“One of the large objects is on the move, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, pointing to an icon that denoted one of the large cylinders. The vector arrow showed that it would cross their path about four hundred and fifty thousand kilometers ahead when they were still two minutes from the station. “Perhaps they intend to use it as a mobile battery against us.”
“Do we know what weapons it might have?”
“No, my Lord. It’s not boosting at a very high rate. Only a couple of gravities. So it doesn’t seem to be any kind of weapon system.”
“Then we’ll ignore it if we can.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
They would have been better served to have more of their warships close in to the station, thought the High Admiral. They had taken out over fifty warships with long range fire, light cruisers and destroyers, and not one capital ship. The enemy must have felt that the station was unassailable by any kind of sneak attack. They were wrong. He had also lost a couple of ships, since the warships, when they had still existed, and the station were putting out considerable firepower. But nothing had gotten close to the freighter, which had been his primary concern.
The Admiral watched the second wave on final attack approach. It looked like about fifty of the weapons would strike the station, including five of the quarkium warheads. Probably not enough to seriously harm the station, much less destroy it. But hopefully enough of a distraction to allow them to get the real weapon into engagement range.
Something exploded ahead. Something massive, probably of higher megatonage than the quarkium warheads they were firing at the station. Something that seemed to appear out of nowhere.
“What in the hells was that?” asked the High Admiral, looking at the Tactical Officer.
“I’m not sure, my Lord. It just seemed to come out of nowhere.” The officer looked over his panel, getting what information it could give him. “Range was one million kilometers. Estimated yield, over one terraton.”
The High Admiral felt the tension increase in both pairs of shoulders as his eyes widened. That was the equivalent yield of a thousand of their ship killer missiles. And they had no idea where it had come from. Within five seconds eight more of the explosions rippled through space, most no closer than the first, one within the distance where it was flooding two nearby ships with heat and radiation. Seven more went off, then, after a short break, eleven more. One went off within five kilometers of a ship. The vessel came apart under the blast, hull alloy vaporizing away as armor peeled off. The remains of the ship continued on, without a living crew to fight it.
“Go to evasive maneuvers, now,” shouted the Admiral.
“It will increase our time to contact with the station,” said the Helm Officer.
“But it will give us a greater chance in actually getting there,” growled the Admiral. “Now do what I say. And give the other ships my orders.”
* * *
“The first missiles should have detonated by now, sir,” said the Pilot, who was also the wing Tactical Officer.
And we have no way of knowing their effect, thought Captain Javier Chavez. Unless they strike a boosting vessel.
“Command is reporting that one enemy battleship has ceased boosting,” said the Klassekian Com Tech, looking at the Wing Commander.
So one hit, or more probably a near miss, thought the Captain. Out of forty of the new missiles launched. In a way that was not much of a favorable exchange, since these weapons were extremely expensive. But then again, so was one of the Caca superbattleships.
The Mark XXXI inertialess missile was a new brainchild of Admiral Chan’s Research and Development Command. Using the same inertial bubble as the craft that equipped Chavez’ wing, they were launched from the fighters while they were under boost within the drive. The missiles erected their own bubbles as soon as they left the bodies of the fighters, still contained within the launching craft’s bubble. As soon as they were ready they boosted away, through the negative matter screen of the launch vessel, accelerating up to a maximum of three times light speed, a much higher velocity than the fighters. From that point they headed out on their programmed course, with no way on knowing what was going on in the outside Universe. They could only drive toward their target, dropping out of their bubble when they reached the point that they had been aimed for. With luck there would be something there worth the spectacular explosion that occurred when a material object massing eighty tons reentered the Universe and all of its inertia caught up to it. It was the equivalent of eighty tons of antimatter, three terratons of destruction.
The missiles were very expensive, using enough negative matter that eight missiles equaled a fighter. They were a devastating weapon, and almost useless as they were. It was hoped that someday some form of guidance or control system would be developed that would give them some kind of accuracy. This was not that day.
“Preparing to drop back to normal space,” called out the Pilot, making last second checks on his board.
“Give me an update on the plot,” the Captain ordered his Com Tech. He wished there was a better way to get this kind of information while they were in the bubble. Passing communications was one thing, but he thought it was asking a bit much of the quantum linked being to transmit this much information. The Klassekian did her best, and what came across was surprisingly detailed, if still suspect. Not anything against her abilities, but everything was being scanned by graviton emissions against a radiation backdrop unlike anything the tactical departments had ever seen. Hundreds of vessels large and small, the emissions of the largest object in known space, the black hole it orbited around, explosions like nothing seen in Imperial space.
Still, he had to admit the plot that was coming through her sibling to be projected into the ship’s computer by implant seemed to be very detailed. The second wave of enemy missiles was almost at the station, followed closely by thousands of attack fighters, a third wave following. All of those were well ahead of his four squadrons. At his current velocity he would not be able to catch them before they struck, but hopefully the other two and a half wings would be able to intervene. His targets were coming up on him now, moving at point five five light, heading for the station. They had not fired their missiles, something that was troubling to the Wing Commander, since that kind of tactical decision flew in the face of all doctrine.
“We need to acquire targets as soon as we’re back into normal space,” said the Captain, pointing at the nearest ships. “We might only get one shot at them before we have to go back into the bubble.”
The Pilot nodded, not saying a word. The Captain didn’t blame him. This was the kind of situation to tax the abilities of the best of pilots. He would have to change vectors and pick out targets at the same time, then fire an instant later. Knowing that the enemy would be sure to fire on his ship as soon as they were no longer masked by the negative matter bubble.
“Now,” yelled out the Pilot, the only warning any of the bridge crew would get. The bubble dropped, normal space appeared on the viewers, and the plot firmed up, showing a ship bearing down on them at a closing speed of point three light. Range, twelve light seconds.
* * *
“That was one of the support cables going,” shouted out one of the Ratings who was monitoring damage to the station.
Lucille looked up at the station schematic, seeing the blinking red area about five hundred thousand kilometers up to spinward. The outer portside cable, a five-kilometer thickness of superstrong alloys and carbon nanofibers, was missing a six kilometer section. The other five were intact. The station was made so that three of the cables, the primary structural support keeping the fast rotating structure together, were enough to keep it from flying apart. It helped if the remaining cables were evenly distributed. If the cables were in different regions of the station all of them could be cut, theoretically. It was not a theory that Yu wanted to test.
“That had to be one of their big warheads,” said Lucille, looking over at the duty of
ficer. “No way a simple ship killer could take that out.”
The damage extended deep into the station, in fact blasting all the way out the other side, but fortunately not retaining enough force to take out a second cable. It had wiped out another couple of dozen generator units, which was bad. But not as bad as the inhabited section it had taken out as well, and probably ten thousand people with it.
The deck shook, too soon to be the shock wave from the quarkium warhead that had taken out the cable. And not strong enough, if Lucille was any judge. It was one of the ship killers, still strong enough to blast a kilometer or two into the station. Fifteen of those had struck, as well as three more of the super-warheads. Sheltering deep enough in the station would protect against the normal ship killers. There really was no place to shelter from the super-warheads. All you could do was hope one didn’t hit close enough to wherever you were, and that the station didn’t come apart around you.
“Look at this, sir. Ma’am,” said one of the Techs, throwing up a slowed down holo. It showed a massive explosion inward from the station, well toward the event horizon of the black hole. A missile with a quarkium warhead that had missed the station. And then had gone off before reaching the event horizon. The explosion had lived for microseconds before being sucked into the black hole, the inexorable pull of gravity stopping the explosive force before it had travelled more than a thousand kilometers from its source.
Nothing can escape from it. Nothing can harm it. She stared at the hole for a moment, watching the reflection of light around the event horizon, the distortion of the stars on the other side. It was the source of their power, the energy they generated to make wormholes. And could it be used to stop this enemy who was determined to destroy the station?
“The wormhole generation satellite is almost in place,” called out another Tech, bringing Lucille back to the here and now, and the next task.
“I will take control of the satellite,” said Lucille, pulling up the holographic control panel to hang in the air before her. “Starting countdown, now.”
* * *
“Objects ahead,” called out the Tactical Officer, pointing at the forty-two new icons that had seemed to appear out of nowhere.
“Where the hell did they come from?” asked the High Admiral, scowling.
“They must be some of those impossible fighters we were told about in the mission briefing,” said the second in command over the com. “But why did they jump back into normal space ahead of us. They lack any kind of closing speed.”
That was true. The fighters were actually still moving toward the station at almost point three light, while the Ca’cadasan ships were coming up behind them at point five five. The closing speed was only point three light, almost standing still as far as state of the art targeting systems were concerned. And anything they fired would start off killing the momentum of the launching vessel while trying to claw their way back to their targets.
“Their firing, my Lord,” called out the Tactical Officer, as one hundred and sixty-eight icons, four for each fighter, appeared on the plot. The vector arrows were actually pointing away from the Ca’cadasan force, the figures below them showing deceleration at fifteen thousand gravities. They dropped away from the launching fighters, letting the oncoming Ca’cadasan ships catch up to them at an increasing closing speed. That closing velocity would never get much above point five light, still too slow to avoid most laser targeting systems. And then it happened.
“Half the icons disappeared,” yelled out the Tactical Officer, his voice close to panic.
“Where?”
The explosions went off all around the Ca’cadasan force. The inertialess missiles had not had time to get up to more than point six light, but that still brought an inertia rebound that converted sixty percent of their mass to energy. Eighty-four explosions, none aimed with any kind of accuracy, at a force that was spread with a score of kilometers between the ships. Some of the blasts went off behind the force, a few to the side, most in front, sending their waves of heat and radiation into the oncoming superbattleships. One exploded on top of a capital ship, leaving little more than spreading plasma and debris particles expanding in space. One went off a little further from a ship, far enough that it didn’t shatter the vessel, close enough that it still killed most of the crew and left the battleship a tumbling wreck.
The fighters started to close as well, firing their lasers and particle beams into the oncoming warships, maneuvering for all they were worth to avoid return fire. Their conventional missiles closed to attack range, most falling prey to defensive fire. A few achieved close misses, adding slight damage to some of the warships. Then the weapons of the Ca’cadasan ships started targeting the fighters.
* * *
Two down, thought Captain Chavez, watching as the graviton emissions of two superbattleships dropped off the plot. They were still ten light seconds distance, and it would take some moments before he actually saw what happened to them. As long as they were out of commission that was really all that mattered.
His ships were now firing their pea shooters at the vessels that outmassed them by over fifteen thousand times. Any hits they got would be absorbed by electromagnetic fields and armor. But his force had given its best shot, and they had no more missiles to fire.
Two of his fighters dropped off the plot, and he decided that it was time to get.
“All ships are to go back into bubble drive, now,” he ordered, looking over at his Com Tech. “Set course for the station, all fighters to come out in defensive configuration.”
The orders went out, and moments later the negative matter bubble was in place, thirty-nine fighters disappearing from the sensors of every near ship.
* * *
“One light minute to target,” called out the Weapons/Tactical/Sensor Officer from his position in the forward cockpit.
And what a target it was. The High Captain, who was the leader of the entire first strike, couldn’t take his eyes off the tactical plot that showed that target. It was the biggest target he had ever seen, since the Ca’cadasan fleet didn’t make a habit of attacking stars. Over twenty-five million kilometers in circumference, almost eight million in diameter, larger than the width of most stars, though not near as massive. Probably the largest intelligently designed object in the known Universe.
The flight of twenty-five thousand ships had come out of the wormhole well below their maximum velocity for safety reasons, then had started boosting on a least time profile for the station. They weren’t able to use the standard strategy of coasting most of the distance, making it difficult for the enemy to track them. They were boosting the entire way, first accelerating, then decelerating, putting out heat and gravitons. Only the humans had solved the problem of staying stealthy, but only by using wormholes and boosting at very low rates. So they were being tracked the entire way, as evidenced by the defensive fighters that had blown through their formation, trading missiles and beam weapons.
Ca’cadasan attack fighters were less massive than human ship launched fighters, even the space superiority version. At six hundred tons, they carried a crew of three, verses seven for the human birds, and were more maneuverable. The attack fighters massed eight hundred tons and carried a crew of four. The human fighters they tangled with were specifically designed to fly protection for planets and space stations, and lacked the endurance of ship attack fighters. They massed a hundred tons each, with a crew of two, and were the most maneuverable craft in this fight. They were also the most lightly armed, their lasers and particle beams commensurate with their size. They had destroyed over two thousand of his ships on the pass, versus about fifteen hundred of their own. The human fighters had turned on the grabbers, decelerating at fifteen hundred gravities, trying to kill their momentum so they could come back and attack the Ca’cadasan ships that were deceling at twelve hundred gees.
“Setting up attack profile,” the other officer said. This was also not a standard attack, where they would be r
oaring in at maximum velocity to put missiles into ships. There weren’t enough missiles in both strikes to do more than sting something the size of the station, and stinging it wouldn’t help the main strike that was coming in behind both waves of fighters. No, their mission was to locate defensive structures on the station and take them out. The most frightening part of that mission was locating defensive structures, which could only be done by enticing them to fire on the fighters, not a proposition that encouraged thoughts of long term survival.
The fighters had reached a stage where they were almost at a standstill compared to the station’s position, if not its rotational velocity. As they slid closer the weapons on the station, lasers placed on the hull, close in autoweapons, particle beams, started firing at the Ca’cadasan ships. They were still hard to hit, going into evasive maneuvers that made small targets multiple light seconds away difficulty to pin down. Hard didn’t mean impossible, and on the final approach hundreds of craft were blasted out of space.
“Starting target acquisition,” called out the other officer, running the tracking software that linked with the other ships of the wave, locating weapons that had fired, marking their positions on the station among nearby installations, then cataloguing and prioritizing them. The fighters swung into a tight orbital path around the station, moving against the rotation. Fighters started to fire on the station, two hundred megaton missiles targeting laser domes and particle beam nozzles, lasers and particle beams striking out at the close in auto-weapons. Secondary targets included hatches, sensor domes, and any other installations which defied identification.
Weapons systems struck back, blasting fighters into fast moving debris. Some hit the station, generating small secondary explosions. Small, that is, in relation to the size of the station. And then the defensive fighters came boosting back in, mixing it up with the enemy fighters in what would have been called dogfights in atmosphere, but were considered insanity at the speeds they were moving. Over a thousand ships were gone on each side in less than a minute. The attacking force spread as it completed orbits around the station, until the space near the outer skin was one continuous fur ball.
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 11: Day of Infamy (Exodus: Empires at War.) Page 23