Seas of Venus(61)

"Listen to me!" Admiral Braun snarled. "The Blackhorse fleet is blocked at the Kanjar Straits! They've told you you're on your own, you fool! The only thing you can do now is die in vain if you refuse to listen to reason."

Braun didn't sign a transmission break, but he paused as if to give his opponent a chance to respond.

"S' long as they talk," murmured Sergeant Britten, "they're not shootin' our asses off. Which suits me."

He frowned. "Course," he added, "they maybe ain't in range yet. Quite."

"Holy Trinity," the Angel admiral resumed in attempted calm, "come about now. We'll take your vessel out of service for the duration of the war. All—"

"Bingo," said Johnnie. "They're talking because they don't want to—"

"—of your party will be returned to Blackhorse—"

"—lose the Holy Trinity. They're willing to do just about—" said Johnnie.

"—Base immediately, free to fight. We're not—"

"—anything to keep from pulling the plug—" said Johnnie.

"—asking for your paroles. And you—"

"—on their own best ship!" said Johnnie.

"—must have injured personnel. We'll provide full medical treatment for them. Angel Command over."

Silence from Uncle Dan.

"This is better than a fair offer, Blackhorse," Admiral Braun concluded in desperation. "This is a complete victory for your party! Over."

"Gun crews," muttered a different voice, one of the technicians on the dreadnought's bridge. "Stand by."

"No rest for the wicked," Britten grumbled, but there was a cruel smile on his face as he stood. He was holding the pry-bar. Johnnie noticed with surprise that his own hands still gripped the hammer.

"Braun," said Dan with the harsh anger Johnnie had heard his uncle use on Senator Gordon, "this is Commander Dan Cooke. This is my offer. You surrender all your forces immediately. That means when the war is over, you'll get them back as is, including the Holy Trinity. You'll still be in business . . . which you won't, if you push things to conclusions. What d'ye say, Braun? Blackhorse Three over."

The turret's panoramic display showed the masts of a ship on the horizon again. Hydraulic rammers whined, sliding the waiting 5.25-inch rounds into the tubes and withdrawing as the breeches screwed closed. The sudden activity made both men jump, but the guns did not yet fire.

"Commander Cooke," Braun said in a voice that stuck to his throat. "Dan. Dan, you know we can't do that. We've got a contract with Heidigger Dome that—"

"Listen to me, Braun," Dan broke in. His words buzzed like a rattlesnake's tail. "It isn't some sucker like Haynes you're dealing with this time. You know me, and you know I'll do what I say. You can take my offer, or you can rest assured I'll ram it up your ass. Capisce? Blackhorse Three over."

Turret II turned slightly. The motion was barely noticeable against the thumping background of the dreadnought's fouled drive. The guns elevated a few degrees, then stabilized.

"Have it your way, you bastard!" snarled Admiral Braun.

The interior of the turret brightened, lighted by the panoramic display. The image of the horizon had gone orange-red with the muzzle flashes of the pursuing dreadnoughts.

"For what we are about to receive," Sergeant Britten murmured blasphemously, "the Lord—"

The paired 5.25s fired in close sequence, aiming not at the invisible battleships but at one of the destroyers which plotted the fall of the batleships' heavy shells. Johnnie flinched instinctively, but the concussion of the secondary armament was almost lost in the hideous sound of the railguns, firing to raise a defensive envelope above the Holy Trinity.

As the big shells lifted toward their target, the four domed railgun batteries sought them with bursts of hyper-velocity slugs which turned metal gaseous on impact. Not even the armor-piercing noses of rounds from a dreadnought's main guns were proof against hosing streams of projectiles which had been accelerated to astronomical velocities.

Shells with bursting charges detonated, blowing themselves apart harmlessly. One of the pursuing battleships was firing solid 16-inch shot. Even those dense projectiles melted under the impacts. They tumbled off trajectory, streaming glowing clouds behind them.

The buzz of the railguns' coils energizing was marrow deep, more penetrating than a mere noise could ever be. When the guns discharged in rapid succession, the ballistic crack of a slug accelerated to thirty thousand feet per second in a few yards shattered the air like nearby lightning.

The Holy Trinity mounted four railgun installations. The pursuing dreadnoughts carried a total of thirty-three 16-inch guns, each of which was capable of a higher rate of fire than the Holy Trinity's big 18-inch tubes. The mathematics were as simple and inexorable as statistics on aging and death.