by Nick Webb
A few moments later, the officer at comm nodded. “You’re on, Admiral. We’ve got visual, too.”
“This is Admiral Azbill of New Dublin Planetary Command. That you, Granger?” They all turned to the viewscreen covering half of one of the walls.
An image of an older man, his faced lined and dark bags sagging under his eyes, snapped onto the screen. And in spite of the lines and scars and obvious signs of months of battle, he was smiling.
“Good to see you, Azbill. I understand you’re in need of some assistance?”
Admiral Azbill gave a hollow laugh. “Yeah, you could say that.”
Granger’s smile widened. “Well then, let’s get this party started. I’d like to send one of my people down to you to help coordinate and integrate with operations on the Warrior. You’ve got your planetary defense fleet assembled, I presume? We’re going to need them.”
Azbill hesitated. “Captain, where’s your strike force? They coming in right behind you?”
Granger shook his head. Oddly enough though, his smile deepened. Governor Wolfram felt his stomach tighten. No fleet?
“The Swarm is putting us through the wringer today. Three separate incursions. I’ve sent my fleet on to the Johannesburg Sector to deal with the four Swarm ships there, and Admiral Zingano from CENTCOM is personally dealing with a Swarm raid in the Centauri System with the strike force based at Sol.”
Azbill’s back stiffened. “Am I to understand, sir, that you’re it? No one else is coming?” Governor Wolfram thought it odd that an admiral was addressing a captain as sir. Was the man’s reputation and mythos that powerful? Granger had become something of a legend in the past two months, as he was able to repel invasion after deadly invasion. The man seemed to have a knack for dealing with the Swarm.
Not to mention his inexplicable return from the dead. The Constitution had disappeared—the satellite cameras had broadcast the event to the entire Earth. One moment she crashed and disappeared into a singularity, taking out three Swarm carriers with it, and the next moment she’d reappeared, careening through the atmosphere.
“That’s right, Admiral. The Warrior’s it.”
Silence fell on the previously busy command center. He heard an officer cough nervously behind him. One ship? Wolfram thought. One ship against ten swarm carriers! The man is mad.
Admiral Azbill was becoming agitated. “Granger, is this a joke? Your fleet is right behind you, I hope, for all our sakes. In case CENTCOM didn’t update you, we’ve got ten Swarm carriers incoming. Ten.”
Granger leaned in slightly to the viewscreen. “No joke, Azbill. They’ve got ten carriers. But we’ve got your entire planetary defense fleet, one ISS Warrior … and one me.” Governor Wolfram almost missed it, but Granger actually winked at them. The man had style. And balls. “I’d say the odds are about even.”
Chapter 2
New Dublin, Eyre Sector
Bridge, ISS Warrior
Captain Granger nodded toward the comm officer on duty to cut the transmission, and swiveled his chair to face Proctor.
“You ready, Commander?”
She nodded, and stood up to leave. “I’ll get down there right away.”
It was always painful to have her leave—fighting without Proctor was like tying your good arm behind your back during a fist fight—but he needed the coordination with the surface forces only she could provide. The woman had a knack for getting things done—quickly and efficiently. And besides, excluding himself, she had the most experience fighting the Swarm. Her capabilities would be the most valuable directing the response of the rest of the defense forces planet-side.
He swiveled back to his station. “Should be just like Tau Ceti,” he said. “Swarm’ll never know what hit them.”
She paused at the door. “Tim, this is hardly like Tau Ceti. We fought four ships there. We’ve got ten incoming.”
“But New Dublin’s defense force is far more capable than Tau Ceti’s.”
“True,” she conceded.
He glanced over at the tactical station, motioning to Lieutenant Diaz, the tactical officer, to join him. “Don’t worry, Commander. The bastards will never know what hit them. This time tomorrow we’ll be back to planning Operation Battle-ax.”
Proctor stayed at the door a moment longer, then left. He knew what she wanted to say: You’re being too cocky, Tim. She’d warned him several times over the last few weeks. She thought he was being too overconfident. Too brash.
And the truth was, he felt it. His confidence brimmed over, and he knew, he just knew he was going to crush those bastards. Ever since he’d woken up on Proctor’s shoulder as she carried him down to engineering in a flaming Constitution careening through the atmosphere. Ever since the cancer had left.
Ever since those missing three days. Or fifteen seconds, depending on how one looked at it.
Somehow, the miraculous nature of the circumstances, and the fact that he and Proctor had almost single-handedly saved Earth, granted him the knowledge that they’d be ok. They would survive. More than survive: they’d win so convincingly that the Swarm would either never attack them again, or be wiped out so utterly that the win would amount to a genocide. And Granger was ok with that. That vague feeling, that voice in the back of his head, it gave him confidence. Swagger.
He didn’t stifle the swagger. On the contrary, he flaunted it. His people ate it up. They needed it. Craved it. And in the aftermath of the invasion of Earth, he’d gained—and cultivated—an almost legendary status. The Hero of Earth. He found that by acting the part of the legend, his people responded in kind with legendary performance. He acted the part for them. They wanted a hero? Then, by god, he’d give them one, if it meant the Swarm would be destroyed and humanity saved.
“Helm, report.”
Ensign Prince, whose red, raw face just recently emerged from the bandages that had covered the severe burns he suffered during the previous week’s engagement with the Swarm, cocked his head to the side in answer. “Assuming a low orbit. We’ll be swinging around the limb of the horizon just as the Swarm arrives, sir.”
“Perfect.” He glanced to the side. “Tactical?”
“All mag rails primed and ready.”
“Any more trouble with the new ones they installed last maintenance?”
IDF had upgraded the Warrior with over one hundred new mag rail guns, more than doubling her complement. That meant over five hundred new crew members to manage and worry about, but it was well worth the extra firepower.
“All power conduits are reading normal. Looks like Rayna’s got them all under control.”
A voice chimed over the comm system. “Cap’n, my baby’s ready for you. Treat her nice or I’ll be grumpy tomorrow.”
Speak of the devil. He cleared his throat and raised his head. “Thank you, Commander Scott. Your baby’s my baby.”
“Uh, sir?” He could hear the smirk in her voice. “I’m a married woman.”
“You can’t marry a ship, Rayna. Granger out.” He smiled and swatted at the comm button. He glanced at the new communications officer, a young man straight out of the Academy. Top of the class. Ensign Prucha. “Is Proctor down there yet?”
Prucha checked his console, and nodded. “Just arrived a moment ago.”
“Good. Once you two have a system link set up, we can get this show on the road.”
He checked the status board, confirming that all crews were ready for combat. One more senior officer to report in….
As if on cue, a patrician British voice chimed over the comm: “Captain Granger, all fighter crews ready.”
“All four hundred? I’m still amazed you found a way to pack that many in there, Commander Pierce.”
The CAG’s calming accent contained the smallest quiver. “Desperation is the father of genius, sir.” He hesitated. “Will we be deploying all fighters this time around?”
Pierce, while being the best CAG Granger had ever served with, still hadn’t recovered from the loss of his father, who’d commanded
a British warship before encountering the initial Swarm invasion force. Or was it deeper than that? Could it be that the other man just couldn’t live with losing his pilots? As Captain, Granger knew it was never easy: they lost a handful of people in every engagement. The Flight Academy could hardly keep up with the attrition rate. Granger could understand the man’s concern.
But this was not a time for hesitation. “All fighters, Commander. Will that be a problem?”
A brief silence on the other end. “No problem, sir. All fighter squadrons reporting ready.”
“Good. Granger out.” He thumbed the comm off.
He gripped his armrests, suppressing the rising tension. Playing the part of swaggering hero for his people was one thing. Fooling himself that the upcoming battle would be a cakewalk was another entirely. This would be the battle of his life, and while he was confident they would prevail, he knew he’d lose people. A lot of people. And New Dublin would face heavy casualties, too. It was unavoidable. War was hell, and modern space warfare was fiery, brutal hell on an epic scale.
The time ticked by. Granger busied himself with the last minute details of battle preparation, but it was all window-dressing. They were ready. The guns were primed. The missiles loaded. The lasers powered. All they needed was a target.
“Sir! Coming up over the limb of the planet now. Visual contact with the Swarm fleet.”
“Shelby, I hope that was enough time for you,” he said under his breath.
Diaz gawked at his screen, waving emphatically at Granger. “Sir! Detecting thirteen Swarm capital vessels.”
Thirteen?! Damn.
Chapter 3
New Dublin, Eyre Sector
Planetary Command Center
Proctor dashed down the lowering ramp of the shuttle as soon as it was safe, rushing abruptly past the Commander who’d been sent to receive her and making her way briskly toward the command center. Granger’s idea. Show them, with urgency, who was in charge and who’d be calling the shots. Even though she didn’t know where the command center was.
“Commander Proctor!” said the short man, running after her. His uniform was too tight, as if he were someone who vainly and stubbornly clung to his older, smaller clothing despite gaining fifty pounds.
“Please keep up, Commander,” she replied, without slowing or turning around. With no idea of how to get to the command center, she needed him to catch up faster, but she wasn’t about to slow down to wait.
He huffed, breaking out into a jog, falling into step alongside her. “Commander Proctor, why did CENTCOM only send the Warrior?”
She looked askance at him, raising a single eyebrow. “Actually, Commander, CENTCOM wanted to send in the Warrior’s whole strike force. Captain Granger convinced them not to.”
Proctor almost laughed as she saw the man’s jaw drop a full inch. But she kept moving ahead until she reached a T in the hallway that forced her to slow down momentarily to await his direction.
“But … why?”
She saw a sign pointing to the command center and quickened her pace now that she no longer needed his assistance. “Two reasons. Both of which the captain already told Admiral Azbill. He felt the strike force was needed in the Johannesburg Sector, and he’s confident that the combined strength of the Warrior and the New Dublin fleet will be more than sufficient to meet the threat.”
“But … but that’s … that’s just mad!” The man looked flustered, his thick face turning red either from the jogging or disbelief at what she was saying.
“Mad? Probably. You’ll find that Granger’s tactics have become a bit … unconventional as of late. But he’s also effective. We’ve actually got great odds.”
“And just what do you place the odds at?” They passed the doors to the command center, which opened right in time to receive them.
“Oh, twenty-five percent? Thirty? Hard to tell.”
She was kidding, of course, but the expression of dread spreading over the commander’s red face was priceless. The real odds were far higher. Fifty fifty, just like Granger had said. But he’d had an incredible streak of luck the past few months. Maybe this was the battle that would restore some balance to their track record.
Admiral Azbill greeted her with a curt nod. “Commander Proctor.” Although he projected the confidence befitting a senior commander, she could discern several subtle signs of stress. He squinted. His eyes flickered between her and the status screens on the wall behind her. He was in over his head, and he knew it, but he was not about to let anyone else know it. This could be tricky—she needed operational authority if they were going to pull this off, but he might just be the type to stubbornly refuse.
“Admiral Azbill, I’m honored to be here—Captain Granger has spoken very highly of you. He asked that I coordinate the Warrior’s efforts with your forces. The experience we’ve gained engaging the Swarm will be best implemented if I assist you directly down here.” She translated in her head: Granger asked that I come and take over your fleet so you don’t, in his words, piss away our victory and kill us all. She looked him up and down. A career IDF man. Probably served at a desk job for ten years in the old Miami HQ, deep in the bowels of the bureaucracy. Most definitely not one tactically-adept bone in his body.
“Commander, what in blazes is Granger playing at? We don’t stand a chance against that fleet and he knows it. We just detected an extra three ships q-jumping in to join the other ten, and all CENTCOM sends is one ship as backup?” He waved his arms, clearly agitated.
He was absolutely right, of course. It was insane. By all rights they should have arrived with an armada of ships to repel a Swarm incursion of this size. But they couldn’t spare them. Operation Battle-ax depended on it. If Granger was right, that plan would put an end to the Swarm threat forever. They just had to survive the next few months before they could implement it.
“Admiral Azbill, I understand your concern, and I share it. But believe me, we can do this. Just give me operational authority down here and by the end of the day we’ll be clinking glasses down at the local pub.”
His eyes narrowed and she could feel him fume. “Commander Proctor—”
She held up a hand. “Fine. Keep operational authority. But please, allow me to coordinate your forces with the Warrior, and I promise we’ll pull through.” She paused, watching the officers all around her. They were desperate. Death was visible on their viewscreens: thirteen dots converging on their position so rapidly that they’d barely have enough time to mount any kind of effective response. They needed hope. They needed a legend on their side. They needed The Hero of Earth. She continued, “Captain Granger promises we’ll pull through. Believe me, if it were anyone else, I’d say retreat as fast as possible. But that man is more than just some washed-up fleet captain. He’s a genius. Pure grit and genius. If anyone can save us, it’s him.”
The words felt hollow and stale in her mouth. He was, after all, just a man. A man who made mistakes and bad calls just like every other officer in the room.
But that’s not what these people needed to hear. It’s not what they wanted to hear.
And besides, he really did have grit. Grittiest old bastard she’d ever met.
Admiral Azbill nodded. “Fine. I’ll keep operational authority,” he nodded to all the officers scattered amongst the stations in the command center, “but you are all to do as she says.” He turned back to her and waved an arm to the command station. “Commander, after you.”
She didn’t skip a beat. “Direct three of your frontline ships to make a point blank full-throttle charge against the incoming fleet. All weapons firing at full spread, targeting their lead ship. Mag rails to puncture, lasers to rip into the wounds.”
The ensigns at the comm immediately began chattering into their headsets, relaying instructions to the planetary defense fleet, while Admiral Azbill sidled up to her, still nodding at the comm station as if to confirm her orders. “Commander … three ships? They’ll be slaughtered.”
Pro
ctor pressed her lips together, and nodded once in answer. “Maybe not. But it’s part of the strategy. Not only will it soften up their lead ship for the Warrior, but it acts as a feint. We’ve been conditioning the Swarm for two months to expect certain strategies, giving them patterns to look for and adapt to.”
Admiral Azbill lowered his voice. “You’re engaging in psychological warfare with a species that we know nothing about?”
“On the contrary. We know something very important about them.”
“And what is that?”
She glanced at him with a gallows humor wink. “That they want us dead. At all costs.”
Chapter 4
New Dublin, Eyre Sector
Bridge, ISS Warrior
Thirteen ships.
Aware that every head was turned toward him, watching and scrutinizing his reaction, Granger shoved his fear deep into a corner and forced a smile, standing up slowly and clasping his hands behind his back. Calmly. Deliberately. Give them a good show, Granger.
“Good. An extra three ships to beat the shit out of. Full thrust, Ensign. Bring us in hot. Be ready to execute maneuver Granger One.”
Every head turned back to their station, brimming with confidence. He could feel the energy in the room. The bridge crew worked with a seamless discipline and coordination. It was show time.
“Any word from Proctor?” Granger glanced at his command console, scanning for signs the New Dublin defense fleet was taking orders from his first officer.
“Aye, sir. Three New Dublin ships are converging on the Swarm fleet. One minute until direct engagement.”
Granger nodded. Good. Proctor had things under control on the surface. Now it was time to make sure the impending sacrifices of the day would not be in vain. “Time until maximum weapons range?”
“Weapons range in seventy seconds,” said Diaz.
“Commence fire when ready,” replied Granger, sitting back down.