"David Weber - Honor Harrington Universe - 02 - The Shadow Of Saganami" - читать интересную книгу автора (Weber David)

This time there were two images, both command decks. One was the command deck of a freighter; the other, the bridge of a warship.

The freighterТs command crew sat at their stations, their shoulders taut, their faces stiff, even terrified. The merchantshipТs skipper looked just as anxious as any of his officers, but he stood beside his command chair, not seated in it, looking into the communications screen which linked him to the second ship.

The warshipТs bridge was quaint and cramped by modern standards, that of a УbattlecruiserФ smaller than many modern heavy cruisers, with displays and weapons consoles that were hopelessly out of date. The same almond-eyed officer stood on the command deck, his old-style vac suit far clumsier and bulkier than a modern skinsuit. Battle boards blazed crimson at his shipТs Tactical station, and the flow and rush of his bridge personnelТs disciplined combat chatter rippled under the surface of his voice when he spoke.

УMy orders arenТt open to discussion, Captain Hargood,Ф he said flatly. УThe convoy will disperse immediately and proceed across the hyper limit on least-time courses. Now , Captain.Ф

УIТm not refusing your orders, damn it!Ф Captain Hargood shot back, his voice harsh. УIТm only trying to keep you from throwing away your own ship and the lives of every man and woman aboard her!Ф

УThe effort is appreciated,Ф Commodore Saganami said with a thin smile. УIТm afraid itТs wasted, however. Now get your ship turned around and get out of here.Ф

УGod damn it to Hell, Eddy!Ф Hargood exploded. УThere are six of the bastards, including two battlecruisers ! Just what the fuck do you think youТre going to accomplish? Unlike us, youТve got the legs to stay away from them, so do it, damn it!Ф

УThere wonТt be six when weТre done,Ф Saganami said grimly, Уand every one we destroy, or just cripple badly enough, is one that wonТt be chasing you or another unit of the convoy. And now, IТm done arguing with you, James. Take your ship, and your people, and get your ass home to that wife and those kids of yours. Saganami, clear.Ф

Captain HargoodТs display blanked, and his holographic imageТs shoulders slumped. He stared at the featureless screen for perhaps a half-dozen breaths, then shook himself and turned to his astrogator.

УYou heard him,Ф he said heavily, his face decades older than it had been mere moments before. УGet us out of here.Ф

УYes, Sir,Ф the astrogator said quietly.

The simulatorТs imagery changed once more as the recording of the exchange between Hargood and Saganami ended. It was replaced by a huge tactical display, one so old its symbology had been tagged with newer, more modern icons a present-day tactician could read. A shipТs name strobed in a light bar at the base of the display: RMMS Prince Harold , Captain James HargoodТs ship.

The displayТs imagery wasnТt very detailed, despite all computer enhancement could do. The range was long, and the sensors which drove it had been built by a technology that was crude and limited by modern standards. And even if neither of those things had been true, Prince Harold had been a merchant vessel, not a warship. But the display was detailed enough.

A single green icon, tagged with the name У Nike,Ф drove ahead, accelerating hard towards six other icons that glared the fresh-blood color of hostile units. Two of the hostiles were identified as battlecruisers. Another was a heavy cruiser. The other three were УonlyФ destroyers. The range looked absurdly low, but no one had fired yet. The weapons of the day were too crude, too short-legged. But that was about to change, for the range fell steadily as Nike moved to intercept her enemies.

The first missiles launched, roaring out of their tubes, and Prince Harold Тs sensor imagery was suddenly hashed by jagged strobes of jamming. The icons all but vanished completely in the electronic hash, but only for a moment. Then multiple layers of enhancement smoothed away the interference, replacing it with a glassy clarity. The dearth of data gave away how badly P rince HaroldТs sensors had been affected, yet what data there was was crystal clearа.а.а.аand brutal.

It lasted over forty minutes, that battle, despite the horrendous odds. Forty minutes in which there was not a sound, not a whisper, in all that vast auditorium while fifty-five hundred midshipmenТs eyes watched that display. Watched that single, defiant green bead of light drive straight into more than four times its own firepower. Watched it concentrate its fire with a cold precision which had already discounted its own survival. It opened fire not on the opposing battlecruisers, but on the escorting destroyers. It hammered them with the thermonuclear thunder of old-fashioned contact warheads. And as the range closed, it clawed at them with the coherent light of broadside lasers.

Not a single member of the audience misunderstood what they were seeing. Commodore Saganami wasnТt fighting to live. He was fighting to destroy or cripple as many pirate vessels as he could. It didnТt matter to a slow, unarmed merchantman whether the pirate that overhauled it was a destroyer or a superdreadnought. Any pirate could destroy any merchantman, and there were as many pirates as there were ships in SaganamiТs convoy. Each ship he killed was one merchantship which would liveа.а.а.аand he could kill destroyers more easily than he could battlecruisers.

Nikebored in, corkscrewing around her base vector and rolling ship madly to interpose her impeller wedge against incoming fire, snapping back upright to send an entire broadside of lasers blasting through the fragile sidewall of a destroyer. Her target reeled aside, belching atmosphere, trailing debris. Its wedge fluctuated, then died, and Nike dispatched it to whatever hell awaited its crew with a single missile even as she writhed around to savage one of its consorts.

The green icon twisted and wove, spiraling through its enemies, closing to a range which was suicidal even for the cruder, shorter-ranged weapons of her own day. There was an elegance to Nike Тs maneuvers, a cleanness. She drove headlong towards her own destruction, yet she danced. She embraced her own immolation, and the hand which guided her shaped her course with a masterТs touch.

Yet elegance was not armor, nor grace immortality. Another ship would have died far sooner than she, would have been raked by enemy fire, would have stumbled into the path of a killing salvo. But not even she could avoid all of the hurricane of destruction her enemies hurled to meet her, and damage codes flashed beside her icon as hit after hit slammed home.

A second destroyer blew up. Then the third staggered aside, her forward impeller ring a broken, shattered ruin, and Nike turned upon the heavy cruiser. Her missiles ripped into it, damaging its impellers, laming it so that even a lumbering merchantship could outpace it.

Her icon was haloed in a scarlet shroud that indicated escaping atmosphere. Her acceleration dropped steadily as alpha and beta nodes were blown out of her impeller rings. The weight of her fire dwindled as lasers and missile tubesЧand the men and women who crewed themЧwere shattered one by one. Dame Honor and Nimitz had seen the horrors of battle, seen friends torn apart, splendid ships shattered and broken. Unlike Dame BeatriceТs watching midshipmen, they knew what it must have been like aboard Nike Тs bridge, in the shipТs passages, in the armored pods where her weapons crews fought and cursedа.а.а.аand died. But those watching midshipmen knew they lacked Dame HonorТs experience, knew they were witnessing something beyond their experience and comprehension. And that that same something might someday come for them, as it had come for Edward Saganami and the crew of HMS Nike so many years before.

The brutally wounded battlecruiser rolled up at point-blank range, barely eight thousand kilometers from her target, and fired every surviving weapon in her port broadside into one of the enemy battlecruisers. The pirate heaved sideways as transfer energy shattered armor and blasted deep, deep into her hull. She coasted onward for a few moments, and then vanished in a titanic explosion.

But Nike paid for that victory. As she rolled to take the shot, the second, undamaged pirate battlecruiser finally found a firing bearing of her own. One that was no longer obstructed by Nike Тs skillfully interposed wedge. Her energy weapons lashed out, as powerful as Nike Тs own. SaganamiТs ship was more heavily armored than any cruiser or destroyer, but she wasnТt a battleship or a dreadnought. She was only a battlecruiser. Her armor splintered, atmosphere gushed from her ruptured hull, and her forward impeller ring flashed and died.

She staggered, trying to twist back away from her opponent, and the heavy cruiser she had already lamed sent a full salvo of missiles into her. Point defense stopped some, but four exploded against her wavering sidewall, and more damage codes flashed as some of their fury overpowered the straining generators and blasted into her side. And then the hostile battlecruiser fired again. The green icon lurched, circled with the flashing red band of critical damage, and a window opened in the tactical display.