The Star Carrier Series Books 1-3: Earth Strike, Centre of Gravity, Singularity

“Cut the chatter,” Gorman said. “Watch those projectors.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Sorry, sir.”

One reason the beachhead had been set up on a rocky ridgetop was that molten rock tended to flow downhill, not up into the perimeter and the shield projectors. Repeated shocks against the lower slopes of the ridge, however, were threatening to undermine the perimeter. Gorman had already given orders to set out two replacement projectors, for number five and number six, placing them back a hundred meters as the ground sagged and crumbled beneath the originals.

Eventually, enemy fire would eat away the entire hill.

“Number four is failing,” the shield tech reported. “I recommend a reset.”

“How long do we have?” Gorman asked.

“Hard to estimate, General. An hour. Maybe two. Depends on how soon they resume the bombardment.”

Of course. Everything depended on the enemy. That was the hell of it. Gorman hated being trapped like this, stuck in a hole, forced to react to the enemy’s initiative, unable even to shoot back, since to do so the Marines had to drop one of the shields, which would mean a torrent of Turusch fire and warheads pouring through the gap.

The respite the Navy zorchies had brought the defenders was the first breather they’d had in weeks, but it wouldn’t be long before more Tushie ground units moved into the area and took the perimeter under fire … or until more capital ships moved overhead and started pounding the beachhead again with nukes and HE-beams.

“I still don’t see why you’re letting those fighters come inside the shields,” Hamid said. “They can’t do any good in here.”

“In case you weren’t paying attention, Mister Hamid,” Gorman said, choosing his words carefully, “those pilots have been giving the Turusch one hell of a fight. They’re out of missiles, and either out of or running damned thin on other expendables. They need to touch down and get their craft serviced. I imagine the pilots need servicing as well.”

“Perhaps they should land in shifts, then. …”

“Mr. Hamid, I’ve had just about enough of your second-guessing and carping. Get off my quarterdeck!”

“I remind you, General, that I am in command of this colony!”

“And I am in command of the Marine Expeditionary Force. Bradley!”

“Sir!”

“Please escort this civilian off of Marine property. If he shows his face around here again, he is to be placed under guard and confined to his quarters.”

“Aye, aye, General!”

“General Gorman!” Hamid said, his face reddening. “I must protest!

“Protest all you damned well please,” Gorman replied, shrugging, “just as soon as we get back to Earth!”

“Your anti-Islamic stance has been noted, General! Sheer antitheophilia! This will all go onto my report to my government!”

“Get him out of here, Major Bradley.”

“With pleasure, General! C’mon, you.”

Hamid started to say something more, seemed to think better of it, then turned and strode toward the CIC command center door. Bradley grinned at Gorman, then followed the man out. Hamid, clearly, was furiously angry, and there would be repercussions later. If there was a later. Gorman was willing to face the political fallout if they could just hang on long enough to get his people off this toxic hell-hole.

Gorman watched the civilian go, scowling. That crack about his being antitheophilic had been just plain nasty.

But, of course, the colonists on Haris were Refusers—the descendants of Muslims who’d refused to sign the Covenant of the Dignity of Humankind or accept the enforced rewrite of their Holy Qu’ran. Gorman, too, was a Refuser—at least in spirit. His church had accepted the Covenant, but many of its members had not.

Bastards …

The five Navy zorchies were settling in on the landing field now, the fighter icons gathering at the field’s north end.

“Carleton!” he growled.

“Yes, sir!”

“Get your ass down there and get Stores moving on those g-fighters,” he said. “I want their tubes reloaded and those ships ready to boost, absolutely minimum on the turnaround.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” his adjutant said, heading for the door.

Hamid had been right in principle, if not in execution. The faster they got those ships reloaded and out on patrol, the better.

Another nine hours before the naval battlegroup arrived.

It was going to be close.

Chapter Six

25 September 2404

CIC, TC/USNA CVS America

Eta Boötis IV

2320 hours, TFT

Rear Admiral Koenig walked through the hatch onto the Combat Information Center deck. He’d spent the last six hours trying to sleep, but not even the various electronic soporifics available through the ship’s medical resources had helped. He’d finally dozed off with a trickle charge to his sleep center, but he felt far from rested now.

The battlegroup was now deep inside the Eta Boötean solar system, closing on Haris. He checked his internal time readout: twenty-seven minutes, fifteen seconds more.

And then they would know.

Traveling now at just over the speed of light, each ship of the battlegroup now effectively was locked up in its own tight little universe. They couldn’t see out, couldn’t see the starbow as they’d approached c, couldn’t even see the light of the local sun growing more brilliant ahead.

“Captain Buchanan,” he said softly. The AI monitoring CIC picked up the words and linked him through to Buchanan, on the America’s bridge.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

“How’s she riding?”

“Twenty-seven minutes, and we’ll know the worst.”

“It’ll be fine, Rand. There won’t be much scattering, not after a short hop like this.”

In fact, he’d been surprised at how closely in proximity to one another the ships of the battlegroup had emerged out in the Eta Boötean Kuiper Belt early that morning after the thirty-seven light year passage out from Sol.