Hell, he would have gone over, knelt next to her, and held her hand if that would've helped. He loved the men and women un- der his command as if they were his own sons and daughters. It was the old axiom of command: To be a good leader, you had to love the service. To be a great commander, you had to be willing to destroy that which you loved.
Static crackled, and the Master Chief reported in: "We're in position, Admiral. ETA for repairs is two minutes."
"Roger, Chief," Admiral Whitcomb replied. "When you're done give the word and get secure. We'll be accelerating immediately."
"Yes, sir."
Thunder rumbled through the deck.
"Plasma impacts, sir," Cortana explained. "Their energy profile has diffused, but they were still powerful enough to knock the lateral sensors and cameras offline."
Admiral Whitcomb smoothed his thick fingers over his mus- tache. "We've got only a few minutes before this space tears us apart." He squinted at the wall displays, trying to count the number of enemy craft. "That's if those Covenant ships don't do the job first."
He turned to Cortana. "How many enemy ships are there?
Which are real and which are illusion?"
"Impossible to accurately determine, sir. I counted fourteen targets before they started firing and filling the space between us with ionizing plasma. Now? ..." Mathematical symbols raced along her length, flashing blue and indigo. "Cross-indexing similar mirrored images and extrapolating, I estimate there are currently between three and five operational ships, sir."
Admiral Whitcomb gritted his teeth and concentrated. He had to get this ship moving—take out one or two enemy craft. Maybe the tangled plasma-filled space would cook the rest of them.
That was their best chance. Their only chance. He'd have to trust the Master Chief to get that drive conduit fixed.
"Very well, Cortana," he said. "Heat the Gettysburg's reactor to maximum power and prepare to flood the main-engine plasma conduit. Charge all available weapons turret capacitors."
"Yes, sir. Standby."
He glanced at a screen that showed the Gettysburg sitting atop them inverted. "Is the launch bay on the Gettysburg intact? Can it hold an atmosphere?"
Cortana blinked. "Yes, sir. It has a slow leak of thirty-two kilo pascals per—"
"Pressurize the bay."
"Acknowledged, Admiral. However," Cortana replied, "that will leave our air reserves dangerously low."
The Admiral stared at the ships surrounding them—a plasma bolt struck a distant cruiser head-on, and its nose buckled. Gouts of flame flared along its lateral plasma lines. The ship looked like a fish spit with a red-hot poker.
That could have been them.
"Hurry up, Chief," he whispered.
On the displays the Admiral spotted two ships. There was a carrier far away; it looked undamaged. Closer, off the port bow, was a cruiser that, aside from a hole punched through its aft sec- tion, was also undamaged ... and only ten thousand kilometers away. That was the priority target.
"Lay in a new course," the Admiral ordered. "Two-four-zero by zero-three-five."
Lieutenant Haverson took an involuntary step closer to the display, and his face contorted as he worked out the math in his head. "That's. . . a collision course, sir."
"Glad you concur with my calculations," the Admiral re- marked dryly.
Lieutenant Haverson glanced at the Gettysburg and nodded, finally understanding. "Aye, sir. A good plan."
"Admiral," the Master Chief's voice broke through in a wash of static. "Hull breach is sealed, sir."
"Hang on, son," Admiral Whitcomb said. "This might be a rough ride. Cortana, give me flank speed now!"
"Complying," Cortana said. "Flank speed. Conduit is holding. Coming about to two-four-zero by zero-three-five. Colli- sion with Covenant cruiser at this speed and heading in eighteen seconds."
Ascendant Justice-Gettysburg accelerated toward a line of wavering orange plasma—and steamed through it like a ship smashing through a storm wave on the open seas.
Fire splashed over their hulls and burned away layers of ar- mor. The entire hull superstructure groaned. Explosions rever- berated through the deck.
"Fire on decks eight through twelve," Cortana reported. "We have lost plasma turret five. Distance to enemy ship six thousand kilometers and closing."
"Initiate a roll, Cortana. Make it thirty degrees per second.
That'll spread out the damage over more surface area."
"Roll maneuver, aye. Attitude thrusters set to maximum burn."
She exhaled, and her holographic image flickered with irrita- tion. "This will make a targeting solution difficult, sir."
"Set firing range of plasma turrets for point blank," the Admiral told her.
Cortana hesitated for a full second. "Yes, Admiral."
The space on the external cameras slowly began to spin as their ship spiraled toward their intended target.
The Covenant cruiser came about to face them. Its plasma tur- rets glowed like angry red eyes.
"Lieutenant, take the weapons station. Cortana, give us a firing solution and manual fire control."
Haverson's hands moved quickly over the Covenant holo- graphic control surfaces. "Cortana has a firing solution, sir. Activate weapons?"
"Stand by, Lieutenant."
"They'll get off the first salvo, sir," Lieutenant Haverson said.
Although his voice was calm, a drop of sweat trickled down his freckled cheek.
"I hope they do," the Admiral replied. "It may be the only thing that saves us."
Lieutenant Haverson took a deep breath, nodding. "Weapons standing by, sir."
"Cortana, make ready to vent the Gettysburg's launch bay."
"Aye, sir. Overriding bay door safeties. Distance to target three thousand kilometers."
The Covenant cruiser fired. Lances of energy launched and veered toward Ascendant Justice ... and arced away in cork- screw spirals and right angles. The space between the two large masses was still tangled and fractured.
"Two thousand kilometers," Cortana reported.
"Stay on course," the Admiral said. "And continue to hold fire."
Lieutenant Haverson's jaw clenched, and his hands trembled over the controls.
The enemy cruiser filled the displays. Its plasma turrets re- cycled and glowed a dull red.
"One thousand kilometers," Cortana announced.
"Admiral?" Lieutenant Haverson asked.
"Hold your fire."
"Five hundred kilometers," Cortana said. "Three hundred...
two... collision imminent."
The Admiral's fist clenched. He barked, "Fire! All turrets, fire! Cortana, depressurize the launch bay and give us full power to port."
Ascendant Justice was a kilometer from the Covenant ship on an intercept course when it fired. The Gettysburg's launch bay doors opened and the air inside explosively decompressed— propelling the conjoined ships to port—just enough to miss the cruiser.