There Will Be War Volume X

by Jerry Pournelle

  At the forty-thousand-kilometer mark, the guard ships separated. Shanghai and Nanjing made tight turns, as tight as their gyroscopes would allow. Chongqing swept through a massive arc. The assault carriers hung back. They would coordinate their drone launches with the guard ships.

  The Chinese guard ships were setting up velocity-augmented shots. They would burn in on an attack vector, then turn and fire their weapons, using their own velocity to further accelerate their projectiles. Shanghai and Nanjing would deploy their railguns, Chongqing her missiles. The Chinese were gambling that they could overwhelm Takao and form up again before she could respond.

  But there was something the Chinese did not know.

  “Subaru, snipe Chongqing’s radiators.”

  Chongqing’s liquid droplet radiators were tiny targets at this distance, but with the sunrays extending their effective range the UV-C lasers only needed one good hit to blow off a radiator. Takao wove a massive buckshot pattern of black light. Flashes erupted around the ship, spewing streaks of rapidly-freezing coolant.

  “Hit!” Mori called. “Radiators have broken off. Chongqing is heat-killed.”

  Hoshi nodded. “Good work, Subaru.”

  The other Chinese ships pulled in their radiators. Against the perfect cold of space, only Takao’s radiators still blazed. That would stress the Chinese commanders, showing everyone that Takao could shoot but not them. Also, spinal railguns generated huge amounts of heat. Hoshi figured the guard ships would save their coolant for their point defense lasers and missiles instead.

  As for Chongqing, she would melt—

  “Sir! Chongqing is launching an alpha strike!” Mori called.

  Hoshi swore. Chongqing was dead already, but her artificial intelligence sought to take Takao with her.

  Hundreds of missiles burst out into the void. Railgun shells followed. The surviving guard ships launched their own missiles and altered their vectors, trying to close the hole in their flank.

  “Full guard!” Hoshi ordered. “Tanaka, keep radiators extended until strikers cross seven thousand kilometers. Subaru, deploy bursters and starbursts against incoming strikers.”

  The officers snapped into action. Railguns and lasers unleashed a torrent of fire. Takao launched every burster in her arsenal. Hoshi’s console chimed, and one by one, all eight starbursts left their cells.

  With the last of the missiles away, Subaru said, “Sir, I have an engagement solution for Guangdong. I can bounce beams into her reactors.”

  That was tempting. But if he killed Guangdong now, the lasers would have to cool down and recharge, giving the enemy missiles time to close the distance.

  “Save the solution. For now, engage incoming threats. Tanaka, orient ship to face the strikers. Employ side kick.”

  Hoshi braced himself and rode out the chemical impulses. As she turned, Takao lashed the swarm with beams of black light. The drones died first, but got off a volley of missiles. As the Chinese missiles melted down, Takao’s electronic warfare suite forced a few more off course.

  Chongqing disintegrated in a flash of actinic light. She was finally dead. But her missiles were still coming.

  Takao’s bursters arrived, finding a target-rich environment. Exploding amongst the threat missiles, they eliminated thirty-eight. The Chinese had employed bursters of their own among the swarm, and as they went off their shrapnel scored own goals.

  The starbursts arrived next. Spreading out into a gigantic net, they closed in the swarm. Three hundred kilometers out from the threats, the starbursts split open. Ten warheads jetted forth from each missile. All eighty warheads fired chemical thrusters, dispersing themselves for optimum coverage. And exploded.

  These were nuclear warheads. Shaped nuclear warheads. Each blast converted a giant alloy plate into millions of pellets, and every pellet had a velocity of five hundred kilometers per second. On the display, the pellets spread out in dense cones thousands of kilometers long, each cloud engulfing dozens of missiles at once.

  But there weren’t enough starbursts. The shrapnel fog dissipated, and enemy missiles sneaked through. Ten, twenty, thirty, more. Takao’s lasers went back online and picked off more missiles. Then the railgun shells arrived, picking off a few threats, and the point defense lasers fired again, bouncing off the mirrors and taking out more missiles.

  At eight thousand kilometers away, four missiles remained on threat vectors.

  And separated into sixteen warheads.

  Hoshi exhaled. “Kuso.”

  They exploded.

  Explosions rocked Takao. Hoshi slammed against his harness, driving the breath out of him. The lights went out. Secondary blasts went off, deafening Hoshi. Holes opened in the CIC. Hot metal sprayed through, slashing through the compartment. Air rushed out.

  The hull breach alarm sounded.

  Hoshi exhaled sharply and reached under his seat, pulling out his helmet. As his vision faded, he mated the helmet to his suit’s seals, checked that the emergency air bottle was in place, and twisted the valve open. Breathing mix flooded the helmet. He took a few energizing breaths and took stock of the situation.

  He was alive, apparently unscathed, and his skinsuit was intact. But a few of his CIC team were slumped over their seats, bleeding. Moments later, the damage-control party entered the compartment. Two crewmen rushed to patch the holes. The others administered what aid they could and carried the casualties out. Hoshi’s console had shut down in the chaos, and he switched it back on.

  The lights went back on. Life support resumed. Detecting fresh air outside, the helmet opened its breathing port and politely informed Hoshi to turn off the gas valve. He did so, then massaged his battered chest. When he felt he could speak again, and the ringing in his ears subsided, he returned to the conference call.

  “Kamishiro, damage report.”

  No response.

  “Kamishiro? Are you still alive?”

  Silence.

  Hoshi’s console rebooted. He called up the damage report and beheld the butcher’s bill.

  Kamishiro was dead. So were Sato, Nakamura, and half of Takao’s crew. Entire decks were open to space. Railguns Two and Three were ruined. The gyroscopes were destroyed. Point Defense Lasers One and Two were knocked out. The main laser had lost a turret. The forward missile banks were shattered, multiple ultracapacitors and laser engines had blown, and even the fuel tank was holed.

  And the radiators were gone.

  Hoshi sighed. The Chinese had outplayed him. They had detonated their small Tianlei missiles at sixty-five hundred kilometers, letting him think that that was their maximum effective range. He also hadn’t considered the possibility that multiple Tianlei warheads could also be mated to a conventional missile chassis. And Takao had paid the price.

  “All hands, initiate Ohka Protocol,” Hoshi said.

  “Engineering. Overriding heat and reactor safety limits.”

  “Weapons. Solutions ready.”

  “Sensors. Targets locked.”

  “Minna, domo arigato gozaimasu.” Everyone, thank you very much. “It has been an honor serving with you. All non-essential personnel, abandon ship.”

  The damage-control party evacuated the CIC with the rest of the wounded. Hacking and coughing, Hoshi checked his special munitions window. Four special weapons had survived. He needed at least one per guard ship, two per assault carrier. He was short of two.

  There was only one solution.

  “Subaru.”

  “Sir?”

  “Kill Guangdong with lasers.”

  “Kill Guangdong with lasers, ryoukai.”

  Takao launched her two remaining sunrays and dedicated every last watt she had to the remaining lasers. They pounded Guangdong, smashing through her defenses and biting into her hull. The ship rotated, spreading out the damage, but she was too slow. The guard ships launched more missiles, but they were too slow. Spears of black light drilled into the Guangdong’s core, blowing out pillars of vapor, generating secondary explosions. />
  “Sir!” Tanaka called. “Heat load has reached critical levels!”

  Hoshi was sweating. The air grew thick and stale. But he didn’t care. Guangdong had to die.

  “Acknowledged. Subaru, keep firing.”

  The lasers kept firing, pounding the reactor deck. The ship bulged. Plumes of white-hot plasma roared through the holes in the hull. Molten metal sprayed in all directions. The blast broke the back of the ship, reducing her to scrap.

  “Sir!” Mori called. “Guangdong is evacuating!”

  Escape pods broke away from Guangdong. Dropships punched out of the mass driver. There would be hundreds of survivors, but they would not have the delta-vee to reach Titan. Not before the Americans arrived.

  “And that was for Hana and Kikyo,” Hoshi muttered.

  Minor eruptions rocked Takao. The ultracapacitors melted. Circuits blew.

  “Sir, heat sinks are boiling!” Tanaka reported. “Recommend we abandon ship!”

  “In a moment, Tanaka. Subaru, alpha strike. Launch all meteors, anti-ship configuration.”

  Takao rumbled. Her four meteors surged into the void, turning for the flanks of the Chinese ships.

  “Captain, reactor failure imminent!” Tanaka warned. “We must evacuate now!”

  Hoshi wanted dearly to watch the Chinese die, but he wanted to see Hana and Kikyo more. He keyed the intercom and said, “All remaining personnel, abandon ship.”

  Hoshi followed his crew down the ladders to the escape pods, avoiding sprays of sparks, jets of steam, and holes into space. By tradition, Hoshi was the last to board the final pod, and forced himself in next to Mori. Moments later, the crowded pod blasted off.

  When they were safely clear of the dying ship, Hoshi keyed the pod’s radio. “All crew of the JS Takao, this is Commander Hoshi. You did your duty today. I commend you all. We will regroup in Saturn orbit. Make for angels fifteen and activate your SOS beacons. Also, be informed you may have been exposed to ionizing radiation. As a precaution, everyone will take one dose of anti-radiation medicine.”

  As Mori worked the pod’s controls, a crewman opened the first-aid box and distributed syringes of anti-radiation drugs. Hoshi injected himself with one, then pulled up the feed from the pod’s sensors on the pod’s holographic display.

  The meteors closed. The Chinese turned to face their threats, but their gyroscopes were too sluggish. They fired more missiles instead, but it was too late, and the ones they had in flight were still too far away.

  The missiles separated, deploying fifteen warheads each. They maneuvered to form a loose net, bracketing their targets. And then they initiated.

  In the fury of a nuclear blast, each meteor forged a penetrator with a velocity that reached one percent of the speed of light. The penetrators flew so fast the Chinese could not track them. Anti-missiles were fired uselessly into the dark. Point defense lasers, those that were lucky or fast enough, emitted a single pulse each, far from enough to break the assault.

  The penetrators struck. Set to anti-ship mode, they arrived in threes. The first cratered a section of the target’s armor. The second passed through the hole and wrecked the compartment beyond. The third punched into the heart of the ship.

  Zhejiang was the first to go, breaking apart in a storm of superheated plasma. Shanghai’s engine disappeared in a great cloud of gas and twisted metal. And Nanjing…it was as though an oni had carved her up with a serrated knife. Escape pods blossomed from the ships, but very few before explosions rendered escape impossible.

  At last came the inevitable. Like a lightbulb popping, Takao vanished in an ephemeral star as bright as a thousand suns.

  Mori cleared his throat. He did not wipe away the tears streaking his face. “Takao is the finest ship in the fleet, na?”

  “So yo,” Hoshi said firmly. “The finest.”

  Editor’s Introduction to:

  WAR AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT

  by Col Douglas Beason, USAF, ret.

  Doug Beason is an old friend. I first met him when he was on the faculty at the Air Force Academy at Colorado Springs, but for most of his career he has been a scientist of war. He is the former Chief Scientist of Space Command, and has commanded many of the Air Force’s weapons laboratories. He also writes science fact and fiction. The Cadet tells the story of the formation of the U.S. Air Force Academy.

  “War at the Speed of Light” looks at the future weapons of war from the view of one of their creators.

  WAR AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT

  by Col Douglas Beason, USAF, Ret.

  The date is late fall, 2027, and a cacophony of sound reverberates through the city— sounds of cars honking, animals braying, police whistles blowing. The air is dense, humid and heavy with the smell of dung, car fumes and urine. Beggars crowd the street, fighting for rupees given in embarrassed sorrow by widows, visiting dignitaries and students who now stare agape at the world’s most extreme poverty.

  The place is New Delhi, India, home of the world’s largest democracy and unwavering friend to the United States. Until now.

  An unruly crowd surges through the trash-laden streets, picking up stragglers as the mob grows in frenzy. Women and children slip around corners and cover their faces, trying to hide, but they are swept along with the roiling crowd. Shouts erupt, rocks are thrown. Within minutes, the growing riot approaches the iron gates of the American Embassy.

  A glass bottle filled with gasoline and stuffed with a burning rag is hurled over the gate. Burning liquid from the Molotov cocktail splatters across the ground. Someone shoots a gun. In a panic, with the unpredictable mentality of a mob, the crowd surges forward.

  Stoic U.S. Marines guarding the entry points fall back into position, drawing their automatic weapons. Having learned from the debacle of the Iranian hostage situation 50 years before, the Marines are under unwavering orders not to give up the Embassy, no matter what.

  Their orders are ‘shoot to kill’.

  Their actions could set back diplomatic relations with India for decades.

  Behind them, hundreds of American and Indian Embassy staff members are hastily ushered into basement ‘safe’ areas. The situation is rapidly escalating out of control.

  Women and children in the crowd are roughly grabbed, to be used as human shields to prevent the Americans from stopping them. The rioters know the Marines won’t kill innocent women and children, and they use their hostages to advance toward the embassy. The insurgents boldly shove their innocent shields in front of them as they advance.

  The crowd surges forward. The guards must act.

  The political balance with one of America’s greatest democratic allies now hinges on the split-second decisions made by the gun-toting Marines, young men who are brave, but barely out of high school. They are well-trained, but they are soldiers, not diplomats. Visions of their predecessors being overrun at Fallujah and Mogadishu swirl through their heads. They are all too aware of what happened in Tehran and at Benghazi.

  These young warriors are faced with immense pressure to react, to defend this small vestige of American soil … but they also know their commander has provided them with an ace in the hole.

  Their predecessors only had options: to shout at the insurgents, ordering them to stop— or to shoot them. A simple binary decision: shout or shoot.

  Today, however, there is a third option.

  As the Marines raise their rifles, a deep humming sound envelops the compound. Without warning, the rioters feel intense heat, as if a giant, invisible oven has suddenly opened in front of them. Within seconds the pain is unbearable. They cannot think, they cannot reason—they can only react.

  They turn and flee, trying to escape as far as they can from the invisible heat. Screaming in pain, the rioters drop their weapons as they sprint away. No one looks back as they scramble to flee.

  Curiously, none of the women or children in the mob are affected. As if divided by a Maxwellian Devil who can distinguish between hostile intent and innocence, only those peo
ple who had been carrying weapons had felt the intense, excruciating pain—a heat like that from a supercharged oven. The mysterious weapon defending the embassy is that accurate, that precise.

  In less than a minute the streets are clear, the compound is eerily quiet. Warily, the women and children disperse, unharmed.

  As the Marines lower their weapons, the only noise in the Embassy is the low mechanical thrumming that comes from a geodesic sphere, inconspicuously located on top of the sprawling building. Inside the sphere is a phased-array dipole antenna that directed the millimetre waves from the world’s first non-lethal Directed Energy Weapon: Active Denial.

  Science Fiction? No … Active Denial is being tested today. And if funding had not been cut at the turn of the century, it could have been used to quell the urban warfare in Baghdad, in Fallujah and in other cities where allied warfighters have been stationed.

  And countless lives might have been saved.

  Technology Wins Wars

  The size of the army matters, but it’s the technology that wins wars. At the height of the Roman Empire, Roman legions armed with arrows, longstaffs and shields used precise, steadfast formations to devastate the more numerous, but ill-equipped, barbarian hordes.

  The invention of the stirrup in the sixth century gave horsemen the ability to use their mount as a lethal weapon for the first time—an astonishing transformation from the centuries-old use of transportation or ploughing, allowing warriors to combine their horse’s mass and speed with their devastating thrust of a spear.

  In 1232 during the battle of Kai-Keng, the Chinese repelled Mongol invaders with the first known use of rudimentary rockets powered by gunpowder, called ‘arrows of flying fire’.

  On 9 August 1945, a lone B-29 bomber flew over Nagasaki, Japan, and dropped a single atomic bomb that ended World War Two.