Star Wars_ The Black Fleet Crisis 03_ Tyrant's Test - Michael P. Kube-McDowell [90]
“Pull the screen back,” he snapped. “There’s nothing out there they can help us with right now.”
Before the fighters could respond, a third fighter exploded just off the starboard shield boundary. It was like having a bomb go off at close proximity—the cruiser shuddered, and its shields glowed a pale yellow under the assault, signifying a momentary softening at that spot. But the shield firmed up quickly, and the remaining interceptors survived to slip behind the cruiser and hide in its shield shadow.
“Commodore,” the tactical officer said quietly.
Brand looked up. “What?”
“We’re not getting through the Fat Man’s shields. Vanguard isn’t doing any better. We may have to redirect the bombers.”
“No,” Brand said, shaking his head. “The shipyard is the priority target.”
“Commodore, Vanguard’s taking a beating. We have to get her some help now.”
The cruiser shuddered around them. “Retarget Green Flight,” Brand said reluctantly.
By that time, the lead Yevethan vessel had discovered the flights of bombers trying to slip past. As though contemptuous of the cruiser’s ability to harm it, the thrustship diverted its attention to the smaller ships, picking off two X-wings and a K-wing almost immediately. Moments later, it began to launch its own fighters.
“Brand to all batteries—target those hostile fighters! Pick ’em up where they clear the shields.”
“Target is launching missiles,” the tactical officer said, drawing a deep breath. “Six—eight—ten articles, all tracking this way.”
There were more than twenty fast-firing, fast-tracking antimissile octets arrayed around Indomitable’s hull, and those that had a firing solution immediately began filling the missiles’ projected path with a cloud of high-velocity metal shrapnel. When the missiles and the cloud met, spectacular flowers of red and yellow fire blossomed silently in the vacuum. But four missiles burst through the bouquet like angry insects, and three survived to slam in close succession against the cruiser’s shield perimeter.
The bridge lights dimmed as the ship rocked under Brand’s feet. “Trading punches,” Brand said. “Arm and fire six, count ’em, six CM-nines. All batteries stand by to target the points of impact. Helm, move us closer.”
Within seconds, launchers on both flanks of the cruiser spat out the high-velocity concussion missiles. They looped toward the thrustship on individual, indirect flight profiles meant to make them harder to intercept.
“Number three particle-shield generator is off-line—we now have zero reserve capacity,” said the tactical officer. “I count eleven Yevethan fighters under way. Green Flight has lost five fighters and two bombers. Blue Flight has lost three fighters and one bomber. Red Flight—”
A brilliant flare of light flooded the bridge, drawing Brand’s eyes to the forward viewscreen. “Was that an egg?”
“Yes,” said the tac officer. “Negative on target. That was Green Two—he must have armed it early, and it blew up under him. Lost three fighter signals at the same time.”
“Damn.”
“Commodore, Blue Flight has broken through and is making an attack run on the shipyard.” Pointing to the middle of the plot table, the tactical officer identified the two small blue triangles moving toward the red rectangle that was the yard.
Brand nodded grimly and studied the plot. “Good. We’re running short of pieces,” he said. “Send Black Flight to help Vanguard. We can’t afford to lose that one.”
The orbital shipyard the Imperial Navy had called Black Nine was unarmed but not unprotected. In addition to the collision shields needed by any space-based complex, it was equipped with ray and particle shields comparable to those of a Star Destroyer.
Its guardian thrustships, Tholos and Rizaron, more than made up for the yard’s offensive deficiencies. In addition to eight main batteries, each