Angles of Attack (Frontlines #3)(47)

The engineering officer hesitates for just a second before flicking to a different screen on his control panel and punching several controls in sequence.

“Aye, sir. Emergency release initiated.”

A shudder goes through the hull as explosive charges blow out Indy’s docking receptacles and eject them from her hull. This is an emergency measure that I’ve not seen used in five years of fleet service. Once the mating points for the standard docking clamps are torn from the hull, Indy won’t be able to dock with any station again. Fitting new receptacles to the hull requires a fleet yard visit and a complete hull overhaul.

“Helm, set thrusters full speed astern. Tear us loose.”

“Full astern, aye,” the helmsman acknowledges.

Major Renner brings up the tactical orb on the holotable. With the station taking up all the space in front of us, our field of view is limited to the hemisphere behind us.

“Murphy is moving into intercept position, sir.”

The blue icon representing the destroyer is less than three kilometers astern and above us. Their acceleration is slow, but at this range, they don’t have to go hard on the throttle to be on top of us in a minute, and there’s not a weapon on the Murphy that can’t reach us even from three klicks away.

“Indianapolis, power down your propulsion and your active sensors and return to your berthing spot immediately, or we will open fire.”

“Testy,” Colonel Campbell says. “No reply, comms. Crank up all the active gear.”

“Distance from station fifty meters,” the helmsman calls out. “Seventy-five. One hundred.”

“As soon as we are clear, go to negative zero-four-five by zero-zero and hit the burners,” Colonel Campbell orders.

“Active fire control radar,” the tactical officer warns. A warning sound chirps on his console. “They are locking on to us. Murphy is opening forward missile tubes, sir.”

“Fucking maniacs,” Major Renner says. “We’re too close. To them and the station.”

“Go hot on the jammers and the CIWS,” Colonel Campbell shouts.

“Missile launch! Vampire, vampire. Two birds—”

On the tactical display, two inverted V shapes detach from Murphy’s icon and race toward the center of the plot. The flight time is ludicrously short. I don’t even have time to swallow hard before both missiles have covered the distance. One of them disappears just a fraction of a second before it reaches the center of the plot. The other streaks past Indy. I can’t hear the explosion in front of the ship, but the blast’s shock wave jolts the ship backwards.

“They hit the station,” the tactical officer shouts. “Impact on Independence. CIWS got the other one.”

“Give me a forward view. Guns, get a firing solution with the rail gun.”

“Target acquired,” the gunnery officer says. “They’re rolling ship to bring their own rail gun to bear.”

“Don’t let ’em. Weapons free. Hit the sensor array in the bow, make ’em blind. If they roll around enough to unmask their gun mount, you shoot it right off that shit bucket.”

“Aye, sir. Weapons free.”

Murphy is shadowing us from behind and above, which means that her dorsal gun mount is on the wrong side of the ship to engage us. Indy’s gunnery officer takes ruthless advantage of that mistake. As Murphy rolls around and coasts toward us, Indy’s rail gun pumps out three rapid shots in one-second intervals. The tactical officer brings up the optical feed just in time for us to see the kinetic projectiles tear into the nose of the aging destroyer, sending armor shards flying. Murphy shudders visibly under the hammer blows. Rail guns aren’t useful at longer ranges or against heavily armored ships, but not even the titanium hull plating of the destroyer can stand up to kinetic shot at point-blank range.

“Ship is clear of the berth!”

“Come to new heading negative zero-four-five by zero-zero, ahead flank,” the colonel orders. “Hang on to something, everyone.”

I don’t need the invitation. I renew my death grip on the rail with my good hand as Indy’s bow thrusters fire and pitch her nose sharply downward. The thrum-thrum-thrum of the fusion propulsion system going from idle to full thrust reverberates through the hull. Murphy is halfway through her 180-degree roll to give her rail gun a field of fire, and our gunnery officer fires three more shells. One goes over Murphy’s hull and screams off into space. The second hits the side of the hull at a steep angle, and the projectile ricochets off the armor. The third round hammers right into the armored rail gun mount. There’s the puff of an impact and then a soundlessly expanding cloud of metal debris. Then the mass of the station intersperses itself between the optical sensor and Murphy as we pass underneath Independence.

“Good shooting, Guns,” Colonel Campbell says. “Keep the jammers running. Let’s keep the station between us and them for as long as we can. Tactical, give me a plot.”

The tactical officer expands the scan range of the holotable display. There are a handful of blue icons around Independence, most of them sitting still in station berths. Other than Indy and Murphy, three more ships are under way in the vicinity, but none are on an intercept course.

“Helm, make your new course positive zero-four-zero by negative zero-zero-three. Follow the spine of the station. Stay on the throttle.”