THE BLACK FLEET CRISIS #3 - TYRANTS_TEST

by Michael P. Kube-Mcdowell

  we'd make entry at one-tenth formation standard with engines cold and

  ninety percent of the ship's systems shut down."

  Later, recording his mission debriefing, Brand

  could point to the fact that all the ships destroyed during the mass

  recon of the cluster were making constant-velocity passes through their

  target systems: --This suggests that the Yevethan sensor grids are

  capable of detecting even very small vessels when they are following a

  flight profile requiring the use of braking and maneuvering

  thrusters-But the truth was that in the moment before he ordered the

  change, Brand had experienced a sudden, inexplicable spike of fear.

  Coming from a tribe that respected instinct as much as reason, Brand

  treated that fear as information. And the only response available to

  him at that moment was to make the group's system entry as stealthy as

  possible, even if it hindered the work of Foag's crew.

  Brand had done the same thing in combat many times before--taken risks

  to follow an impulse and found justification for it later. It had

  carried him to the rank of commodore and filled his service record with

  close calls and commendations. It also guaranteed that he would never

  rise any higher than that--"too high-strung" and "too erratic to

  command the confidence of other senior officers" were among the review

  board's disqualifying conclusions.

  Even knowing that, Brand could not, would not, change his ways.

  Honoring his feelings had saved his life more than once--and he had

  donned his dress uniform for the funerals of a roomful of by-the-book

  officers, too many of them friends.

  As the patrol group left the fifth planet behind, Brand left the bridge

  for a quick, unannounced tour of Indomitable's ready stations.

  By that time, the crew had been standing at con-flict-yellow alert for

  fourteen hours straight, and the fine edge of their vigilance had been

  blunted by fatigue and boredom. As more and more crew members came to

  the conclusion on their own that ILC-905 was clean, personal chatter,

  laughter, and even friendly roughhousing crept in to change the

  atmosphere in the gun batteries and on the flight decks.

  Conflict-yellow was in danger of being treated just like any other

  watch--peaceful, routine, business as usual for a warship under way.

  Brand's visit put an end to that. Sweeping through station after

  station like a cold shower, he infected them with his own restless

  apprehension.

  "Asteroid belt coming up next," he said, peering through a gunsight.

  "You going to be ready, aren't you, son? Have to be more ready than

  they are."

  Extracting a promise, Brand moved on.

  "Asteroid belt coming up," he said, poking his head into a fighter

  cockpit. "You have everything you need to do your job, Lieutenant?

  You know one pilot can be the difference."

  Collecting a vow, Brand continued down the line.

  In less than an hour, he was back on the bridge. He left behind him as

  a residue of the lightning tour the conviction that the commander knew

  something--that something was going to happen.

  Brand did not know what was going to happen.

  But he was not surprised when something did.

  Like many single-star systems, ILC-905 had an asteroid ring between the

  outermost rocky planet and the innermost gas giant--the remnant of a

  planet that never was, torn asunder by the giant's massive

  gravitational field.

  Like most asteroid rings, this one's density was low. It was only a

  minor obstacle to navigation, and a poor place to hide anything larger

  than a probot. Despite what he said on his tour, Brand did not expect

  to find an Imperial shipyard cached there.

  Nor did he expect a Yevethan thrustship to drop out of hyperspace

  almost dead ahead of them, six million kilometers on the far side of

  the asteroid ring.

  Like a giant strobe, the instantaneous flash known as Cronau radiation

  put the arriving ship not only on the screens in Folna's elint center,

  but on the other

  ships' screens as well. Alarms began to keen on every deck as Brand

  upgraded the alert to conflict-orange.

  "What was the phase shift?" he demanded, bounding out of his chair.

  "Phase shift is negative," said the tracking officer.

  "She's heading away from us."

  "Going where?"

  The navigator turned his head to answer. "If I had to guess--third

  planet, just like us."

  "What are the chances they've spotted us?"

  The tactical officer leaned over the plot table and studied the

  geometries. "Very small, in my opinion. We couldn't have spotted them

  at this distance if they'd just been cruising along in realspace like

  we are. Having them fall out of hyperspace like that was an incredible

  break."

  "Maybe not," said Brand. He turned toward the viewpane and looked out

  at ILC-905, crossing his arms over his chest. "If they did move one of

  the shipyards here, they'll have created some long supply lines for

  themselves. This could be a pretty popular spacelane."

  -"That could be, sir," the tactical officer agreed. "If they're trying

  to use the yard, and not just hide it."

  Brand nodded. "Comm--" "Yes, sir?"

  "Signal the Intrepid that we have a contact, one Yevethan T-type, and

  give our coordinates. Advise them that we're investigating further.

  Helmsman--" "Yes, sir?"

  "Let's close the gap a little. Give me ten percent forward thrust

  until we clear the asteroid ring. Otherwise maintain course, hands

  off. We're going to follow her in."

  A little more than an hour later, the Yevethan ship began a long

  braking maneuver that ended with it disappearing behind the limb of the

  third planet. By that time, the patrol group had closed to within half

  a mil lion kilometers, bringing the planet within range of its full

  array of sensors.

  "Any sign of anything in orbit?" Brand demanded.

  "Negative," said the sensor chief. "But we haven't seen complete

  orbital tracks for anything above two thousand kilometers."

  "Given its approach, the most probable orbit for the target is

  three-two-five-zero klicks," the tracking officer announced.

  Brand walked to the forward viewscreens. "Show me," he said, and a

  three-dimensional tactical map appeared side by side with the forward

  view.

  Indomitable's first officer, Captain Tobbra, had a career book that was

  unremarkable in every respect, the product of a long habit of erring on

  the side of caution.

  That caution had been freshly renewed by a new baby back on Trailan,

  Tobbra's homeworld.

  Tobbra was keenly aware that but for a few months' seniority, the flag

  chair might have been his instead. As it was, he thought of it as a

  shared command, and saw it as his role to counterbalance Brand's

  excesses.

  "Commodore, if we get any closer, that ship's sure to spot us when she

  comes around," he said in a guarded voice, joining Brand.

  "I don't doubt it," said Brand.

  "If we stand off here, even back off a bit, Folna should be able to get


  everything we need for Five-Tat," Tobbra pressed, using the slang term

  for the fleet commander's tactical staff.

  "That's true as well," said Brand. "But right now, we have the

  advantage--we know where they are, and they don't know we're here.

  You'd have me surrender that advantage."

  "We don't have to try to do this alone," said Tobbra.

  "If there's a shipyard here, Five-Tac will send us some thumpers the

  moment we send them confirmation."

  "And if there's a shipyard here, the Yevetha will try to reinforce its

  defenses the moment we're detected,"

  said Brand. "Can you promise me our ships will get here before

  theirs?"

  Tobbra frowned in silence.

  "I thought not," said Brand: "Detection and destruction of the

  shipyards is our priority mission, Captain.

  Let's get on with it. We're going to use our advantage and ambush that

  T-type. Then we'll take care of whatever it's here to visit."

  "Commodore, we don't even know what it takes to knock out a T-type."

  Brand shook his head. "Someone needs to find out.

  I like the odds."

  "But, Commodore--" "End of discussion, Captain." Brand turned away

  from the viewscreen and called out to the comm officer.

  "Let me speak to Folna."

  "On your number one," came the smart reply.

  Brand clicked his comlink on. "Captain Madis."

  "Yes, Commodore."

  "We're taking Vanguard in to engage. Break formation and hold

  station.

  I want you here to record and relay."

  "Affirmative, Commodore," Madis said. "We'll get you some good

  pictures for the scrapbook."

  "I know you will," said Brand. He switched his comlink so that his

  orders would be echoed to the gunship, then looked up into a score of

  expectant faces.

  "Time to settle up for Doornik Three-nineteen," he said grimly. "Comm,

  upgrade the alert to conflict-red.

  Tac, launch the fighter screen. Stand by to launch bombers.

  Helm, give me eighty percent thrust and an intercept on the hostile's

  projected orbit. Vanguard, close up and stay with us. I don't want

  you to miss the first act."

  The moment the siren began keening through the forward flight deck,

  Esege Tuketu threw down his tiles and jumped up from his seat. He had

  been in his flight suit for hours, and had loosened the closures at the

  neck, wrists, and waist. As he ran toward his bomber, he struggled to

  close them, giving him a clumsy dance of a gait.

  Skids was already in the cockpit, strapping in, when Tuketu arrived.

  He had been triple-checking the releases for the armaments strapped to

  the K-wing's hard points.

  "How's everything look?" Tuketu asked as he clambered up the short

  ladder.

  "Everything looks clean. Shouldn't have to make any hand

  deliveries."

  "They'd definitely have to pay extra for that," said Tuke. "Any change

  in the load-out?"

  "No change. One egg, eight CM-five concussion missiles. Packing

  heavy."

  "All right. Preflight checklist, from the top--" As Vanguard and

  Indomitable accelerated toward their rendezvous with the Yevethan

  thrustship, a thin fighter screen--two dozen fighters altogether, half

  E-wings, half X-wings--fanned out around them. When the lead ships in

  the formation came into view on the cruiser's viewscreens, Tobbra was

  prompted to once again seek out Brand for a private conversation.

  "You're breaking every rule of engagement in the command codex," he

  said bluntly. "The standard fighter screen for this ship alone is

  three squadrons, not two. The spacing is so loose out there that it

  won't take much for the enemy to break through."

  "I'm holding back the other two fighter squadrons for escort duty. The

  bombers are going to need help punching through," Brand said.

  "We don't even know for certain how many fighters a T-type carries,"

  Tobbra protested, his voice rising.

  "It could be twice or three times what we saw at Door-nik

  Three-nineteen."

  Brand shot Tobbra a frosty look. "Mind your tone and your volume,

  Captain, or remove yourself from the bridge. I don't intend to carry

  on a running argument with you throughout the engagement."

  Tobbra lowered his voice, but his tone was unchanged.

  "We shouldn't be engaging the enemy, sir--that's the issue. It's my

  duty to point out--" "That we don't know everything we might? This is

  no revelation, Captain. I can count, and I can read an Intell

  report.

  Give me that much credit."

  "I mean no insult, sir."

  "That's not always obvious from your words," said Brand. "Captain, if

  a smaller force never defeated a superior one, we could just weigh the

  orders of battle and declare the winner, neatly avoiding all the messy

  parts. But war's not like that. Throw away your calculator. You

  can't use it to make the hard decisions."

  Tobbra frowned, but nodded silently.

  Brand moved close and dropped his voice to a near whisper. "Then,

  there's something else at issue, too. Something you won't find in the

  codex. Which is that if a perfectly hale New Republic cruiser and

  gunship can't handle a T-type one-on-one, Fleet needs to learn that

  sooner rather than later. Because all the reports I've been seeing say

  the Yevetha have a lot of T-types."

  Exhaling sharply, Tobbra said, "That's why you had Folna stand off."

  "Apart from the fact that she's too thin-skinned for this kind of

  roughhousing, yes."

  Tobbra looked out at the planet, now a distinct disc with a mottled

  yellow-brown face. "I'd better get back to my station," he said.

  "It's time to poll the batteries."

  Fifteen minutes before the projected reappearance of the Yevethan ship,

  Brand gave the order to launch the bombers and escort fighters. He did

  not want to risk being surprised with the flight decks full of fuel and

  high explosives if the Yevethan ship made an early appearance, thanks

  to settling into a lower-than-expected orbit.

  The K-wings formed Up in groups of three, each group sandwiched between

  a trio of fighters above and another below. Brand watched from the

  bridge as they moved out to their positions twenty kilometers ahead.

  Though the wings and other surfaces had been darkened for space

  operations, their engine exhausts glowed like candles in the night.

  The triple exhausts of the K-wings stood out among them.

  "I just hope they actually drop their eggs this time," the tactical

  officer said quietly when Brand returned to the plot table.

  "They will," Brand said without hesitation. "And not because we

  changed the combat frequencies and installed scramblers. Because it

  has to be done."

  Five minutes before reacquisition, Vanguard detached from the

  cruiser.

  It moved out on a trajectory that would both give it a clear field of

  fire and allow it to spot the Yevethan ship while the rest of the

  attack formation was still below its horizon. That would provide Brand

  with a scant few seconds to react to what Vanguard saw and adjust his

  orde
rs accordingly.

  One minute and nine seconds earlier than expected, Marauder reported

  in.

  "Contact, one--no, two--three--four. Four targets. Analyzing.

  Contacts are as follows--one, repeat, one, Imperial type two

  shipyard.

  Three, repeat, three, Yevethan T-types."

  "Three!" Brand said in surprise, loudly enough to be heard at most of

  the bridge stations. "Three," he repeated to himself. "Well, that

  yanks the rancor's whiskers."

  "Indomitable, this is Vanguard. We're now taking fire from two of the

  Yevethan vessels. Shield effectiveness approximately ninety-two

  percent. May we engage, sir?"

  Tobbra rushed to the plot table. "Commodore, we have to break off.

  Order the bombers in so that we can get out of here."

  "Twenty seconds to reacquisition," said the tactical officer, tracing

  the electronic lines with a fingertip. "Vanguard, this is Brand," the