Ballistic (The Palladium Wars), стр. 65

“Target hit,” he said. “Some of our birds got through. They’re trailing air. Their acceleration dropped to four g.”

On the tactical screen, the regular salvos from the Gretian rail guns had ceased. Minotaur dodged one more broadside that had been on the way already before the cruiser had switched its fire control to point defense. Dunstan held his breath in expectation of another hit, this one maybe through the reactor core or the AIC, ending the fight on the spot by killing them all in a blink. But the AI weaved the ship through the salvo, and Dunstan released his breath when the last of the tungsten slugs had passed fifty meters to stern. He could practically hear a collective sigh of relief in the AIC.

“We can’t take another exchange like this,” Lieutenant Bosworth said.

“Our missile tubes are empty anyway. And we’ll never survive a gun battle with that thing. Turn us away and get some distance before they get their batteries going again. And give me a damage assessment. For us and them.”

Minotaur was badly hurt. The second hit had caused damage to the power transfer network and reduced the reactor’s output by half for reasons the damage-control AI had yet to figure out. They were accelerating away from the enemy cruiser at an angle to keep from presenting their opponent with an easy stern shot. But whatever hit they had scored seemed to have hurt the Gretian ship at least as much. The cruiser was trailing air and debris, and it made no effort to come about and close the distance again.

“Looks like we got a solid missile hit on their stern section,” Mayler reported once the AI had done its damage assessment. “Their drive signature is flickering like a campfire. They’re down to three and a half g. The other hit we scored was likely ballistic debris from a close intercept.”

“If we nicked their reactor core, they may not have enough juice to run those rail guns,” Bosworth said. “We have a half g of acceleration on them right now. We could close in and give them a dose of their own medicine.”

Dunstan shook his head.

“That’s not a gamble I’m willing to make. If they get their fusion plant patched up while we’re chasing them, they’ll tear us to pieces in three broadsides. We need to use that acceleration advantage to get out of here while we still can. We’re lucky we still have air in the hull. Mostly.”

Dunstan watched the Gretian cruiser opening the distance between them on the plot with a mixture of relief and frustration. They were out of the effective range of those murderous rail-gun batteries now, but they had no weapons of their own left to throw at the enemy ship. Space combat between modern warships was short and brutal, and nobody ever went home without holes in the hull and dead crew members in body bags. The screen above Bosworth’s station was still scrolling through damage reports and diagrams as the AI’s survey and repair units discovered more broken hardware in Minotaur’s hull. The third rail-gun hit had almost broken their back. That single 200 mm tungsten slug had torn through bulkheads and hull plating, severed power conduits and data trunks, disabled the ammunition feed for one of the rail-gun mounts, and damaged enough support frames on its short and violent passage through the hull that it would take a month in a fleet yard to put Minotaur back into fighting shape. Dunstan knew that his frigate was at the bottom of the priority list for yard work anyway, and there was a good chance the battle damage she had just suffered would see her decommissioned and consigned to the scrapyard.

“Where’s that damn merchant? Winds of Asterion?”

Mayler expanded the tactical display until the icon for the Oceanian ship showed up.

“Still running away in a straight line, still at three and a half g. Distance is now eight thousand two hundred kilometers.”

“And we can’t chase them because they’ve got that gun cruiser between us and them.” Dunstan frowned at the green icon representing the Gretian warship.

“We’ve already alerted the fleet. RNS Circe and Agamemnon are on the way,” Bosworth said. “And half a dozen Home Fleet units. They’ll find them and chase them down.”

Dunstan knew that Minotaur had performed as well as anyone could have hoped for against a vastly superior opponent, and that the missile strike they had scored on the Gretian cruiser would put that ship out of action for a while even if they escaped the Rhodian Home Fleet units that were coming to hunt them. But it still felt like a defeat to have to let the Gretian warship accelerate away without further challenge.

“Got some more good news,” Bosworth added. “Casualty report says eleven wounded, no KIA.”

Dunstan closed his eyes briefly and let out a relieved sigh. To have lost no crew members after that encounter was almost unbelievable luck.

“I hate calling this a draw,” he said. “But that’s what it’s going to have to be for today.”

“Just this round,” Mayler said.

Dunstan shook his head.

“If we’re counting this in rounds, they won this one by points, Mayler. And I don’t think we’ll be out of our corner again. Not with this old girl.”

As if to underscore her commander’s point, Minotaur’s AIC lights flickered again, and another row of warning messages scrolled across Lieutenant Bosworth’s damage-control screen.

“Set a least-time course for Rhodia One at maximum safe burn,” Dunstan ordered. “Bow toward the good guys, stern toward the bad guys. And let’s hope nothing essential falls off the ship before we get there.”