The Huralon Incident

by E A Wicklund

McCray knew that Madkhali missile targeting routines operated essentially the same as Elysian weapons. The weapon’s electronic brain that comfortably tracked a single target, only Springbok, suddenly contended with 188 electronically generated targets, all maneuvering in a different pattern. The onboard electronic brain was designed for this sort of warfare, though. Quicker than human thought, it would sort through the many contacts, dismissing those that could not be the target.

  The weapons were very good at this, but the issue was time. Since McCray had waited so long to activate Electronic Warfare, this missile could not attend to all the false contacts before it must fire. It was a gamble, a race of death to see if it could locate the right enemy.

  “Five seconds to intercept,” called Warwick.

  “Fire defensive lasers.”

  “Firing now.”

  “Deploy decoys.”

  Small missiles streaked out ventral bays in Springbok. Each of the four started up severely overpowered paddles, guaranteed to run so hard they would burn out their emitters in mere minutes. Their enormous strata wake, far larger than Springbok’s, offered a tempting, juicy foe.

  The Qalawun’s missile, still approaching Springbok, suddenly contended with four, much more attractive targets. This threw off its electronic calculus and changed how it analyzed true versus false targets. While it spent precious milliseconds considering its options, it raced through thousands of kilometers of space.

  McCray’s hands clenched into fist, then released, clenched again, and released. Springbok hadn’t faced a missile attack until now. How would she perform? Only one missile approached, but this was still an important test of ship and crew.

  Approaching at an impressive velocity of 0.37c, the missile’s maneuvering options dwindled rapidly as it moved within 0.4 light seconds from Springbok, almost within firing range. McCray estimated some of its remaining EW targets could not be hit, requiring maneuvers it no longer had time for. With so little time left, it seemed to settle on a target.

  Before the firing control signal could reach the trigger, one of Springbok’s eight anti-missile lasers struck it amidships. The hit apparently obliterated the control system for the fusion plant’s magnetic bottle. All the drive’s remaining fuel cooked off in an instant and a ten megaton sun erupted, 9,000 kilometers off Springbok’s starboard quarter.

  Chapter 26

  “Missile ignition,” called Qalawun’s weapons officer. “Our weapon fired.”

  “See what my leadership can do, ChaCha?” cheered Marcus, almost but not quite touching the captain’s back. “Now watch as I tell Huralon how we’ve rescued them from the Elysian devils. They’ll be begging to join us.”

  Captain Chahine watched the tank, not so easily convinced. Missile ignition meant nothing. Did the bomb-pumped lasers, powered by the fusion explosion, hit anything? “Sensors, what are you seeing?”

  “No debris, sir,” said the tech. “No secondary explosions, no released atmosphere. No indications of a hit.”

  “Weapons?” said Chahine. “Do you concur?”

  The weapons officer had lost his enthusiasm. “Concur, sir. The blast occurred at nine-thousand kilometers, four-thousand short of optimum range. And Captain, isn’t this supposed to be a merchant?”

  “Yes it is.” Chahine’s eyes narrowed. This attack was supposed to be simple. One shot and it’s done. Then why does Weapons looked perplexed? “Why do you, ask?”

  The officer swallowed hard. “I see signs of counter-missile fire and even a few decoys.”

  Chahine scowled. “Either the Elysians have upped their game against piracy recently or that’s no merchant.” He seethed inside. The damned Elysians were always ahead of the curve, thinking two, even three steps ahead. He shook his head. One had to admire them for their constant innovations. Meanwhile his lazy whore of a nation rested on her stained bed, getting fatter by the minute, secure that her obsequious billions posed no threat to her self-indulgence. Why did he fight for her at all? Waiting for a grand moment, of course, when it was the right time to make a change. He watched the contact of Precious Jade jealously.

  Perhaps the grand moment he’d been seeking, that thing he’d been suffering in silence to discover, would not be stolen from the Senator after all, but from someone else.

  “I told you,” growled Marcus. “I said it was a warship all along. You should have taken that into account when firing.”

  Chahine kept his eyes on the tank. “Exactly when did you claim it was a warship?”

  Marcus’s mouth worked in anger. “I did because your Lord and master says I did. That’s all you need know. Destroy that ship immediately, you dog.”

  Chahine leaned against the tank, gently stroking the sidearm at his right hip.

  It would be so easy.

  Adjusting the display controls to keep his hands away from the weapon, Chahine couldn’t help but fear the Senator would inevitably lead them all into ruin. Who gave a damn what happened to the Elite, but the good hard-working crew of this ship deserved better than being pawns in a petty man’s gambit for wealth. Madkhal, why do you send this pox unto us? He cleared his throat and caught Marcus’s gaze.

  “At this point, only one shot has been fired on planet or in space. We can even claim this one shot was a mere threat, a shot across the bow. That ship, that warship’s presence, proves that Elysium values these stars and is willing to fight for them. Let us turn back now and call this whole thing an unfortunate incident. Let the diplomats cool things down. Fighting that ship will surely start a dangerous, costly war.”

  Marcus snarled, his face twisting into a dark parody of humanity. “You think you’re so smart, do you, Captain? How little you know. There is no chance for war. Elysium is exhausted from sixteen years of battle with the Thallighari. By the end of it, millions of Elysians protested in the streets, demanding peace. Here I am snipping off an insignificant piece of territory. It’s not even a proper province—a mere protectorate. Elysium won’t fight for it, you fool! They’ll do anything to avoid more war.”

  Chahine wondered at the man. So why all the Machiavellian intrigue? “Then why bother with this charade of a secession vote? Why not just take what you want?”

  Marcus preened, apparently believing he’d claimed the awe of Qalawun’s captain. “It’s honey to help Elysium swallow the jagged little pill of her territorial loss. A way for the ESE to save face and an excuse to avoid war. They can throw up their hands and say, ‘McGowan didn’t want us anyhow’. This ensures no war. It’s called statesmanship, boy, something naval commanders aren’t taught.” His face twisted up once more. “Let me do the thinking. Now destroy that ship.”

  Chahine nodded. This preening fop still commanded a sharp mind, albeit the morals of a common maggot. “Helm, how long until Precious Jade reaches the point of closest intercept?”

  “Nineteen minutes, Captain. After that, they’ll begin pulling away. We can’t match her acceleration.”

  Chahine looked away. He didn’t need the reminder that his ship was outclassed in that respect. “Weapons, if we fired now, missiles would, roughly, arrive at our closest intercept correct?”

  “Yes, sir. Two point six minutes early.”

  That meant the ship’s defenses, newly revealed, would have the least time possible to organize. “Very well. Fire all missile tubes, then reload immediately. Fire again with the reloads. Don’t wait for my order.”

  “Aye, sir. Firing all tubes.”

  ***

  “Vampire. Vampire!” called Warwick. “Eight missiles on intercept vector. ETA sixteen minutes.”

  McCray stood at the tank, analyzing the complex array of icons and display data. During their training simulations, the worst-case scenario, the most unlikely encounter possible, they faced salvoes of missiles totaling six weapons each. They had only survived such drills half the time. Qalawun fired eight at them. Here it comes, he thought, the battle he’d hoped to avoid. The Mind help us all. “I guess they no longer believe we’re a merchan
t.”

  Zahn stood with him. “I think you made them angry.”

  “How cheeky of me for not dying. I’m about to get meaner. Mr. Piper!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Fire all missile tubes.” He gritted his teeth. If they were going down, they were taking a big bite out of that bastard first.

  “Aye, sir. Firing four…now. Another salvo available in eleven seconds.”

  McCray looked at Zahn. “Seems the gloves are off now. While we’re running our asses out of here, let’s give them the fight they’re asking for.”

  On a little screen beside the Conn, McCray watched a view of Springbok’s hull as massive plates slid aside, revealing spinal and ventral missile bays where cargo hold access positions would have been. On most ships. missile launchers were positioned similarly, away from the largest number of paddles along the sides. Some vertical paddles covered the missile tubes. These paddles paused for an instant, allowing missiles to streak past and into space. The powerful weapons—the size of passenger buses—raced clear of the ship and deployed their own paddles, making hard turns towards their targets.

  “Think we’ll get any hits?” said Zahn, rubbing his hands.

  “I doubt it. That beast has formidable defenses. Our small salvos shouldn’t overwhelm it, but you never know. The Navy has deployed Ripper III missiles for five years now, but they’ve never been fired in anger.” McCray held up his hands. “Who’s to say if the Madkhalis are ready for that old dog’s new tricks?”

  Piper couldn’t help a little smile. “New salvo available, sir.”

  “Prep them for launch and hold nearby, if you please. Then fire.”

  “Aye,sir. Prepped. Four more birds away.”

  “Do the same for next three salvos. Let’s put them all together for simultaneous time-on-target in wolf pack mode.”

  “I was hoping you’d ask, sir,” said Piper, working his screens with a grin.

  “I do aim to please. Helm, how long until closest point of approach with Qalawun?”

  “Eight minutes, sir,” said Raj.

  Zahn pointed into the tank. “At that point, we’ll be within three light seconds. Qalawun’s main lasers could begin firing. It’ll be hard to target us very well from such long range, but still effective if they hit.”

  “Then we’ll just have to avoid getting hit.” McCray looked around the bridge at the crew’s expressions. Raj’s face looked like stone. His concentration kept his whole body focused except for that one pulsing blood vessel at his temple. Warwick wiped at her damp forehead, and Piper worked feverishly at his boards programming the next missile salvos with last minute instructions. They were all scared, the signs all faithfully reproduced in VR. They knew the stakes. Springbok was never supposed to fight a capital warship and fighting Qalawun hurled them into the deep end in a bad way.

  McCray had faced terrible odds before. He knew that he would respond with cool precision, and it was with a certain amount of pride that saw his crew stayed focused despite their fear. He turned to Warwick. She probably had the most challenging job aboard the ship right now. “You all right, Athena?”

  The dark woman’s face creased into lines across her features, but she still had a brief smile for the captain. “I’ll be fine. I just wish we had more anti-missile lasers.”

  “You’re doing great,” said McCray. “We’re in the best hands possible.”

  Aja walked to Warwick and said, “You know, the Madkhali MillSwift II missiles are especially responsive to the Quebec-Band sensor band.”

  Warwick flipped through her screens rapidly. She stared at Aja. “There’s nothing in the specs about that.”

  Aja shrugged. “It won’t get into the specs for a few more months. I came by that during an op at Inouye.”

  “Did you have to torture a guy to get that?” said Ando, eyes wide.

  Aja smiled. “Don’t be silly.”

  Ando breathed a sigh.

  She leveled a dead-eyed look at him. “He shot himself in the head before I got started. Luckily, he missed the micro-drive in his skull. I managed to cut it out.”

  Ando’s face went slack.

  Warwick nodded. “Well that’s useful.” She brought up a pattern editing app. McCray knew it was one of her rather brilliant yet illicit hacks, another one he turned a blind eye to. “Reprogramming. Standing by on counter-missiles and decoys, Captain.”

  “Thank you, Eyes.” McCray felt a glint of hope. The edge that Aja just handed Warwick might make the difference between life and death. He’d take every advantage he could get just now.

  Tense minutes passed. Space combat was difficult for many, thought McCray. It involved long periods of time with terrible weapons approaching, and nothing to do but to watch the juggernaut advance and wait. Around the bridge, the crew watched the tank with trepidation. Even though the compartment was a simulation, Archimedes ensured no detail was lost. The bridge smelled of sweat, and humidity in the compartment climbed. Twitches of muscles and tense expressions in the avatars reflected the user's state of mind. Everyone could see their neighbors felt the same anxiety, yet also intense focus.

  Warwick watched McCray, her finger poised over her execute button to launch defenses.

  Even to himself, his voice seemed too calm. “Engage EW and launch decoys.”

  “Launching.”

  “Fire counter-missile lasers.”

  “Firing.”

  “Helm, roll ship.”

  None of the crew felt the motion, but Raj yanked the ship through a ninety degree roll along her length. Paddles were primarily clustered around a ship’s port and starboard flanks. Since paddles offered an additional defense against weapons, missiles naturally targeted those soft spots along the spine. The roll maneuver presented a bank full paddles where the standard soft target had been moments before.

  The eight enemy systems had little chance of countering this move so late in the game, but it was still worth it to attack. Paddles only diminished the destructiveness of lasers. They didn’t eliminate it.

  McCray watched the missiles and knew they enjoyed a much easier time of it during this attack. They operated as a coordinated swarm, communicating via tactical datalinks. But, when Springbok’s EW suite started up, 188 different targets would appear in their electronic minds. This time, they could split the work of sorting through the false targets between all eight individuals. Each one needed to process only thirty-six different contacts, a far simpler prospect.

  Eight decoys launched from Springbok, and once again they would seem like the juiciest target in the region. McCray grinned as four of the missiles answered the siren song, ignoring all else. Two more responded perfectly to contacts in the most sensitive bandwidth of their sensors, courtesy of Aja’s timely intelligence, and they dashed toward electronic phantasms.

  The last two found Springbok and raced towards the swiftly maneuvering ship. They ate up space at a velocity three times higher than their quarry. But the expert systems of the missiles were forced to make a guess where Springbok would move to next. One anticipated completely wrong, outfoxed by Springbok’s more complex AI. The other missile guessed better, but Springbok suddenly veered hard to starboard. The Q-ship’s forty-two paddles, an unusually high number, meant she enjoyed astonishing acceleration—in any direction. The big clipper suddenly wasn’t anywhere near where the weapon could turn in time.

  In a last gambit, the missile whipped its frame around one hundred-sixty degrees, a maneuver impossible in atmosphere, but common in space. It located Springbok once more… and died as a counter-missile laser obliterated it.

  Warwick stood up at her station, mouth gaping in a mute, scream of triumph. Her clenched fists shook at her sides.

  McCray gave her feral grin. “Nice shooting, Eyes.”

  Warwick grinned back at him, then gathered herself and sat down. “Eight minutes until the next salvo intercepts, Captain.”

  “Excellent work, people,” said McCray, addressing the bridge. “We know h
ow to do this now. Stay focused and we will be victorious.”

  The officers smiled fiercely at him. They were becoming believers. That’s what he needed—it’s what they needed, to come out of this alive.

  This first laser salvo from Qalawun arrived at that moment. Lasers were invisible in space. Crews under fire might not feel like they were truly in a battle, though only sub-consciously, until hit. The ship’s AI compensated for this by drawing a livid red line, representing the laser’s path across the many tactical screens of the bridge. Though lasers were silent, Archimedes added an impressive weapon sound. The three beams all missed, victims of the Archimedes’s random evasions.

  As if it could make a difference, nearly all the bridge crew ducked.

  “They’re firing main guns,” Zahn said, rather obviously, into the stunned silence.

  “Figured they would,” said McCray, one of the few who didn’t try dodging. “Archimedes, go to evasion set Papa-Quebec-Two.” Something about those laser shots lit up a part of his mind—the aspect of him that thrilled at the prospect of battle. The warrior inside girded on his armor and reached for his weapon. McCray lived to command giant ships and their titanic weapons. Feeling the adrenaline surging through him, he settled into the role he was born for.

  “Papa-Quebec-Two, aye,” answered Archimedes.

  “Good for evading lasers,” Zahn said. “Bad for evading missiles.”

  “I’m picking my poison,” countered McCray. “Helm, I want to cheat a little. Maneuver to put that missile salvo exactly between us and Qalawun.”

  “You’re kidding me,” Zahn said. “The odds of that working—”

  “Hey. If it works, I’m a genius.”

  “One minute until intercept,” Warwick called.

  “You know what to do, Warwick. Just wait for my command.”

  More laser blasts streaked past them. This time farther away. No real defense existed against the weapons. Ships could not see them coming, even if they were visible. Since any means of observing lasers moved at the speed of light, the same speed as the laser, any detection method could not return to the operator in time to say, “You’re being shot at.” The only way spacers knew they were being fired upon was detecting the heat bloom after it passed, or suddenly realizing their ship started to break up.