The more he thought about it, the more it seemed a possible scenario, even a likely one. It explained all that he was seeing. It wasn’t difficult to imagine a scenario where the warriors had set certain terms as an uncrossable line. This far, and no farther, he imagined they had said, or something of the sort.

  He wondered if they should have tried to negotiate, perhaps made some minor concessions to attempt to reach agreement. Could that have succeeded, or would the Rim warriors have used any refused change at all as an excuse to commence hostilities? They were courageous, he couldn’t believe they thought they had a chance. Was this a last gesture, a choice among the Rim militaries to face death in battle over capitulation.

  If so, it would be a terrible loss. Ilius had no doubt, some of the Rim’s very best was on those ships.

  And now, he would have to kill them all.

  Perhaps this is what raw determination looks like at the end. Is there a place where relentless, admirable courage morphs inescapably into suicidal insanity?

  If the enemy came on as they were doing, if they met Colossus, and the rest of the Hegemony fleet, head on, Ilius had no doubt about the final result. The cost might be high, though if Colossus could devastate the enemy formation before their ships moved into their own firing range, perhaps losses could be kept to a minimum. Either way, however, the clash looming in the Lyra system looked very much like it would be the final battle.

  Is it possible? Could this really be the end of the war, or at least the beginning of the end, a conclusion brought about not by the enemy’s surrender, but by a desperate, last-ditch, almost suicidal assault provoked by that very peace offer? Have the Rim warriors decided they have no chance? Have they chosen death above surrender?

  He felt some hesitation, second thoughts about killing so many noble enemies. But that wasn’t his decision, nor even Chronos’s. It was the enemy’s. He couldn’t stop them from advancing, from attacking. He could only destroy them if they did.

  He would do it, of course, with as much quiet competence as he possessed. But he would regret it, deeply.

  “All fighter wings are to commence launch operations and move to engage the approaching Rim squadrons.”

  ‘Yes, Commander.” The response was immediate, precise. His people were well-trained, as were all Hegemony Kriegeri, but in his weeks in command of Colossus, he’d whipped them into a shape they’d never imagined. Ilius had never been one to suffer fools, but six years of war had hardened him into an irresistible instrument, a weapon of pure iron. And he had ordained that those entrusted with the Hegemony’s great superweapon would excel at all times.

  “Send a communique to Commander Chronos on Hegemony’s Glory. Advise him we request immediate fleet support against the approaching enemy attack.” Ilius had almost decided to forego requesting reinforcements, but his cold rationality won out over pointless pride. He couldn’t risk Colossus being seriously damaged, and as unlikely as that eventuality might have seemed, it was even less of a prospect if the full fleet was engaged alongside the behemoth. He was not going to underestimate the enemy. Not now. Not when the end was finally in sight.

  It was time. Time for the final battle.

  * * *

  “The stealth unit is working perfectly, Admiral…and as far as I can tell from the passive scans, the other ships are all securely cloaked.”

  “Very well, Captain. That’s good news.” Clint Winters glanced down at the comm unit as Anya Fritz’s voice came through. Winters was glad to have the legendary engineer with him, though he was still surprised Barron had agreed and allowed her to join the attack force. That reluctant call hadn’t had much to do with his part of the operation, getting the Marines to Colossus.

  But assuming he got his ships through and managed to dock with Colossus, Bryan Rogan and his Marines were going to have to find the reactors or something else vital, and they were going to have to do it quickly, and in the face of resistance from the Kriegeri inside. Anya Fritz was there to aid them in that effort, to evaluate the Colossus’s innards, and try to find the antimatter storage or the power plants or some type of volatile weapons magazine. It was wildly dangerous, but Fritz was a veteran, just like Winters and Barron and the rest of the key Confederation officers. She knew what was at stake, and she’d insisted Barron allow her to go. In the end, Winters decided, Barron simply hadn’t been able to refuse her. There was no one in the fleet more likely to sniff out some kind of vulnerability inside Colossus than Fritz.

  He appreciated Fritz’s dedication, even as the escort ship moved slowly toward its target. He doubted even she could intervene quickly enough if the stealth unit failed—and there was absolutely nothing she could do to ensure the other eleven continued to remain operational. There was no doubt in his mind he enemy scanners would be banging away at full power, and it wouldn’t take more than a brief failure of the stealth generator for Colossus to lock on and blast the small transport to dust. The strike force was well into the superbattleship’s range envelope, and staying hidden was the only defense his people had.

  The only chance they had.

  He looked up at the display, watching the fleet move up behind his small force. He’d discussed the tactic with Barron, the idea of sending everything in, creating a massive distraction to draw as many eyes as possible from the hidden troopships. It was wild, reckless, and if the fleet was actually forced to engage while Colossus was still operational, it would be a bloodbath.

  But anything that increased the chance of getting the troopships in was worth almost any risk.

  The fleet’s approach was one more pressure point, another need to push Rogan’s Marines, to drive them to find Colossus’s weakness quickly, and to exploit it before the great ship destroyed the entire fleet.

  Winters had reviewed the plan a hundred times, the boarding action as well as the withdrawal and extrication of the Marines after they’d planted their explosives. He had played along with that last part, as everyone involved had, but he didn’t think any of them, Marines or his own spacers, really believed they were coming back. He couldn’t imagine a situation where the Kriegeri would allow Rogan’s people to plant their explosives and then leave them on timers while they pulled back. No, if the Marines made it to some vital location, they would no doubt end up surrounded there, and forced to detonate the charges they had planted, killing themselves, and just maybe, Colossus.

  They were all very likely on a one-way mission. The Marines, certainly, and probably Winters and his spacers as well. He couldn’t imagine a scenario where he would leave Rogan’s people while there was any hope of their escape…and it didn’t seem likely he’d get any advance warning when the Marines were forced to detonate their bombs.

  That assumes the Kriegeri don’t just smash their way aboard and kill us all, or that we can escape from the blast radius quickly enough, even if this whole crazy effort succeeds.

  Winters knew, with something very close to cold certainty, there was no way out, despite what they’d all been telling themselves.

  And, if he was going to die, if all the Marines and spacers with him were going to die, he’d be damned if it would be for no reason. They were going to take that damned thing down with them…and then Tyler and the fleet could fight their own desperate battle. The odds wouldn’t be much better there, but with Colossus gone, they’d have at least some kind of chance.

  Winters had decided to tell himself that, anyway. If he had to die, above all things, he wanted it to be for something, and not for nothing.

  * * *

  “Interceptor squadrons, you all know what to do. Veterans, I know it’s been a long time since you’ve been in a dogfight, but some things stay with you for life. Just open your minds, let the reflexes come back, and you’ll rip through these green bastards like a scythe through straw. And, those who haven’t fought enemy fighters before, follow the lead of the pilots who have. Stay sharp, focused, and you’ll come through fine.” Stockton knew that last part was the purest bullshit. He was going to lose a lot of pilots in the next few hours no matter what happened.

  But the enemy is going to lose more. A lot more.

  He glanced down at the small screen, watching as Colossus’s fighter wings formed up and began moving toward his squadrons. He let out a small sigh, a show of relief that none of the other Hegemony ships had launched any interceptors. He’d been uncertain, hopeful that Colossus was the only enemy ship that carried fighters. It looked like his people were going to catch a break on that.

  One more reason to fight it out here, to win or die now. If we give the enemy more time, they’ll retrofit their battleships to carry fighters. They’ll overwhelm us, strip us of our only advantage. Stockton didn’t want to die, but given a choice between a slow, inevitable decline and a swift death fighting to the end, he knew the route he would pick.

  He watched as the enemy formation approached. He still had more total ships than the Hegemony force, though half his birds were outfitted as bombers. His interceptors were outnumbered maybe three to two, and they had to defend the bombers as well as themselves. But Stockton had never allowed the numbers to get to him. The Confederation had faced larger Union forces again and again, and they had won more fights than they’d lost. They could do it again.

  His eyes narrowed as a line of enemy interceptors moved toward his position. The Hegemony rockets were a potent weapon, and he knew they would hit his wings hard. But the missiles on his Confederation ships were longer-ranged. They’d get the first shot. They’d draw first blood.

  “We’re moving up to missile range…I want all of you to stay sharp, check and double check those fire locks. You’ve got two missiles, and that means I expect you to take out two enemy ships. Anybody who misses, you can forget about the enemy…you’d better worry about dealing with me when we’re done here.”

  Stockton reached out as he spoke, arming his own missiles. His eyes darted around, searching for potential targets. He was the Confederation’s number one ace, both among those still active, and in its entire history. His two hundred four kills had long made him a legend in the fighter corps, though he knew many of the pilots now flying lacked any real perspective on the fighter against fighter duels that had been the heart of the service for so long.

  They’ll come to understand it, though. Our monopoly is gone, and anybody who wants to survive this war is going to learn—or relearn—dogfighting.

  He blasted his thrusters hard, pushing his fighter out in front of the formation. It was a foolhardy move, and he would have skinned one of his pilots alive for trying it. But he needed to lead his people, to set the example, even if that meant facing almost two thousand oncoming enemy fighters, alone for a few seconds.

  He brought his ship around, adjusting his sights, setting his first target lock. He could see warning lights all over his dashboard, enemy rocket launches. Good…fire your rockets too soon. The more of them you waste, the fewer you’ll have to fire at my pilots.

  He pressed the firing stud, letting his first missile fly, even as he jammed the throttle hard to the side, modifying his vector, and bringing himself well out of the approach angles of the closest oncoming rockets. The weapons would adjust their own courses, he knew, and pursue him, but he’d watched the Hegemony rockets closely at Santara, and he’d assessed their capabilities. Most of them were going to run out of fuel before they could get to him.

  Hegemony science was impressive, and on the whole, superior to that of the Confederation. But the anti-fighter rockets were still rough, their thrust capacities and onboard AIs not quite up to snuff. At least not against a pilot with two hundred four kills.

  He jerked his hand wildly back and forth, changing the angles of his thrust and, he imagined, giving splitting headaches to the green Hegemony pilots trying to target him.

  He was putting on a show as well, one intended to motivate his people, to inspire them and bolster their confidence. It would work, no doubt, and almost as certainly, it would drive some of his people too far, encourage them into situations beyond their abilities. It would kill some of them, perhaps a lot of them. But Stockton knew what was at stake just then, and anything he could do to distract the enemy, to keep eyes off the cloaked strike force, was worthwhile.

  Whatever the cost.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Colossus

  Lyra System

  Year of Renewal 266 (321 AC)

  “We’ve got multiple hull breaches, Commander. Confirmed. Sections AZ-219 and AZ-220.”

  Ilius listened to the report, struggling to understand what was happening as the words hit him, seeming almost to make no sense. His first thought was the enemy had somehow launched another stealth attack, and this time gotten their warheads close enough to damage Colossus. He’d felt a brief wave of panic, quickly contained, without, he was fairly certain, any external signs. After a few tense seconds passed with no indications of major explosions, no damage reports, he knew his fears had groundless. If the enemy had managed to drive high-yield warheads into Colossus’s hull, he would know it. The great ship would be damaged, its hull lurching wildly from the blasts. It might even be destroyed. But there was nothing.

  Still, something was happening.

  “Concentrate local scans on the exterior of affected areas. Order fighter wing eight to break off from attack formation and investigate.” Ilius could feel the tension, the caustic worry. He’d come to respect the enemy’s abilities, and he didn’t like what was happening. He didn’t like it one bit.

  “Yes, Commander.” The officer snapped out his commands, passing them on.

  Almost immediately after the aide had finished, he added, “Dispatch Kriegeri strike teams to the affected sectors, and all adjoining ones. Full combat gear. I want on the scene reports of any incursions or hull damage.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  Ilius’s mind raced. If the enemy had gotten warheads past Colossus’s scanners, they wouldn’t wait long before detonating them. They would have done that already. And the scanners would have picked up any escape boats as soon as they cleared the stealth fields. Massive nukes were a deadly threat, even to Colossus, but Ilius had ordered the scanners honed to detect radiation and heavy elements, and focused with even greater intensity than he’d employed at Tellurus. They hadn’t detected a thing.

  Maybe they developed some kind of shielding…

  He shook his head. In the few weeks since Tellurus? No, that’s not it. If they got that close, they’re not carrying heavy nukes. But, what then?

  He didn’t know what was happening, but he was sure it was something. “Advise Kriegeri team commanders, I want reports on anything. If they think they hear something—anything—they are to report it directly to me. Is that understood?”

  “Understood, Commander.” The officer repeated Ilius’s command into his comm. Then the Kriegeri turned back. “Preliminary scanner results negative, Commander. No sign of…” The man paused and looked back at his workstation. Then he turned toward Ilius, a stunned look on his face. “Commander, we have internal alarms triggered in affected sections. The AI is reporting enemy soldiers aboard, in corridors AZR-316, AZR-317, AZR-440, AZR-441…”

  The officer continued with his report, but Ilius already knew. He couldn’t understand how it had happened, or the audacity such an insane effort had required. But he had no doubt.

  The enemy had boarded Colossus.

  * * *

  “Move out, now. Sergeant Till, get your squad down to the end of that corridor and set up a defensive position covering the perpendiculars. Sergeant Harris, your platoon is responsible for protecting Captain Fritz. You follow her wherever she goes, and make damned sure I know where you are at all times.” Rogan paused for a moment, looking behind him and catching his comm officer shaking her head as he did. Whatever material Colossus was constructed from—and it looked like some kind of metal the Marine had never seen before—it seemed to play havoc with scanners and communications. He turned back toward Harris and added, “Send runner back if you have to, but I need to know your status at all times.”

  He hated the idea of letting Anya Fritz loose, running around the enemy superbattleship with a single platoon of Marines all that was standing between her and whatever Kriegeri were out there. But there was no choice. If the engineer couldn’t find someplace vulnerable, a spot where his Marines could position their meager explosives, where they could cause enough of a chain reaction to cripple or destroy Colossus, the mission was doomed. He would have led her, and all his Marines, to their deaths for no gain.

  If he was sure of one thing, it was that the tiny explosives his people had been able to bring weren’t going to take out, or seriously damage, a sixty-kilometer long spaceship.

  Not unless they were placed under a reactor or next to an antimatter storage unit.

  Rogan knew he was on a suicide mission, or at least that few of his people were likely to get off Colossus alive. Failure almost certainly meant death for all, but even if he succeeded, if Fritz found what they were looking for and his people placed their bombs where they needed to be…how long could he really wait before detonating them? Could he risk giving the enemy time to find and disarm them while his people raced back to their ships?

  He knew the answer, but there was no point worrying about it, not until his people found what they were looking for. If Colossus was under-crewed, if the manpower shortages the intel reports had noted were real, just maybe they had a chance. Perhaps he was reaping the gain from facing so many Kriegeri on Megara. Those deadly battles, the terrible losses his Marines had suffered, might hurt just a bit less if they proved to be the key to destroying Colossus. If the massive ship had been fully-crewed, Rogan knew his Marines would have been overrun already. He had no conclusive proof, but he was convinced the intel on he manpower shortages was completely accurate.