The Phoenix Reckoning (The Phoenix Conspiracy Series Book 6)

by Richard Sanders

  “Rousing speech,” said her second in command, applauding her.

  “I only hope that it’s true,” said Ravinder. “I fear to know what will happen if we lose the day.”

  “If we lose the day, we will probably not be around to experience the consequences,” her second in command said. Ravinder did not find the words reassuring.

  “The alteredspace signature is beginning to coalesce into matter, just beyond the reaches of the ninth planet,” said the Ops chief.

  “Attempt to contact the enemy, sending them repeating messages warning them to leave the system immediately or face destruction.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Ravinder knew such messages would be ignored, but it was a matter of protocol to send them anyway, and in the event they were listened to and obeyed—however unlikely—it would save thousands of lives, if not more.

  “Now send a message to all forces, they are to standby and engage—but let the enemy come to us. All ships, hold position,” said Ravinder. She intended to use the local defenses to her advantage as much as possible, even though they were meager compared to the sizes of the fleet assembled and the enemy arriving—the defenses consisted of a starbase, three outposts, a minefield, and some orbital platforms with mounted guns, but taken together it would count for something, at least.

  “Message from Sir Arkwright,” said the communications chief. “He and his forces have jumped into alteredspace, they will be arriving in just a few minutes.”

  “Excellent, then it is our job to hold the enemy back until then,” said Ravinder. “Message to all ships, stay in formation and stay strong. We shall win this day.”

  “Aye, sir. Relaying message.”

  “Status report?” asked Ravinder.

  “All systems are operating at 100%, with secondary and tertiary power systems still available,” said the operations chief.

  “Shields are at maximum, set to double front, missiles are armed, energy weapons charged, guns loaded and ready,” reported the defense officer.

  “The fleet is holding position, as ordered,” said the communications chief.

  Ahead of them, on the tactical display, they could see a cloudlike mass suddenly appear just beyond Centuria IX.

  “The enemy has arrived in the system,” said the operations officer.

  “Count the ships and identify them by class. Tell me what we’re up against,” said Ravinder.

  “Somewhat difficult to tell,” said the operations chief, looking frustrated. “The ships are in extremely tight formation. I am detecting ships of all types, from dreadnoughts to craft so small they must be entirely unmanned.”

  “Fighter-drones?” asked Ravinder. The Rotham were well-known for using unmanned fightercraft for support and superiority roles during engagements, whereas the Empire preferred to use manned fighters, but the Polarians tended not to use small fightercraft at all—at least they hadn’t during the Great War. A lot may have changed since then, Ravinder knew.

  “It’s possible,” said the operations chief. “Like I said, it is difficult to get a proper image.”

  “Show us on the 3D display,” said Ravinder.

  A cloud-like image appeared; it almost looked like one, singular, massive, almost moon-sized planet, but upon closer inspection, Ravinder could see that this massive object was really the amalgamation of countless smaller vessels packed tightly together.

  “If they’re going to attack in a formation like that,” said Ravinder, trying not to let her jitters get to her, “then they will be easy pickings for our energy weapons.”

  The energy weapons were the longest-ranged mode of attack in starship warfare. No warship was complete solely with energy weapons, a good assortment of guns and missiles for close range was necessary, but energy weapons could be fired accurately from virtually any distance, and provided the enemy’s shields could be beaten down, could torch through enemy starship hulls and armor, disabling or destroying them.

  “I have our energy weapons standing by,” said the defense chief, “just give me the word and I can acquire a target. Weapons range in about two minutes.”

  They watched as the enemy mass—thousands upon thousands of starships—moved slowly forward, toward them, in the tightest starship formation Ravinder had ever seen. It was a formation that required slow and precise movement—to avoid friendly starship collision—and left the ships vulnerable to wide-angled beam weapon strikes, which could hit multiple targets when they were packed so tightly together.

  “I don’t recall the Polarian navy making mistakes like this ridiculous formation during the Great War, do you, Mister Albertson?” Ravinder directed the question to her defense chief.

  “No, Admiral,” he said. “But then again, while some of those starships are from the Polarian navy, many are not. As far as I can tell, while they clearly have the advantage in numbers, I’m not entirely convinced that this hodgepodge of starships is even mostly composed of armed warships. They seem to have included just about everyone and everything—look,” he pointed to the 3D display, which had adjusted to zoom in on part of the enemy formation. “They even have their support ships exposed, moving alongside the main fleet. Their entire force is like one enormous, tightly-packed snowball.”

  “Which will make it all the easier for our energy weapons to melt,” said Ravinder, she was happy about that fact, but also felt uneasy. Like some part of her distantly recognized this formation—even though she was sure she’d never seen it used in battle before—and she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it than met the eye.

  “What are your orders, sir?” asked the defense chief.

  “Get a target lock on the closest ship as early as you can and have all energy batteries standing by to fire,” said Ravinder, giving the obvious order, despite her nagging suspicion that something was wrong.

  “Yes, sir!” said the defense chief.

  “And for the fleet?” asked the communications chief.

  “Give the fleet the same order,” she said. “All squadrons hold positions, remain in defense formation near Centuria V, and target the enemy’s front as soon as it is within weapon’s range. Restrict fire to beam weapons only—don’t waste the missiles or guns until the enemy fleet is within close proximity. Otherwise they will just intercept the missiles and, as for the guns, remind the civilian crews that they are a short-range weapon only, or else they are useless.”

  “Yes, sir, relaying orders,” said the communications chief.

  “There is something damn peculiar about this,” said Ravinder as she watched the enemy cloud of starships—countless of them—continue to lumber forward, like a giant, awkward, singular entity. The ships had bypassed the orbits of the ninth and eighth planets, and had reached the seventh.

  “I say we take whatever advantage they are willing to give us,” said her second in command.

  “Agreed,” said Ravinder.

  “Weapons range achieved,” said the defense chief.

  Ravinder did not hesitate, she was not about to wait to see if the enemy would fire first. They had ignored her warnings, violated Imperial space, and, by decimating Layheri Alpha, had clearly proven their intentions for war. So war they shall have, thought Ravinder. “Message to all ships, fire at will!”

  “Relaying message,” said the operations chief.

  “Firing!” said the defense chief.

  Ravinder watched—they all did—as the surges of particle energy erupted from the hundreds of gathered Imperial defending ships and slammed into the enemy’s shields, lighting them up with brilliant flashes.

  “Focus fire on the forward-most ship,” said Ravinder, the 3D display was now able to make it out, and at the tip of the spearhead, was an enemy dreadnought. Probably one of the Dread Fleet’s command ships. It was black, like many of the ships, which required the 3D display to project the space around the vessels as a different color—green—in order to produce visual contrast.

  “Ordering fleet to focus fire,”
said the communications chief. Adding, a second later, “Message from Sir Arkwright, his forces will arrive in ninety seconds.”

  “Too late to see us take down our first prize of the day,” said Ravinder confidently. She watched as her fleet adjusted their targets and, a few seconds later, hundreds of beams lit up, each striking the enemy’s lead ship in what should have been an overpowering force of energy that could only destroy the dreadnought’s shields, and scorch the ship to ashes with just a single volley. But that wasn’t what happened.

  Instead, the hundreds of Imperial-fired energy blasts crashed into the shield, which lit up as expected, but the Polarian dreadnought’s shield did not collapse. It stayed firm, and the Dread Fleet crept ever forward. No casualties sustained.

  “What the hell?” asked Ravinder. “How is that ship still in one piece?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” said the defense officer, examining all of his readouts, trying to make sense of it.

  “Ops, conduct a scan, find out what we got its shields down to; there should be no way it can survive a second blast of such magnitude,” said Ravinder.

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Comms, order the fleet to continue firing on the lead ship. I want a second volley immediately,” said Ravinder.

  “Relaying message, sir.”

  “Admiral, I don’t believe this…the ship…” the operations chief stuttered as she tried to speak.

  “What is it?” demanded Ravinder.

  “The dreadnought’s shields…they are at over ninety-five percent strength and holding!”

  “Ninety-five…” Ravinder felt a chill take her. No, that can’t be right, she thought. Dreadnoughts were known for their tough shields and other defenses, but she had just struck the vessel with the combined force of hundreds of beam weapons nearly simultaneously…and that had done less than five percent damage to its shields? There had been enough force behind that blast to destroy a small moon!

  “Sir, all the enemy ships show a shield protective value of ninety-five percent,” said the operations chief.

  “But we’ve only really hit the one ship with any kind of meaningful force,” said Ravinder. “No, there has to be something wrong with your scanning equipment. Comms, order the ISS Rancor to scan the enemy Dreadnought, and some of the other ships, and feed the values of their shields directly to our computer.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The fleet reports it is prepared for the second volley,” said one of the communications officers.

  “Ninety-five percent,” Ravinder scoffed. “We’ll see about that! To all ships, commence fire!”

  The human ships fired again, hundreds more beams of energy slammed into the shields protecting the lead dreadnought—which continued its slow approach, guiding its own massive fleet, as they neared firing range themselves, Polarian energy weapons were not so advanced as Imperials beam weapons, and were not so accurate at long range.

  The beams struck their target a second time, lighting up the shield in a blinding flash, Ravinder watched out the window and had to glance away, due to the brightness. She rubbed her eyes and then looked immediately to the 3D display, just as her defense officer said, “Our attack was ineffective. The enemy dreadnought remains. Dread Fleet will be in firing range in five seconds.”

  “Status of their shields?” asked Ravinder, unbelieving.

  “Ninety-three percent, this value appears across the board for all their ships,” said the operations chief.

  “The ISS Rancor confirms our scan results,” said the communications chief. “The enemy dreadnought has a protective shield strength of greater than ninety-percent.”

  Then, in a flash, everything made perfect sense. The slow, lumbering, insanely tight formation of the enemy ships, the seemingly impervious shields, the fact that the shield values seemed uniform across the enemy fleet—despite a focused attack on the lead ship…“It’s a Phalanx,” said Ravinder.

  “A what, sir?”

  “A Polarian Phalanx!” she had read about it as a footnote in the stories of the Dread Fleet—stories so old and exaggerated they were mostly assumed to be legends. But clearly they had been, at least partially, true. Ravinder was angry at herself that she had not figured it out sooner.

  “What’s a Polarian Phalanx?” asked the defense chief, spinning his chair to look at her, just as the fleet fired a third volley—which proved equally ineffective.

  “Order the fleet to break up and spread out,” said Ravinder urgently. “We need to move, scramble all squadrons. We launch toward the fleet directly. Helm, get us in range so we can use our missiles and guns. Comms, order the fleet to do the same. Evasive approach, now!”

  “Aye, aye, sir!” her people acknowledged.

  “Sir?” said the defense chief. “That’s suicide!”

  “Staying back is suicide,” said Ravinder, “this may be suicide too, but it’s the only way we can get past that goddamn shield.”

  “The fleet acknowledges.”

  “Good, send a message to Sir Arkwright immediately. Warn him that the enemy is in Phalanx formation,” said Ravinder. “He deserves to know just what kind of slaughter he’s about to drop into.”

  “Aye, aye, sir, but what if he doesn’t know what Phalanx formation means?” asked the communications chief.

  “Tell him the enemy ships are in a tight formation and that they have somehow figured out a way to pool their shields,” said Ravinder.

  “Aye, Admiral. Sending message now.”

  “My God, I don’t believe it,” said the defense officer. “But you’re right. Damn you, you’re right.”

  “Protocol, Mister Albertson,” Ravinder snapped.

  “I’m sorry, Admiral, it’s just—I wanted you to be wrong. But you’re right. We’ll never bring those shields down if we have to take down the shields of the entire fleet before our beam weapons can strike even one of their starships!”

  “Precisely why we have to get into missile and guns range, and fast; nothing else will penetrate those shields. Also, message all carriers to deploy all fightercraft immediately, they might be small enough to slide between the alternating shields,” said Ravinder. “Get us in range and then fire everything we’ve got! All ships, get clear, get in range, and light the bastards up!”

  “Aye, sir. Acknowledged. Sending message.”

  The fleet moved, scrambling to separate from one another, each ship moving in a defensive, evasive pattern as it approached the maw of the enemy fleet, and each ship continuing to fire its beam weapons uselessly at the Dread Fleet’s Phalanx formation.

  “The enemy is in weapon’s range!”

  As soon as the defense officer spoke, thousands upon thousands of energy beams lit up the window in a blinding flash; Ravinder had to cover her eyes.

  ***

  END OF THE PHOENIX RECKONING

  The story concludes in THE PHOENIX REQUIEM (The Grand Finale), which should be available for pre-order immediately. In the interest of being fair to you, the reader, I have set the release date for this, the final installment, for March 13, 2016.

  For news and updates please visit www.richardlsanders.com