Star Wars_ The Black Fleet Crisis 03_ Tyrant's Test - Michael P. Kube-McDowell [92]
“Our CM-nines should reach the target in eight seconds,” the tracking officer reported. “Bomber escorts have broken off—bombers are launching their missiles now. Confirming release of an egg from Black One—confirming release of an egg from Black Two—”
Something struck Vanguard astern with so much force that the tactical officer was knocked to his hands and knees and Inadi was thrown hard against the plot table.
“Missile impact,” the damage control officer called out.
“Everything’s dead back of section forty,” the systems officer reported.
“Engines two, four, and six are gone,” said the helmsman. “Thrust now at one quarter and falling.”
Inadi stared at the plot table as two more fast-moving blips closed on her vessel. “Get to the pods,” she said hoarsely. “All stations, abandon ship—abandon ship—”
Her answer was a roaring sound, darkness, a fierce light, and, finally, silence.
* * *
Hovering five thousand meters above the barren, pitted surface of ILC-905’s third planet, Esege Tuketu and the other members of Red Flight watched the flashes of light overhead as they waited impatiently for their chance.
The order to stand off had come just as they had begun climbing toward the shipyard for their attack run. “Hold your position until we have the results of the attacks underway,” said the tactical officer. “I need something in reserve, and you’re it.”
“They’d better leave some for us,” Skids said over the bomber’s cockpit comm on hearing their instructions. “We come back with the racks full and no scratches on the paint, and we’ll never hear the end of it.”
Tuketu said nothing. His eye had been drawn by the first of several brilliant explosions, above and portside of them. “That was an egg,” he said, marking the distinctive pure white color of the flash. “And another.”
The third explosion was different—smaller and yellower at first, but longer-lived, and larger and redder at its peak. As it started to fade, there was another series of flashes at nearly the same spot in the sky—three small blue-white flashes, then a blood-red irregular billow.
When Tuketu looked back at his tracking display, both the trailing thrustship and Vanguard had disappeared.
“What was all that?” Skids demanded. “Did we get one, Tuke?”
“Yeah,” said Tuketu. “And so did they.”
Both the successful attack on the second thrustship and the loss of Vanguard went nearly ignored on the bridge of Indomitable. The focus was the last few seconds of Blue Flight’s dive toward the shipyard.
“Two thousand meters to shield boundary,” said the tactical officer. “Fighters are pulling out. Fifteen hundred. One thousand. Confirming release on Blue One—oh, blast, where’d he come from? Negative release on Blue Three. Somebody got ’im.”
A Yevethan fighter streaking across at right angles to the attack vector had fired on Blue Three, first crippling it and then colliding with the debris. That tiny explosion was swallowed moments later by the detonation of Blue One’s egg.
“Find out if the shields are down,” Brand said grimly.
“Battery four, give me three bursts on the secondary target.”
The laser bolts expended themselves uselessly against nothingness. The shields were still intact.
“Commodore, maybe the thrustship that’s docked there is protecting it.”
“No ship that size produces a shield envelope that large,” Brand argued. “How did we take out the other ship?”
“Battle analysis says that Vanguard and Black Flight hit that Fat Man with seven CM-nines and ten CM-fives in the seconds before the first egg cracked. That must have pushed the shields close to their limit.”
“Close to their limit,” Brand repeated, then stabbed a finger at the plot table, pointing at the thrustship attached to the shipyard. “What’s the standard radius of an Imperial particle shield?”
“Two hundred meters.