All systems are fully active!” O'Donnell said, poring over his console's readouts. “Shields are returning... Weapons and engine systems are powering up!”

“Resend the code!” Parks said, fighting to keep the shock out of his voice.

O'Donnell's fingers raced across the console. “Dragon is rejecting it, sir!” he said after multiple attempts.

Parks flew to the man's side, leaning over the console display and seeing the multitude of errors that were greeting O'Donnell upon each unsuccessful attempt,

Authentication Failure

Permission Denied

PAM Error #80401

Connection Refused

Not Permitted

Invalid Security Code

Clearance Violation – This incident has been reported

“Abort! Abort!” the cries of the flight leader came once more over the bridge's comms system, accompanied by the noise of screaming computer systems, warning him of multiple weapon locks.

Parks watched as the man pulled out of his approach to Dragon, trying with all his might to shake off the battleship's targeting systems. All around him, other craft could be seen attempting the same. Parks caught sight of a massive turret swinging around to face the flight leader. His eyes shifted to another of the feeds, seeing, moments later, bright green bolts of plasma belch forth, striking those behind him, scoring critical hits on some, whilst obliterating others.

The half-dozen bolts become a veritable hail of fire, luminous bright green light flying in every direction, lighting dozens of surfaces on both Dragon herself and the allied forces.

“Pulling ba-” the flight leader began, before the audio became an ear splitting screech of static. The video tore, froze, and then shut off altogether. In another feed, Parks saw the damaged Rook wheel for a brief second before it exploded, unable to evade Dragon's cannons any longer.

The sound of loud voices spilled from the holographic links of the three other frontal carriers as they became a hive of noise, the captains barking new orders to their teams, instructing them to fall back and move out of weapons range. They, as he, all appeared stunned by the battleship's miraculous recovery.

Parks swallowed. This dragon had been watching them the whole time; it had just been pretending to sleep. And unless he was able to take back control of the operation that seemed to be falling apart in front of him, there was little doubt that the Enemy would not hesitate to turn the full power of the battleship against them.

He fought to realign himself and concentrate on falling back to attempting a forceful victory. With the absence of the frigates, it might just be possible. Just as he prepared to do so, his eyes were grabbed by one of the remaining three feeds... and his blood froze.

With the allied fighter squadron all but destroyed and its power restored, Dragon continued to turn, bringing its bow around to face Grendel, the closest of the allied vessels to it. All along Dragon's bow, locks and components began to release, shifting and docking into new positions. Gears engaged. A vertical seam appeared, running the length of the bow. The seam split, both sides moving aside, as if a great mouth were opening; the throat a cold, dark tunnel, leading to oblivion. Parks felt his own throat close up, as the implications of the move became all too clear: the Enemy were preparing to use the battleship's main gun.

Grendel had made little progress in its attempt to evade Dragon's attention, and as the enormous battleship brought itself around to face, Parks wished for nothing more than to be able to leap through the screen and pull them out of harm's way. But instead, he stood rooted to the spot. There was nothing he could do. Silverthorne was shouting orders, his image turned away in the projection. He then looked back and Parks saw terror in his eyes.

Had it not been for the fact that the man had turned grey during his early twenties, Parks may have thought that the predicament Silverthorne now faced was wholly responsible for his appearance. Parks stared at him, as he looked back in silence. The somewhat stone-faced man paled as he lowered his eyes to looked out of Grendel's frontal viewport.

“Edward...” Parks started, before his own eyes fell to Dragon's holographic feed. For a few seconds, the battleship's “throat” was lit by an intense violet hue. Then Dragon fired.

What looked like an enormous bright white ball leapt from the front of the Confederation battleship and hurtled towards Grendel at a staggering velocity, taking mere seconds to traverse the distance between the two vessels, where it struck it broadside on. A tremendous explosion followed, for an instant appearing brighter than the Sun and causing Parks to shield his eyes.

Silverthorne's feed died, the CSN insignia replacing it as it had done with the flight leader's. Parks blinked, staring out the front of his ship to where Grendel had once stood. One moment it was there and the next... nothing. Not a single piece of Grendel remained. All that could be seen was a shower of particles, that began to spread out and diminish, rippling as an invisible wave expanded behind them. The sea of debris that often followed the destruction of such a large vessel was nowhere to be seen.

“Oh dear God,” a shocked voice came. Parks saw that Mandeep was covering her mouth, her breathing coming short, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“Commodore.” It was Meyers. “We need to begin our counter-offensive as soon as possible. If we do... could... t... Spirit.” The signal broke up like a television signal in a thunderstorm. On one of the remaining feeds, Parks saw Leviathan buffeted by the expanding shock wave. “We cannot risk losing any more vessels to that cannon,” Meyers concluded.

Although Parks knew that it would be quite sometime before Dragon was able to muster the energy required to use such a weapon again, whilst it remained, the cannon was a formidable threat. He found himself in agreement with but one of Meyers' statements.

“Abort the mission!” he barked. “All ships, prepare to jump out of the system! Mr Davies, order the launch of all available fighters, to cover our retreat!” There was an unpleasant awareness that he was almost certainly condemning those men and women to death. But at this very moment, he had to follow protocol - and that meant that Griffin, Ifrit, and Leviathan came first.

He heard a console begin a frenzied jingle. “What's that?”

“Sir, jump point forming!” the operator responded.

Parks felt his stress level spike. “Where?”

“Stern, port side!”

* * *

Dodds halted in his departure from the bar, running to meet the call for pilots, as a brilliant flash lit the room, light reflecting off the windows and wooden furnishings. Many of the other occupants had already left, but he, as with his fellow Knights, had found it hard to tear his eyes off the scene beyond.

There had been applause when Dragon had been shut down, gasps upon its recovery, and then cries as it opened fire. Dodds had looked on in horror as the hail of green bolts, clear even from where Griffin stood, flew around in every direction, striking targets and triggering explosions as they fell. He saw then, as Chaz had said, the fighter's attempts at returning fire was but a token gesture at best, their weapons no match for the tough defences of the Confederation flagship.

“What's that?” Enrique stopped beside him, staring out the tall port side windows.

“Jump point!” Chaz said.

Dodds swore as he saw the bow of a large vessel come into view, accelerating out from the point and coming to bear right alongside them. An arrangement of four red triangles came into view; the insignia of the Imperial naval forces.

“It's one of the frigates!” Chaz added.

“Dear God, that thing's close!” Dodds staggered back. He was able to read the vessel's designation along the side, with no trouble whatsoever. Never in his life had he seen a manoeuvre such as this. The frigate was so close to them that it was - in astronavigational terms - within spitting distance. It could not have been four hundred meters from them, if that. One tiny error in its heading and the sides of both ships would have been touching.

But the frigate's heading was precise and its course put it perfectly in line with Griffin.

“No, no, no, no!” Dodds cried as the he saw cannons turn to face the carrier.

The words had not even left his mouth when the frigate opened fire, engaging its entire starboard battery at once and strafing the carrier's broadside. The first volley of fire was quick to cut down Griffin's shielding, leaving the salvo that followed free to slam into the unprotected hull of the ship and tear a gaping hole in the armour. There were cries from the crew as fires and explosions engulfed them, before several interconnecting corridors were then exposed to the vacuum of space. Emergency systems sprung into action and sealed off the affected areas, but not before several unfortunate personnel were jettisoned through the gap.

Griffin lurched violently and Dodds crashed to the floor, the air being forced out of his lungs. Kelly and Enrique fell down beside him. Of the few that remained in the bar, Chaz was the only one who managed to steady himself against the jolt. Dodds rolled onto his side to watch the frigate pass by. Its fat, cylindrical body reminded him of an assault rifle, the long shaft of a cannon affixed to the underside of the bow making suggestions of a bayonet.

Seconds later, a slew of starfighters joined it, streaking past the bar's windows. Dodds could only assume that they had all entered into the system together and hoped that there were not more jump points surrounding the carrier. He had no time to find out - the view became obscured by the closing blast screens, sealing off the vulnerable glass windows, in case they should shatter and expose the ship.

“You all right?” Enrique said, helping Kelly to her feet.

“Yeah,” Kelly said.

Dodds got up, seeing Chaz attending to another of the bar's occupants, who appeared to have suffered a more serious fall.

“Chaz,” he said, making his way over towards the body that was sprawled out across the floor.

“He's okay,” the big man looked around at him. “Just unconscious.”

“Simon - Estelle,” Kelly said.

“Yeah, we need to find her,” Dodds said and started towards the deck lift. “She may have been hurt.”

* * *

From the bridge of Dragon, Admiral Zackaria watched the ensuing carnage with no emotion. He was neither pleased nor displeased with what had occurred, only satisfied that the enemy were being destroyed.

To his second in command, Commodore Rissard, he ordered that Dragon should deploy her own fighters, to join the others that had just arrived with the frigate. Rissard acknowledged the request and followed the orders through.

All about Dragon's flight deck, feet ran to board waiting Imperial starfighters, the pilots dressed head to toe in black suits. Upon their heads they wore dark helmets, piercing ruby-red eyes shining like those of a vicious predator. Their movements were regimented, almost machine-like, and they all acted without question, nor hesitation, as they prepared for launch.

* * *

Parks pulled himself to his feet as others returned to their positions. He looked to the main viewport at the front of the bridge, to reassess the standings following the assault on his ship. He saw that the frigate was past them now, accelerating away to come to rest in between the three front-line carriers. The request for pilots was still ringing.

“Give me a damage report,” Parks said, glancing from the frigate to Dragon. Some information he did not need: he could see parts of his ship drifting away, bodies floating in amongst the wreckage, already dead and rigid in the cold. “Poor bastards.”

“Shields returning, some structural damage to the midsection. Weapons and other major systems have not been affected,” he was