Valor At Vauzlee

by DePrima, Thomas

  Even though the Raiders were now between the station and its defenders, Nazeer couldn't use it to his advantage. If his ships turned their backs on the Spaccs, to make a run on the station, the Spaccs would begin pounding their much more vulnerable sterns to space dust. Neither was Nazeer willing to surrender his heavy advantage in numbers by sending even a part of his force to attack the station while the rest engaged the Spacc ships. He needed all his lasers for a defensive umbrella. Nazeer knew that with their superiority in numbers his forces were sitting in a much better position. Eventually, the law of averages would prove out and Raider torpedoes were going to get through, reducing the Spacc forces with each strike. For now the ships of both fleets continued to pound away at the other.

  "Admiral," the tactical officer said after the third barrage of torpedoes from the Spacc forces ended, "they're forming their envelopes again."

  "And we still haven't taken out any of their ships?"

  "No, sir. I'm sure we've hurt them though. Although they've knocked down all of our birds, we've been clobbering them with our laser arrays."

  Nazeer nodded. He'd known that the Spaccs wouldn't remain in their position much longer. They'd only reappeared this close so that his forces wouldn't have time to properly prepare their defenses for the torpedo attack. At this distance, his fleet's greater firepower would eventually overwhelm them in a bare-knuckle fight, even if the Spacc ships did have significantly better hulls and armor. But where were they going? He knew they'd never leave the area.

  "Com, alert all ships to keep an extra special eye out their stern in case these bastards try another flanking maneuver like the last one.

  * * *

  The Space Command laser teams continued to fire until the order came to cease. The torpedo gunners had already ceased before the envelope formation began since torpedoes become almost useless after passing through a temporal field boundary. Upon receiving the order to execute India-Two, all seven ships seemed to disappear at once as their Light-Speed drives were engaged.

  * * *

  "Behind us," the tactical officer on the destroyer Mourning Star screamed into his headset and the eyes of all tac officers shifted to their aft monitors as the GSC destroyer Buenos Aires appeared twenty-thousand kilometers behind the Raider fleet. Nervous helmsmen on every Raider ship engaged side mounted engines and even thrusters in a desperate effort to get their ships turned to face the new direction before Spacc torpedoes could again assail their vulnerable sterns. Torpedo gunners immediately targeted the GSC ship. Four-hundred-sixty-four torpedoes spewed from bow tubes as they came to bear. The Raider gunners were taking a page from the Spacc handbook, and although their telemetry technology wasn't as advanced, they would attempt to lock onto targets and guide the torpedoes after they were in flight.

  As the blizzard of torpedoes raced towards the Buenos Aires, imminent threat alarms began sounding at every Raider tactical station. Horrified tac officers realized that as they had been watching the Buenos Aires, the other six Spacc ships had returned to previous positions just a thousand kilometers away and fired a full salvo of seventy-five torpedoes from their bow tubes towards the susceptible sterns of the Raider ships.

  The SC laser teams continued to provide defensive fire as the six Space Command warships formed their envelopes and again disappeared.

  "Son of a…!" Admiral Nazeer screamed at no one in particular as damage reports came flooding in.

  Another nineteen ships had been completely destroyed, and nine more seriously damaged while his people had been wasting their torpedoes firing at a wisp. The Spacc ships had been limited to stern torpedo numbers the first time, but for the second maneuver, they had simply dipped under the Raider fleet and taken a quick, fifteen-second circular trip around the station's outer traffic pattern. When they returned, their bows still pointed towards the Raider fleet. The trip, lasting only as long as they estimated it would take for the Raider ships to turn a hundred-eighty degrees after spotting the Buenos Aires, had been so quick that DeTect sensors were still reporting the information as the GSC ships fired their torpedoes. No one had noticed, or at least not realized the significance of the fact that the GSC destroyer Buenos Aires had never dropped her temporal envelope so that she could fire torpedoes. As the massive barrage from the Raider fleet bore down on her, she simply engaged her Light-Speed drive and again disappeared from sight and targeting systems.

  * * *

  "That's cut them down to size," Admiral Holt said excitedly to his ship commanders as the seven ships reappeared at their original positions fifty thousand kilometers from the station. "Thirty of their largest and most powerful ships out of the battle, and fourteen more severely damaged. Very well done! Prepare to execute India-Three as they approach the station."

  * * *

  "The seven Spacc ships have assumed a defensive posture fifty-thousand kilometers from the base, between our forces and the space station, Admiral," the tactical officer said to Admiral Nazeer. "They're back at the Echo-Three positions where they started."

  "That bastard has suckered me twice, dammit. I want his hide on my office wall. I bet he has to be inside the Space Station. Enough of this damn nonsense. Com, notify all ships to execute attack plan Niagara."

  * * *

  "The Raider fleet is moving towards the station, Captain," the tac officer aboard the Prometheus said. "They're in two parallel formations, approaching the station like stacked waves."

  "Waves?" Gavin echoed. Carver hadn't expected the Raiders to throw caution to the wind this early by committing to a direct frontal assault on the station. She had given a sixty-seven percent chance that they would attempt to circle the station, imitating the action of the Space Command forces at Vauzlee. India-Three was her response to that action.

  * * *

  "Prepare to execute India-Four," Admiral Holt bellowed. "The Raiders have advanced the script a bit."

  As the Raider ships accelerated to Sub-Light-100, the bridge crews aboard the Space Command vessels kept one eye on their monitors and the other on the front viewscreen. From their last battle positions, it would take the Raider ships just over a minute to reach the station, but time seemed to slow down, the seconds passing like minutes.

  The seven Space Command vessels were still mainly intact. Less powerful than Space Command's Phased Array Lasers, the Raider energy weapons had failed to penetrate the tritanium hulls with most strikes, and where they had penetrated, the punctures were quickly sealed by internal membranes. Only a few holes were bleeding atmosphere.

  Positioned directly between the station and the Raider fleet, the Space Command ships waited for the inevitable torpedo barrage.

  * * *

  "All ships," Admiral Nazeer said to the thirty-six Raider vessels still able to fight, "slow to Sub-Light-5 and prepare to fire all bow torpedoes on my command."

  Nazeer watched the forward monitor closely, as his tac officer calculated the optimum firing point. The Spaccs hadn't yet begun to build envelopes, so they wouldn't be disappearing at the last second this time.

  "Optimal range in eighteen seconds, Admiral," his tac officer said. "The countdown is on your left monitor.

  Nazeer's eyes darted to the monitor, counting down with the timer. As it reached one second he said, "Fire torpedoes."

  Two-hundred-ninety-eight torpedoes spewed forth from the Raider fleet.

  * * *

  With an average of forty-two nuclear tipped torpedoes bearing down on each ship, it would be a miracle if none got through. Following the India-One maneuver, the defenders had managed to deflect or destroy every torpedo sent their way, but those were staggered firings, coming from the Raider ships on a ‘fire at will' basis as gunners got a lock on a target. This barrage had been fired as one massive salvo, relying on the ability of the guidance people to find a target after launch, and ‘fly' the ordnance to that point. Two-hundred-ninety-eight torpedoes was a serious threat, but it was less than half the six-hundred-eighteen the Raiders had let fly when
they first arrived.

  Captain Payton sat grimfaced on the bridge of the Thor. He wasn't anxious to die, but he knew that the ships and crews were expendable. Everything must be sacrificed to save the station.

  "Okay, people," Captain Payton said, "here they come. All gunners fire at will as soon as you have a lock. If this is to be our final hour, let's ensure that it's our finest hour."

  Pulses of coherent light began to fill space between the seven warships and the approaching torpedoes. Intermixed with the laser pulses was a full spread of eighty-four torpedoes from the bow tubes of the Space Command vessels. They didn't expect to fool the Raiders, but the energy pulses might confuse the Raider defensive systems slightly.

  * * *

  Admiral Holt watched anxiously from the base's CIC as the horde of nuclear tipped torpedoes approached his small, protection fleet. The fifty-thousand kilometer distance took his station's Phased Array Lasers out of the defensive picture for the present, but his weapons experts were standing by, waiting for the inevitable approach by the Raider armada.

  As his ships knocked down approaching torpedoes, red lights on the threat board began to wink out, but far too many still remained. As the distance closed, the red lights disappeared at an ever faster rate, but there were still so many.

  * * *

  Captain Wong, aboard the Buenos Aires, watched tensely, her hands gripping the arms of her command chair so tightly that she would have left fingerprints in a more pliable material. Most of the incoming torpedoes had so far been destroyed, or had their detonation circuitry ruined by laser strikes, but it only takes one.

  The threat alarms at the tac station had been bleating out danger warnings for over thirty seconds. If a torpedo was going to get through, it would happen in the next ten seconds.

  Wong had just begun to think they might once more escape mostly unscathed when she was suddenly pitched sideways violently. Her seatbelt kept her from being thrown from her chair, but the powerful movement twisted her body in such a way as to cause a severe muscle spasm in her back.

  "Tac, where have we been hit?" Captain Wong asked quickly as she winced in pain.

  The lead tac officer, flung just as violently as everyone else, was gripping his console and trying to decipher the readouts. "We were struck amidship on the starboard side, Captain. I can't be any more precise that that. I only know that the exterior hull sensor grid is damaged there."

  "Com, see if engineering has any more information. Helm, can we move?"

  "It appears so, Captain, but I'm getting strange readouts from the starboard sub-light engine. Our movements may be sluggish if we have to rely solely on the larboard engine and thrusters for maneuverability."

  "Do the best you can. We'll be moving very shortly now."

  * * *

  Admiral Holt relaxed slightly and expelled the breath that he'd inadvertently been holding. Only two torpedoes of the almost three hundred fired at his ships had done serious damage. The Buenos Aires and Thor were hit, but both were still reporting themselves as battle worthy. It was time for their next move. The Raider ships were still bearing down on the seven Space Command warships at 5,000 kilometers per second, their seeming intent being to plow through the defenders and attack the station directly.

  "All ships, execute India-Four," Holt said.

  Almost as one, the seven warships turned up on end and flew perpendicular to the plane of attack established by the approaching ships. The Buenos Aires, an enormous fissure apparent on its larboard side just aft of its maneuvering engine, was just a bit slower than the others, and there was a hole in the Thor's bow large enough to fly a shuttle through.

  * * *

  "What the devil are they doing now?" Admiral Nazeer said as he watched the holographic image of his fleet's closure on the station. "Tac?"

  "Sir?"

  "Suggestions."

  "I— uh, don't know, sir. There's nothing like that in the Station Defense Operations Manual. They seem to be deliberately exposing their keels to our energy weapons."

  "It has to be botched maneuver. Let's take advantage of their screw up. All laser gunners open fire. Fill their bellies with holes."

  As the Raider ships saturated space with pulses of coherent light, Admiral Nazeer's tac officer suddenly screamed, "Admiral, minefield ahead."

  "All ships break off," the Admiral shouted, but it was too late. Traveling at five-thousand kps space normal, the front wave of eighteen ships couldn't stop or turn away in time. They plowed directly through the minefield.

  Ten of the lead wave of ships encountered a fusion mine, with eight being almost obliterated as the mines exploded against their bows. The proximity triggers fired their mine just ahead of actual contact with the ship, and the ship's speed insured that the effects enveloped the ship from the bow to the stern. The other two ships, suffering the effects of the blast against either their larboard or starboard hulls, were so badly damaged that they were permanently out of the fight. The second wave was able to avoid the minefield completely.

  "Dammit!" Admiral Nazeer screamed at his tac officer. "Where did that minefield come from? Didn't you scan the area before we began our attack run?"

  "Yes sir, Admiral," the nervous tac officer said. "Those mines definitely weren't there when we launched our torpedo strike a few minutes ago."

  "Then where the hell did they come from?" he screamed.

  "They must have been dropped somehow by the Spacc ships, sir."

  "Dropped?" Admiral Nazeer's face grew even more angry as he realized that he had been suckered yet again. "Yes, dammit. That had to be the reason for that crazy maneuver and why they exposed their bellies to our fire. They distracted us by offering so easy a target that we never noticed them dropping the mines. Dammit," he bellowed, "I want some Spacc butt." Pressing the com control on his chair, he shouted, "All ships, attack the station. Blast it to space dust and rubble."

  Admiral Nazeer leaned back in his chair and watched the action on the bridge's large monitor as his ships, now scattered all around the station, began to launch torpedoes from all operational tubes. There would be no more formations, no more coordinated attack strategies. Each captain knew that once they reached this point, they were on their own, with orders to destroy the station at all costs. They were free to maneuver however they wished to accomplish their mission.

  The Spacc ships had taken up positions within a few kilometers of the station. There would be no more maneuvering as they prepared for the final slugfest. They would hold position and do their best to knock down any and all torpedoes from the twenty-six remaining Raider ships, but at almost four to one the numbers were still significantly in the favor of the Raiders. The Raider ships began to circle the station, following unplanned and uncoordinated circular and elliptical paths. They seemed to be everywhere as they fired torpedoes from their bow, broadside, and stern torpedo tubes. The space around the station was alive with surging death. With no preset pattern being followed by the Raider ships, the danger from running into one of their sister ships, or one of their torpedoes, seemed to be as great as the danger from Spacc torpedoes.

  Inexorably, the advantages of numerical superiority shifted the tide of battle from the series of sensational kills by the Spaccs to significant strikes by the Raiders. Even with the station's own defenses fully engaged, more and more of the Raider torpedoes began to penetrate the defensive umbrella and strike their targets. The Spacc ships began to take serious hits, each of which reduced their ability to defend themselves and the station. Nazeer had always known that, in the end, the volume of torpedoes he could fire at the station and its defenders would make all the difference.

  * * *

  Captain Payton sat cursing the fates under his breath. A Raider torpedo had taken out a significant area of his bow in the last barrage, leaving the area open and exposed to space. Airtight emergency doors had immediately sealed off the area, but he had lost all of his bow tubes, and at least a hundred crewmen that were working in the four for
ward torpedo rooms involved. He'd turned his ship to face the station so his stern tubes pointed out towards the circling Raiders, but the Bellona class battleships only mounted eight tubes back there, half the number of tubes he'd had in his bow.

  His energy weapon gunners were doing a good job so far, but several torpedoes had gotten by them and struck the station, two hitting the docking ring and one striking the station itself. He felt incredibly impotent. His ship, while still firing torpedoes as fast as the tubes could be loaded, had to remain in position and take a pounding by Raiders ships free to maneuver at will. On the front viewscreen he saw a circling Raider ship suddenly obliterated by a brilliant flash of light. A torpedo from one of the defenders had scored a killing hit. A brief cheer went up on the bridge a second before Payton was flung violently sideways and everything went dark.

  * * *

  Gavin sat quietly, watching the battle rage in front of him. Throughout his long and distinguished career he'd never felt so helpless. Even during the years before becoming a ship's captain, when he'd had to sit by and watch his commanding officer make all the decisions, he hadn't felt so ineffectual. But he knew his duty, and he would do it.

  The images of Captain Payton of the Thor, and Captain Simpson of the destroyer Bonn, had disappeared from the monitor by his right hand. He could only assume that meant that their ships had been severely damaged, or perhaps totally destroyed. He couldn't take the time now to check. His people needed to concentrate on the tasks at hand.

  So far the Prometheus had been lucky. Only three torpedoes had gotten through the invisible barrier established by the laser weapons protecting the ship, and they had all been fission type warheads rather than fusion weapons. But tritanium armor had still been ripped away or melted, and great rents had been opened in the hull. The worst was just aft amidship, but no major systems had been compromised there. The maneuvering engines were still intact, even though they weren't needed at present. Oddly enough, the worst internal damage was to the torpedo room lost during the Battle of Vauzlee. The hull had been covered over in that area because parts weren't available to repair the damaged tubes, so the area had been empty of personnel.