Lines of Departure (Frontlines, #2)

by Marko Kloos

The Midway is a relic, a loose confederation of parts flying in vaguely carrier-shaped formation.

We’re about to run our heads against the same unyielding barrier, and once again, the brass seem to have concluded that our approach isn’t working because we’re not running at the wall fast enough.

Enlisted soldiers have active imaginations, unlike the brass at Joint Command, or the bureaucrats holding the reins back on Earth.

The choice is yours now. You can choose to follow orders without question, or you can choose to follow the law. Keep in mind that without the law, we’re not a military, just an armed gang that dresses alike.

Somewhere in the black void beyond, toward the Fomalhaut star that is twinkling brightly in the distance, there’s a Lanky seed ship coming for us, and all the plans we’re making right now feel a little bit like the battle strategies of cockroaches who see the boot coming down on them. Still, we gear up to throw our rocks and give them the finger because that’s what we do.

Without the crew on board and with all her hollow spaces filled with water, the Gordon will be able to pull much more sustained acceleration, and the reactor won’t need to spend any of its energy budget keeping the artificial-gravity deck plates energized. What we’re about to do has never been done, not even with a target ship, and it’s only even possible because the Gordon has military-grade propulsion and computer systems, to keep up and interface with the fleet units she was built to support. Still, nobody has ever thought of pushing a military freighter to four gravities of sustained acceleration and keeping her there for thirty-five hours. We are truly on the cutting edge of desperate measures.

“What if they have a close-in weapons system like our ships?” I ask. “Won’t matter a bit,” Dr. Stewart says. “It would take terajoules of energy to break that freighter apart and boil all that water away. And even if they blew it up right now, all the debris would still hit them at the same speed. Physics,” she adds with a slight smile. “Nobody’s immune to physics. I don’t care how big and tough they are.”

“I don’t suppose alcohol is allowed on military ships?” Dr. Stewart asks the colonel. “I could really go for a strong drink right now.” “No, it’s not allowed,” he replies. “And of course we have some.”