by David Gunner
“Loose.”
The four slim missiles slid unpowered from their launch tubes to trail some distance behind the advancing Bristol.
Canthouse stepped to the side of his commander where he stood as attentive as his strapped arm would allow and spoke formally, “Sir! For the record, and in accordance with regulation 32f of the Border Charter, I feel I must remind you of our requirement to notify any bandit vessel of our intention to engage in hostile actions against them, to give said vessels the opportunity to withdraw and prevent avoidable loss of life or destruction of properties.”
“Noted, Lieutenant-commander,” Denz gave Canthouse a slow sideways smile. “It’s a pity the Border Charter only applies to the home system.”
ding ding
“They know we’re here,” Stavener said. “The bandits are forming up to engage us, including the sled. Four directly with the two each on all flanks.” A number of smaller blips appeared on the main screen preceding the attacking ships. “They’ve launched missiles. Ten, class five anti-ship missiles inbound in a pincer formation. I think they’ve guessed who we are.”
Denz sat in the command chair considering the class five missiles, which were some of the most advanced weapons the EDP possessed. These things radically altered his attack strategy. “Launch spoofs. Snap fire interceptors and close in weapons systems to fully automatic. Navigation, begin evasive manoeuvres.”
The rippling pearlescent light of the speculative armour gave the Bristol’s hull an unearthly bluepink hue as she began jinking and turning through the smoking trails of the interceptors that streaked ahead to cut off the corkscrewing anti-ship missiles. A series of brief stabbing lights came from forward of the ship’s stumpy sensor tower as five barrel sized seduction charges were ejected ahead of the ship. The decoys began to spin and tumble as they emitted complex clouds of charged aluminium flakes with the intention of drawing the enemy missiles away from the Bristol.
“Interceptors are having an affect,” Stavener said, “One ...three ...four missiles down.”
The Bristol continued to turn and weave in an attempt the keep the blooming seduction charges between her and the approaching rocket powered death.
“Spoofs have reached potential. Three more missiles drawn away.”
“Three left,” Canthouse said watching the streaming trails of the interceptors as their AI units engaged in a battle of strategies with those of the remaining anti-ship missiles. Two of the larger missiles won the chess game with the interceptors and penetrated their defensive screen, only to power into the streams of blazing Phallanx rounds with one detonating immediately. After analysing the capabilities of the Phallanx suppression system, the final missile calculated a one degree deficit in the rotary canons arc of fire and manoeuvred to take advantage. With nothing between it and the wallowing Bristol the remaining missile came straight at them.
“Course- 020-280, flank speed!” Denz shouted, his hands gripping the arms rests as he watched the corkscrewing ordinance defeat the close in systems and bear down on the ship..
“Permission to remo –“
“Now man!” cried the commander.
The Bristol surged into a lazy turn with the trailing smoke growing in volume and density as she accelerated.
Beep beep
“Temperature warning on number one engine,” Stavener said with a grim look.
“Noted,” was all Denz said, his unblinking gaze fixed on the red dot closing in on them.
The missile entered the exhaust stream behind the overheating engines and continued on its spiralling avoidance of the twin rotary cannons that spewed thousands of rounds a minute, until the ship’s computer reversed the tracking path of number one cannon and the missile flew directly into the altered stream barely forty meters from the ship. In the milliseconds before its destruction, the missiles AI took a chance shot and detonated the warhead with a concentrated magnetic pulse punching a hole in the Bristol’s protective energy barrier that collapsed milliseconds later. Yet the void endured sufficiently to permit the molten penetrator of the secondary hypergolic warhead to pass through the shields, spraying the hull over the Bristol’s port sub-light engines.
Shrill beeps came from the operations station. “Detonation!” cried Canthouse. “But no impact. Shields penetrated, but no damage. The missile detonated too far away with too much dispersal to be effective.”
“Bring us about and resume the attack path,” Denz said.
“Commander. Communication from engineering. Engine number one has overheated. Auto shutdown initiated. It’s strongly advised we reduce thrust or we’ll lose engines two and four.”
Denz near spat with fury. What a time for the engines to fail. “Do it. Reduce thrust to best advised, but continue the attack.”
With the loss of an engine and the others at reduced thrust the Bristol’s turn was slow and ponderous, with the enemy ships closing as she resumed the original attack path.
Canthouse stabbed a button to cancel a warning beep, “All ships are launching missiles, mostly old, low yield mark twos’. But the sled has launched four more class fives’, two of which don’t appear to be tracking.” He watched the scrolling data next to the approaching blips for several seconds. “Confirmed. Two of the missiles have no active signature. Looks like they were dumb fired on the off chance.”
“Those things are expensive and difficult for bandits to come by, so for them to launch them in dumb effort must mean they really don’t want us going near their FTL drive.” Stavener said.
“Weps, what threat do the mark twos’ present to our shields?” asked Denz.
“Moderate, Commander. Those missiles are probably older than me, and even without our close in defences we could probably ride them out individually, but with such numbers …” The weapons officer shook his head as he thought. “This class are quick but pretty sluggish, so I recommend saturating the approach path with area-denial munitions as their too close for the seduction charges to achieve potential.” Honus responded without turning from his console.
“Do it.”
The forward grenade launchers spat dozens of coppery trails that erupted into fiery red stars, forming a sparkling curtain that detonated any missile within proximity. The class twos ran directly into the shimmering curtain where the denial charges defeated the majority of them, with the remainder making little attempt at avoiding the shredding Phallanx fire.
“Most of the class twos have been defeated. Close in weaponry is tracking the rest.” Stavener said.
“Launch spoofs and interceptors to deal with the class fives. Status of the long axis weapon”
“Main corrosive light weapon is saturated and primed,” Honus responded.
Denz hesitated. The ship’s primary weapon had never been fired in anger with several of the limited test shots near overloading the beam attenuator. Any fault with the high energy weapon could cause an explosion in the center of the ship near the drive capacitors and main munitions storage, potentially leading to loss of the gate drive or even destruction of the ship. “Target the sled.”
“Sled targeted.”
“...fire”
The molten yellow beam of energy sliced toward the sled which through some breath of god slewed sideways, causing the beam to nick the left of the hammer head and slice clean through a ship following behind, destroying it completely.
“Did we miss?”
“No, commander. The sled initiated a course change before the firing cycle completed.”
“Time to recharge?”
“Forty four seconds and I –“ Honus was jarred in his seat by a series of tremors that rattled the bridge.
“Weapons impact! Three strikes. Forward shields.” Canthouse reported over the beeps and buzzers from the ops station. “Generator seven has stalled. But the system has compensated and the generator recovered. Some shield attenuation, but no serious damage. However, the long axis weapon safeties have tripped. Three minutes to reinitialise.”
Denz stood, “Prime four class fives’ for vertical launch and load the other tubes with as many heavy interceptors as you can. Let’s give them a taste of our own expensive ordinance.”
“Engineering reports the VLS system is denied due to shielding limitations,” Honus said.
“What! Why? No, never mind.” Denz said knowing any explanation would eat up any remaining engagement time. “Load the forward tubes one through four with class fives. We need to take out that sled. The secondary batteries can deal with the rest.”
“Commander, the forward tubes are still compromised by the displaced munitions severing several hydraulic lines,” said Honus.
Denz took a deep breath, closed his eyes in apparent exasperation. “Then load the rear tubes.”
A thick tension filled the air when no immediate response came. Canthouse stood up straight from where he’d been leaning over the ops console.
“There are no class fives’ in the rear magazines, commander”
Denz’s face burned a livid red and he near spat from exasperation. How could such a text book engagement have gone so wrong? They had the better ship and the element of surprise against a lesser foe. Yet, his engines were near failing and his four primary weapons were denied him, forcing a closer engagement where the smaller ships had the advantage of manoeuvrability and numbers to split the fire of his close in weapons systems.
Denz wore a sullen, dangerous look as he turned to face his first officer. “Lieutenant-Comm ...” Denz caught his words. Savaging his first officer in front of the crew would accomplish nothing. It could wait.
The commander waited until the immediate simmering of blood had dropped and said in his usual controlled timber, “Malcolm, next you’ll be telling me the lawyers have left.” Denz referred to the four forward turrets each of which bore the name of a fictional lawyer from books or television, with those to the rear known as ‘the sluts’.
Canthouse stood, his hands clasped behind back and countenance dour with the comprehension of what he had done. Gone was the Olympian reserve. This time the stance carried no element of hidden humour, but the solemn indignation of a man aware that by committing a grievous error he had failed his station and his commanding officer. The selection and grouping of torpedoes in the rotating magazines was the sole responsibility of the first officer, and should have included at least two anti-ship missiles as per regulations. Not having any, especially in a combat situation was a gross breach that could cost him his deep space commission.
“No, sir. I believe the legal gentlemen are still with us and fully able to assist,” he said in a review voice.
Denz never had to stare a moment longer than necessary for Canthouse to spin into action. “Weapons, time until the forward turrets can commit to nearest targets.”
“We’re just within reliable range now sir,” Honus said.
“Forward turrets to target the approaching vessels, aft to track those flanking as best able. Secondary weapons to assist in close in suppression, and load every interceptor you can squeeze into the rear tubes and fire at will. Helm! On my mark take us in as fast as the governors permit.”
“Aye, sir,” the navigator responded.
“Targets acquired.”
“Fire!”
Then all was murder.
The smaller enemy ships broke their loose formation to escape the blue-white fire that erupted from the Bristol’s eight turrets, and a seemingly endless stream of interceptor missiles that powered from the rear tubes to bank round and pursue their allotted target.
Four underpowered sub-light engines flared as the far heavier sled quit a ponderous turn, its reverse buckets pivoting into place so as to back away from the smoking lumbering gunship they believed toothless, only for it to suddenly turn into fire breathing mutt that came straight for them like a terrier after a rat. Ship after ship detonated as they were hunted down by the interceptor missiles, with one ship attempting to evade the four interceptors pursuing it by slipping behind the sled, only for the more agile missiles to split ranks with two continuing a direct pursuit, and the others steering around the thick hammer head to find it on the other side. The unfortunate ship never reappeared from behind the larger brigand vessel.
The bandit’s too scored hits of their own, with the Bristol’s shields rippling like a rainy pond as dozens of missiles and hundreds of heavy calibre rounds struck her from all angles. Yet, her batteries kept firing with high yield rounds raining down on the fleeing sled, its thickly armoured face near molten from the repeated shell and missile strikes as it continued reversing away from them.
***
“Sir, two of the flanking enemy vessels have over shot us,” the weapons officer said.
“Ignore them,” Denz said.
“Sir. The two vessels are turning to pursue.”
“Ignore them, Mr Honus,” Denz repeated.
“Sir! The two vessels are approaching from af -” Honus’s words were cut short when both pursuing vessels flashed and erupted into brief fiery blooms as the trailing Lancet missiles intercepted them.
“Faith, Mr Honus,” Denz said and smiled encouragingly.
“Faith and a class three, Lancet missile,” Canthouse added with a reassuring smile of his own.
The young Indian man’s normally deep moca skin flashed anaemic from being the direct subject of both senior officers attention. He managed a humble, ‘Yes, sirs’ before returning to his attention to his console.
***
Soon there was only one combat ship left. With two of its reversing engines destroyed the heavy sled spun lazily on its long axis due to unequal torque, but even crippled it still had enough thrust to outrun the sluggish Bristol.
“The main batteries don’t appear to be slowing her down.”, Canthouse said as he watched the constant stream of blue-white shot disappearing towards the heavy marauder, and the barely visible yellow splotches of the impacts. He considered lowering the shields to fire the VLS anti-ship missiles, but said, “LAW: status?”
“Capacitors tapped out, Lieutenant-Commander. Full capability on your order,” Honus replied.
Canthouse resisted the urge to look to Denz for confirmation on his choice of the LAW, and bit the bullet. “Let’s hope she doesn’t move out of the way this time. Mr Honus, cease the main batteries, target the sled with the long axis weapon and fire when able.”
The stream of battery fire stopped to b replaced by a beam of liquid sun that lanced out and faded away. The bridge was religiously quiet as all present stared at the main screen expectantly.
Nothing appeared to happen for the first instant with the image of the distant sled unchanged, until a yellow bloom appeared on the upper hull, to be followed by a larger detonation that engulfed the entire vessel.
Cheers of triumph lit the bridge as the crew whooped and pumped fists in celebration of the LAW’s success. Canthouse’s cheeks ballooned as he released the breath he held since the LAW fired. He turned to Denz who smiled and nodded before becoming business again. He permitted the crew their celebrations for a short minute before saying, “Operations, project current sensor readings onto the main screen.”
Stavener worked quickly and a plan view of the local area appeared on the screen, with the Bristol in the center and the debris scattered all about them represented by blue dots. Several large red icons marked the position of the abandoned ships and the FTL drive. Two smaller red dots hovered at the extreme upper periphery of the display and Stavener highlighted them.
“What are they Mr Stavener?” asked Denz.
“The two ships that fled before the battle, Commander. I’m receiving a continual active sensor signal. It appears they’re monitoring our actions.”
The two icons magnified on the screen but due to the distance they appeared as little more than static filled outlines of irregular shaped hulls. Canthouse noticed the strength of the probing sensor signal, which was quite high given the distance. “That’s quite a strong sensor signal. How far away are they?”
“Almost two million kilometres,” Stavener said.
“Weps, could the LAW reach them?”
“Too much dispersion to do little more than warm their beer at that distance sir.”
Canthouse stared pensively for a moment, “Can they see us clearly? Could they say, see us opening the VLS launch doors?”
“Easily,” Stavener gave Canthouse a curious look over the top of his display.
“What’s the time delay between us and them?” The first officer turned to face Denz who also considered him curiously, then nodded as he realised his XO’s plan.
“About six and a half seconds.”
“Weps, illuminate the ships with the targeting sensors and open the VLS doors,” Canthouse looked at the clock at the top of the display. Twenty six seconds later the two icons twitched and broke away to disappear from the main display as they gated from the area.
The crew laughed and clapped to Canthouse who smiled.
“Very good,” Dens said, his business tone returning as he lifted himself from the command chair. “Gentlemen, we need to finish our business here. There may be survivors aboard those abandoned vessels and amongst the wreckage who need our assistance. XO, pick your men and take the launches to investigate those ships and wreckage for survivors.”
“Aye, commander,”
Denz turned to the operations officer, “Where’s Lieutenant Avery?”
“Lieutenant Avery is on deck D reforming the search party to find our missing crewmen.”
“Good, but inform him to leave his people to it and initiate a ship wide damage assessment immediately. And send a brief to Trent quarter station stating our position and condition. Say we are still gate capable with a full report is to follow shortly. Time to message arrival?”
“Seventy six hours, Commander.”
“Hmmm,” Denz said as he considered the image on the main screen.
He returned to his chair and used the controls to manipulate the display to zoom in on the abandoned FTL drive. Being so much closer the image revealed the power lines and transparent tubular walkways that ran between the FTL unit and the closely parked cruise liner and freighter, so it was true that the bandits were using the liner to power the jump drive. He gazed in wonder at how the reworking of apparently incompatible objects proved even the most discarded of society were capable of a level of inventiveness that continually amazed.