Over eight thousand weapons headed out toward the enemy fleet, followed thirty seconds later by another eight thousand. This went on for fifteen minutes, until all of the ships had shot their load.
Fifteen minutes until the next thought the fleet commander. Maybe five or six more after that, and then she would raise the shields again. Low energy, hopefully giving away little. And drawing the enemy further into her trap.
Chapter Twenty-one
Far better is it to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure... than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much, because they live in a gray twilight that knows not victory nor defeat. Theodore Roosevelt
“Incoming missiles from astern, my Lord. Distance, three light minutes. Velocity, point nine five light.”
“Not unexpected,” said Tonnasar, looking over at this tactical officer. “I assume the pickets are taking them on.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
Tonnasar had ordered pickets, four hundred thousand ton scouts ships, out to four light minutes in a globe around the fleet, thicker toward the bow and stern aspects of the formation. It was their job to engage any incoming. Preferably with missiles, though if they intercepted one with a hull it was not a great loss. That was their job, and the great admiral cared not if any of them survived this battle. After all, they were cheap and easily replaced.
“They got all of that wave, my Lord,” reported the tactical officer a minute later. “We lost fourteen ships, my Lord.”
Tonnasar waved an upper right hand dismissively in the air.
“Another stream coming in. Fifteen degrees to port of the last. Same velocity.” The tactical officer was silent for a moment, reading the light speed transmission from the stern scouts. “And another, twenty degrees to starboard of the original wave.”
“So we have them firing at us from three positions. Calculate a solution and turn our wormhole equipped ships. I want a volley sent at all of them.”
The five super-battleships turned, releasing their missiles streams over a couple of minutes, then turning their forward aspects back at the primary enemy. Those missiles would probably do nothing, but Ca'cadasan SOP was to return fire whenever possible. Even if it revealed something the fleet would rather have let remain hidden.
* * *
“These are the probable launching vessels, ma'am.”
Mara agreed with her tactical officer. They had picked up the emissions from those ships that indicated that they were turning, while continuing forward with the rest of the fleet. She could think of only one reason for that turn.
“Calculate missile arrival, at point nine five light, and prepare to jump before they get here.”
“So far they have been limited to point nine light, ma'am.”
“I realize that, commander. However, I would rather have a margin of error. I would much rather not lose any ships to that launch. In fact, once we jump into hyper, move us six light minutes from here and come back into normal space.”
She thought that the enemy would eventually give up if she kept ahead of them. They were more likely to concentrate on Beata's force, a much large concentration of ships that couldn't escape into hyper.
“Second launch queue coming up in three minutes,” said the tactical officer in anticipation.
Like most weapons officers, he felt much better when he was sending fire into the enemy. Mara agreed with that sentiment.
* * *
“We have missiles coming in from ahead, my Lord. Estimating eight thousand weapons. Velocity, point nine light.”
Slower than normal, thought the great admiral. But so many. I didn't know they had that many wormholes.
“Orders, my Lord.”
“We continue in, dolt.” He wasn't about to disappoint an Emperor who was already angry at the lack of progress on this front. Tonnasar wasn't about to disappoint him again. “Launch another volley their way. And set the missiles to seeking along the way.”
His normal launch missiles would cross paths with anything still coming his way. As soon as they picked up enemy weapons in close proximity some would turn to home in on the new targets. They probably wouldn't get many, but any Ca'cadasan weapons that missed would adjust course and head toward the enemy force.
“That will give away our attacks, my Lord.”
“Don't you think they have already predicted our launches, dolt. When I want your opinion, on anything, I will ask for it.”
Tonnasar turned and missed the resentful look the tactical officer sent his way, not realizing that he had cut himself off from his best source of counsel in battle.
* * *
“We have missiles boosting, ma'am. One light hour, twelve minutes out.”
Why in the hell are they boosting that far out, thought Beata, yawning. She was feeling so damned tired. She needed to get to bed and sleep for a dozen hours. Not yet, she thought. She needed to be here, on this bridge, until this thing ended.
“They're probably going after our missiles, ma'am. Yes. Some of ours are going into evasives.”
So now both sides knew when the next launches were coming in. They still had to deal with the missiles coming in at high relativistic speeds. While the enemy missiles were still in the process of accelerating, and would be speeding along at just under point eighty-four light by the time they reached her.
“Do you want to test the laser's range ma'am?” asked Janssen, anticipation on his face.
They had figured that the huge laser wouldn't kill instantly out past five light minutes. But it would still impart significant heat at forty light minutes. Beata thought it better to not wave their hold card in the enemy's face. Let him keep on coming in, then she would remind him, forcefully,
“I don't think to, Captain.”
Janssen's face fell like that of a little boy denied desert. Like most people who had commanded ships he came up through the weapons division. He was still a weapons officer at heart, and had yet to meet a laser, particle beam or missile he didn't like. And now he had partial control of God's own laser.
“Yes, ma'am. Excuse my suggestion, ma'am.”
“Come on, Sigurd. We're are going to whack them with our great big bat,” said Beata, stifling another yawn. “We'll just let them get closer.”
* * *
“Ma'am,” shouted out the tactical officer. “We have Caca ships jumping into hyper.”
“Where?” exclaimed Mara, turning to look at the officer. “How many?”
“Four groups. Just over a thousand each. Three are vectoring onto each of our forces out here, while one seems to be heading for a point near enough to support any of the other three if needed.”
“So, that canny bastard had some aces up his sleeves as well.” Mara barked a quick laugh as she thought of a Caca playing cards, aces up all four sleeves.
“Orders.”
“We stay where we are and continue to fire on their main fleet,” she said after a moment's thought. She believed she had enough ships to take on those forces and beat them. Still, there was no use taking too many chances. “Deploy as many mines and floating box launchers as we have. Send orders out to all fast attack craft and warp fighters. I want them vectoring toward the closest of our groups to them.”
Mara preferred fighting a battle of maneuver. Sometime, though, it was good to get into an old fashioned slugging match. In fact.
“Make sure that our battleship forces are on the move. I'll want them here to lend us their firepower.” Mgonda and Lenkowski might not like her putting their ships at risk. Well, they could just deal with it. She needed the firepower right now.
* * *
“First volley will reach the enemy in approximately eighteen minutes, my Lord.”
“And what are they doing about it?” asked Tonnasar, leaning forward in his chair. He was starting to feel fatigued as well. Ca'cadasans had slower metabolisms than most other species, and could go long times without sleep. When the need did hit them,
it was like a hammer descending on their heads.
“From the graviton emissions, they are still covering behind their shields. What I don't understand is why they left that massive hole in the center. It looks like a setup to fire through.”
“Perhaps they will mass their ships there and concentrate their fire,” suggested another officer.
“I don't think to, my Lord,” said the tactical officer, shooting his fellow male a hostile look. “It would make more sense to have the shield joined to their front. Let our weapons run into something they can't penetrate. Concentrate their firepower on the edges to catch anything that might vector around. It's what I would do.”
“Possibly they aren't as smart as you,” said the other officer sarcastically.
“We continue in until I say otherwise,” said Tonnasar, giving a head motion of negation. He didn't care how many tricks, how much smoke and mirrors, the humans used. He was going straight for the throat, as Mrastaran should have, and nothing was going to change his mind.
* * *
“Enemy missiles are approximately six light minutes from contact. Velocity, point eight-five light. ETA, just over seven minutes.”
“Tactical officer. You may send the signal to the Donut. Engage the laser.”
“Yes, ma'am,” said the excited officer, sending the coded signals at the push of a preprogrammed button.
Beata looked at her local plot, making sure with her own eyes that nothing had strayed into the path of the beam. The wormhole gate was less than a thousand kilometers from the shield opening, and everything had been ordered to stay out of that space. At greater risk would be ships on the other side of the shields, destroyers and minelayers. A little bit of inattention could be a disaster for that vessel that strayed into the firing line. The plot showed all clear, and everything had been warned off minutes before, so she felt confident it was fine.
“Laser firing,” called out the tactical officer. “Donut reports that they are feeding energy to all systems.”
Beata nodded. All systems meant the five working graviton projectors, energized by their own power projectors, in their case sending microwaves, and the one laser projector. All were drawing unbelievable amounts of power from the station, the only thing that had that much of an energy reserve.
“Beam is firing. Output is steady at one million pentawatts.”
The admiral whistled on hearing that figure. Her superbattleship could put out ten pentawatts through each of its laser rings, for a total of forty. The beam was putting out the power of twenty-five thousand ships of Romulus' class. It wasn't as focused as the ship's beams would be. But then, it didn't have to be. At five light minutes the spread of the beam, ten kilometers at the projector, was wider that most planets. It obeyed the square of the distance law, and was quite attenuated at that point. As the enemy was about to find out, it wasn't attenuated enough.
* * *
“We have missiles dropping off the plot, my Lord. Tens of thousands of them.”
“Already,” blurted Tonnasar. “They're still, what, five light minutes from contact. Are we picking up graviton emissions from their counters.”
Normal laser range was one light minute. After that the spread was too wide for them to be effectively deployed. There might be some lucky hits out that far, but not that many.
“How far are we from them?”
“Twenty-eight light minutes, my Lord. We will come to rest a couple of light minutes out in two hours and thirty minutes.”
Tonnasar was starting to have his doubts. The three waves he had sent in ahead of this last one had also disappeared, but there had been enough graviton emissions from the enemy, what they had interpreted as being counter missiles, to have made a reasonable assumption that the humans were using standard defenses. Which had led to the assumption that his force had hurt the humans, probably badly. Human volleys had come back at him, both wormhole launchers, though those had stopped just before his own first volley had reached them. It was looking to be a standard battle, the only twist the shields the humans were using. His plan was to close to where he could more around and fire in on the enemy ships. He had no doubt he would defeat them easily with the disparity in ships and mass.
The great admiral thought it over a minute. He would continue in, cautiously. At five light minutes from rest he would still have time to change vectors and move away at an angle.
“Another volley, my Lord?”
“A half volley. Let's see what they do with it.” He didn't want to waste all of his missiles. Enemy weapons were still coming in from astern, though the wormhole launches had definitely stopped from the front. They were just pricks of a small sharp object as far as he was concerned. A couple of ships with each volley, maybe more. And his own ships were about to reach them and take them into close combat. In another minute or so those forces would no longer be a concern. Unless...
“What are those things, moving toward the enemy forces?”
“They appear to be groups of enemy battleships, my Lord. Five hundred each. They will arrive at those positions between one and two minutes after our forces jump. Orders?”
Tonnasar looked over at the tactical officer, wondering why the male wasn't offering suggestions like was his infuriating habit. It never would have come to the awareness of the admiral that he had a way of shutting people out.
“Our people should be able to handle those,” he said, really fishing for an answer than making a statement.
“Of course, my Lord. Our forces are translating in now.”
* * *
“Enemy is translating in, ma'am. Good call.”
Mara nodded, her eyes locked on the plot. The enemy force, twenty-five hundred vessels, five hundred battleships, was moving from hyper I to normal space, emitting huge waves of gravitons. On right on top of the position she had predicted they would come out at.
“It's good to know they are still so predictable,” she said. With the other admiral, the one they had fought through most of two battles, that was not true. The current one seemed to be the standard brainless model, though Mara had to remind herself not to get too cocky herself.
This one was coming out just as she had predicted. Not all of her defenses were set there, just in case they deviated from their normal pattern. These had not, and they had come into normal space with tens of thousands of mines pointing at them from every direction.
“Engage,” she ordered, and every single weapon on her force, ship mounted or hanging in space, opened fire.
The enemy force barely got off a shot. It melted away under the onslaught of missiles and gamma ray lasers from the mines. Those that didn't die then were picked off by her ships, scores firing at every survivor. Soon there were no survivors, and the battleships jumped into normal space with no targets.
“Force two is reporting they have destroyed the enemy, ma'am. Force three is involved in a heavy battle. Seems the enemy jumped in much further out than predicted. They are losing ships, a lot of them.”
Mara grunted. The vagaries of war. That could have been her and her force. Only luck had prevented that outcome for her. Looking over the incoming figures on the battle she saw they were still going to win, though not in as one sided an affair.
“Fourth enemy force is heading force three, ma'am.”
“Order force two to jump into hyper and head over to help them. All battleships are to vector onto us.”
“And what are we going to do, ma'am?”
“We're going to move into the system and shepherd their main force along. In case they make a decision not in our best interests.”
* * *
“The hull temperature is rising, my Lord,” blurted out the sensor officer. “Ten degrees in the last minute.”
“How is that possible? Our ship alone?”
“No, my Lord,” reported the com officer. “I'm getting reports over the fleet com net that hull temperatures are rising. On the parts of the ships facing the enemy. Going up by tens of degrees
in a minute.”
“Their weapon, my Lord. That must be it. A weapon of unimaginable power.”
“Impossible,” shouted Tonnasar, giving a head motion of negation. “We...”
“A com is coming in over the wormhole, my Lord,” said the com officer. His voice dropped. “It's the Emperor.”
Tonnasar felt twin chills run down his spines. He didn't know what the child wanted, but he was sure it wasn't a congratulatory call.
“Supreme Lord.”
“How goes it, Admiral? Are you about to destroy the humans?”
“Soon, Supreme Lord. Soon. But we have run into some complications.”
“Complications,” roared the young male, his face darkening in anger. “I don't want to hear about complications. I want to hear that you have destroyed the humans, and nothing less. Don't disappoint me.”
The com faded, leaving the admiral in fear for his life. If he failed here, his life and the lives of his sons were forfeit.
“We need to get him back, my Lord,” chimed in the chief of staff. “You need to explain, let him know what we are facing.”
“We continue in,” growled Tonnasar.
“But, my Lord.”
“We continue in. Victory or death, for us all.”
* * *
“They still coming on in, ma'am,” said Janssen, his voice brimming with disbelief.
“They have to be experiencing hull heating,” said the tactical officer. “They must realize that things are about to get very bad for them.”
Beata nodded, not wanting to speak and spoil the moment. The enemy were still coming in. If they turned tail and ran Beata still would have won. She would have defended the planet, saved the people, and thwarted the designs of the Cacas. And killed more of their ships than she lost. But that was not enough.
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 16: The Shield. Page 25