by Jay Allan
Most of the surviving Alliance fighters had been trapped with Compton’s fleet, and Gravis had only a few hastily-organized squadrons he could put into space. This battered cadre was all Admiral Garret had available, a vague shadow of the forces Grand Fleet had put into space a year earlier. But Garret wasn’t one to waste time thinking about what he didn’t have, and Gravis wasn’t either. There was a job to do, and they would both have to make do with what they had.
He stopped under one of the bombers, reaching up and climbing the ladder into the cabin. He pulled himself up and walked to the command seat. The “Lightning” fighter-bombers were over 50 meters in length, but most of the space was occupied by fuel, engines, and weapons. The cabin itself was a cramped affair for the four-man crew.
The other three members of the crew were already in place, strapped in and ready for launch. All 37 of Gravis’ ships were fully crewed, and now that the commander had boarded his craft the strike force was ready to go.
Gravis scooped up his helmet and snapped it into place over his head. He climbed into his harness and clipped the belts. “Lieutenant Fitz, advise fleet command we are ready to launch.”
“Yes, sir.” Fitz relayed Gravis’ report. He was a veteran, like every other crewman in Gravis’ tiny attack force. They were all survivors of the First Imperium War, seasoned flight crew who had been trained and led by Admiral Hurley. They were laughably few, but they were determined to earn their keep.
“Commander Gravis…” – Tara Rourke’s voice came through on the com just a few minutes later – “…you may launch your squadrons when ready.” There was a pause, just a few seconds, and then she added, “Good luck.”
Mike Jacobs sat on Ticonderoga’s enormous flag bridge, trying hard not to be overwhelmed by the scale all around him. There were almost 20 stations in the control center, with support staff busily working at each monitoring the status of the entire task force. Garret had assigned him the massive battlewagon as his flagship as soon as he returned from Armstrong…and gave him a third of the fleet to command.
Jacobs was honored, touched deeply by the show of confidence from the man virtually every living human considered the best naval commander in space. But he also wanted to vomit. The responsibility was overwhelming for an officer who still thought of himself as a ship captain playacting as an admiral. He’d commanded Scouting Fleet in the final campaign against the First Imperium, but this was the first time he’d led a powerful battle fleet. He had never even served on a capital ship before Ticonderoga. Mike Jacobs had been a suicide boat rider from the day he left the academy until command of Scouting Fleet forced him onto a cruiser’s bridge. But a cruiser wasn’t a battleship, and Jacobs was still fighting to grasp it all.
It wasn’t just the staggering power of the task force under his command, it was the importance of his mission. Jacobs had been a student of Garret’s tactics his entire career, and he knew his hidden force was the admiral’s primary maneuver element, the sledgehammer the brilliant tactician planned to use to crush his enemy. Jacobs wasn’t privy to Garret’s overall plan, but he knew his ships would have a key role in the decisive combat to come, and probably the key role. Jacobs was trying to stay focused on his tasks, but his stomach was tied in knots. He could think of nothing worse than letting Garret down. And failing Garret would be failing the entire fleet.
He was waiting for the transmission…for the single word Garret had promised him. “Go.” That simple command, flashed via direct laser com, would set his force in motion. His orders were simple. His ships would burst out of the asteroids and slam into the flank of the enemy fleet. They would launch a single missile volley as they emerged from their cover, and then they would close to energy weapons range. After that it would be a fight to the death, bare-knuckled and brutal.
His ships were ready. Everything had been checked and double-checked. They were on radio silence, their only job now to remain hidden, to shield themselves behind the asteroids until they got the word to attack. They were sitting, waiting for the decisive moment, for Admiral Garret to unleash them on the enemy.
“Receiving a laser transmission from fleet command, sir.” Commander Carp had been with Jacobs since his days commanding a single suicide boat out on the extreme frontier. “The message is ‘go,’ sir.” Carp was a gifted officer, cool and decisive. He was young too. He’d still be a lieutenant if the First Imperium hadn’t invaded human space, but fate had given him the chance to excel…and he’d been fortunate enough to serve under another upwardly mobile officer like Jacobs.
Jacobs swallowed hard. It was time. “Very well, Commander. The task force will execute Plan Javelin.”
Garret stared at the scanner, watching as his task groups decelerated and changed their vectors inward. Slowly, surely, they were moving behind the CAC fleet, even as Jacobs’ forces were coming out from the asteroid field and engaging. Garret was a student of all military history, but certain things resonated with him more than others. He’d read the histories of Hannibal’s war with Rome many times, mesmerized by the Carthaginian general’s crushing victories against the legions. He’d often wondered if a victory of annihilation like Cannae could be recreated in space. He’d considered the problem for years, but he’d always discounted any attempt as too risky…until now. But now Garret wasn’t looking just to defeat the CAC fleet. He intended to destroy it utterly.
He’d paid a price to set the stage for his Cannae. The fleet had scattered, following his meticulous maneuver plan and leaving the enemy to concentrate on Garret’s own small task force. He’d put himself out as bait, and it looked like Admiral Zhu was playing along. Garret had micromanaged the defense against the incoming CAC missile barrages, sweating over each of the hundreds of warheads coming at his ships. Anti-missile ordnance exploded all around the incoming CAC barrage and, closer in, the electromagnetic catapults blasted out their “shotgun” rounds, spraying the warheads with hyper-velocity blasts of uranium and osmium shrapnel.
But the CAC attack waves were too massive, even for Garret’s skilled leadership and razor-sharp crews to fully counter, and the fleet paid the price. His ships began to take damage as enemy missiles entered the effective zone. Many of the 500 megaton thermonuclear warheads expended their fury without effect, too far from any target to inflict significant damage. The massive weapons of destruction were visible only as quick flashes of light against the blackness of space. But some of them detonated close enough to bathe Garret’s ships in radiation and heat their hulls enough to cause significant damage. For all the unimaginable energy released by nuclear explosions, most missile duels were exercises in tearing ships apart bit by bit or killing their crews with blasts of radiation from near misses.
A direct hit would destroy any vessel, but the probability of actually contacting a ship with a missile across the vastness of an interplanetary battlefield was remote. It did happen occasionally, with catastrophic results for the unfortunate vessel involved, but it was far too infrequent to base tactics upon.
The CAC volleys hadn’t scored any direct hits, but Garret’s small task group had taken enormous damage nevertheless. The capital ship Naseby was a total loss. Riddled with hull breaches and almost entirely non-functional, she’d lost her captain and 90% of her crew before the exhausted survivors abandoned her in the escape pods.
Two cruisers and a dozen destroyers and fast attack ships had also been destroyed, and most of the rest of Garret’s central force had taken heavy damage. The CAC ships closed hard, firing volley after volley of missiles before entering energy weapons range. Now, they were moving in for the kill. Just like Garret had planned.
The energy weapons duel was a standoff at first, the extraordinary skill of Garret’s crews momentarily matching off against the numerical advantage of their adversaries. But Garret knew that couldn’t last. Numbers would tell, sooner or later. And probably sooner. It was time.
“Send a flash laser communication to Ticonderoga, Commander Rourke.” Garret stared straig
ht at the tactical display, eyes blazing as he spoke. “Code word, ‘Go.’”
Francisco Mondragon sat still and silent in his chair, staring at the tactical map displayed across Omdurman’s bridge. The battleship was in Jacobs’ vanguard, and she was bearing down hard on the flank of the CAC fleet. Omdurman had launched her missiles already – the entire task force had – and now she was leading the rest of Jacob’s ships right at the enemy.
“All laser batteries, prepare for action.” Mondragon was trying hard to shed his Basque accent, but his English was still far from perfect. “Prepare to fire immediately after missile detonations.” The Europan officer had bonded with his new allies, and when Grand Fleet dispersed, he appealed to Jacobs to find a place for him in the Alliance navy. He was deeply disillusioned with Europa Federalis and enormously impressed with the standards and skill of the Alliance fleet. Garret approved the request and commissioned the Basque officer on the spot, assigning him to Jacob’s task force. He’d expected to have a diplomatic mess to clean up after the fact, but things on Earth had gone to hell so quickly, it never came up. Mondragon was an Alliance captain now…and MIA as far as the Europans were concerned.
“Yes, sir.” Commander Jenkins was Mondragon’s tactical officer. “Detonations projected to commence in 30 seconds.” Before the First Imperium War, an exec like Jenkins might have objected to serving under an officer he considered foreign. But Jenkins had fought in the war, and he’d seen firsthand the bravery and sacrifices of the Alliance’s multi-national allies. Besides, everyone knew about Francisco Mondragon and his service under Admiral Jacobs in Scouting Fleet. Mondragon was a genuine hero as far as Jenkins was concerned, and the Alliance officer considered himself lucky to serve a commander of such ability.
Mondragon’s ship, along with the rest of Jacob’s task force, was coming in right behind the missile volley. Jacobs had been ordered to conserve ammunition and launch only a single barrage, and he’d held it until the last minute before firing. By the time the missiles blasted off, his ships were clear of the asteroid belt, and they had a point blank firing solution on the surprised enemy.
“Very well, Commander.” Mondragon took a deep breath and trained his eyes on the huge main screen. There were clouds of tiny dots on the display, the hundreds of missiles fired from the ships of the task force. A few centimeters behind them was a row of larger symbols, Jacobs’ ships. At the very front of the formation, less than 10 light seconds behind the line of missiles was a small triangle…Omdurman.
The small dots winked out and disappeared, one at a time at first, then in bunches. Out in space, around the enemy ships, 500 megaton warheads were detonating. To anyone watching, only an impossibly bright, but very short-lived flash would be visible. Most of the energy of the massive nuclear explosions blasted out in the forms of x-rays and gamma rays…massive pulses of deadly radiation.
Any ship actually hit by a 500 megaton bomb would simply disappear, its structure and crew vaporized in an instant. But none of the missiles in Jacobs’ barrage scored direct hits. Many of the bombs expended their fury too far away to damage any enemy vessels. But the ones that got close, within a few kilometers, wreaked havoc on the CAC vessels and their crews. Explosions close enough to a target ship could vaporize or melt sections of its hull, tearing the vessel apart bit by bit. The massive dose of radiation inflicted could also overload the shielding, injuring and killing crew members as it did.
Jacobs’ targeting had been true, and the CAC units nearest the asteroid field were savaged by the nuclear devastation his volley unleashed. Thousands of their crewmen were killed or incapacitated, and entire systems were knocked offline. All but the most heavily damaged ships could be at least partially repaired by damage control teams…but the CAC task force didn’t have the time. Jacobs’ ships were bearing down right behind their missiles, about to rake the stunned and battered enemy forces with laser fire before they could regroup or get wrecked systems back online.
“All laser batteries, lock on Macau.” Mondragon’s eyes focused on the largest of the CAC battleships. He pulled up the scanning report on his display. She’d been damaged by half a dozen missiles, and Gravis’ fighters had hit her too. She was in rough shape and streaming air. Mondragon’s eyes narrowed into a feral expression. Now he was going to finish off the big capital ship. “Fire.”
Admiral Zhu sat in his command chair, silently staring at the disaster unfolding on his tactical display. How was it possible? He’d had Garret. A few more minutes, and he would have destroyed Pershing…and become the man who defeated the greatest admiral in space. A victory like that could have taken him anywhere he wanted to go…even to a seat on the Committee. Now, he’d be lucky to get out of this system alive.
“We’ve got more enemy contacts, Admiral.” Captain Wu’s voice was hoarse, ragged. He understood better than the admiral just how dire a situation Zhu’s folly had gotten them into. “They’re englobing us, sir.”
The notion of surrounding an enemy was as old as warfare itself, but no one had ever managed to completely encircle an enemy in the three-dimensionality of space. Until now.
Garret’s fleet had appeared to scatter, small groups breaking off in random-seeming vectors, trying to avoid the CAC missile volleys. But there was nothing arbitrary to the actions of those ships…this was no panic-based flight. Garret’s vessels pulled themselves back together as they moved past the enemy fleet, each group executing a meticulously crafted thrust plan and maneuvering toward its assigned station. They were almost done, and the CAC fleet was under laser fire from all sides. Over a third of their ships were already lost, and Garret’s forces were steadily closing the globe.
“We’ve got to pull back.” Zhu was starting to panic, and it was obvious in his voice. “All personnel to the tanks. Prepare for full thrust back toward the warp gate.”
It was far too late for that command, and Wu knew it. They’d be blasted to radioactive dust before they got everyone buttoned up. He was piecing together Garret’s strategy, even as he watched it unfold. The brilliance…the brutal truth of it all was becoming clear. None of them were getting out of the system. Maybe a scattered ship or two, but the CAC fleet itself was doomed. Garret had tricked Zhu, suckered him into a trap…an ambush so complete it was going to destroy the entire CAC navy. Almost half of their ships were already destroyed or battered into barely functioning wreckage. It wasn’t going to be long before Garret’s victory was complete.
“I gave you an order, Captain Wu!” Zhu was really losing control, his terror obvious to everyone watching.
“Sir, it’s too late for that.” Wu didn’t give a shit about humoring Zhu anymore. He figured he had maybe 10 minutes to live, and he wasn’t going to spend it kissing the pompous fool’s ass. “You’ve managed to lead us into a deathtrap. You were so focused on getting Admiral Garret…and he used it to trap us, you fool!”
“You will follow my commands, Captain Wu!” Zhu’s voice cracked with rage.
“There is no time to escape, Admiral.” If he was going to die, Wu didn’t want it to be in the tanks. He’d seen that before, and it was a gruesome way to go. If he was going to die, better it be in action, at his station. “All we can do is fight it out here.” That wasn’t going to be enough, but Wu couldn’t think of another alternative.
“We must surrender then! At once!” Zhu had lost all veneer of discipline or courage. He’d become a pathetic mewling creature, worried only about his own survival.
“Fleets do not surrender, Admiral.” There was disgust in Wu’s voice, and hatred. Hatred for the sniveling creature standing on the flag bridge…and for those who had ordered the removal – murder – of Admiral An.
Individual ships sometimes surrendered when a battle was in its final stages. Damaged vessels unable to retreat often gave up rather than face certain destruction. But an entire fleet had never before surrendered while the battle still raged. It was just too dangerous for the victorious side to show mercy. There were a hundred wa
ys a surrender could be a trick…and no reliable method to ensure that the yielding ships had truly powered down their engines and weapon systems. No fleet surrender had ever been accepted in a century of interstellar combat.
Maybe, Wu thought…maybe if it was an officer who knew Garret, who was close to him during the fighting on the Rim. But C1 had destroyed that possibility when it murdered the highest echelon of officers. Admiral Garret might have trusted Admiral An…or at least heard him out. But he certainly wasn’t going to give any weight to Zhu’s promises.
No, he thought again, feeling a flush of rage…Garret will never listen to Zhu. If there was a chance…any chance at all, Zhu had to go. Wu acted quickly, almost on instinct rather than thought. His hand dropped to his side, gripping his sidearm. He pulled it from the harness in one quick jerk, and leveled it at Zhu’s head.
“What are you doing, Cap…”
A single crack echoed across the otherwise silent flag bridge. Zhu’s body fell back, blood pouring from a single hole in his forehead.
Wu turned slowly, panning his eyes from station to station, waiting for someone to act…to pull a weapon and shoot him. But there was nothing except motionless silence. Everyone on the flag bridge stared at him in shock, waiting to see what he would do next. He slowly put the pistol back in its place and walked over to the command station.
“Attention Alliance fleet, attention Alliance fleet.” His English was far from perfect, but he did the best he could instead of allowing the AI to translate. He wanted his tone, his emotions to come through. It was their only chance…and it was a longshot.
“Admiral Garret, this is Captain Wu. I served with your forces at Sigma 4 and X2.” And you have no idea who I am, he thought grimly. “Admiral Zhu has been relieved of command, and I am offering…” – he sucked in a deep breath and exhaled hard – “…I am offering the unconditional surrender of all naval forces of the Central Asian Combine now present in this system.”