by Allan, Jay
“Yes, sir…ah…thank you, sir.”
Compton smiled, taking pity on Duke. He sometimes forgot how difficult it was for the younger officers to deal with humor from a creature as lofty as a fleet admiral. “I had to relieve Zhang, James. I couldn’t trust him to follow my orders…and I need your people to back up the fighters. Now.”
“Anything, sir.” Duke still sounded a little dumbstruck, but there was confidence there too. “What do you want us to do?”
“I need you to take the entire task force, and attack the enemy fleet. Immediately.” He paused. He knew he didn’t have to give a reason, but he liked to keep his officers in the loop when he could. At least the officers he trusted and respected. “Hurley’s fighters ran into a new weapon, and I had to divert them against the orbital forts. I need you to keep the enemy ships from swinging around and bracketing her forces.”
“Yes, sir.” His reply was crisp and immediate – at least as immediate as lightspeed communications allowed across 170,000 kilometers. There was doubt in Duke’s voice, hesitation. “But the fighters are way ahead of us…I doubt we can get there in time, admiral.”
“I realize that, James, but if the enemy sees over a hundred attack ships coming in, I doubt they’ll change position to go after the fighters. The First Imperium is usually conservative. If you get your people moving, I think you’ll fix them in place.”
“Understood, sir.” The doubt was gone. Mostly. “With your permission, admiral, I will launch my attack immediately.
“You may begin when ready, Captain Duke.” Compton leaned back in the chair, silent for a few seconds. “Good luck, James. And Godspeed.”
“Alright people, it’s payback time.” Hurley’s eyes were focused on the tactical display. “All units, fire at will. Let’s make these fuckers pay.”
She’d lost 150 ships coming in, and her soul was crying for vengeance. Spreading out her formation had cut the effectiveness of the enemy weapon, but it was still a huge threat to fighters…though she suspected its primary purpose was missile interception. Now her first waves were moving into firing range of the orbital platforms.
The leading wings were armed with rocket-packs. Mostly Europan, RIC, and Imperial units, they packed a weaker punch than the ships carrying plasma torpedoes. But they’d also been in the lead, and they’d suffered the most from the fire of the platforms. Now it was their turn.
The first five squadrons came in at 0.03c, flying directly at their targets. Almost as one they fired their weapons, short-range sprint missiles, each packing a 50 megaton warhead. The rockets blasted toward their targets. There were six large fortresses in orbit, but the platforms firing the new weapons were separate, smaller installations positioned near the larger structures.
The bigger fortresses were firing light particle accelerators, but Hurley had managed to angle her approach to limit their fields of fire. The forts were a problem too, but Hurley wanted those railgun platforms first. She was staring down, watching the attacking units go in when her tactical screen flared white. A second later the com went crazy.
“Admiral Hurley, three targets have been destroyed.” The AI spoke just as she was opening her mouth, about to ask for a report. “A single hit destroyed each unit, and a very large detonation resulted. I am still calculating, but the energy output appears to be in excess of 40 gigatons.”
Hurley sat quietly for a few seconds, absorbing what the AI said. It was hard to hear a number like that, especially when it was presented without emotion or emphasis. Forty gigatons? She’d never even heard of an explosion that large from any source outside an astronomical event. “All three?” It was all she could think to ask.
“Yes, admiral. I have an updated report. Four additional units have been destroyed. All seven have exploded with similar magnitude.”
Hurley tried to wrap her mind around it. They’re so easy to destroy and those explosions are so large…are they booby traps of some sort? Mines? Then it came to her. “Antimatter,” she finally blurted out. “Those things are powered by antimatter. No wonder those projectiles have so much range and velocity.”
She was just talking out loud, not speaking to anyone in particular, but the AI responded. “Affirmative, admiral. Preliminary spectral and radiation analysis of the area is consistent with antimatter annihilation.”
“Motherfucker,” she whispered softly. “These fuckers have antimatter-powered weapons besides missiles.” Louder: “Get me Admiral Compton!”
“Yes, admiral.” The AI was silent for a few seconds. “I am ready to transmit. Please be advised that we are now 117 light seconds from the flagship, which will result in a delay of almost four minutes in any two-way…”
The ship shook hard and started spinning wildly. The lights went out, and the emergency power activated, providing a dim but usable level of illumination.
“Activate positioning thrusters now.” Commander Wilder was Hurley’s pilot. He was shouting to the AI as he frantically worked at his board, trying to get control of his wounded bomber.
“Commander, the reactor is currently offline. There is no power available at this time.” The AI was as irritatingly calm as it had been when speaking with Hurley.
“Use the compressed gas jets.” Wilder frowned. He didn’t know how he was going to land back on Midway without the air jets, but that was a problem for later. Pulling his ship out of its death spiral was his major concern. “We need to get this rolling under control.”
“Affirmative, commander. Calculating optimum thrust plan now.” The delay was barely perceptible. “Ready to initiate thrust on your command, sir.”
Wilder barely hesitated. “Engage.”
Hurley sat back quietly and watched. Wilder was a first rate pilot, and he didn’t need her second-guessing him now. He was doing everything she would have done anyway. She looked down at her workstation and punched a few buttons. Whatever had hit them took out the com as well as the reactor. Great, she thought, an admiral who can’t communicate with her ships is as useless as tits on a bull. Her face darkened. “How am I going to report back to Admiral Compton? He has to know we’re dealing with antimatter weapons here.” She was talking softly to herself, her hands curled into tight fists in frustration. The wing commanders will report to the admiral when they can’t reach me, she finally told herself…assuming any of them are still alive.
They were all going in now, she thought, running the gauntlet…and I’m cut off. “Fuck,” she muttered to herself, and she gripped her handholds tightly as the bomber spiraled wildly out of control.
“Give me another stim.” Duke’s voice was low and gravelly, and he tended to speak slowly, even when he wasn’t drugged out of his mind and crushed half to death. His orders were to distract the enemy fleet and prevent them from attacking Hurley’s fighters. Fulfilling that order meant getting there in a hurry, so he ordered everyone into their acceleration couches and thrusted toward the enemy at full blast.
“You have exceeded the safe dosage for stimulants under pressure, Captain Duke.” The AI spoke clearly and professionally, totally unaffected by the 38g of pressure that had the crew reduced to spaced-out zombies encased in their protective shells.
“I understand that. Now give me the fucking shot.”
“Yes, Captain.” The AI ignored the captain’s anger. The early AI personality modules had encountered significant difficulty in dealing with casual profanity. They tended to assume the human subject was extremely angry when it was nothing more than annoyance that had provoked the language in question. They tended to overcompensate, making for some interesting interactions. Newer AIs compensated, usually by identifying and ignoring casual swearing.
Duke felt the shot and, an instant later, the rush of clarity. It was hard to keep your mind clear at high thrust levels. The pressure-equalization drugs were moderately hallucinogenic, and the gee forces involved considerably worsened the effect. Enough will power and discipline could help a little with mental focus, but the only thing that
really worked was a massive dose of stimulants.
Duke’s job was to distract the enemy, not engage in a fight to the death. His ships were moving in at 0.05c and accelerating. They would come in and execute a single attack run and quickly zip past the enemy and out of their firing range. It would take a while to decelerate and turn about, but Compton would be behind with the rest of the fleet to mop up.
“Enemy missiles inbound.” The AI was the only way Duke was getting information now. Wrapped up tightly in the couch, he couldn’t so much as turn his head to look at a display or monitor. “Point defense systems activated and ready.” His weapons crews weren’t able to do much except watch the AIs fire their lasers and shotguns. It was an ongoing debate in most of the navies about how useful human gunners were. Some schools of thought held that AIs would always shoot better without human interference; others argued that intuition and experience had their place and could enhance targeting.
Duke was firmly in the latter camp. He’d seen a career gunner anticipate evasive moves by a target that no computer would have guessed at. But that was mostly firing heavy weapons at enemy ships. Even Duke had to acknowledge that effective point defense was almost entirely mathematics…and best left to the machines.
Even with the stims, the perception of time was erratic in the couches. Duke listened to the reports as his point defense fired at the missiles, but it still seemed like only an instant had passed when the AI warned him the enemy volley was entering the inner perimeter around his forces. The point defense had been effective, but there were still 40 missiles closing on his vessels, and attack ships didn’t have much protection.
It was hard - one of the toughest things for a spacer to get used to – to lay helpless and nearly motionless, waiting to see if a missile detonated close enough to destroy you. There was no warning, no chance to think. One minute you’d be laying in the couch, the next you might be dead, vaporized with your vessel by a 500 megaton warhead exploding right next to you…or caught in the twisting wreckage of a mortally wounded ship. All you could do was wait to see if you were still alive a second later, a minute later. It was probably the one thing that broke more naval crew than any of the other dangers they faced.
“Detonations.” The AI continued to feed data to Duke. “Explosions of 3 to 9 gigatons, captain. “Yuan and Muscovy destroyed. More damage reports coming in…”
“Did you say 3 to 9 gigatons?” It had taken a few seconds for the report and its meaning to sink through the haziness. Antimatter warheads.
“Affirmative, captain. Do you wish me to continue with the damage report?”
Duke lay motionless, struggling to stay clear minded. “Get me Admiral Compton. Now.”
Compton was looking at the long-range scanning display, cursing under his breath when he got the call. “We know, James,” he said before Duke could get anything out. “We’re picking it up on our scanners. There’s nothing you can do about it. Focus on your attack run.”
“Yes, sir.” Duke’s voice was weak, tentative. Compton knew he was at 38g and in no condition to have a conversation. Especially one that wouldn’t make a difference. Antimatter missiles meant that more of Duke’s people would die; it also meant Compton’s fleet would suffer more damage and casualties when they went in. But it didn’t change anything else, so there was no point dwelling on it now.
“Figures.” Compton muttered under his breath after he cut the line with Duke. Well, he thought, you had to figure there was a good chance they’d have more antimatter ordnance back here. Compton hated himself for thinking it, but he was glad he’d ended up having to send Duke’s people in first. Maybe the enemy would use up its enhanced ordnance on the attack ships. Better a 90-man suicide boat than a capital ship with over 1,000 crew, he thought. The logic was sound, but it didn’t make him feel any better.
Chapter 13
Bridge – AS Indianapolis
System X1
One Transit from Sigma 4
“I want probes launched from every ship, Commander Carp.” Jacobs was staring intently at his display, watching the data flowing in from the ships of Scouting Fleet. “We’ve got no chance of surprising anyone anyway, so I don’t want any time wasted. All probes are to scan at maximum power.”
Jacobs knew he was advertising his fleet’s presence, but with all the fighting from Newton to Sigma 4, there was no way a warning hadn’t been sent up the line already. The First Imperium’s communications were millennia ahead of anything the human powers possessed. Jacobs knew it was based somehow on dark energy. That didn’t mean he understood anything about how it worked, but he did know it could transmit directly through a warp gate. All human-developed com systems required sending a physical ship or drone through a gate. That not only slowed transmission speeds, it also restricted communications to existing networks with the required physical infrastructure in place.
“All ships confirm the order, sir.”
“Very well, commander.” Jacobs turned slowly. “Lieutenant Hooper, prepare to launch a probe from Indianapolis.” He tended to work informally with his staff, blurring the specific distinctions between different officers’ duties. Of course he hadn’t had a staff at all until a few months ago, when Admiral Garret put him in charge of Scouting Fleet. Technically, Carp was the tactical officer on his fleet commander’s staff, and Hooper held the same post for him as captain of Indianapolis. But Jacobs didn’t bother with any of that; he just did what he wanted, which usually translated into Carp as his senior aide and Hooper as the junior, and the lines between fleet staff and ship crew very blurred.
“Probe ready, admiral.”
Her answer couldn’t have come more than 20 seconds after his order. Damn, he thought…she really is good. “Very well, lieutenant. You may launch when ready.”
“Commander Carp, a reminder to all ship commanders…I want everyone on their toes. We don’t have any idea what’s hiding here, so keep your eyes open. Anyone gets blindsided and survives it, they’ll be dealing with me. And they’ll never be sorrier in their lives.” Jacobs had the fleet on yellow alert, and he wanted his captains taking it seriously. The system looked empty, but that didn’t mean a thing. There were still a hundred places enemy pickets could be hiding.
“Yes, sir.” Carp tried to hide the smile on his face. He knew Jacobs was unhappy with some of the contingents that made up Scouting Fleet. He was used to Alliance standards, but of the other powers, only the Caliphate and Martian Confederation came close. The PRC’s were at least as good…and might even be a little better. The CAC’s were OK, about on par with the Central European League’s forces. But a third of Jacob’s ships were from Europa Federalis, which fielded the worst attack ship corps of any of the powers. The Europan navy overall was a formidable force, but its strength was highly concentrated in its larger ships. Service in the attack boats was unpopular, and most of the officers with connections or prospects lobbied hard for postings to the capital ships…or at least the cruisers. The crews serving on the fast attack craft were mostly those who had no other options, and it showed in their performance.
“Admiral, I have Captain Mondragon for you.” Hooper was monitoring the admiral’s communications while Carp relayed a slightly edited version of Jacobs’ warning to the ship commanders.
“Put him through, lieutenant.” He’d found Francisco Mondragon to be a welcome exception to the norm for Europan attack ship officers. He’d even begun to trust - and genuinely like the fiery Basque.
“My compliments to the admiral.” For a hotheaded officer with a wide rebellious streak, Mondragon was capable of almost theatrical politeness. He’d come to respect Michael Jacobs, and it showed.
“Thank you, Captain Mondragon.” Jacobs smiled. He couldn’t help but like the guy. “Are your ships ready?”
“Yes, sir. All probes have been launched. With your permission, I will tie them into Indianapolis’ information systems. I believe your people will be able to analyze the data more effectively than mine once we ar
e zipped up in the couches.” There was something in Mondragon’s voice, an excitement, a level of engagement that wasn’t there before. For the first time in his 20-year career, he was on a mission he thought mattered, serving a commander he liked and respected…and it was obvious to anyone who was paying attention.
“I agree, captain.” Jacobs was impressed. He hadn’t even thought about tying Mondragon’s probes into his network. “You can coordinate with Commander Carp to integrate the data nets.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And captain...as soon as you complete the integration, your force may engage Plan Delta as soon as you are able.”
“Yes, admiral.” Mondragon’s voice was steady, with just a touch of edginess. Jacobs was impressed. If he had been preparing to blast away at full thrust to head deeper into enemy space, he wasn’t sure he’d sound as calm.
The fleet had only found one other warp gate besides their entry point. Jacobs would have preferred to scour this system before pressing on, but Compton had been clear. He wanted at least a minimal scouting force pushed forward as quickly as possible. Jacobs knew he shouldn’t be giving the hazardous duty to Mondragon’s people again, but the alternative was Pierre Cleret…and Jacobs wouldn’t have trusted him to take out the garbage by himself. Cleret was arrogant and obnoxious…borderline insubordinate even under normal conditions. Jacobs strongly suspected he would do very poorly if he ran into anything unexpected. And pushing ahead through First Imperium space was asking for trouble.
“Good luck, Francisco.” Jacobs voice was softer now, sincere. “And to your people.”