Opening Moves

by James Traynor

  “Negative, sir. Still no response,” the comm officer replied in frustration. “But going by the radio wave reflections bouncing around between that quartet, they're discussing what to do next.”

  “Probably trying to figure out what to make of our interference,” Beaufort frowned. “Question is, are they leaning towards shooting us or discussing whether they should withdraw.”

  “Hard to say, sir. Seems their signals are encoded, and they're using a tight focus,” Ranaissa commented, calling up the comm officer's console.

  “Captain, I've got a burst tachyon transmission to the second group of Ashani ships!”

  “The one in the outer system?” Beaufort demanded to know.

  “Affirmative... checking now, skipper. Reading spacial distortion on long range scanners now... One of the destroyers has transitioned back into the fold!”

  Beaufort swallowed a curse. There was only one reason for singular ship to skip out of the system: to report to a force that was either waiting or en route. You couldn't directly communicate between normal space and the fold, so intermediary couriers had to be used. And the fact that the Domion had used a small vessel to make the jump meant that whoever was going to receive the message was near.

  “Ashani cruisers are closing in on us, sir. Forty thousand clicks, and getting closer. A little more and they'll be able to lock onto the civilians just using optical sensors no matter how much noise we pump into the ether,” Ranaissa warned.

  “They're trying to intimidate us. They want us to blink, XO,” Beaufort stated. “Make no response, continue our maneuvers. Sensors, are we getting any good info on them?”

  “We've got some good surface profiles and readings on their weapons and sensor systems,” the answer came promptly. “Good thing we're this close. At a light second or more their hull would make getting deep scans a problem. Their ceramics armor and rounded hull shape are hard on the radars, skipper.”

  “Well, at least ONI will be happy with how this mission's turning out,” Commander Ranaissa noted sourly. “How long can we keep this up?”

  “Until the refugees can get clear, Therese,” Beaufort said, maintaining his stoically neutral expression beneath the bushy mustache.

  “It'll take us at least twenty-five minutes to the edge of the gravity well, sir.” She stared at the plot, the Ashani vessels swarming them designated in the custom red of enemies. “If they close in much farther all the dancing around we've been doing won't keep those civilians alive.”

  “Sir, the Rasenni dreadnought just left the system. It's just us and the Agama now,” the sensor operator reported.

  The massive warship had hung around the edge of the gravity well even after the civilian vessels it had escorted had safely left. Whether it had been out of curiosity or because the Imperial Navy had ordered its commander to get a close look at the Ashani vessels Beaufort couldn't know. What he did know was that he had secretly hoped for the old imperial to make a stand and force the Dominion to leave. Now that hope had evaporated just as finally as oxygen from a broken compartment.

  “As long as those ships are staring us down they aren't killing civilians,” Beaufort pointed out grimly. “Every second we buy them is a life we've saved. And if we keep them busy the local system defense forces might just get their act together and fight them off as long as half the Dominion's strength is scattered over the outer system.”

  He didn't really believe that and still put all his conviction into the words. Had the Tanithans really wanted to save the convoy, the past hour would have been more than enough time to formulate a response. That none had materialized could only mean that the local equivalent of a high command had decided to put its priorities elsewhere. In this case, that would be concentrating on the planet's defense instead of wasting precious ships in an effort to save people and vessels that weren't integral to Tanith's defense. Beaufort understood the cold military logic behind it, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

  “Skipper, the rest of the squadron's moving again!” Ranaissa warned. “The two cruisers are still approaching us but the rest of them are turning towards the convoy again. I'm reading multiple active sensors now. Looks like they're serious about finishing the job!”

  Beaufort face went blank. He couldn't handle a dozen separate warships all by himself. “Keep us between that megafreighter and that pair of cruisers.”

  “Sir, we're being painted by active sensors!” McLane called from his duty station. “It's the two cruisers.”

  The two Ashani Sunchaser-class cruisers had closed the range to a little more than twenty-eight thousand kilometers and still burned closer on an approach vector from up the zed and starboard, aimed right at the JOHNSTON. Their sleek predatory features ended in bows littered with sensor arrays eerily similar in form and function to those on the Leyte-class cruiser. However, the data ONI had provided also stated that accompanying the design was a focus on forward-facing offensive firepower, meaning Beaufort's ship was faced with the brunt of either ship's destructive capabilities. The scans JOHNSTON had of the incoming Ashani weren't refined enough to point just where the enemy's main batteries were located, but the dome-shaped gun mounts with their stubby plasma laser cannons dotted across the hull in a strangely irregular pattern were easy enough to see.

  “They're opening missile their missile tubes, skipper,” McLane called out with a hint of nerves. Even accounting for the necessary acceleration at this range no missile would take longer than two seconds to cross the – shrinking – distance between them.

  “Hold it, people. Don't make any moves,” Beaufort said. “They have no reason to fire on us.”

  “The other ships have opened fire on the convoy,” Ranaissa reported stone-faced. “Reading missile tracks and laser fire. Orders, sir?”

  “Wait and see what that pair is up to,” Beaufort grimaced behind the visor of his helmet. He had never been much of a poker player and these stakes were becoming all too lethal.

  “Cruisers are launching fighters. I'm tracking thirty, correction: forty small craft. They're on a direct intercept vector towards us,” Lt. McLane warned.

  “Damn it!” Beaufort nearly spat. “Helm, roll us to face them with our starboard broadside. Weapons, send laser clusters and drones into stand-by. Align spinal and ventral turrets to face incoming ships. Do not go active unless I give the order! Wait for them to blink.”

  “You think they're still trying to intimidate us?” Ranaissa muttered and doubtfully raised an eyebrow. “If you ask me, skipper, they're doing a pretty fine job.”

  Beaufort didn't answer her right away. The whole situation didn't make any sense to him. The JOHNSTON was a ship of a non-belligerent power. That had been the whole reason he had moved her into the line of fire in the first place. It would be politically suicidal to launch an attack on her if all she had done was dance around in front of their guns for a bit, at best mildly inconveniencing them. This wasn't right. If they just wanted to scare them why were they moving into attack position and launching their fighters? They had to know he couldn't let them inside his drone envelope! What were they hoping to –

  “Missile lock!” McLane yelled. “Hostiles inbound!” Automatically the lieutenant's hand slammed on the drone screen's activation key.

  Beaufort's eyes widened. “Evasi-”

  His order got drowned in the noise of explosions, tearing hull plating and moaning metal as eight heavy plasma lasers burst from the bows of the two Sunchaser-class cruisers, instantly connecting with JOHNSTON's symmetrical hull. They ate through the thin layer of heat-absorbent ceramics that covered most of the surface with frightening ease before hitting the solid armor beneath it. Metal vaporized, and despite its thickness of slightly more than fifty centimeters, the guns of the Ashani main batteries managed to penetrate. The Union cruiser shuddered, spewing fractured hull plating and atmosphere.

  Laser clusters and drones went into action, lashing out at the inbound missiles and fighters. They hadn't been designed with the
idea of dealing with small in mind, but the Ashani Swiftpaws were barely larger than long range anti-ship missiles. And they were slower. What saved them from the full attention of the cruiser's defense suite was the main computer's threat assessment. The missiles were faster and carried warheads more powerful than a hundred megatons each. With the speed only machines could achieve the JOHNSTON's defenses sought them out. Nuclear fireballs and barely visible laser beams instantly filled the void between the Union cruiser and her two attackers. The enemy missiles were still in their booster phase and despite their immense speed the human ship's defense grid picked them off, one after the other. One got extremely close, though, exploding barely fifteen kilometers off the ship's starboard side. The massive gamma ray burst fried some of the exposed radar and LIDAR sensors but little more damage than that.

  Beaufort shook himself, his ears still ringing from the surprise attack and its impact, and forced his attention back to the main plot. All that had taken place during barely two seconds.

  Damage reports found their way to the bridge.

  “...LIDAR six is a goner...”

  “...hull breaches on deck eight and deck fifteen...”

  “...five dead and nine wounded...”

  “Main batteries locked!” McLane yelled over the cacophony.

  “All batteries: open fire!” Beaufort roared. “Weapons, give me missile solutions on all Ashani ships within range.” The time to take off the kid gloves had come.

  The JOHNSTON's roll to show the Dominion cruisers its starboard hull had aligned the four railgun turrets positioned there as well as the two ventral and dorsal pairs with the attackers. Sixteen two hundred millimeter barrels opened up as one, accelerating their deadly projectiles into space at tens of thousands of kilometers per second, leaving a faint blue-white trail of ionized gas in their wake.

  It coincided with a second salvo from the Ashani main plasma lasers. Again they tore through armor and hull, scorching the proud ship's surface. Bad luck had it that one laser connected with a wound the attackers had cut earlier, and despite JOHNSTON's solid internal structure and compartmentalization, it bored its way deep into the cruiser's innards. Atmosphere turned to plasma burst from the opening in a semi-liquid cloud of white and red fire, taking starboard missile tubes eight, nine and eleven, part of the officers' mess and maintbot hangar four with it in a short but ferocious firestorm.

  The Dominion crews didn't get to enjoy their success. The mainstay weapon of space forces was the plasma laser. It differed in the type of gas it used, in its power output, in its focus and ultimately in its range. It was, all things considered, a well-developed and economical weapon system. None of the major human powers had ever adopted it as their main shipboard weapon. Railgun development traced its humble beginnings back to the end of the 20th century C.E. and it had gone through the same process of refinement as had the plasma laser. The Ashani knew even less of the human ship's capabilities than was the case the other way around. For Captain Beaufort and the Union, the Dominion was a distant threat that needed to be assessed. For the Dominion, humankind – far away and fractured – was a non-factor. It was a clash of different design philosophies bringing forward different solutions to problems.

  Human warships used more of their internal space for fuel bunkerage to offset the disadvantage in consumption created due to solid armor and higher masses. In general, that resulted in a shorter endurance and slower top speeds. Unlike most of their counterparts across known space, they also were more reliant on a steady supply of munitions.

  Dominion – and for that matter, most other warships – were lighter and faster if otherwise technical parity was achieved. The Ashani warships were built to withstand heat and radiation, a thick shell of highly absorbent and effective ceramics over a thin metal foundation around a metal frame. Human warships were built to withstand kinetic energy and radiation, a thin layer of ceramics over a solid metal shell around a metal framework. Heat cut through metal even though metal offered some resistance to it. Ceramics ultimately were nothing but very advanced pottery. And pottery had never fared too well against hammers.

  It took JOHNSTON's projectiles half a second to cross the void. Just like the Ashani cruisers really could not have missed at such spitting distances, neither could the Union ship. The sixteen metal slugs slammed into the two enemy ships like six megaton cannon balls, shattering armor as if it consisted of paper. They hammered through hull plating, bulkheads, crew quarters, weapons and sensor mounts, generators, fuel lines, missile storages and reactors. Two shaved off the port side 'wing' of one of the cruisers. Another projectile bore through the hull, traveling a hundred meters and more through metal and composites and flesh and was only stopped by the armored shell of cruiser's bridge. It still managed to turn the whole bridge crew into saucy chunks of meat through its impact, the ship's compensators failing to counteract that much direct kinetic energy. They were survived by the rest of their crew by a mere two seconds as ripped fuel lines and bunkers and a fusion reactor gone haywire turned the mighty warship into a slowly expanding cloud of debris plasma. Her companion fared little better. Trailing her sheared off wing, she belched atmosphere and clouds of burning fuel from half a dozen house-sized wounds in her hull. Her drives flickered on and off while her weapons remained silent. The fires ignited an armed missile in its tube at the base of the cut off wing, bathing the cruiser's stern in thermonuclear fire. As second later the dying hulk began to eject life pods.

  Despite the sudden loss of their motherships, the remaining Ashani fighters did not hesitate for even a second and hurled themselves into a new charge.

  “They're going after the drones!” McLane warned, but there was little the JOHNSTON's crew could do other than wait and watch. “Starboard drone screen is gone, skipper. Enemy fighters on attack vector! Eighteen fighters incoming.”

  The Swiftpaw-class fighters were built around a single powerful laser cannon with a comparatively low effective range. Their purpose was to attack enemy merchantmen or smaller classes of warships and to destroy enemy small craft. But that didn't mean in large numbers they couldn't be a problem for larger warships.

  “Use the counter-missiles. Concentrate laser cluster fire and realign the main battery. Fire at will!”

  The small crafts and their fearless pilots raced into the cruiser's fire, lashing out with their weapons – and perished.

  A strange quiet settled over the JOHNSTON's bridge after the hectic activity of the past... minute? Had it really just been a minute?

  “Report!” Beaufort croaked. His mouth felt as dry as the Sahara desert.

  “Damage to the starboard hull on decks eight, nine and fifteen. Energy lines to turrets Echo and Foxtrott are down. We've lost three missile tubes and our starboard sensor coverage is down to sixty percent efficiency. Damage control teams are down to seventy-five percent efficiency due to the loss of maintbot hangar four, sir,” Commander Ranaissa rattled down the figures.

  “Casualties, Therese?”

  “Sickbay reports twenty-two dead and forty-seven wounded, sir.”

  “Thank you,” Beaufort replied somberly before speaking up. “That was excellent work, ladies and gentlemen.”

  “The Ashani seem to think so, too. They're breaking off their attack on the convoy and turning to head our way. Another cruiser of the same type, six destroyers and three ships ONI has pegged as frigates.” Therese Ranaissa's voice was wry. “If we go by those two performances, the first will be within safe firing distance in less than forty seconds.”

  “And there's a window of opportunity for us to make a run for it, pick up our ground teams and make it the hell out of here on the other side of the gravity well,” the captain mused. “But if we do, we condemn tens of thousands of refugees to death. If we hold fast for a few more minutes some of them have the chance to escape this madness.”

  It was the hardest decision Beaufort could imagine, and here and now he was positive the answer would define his life and his legacy.
On the one hand he had a duty to his government and crew. He had valuable intelligence data and clear orders to get that information back home. His mandate had been very clear about the use of force and he feared he might have already exceeded its letter, if not its spirit. Still, if he went home now, chances were that despite possible transgressions, they'd hand him and his crew medals by the bucket, just to avoid the public relations catastrophe they would have at their hands if the story broke they were trying to go after a man who had put his life on the line to save women and children. Also, given the distances involved, the fact that the Dominion had its hands full and the fact that the record was clear that they had been the ones to open fire, in all likelihood there wouldn't be a major interstellar incident.

  But on the other hand, if he left now he would take the only capital ship defending the convoy trying to flee Tanith out of the battle and therefore sentence tens of thousands to death. And his own crew members would have died in vain.

  “Thirty seconds until enemy ships are in attack position,” Commander Ranaissa reminded him.

  “Mes amis, it's time to make a choice,” Beaufort spoke gently. “We've done all that was demanded of us, and we are within our rights to leave here and return to Earth. We are not bound by orders or duty to stay. We can outrun the Ashani, pick up our people on the ground, and then go home without further incident. No one would blame us.”

  The consoles beeped steadily, but no other sound was heard. Except for the steady breathing of the officers of the bridge staff.

  “But you all know what will happen if we leave. If we go, everyone aboard those ships dies. If we stay, maybe we can give them enough time to escape. Maybe not. You know the minds of the men and women under your command and speak for them,” Beaufort said, looking to each one of the bridge officers in turn. “This cannot be an order, but it is a choice. We can leave. Or we can stay and fight.” He let the words hang for a while, gave them a few seconds to sink in. “This is not a chance for glory, ladies and gentlemen. It isn't a movie or a book. I won't lie to you; you deserve better than that. If we stay we will probably die. We're outnumbered and outgunned by a professional enemy who will show us no mercy. I can't tell you to fight these odds. It's a choice. It is your choice. Do we stay, or do we leave?”