(eng) Owen R. O'Neill & Jordan Leah Hunter - Loralynn Kennakris 03 by Asylum

Author:Asylum [Asylum]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Anders came over as the marines loaded up by sections, a wry expression on his face. “So Captain, not only are we mounting the Great Junk Offensive, but we’re gonna take over a monitor with just our company and a few dozen of these kids who just got rototilled?”

Min fixed him with a droll look of her own. “Remember the Bard, Troy. ‘If we are marked to die, we are enough to do our country loss. And if to live, the fewer men, the greater share of honor.’”

Sterling incomprehension. “Whatever you say, Captain.”

Her grin spread wider. “That’s why I can’t stand you, Anders—you got no fuckin’ education.”

* * *

Captain Coward checked his bridge screens as Fury broke high to assume her station, clearing the way for Shannon and Vanguard to engage. The whole ship was singing with tension, from the white sweating face of the junior signals officer on his left, to the grim delighted chuckling of his TAO in CIC as he reviewed their remaining inventory of death and destruction, and directed those munitions to their targets; to the low whistling of the damage-control officer, fumbling through an old sitcom parody tune called Sausages & Tea. But it was all perfectly orderly, his people going about their jobs with smooth precision, no wasteful hurry and no hesitation—and when his G-helmsman murmured, “Good lord, how she fights,” Coward directed his attention to the main display forward.

There was Orlan, at the center of perfect storm of firepower: Shannon was alongside, 8-inch railguns hammering her with inconceivable savagery while Vanguard, standing further off, launched salvo after salvo of missiles that were increasingly striking home as Orlan’s defense net faltered. The ships of DESRON 5 were darting about the giant, firing everything they had, closing with wild recklessness.

The huge ship fought back with desperate fury, returning almost shot for shot, missile for missile. The frigate Ixion was already out of the fight—she had gotten too close when launching her torpedoes and was reeling away, shattered by the Orlan’s 16-inch guns. The destroyers Ethalion and Alecto were dying before their eyes—Alecto, that old, proud, little ship making a last suicidal charge. Argo was limping but still game and Shannon was taking a brutal pounding and must soon shear off.

But here were the fast, sleek, powerful shapes of Sambre and Falklands ranging along the far side, pouring out salvos of missiles and 12-inch railgun fire—an irresistible torrent of hypervelocity metal—and Orlan, taken between two fires, could not even interpose her invulnerable keel—

“Sir,” his TAO broke in on the terrible spectacle, “We’ve got another destroyer to starboard and light cruiser coming up in support.”

Captain Coward glanced over at the bridge TAC console and saw that it was so. “Very good, Mr. Porter. Lock forward tubes on that cruiser—fire as soon as you have a solution. Tickle up that nosy tin can with a missile barrage, please. If she doesn’t take the hint, lay alongside with guns. We gotta discourage this sorta thing.”

* * *

As the shuttle

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