“What are you going to do?” she scowled.

  “I think that we’ll start with two very overdue funeral services. You may take her.” Then he remembered something. “Also, the husband’s in the temple somewhere. Find him and arrest him.”

  *

  The last salvo of missiles had hit The Naked Spur hard. One of the repair crews, having suited up, had assumed that they were safe and so had only moved back a short distance when the attack had begun. Unfortunately, an enemy missile had struck one of the magazine stores, sending a fireball tearing through the compartment they’d been sheltering in.

  Kerrigan had decreed that it was too dangerous to send in a rescue crew and from the surveillance cameras it looked as if it was unlikely that anyone would have survived.

  Winterson had been impressed with the way the captain had handled the situation, resisting the obvious knee jerk reaction in favor of a more measured response. And it couldn’t have been an easy decision to make, abandoning a team like that, but this was warfare and Winterson was sure that there were tougher decisions to come.

  He waited until Kerrigan had finished dealing with all the fire-fighting concerns before pinging him over a message. Winterson watched as Kerrigan read it, took a calming breath and then turned to face his superior.

  “This next attack is going to be worse, you know that don’t you?” Winterson said.

  Kerrigan nodded. “They know we’re coming. And they’re going to do everything in their power to try and stop us. I’ve held back my decoys for just this moment.”

  “Good. Anything else?”

  “Weps has managed to link them up so I’m hoping that we’ll be able to mount a field of fire which will be able to capitalise on our ECM range. It won’t last forever but I’m hoping it’ll be enough to disorientate the bulk of their missiles. If we can detect the frequencies of their homing systems quickly enough, we’ve got a decent chance of jamming them.”

  “Though we won’t get all of them,” Winterson said.

  “Which is why we’re holding back with our lasers ‘til the very last second.”

  “They’d better be good.”

  “They’re better than good,” Kerrigan said bullishly. “And that last attack really helped them sharpen their teeth.”

  “Understood,” Winterson looked at his own tactical display which seemed very lavish after what he’d been working with back in the medibay. He could see Tyr’s missiles racing towards them and quickly checked the range. They wouldn’t have long to wait.

  “And once we come through all this?” Winterson said. “Assuming that we do. What then?”

  “Well, sir, I’ve been looking at Commander Vincenzi’s data. And what Hudson managed to achieve with the enemy’s particle shields is starting to look very impressive.”

  “You’re talking about forcing another breach?”

  Kerrigan shook his head. “We want to hit the exact same areas that were targeted last time. We have reason to believe that they’re more likely to fail.”

  “Okay, but that would prove problematic at this distance. The main reason why Hudson was so successful was because they were able to get in at close quarters and hit her repeatedly. There’s no way we can match that level of accuracy. Not from here.”

  “But, what if a ship was in the vicinity? Was able to act as our eyes? That would allow us to deliver a targeted strike at exactly the spot where they’re weakest.”

  Winterson thought about this. “Your targeting would still have to be impeccable. And, while it might work on paper, there’s a hundred and one reasons why it might fail in practice. Besides, I very much doubt that the Hudson is in a position to help us. Even if you did manage to contact her, she’s in no shape to …”

  “I’m not talking about the Hudson, sir,” Kerrigan blurted out.

  Winterson gave him a quizzical look. He wasn’t sure how he felt about this new, more resourceful version of Kerrigan.

  “But, surely, the Santiago will be heading back towards us by now?”

  “I’ve been in contact with Captain Marquez. He’s currently heading back in the opposite direction.”

  “Back towards Tyr?”

  Winterson was about to ask him who had authorised such a mad scheme but then he stopped himself.

  “Captain Marquez believes that if he can get close enough, he can highlight the two previous impact sites.”

  “How’s he going to do that?”

  “He’s going to ‘paint’ them using his lasers.”

  “But surely, if he does that …”

  Winterson didn’t finish what he was saying. He didn’t need to. They both knew what the consequences of such an action would be. As soon as the crew of Tyr realised what Marquez was up to, they wouldn’t hesitate.

  They’d destroy the Santiago.

  *

  There was nothing more for Winterson to do now but to watch as things unfolded. They’d gone over all the ways that it was possible for this to go wrong and so now it was just a question of whether the crew could actually pull this off.

  He waved a hand in front of his face to clear the air. Smoke was venting onto the bridge from somewhere and while the air scrubbers were doing their best, they seemed to be overwhelmed by the amount of smoke they were having to deal with.

  The last salvo from the Tyr had been far worse than any of them could have anticipated. While Kerrigan had waited until the last possible moment before firing his decoys they hadn’t been as effective as he’d hoped. For some reason no one was too sure about, the ECMs hadn’t been able to provide the large-scale blanket of white noise that they’d been hoping for. As a result, a number of missiles had been able to slip through the gaps. The unforeseen consequence of this was that The Naked Spur’s own point defences had been confused by the storm of ECM interference meaning that any number of point defence lasers had initially failed to fire and if it hadn’t been for a quick-thinking Petty Officer named Millington manually over-riding their safeties in order to bring them fully back on-line, the consequences could have been far worse.

  As it was, The Spur’s main shields had failed after the first detonation, allowing the missiles which did make it through to inflict maximum damage. Winterson hadn’t requested a damage report but was fairly certain that the whole front of the ship had been destroyed. Even the original bridge, where Winterson had been injured, had been badly hit. The overall level of damage meant that Kerrigan had been forced to close down vast areas of the ship cannibalising their existing energy and oxygen supplies in order to remain operational. He only needed to look at the screens to see how many parts of the ship had simply gone dark. It was a very dispiriting experience, even for him.

  He looked across at Vincenzi who was working over at Tactical helping them with last minute adjustments to their launch patterns. It was impressive the way that he could inveigle himself into any part of the ship, his wit and intelligence helping to placate all but the most combative crew members and, not for the first time, Winterson found himself wondering what kind of captain Vincenzi would have made should he have decided to go down that route.

  A thoroughly excellent one, he didn’t doubt.

  “How are things looking, Captain Kerrigan?”

  Kerrigan consulted his screen before replying.

  “Pretty tight, if I’m honest, sir. We’ve just had word that Tyr has launched another, larger salvo.”

  “I see!” Winterson was glad for once that he’d been spared the details. “How long have we got?”

  The unintended double meaning was lost on neither of them.

  “About twenty-five minutes, all told.”

  “And will that be enough? To get all our birds away?”

  “That’s what Commander Vincenzi’s working on right now. He thinks it will be, but I have to admit, we’ll be cutting it tight.”

  “So long as we get the first two waves away,” Winterson made a vague gesture in Tactical’s direction. “What’s holding them up?”

  “We’ve lost communication with Santiago, I’m afraid.”

  Winterson felt a wave of nausea roll through his gut.

  “What happened? Is she gone?”

  “Still there last time we looked. We’re not sure what’s going on. It could be that Tyr is blocking her signal.”

  Over in the far corner, Vincenzi raised an arm. “Santiago is in position and she’s painting the target for us. We’re gathering that information now.”

  “Looks like we’re ready,” Kerrigan said.

  The Tactical officer, turned to look at them, his face pale against his uniform. It would all fall to him in the end.

  “Captain. Requesting authorisation to fire.”

  Kerrigan took in a full breath and exhaled steadily before answering.

  “When you’re ready Tactical.”

  When he turned back to his team the man must have given some imperceptible signal because Winterson could hear the sound of the heavy launchers coming on-line.

  The sound of it had a visible effect on the crew who, resigned to their fate, had previously gone about their work in a fog of exhaustion. The promise of imminent action seemed to have changed all that, replacing grim acceptance with cold resolve. They were committed to this line of action now and they would see it through.

  Suddenly the consoles were flashing to finalise the new targeting schedules.

  The Tactical officer moved to his station where the central panel glowed red. After the briefest of pauses, he tapped it lightly to activate it.

  For several seconds nothing happened and then they were all aware of a growing rumble as their first salvo left the ship.

  Normally, it would have been near impossible to pick up a missile launch via the forward cameras but for some reason, the light must have fallen in such a way that they could see the deadly flicker of movement as the full complement of missiles surged towards their target a quarter of a million kilometres away.

  The missiles had only been flying for five minutes when Vincenzi came back to speak with him.

  “Bad news?”

  “I’m afraid so. We’ve just picked up a massive surge from one of their main energy mounts.”

  The Spur was too far away for even the most powerful laser to damage them at that range.

  Unless…

  “The Santiago?”

  “It doesn’t look good. We’ve been watching her fairly closely but, after that barrage… I’m afraid we’ve lost her.”

  Vincenzi winced as if he’d been struck.

  Winterson said, “I take it we’ve had no other contact with Marquez?”

  “No, sir. But now we’re thinking that might have been deliberate on his part. He’d cut his engines a good distance out in an attempt to reduce his profile so that he wouldn’t be picked up as an incoming threat. It seems to have worked. The Da’al only seemed to notice them once they started to paint the target.”

  “I see,” Winterson wanted to say more but realised that now wasn’t the time. He consciously locked those emotions away for later.

  There was a brief moment of tension when their salvo crossed over that of the Tyr’s. The enemy missiles were well outside their envelope, but there was still a vague chance that some of these might have been defensive missiles. And, if that had been the case, there was a very real chance that the Da’al would neutralise a large proportion of The Spur’s offensive capability at a stroke.

  As it transpired, that turned out not to be the case and the two waves crossed over one another without incident. The fact that those enemy missiles would shortly be targeting The Spur seemed, for the moment, the least of their concerns.

  It was several minutes before anyone spoke. Everyone knew what was at stake. If this first wave failed to make an impression, then there was every chance that Tyr’s shields would remain in place and that their subsequent missiles would all be wasted.

  Everything rested on this first strike.

  One of the ensigns in the Tactical section spoke briefly with a superior who stiffened before going over to his console to check his readings.

  “Our missiles have positive lock.”

  A ripple of excitement went around the bridge at that. Now they still had to trust that Vincenzi’s calculations would prove to be correct. Winterson glanced across at him but Vincenzi didn’t respond. The missiles would be making their final burn for the target.

  There was nothing more to be done.

  Winterson brought up the Infrared mode on his screen. While it lacked the detail some of the other screens that didn’t concern him particularly. He knew what he was looking for with the colors and that brought him a strange sense of calm.

  Someone yelped as the first missile hit home but all Winterson saw was a disappointing yellow bloom. The rest of the crew must have seen something similar because none of them reacted. Perhaps something had gone wrong. Detonated too early. These things happened.

  This was followed a few seconds later by a bigger explosion which registered as bright orange halo, bathing Winterson’s face in its reflected glow.

  After that, the screen flared again and again, the bright orange blossoms pierced with red at the centre and this seemed to go on for a very long time though, on reflection, it could have been no more than thirty seconds.

  The first sight of purple was no more than a pinprick. This had to be their most powerful warhead so far but it seemed to dwindle as soon as he’d noticed it but the next one was bigger and remained on the screen for slightly longer.

  And then they were blossoming everywhere. So diverse that Winterson couldn’t keep up.

  But then there was nothing. The close-up of Tyr’s superstructure still remained but there was no color blooms. Nothing.

  Winterson raised his head. The whole bridge seemed to have been frozen in time.

  “Captain, is there a processing malfunction?”

  He couldn’t believe how calm he sounded.

  It was the Tactical officer who answered.

  “No, admiral, you’re reading it correctly. They are down.”

  “What’s down?” Kerrigan snapped.

  “The shields, sir. They’re down. All of them.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Elina Saratova had just entered the cargo bay. But she’d had the foresight to bring a hostage who she was currently pointing a handgun at.

  Sergeant Markham.

  Saratova took in the semi-circle of women, her eyes resting briefly on Kate Marsh who was covered in Jeter’s blood. Then she looked at the bodies draped over the floor, one of whom was still moving.

  She pointed to the figure who had just rolled over onto its side.

  “That one’s still alive,” she said, reproachfully. “You really should finish what you’ve started.”

  “This is your mess,” LaCruz said. “You should clean it up.”

  She wasn’t actually looking at Saratova. She was too taken with Markham who looked almost unrecognisable. His hands were tied and he seemed to be having difficulty walking. His jaw was thick and swollen and he seemed to be missing a couple of teeth.

  They’d certainly given him a good going-over.

  “How many shots you got left?” Saratova asked looking at the revolver.

  “Enough.”

  “I doubt it. Not with a big slug-thrower like that. What does a thing like that hold? Six rounds? Something like that?”

  LaCruz gave a noncommittal shrug.

  “I’d say you’ve got, what? One, maybe two shots left. Except there are three of us,” Saratova indicated the two men who’d just followed her in. “Can’t kill us all.”

  She was trying to intimidate LaCruz. Get her confused. That way, if LaCruz did shoot, she’d be second-guessing herself and therefore much more likely to miss.

  “No, not all. But I could start with you.”

  Markham had only looked at her once and that had been a look of abject apology. But she couldn’t be angry with him.

  For a plan like this to work, they’d needed to act quickly. Maintain the element of surprise. And they hadn’t. They’d dawdled.

  Which was what had put them in this position in the first place.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Saratova said. “I think I’ve come up with a solution. One that will suit all of us.”

  “Yeah?” LaCruz said. “And what might that be? You and me put down our guns and just walk out of here? Open a petting zoo together? That kind of thing?”

  Saratova smiled. “That’s actually not a bad idea. But you couldn’t keep the animals cooped up like that. You’d have to let them roam free.”

  “Like the women here, you mean?”

  “Oh, come on,” Saratova said. “Business is business.”

  “Okay. So, what’s your plan?”

  Saratova looked across at Markham and then back at LaCruz.

  “Really, it’s very simple. I’m starting to think that I need a new Head of Security what with the old one having passed away so suddenly,” she inclined her gun in Jeter’s direction. “Seems like you can handle yourself. What do you say?”

  “You offering me a job?”

  “In a roundabout way, yes, I suppose I am. All I need from you is a demonstration of your good faith and then, it’s just a question of talking terms.”

  “Let’s go back to that ‘demonstration of good faith’ thing.”

  Saratova rolled her eyes to one side and waggled her pistol at Markham. “Oh, come on. You know.”

  “Okay, let me get this straight: you want me to shoot Sergeant Markham, here. As a test of my loyalty.”

  “That’s exactly right!”

  “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  Markham’s face fell.

  “Only thing is,” LaCruz continued. “Before I do, I just need to know one thing.”

  Saratova wrinkled her nose. “What is it?”

  LaCruz bobbed her head over in Kate Marsh’s general direction.

  “What’s the score with this one? Why is everyone so keen to keep her alive?”

  Saratova tried to look disinterested but failed. “Everyone?”

  “Yeah. Mr Albino here, he seemed to have taken a shine to her. This one here,” she kicked Deetz who visibly flinched. “She was keeping an eye out for her in the showers. I saw her. Even Markham, here. They’re all at it. What gives?”