by Allan, Jay
Her head spun around as she heard a deafening sound…not an explosion, more of a crash, like metal being torn and rended apart. Monmouth lurched, throwing her body forward hard against her safety strap. The flagship had been hit.
Monmouth shook wildly, tumbling as multiple secondary explosions and expulsions of atmosphere altered her vector unpredictably. The ship lost thrust and, along with it, her simulated gravity. Debris flew wildly around the now nearly zero gee flag bridge, and a main structural conduit broke, one of its massive halves floating hard into a bank of workstations, crushing everyone in its path.
West straightened herself and felt a searing pain in her chest. At the very least, she’d cracked a few ribs. “Status report?” No response. She snapped her head around, wincing at the pain in her chest as she did. Krantz was laying in the remnants of his chair, very dead. The left half of his body had been hit hard by debris and virtually crushed. She tried to look around the flag bridge, but she couldn’t see much…and what was visible was a nightmare. There was wreckage everywhere, and hazy clouds of blood floating next to severed body parts. A dozen ruptured lines spewed gas and fluids into the air.
“Status report?” She tried to turn, to look behind her, but she couldn’t move herself. Whatever injuries she’d sustained, it was apparently worse than a cracked rib. “This is Admiral West…report immediately…anyone. But there was no response, only the loud static of her damaged com unit.
Compton sat silently on the flag bridge, his expression grim. No one dared to approach him, not now. No one but Max Harmon, and then only if it was extremely important. He’d won another victory, a new battle honor the wordsmiths would weave poetically into his service record. But as he had so often found in almost 50 years in space, now that he’d paid the price, the triumph he’d wanted so badly didn’t seem so sweet.
They taught us again not to underestimate them, Compton thought…showed us once more that we are the children in their universe. He was angry with himself. He’d given considerable thought to what other weapons the First Imperium might have had waiting, how heavily fortified one of their bases might be. But he couldn’t pick his enemy or decide what powers they would possess. And there’d been no choice but to go in, to keep up the pressure and find a way, any way, to end this war.
Still, he felt he should have foreseen things more clearly…that there should have been some way to reduce the cost his people had paid. Erica West would live, at least. Her people had gotten her evac’d to Yashida’s sickbay. He wished he could say the same for Monmouth, but her main structural spine had been shattered. Compton had seen a lot of damaged ships, and he was pretty sure West’s flagship was a total loss.
Akagi might survive. Her damage was extensive, but probably repairable. The old girl deserved to make it, he thought, since Akagi, acting on West’s orders, was as responsible as any fleet unit for the victory. Her short-ranged missile fire had erupted around the orbital platforms, taking out four of the particle gun satellites in less than a minute. Compton couldn’t imagine what the losses would have been if they hadn’t.
Once the heavy guns were gone, West’s people swarmed around the rest of the orbital works and tore them to pieces. They’d thought the admiral was dead, and they took their vengeance, closing to point blank range and ripping the things apart with concentrated laser fire. The enemy armor was laser-resistant, but a strong enough focused barrage would destroy anything…especially from spitting distance.
While West’s people secured the orbital facilities, John Duke’s crack attack ships had swarmed back through the enemy formations, picking off the wounded ships and then delivering multiple plasma torpedo runs to those still in decent shape. By the time they cleared the combat zone, they’d lost another 21 of their number, but they’d left nothing in their wake but shattered hulks. Compton’s main body quickly finished off what little was left. The battle was over, and won. It was time to count the cost.
Compton had five battleships crippled or mortally wounded. Hurley had lost over a third of her people, as had John Duke. Any initial hopes for a quick victory over an outnumbered enemy looked like the worst kind of foolishness now. But however painful and costly, it was a victory, and not one Compton intended to waste. They had uncontested possession of the space over a First Imperium planet. At least for now.
“Get me General Cain.” They were the first words he’d spoken in quite some time.
“Yes, sir.” Harmon had been hunched over his workstation, monitoring the damage control reports, watching for anything the admiral needed to see. “I have General Cain on your line, sir.”
“Hello Terrance.” Cain spoke up before Compton had the chance. Most of the people Compton would speak to over the next few days would congratulate him on his victory, but not Erik Cain. The dour Marine knew, perhaps more than anyone, what Compton was feeling now…sadness, guilt, regret. The last thing he needed was more platitudes and backslaps on his strategic brilliance. “I’m sorry the losses were so high. Your people put up a tremendous fight, but it always costs more than it should. Doesn’t it?”
Compton sighed. “Yes, it does.” He paused then added, “And Erik…thanks.” Cain didn’t answer; no response was needed. “In any event, we’ve secured the system, at least for now. How soon can your people be ready to go down?”
Chapter 15
Bridge – AS Indianapolis
System X1
One Transit from Sigma 4
“All vessels, cut thrust immediately.” Mondragon responded instantly to the enemy contact. “The fleet is to assemble at coordinates 373,402,092. All ships are to compute optimal thrust plans and confirm through the flagship before executing.” Concentrating a fleet that was scattered over a cubic lighthour of space with different velocities and headings was an extremely difficult exercise in the best of circumstances. Doing it in the face of the enemy called for expert crews, something most of his ships simply didn’t have.
“Yes, sir.” Tomasino hunched over his workstation, relaying Mondragon’s orders to the rest of the task force.
“Lieutenant Santini, I want you to review and coordinate the incoming thrust plans.” Santini was Faucon’s navigator, but since Mondragon had been put in charge of the task force, she’d become part of the command staff too.
“Yes, captain.” Santini’s response was tentative, hollow. Keeping Faucon on course was one thing, but she’d never done anything remotely like supervising a force of over 40 ships converging to face an enemy fleet.
“Use the AI, lieutenant.” Mondragon understood her concerns, and her limitations as well, but she was all he had. “Run their plans through the navcom and perform a few checks. That’s all you can do.”
“Yes, sir.” She sounded better, but still not convinced. “Awaiting incoming plans for review.”
Mondragon leaned back. He knew she could only give each plan a cursory glance, but any double-check was better than none at all. “Lieutenant Tomasino, prepare to launch a drone back to X1. We have to advise Admiral Jacobs we’ve encountered enemy forces.” I think I can take 7 Gremlins, he thought…I hope I’m right…and that you agree with what I’m doing. “If not,” he whispered to himself in his native Basque, “you can court martial me.” French was the official language of Europa Federalis, and use of the other national and regional tongues was discouraged in rural areas and forbidden outright in the major population centers and in the service. But Mondragon didn’t give a shit. Federalis and its government was far away…and good riddance to the whole corrupt, stinking lot of it.
“Yes, captain.” Tomasino turned and looked over at Mondragon. “Ready for message download now, sir.”
Mondragon nodded and switched his comlink to the drone’s input line. “Admiral Jacobs, I am reporting contact with a group of 7 enemy vessels, conclusively identified as Gremlins.” His eyes glanced down at his screen, subconsciously confirming what he already knew. “I have elected to mass my task force and give battle. I believe we have sufficient
strength to defeat this enemy squadron.” He wasn’t at all sure about that, but he was determined to put up a fight. If he ran, it would mean abandoning all his ships that had pushed deeper into the system; they’d never decelerate and get back through the warp gate before the enemy caught them.
“I am transmitting all navigational and scanning data via this drone, and I am posting two vessels near the warp gate with orders to send ongoing updates through.” He paused for a few seconds, considering if he wanted to add anything further. Finally, he just said, “Mondragon out.” Then he cut the line. “Lieutenant Tomasino, download all scanning data into the drone and launch at once.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Lieutenant Santini…status on incoming thrust plans?” He turned toward her as he spoke.
“Still coming in, captain.” She was staring at her screen as she spoke. “I have 18 so far.”
Mondragon frowned. The Alliance and PRC ships again. He didn’t even have to check; he knew. “Lieutenant Tomasino, advise all ship commanders that anyone not getting their thrust plan to the flagship in two minutes will be relieved.” His voice was ice cold.
Tomasino hesitated for an instant before stammering a response. “Yes, sir.” Mondragon had always had a temper, but there was something different in him now. He was more demanding, but it was cold, meticulous…not the fiery anger he’d sometimes displayed in the past. It was far more menacing. The old Mondragon might have made angry, empty threats to shoot a subordinate; this new one would probably do it.
Mondragon leaned back in his chair, clear eyes boring into the backs of his bridge crew as they executed his orders. He’d never before served with officers like Terrance Compton and Erica West, and their cool competence had made an enormous impression on him. There was no reason, he thought, that the Europan forces needed to cede such a performance gap to the Alliance and Caliphate. It was the officers, too focused on acquiring and preserving their own perquisites and privileges, who accepted sub-par standards and efforts. But Francisco Mondragon had no intention of playing that game anymore. And the sooner his officers and crews realized things had changed, the better.
He knew he could probably avoid this combat, in spite of the fact that he couldn’t get all his ships out ahead of the enemy. If he scattered his fleet the enemy would have to disperse to give chase…and superior technology or not, no 7 ships could effectively pursue 42. He wondered again if he should try to avoid battle…if he should give his fleet orders to scatter. A fight would be no easy victory. Seven First Imperium ships, even Gremlins, were going to be hard to fight with nothing but attack ships. His only useful weapons were short-ranged, meaning his ships would have to take everything the enemy could dish out before they got their turn.
But if he let them pass…if they got through to the next system, they’d be able to scan the rest of Scouting Fleet. With the enemy’s advanced communications capability, the functional assumption was that if any First Imperium vessel knew something, they all did…straight up the line. Mondragon’s job was to scout forward and to gather information for Compton; that was true. But it was also to deny that same intelligence to the enemy, to screen Grand Fleet and keep the First Imperium forces in the dark about what was happening. He could do that. He could do it by destroying these ships before they reached the warp gate.
“Lieutenant Santini, do you have all the thrust plans?”
“Yes, sir.” She was bent over her workstation, running the plans through the navigational computer. “Working on those now.” A short pause, then she added, “They look good so far.”
“We’ll have to take the rest on faith.” He took a deep breath. “Order all ships to execute in three minutes.” He turned to face Tomasino.
“Lieutenant Tomasino, bring the fleet to battlestations.”
The enemy missile barrage had hurt, but it could have been much worse. The Gremlins didn’t have external emplacements and, overall, they had a relatively small broadside of missiles. The fleet had, for the most part, cleanly executed the complex series of maneuvers Mondragon had ordered, and they were able to meet the incoming volley with a combined point defense grid. Most of the incoming weapons were intercepted by the combined countermeasures of the task force, and the ones that got through were all nukes. Mondragon suspected they had all been standard atomic warheads - he guessed the Gremlins lacked antimatter ordnance altogether. Still, even with the successful defensive effort, the enemy attack had destroyed 2 of his ships and taken another 3 out of action.
The particle accelerators had been worse, much worse. The Gremlins mounted lighter weapons than the Gargoyles, but it didn’t take much to wreck a fast attack ship. Mondragon brought his force in on a random zigzag pattern, each shift altering a ship’s thrust and vector by tiny increments. Particle accelerators, like lasers, were point to point weapons. They had to actually strike a vessel to cause significant damage…and an attack ship was a very small target at 250,000 kilometers. It took some period of time to aim the projector – and maybe a second for the beam to reach the target. If the ship's thrust or directional heading varied the tiniest amount after the fire lock was established, even enough to move it a boat length out of the projected location, a shot would probably miss.
Despite Mondragon’s aggressive evasive maneuvers, another ten of his ships were destroyed or seriously damaged. Normally he’d have come in fast, reducing the time his force spent in the enemy’s kill zone. But this time he’d kept his velocity low, less than 0.01c. If he came in at high speed and didn’t destroy all the enemy ships on the first run, the Gremlins could escape. He’d never be able to decelerate and turn around before they got to the warp gate and into the X1 system.
“Lieutenant, repeat my order that no one is to fire until I give the command.” He was worried some of his captains would fire too early. The hit percentage dropped off sharply outside the short range band, and Mondragon wanted these torpedoes right on target.
“Yes, sir.” Tomasino was nervous; Mondragon could hear it in his voice. They’d been in combat together before, but nothing like this. He knew it was the same throughout the fleet. This was a rite of passage for most of his people. Except for the Alliance ships, none of them had ever faced the First Imperium before. Hearing stories, reading reports…it was enough to scare the hell out of them. But nothing truly prepared anyone to face this enemy…nothing but actually doing it.
Mondragon and his people had fought the First Imperium a couple months earlier during the battle in Newton’s system, but there Jacobs had masterfully worn the foe down with fighters and laser buoys. In the end, Mondragon had led just 20 ships into that fight, mostly his Alliance and CAC units. For the bulk of his Europan vessels and crews, this was their true baptism of fire.
“Lead ships under 100,000 kilometers from enemy vessels.” It was clear from his tone that Luigi Tomasino would already have given the order to fire. But Tomasino wasn’t in command; Mondragon was.
“All ships continue to close.” The enemy weapons were still firing. He knew getting in tight would cost him more ships. But he needed those plasma torpedoes on target. They were a potent weapon, even against First Imperium vessels, but they still needed to hit.
“Lead elements at 90,000 kilometers.”
Mondragon was trying to decide if he thought Tomasino’s tone was getting a little shakier every 10,000 klicks. He leaned back in his command chair, but he remained silent. They still weren’t close enough yet.
“Griffe had been hit, sir.” Tomasino was reading from his display. “Her reactor’s out, plasma torpedoes disabled…but Captain Elysee thinks she can save the ship.” He looked up from the screen. “Passing 80,000 kilometers, captain.”
Mondragon sat back in his chair, not saying a word. To anyone’s gaze he seemed totally at ease, though in truth his stomach was clenched into a knot. It wasn’t easy sitting there, listening to casualty reports, wondering every second if your ship was going to be hit…if you’d even realize you were dead before it was o
ver.
Jacobs had shared a story with Mondragon, one he’d been told by none other than Terrance Compton. Jacobs had expressed concern about having the coolness under fire to lead Scouting Fleet, and he wondered out loud if he had enough of what Compton and Garret did…whether he could do the job they expected from him. Compton laughed and told him that none other than Augustus Garret had excused himself after every battle for at least 20 years so he could go back to his cabin and casually heave up his guts. Supposedly, he’d done it so forcefully after one especially grueling fight, he’d pulled a muscle in his back.
It had clicked right then and there for Mondragon. At that moment, he understood. The heroes weren’t born that way, they didn’t have anything inside them he didn’t…they just resolved to do what had to be done, and put the fear and hesitation in its place until they could deal with it. Francisco Mondragon decided that being a middling Europan commander was no longer enough for him. Especially not now…not when the best of mankind was rallying to face the enemy.
“Requin and Chasseur have been hit, sir.” Tomasino’s voice was beginning to crack. He was a good officer by the standards of the Europan attack ship flotilla, but the pressure of this fight was pushing him to his breaking point. “Chasseur is remaining in the line, but Requin is not responding, captain.” He turned to face Mondragon. “Passing 65,000 kilometers, sir!”
Mondragon took a deep breath. “All ships may fire when ready.” He spoke softly, with apparent – but entirely faked – calm.
Tomasino relayed the order at once. “All ships, fire when ready.” He was gripping the sides of his workstation and almost shouting into the com. “Repeat, all ships, fire when ready.”
Chapter 16
Launch Bay Gamma – AS Midway
Sigma 4 System