-Solar News Network, Year 54
Warlord Tomas was furious.
Being assigned to Dab-Yam should have been the pinnacle of his career. The Dab-Yam were holding the line with grim determination, but - like all prey - they didn't have the killer instincts that would turn them into a real threat. Crushing their defences was only a matter of time, then their world would lie in front of his forces, ready for the taking. It wasn't as if anyone was going to come to their rescue. Prey never saw the value in fighting back before it was too late.
But someone had come to the rescue.
Tomas hadn't believed the first reports, when a handful of messages had reached Dab-Yam from Malachi. A fleet largely composed of freighters couldn't hope to crush the planet’s defences, he was sure; he’d suspected, when he’d finished reading through them, that the planetary commander was lying to cover up gross incompetence and corruption. Some prey could be dangerous, some could see the moment to strike ... and losing to prey was just embarrassing. The planetary commander would be lucky, assuming he’d survived, if his eggs weren't cracked and his penis burned off as proof that such stupidity wouldn't be allowed to breed. Execution might seem a preferable punishment.
He hissed in anger as he glared at the display, silently assessing the fleet that had dropped out of FTL and confronted him, smashing more of his ships than he cared to admit. It was mainly composed of freighters - the reports hadn't lied - and it was armed with missiles that had a longer range than anything at his disposal. Perhaps, just perhaps, the defenders of Malachi had been badly outmatched. If the prey could hammer more than a dozen battleships into scrap metal and superhot plasma, they could take out a planet’s defences too.
“Continue course,” he ordered. “Take us in pursuit.”
He kept a wary eye on his crewmembers as the battleship slowly picked up speed. There was no way to disguise the fact that he’d just taken a beating, that his position had been fatally weakened. The Great Lords would probably congratulate anyone who managed to assassinate him, particularly if the new commander went on to exterminate the attacking fleet. He could only rebuild his position by taking out the enemy fleet completely and branding it a victory, even though most of his targets were civilian freighters rather than warships. And he would have bet his scales that the freighters had fired off all their missiles in a single overwhelming salvo.
The enemy ships were reversing course, moving with an ungainly precision that mocked him, even though the calculating part of his mind suggested the enemy were simply having problems coordinating so many ships. It was impossible to be certain, naturally, but he suspected that the enemy forces included ships from several different species of prey, each one probably looking to its own advantage rather than uniting against the common foe. There was nothing to be gained by making promises - promises to prey had no validity - but the prospect of splitting their alliance rose up in front of his eyes. Maybe, just maybe, if he was careful which ships he destroyed, the prey would suspect he’d made a deal with one of their members and turn on one another.
“Target the warships,” he ordered, as the fleet started to close on its enemies. “Prepare to fire on my command.”
He bared his teeth and snarled at the display. The enemy warships were nimble, certainly capable of outracing his battleships, but their freighters were lumbering monstrosities. They had neither the speed to outrun him nor the defences to beat off his attacks. And, as long as the enemy were willing to keep their warships within weapons range, he could put the freighters to one side and deal with them later. The chance to take out a number of warships could not be denied.
“Weapons locked,” the tactical officer said.
“Fire,” Warlord Tomas ordered.
***
The plan, Hoshiko thought ruefully as the enemy ships belched missiles, may not have been quite as brilliant as it sounded.
It had been simple enough. Sting the enemy, make them mad, make them give chase when she swung her fleet away from the planet. But her ships hadn't quite managed to build up the speed they needed, leaving them exposed as the enemy opened fire. And she needed to buy time before the fleet dropped into FTL.
“Deploy decoy drones, then fire a second salvo of missiles,” she ordered, coolly. “And start the FTL clock ticking down.”
“Aye, Captain,” Brown said.
Hoshiko nodded, then watched as the enemy missiles closed in on her formation. There were only four thousand, compared to the nine thousand she’d hurled into the teeth of their defences, but there were quite enough of them to do some real damage. Thankfully, the Druavroks didn’t seem to have improved their firing patterns, let alone modify their seeker heads. A number of missiles would be drawn off and tricked into wasting themselves harmlessly against her decoys.
“The majority of the missiles appear to be targeted on the warships, Captain,” Brown noted, grimly. “Almost none of them are aimed at the freighters.”
Someone over there has a working brain, Hoshiko thought. From a tactical, if cold-blooded, point of view, allowing the enemy to expend their missiles on the freighters made a great deal of sense. But the Druavroks hadn't made that particular mistake. They’ve fired too many missiles for us to stop them all.
“Inform the fleet,” she ordered. “We are to jump to FTL along the pre-planned course as soon as the drives are ready.”
“Aye, Captain,” Brown said.
***
Warlord Tomas watched, his long tongue licking his teeth, as the missiles plunged right into the teeth of the enemy point defence. The newcomers, like all prey, had plunged resources into self-preservation, cramming their ships with point defence weapons, but they hadn't anything like enough firepower to stop all his missiles. He had to admit the skill they’d used to craft their network - hundreds of missiles were picked off as they crossed the threshold and closed in on their targets, even though it wasn’t something he could ever say out loud. The concept of defending a starship was alien to his people.
The prey starships fought desperately, but it wasn't enough. Four warships vanished in quick succession as his missiles struck home, two more fell out of formation as their drives were battered into uselessness. Their crews had no time to make repairs before a hail of missiles from his ships wiped them out of existence. But hundreds of other missiles were lured away by the decoys, expended uselessly against cheap drones. He kept his frustration to himself, even though he was starting to wonder if the prey might have a point. Their cowardly tactics had preserved the vast majority of their fleet.
“Continue firing,” he ordered. The prey were belching out missiles themselves, but their rate of fire was much reduced. He’d been right. Their missile-armed freighters were one-shot weapons, only good for a single barrage. “Do not give them a moment to recover.”
He leaned forward, flexing his claws. The prey would be battered into helplessness and any prisoners they took would be eaten. Or maybe not, maybe they’d be given the honour of being killed out of hand. They might have been prey - he was sure they were prey - but they were unusually dangerous prey. The challenge of facing them almost made up for the losses he’d taken in the opening round.
It won’t be long now, he told himself firmly. And then we can go back to Dab-Yam.
***
“Task Force 2.1 has lost two ships,” Brown reported. “Task Force 2.3 has lost one ship, but two more are badly damaged.”
Hoshiko nodded. “Time to FTL?”
“Two minutes,” Brown said.
“Take us into FTL the moment the drives are ready,” Hoshiko ordered.
She leaned back in her command chair, forcing herself to relax. The enemy was belching wave after wave of missiles, steadily wearing down her point defence. Their own point defence was pathetic, compared to hers, and their datanet had been knocked down almost at once, but each of their ships had enough firepower to almost make up for the loss of coordination. A straight fight would be disastrous, if they had to fight one. If the
enemy didn’t take her bait, she would have to abandon Dab-Yam until she built up a far more powerful fighting force.
“Captain,” Brown said. “FTL in ten seconds.”
And hope to hell this works, Hoshiko thought. Let them take the bait.
She watched, grimly, as the seconds ticked down to zero. Jackie Fisher shuddered violently as she dropped into FTL, gravity waves striking her hull as the remainder of the fleet followed her. Normally, a fleet flying in formation could compensate, but her formation was terrifyingly ragged. It didn't matter, she knew, as long as they reached their destination, yet it was quite possible that one or more of her ships would be accidentally knocked back out of FTL. The irony would be chilling ...
“FTL engaged, Captain,” Brown said. “We’re en route to the rendezvous point.”
***
“The enemy has jumped into FTL,” the sensor officer reported. His tail dropped, as if he expected to be ripped apart merely for giving the report. “They’re gone, Warlord.”
And they will come back to harass us, Warlord Tomas thought. Except ... they jumped out far too close to our position ...
“Take us in pursuit,” he ordered. “FTL ... now!”
He allowed his mouth to drop open in amusement as the fleet dropped into FTL. It was never easy to chase ships though FTL, but they were close enough to the prey to shadow them ... assuming, of course, the enemy fleet didn't try to scatter. Once the prey dropped out of FTL, his ships would follow and smash them before they could rebuild their formation. He would hit them so hard the Great Lords would never question his success, or punish him for losing so many warships to their first attack.
“We are in pursuit,” the helmsman reported.
“It’s not easy to track them,” the sensor officer cringed. “They’re flying in such close formation that it’s hard to locate individual ships.”
“Just keep us following the mass,” Tomas ordered, irked. Maybe he would kill the sensor officer after all. Bringing bad news wasn't a crime, at least not in his book, but failing to do the obvious definitely was. “And take us out of FTL as soon as they drop out themselves.”
***
“Sensors confirm, Captain,” Brown reported. “They’re in pursuit.”
Because we made them mad, Hoshiko thought. And because they think they won’t have a better chance to hit us right where it hurts.
“Continue along the planned course,” she ordered. The timing was everything, of course; a second or two might make the difference between success or failure. And if the plan failed, the fleet would have to scatter and hope for the best. “How long until we cross the line?”
“Seven minutes,” Captain,” Brown said. “It’s going to be close.”
“I know,” Hoshiko said. Sweat trickled down her back as she leaned forward. “Hold us steady.”
***
“They’re coming at us like ... some very angry things,” Markham said.
Griffin smiled, never taking his eyes off the display. “A swarm of hornets, mad at you because you were throwing rocks at their nest?”
“Or a swarm of Needle Bugs,” Markham commented. “You wouldn’t want to be caught by a swarm of flying monsters that could strip the skin off your bones.”
“I’ve had exes like that,” Griffin said. “And the Druavroks are likely to be madder than an ex-wife who thinks she has a right to half your salary.”
He smiled again, then checked the timer. It was easy enough to separate the two swarms of starships, but there was so much gravimetric interference that it was difficult to get the timing absolutely perfect. Starting the gravity-wave generator too late would be a dangerous move, yet starting it too early would be absolutely disastrous.
“It was much simpler,” he muttered, “when we did the same thing at the Battle of Earth. And we brought more firepower to the party too.”
So did they, he reminded himself, as the seconds ticked down to zero. He would have sold his soul for a third of the Solar Navy, enough firepower to kick the Druavroks out of the sector without having to rely on alien allies. The Tokomak brought thousands of ships to the party.
The final seconds ticked away as the Grand Alliance ships rocketed past his position. Griffin watched, bracing himself, as the gravity wave generator went to work, broadcasting a stream of artificial gravity into space. If everything worked as planned ...
He sighed in relief as the display lit up with red lights. It had worked.
***
There was no warning at all before the deck heaved as the battleship crashed back into normal space. Warlord Tomas found himself hurled across the bridge as the artificial gravity fluctuated wildly, slamming into the far bulkhead so hard he broke one of his legs before he fell to the deck. The helmsman had been thrown into the ceiling, banging his head so hard he was either stunned or dead; the other officers looked to be injured or stunned. Tomas pulled himself upright, despite the growing pain, and stared at the display. It showed realspace.
He gathered himself, somehow. “What happened?”
“The drive must have failed,” the sensor officer stammered. He sounded shocked, but alive and breathing. “I ...”
He hesitated as new icons appeared on the display. “The entire fleet suffered a drive failure at the same moment?”
Tomas crawled towards the console, cursing savagely. The entire fleet suffering the same failure at the same time? It was unthinkable. His engineers might not be as capable as those of the Tokomak, but they weren't incompetent! He pulled himself up onto his knees and reset the console. The command network was filling with cries of alarm and demands for answers, answers he couldn't give them ...
“Warlord,” the sensor officer said. “There’s a number of ... objects nearby.”
“Show me,” Tomas ordered.
The display flickered and changed. Now, the fleet was surrounded - no, infiltrated - by hundreds of tiny objects, each one no larger than a shuttle. They were clearly designed to be stealthy, as the sensors were having problems tracking them. And they looked oddly familiar ...
His scales shivered with sudden horror. He knew what they were.
But it was already far too late.
***
“Blow the mines,” Griffin ordered.
The display went white as the antimatter containment chambers switched themselves off, allowing the antimatter to meet matter for the first time since it had been produced. He mentally saluted the Captain for putting the enemy components to good use, even though he’d thought the plan was unlikely to work. Mining interstellar space was normally a waste of time, but the Captain had lured the enemy right into the minefield she’d created, knowing the enemy wouldn’t expect to be yanked out of FTL. And the plan had worked perfectly.
And we used a lot of antimatter, he thought, as the display began to clear. The Druavroks wouldn't appreciate the irony - they’d used civilian fabbers to construct both production plants and containment chambers - but even battleships couldn't hope to survive the furies he’d unleashed. Even if some of them survive, their self-confidence won’t.
“Most of the enemy fleet is gone,” Markham said. “There’s only a handful of survivors and they’re badly damaged.”
“Looks that way,” Griffin ordered. Half of the surviving ships were streaming oxygen, which didn't bode well for the crews if they failed to seal the hatches. “Do any of them look to have working FTL drives?”
“Unknown,” Markham said. “The shock of being yanked out of FTL might have disabled them.”
Griffin nodded in agreement. The Galactics - until recently - had assumed that starships in FTL were invulnerable, at least until humanity had taught them differently. They certainly hadn't bothered to take precautions against the drive blowing, when the ship ran into an unexpected gravity field. Chances were the remaining ships didn't have a hope in hell of jumping into FTL. It was, he supposed, vaguely possible that the Druavroks would manage to limp back to Dab-Yam. The Galactics had plenty of legends abou
t starships that had lost FTL drives, but somehow managed to survive the long journey to safety.
And yet, if they do, it will still take them months at best, he thought. Years, if they want to go somewhere - anywhere - other than Dab-Yam.
He looked at Markham. “Are you avenged?”
“Hell, no,” Markham said. He skinned back his teeth in a savage snarl. “But at least I’ve made the bastards pay.”
Griffin nodded in agreement. By any standards, they’d just won a battle they should have lost - and lost badly. They’d been so badly outgunned that it wasn't remotely funny - and yet they’d prevailed. The Captain and the Grand Alliance would have good reason to be pleased, while the Druavroks ... if they ever worked out what had happened to their fleet ... would be furious. It was, he knew, a good sign, a sign the Druavroks could be beaten, a sign they could use to line up more alien allies ...
... And yet, he couldn't help feeling nervous. Who knew what the Druavroks would do in response?
The Black Sheep (A Learning Experience Book 3) Page 24