by Allan, Jay
“Very well, commander. I want realtime updates.”
“Yes, sir.” Carp knew Jacobs expected to find something. There was no evidence to support the suspicion, but the admiral’s hunch was good enough for him.
Jacobs sat quietly in his command chair, glancing down at the ship’s status indicators. Scouting Fleet was understaffed, and Jacobs was skippering Indianapolis in addition to his duties as admiral. “Commander Carp, bring the fleet to yellow alert.” Jacobs didn’t know what the probes would find, if anything, but he wasn’t going to get caught by surprise no matter what happened.
“Yes, sir.” Carp worked his hands over his station. “Fleet status upgraded to yellow.”
It wasn’t battlestations, but yellow alert brought the fleet’s units to a high state of readiness, and it directed all vessels to conduct weapons diagnostics. If Jacobs had to move the status to red alert, pre-existing yellow status would dramatically shorten the time it took to get to full battle readiness. And if it turned out Jacobs’ concerns were unfounded, it would be a useful drill.
Carp turned toward Jacobs. “Fleet status yellow confirmed by all units, admiral.”
Jacobs double-checked Indianapolis’ own readiness, but he saw that Carp had already executed all yellow protocols for the vessel. He leaned back and watched the plot displaying the probes’ location. The spread was approaching the warp gate, fanning out to widen the coverage area. The sophisticated scanning drones were already operating at full power, sweeping the area. They could detect miniscule energy emissions at fairly long range and physical objects closer in. If there was anything posted near the warp gate, they would find it.
“Probe phalanx passing warp gate, admiral.” Carp was tracking the plot and, though he knew the admiral was watching himself, he verbally updated him anyway. “Still no contacts.” Carp wasn’t sure if he expected the probes to find anything, but he couldn’t fault the admiral for being careful. Allowing the enemy to detect the fleet without even realizing they’d been spotted could be disastrous. The First Imperium’s dark energy transmission system would allow a scout to undetectably warn forces farther down the line. The fleet could easily walk into a trap and, against this enemy, that would mean total destruction.
“Keep monitoring, commander.” Jacobs’ response was perfunctory; his own attention was focused on the plotting screen as well. A few minutes passed, then five. Still nothing. Could I be wrong, he began to wonder. He’d been so sure.
“Energy readings, sir!” Carp’s voice, louder, excited. “Multiple contacts!”
Jacobs saw it too, just as Carp snapped off his report. It took a few seconds for the AIs to interpret the readings…starship drives roaring to life. Not one drive, not ten…there were more than two dozen, and they were beginning to thrust toward the fleet.
“Bogies inbound, admiral.” Carp was working his controls, trying to ID the approaching vessels. “Thirty-one ships confirmed.” Carp’s voice was still steady, but it was starting to show the strain. Jacobs had been concerned there was a scout hiding behind the warp gate, but none of them had expected to find an entire First Imperium task force lurking in the deep outer system. “Still working on unit IDs, sir.”
“Get me those as soon as you have them, commander.” Jacobs leaned back and took a breath. Well, he thought, I wasn’t wrong…now I just have to get the fleet out of this. He was looking at the plotting screen, considering how to handle an enemy force far larger than anything he’d anticipated. “We’ve got to stop underestimating their tactics,” he muttered almost soundlessly. “They’re learning. They’re learning from us.”
“I’ve got a dozen Gremlins ID’d, sir.” Carp, still working as he spoke. “And four Gargoyles. Computer’s still crunching on the rest.”
Fuck, Jacobs thought. He hadn’t been expecting ships as heavy as Gargoyles…he’d only anticipated a scouting force. This was going to be a real fight. He glanced over at Carp, who was still working furiously on identifying the rest of the bogies. He turned, moving his head reflexively to the side again, even though the conduit from Hornet’s bridge still wasn’t there. “Lieutenant Hooper…transmit fleet order Red-1.” He stared right at her, eyes cold and focused. “Battlestations.”
Pavel Bogdan clung to the rails of the intraship car as it raced to the launch deck. His Black Star squadron was one of the Russian-Indian Confederacy’s most elite, and he’d wondered what the hell they were doing assigned to a hastily modified bucket of bolts like Borodino, attached to a scouting force. Now he knew. Scouting Fleet wasn’t out here to meekly prowl around, and Michael Jacobs wasn’t about to let an enemy task force stand in his way. That meant facing front line First Imperium ships with suicide boats and a few cruisers…and the Black Stars and their companion squadrons.
He and his bomber crews already had their flight suits on, and their maintenance teams had preflighted the ships. That was all courtesy of Jacobs’ yellow alert. The battlestations alarm wasn’t in itself a launch order, but it did send them to man their craft and wait for a take-off command. That would likely come sooner rather than later.
Bogdan and his squadron were all veterans, but they hadn’t faced First Imperium ships yet. Assigned to the defense of Samvar, they had been held in reserve and hadn’t yet engaged when the enemy retreat order was issued. He’d bristled at the inaction and hungered for a chance to get at the enemy. When his squadron was first assigned to nursemaid a bunch of scoutships, he’d taken it badly. Now he realized his people would get their chance, and far sooner than any of the forces coalescing in the rear for the main invasion. The Black Stars were in the vanguard, and they had a fighting admiral leading them, by God. Yes they did.
The car stopped abruptly at a small catwalk just over two meters above the landing bay’s deck. The trip had been a short one; Borodino was much smaller than a capital ship, and everything was crammed closer together. “Let’s go, people.” He stood up and moved quickly onto the catwalk, the loose metal grating rattling loudly under his boots. Everything on Borodino was loose, thrown together, or half-assed in some way. She was a poor substitute for a proper mothership, but she’d brought his people 40 lightyears to the edge of battle. That had to count for something, he thought, warming slightly to his squadron’s new home.
The rest of the Black Stars followed him smartly, 17 in total after Bogdan, six full crews for the RIC’s 3-man Karnikov fighter-bombers. Their dark gray flight suits provided protection against both gee forces and the vacuum of space if their ships were breached.
The bay was a loud and busy place, the tools of the maintenance crews echoing noisily off the high ceilings. There were various umbilicals attached to the fighters, hissing as they pumped liquid nitrogen into the ships’ cooling tanks and flame retardant foam into the damage control systems. Not for the first time, Bogdan appreciated the massive amount of logistics required to send his 18 warriors into battle. Without all this, he thought, we might as well be throwing rocks. A lot of pilots failed to adequately appreciate their maintenance crews, but Pavel Bogdan wasn’t one of them.
He climbed through the small hatch into the fighter-bomber’s main compartment, twisting his body to get through the narrow access tube. Why don’t they make those damned things bigger, he thought for the hundredth time?
He slid himself over to the pilot’s seat and dropped into place. He started to run his preflight checks as he always did, though he was aware his support team had already done that. His backup people were the best, and he knew it. In five years flying with this team, he’d never found a problem they hadn’t. He glanced at the monitors. There were six small indicators, and five of them were lit. While he was looking the last one came on, its soft white glow confirming the last of his crew had boarded their craft.
“Launch Control…Black Star commander reporting. All ships manned. Conducting final preflights now.” He was already flipping through the prelaunch checklist as he spoke.
“Acknowledged, Black Star commander.” The voice on t
he com sounded young, nervous. The fighter squadrons attached to Scouting Fleet were all veteran, but there just hadn’t been enough experienced personnel to give Borodino and the rest of the makeshift carriers experienced bridge crew.
Bogdan finished his check by flipping on the ship AI. “Black Star One Control, confirm status.”
“Working.” The RIC didn’t bother with the sophisticated personality modules the Alliance used in its AIs. Black Star One’s voice wasn’t even a good facsimile of human, with a heavy electronic sound to it. “All systems 100% operative.” The RIC computer lacked the frill of the Alliance systems, but it was a potent unit that could get the job done.
Bogdan glanced down at the six indicator lights. All of them had changed from white to green. The squadron’s ships were ready. “Launch Control…Black Star commander reporting. Black Star squadron ready for launch.”
“Acknowledged, Black Star commander.” A pause, short but one that wouldn’t have happened with more experienced bridge crew. “Black Star squadron…you are authorized to launch immediately.”
“Think man, think.” Jacobs muttered softly to himself. He knew his fleet could win this fight. As tough as First Imperium ships were, 6 Gargoyles and 25 Gremlins weren’t enough to destroy his force. They could hurt it though…hurt it very badly. He wanted to go at them, face them toe to toe and crush them. But that would be a fool’s move, and he knew it. Whatever he did, he had to get the fleet through this fight in decent shape. They had a lot of work to do beyond this system.
“Commander Carp, calculate a thrust plan to pull the fleet back from the warp gate. Designate Beta-2.” He wished Newton had fixed defenses…he’d pull back to the planet and add its missiles and fighters to his own if he could bait the enemy to follow. But Newton was virtually undefended, with just a few satellites his people had left to give it at least minimal protection. Certainly nothing meaningful in the coming fight. “Six gee thrust, commencing in six minutes.”
Carp glanced briefly at Jacobs, surprised by the order. “Yes, sir,” he snapped, turning almost immediately back to his station. “Plotting course for all ships now.”
“Lieutenant Hooper, all cruisers are to prepare to drop one spread of laser buoys on my command.” The bomb-pumped lasers were one of the Pact’s most potent new weapons. Jacobs hated to start expending his limited supply so soon, but he decided it was better to go through ordnance than start getting his ships torn to hell.
“Yes, sir.” Hooper’s response was crisp and perfect, as usual.
“Very well, lieutenant.” Jacobs continued to be impressed with her, but he was still worried about how she would handle herself when things got out of control. She was so tightly wound, tense and precise about everything…he knew he was going to have to help her through that crisis when it came. He’d never felt as out of control as he did on Hornet’s mad dash home from the enemy base, and it had been difficult at first to learn to trust his instincts. Now he combined his gut and his intellect, and he felt like a better officer for it. If Hooper could manage the same leap, he thought, she will be a formidable commander one day. Augustus Garret had told him as much when he assigned her to his staff…and there wasn’t a better judge of naval talent drawing breath anywhere.
“Order transmitted, sir.” Another crisp response, and fast. Jacobs didn’t even know how she’d relayed his command so quickly.
Jacobs turned back to Carp. He was surprised he hadn’t gotten the thrust plan yet, and he started to open his mouth to put some pressure on the young officer. Give the kid a break, he thought…he’s gone from tactical officer for a suicide boat to one for a fleet of over 100 ships.
A few seconds later, Jacob’s patience was rewarded. Carp spun around to face the admiral. “Thrust plan Beta-2 completed, sir. Locked into all vessels and synchronized.” Ready to execute on your command, sir.”
“Lieutenant Hooper, what is the status on readiness to launch those buoys?”
“All ships will be ready in two minutes, sir.” There was a hint of annoyance in her voice. Clearly, she felt some of the vessels were taking too long.
“Two minutes will be satisfactory, lieutenant.” Jacobs appreciated her high standards, but Scouting Fleet had a lot of inexperienced personnel backing up its veterans. “Commander Carp, we will be executing Thrust Plan Beta-2 on schedule.”
“All units report ready, admiral.” He turned and looked down as his hands moved over his workstation. “Transmitting confirmation now, sir.”
“Very well, commander.” Jacobs leaned back and sighed softly. Six gees without deploying the acceleration couches was going to suck, no question about that. But he didn’t want his people wrapped up in their cocoons, drugged half out of their minds. Their survival suits were enough to stand up to six gravities, even though it wouldn’t be pleasant. He didn’t intend to continue any single burn for too long anyway. He was going to fight a running battle, keeping the fleet at missile range from the enemy. He was willing to gamble that this picket force didn’t have antimatter weapons, and he didn’t want to get anywhere close to the enemy’s particle accelerators. His ships would lose the energy weapons battle, but at long range, he felt he could win with missiles supported by fighters and x-ray laser buoys. He hated burning through so much of his ordnance, but his transports had replacements for supplies and ammunition. Lost ships and crews would be gone for good.
“All ships report ready to deploy laser buoys, admiral.”
He smiled at Hooper’s tone. She was definitely pissed at how long it had taken. “All ships launch, lieutenant.”
“All vessels deploying buoys, sir.” She was focused on her workstation, watching the launches in real time. It took 30 seconds, maybe 40 before all buoys were out. “All ordnance launched, admiral.” Jacobs couldn’t tell from her tone if she was satisfied with the performance.
“Very well, lieutenant.” He took a deep breath, holding it in for a few seconds before exhaling. “All units are to prepare to launch all externally-mounted missiles.” All units wasn’t entirely literal. None of the fast attack ships were missile armed, just the cruisers and the seven destroyers from the South American Empire. But flushing their racks would put a lot of missiles into space.
“Commander Carp, thrust plan Beta-2 on schedule in…” He glanced at the chronometer. “…180 seconds.” He nodded at Carp’s perfunctory acknowledgement. “Lieutenant Hooper, are those missile launches ready?”
She hesitated a few seconds, waiting for the last few confirmations. Her head popped up from the screen. “Yes, sir. All vessels report ready to launch external ordnance.”
Jacobs stared straight ahead. The main screen displayed the countdown to the engine burn. He watched it, feeling an almost hypnotic effect as the numbers blinked by. When it read 90 seconds he turned slowly and looked over at Hooper. “Lieutenant…” He tried to keep his voice stone cold, but it was the first time he’d been able to really hurt the enemy, and his excitement showed through. “…Launch missiles.”
Chapter 6
MCS Red Lightning
Alpha Centauri System
En Route from Earth to Sandoval
Elias Holm reached his arms above his head and twisted his body, stretching his aching muscles as the steaming hot water washed away the crusted remnants of the ecto-plasmic goo from the force dampening chamber. Traveling in one of the Martian Confederation’s superfast transports was hard on the body, no question about it. The Torch ships were either accelerating or decelerating full virtually all the time. Their engines were able to achieve higher absolute thrust levels than those on any other vessels, but the primary factor contributing to their great speed was the ability of the propulsion systems to run full out without a break. Most ships were lucky to maintain maximum thrust for a few hours without a major breakdown. The median point to failure for the Alliance’s Yorktown class battleships was less than 9 hours, meaning half of those ships would suffer a critical malfunction if they ran their engines full out for less than
half a day. But a Torch could maintain maximum thrust for days without a break.
With travel through warp gates nearly instantaneous, it was the intrasystem journey between transit points that took time. And the Torch’s ability to race across the vastness of interplanetary space made it invaluable for rapidly shuttling people and cargo between human-occupied worlds. It also beat the hell out of its passengers and crew, physically and emotionally. Staying suspended for days at a time in the Torch’s sophisticated gee force protection system was tough not only on the body, but also on the mind. More than one passenger had been driven to a psychotic episode by the experience, and conditioning and psychological pre-screening were essential for all passengers.
Holm knew the break wouldn’t last, but he was enjoying it while he could. It was a long trip from Earth to Sandoval, even in a Torch. He had days and days ahead of him in the ship’s force dampening chamber, but the crew was running a scheduled maintenance check for the next three hours, and that gave Holm time for both a shower and a regular meal.
“Water off.” Holm snapped his instruction to the AI, and the faucet deactivated. He reached up and grabbed a towel. It was thick and plush, but then he’d have expected nothing less on one of Roderick Vance’s transports. The shower had an air-drying system, but Holm had always preferred a good old-fashioned towel.