The Lost Colony (Lost Starship Series Book 4) Read online

  SF Books by Vaughn Heppner

  DOOM STAR SERIES:

  Star Soldier

  Bio-Weapon

  Battle Pod

  Cyborg Assault

  Planet Wrecker

  Star Fortress

  Task Force 7 (Novella)

  EXTINCTION WARS SERIES:

  Assault Troopers

  Planet Strike

  Star Viking

  LOST STARSHIP SERIES:

  The Lost Starship

  The Lost Command

  The Lost Destroyer

  The Lost Colony

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  The Lost Colony

  (Lost Starship Series 4)

  by Vaughn Heppner

  Copyright © 2015 by the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the author.

  COUNTER-ATTACK

  -1-

  Admiral Fletcher felt the blood drain from his features. He clutched the armrests of his chair and heaved himself to his feet.

  “Excuse me,” he muttered.

  The admiral was a big man, and he was unsteady as he turned. His left leg brushed against the chair he’d been sitting on. As he fled the room, the chair went flying, skidding on its back to hit a glass case. Fortunately, nothing broke in the Lord High Admiral’s office. Not that Fletcher would have noticed.

  The admiral raced through the outer room. The secretary looked up, surprised and then confused, sputtering a few words.

  Fletcher kept going, his gaze unfocused. His feet thudded down the hall. He was shaking his head, muttering, “No, not again. I’ve done my duty. I…”

  “Sir,” an aide said, shooting to his feet.

  Fletcher never heard the man, crossing the lobby in seven swift strides. The admiral flexed his big fingers, wondering why he couldn’t feel them. With a crash, he burst through a door, shouldering a commodore out of the way, causing the smaller man to thud against a wall.

  Fletcher didn’t notice, but the bloodless feeling departed at the physical contact. Anger began to wash across his features.

  People who saw him stepped out of his way.

  Fletcher wasn’t sure about the actual path after that, he just kept moving. After pounding up several flights of stairs, he found himself on the roof of Star Watch’s High Command complex in Geneva.

  The Marines on the icy roof muttered among themselves. The lieutenant made a call, explaining the situation to someone. The man listened, nodded and dispersed his men, putting them back at their respective posts. They would leave the admiral alone.

  As Fletcher clutched the parapet, he gazed at the snow on the mountains. He only wore his uniform, beginning to feel the cold. He—

  A man beside him cleared his throat.

  Fletcher turned just enough to see that Lord High Admiral Cook stood beside him. The older man was bigger than he was, with a shock of white hair under his cap. Cook wore his dress uniform and a great coat over that, protecting him from the winter chill.

  “Can’t remember the last time someone just up and left in the middle of a meeting,” Cook said in his deep voice.

  Fletcher frowned, realizing he should apologize. Instead, he raised a hand, letting it make a small, useless circle in the air.

  “You’re my fire-breathing, fighting admiral,” Cook said.

  “I was,” Fletcher muttered, “before…before losing half my command in Caria 323.”

  He referred to a space battle in “C” Quadrant. The New Men had tricked him at Caria 323, outmaneuvering his ships and nearly destroying the entire Fifth Fleet. He had fled with the survivors through the void to the Tannish System. Those had been a terrible six months, knowing the rest of his ships would perish at the enemy’s hands. Then, Captain Maddox in Starship Victory had showed up, helping just enough so the remnants of Fifth Fleet had escaped back to Earth for refit and repairs.

  “I’m not going to give you a speech,” Cook said. “But I will say a few words. The Commonwealth needs time, several years, at least. A good battleship takes at least two and a half years to construct. Add another six months to shakedown a new crew. We can’t let the New Men consolidate the planets of “C” Quadrant. We have to attack now that you bloodied them.”

  “Not me,” Fletcher said, “but Maddox in that alien super-ship of his.”

  “Victory helped you,” Cook said. “There’s no doubting it. But you set the stage so we still had a fleet to fight with.”

  “Is Victory joining your Grand Fleet?” Fletcher asked abruptly.

  “You know it won’t. The scientists need more time to reverse engineer the vessel’s neutron and disruptor cannons. If we had those systems—”

  Fletcher faced the Lord High Admiral. “Listen to me. Victory is a fighting ship. We’re never going to reverse engineer those alien systems. I’ve read the reports. The Adok science continues to baffle our best people.”

  “John,” Cook said, putting a big hand on the admiral’s forearm. “War is a gamble, you know that.”

  “The New Men—”

  “Let me finish,” Cook said, squeezing those big fingers.

  The old man’s strength surprised Fletcher. He nodded.

  “We regular humans have taken hammer blows these past few years,” Cook said. “The New Men have decimated Star Watch, smashing one battle group after another. What you did in Caria 323 was brilliant. What you did in the Tannish System with Captain Maddox’s help was pure genius. You’ve hurt the enemy’s invasion armada.”

  “The alien Destroyer—”

  “Yes, the Wahhabi Caliphate is disintegrating now that its home systems are gone. But the Destroyer is also gone, melted in our Sun.”

  “Our paltry numbers mean we don’t have—”

  “John,” Cook said. “You didn’t let me finish in my office. You left too soon. The Grand Fleet will have more Star Watch vessels than any fleet we’ve ever put together.”

  “That will strip Earth of its protective warships.”

  “We’ll be weaker for a time, until the Fifth Fleet finishes its repairs and new battleships join Star Watch. But we’re talking with the Spacers. It’s possible they’ll add their ships to ours. You have to look at the positives here.”

  Fletcher turned away, studying the mountains. The idea of hell-burners raining down from the stratosphere made vomit rise, burning the back of his throat. Regular humanity had to stop the New Men. He understood that all too well. But he didn’t know if he could accept such an awful responsibility again. The fate of billions resting on his choices… Once, he would have eagerly accepted the new command. The truth was he wasn’t the same man after those six months in the void fleeing from the New Men. That dread time had stolen precious self-confidence from him.

  “The Windsor League will add twenty-five hammerships to the Grand Fleet,” Cook said. “Each of those is worth two Star Watch battleships. In addition, you’ll have fifteen Scimitar-class Wahhabi laser-ships, all that’s left of the caliphate’s navy.”

  Fletcher felt the air go out of his lungs. This would be a coalition fleet in the truest sense of the word.

  “It’s getting worse out there for the average person,” Cook said. “People are frightened. Many here don’t know it yet, but the Commonwealth is starting to unravel at the edges. Some of the signatory planets are acting on their own again
, just like in the old days. It took some hard negotiating, but the Social Syndicate and the Chin Confederation have agreed to send their fleets with you in the counter-attack. They’re the two most powerful dissenters. We need those battle groups going with the Grand Fleet instead of sticking around and causing trouble for the Commonwealth.”

  “I understand all that,” Fletcher said. “But why does it have to be me?”

  “That should be clear to you. You have a magic name now. It’s one of the prices of being a winner. Surely, you know what people say. ‘Admiral Fletcher defeated the New Men in the Tannish System. He can do it again because he already has.’”

  Fletcher squeezed his eyes shut. If that was true, why did he feel like a fraud ready to fold at the first sign of trouble?

  “If we don’t counter-attack soon,” Cook said, “the fear will grow too powerful all across the Commonwealth. Everyone will think of themselves first. Star Watch itself might splinter.”

  Fletcher stared at the Lord High Admiral.

  “Oh, yes,” Cook said. “In some units, the morale is awful. The alien Destroyer seemed like the last straw to a few.”

  Fletcher made a helpless gesture.

  “We have to show people that our successes mean we’re back on our feet,” Cook said in a ringing voice. “The Windsor League agreed to join the Grand Fleet because of your Tannish System victory and the destruction of the alien Destroyer.”

  Fletcher was shaking his head. “I’ve studied history. Coalition fleets quarrel all the time. The Battles of Salamis and Lepanto are prime examples.”

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but those coalition navies defeated their respective enemies, enemies just as feared as the New Men are now to us.”

  Fletcher stared at the mountains in silence. He felt his resolve crumbling. Did Cook truly think he could do this?

  “You’ll have the advantage of numbers,” the Lord High Admiral said. “My strategists are certain of that. The New Men can’t have our industrial capacity.”

  “They have superior technology with their fusion beams and better shields.”

  “The counter-attack won’t be easy,” Cook admitted. “They’re good, damn good. Until the Tannish System, we thought the New Men were unbeatable. But we did defeat them. Now, we have to push back. Free the captured planets, John. Smash the invasion armada. And—”

  Fletcher looked at the Lord High Admiral.

  “Find the coordinates to the Throne World,” Cook said. “We have to take the war to them if we’re ever going to be safe.”

  “I don’t know,” Fletcher said, softly. “Who’s the Windsor League commander going to be?”

  Cook hesitated before saying, “Earl Bishop. He’s the league’s third highest-ranked commander. He’s also a cousin to the king on both his mother and father’s side.”

  Fletcher had heard of Bishop. “I know him,” the admiral said with a frown. “Bishop will intrigue for the leadership of the Grand Fleet. It’s in his blood. He’ll try to take command from me.”

  “That’s another reason I want you to lead,” Cook said. “You’re a bulldog, a fighter. At all costs, you must maintain command of the Grand Fleet.”

  Fletcher’s frown deepened.

  “You’ll have to outmaneuver the earl politically,” Cook said. “Play the long game with him. Just make sure you keep the Grand Fleet united. You must find the enemy and defeat him. Nothing else matters.”

  Fletcher ingested the advice.

  “We have to counter-attack to keep the New Men off-balance long enough to rip the initiative from them for good,” Cook said. “Otherwise, those geniuses will have enough time to find another Destroyer or something like the ancient alien war-machine.”

  “I still don’t think I’m the right man for this.”

  “There’s no one else who can act as the glue,” Cook said. The old man straightened to his full height, and his voice deepened. “You’re duty-bound to accept the post, John. Humanity needs you.” The Lord High Admiral paused, studying the admiral. He finally added, “Are you up to the challenge?”

  Fletcher stared at the old man. A red flush had crept up his neck. “Damn you,” he whispered.

  Cook waited in silence.

  Fletcher looked down at the ground far below. Thoughts swirled in his head both pro and con. Finally, he said, “Yes, I’ll do it.” But Heaven help me if I fail.

  -2-

  SEVEN MONTHS LATER

  JUNCTION SYSTEM, “C” QUADRANT

  Fletcher had been dreading this moment for a long time. He had seen the cracks growing but hadn’t expected the earl to move this soon.

  “You do realize this is exactly what the New Men want us to do, don’t you?”

  “Nonsense,” Third Admiral Bishop replied.

  The pale-skinned earl was the image of a quintessential British military man of old: tall, with a long face, a monocle over his left eye and a chest full of medals.

  “The scoundrels are counting on our fear,” Bishop added. “They need time, clearly. I expect that’s what motivated their ruthlessness. The New Men did not anticipate our united and swift effort, especially after sending the horrible Destroyer at the Wahhabi homeworld.”

  Fletcher leaned back in his chair. They were in Flagship Antietam’s conference chamber. The “they” were the leaders of the coalition forces that made up the Grand Fleet.

  Being in charge these past seven months had reinvigorated Fletcher. The Grand Fleet had already passed through the Caria 323 System. It was the same there as elsewhere: radioactive wastelands and smoking craters where cities once flourished. So far, they hadn’t found any planetary survivors anywhere in “C” Quadrant. Instead of facing the Grand Fleet, the New Men had retreated without a trace of a sighting. As the enemy pulled back, they burned the inhabitable worlds, slaughtering the people in the process.

  “The New Men are playing for time,” Bishop was saying. “We simply cannot allow them the luxury any longer.”

  “I agree,” Sub-commander Ko said, as if on cue, which it probably was.

  “So we’ll split our forces,” Fletcher said, “making everything easier for them?”

  “You fear a sudden ambush,” Bishop said. “I’m afraid we’re giving the New Men too much time to find another preposterous weapon. We must defeat their armada before they achieve whatever their next goal is. That means we must thrust at the enemy, not tiptoe like thieves in a dark house.”

  “Exactly,” Sub-commander Ko said, slapping the table.

  Fletcher felt heat rise in his neck, but he worked on maintaining a stoic face as he waited for Bishop to continue.

  The earl plucked the monocle from his eye, polishing it on a sleeve and replacing it to squint at Fletcher.

  “I’m not suggesting we face the New Men divided in battle,” the earl said. “That would be operational folly. I am suggesting we find the extent of their destruction as quickly as possible. We must also discover how far they’ve pulled back and where they’re willing to stand and fight. Our spreading out to scout the various star systems will considerably speed up the process. Naturally, we shall keep in constant communication through courier vessels. If the New Men show themselves somewhere in force, that group retreats as the rest of the Grand Fleet rushes to their aid. It should be obvious that my idea will bring about the battle we crave. Don’t you agree?”

  Fletcher did not agree, not in the slightest. But instead of answering verbally, he used silence to convey his reply.

  The earl withdrew a handkerchief from a sleeve, coughing into it several times. “I hesitate to say this…”

  “Please,” Fletcher said, “don’t stop now.”

  “We lead fighting men,” Bishop said quietly, as if it pained him to talk about this. “Undue caution breeds hesitation among the officers, which trickles down to the men. Hesitation can turn into fear all too quickly. We’re supposed to be advancing against the enemy, not shivering at shadows. Each jump takes days to complete because we have to move such
a vast force through a single Laumer-Point. The wormholes have become chokepoints instead of stellar pathways.”

  “We move slowly but forcefully,” Fletcher said, “using our size to shield ourselves. That saves us from attritional losses.”

  Bishop tucked the handkerchief back into a sleeve, possibly giving himself time to think.

  “We can defeat the enemy,” Bishop said, “but only if we can catch him in time. That implies a modicum of speed on our part, not this…tepid advance. My men are becoming restless. They desire battle and wonder why we move so slowly against the foe. It is my duty to keep his Majesty’s hammership crews fit for combat, which includes keeping their spirits high.”

  “I have a similar duty to the Social Syndicate crews,” Sub-commander Ko added.

  Bishop nodded, spreading his hands imploringly. “Let us keep the Grand Fleet intact in spirit but not necessarily in body. Order the dispersion as we spread out, scouting many star systems at a time. We must pressure the New Men with speed. Let them fear us for a change as they run away faster.”

  Fletcher had seen this coming for some time. He wondered if he should let Bishop have his way for a time in order to show everyone how foolish that would be. Doing so was a risk. But as Cook had said, “War was a gamble.” The wise commander knew when to take the right risk.

  “As you wish,” Fletcher said quietly.

  The answer seemed to surprise Bishop, as he allowed his monocle to drop out of his eye. The earl neatly caught the eyepiece, though. He glanced at the monocle before polishing it on his sleeve again.

  As the earl replaced the eyepiece, he said, “That is an excellent decision, Admiral. I wish—”

  “Just a moment,” Fletcher said, interrupting the earl. He leaned near, putting a hand on the man’s right arm the way a superior would toward an inferior. “I’ll agree to the dispersion if we operate it on my schedule.”

  “Eh?” Bishop asked, staring at the offensive hand.