Hero of the Republic: (The Parasite Initiative, Book 1)

by Britt Ringel

  Task Group 2.6 wheeled to starboard to close with the heavy elements of the Hollaran invasion force and veer away from the enemy’s light flotilla. As the minutes passed, the uncertainty circles around each enemy fleet shrank and grew respectively on Twist’s tactical plot. Nineteen minutes later, the Brevic fleet finally saw the Hollaran response to its turn.

  “Task Force Two is moving,” Anderson stated. “They’re setting an intercept course for us, accelerating to point-two-c… now point-two-one-c and still climbing.” The sensorman leaned closer to his screen. “They’re settling in at point-two-two-c.”

  Twist crossed his arms. The motion caused his restraints to dig deeper into his shoulders. And in… two minutes we’ll see the heavy task force begin to sail away from us. He shook his head in frustration. This is a simple question of delivery. The Hollarans want to deliver both fleets’ missiles to us at the same time. It’s not much different than timing a shipment of quickcrete to arrive with the mixing equipment and its crew. He glared at the fleet symbol of the heavy Hollaran warships in silence.

  Two minutes later, a growing vector line extended from the rear of the same symbol even as its course line began to swing away from Task Group 2.6. We won’t catch them but their light units can catch us. He unwrapped his arms and quickly computed time and distance.

  “Damn,” Dozier said, watching Anderson’s sensor screen. “Hollie cowards won’t even give us a fair fight.”

  The maneuvering over the last twenty-five minutes had placed Task Group 2.6 in a precarious position. Hollaran sensors had lagged in picking up the Brevic fleet’s initial movement, allowing the fleet to close on the heavy Hollaran squadrons to a mere 8lm. However, now that those heavy units were sailing directly away and at the same speed, the time to intercept had been pushed to infinity. Meanwhile the lighter Hollaran force, originally 9lm from the Brevics, had closed the distance to 8.75lm. Worse still, the smaller, faster force would continue to close.

  “We’re going to get caught in the middle of them,” Dozier prophesied. “And we don’t have much time.”

  “Three hours, seven minutes and thirty seconds,” Twist informed coolly. “And it wouldn’t be difficult to time both fleets’ missile waves to force us to defend against two directions for at least part of their attacks.”

  Dozier walked to his support station and pressed a button. “Captain, Chief here. You see the problem, right?”

  Weis’ voice came through the panel’s speakers. “We do, Chief. Admiral Balraji is working on a strategy now.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Dozier replied. “I figure we’ve got three hours before things get serious but I wanted to give you the information while we still have time to come up with something.” He released his comm button and sat down. “We’re in a fine spot. We can’t catch the heavy units. We’re getting farther away from the tunnel point too.”

  Twist had not considered that. He looked at Falcata’s distance to nearest escape: 4.1lm. Okay, so look at the problem like this, Caden. You’ve got two jobs at different construction sites with the same deadline. The answer was obvious.

  “I bet we split our task group,” he speculated.

  Dozier shook his head. “Splitting your forces in enemy territory is a bad idea, Lieutenant.”

  “So is defending against simultaneous missile attacks from opposite directions,” Twist replied without censor. He grimaced slightly at the brusqueness of his comment.

  Fifteen minutes passed without word. During the wait, Task Force One remained a frustrating 8lm away. The second task force, however, had slowly eaten another 18ls toward its quarry.

  Twist fumed in silence. We won’t even see exactly when the heavies make their turn toward us. It’ll take eight minutes for the light from their turn to reach us and by that time, they’ll have closed to 5lm. He gritted his teeth. They’ll be firing their missiles at us before we even see them turning!

  Anderson sat up straight from a slouch. “The twin frigates at Calycia have broken orbit. They’re headed our way. Estimated two hours and fifteen minutes to intercept assuming constant course and speed.” He finished his statement but then looked directly at Dozier. “New orders from Admiral Balraji,” he said while drawing a circle around the task group.

  “Play them,” Dozier and Twist said in concert. Twist still faced his panel but swore he felt the heat from Dozier’s glare on the back of his helmet.

  Newly promoted Rear Admiral Rhonda Balraji appeared on a side screen. “Attention, Task Group Two-Six. I am detaching DesRon Fourteen with a single element from CortRon Twelve. Their new designation is Task Group Two-Six, Point-Two. Point-Two will come about, engage Hollaran Task Force Two with missiles and follow up with energy weapons if necessary. Its mission is to negate the light unit threat to the overall group. Captain Weis is Point-Two’s commander. Carsten, contact me if you require clarification. Balraji out.”

  “Fence is being added to us,” Anderson noted.

  BRS Fence, a frigate escort, had sailed with the group from New London. She had seen action in Cyllene a month ago and still bore the scars from her encounter with a Hollaran Greyhound missile. Originally equipped with sixteen dual-GP light laser turrets divided equally between her beams, much of the forward port side of the sleek ship’s hull was now a blackened, hastily-plated scar. Accompanying her primary armament, nestled amidships in pairs, two kinetic defense turrets trained out from either side to augment the little ship’s self-defense.

  “Coming about,” Ehn announced. With nothing more to do, she tapped her fingers anxiously at the edge of her panel.

  DesRon-14 needed only fifteen seconds to come to its new course. After quick confirmation that every ship inside the destroyer squadron and her new frigate escort was ready, each ship touched off its enormous propulsion drives. Falcata’s six Allison-Turner Type-50s burned hard for a full twenty seconds. Inertial compensators strained to maintain internal structural integrity. When the drives dimmed, TG 2.6.2 was oriented toward the light Hollaran units, closing with a combined speed of .42c.

  The range between the light warships dropped precipitously. Nine minutes after the Brevic action, Twist witnessed the Hollaran reaction.

  “They’re turning,” Anderson announced to the room. “Task Force Two is heading in-system, away from us.”

  “But not directly away from us?” Twist asked after turning to face the petty officer.

  “Uh,” Anderson stumbled, “correct, sir. We’re still closing.”

  Dozier opened his mouth but Twist pressed, “What’s our estimated time to enter missile range, Scott?” He smiled to himself. I can’t believe I remember his first name! He looked at the crew around him. Scott Anderson, Marcus Crowley, Emma Ehn, Kaley Roozen and, of course, Jamie Dozier.

  Anderson consulted his console. “Twenty minutes, Lieutenant, until we breach five light-minutes.”

  Chapter 26

  “Assuming there’s no change in speed or course,” Dozier declared while pointing toward the light Hollaran task force, “they’re running for their two frigate buddies.” He then gestured at the twin frigates pulling away from semi-synchronous orbit of Calycia.

  That’s not their original mission. Their task is to deliver their missiles at the same time and place as their larger friends, Twist recalled. “I don’t know, Chief. They can’t possibly expect us to chase them for the next two hours while they rendezvous with those frigates.”

  Dozier’s irritation at the disagreement was unmistakable. “We got orders, Lieutenant. From Admiral Balraji, Lieutenant. I understand that some officers with certain names don’t always have to follow orders but you can be sure Captain Weis is going to pursue and destroy that light task force.”

  Twist coughed lightly to hide his embarrassment at the escalating confrontation. This isn’t what I want. I don’t want to get into an ego contest with you, Chief. He smiled disarmingly. “Chief, our orders are to negate the light unit threat to the overall task group. We just need to keep them away from t
he task group. The devil is in the details, Chief. I’ve learned that you need to read the whole contract.”

  “Well,” Dozier said obstinately while crossing his arms, “I’ve learned over a thirty-year career that the Hollies won’t run from a fight for long.”

  Twist jumped on the opening. “I agree with you, Chief. I think their course points to exactly what you’re saying. These light ships want to fight us but they need to engage us at a location where they can resume their primary mission, which is most likely to conduct a simultaneous attack with their heavy fleet. That’s why we’re still closing on them.”

  Flashes on Twist’s console caught his eyes. The missile fire control compartments were energizing. Each of Falcata’s ten Duchess missile systems were green for go, answering Lieutenant Holt’s call to action.

  Time passed slowly in Auxiliary Control. A glorified spectator, Twist anticipated the next orders of the people who were actually directing Falcata’s weapons systems. Missile and gunnery crews received final commands to arm their individual turrets. The seven ships of the Hollaran light task force became targets that Chief Devore allocated from the bridge. The fire taskings were sent to Lieutenant Holt, who rapidly routed them to individual missile launchers near Falcata’s bow and stern.

  Ahead of DesRon-14, the escort frigate, Fence, energized her light laser batteries and built her simplistic point defense network that would manage the protective umbrella for Task Group 2.6.2.

  Anderson once again sat up straight. “Task Force One is changing course! They’re turning toward Two-Six. Repeat, the Hollaran heavies are coming about to engage Admiral Balraji’s fleet.” The news held little, immediate significance for DesRon-14. The major warships in Kalyke were at least 7lm away, well beyond even missile range and certainly less of a threat than the five-ship light Commonwealth squadron and her two frigate escorts that would commence fire in minutes. Sixty seconds after Anderson’s announcement, Chief Devore’s order to launch was down-channeled from her position on the bridge.

  A brace of eight-meter long missiles ejected from their ports with a bright flicker. Less than a second later, each Javelin missile’s drive activated and ten, distinct streaks of light stretched away from the destroyer. The spectacle duplicated around Falcata as the entire squadron mimicked its flagship. The destroyer’s sisters spit forth their own volleys in a flurry while their smaller cousins belched five missiles each. In all, forty-five Javelin missiles powered away from the formation, their tiny drives pushing them to half the speed of light.

  The salvo repeated twenty seconds later and twenty seconds after that. The fleet fired one hundred thirty-five missiles per minute in waves of three. Five minutes after the first launch, fifteen volleys totaling six hundred seventy-five missiles streaked toward their Hollaran prey.

  The Commonwealth formation had not been dormant. Robbed of the chance to execute the perfect pincer attack, the squadron commander had led the Brevic ancillary force until it was committed to driving his own forces away from the main engagement. Anxious to rid himself of this diversionary force and assist his comrades in the primary battle, the Hollaran commander had allowed the Republic destroyers to enter missile range and opened up with his formation’s entire arsenal: seven hundred eighty Greyhound missiles in fifteen waves of fifty-two.

  One thousand four hundred fifty-five missiles littered the five light-minutes of space between the contenders. DesRon-14, still racing forward, faced the catastrophic reality of defending against missiles with a combined closure rate of .78c. The leading edge of the Hollaran attack was barely 62ls away.

  With magazines empty, Captain Weis quickly ordered the entire formation to come about for the standard retrograde applied in missile defense. Twist watched, riveted, as the seven ships wheeled in place and began their burns. Forty gut-wrenching seconds later, DesRon-14 exited the maneuver intact. Even Fence, thrown into the squadron by Balraji at the last moment, sailed in good trim. The reward for Captain Weis’ decisiveness was a formation retreating in front of the incoming missiles with an acceptable .38c closure rate. His final order was to orient his command to present its undamaged, port beam to the attack.

  Twist’s tasking screen became a jumble of symbols, projections and fields. In any other standard missile engagement, escorts would face each enemy wave first. In this case, solitary Fence sailed courageously behind as the lonesome point defense screen. When it became apparent which missiles would spill past the frigate escort, her point defense network would assign the culprits to individual ships within the DesRon based on speed, positioning and trajectories. Given the damaged frigate’s point defense capabilities, Fence expected to intercept between thirty-five and forty missiles per wave. The remainder would be allocated for destruction among the six ships inside DesRon-14.

  At the moment, Twist did not envy Devore at Falcata’s WEPS station, undoubtedly anxiously awaiting Fence to be overwhelmed. A week ago, while on leave, he had performed a ruthless self-evaluation of his abilities as a weapons officer. After listing all of his strengths and weaknesses, Twist saw just how much he had set himself up to fail. Caden Twist was a planner who took comfort in the minutiae of the problems he encountered. Procedures, schedules and checklists were his harbor, providing him with a clear, regulated process he could use to wrestle any task into eventual submission. Most weapons officers were creatures of unstructured intuition and improvisation.

  After several, despondent hours searching for a way to retrain his instincts, epiphany had struck. Twist realized that he already possessed these qualities. He was intuitive. He could determine exact quantities of construction materials for a specific job with a speed that bordered on the preternatural. Sure, Twist told himself, perhaps he did not have true improvisational skills but his ability to plan for likely outcomes and see the end game clearly could grant him a spontaneity that might serve him nearly as well. After all, Twist considered, there are only so many possible outcomes in a point defense action.

  Excited by the breakthrough, Twist had spent the remaining days of his vacation working through a set of principles and guidelines to follow in any battle. First was to get his head out of his checklists. Weapons checklists ensured adherence to regulations but combat was not construction and his slavish obedience to those checklists had easily contributed to the deaths of his gunners. Twist’s second principle was to treat the logistical problems in the military with the same approaches he used to solve logistics in his civilian life. At Twist Construction, he had been the source to turn to when a project fell behind or ran over budget. Finally, his last guiding principle was that every problem was, ultimately, a question of logistics.

  With his principles in mind, Twist opened an exercise panel at his Auxiliary Control station and set about devising a missile defense strategy against the current scenario. While Fence might be efficient at missile destruction at the beginning, it’s reasonable to expect her to fall behind. I need a plan that can flexibly handle a growing number of vampires. We have eight individual light laser turrets on our port beam plus the gatling heavy laser. Rule 1: The heavy laser will engage immediately at ten light-seconds; it doesn’t matter which missile. Rule 2: Turrets Two, Ten and Four will engage the forward-most missiles while turrets Sixteen, Eight and Fourteen engage the rearmost ones. Hmm, there should always be a contingency pool of resources in logistics. Rule 3: Light laser turrets Six and Twelve will prioritize targets inside of 2ls, if any, or otherwise assist the other two teams.

  The strategy was set. Twist rocked back and stared at his taskings console. Is that it? All that remains is establishing a simple priority system for my fire controllers in each subsection. He shook himself. It’s so simple. If only we were actually using it. He switched away from the exercise screen and to the active one. Chief Devore was using standard PD tactics and was just beginning to highlight the first wave’s vampires most likely to be targeting Falcata.

  Seven seconds later, the fifty-two missiles of the first wave entered Fence’s
defense envelope. The eight gunners along the escort ship’s starboard beam had been given over a minute to achieve initial target lock. Their opening alpha strike swept eight Greyhounds from the board in a single stroke. As their light lasers recycled, Fence’s marksmen had two frantic seconds to seek new targets. With little more than heartbeats for their locks, the next salvo at the Hollaran missiles suffered and only four vampires were extinguished. The process repeated again and again. Desperate bursts of charged energy spewed forth from the defenders as the encroaching missiles chewed the distance toward them at over a third the speed of light.

  When the remaining eighteen Greyhounds broke inside of 2ls, Fence’s twin starboard kinetic defense turrets entered the fray. Purely a self-defense weapon with extremely limited range, the KDT operated on a time-tested and simple strategy: throw colossal numbers of solid projectiles at the approaching threat in the hope that one strikes. Thick streams of slugs were vomited from Fence’s center.

  Overall, the escort managed the first wave well, defeating forty-one of the first fifty-two missiles. The survivors broke past the solitary frigate and raced toward DesRon-14. A single Hollaran Greyhound tracked toward Falcata. The missile, labelled Vampire Delta-2-1, was clipped by the Merkell heavy laser and exploded into shards of light and alloy before breaching 5ls.

  Twist searched for other targets but found none. No hits, he thought with tempered optimism. Don’t get too excited yet, Caden. The first wave is always the easiest.

  The second volley from the Hollarans met nearly as fierce a resistance as the first. Fence’s gunners, given only twenty seconds between waves to train their lenses out to new targets, fared slightly worse. The compromised accuracy resulted in thirty-eight successful interceptions with fourteen missiles slipping past the dogged frigate. Two Greyhounds speared toward Falcata, the last intercepted 2ls from her port bow. Sailing four light-seconds from Falcata, the standard frigate, Chakram, narrowly avoided catastrophe with a lucky shot less than six hundred meters from her beam. The gravity warhead triggered upon the missile’s destruction, promulgating intense gravitational waves outward at the speed of light. Those waves, in existence for a mere two-millionths of a second, battered against the frigate’s shields. The competing energy manifested in a cascade of brilliant light along Chakram’s beam but her shields resisted the onslaught and held.