As a clan home, the system's strategic importance was self-evident as sensor returns from orbitals and space infrastructure, and literally hundreds of small starships moving about, registered in CLAWBLADE's holotank. It was just perfect for his plan. And to him, it would also be a moment of very personal revenge he had awaited, for a very long time. It was easy to deduce from the suddenly exploding sensor and comm activity that Dunnan Gal's residents had by now recognized exactly who and what had chosen to pay them a visit. His lips drew back in a sneer as he noticed the frantic course changes and utter chaos which spread in the space ahead.
His mind drifted back to his youth, to the image of his father as he went to war against the Tuathaan. It had been just a small border dispute, and the newsfeeds had triumphantly declared it to be a quick and almost totally clean affair, a demonstration of Ashani superiority over the aliens, with the loss of only three vessels. But for Corr'tane it had been no cause for joy. One of those ships had been his father's command, and when the official from the Navy had arrived it was he who had opened the door and let him in. Even as a child he had known what the tall officer had come for, and had known and felt that his family was broken. It was the first time he felt the presence of death, something which had since become his constant companion in life. For long the two of them had played together, and now he was the bringer of death. He was no longer its plaything, but its master. The Tuathaan would learn that today.
“Picking up tachyon comm signatures. They are sending distress signals, sir,” Captain Pryatan reported. She and the rest of the bridge crew had also taken their seats and put on their shock frames. “They're calling in their fleet.”
Corr'tane nodded in satisfaction. “Excellent. What are their local forces?”
“We've got three cruiser squadrons, plus support, moving to intercept. It's possible there are more warships in the shadow of these planets, and the readings we get from many of these civilian vessels suggest a certain degree of armaments there, too.” She stabbed a button and the display in the main holotank zoomed in on Dunnan Gal. Scores of smaller craft rose from the planet's surface and undocked from the orbitals. “Patrol cutters, pinnaces and fighters, sir. About four hundred of them. They are trying to join up with the cruisers.”
Corr'tane stared at the plot and slowly shook his head, a resigned smile dancing across his face. Good old Tuathaan, as predictable as clockwork. Even outnumbered and out massed they still insisted on attacking instead of preserving their forces until help had the chance to arrive. A shrewd commander would have opted for a campaign of poking pinholes in the Dominion's attacking fleet, going after the smaller formations on the edge of Corr'tane's main force, or trying to attack his flanks once his forces began to go after Dunnan Gal and its numerous orbitals. But the mad charge becoming apparent in his tactical displays spoke volumes of the capabilities of whoever commanded the system's defenders. The Tuathaan vessels formed one large, formless blob. It would be interesting to observe whether they would manage to become something approaching a coherent fighting unit in the seventy-six minutes it would take both forces to get into each other's range. If they did, they could very well make him bleed. Not catastrophically so, but despite Corr'tane's somewhat callous reputation, he knew that every man and woman he lost was ultimately irreplaceable. These sailors and soldiers represented the experienced core of veterans of the Dominion's navy. If they died whoever was to replace them would undeniably be of lower quality stock.
Time appeared to slow to a crawl as both forces approached each other, their representations in CLAWBLADE's main plot barely changing at all. But appearances were deceptive. In truth, 3rd Fleet and the Tuathaan defenders raced towards one another at fractional speeds of light. The combined emissions from Dunnan Gal's defenders' drives suggested they were still accelerating. Corr'tane, however, was not in a hurry.
“Captain, what's the best estimate for the arrival of reinforcements?”
Pryatan checked her console and punched in a query. “At maximum military acceleration a relief force from Báine could cross the fifteen light-years and be here within twenty-four hours. There are two smaller outposts in nearby systems, but unless the Tuathaan just happen to have parked major fleets there any reinforcements coming from that direction should be negligible. “
“Then I suppose we'd better keep ourselves busy in the meantime,” Corr'tane smiled slyly. “Let's gauge the skill of the man we're facing. Order sixth to tenth destroyer squadrons to break formation and hunt down the freighters within the system. Reducing the enemy's industrial and transport capacity should be part of every strategy.”
The Strategos watched as sixty destroyers broke from 3rd Fleet's tiered formation to race on widely diverging vectors deeper into the Dunnan Gal star system. An enemy willing to put reason over glory and honor would take the opening Corr'tane had just offered him and go after the many smaller targets. Given the size of the star system it really wasn't a stretch to say such a strategy would've kept both sides busy until reinforcements arrived. Ashani destroyers were vessels geared towards offensive operations, heavy in anti-ship missiles but only equipped with reduced defensive suites and comparably thin armor, something the ship class' designers had tried to compensate for with speed and state of the art electronic warfare equipment. Split up into groups of twenty or thirty the many small craft the Tuathaan had gathered for the system's defense would have posed a challenge to such a ship.
“Enemy is maintaining course and speed. No reactions, sir. Entering engagement range in forty minutes from now.”
“Thank you, captain. Well, it seems we'll have to keep prodding our runty friends. There's a large mining outpost on the eighth moon of that gas giant,” he focused his display on the system's sixth planet. “By the looks of it, there are also several space stations. Once we're passing its orbit we'll detach two dreadnought divisions and screening elements to wipe out these installations. Maybe the danger of losing those will prompt the Tuathaan to action.”
“Aye, sir.”
Slowly, the distance between the two forces decreased. At seventeen minutes the attack force for the mining colony detached from the fleet's main body. Again, the Tuathaan armada maintained its course. A part of Corr'tane's mind found the development – or lack thereof – to be disappointing. As much as he understood the gravitas of his position as a leader of more than a million sailors and soldiers, part of his mind still longed for a challenge, for an enemy who was willing to think, and act, out of the box of predetermined schemata.
“Any significant changes in the individual course of the aggressor force, captain?”
Pryatan shook her head, her white mane rolling down her back in a sea of curls. “No, sir. The enemy has settled into a stable course. My best guess is they're waiting, conserving their reaction mass for the coming engagement.” She kept her voice level. Pryatan was an experienced officer, but she had earned her position during peacetime. For much of 3rd Fleet this would be their baptism by fire.
“Tighten our forward screens, captain, and link the fleet's dreadnoughts into CLAWBLADE's fire control.”
Pryatan frowned but did as she was told. In the holotank the cruiser and destroyer squadrons at the front of his formation began to reduce the distance between one another and the main body of the fleet.
“Twelve minutes until effective missile range.”
“Understood.” He leaned forward. “Distance to our forward screening elements?”
“Around fifteen thousand kilometers, sir.”
“Good, good,” Corr'tane nodded, scratching his chin. “Order to the fleet: initiate full-scale jamming.”
This time Pryatan hesitated. “Sir, at this distance jamming will have no effect on the enemy. In fact, given our power output we're more likely to blind our own sensors if we throw blanket distortions into the void.”
“Noted, Captain Pryatan. Now, if you'd be so kind.”
The female officer looked back at him then turned back with a minute shr
ug. “CLAWBLADE to fleet. Engage broadband jamming.”
Some of the tactical displays began to flicker, but Corr'tane's eyes were fixed on his own console as his fingers punched commands into fleetnet.
“Missile trace!” the sensor operator shouted in surprise, then added a more dumbfounded “We and the rest of the dreadnoughts have fired.”
“I don't see any birds in my plot, Lieutenant!” Captain Pryatan rounded on the young officer. “Keep it together!”
“Ma'am, my systems show a confirmed missile launch, but all birds vanished from radar, thermal and LIDAR one-point-four seconds after their drives' ignition.”
“I'm positive that if your subordinate cannot see them it's highly unlikely the Tuathaan will have noticed their launch, let alone their bearing,” Corr'tane stated levelly then looked at Pryatan. “We did fire those missiles. And, after one-point-four seconds, in the middle of the EW envelopes of our screens, their flight computers ordered them to shut down their drives. They're now coasting silently towards the enemy at a speed twenty-two percent faster than our own approach. And when they get close... Well, let's just say those two hundred megaton warheads have proximity fuses.” He smiled coldly as understanding dawned on Pryatan's face.
As with the 'dumb' mines at Senfina there was no reasonable way to detect a cold missile on approach. The only difference was that here it was the Dominion which employed the strategy, and employed it on the offensive. It was probably a one-shot ruse, one that Corr'tane wouldn't be able to replicate on a more dynamic battleground a second time. But here...
“I've calculated course and position of the warheads based on their estimated speed on shutdown,” a throng of red dots appeared in the main holotank and on Corr'tane's own display.
“Well done, lieutenant,” Pryatan nodded. This was the kind of initiative an officer looked for in her subordinates.
Corr'tane leaned back in his seat, making himself as comfortable as the shock frame allowed as he watched the missile salvo coast towards its target. It was a strangely riveting sight, and his eyes followed the twelve hundred warheads with a gleeful twinkle not unlike that of a young boy who was certain to be the only one to know of a great secret.
Five minutes before the Tuathaan fleet entered their powered missile envelope the throng of missiles connected with the throng of ships in CLAWBLADE's holotank. At several million kilometers, the distance was still far too great to get a visual of what was happening, but the abstract depiction of the tactical plot in front of him told Corr'tane everything he needed to know. The symbols of the missiles expired – and with them scores of the red triangles that stood for Tuathaan vessels.
A few seconds later the bare eye caught up with the events as the light of a thousand small suns erupted for brief seconds in the empty space between the fifth and the sixth planet of Dunnan Gal. Nuclear explosions swallowed too tightly packed fighter squadrons whole. Heat and radiation burnt through armor and melted hulls and machinery and flesh. Secondary explosions tore and cut at already wounded ships, belching atmosphere and plasma and bodies into the depths of space.
In Corr'tane's tactical plot the number of enemy vessels dropped rapidly as CLAWBLADE's sensors sifted through the background radiation to take stock of the carnage her missiles and those of her sisters had caused.
“Heavy casualties to light enemy units, sir. We've also confirmed hits on some of the cruisers, and it appears as if they've lost half their destroyers. Enemy strength is down by fifty percent, Strategos,” Pryatan reported.
It was a massive blow, made possible only by the lackluster quality of his opponent and the large numbers of his small and lightly-armored units. Still, they kept coming, and Corr'tane for the first time, felt something like respect for the enemy fleet's commander. The man must have known he was going to die, and yet he was going to see this through to the end. Stupid, but brave.
“Launch all fighters. Finish them off. Our forward screen is to back them up.” He reckoned this wouldn't take long.
It didn't. Just as the Tuathaan light units would have been a danger to his own independent ships had they engaged in coordinated strikes, 3rd Fleets almost two thousand fighters were more than enough to end the shell-shocked survivors of Corr'tane's underhanded missile strike. His fleet's main body ignored the battle –- or was it a slaughter? – and continued onwards to Dunnan Gal's blue and gray globe while cruisers and fighters killed off the last stragglers.
“Set us up in orbit of the planet, stand by,” he ordered. “Have the 8th Corps ready to deploy after we conduct saturation strikes against the planetary defenses.”
Strategically, he was taking a gamble. It was all based on Tuathaan mentality and his understanding of how they fought and lived. By attacking Dunnan Gal instead of hurrying his fleet to Báine to relieve Tear'al he knew the strategos would consider his actions a betrayal. He would most certainly withdraw from Báine immediately, leaving his casualties and damaged vessels behind to return to Dominion space, fuming and expecting a Tuathaan counter attack. If the Tuathaan were competent commanders they would mount that counter attack and then redeploy forces from other sectors to meet Corr'tane at Dunnan Gal. But such a straightforward look didn't take Tuathaan society into account. His gamble was that, upon hearing of his attack on their homestead, clan Dunnan's forces and their vassals would vacate the battlefield at Báine, creating the respite 12th Fleet needed to withdraw in good order. By attacking Dunnan Gal he had issued a challenge to the Tuathaan clans, attacking their very home, daring them to come and fight him. And he had never once heard of a Tuathaan not responding to such a challenge.
Báine was a place of their choosing. He had no intention of going there. No, a wise commander chose the time and place of the battles he was forced to fight. Meanwhile, Tear'al would be disgraced, the offensive saved and his own name showered with glory. Plus he would have uncounted dead Tuathaan at his feet and a ravaged strategically important star system to boast with. It was all so perfect.
“We are in position, Strategos,” Pryatan informed him as CLAWBLADE fired her breaking thrusters and came to a halt above the planet's blue and gray orb. Outside, orbital infrastructure disintegrated under the onslaught of 3rd Fleet while missile ships began to surround the planet, interdicting ground-based anti-ship launchers and attacking military installations with nuclear weapons.
Corr'tane didn't even have to intervene. His fleet worked like a well-oiled machine, the thousands of hours of training and literally hundreds of exercises finally paying off. “Time to send them a message,” he grinned mischievously. “Call the ship the closest to the planet. Tell her captain to remove a city from the planet, I don't care which one.” Today the Tuathaan would pay for the pain they had caused him.
Dunnan Gal had nothing in the way of serious orbital defenses, certainly not on the scale the Érenni employed. The Tuathaan's whole concept of defense was based on a strong mobile fleet – which was unfortunately fighting elsewhere at the moment, though probably quickly disengaging. Corr'tane watched in great satisfaction as missiles erupted from the zoomed-in hull of the destroyer that had received the honor of being the instrument of his revenge. He was physically tingling with anticipation as the weapons raced through the planet's dense atmosphere, and like a madman his whole being was prepared to sing out and jump for joy. A part of his brain felt revulsion at his profession of joy, but it was a small and quiet part. He had become a dealer of death, one of the best in known space, and eventually everyone would share that opinion.
Down below, enhanced video images showed the nuclear firestorm and massive blast wave hit. Tall towers disintegrated like confetti in a storm. Lower buildings were flattened by a giant, invisible hammer, and a thick black cloud began to spread over the center of the destruction. He really didn't need the specifics. Corr'tane was content in his knowledge that the city and its foul inhabitants were gone.
“Deploy landing forces. War Captain Tallthresher's units will stay and support them. The rest of the
fleet will gather and return to the fold.”
Someone close to him cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Strategos, but the Tuathaan will be coming. I do not think a hundred ships will hold them, especially not if they are hindered by this planet's gravity well,” Captain Pryatan said carefully and respectfully.
“No, I don't expect they will,” Corr'tane nodded and folded his hands before his face, staring intently at the strategic representation of the star system that replaced the images of destruction in his holotank.
Pryatan waited for a further explanation but none was forthcoming. The Ashani were a highly militant society, and since she had been able to speak Pryatan had been ordered never to question or pry into the orders of her superiors, whether parents or teachers, or, now in adulthood, her superior military officers. Not only that, but her commander was none other than the brightest and most enigmatic of the Council of Strategoi. To question or doubt his orders went against everything that had been ingrained in her. And yet... “Then why not keep the whole fleet here, sir? Otherwise our troops on the surface will be doomed.”
When it had come to putting together the core of officers for his fleet command Corr'tane had had a free choice. Even though he was an obscure personality in Ashani society as a whole, his set of lectures as junior fellow in the navy's university had gained him the regard of many of the higher ranks. Serving with him as captain of the CLAWBLADE was considered one of the highest honors in the Dominion and a whole squadron of senior officers had put themselves forward. With the looming shadow of the coming war he had sifted through the cream of the navy, the highest graduating academy students and hardened veterans. But none of them really caught his attention. But then he had stumbled across Pryatan's file. The officer had been demoted for answering back to her superior and questioning his decision to follow a Tuathaan raiding party. It turned out to be a trap and Pryatan had been proven right, but was still disciplined for insubordination.
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