by Chris Hechtl
“They fired a broadside from the battle cruisers,” Catherine murmured. “The KEW is probably from everyone. They are conserving their ammunition with the smaller platforms,” she stated.
“Yes, I concur,” Sedrick replied, checking the status. “They've got Newman class BCs out there. Ten is about right for a single broadside, sir. Should we answer?”
“Negative,” Admiral De Gaulte growled. “Nav, adjust our course out of the KEW line of fire. Make the missiles work for it.”
“Aye, sir.”
“In the meantime,” the admiral turned to Catherine. “Order the reserve fighters to launch. Let's see if they can handle some of the incoming missiles. Arrange the rest of our ships in defense plan Cappa,” he ordered.
“Aye, sir,” the OPS officer replied. She immediately began to issue the required orders.
:::{)(}:::
“I think it's time we show them how a bomber strike is really done, don't you?” the Neochimp admiral asked as he studied the board. They were going to have only one shot at it before the loop, and hopefully it would be enough to send a message to the enemy to back off. He knew it was a risk, but he had to chance it. He needed to know how good the enemy was, and he needed to pass on a message that his forces were still better.
“Sir? Most of our fighters are reforming. They are low on fuel and expendables. It'll take time for them to be recovered, rearmed, and sent out,” Kyle stated.
“I know. Which is why we're sending the reserves with the bombers.”
“Sir, they aren't trained to cover a bomber wing. And the various bomber wings haven't trained together in a coordinated assault,” Kyle warned him carefully.
“Humor me.”
“Sir, you realize it might be a one-way trip for some? They will have to come about and try to catch up to us. If they take damage, they'll have a snowball chance in hell of getting back alive,” Kyle stated carefully. The Neochimp admiral locked eyes with him. “Sorry, sir, I've got to put it out there, for the record.”
Slowly the admiral nodded. “Understood. Send them anyway. Volunteers only,” he growled.
“Aye aye, sir,” the OPS officer replied, passing the order on.
:::{)(}:::
Lieutenant Commander and Crystal Cold's CAG Vasili Zenkov eagerly climbed into his bomber as he rallied his people. It was what he'd been waiting for, what he'd been praying for.
Well, that and the survival of the ships and people out there. Apparently that part he'd gotten. Hopefully he'd get the next part … with a bit of Lady Luck's blessing and some blood and sweat from him and his pilots.
“Move it, people!” he called out from the open hatch to his bomber. He climbed in and then climbed to the cockpit as his bombardier rushed in behind him. The bombardier and ground crew closed and dogged the hatch.
“On Vox, testing one …two …,” the CAG said formally as he climbed into his seat and began strapping himself in.
“Clear.”
“Five by five,” came the responses.
“Bomber OO to Prifly, comm check,” he said as he flicked switches and keyed the initial startup sequence.
“Five by five double oh. Bring us back some Horathian hides.”
“Will do,” the CAG replied as he finished the strap-in sequence. He looked up as his copilot handled her half of the preflight check list. “We set?”
“Yes, sir. It sucked having to sit out that last. But now we get to have our fun,” Anna replied, eyes flicking to the instruments.
“Fun she says,” Vasili mock grumbled as the engines kicked over and the plane boss gave him an extended thumbs-up. He checked his flight surfaces, the brake, and then nodded. “Ready for taxi,” he said over the radio as he reached up to grab his helmet and strap it on.
“Roger. You are up third,” the deck boss reported. The CAG grunted. He glanced to the open void where a plane was coming in. The raptor looked good, no damage he could see from his point of view. She deployed her tricycle landing gear and then touched down on the third wire. Her tail hook jerked her nose down to bounce as she finished her role out at a much slower speed.
Crystal Cold like Admiral Raymond Spruance had an oversized bomber wing of eighteen craft. That made up for the half wings on Kittyhawk and Admiral Halsey. All forty-eight bomber crews volunteered to make the run. He was proud of them.
He heard a pounding on the hull. He glanced over to see his plane captain standing back. He waved then gave a thumbs-up. Vasili returned the thumbs-up. After a moment the plane captain came to attention and saluted. Vasili returned the salute the nodded once and went back to his checklist just as there was a window in the landings to allow the first bomber to launch.
Ordinarily a Mitchell class bomber could carry eight long range torpedoes slung under her belly and stubby wings. But in order to extend their range, the bombers launched with half their load. On two of the hard points, they carried jettisonable fuel tanks.
The extra fuel wouldn't quite get them all the way home however. To extend their range, a quartet of fuel shuttles would be launched at a pre-arranged time in order to meet up with them on their return flight.
Unfortunately, they were going in with a light fighter screen. Only twelve Cobra fighters were ready to go with them, and to make matters worse, they weren't from the carriers. They would be launching from the reserves that had been held back on the other ships. Some of the fighters had worked together, but they weren't a trained squadron, far from it.
Still, it was all they had available.
“You know this might be a one-way trip?” Anna asked as they finished the checklist. Vasili glanced at her. The woman seemed nervous. He grunted. “Don't worry about what we can't change.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We're not going to go in too deep. Not on our first pass. It's a firing pass. We kiss their engagement range and then out.”
“Roger that,” she said but she didn't sound too convinced.
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye then returned his attention to his instruments.
What bothered him wasn't the threat of death, no, that was par for the course. No, what was getting to him was how quickly they were drawing down on the munitions stored in the CEV's magazines. The distance between the fleets meant they couldn't carry their full loads, which was something of a mixed blessing in his estimation. It meant they couldn't get enough in to saturate the enemy … but they weren't drawing down their limited supply of torpedoes as quickly as they could if they'd had full loads.
Which meant they got to go once more unto the breach and all that. Again.
“Double oh, taxi to catapult one,” Prifly ordered, pulling him out of his woolgathering.
“Aye aye. Double oh, taxiing now,” Vasili responded as he slowly released the brake and then used his yoke to steer the craft into position. He felt a click as the shuttle clicked onto his nose gear. “Hooked up.”
“Roger that. Wait one for a landing,” Prifly stated. Vasili turned to watch a Cobra recover on the deck above them. He craned his neck to see it clearly through the canopy. It had some minor scorch marks on her dorsal side but otherwise was good.
“I wish they'd get it over with,” Anna muttered, sitting back in her seat.
“All good things in time,” the CAG replied just as the Cobra touched down. After a minute she was unhitched and clear. His eyes went to the red light, then to the launch boss. The woman nodded, signaled him and then waved to indicate the launch was about to commence. She timed it perfectly, dropping to one knee in a crouch and pointing her right arm forward like a blade just as the light changed from red to yellow to green and the kick from the catapult sent them roaring forward into the void.
:::{)(}:::
Commander Meia swore viciously as she received the fresh orders. She'd been so wrapped up in the furball she'd lost sight of the bigger picture. She knew that; she'd kick herself for it later. She'd realized when the bombers launched that she would have to remain behind while the bom
bers and noobs went in to hit back. She fumed for a long moment as she took a sip of tepid water.
It didn't help her soaring temper to grudgingly acknowledge that someone had to watch the fleet. Commander Z'r'll's fighter was down. His ship had been recovered, but he was in critical. Commander Wilder was back at the barn regrouping the Cobras, and Lieutenant Commander Zenkov, the newest CAG on Crystal Cold, had strapped a bomber on and was off with the bomber wings.
Everyone was doing their part … she cut the reason train off and focused on what had to be done. She plunged into reforming the ranks of the interceptors and defenders before passing the defender job back to Commander Wilder once she launched.
Then she ordered the Raptor and other fighters assigned to her interceptor role with damage or near bingo fuel to recover.
:::{)(}:::
Commander Zakhan saw the incoming enemy flight and swore. They would arrive right around the time his fighters were recovering, maybe a few minutes afterward. Definitely not enough time to recover, refuel, and rearm, then launch again. It just wasn't in the cards.
That meant they'd be sitting ducks on the carrier. It wasn't a pleasant thought. He spent some time cursing before he shook himself and got down to business.
He frowned and then punched up an order to Nimitz to launch a pair of refueling shuttles. Then he ordered the fighters with the most remaining ordinance to rendezvous with the shuttles while the rest of his brood continued on to the barn.
With any luck the fighters would do some damage. He had his doubts however; Lady Luck's blessing just wasn't on their side for the day.
:::{)(}:::
“We're out of the KEW basket sir,” Catherine said a few minutes later. “Missiles are one eighty seconds out and closing.”
“Sir! Second set of missiles detected by the screen! They are behind the first and just adjusted for our course!” A CIC rating barked.
“Damn it,” Sedrick muttered.
“Steady,” the admiral murmured.
“Sir, first missiles aren't maneuvering for us,” the same CIC rating reported. “They are going after our screen and Nimitz,” he warned.
“Get the screen and Nimitz on that. Have the carrier launch any remaining fighters and get them on defense now,” the admiral growled.
“They are already on it,” Catherine reported. “Any launched now will draw power away from their defenses,” she warned. “And they wouldn't have enough time to orient on the incoming fire,” she warned.
“I see that,” the admiral stated. He couldn't feel the rumble as Executioner began to spit out clouds of counter missiles. He was glad he had full stocks, but he was concerned that they might run through them if the enemy's missile quality proved too good for his home-built missiles to counter.
“Ten missiles down in the first group. They are moving past the first engagement zone and into the second. ECM is … ineffective,” Sedrick reported, sounding disappointed.
“Second flight of counter missiles have engaged. We've hit a cluster, sir, ten by fratricide,” a CIC rating exulted.
“It's not over yet,” the admiral growled, staring intently at the incoming fire.
“Final zone has been crossed, sir. They are outside our engagement zone,” the same rating said a moment later.
“We got what, thirty?” Sedrick demanded.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then it's up to the screen and Nimitz I suppose. We're going to need a shell out with us in case this happens again and enough fighters to maintain it,” the admiral mused.
“Tough call there, sir. Every fighter we pull off the offense is one less to cover the bombers. Not that they've done well on that score,” Sedrick replied.
“Screen outer engagement zone has been crossed. The missiles are employing counter measures.”
Sedrick cursed as the missiles began to weave and deploy ECM, decoys, and chaff to confuse the destroyer's fire control.
“Inner engagement, sir, the missiles have gone into sprint mode!” the CIC rating reported.
“Frack,” Berney muttered as nineteen missiles went in for the kill past everything the Horathians could throw at them.
:::{)(}:::
Nineteen missiles got past the inner and outer engagement zones of the destroyer screen. They quickly coordinated their fire and their dispassionate computers reassessed and reprioritized targets to those of opportunity. Ten missiles went for the nearest destroyer while the other seven went for another close by.
As a flight I Nelson class, Thresher had the additional firepower for her role as a fleet screening ship. She took on all of the incoming missiles and managed to take out eight out of ten before the ninth and tenth detonated. Capital ship missiles were nothing to sneeze at; their warheads ripped the small destroyer's energy shields down and blasted away everything on her starboard hull. The scouring fireballs quickly puffed out in the cold vacuum of space, but they had done their job. Thresher was maimed. She listed to starboard before her crew righted her. Her main drive had gone out with her shields. It took a few moments for her to get herself under control once more.
:::{)(}:::
Akatsuki, the Arboth class flagship of the Eighth Destroyer Squadron, saw the nine remaining missiles lash up towards her. Her Captain Jane Piro swore as the missiles flicked through her ship's point defense as if they weren't even firing. Sure, two of the missiles ran into each other and committed fratricide, taking a third with them, but that still left six missiles.
Her mind flicked, somehow recognizing the report of damage to Thresher but ignoring it as she stayed in the moment. “Roll her! Get our keel out of their fire!” she barked. Her fingernails dug into her gloves and taped up armrests of her chair as two more missiles were cut down before the remaining four detonated.
The sudden jerk of her ship prevented the missiles from expending some of their energy on her keel but also threw the shot of her point defense tower on the tip of her keel from getting a last shot off. Two of the missiles detonated close enough to her bow to buckle her shields and send them into cascade failure. That left the armored hull open to the other warheads as they rolled in. One of the warheads skewered her suddenly exposed port flank, ripping off anything it touched.
The other warhead detonated slightly behind and below the ship ripping apart her keel main engine and two of her subengines there. Parts of the sublight engines sprawled into the other engines, fouling them and gutting their thrust venturi.
Like Thresher, Akatsuki was suddenly a dead stick as power was rerouted to restore her shields and away from damaged systems. Her port flank bled plasma in a trail as the ship drifted.
:::{)(}:::
“Sir, Thresher and Akatsuki have taken a lot of damage. Thresher is underway again but at half speed. We're still getting her damage reports. Akatsuki is a dead stick, sir,” Catherine reported in a neutral tone of voice.
“Damn,” Sedrick muttered.
“Focus on the second flight of missiles,” the admiral ordered. “This isn't over yet; it's just getting started,” he said, pointing a finger to the incoming missile spread that was about to hit their outer engagement zone.
Catherine stared at the plot. The missiles weren't trying to dodge, nor were they going after the screen covering the fleet train this time. They were going for the battle cruisers.
:::{)(}:::
“Sir, it looks like we scored glancing hits on a Nelson and one of the Arboths. Not enough for a knockout but enough to slow them down,” Kyle reported, looking up from his station.
Admiral White simply nodded. “A nice repayment with a little bit of interest I suppose. Let's see how good their main battle line is,” he said.
Kyle nodded and returned his attention to his station just as the missiles entered the second counter missile engagement zone.
:::{)(}:::
The second set of missiles had been launched in an attempt not to get a golden bee bee and catch the enemy off guard; that would be a nice bonus but not quite what the
TAC officer had been after, but to assess the enemy's strengths and weaknesses.
Unlike the first missile spread, these had to contend with the outer edge of Sixth and Eight Squadron's screen before they got to their true targets. So they had to take the fire of the destroyers, few screening drones and fighters, as well as the counter missiles from the capital ships.
Of the eighty fired in the spread, forty managed to get through the outer engagement zone. Twenty more fell prey to the counter missiles in the second engagement zone, but then their surviving sisters were past the safe counter missile zone of the destroyers. Point lasers spat from those who had an angle and range on the missiles, but few managed to score a hit.
Fifteen missiles managed to get past the destroyers and into the final defense zone of the capital ships. Two were ECM missiles; they spat decoys and then started spoofing the enemy fire control. Strobing energy temporarily blinded the Horathian fire control.
Weapon crews cursed and muttered prayers as they tried to fire based on the last known location of the missiles and their projected course. But the small computer network the missiles had established had known the enemy would be temporarily blinded; therefore, when the strobing went off they jinked on a slightly different vector of their base course.
Still, the blind fire caught two of the missiles. But then the last eleven roared in and detonated on two targets, Demeantor and Arkangel.
:::{)(}:::
Crown Prince Adam Ramichov swore viciously as five missiles got past everything his crews could throw at them and detonated on Arkangel's starboard flank. The ship bucked as the helm tried to compensate for the sudden influx of kinetic force on their buckling shields.
The inertial dampeners held but some of the bleed off made him grab for a support railing. Alarms wailed. “Damage control report!” he barked.
“Starboard side detonations—we're doing an assessment now. Minor damage reported so far,” a rating said in a shaken tone of voice.