Halo_ The Fall of Reach - Eric Nylund [77]
“Welcome aboard, Ensign Lovell.” Captain Keyes returned his salute, surprised that the unkempt officer could demonstrate such crisp adherence to military protocol. “Man the navigation console, please.”
The bridge officers scrutinized the Ensign. It was highly unusual for such a low-ranking officer to pilot a capital ship. “Sir?” Lovell wrinkled his forehead, confused. “Has there been some mistake, sir?”
“Youare Ensign Michael Lovell? Recently posted on theArchimedes Remote Sensor Outpost?”
“Yes, sir. They pulled me off that duty so quick that I—”
“Then man your station, Ensign.”
“Yes, sir!”
Ensign Lovell sat at the navigation console, took a few seconds to acquaint himself with the controls— then reconfigured them more to his liking.
A slight smile tugged at the corner of Keyes’ mouth. He knew that Lovell had more combat experience than any Lieutenant on the bridge, and was pleased that the Ensign adapted so quickly to unfamiliar surroundings.
“Show me the fleet’s position and the relative location of the enemy, Ensign,” Keyes ordered.
“Aye, sir,” Lovell replied. His hands danced across the controls. A moment later, a system map snapped into place on the main screen. Dozens of small triangular tactical markers showed Admiral Stanforth’s fleet massing between Sigma Octanus IV and its moon. It was a sound opening position. Fighting in orbit around Sigma Octanus IV would have trapped them in the gravity well—like fighting with your back to a wall.
Keyes studied the display—and frowned. The Admiral had moved the fleet into a tightly packed grid formation. When the Covenant fired their plasma weapons at them, there would be no maneuvering room.
The Covenant was moving in-system quickly. Captain Keyes counted twenty radar signatures. He didn’t
like the odds. “Receiving orders,” Lieutenant Dominique said. “Admiral Stanforth wants theIroquois at this location ASAP.”
On the map, a blue triangle pulsed on the corner of the grid formation. “Ensign Lovell, get us there at best speed.” “Aye, sir,” he replied. Captain Keyes fought down a wave of embarrassment; theCradle stardock started to pull ahead of
theIroquois . It took up a position directly over the Admiral’s phalanx formation. The refit station
rotated, presenting its edge to the incoming Covenant fleet to show them the smallest target area. “Rotating and reversing burn,” Ensign Lovell said. TheIroquois spun about and slowed. “Thrusters to station keeping. We’re locked in position, sir.”
“Very good, Ensign. Lieutenant Hikowa, divert as much power as you need to get those MAC guns charged.”
“Aye, sir,” Hikowa replied. “Capacitors charging at maximum rate.” “Captain,” Lieutenant Dominique said. “We’re receiving an encrypted firing solution and countdown timers from theLeviathan ’s AI.”
“Transfer that vector to Lieutenant Hikowa and show me on screen.”
A line appeared on the tactical map, connecting theIroquois to one of the incoming Covenant frigates. The firing timer appeared in the corner: twenty-three seconds. “Now show me the entire fleet’s firing solutions, Lieutenant Dominique.” A web of trajectories crossed the map with tiny countdown times next to each. Admiral Stanforth had
the fleet exchanging fire with the Covenant like a line of Redcoats and colonial militia in the
Revolutionary War—tactics that could best be described as bloody . . . or suicidal. What the hell was the Admiral thinking? Keyes studied the displays, trying to divine a method to his commanding officer’s madness . . . then he understood. Risky, but—if it worked—brilliant.
The fleet’s firing countdowns were roughly timed so that the shots would be staggered into two, maybe three, massive salvos. The first salvo would—hopefully—knock out