“I understand,” Geary replied. “I had a number of things to get used to as well.”
“Can you confirm our mission, Fleet Admiral Geary?” Captain Armus of the Colossus asked. “Are we indeed aiming to force an end to the war?”
Geary weighed his response. Armus had been difficult at times and was by no stretch an inspired officer, but he was also brave enough and followed orders. At the moment he was, in addition, being respectful and proper, which deserved the same treatment in return. Geary finally nodded. “That’s correct. We intend backing the Syndics into a corner and keeping them there until they agree to halt the fighting. Not just a cease-fire. An end to the war.”
Captain Badaya, who had seemed smug and contented since Geary’s promotion, nodded back as if sharing a secret with Geary. “Using your plan, Fleet Admiral Geary.”
“Yes. You’ll all get much more detail on it at Atalia, I promise.”
As the officers’ images vanished, Geary saw that the two new political observers remained as if expecting something. “Yes, Senators?”
Costa gave Geary a quick smile. “You can brief us now that the others have left.”
Desjani seemed to be literally biting her lip to keep from saying something. Geary searched for the correct and diplomatic response.
But Rione turned to Costa with a reassuring smile. “I’ll bring them up to date, Fleet Admiral Geary.”
She would? Geary hadn’t confided his exact plans to Rione. Had she broken his security? But then on the side of her face away from the other senators Rione dropped a slow wink to Geary. “All right,” Geary said. “Captain Desjani?”
He left hastily with Desjani, wondering what Rione would tell the others to keep them happy. “I wonder if there’s any way to freeze those two out of the meeting software?”
“At least you have that politician to handle them,” Desjani grumbled. “May my ancestors forgive me, but I’m actually grateful for the moment that she’s on board.”
“You’ll get over it.”
“And very quickly, too,” Desjani agreed. “Will you be on the bridge for the jump to Atalia?”
“Of course.” Geary paused. “There’s a lot riding on this. There’s somewhere I should go before then.”
“I’m on my way there, too.” They walked into the depths of Dauntless, to the most protected part of the ship, where the rooms set aside for religious purposes rested. Desjani bade him farewell at the door to one room, her eyes searching his for a moment before the privacy door closed.
He sat down on the traditional wooden bench in his own room. He wondered for the first time from which world the wood had come. So many worlds had trees or similar vegetation, and humanity had brought many plants with them on their long march through the vastness of space. Geary lighted the single candle, then sat watching the flame for a while. It was hard to put his many emotions into words, but finally he spoke softly. “I’m not asking for success for me, but for all of those who are counting on me. Please help me end this, and if my fate is to die on this mission, please see Tanya Desjani safely to her home again.”
Half an hour later he was on the bridge of Dauntless along with Desjani as the fleet, divided into three subformations and arrayed for battle, jumped for Atalia.
FOUR
FOUR days later, the Alliance fleet flashed back into normal space at the jump point on the fringes of the Syndicate Worlds-controlled Atalia Star System.
“What the hell?” was Geary’s first response as the fleet’s sensors updated the situation.
No mines blocked their exit from the jump point, no powerful flotilla of warships waited nearby or cruised in distant orbit about the star Atalia, but only four light-minutes distant a large gaggle of Syndic merchant ships hung at rest relative to the jump point as if they were awaiting the Alliance warships.
Desjani, frowning in disbelief, turned to bark out orders to the bridge watch-standers. “Find out everything you can about those merchant ships.”
“Captain,” the operations watch-stander reported, “every one of those merchant ships has smaller craft hanging on them, up to twenty on the larger ones.”
“Mother ships.” Geary waited impatiently for more detailed reports from the sensors’ examination of the enemy craft. “Carrying what?”
“Those things are too big to be missiles,” Desjani commented. Then her eyes widened in recognition. “Damn. They’re—”
“Syndic fast attack craft,” the operations watch-stander reported triumphantly.
“They’re sending FACs against us?” Desjani seemed almost horrified, but not as if she feared the news. “Against this many warships in open space?”
“FACs?” Geary hastily read as a description popped up on his display, and understanding came. “They look like they’re pretty much the same as the SRACs a hundred years ago.”
“SRACs?” Desjani asked.
“Short-range attack craft. Those were only intended for operations very close to planets or other major space objects because of their limited range and capabilities.”
“Then they’re effectively the same thing,” Desjani confirmed. “Out here, unable to dart into atmosphere or behind a planet, they’re going to have problems.”
Problems indeed. Geary hurriedly studied the capabilities of the FACs. At point one light speed, the Alliance fleet only required forty minutes to cover four light-minutes of distance. Ten minutes had already passed, and he had to assume that the FACs would launch as soon as possible, then would speed toward the Alliance ships, further reducing the time until contact.
Like the SRACs he had known, these FACs were small, carrying only one or two human crew members. In addition to a single hell-lance particle-beam projector with a slow recharge time, some models carried a single missile, while others had a couple of single-shot grapeshot launchers. Their armor was nonexistent, and their small power plants could support only weak shields. “Who the hell sent them on this suicide mission?”
“They must all be volunteers,” Desjani offered.
Alerts sounded as the fleet’s sensors spotted the FACs starting to launch from the improvised merchant mother ships three minutes ago. Looked at only in terms of numbers, the swarm of small craft seemed impressive.
Rione obviously thought so. “Can we handle this?”
“Easily,” Desjani muttered.
Geary nodded in agreement.
“But they’re smaller, faster, and more maneuverable,” Rione insisted.
“Smaller, yes,” Geary replied. “Faster and more maneuverable, no. Whoever came up with this plan must be primarily a planetary defense officer, who thought because FACs look sort of like atmospheric craft compared to space warships, that the physics would work the same as aircraft versus seagoing ships on planets with atmospheres and oceans. But those FACs aren’t operating in a much-less-dense medium than our ships, they’re operating in exactly the same medium, so it’s all about mass-to-thrust ratios. The FACs are small, but that means they’ve got small propulsion systems and small power plants. They’re certainly more maneuverable than battleships, but our destroyers have bigger propulsion units and better mass-to-thrust ratios.” On his display, the FACs had finished scrambling from the merchant ships and were accelerating toward the Alliance fleet.
Desjani shook her head, looking disgusted. “Any of those small craft that somehow survived this attack could never get home. They don’t have the fuel or life-support endurance. I hope the Syndic commander responsible for this is on one of those merchants.”
“He or she is probably a dozen light-years away,” Geary said. “How stealthy are these FACs?”
“Some capability, but they’re out here in the middle of nowhere, accelerating, and we watched them launched. The combat systems will have no trouble tracking them even after they—And there they went. Stealth systems on the FACs have gone active, and we’ve still got solid tracks on all of them.”
“Okay.” Geary spent a few more seconds watching the horde o
f FACs heading to intercept the Alliance fleet, then scrolled through some of the formations he had worked out before this and loaded into the maneuvering systems. After checking to confirm the time required for a message to reach the most distant unit in the current Alliance formation, he tapped his comm controls. “All units in the Alliance fleet, this is—” He’d almost said Captain Geary, but caught himself. “Admiral Geary. Execute Formation November at time four seven.”
Desjani glanced at him, pulled up the formation on her own display, then nodded. “It will do. But you should slow the formation a little to ensure as many kills on the FACs as possible.”
“Thanks. Do you think point zero eight light speed will be slow enough?”
After repeating the question to her combat-systems watch-stander and waiting for a swift answer, Desjani nodded again. “Yes, sir.”
Rione spoke with resignation. “If they’re doomed, do we have to destroy them and risk casualties of our own?”
“Yes,” Geary replied. “We can’t swing far enough to one side to evade missiles fired by that mass of FACs, which means the units on that flank would run risks of being hit by missiles on high-deflection run-ins, which are a lot harder to hit with defensive fire than low-deflection runs. I’d be particularly worried about some of the missiles targeting the auxiliaries as we went past the FACs.”
At time four seven, the current Alliance formation dissolved, the squadrons and divisions of warships proceeding to new stations relative to Dauntless. Geary waited until the fleet had formed into five rectangles, the broad sides facing in the directions of the fleet’s movement, the largest rectangle in the center, the four smaller rectangles only a short distance off each corner of the large one. To Geary’s aggravation, two of the new battle cruisers, one of the new battleships, and several smaller combatants ended up pushing far forward of their assigned stations. “Adroit, Assert, Insistent, Dungeon, Pavise, Demicontres, Halda, Tschekan, assume your ordered stations immediately.”
Unlike at Corvus and engagements soon after that, the bulk of the fleet held formation firmly, acting as a powerful example reinforcing Geary’s commands. Leaving only one eye to watch the errant warships, Geary put most of his attention on the movements of the fleet and the oncoming mass of FACs, which seemed to fill space ahead of the fleet. “All units in the Alliance fleet, brake velocity to point zero eight light speed at time zero nine, then brake to point zero four at time one two, then accelerate to point zero six light speed at time one five.”
“None of our ships can actually change velocity that fast,” Desjani noted.
“I know. But this will keep their velocity changing so much just prior to contact that the FACs’ targeting systems will be screwed up trying to estimate the time to fire their hell lances and grapeshot. I wouldn’t try it against other major warships because our formations are going to get disrupted by that many velocity changes on top of each other, but against the FACs, this tactic is supposed to work.” At least, that was what the official guidance against SRACs had said a century ago.
One more command to pass. “All units in the Alliance fleet, turn up zero three five degrees at time two four.” That would bring the fleet through the mob of FACs, then turn it upward to pass well above the merchant shipping.
“We’ll miss the merchants,” Desjani complained, then she gave him a knowing glance. “They’re too attractive. Too easy a target. They’re not trying to run even though they’ve finished launching the small craft.”
“Right. Are they just easy targets, or are they bait?” Geary shook his head. “I don’t trust anything about those merchant ships.”
The fleet began its braking maneuver, thrusters pushing the bows of the warships up and over so that their main propulsion units faced forward, followed by the propulsion units kicking in to slow the ships as fast as momentum, the power of the propulsion units, and the ships’ inertial dampers would allow. After the two braking maneuvers, and just prior to contact with the FACs, the warships would pivot again to reaccelerate, swinging their bows forward once more to meet the Syndic attack with their heaviest armor and firepower.
“Still coming straight at us,” Desjani commented.
Something about her casual, confident tone worried Geary. He tapped his controls again. “All units in the Alliance fleet, these FACs have only one punch, but that can be a powerful punch. Don’t underestimate them until they’ve been killed. All units conduct on-station evasive maneuvers immediately prior to contact with the FACs.” On-station told his ships not to veer too far from their assigned positions but allowed them to make the small changes in vectors that could further throw off attempts by the enemy fire-control systems to predict their future positions well enough to score hits during the fraction-of-a-second-long engagement envelopes.
More alerts sounded as the first FACs began firing missiles. Only one missile per FAC, and only perhaps half of the FACs carrying missiles, but that added up quickly when there were that many small craft coming at the fleet. “All ships, weapons free. Engage the missiles, then the fast attack craft.”
At short range, with the opposing forces closing swiftly, there wasn’t time for the enemy missiles to engage in their own evasive actions. Hell lances blazed from the Alliance warships, filling space with directed high-energy particle beams, which at close range punched through armor as if it were paper. Syndic missiles exploded prematurely or came apart under the hail of fire, then the surviving missiles began running into patterns of grapeshot. The clusters of metal ball bearings tore into oncoming missiles, each metal ball that struck a target vaporizing from the force of the impact. Struck by the shotgun blasts of massed grapeshot batteries, the remainder of the enemy missiles were blown apart as the Alliance fleet rushed into contact with the fast attack craft.
The sheer numbers of the attack craft could have made up for their frail defenses and limited armament, concentrating their individually weak firepower to hit larger ships again and again, but not under these conditions, not when facing a fleet of larger warships in formations in which the already greatly superior firepower of the warships overlapped and reinforced each other. FACs were supposed to engage small numbers of isolated warships, ideally one or two. Given the right conditions, near a planet or other base where the small craft could linger stealthily and silently while awaiting the approach of the enemy, enough FACs could even take down a battleship operating on its own, though probably while suffering serious losses as well.
These weren’t the right conditions.
Alliance destroyers were in their element against this kind of enemy, rampaging through the smaller, weaker FACs like hawks among a flock of sparrows, hell lances stabbing out as fast as they could fire to smash through the flimsy protection of the much smaller spacecraft. Light cruisers moved almost as nimbly among the destroyers, their heavier armaments taking out several small attack craft with each volley. Coming right behind the lighter escorts were the heavy cruisers, not so fast and maneuverable, but better protected and far outgunning the FACs. Against the Alliance warships, the FACs tried to focus their fire on single ships enough to overcome shields and armor, but with so many targets coming so fast, not enough hits could be scored on any one ship in time to make a difference.
The Alliance fleet formation merged with the swarm of fast attack craft at a combined velocity of almost point zero five light speed, the cloud of FACs evaporating as it merged with the warships like a flock of gnats running head-on into a massive land vehicle. Syndic small attack craft blew apart or spun away uncontrolled, with dead systems and crew. Due to sheer numbers, some of the small craft penetrated past the Alliance escorts, only to be instantly torn to pieces by the firepower of the battleships and battle cruisers.
The moment of contact and destruction of the horde of FACs happened almost too quickly for it to register on human senses, then the Alliance fleet was through the enemy and following Geary’s command to turn sharply upward, “up” being defined by humans as the direction above
the plane of the star system, just as “down” was beneath the plane of the star system. Geary studied his fleet status display anxiously, aware that collisions with FACs or a lucky barrage of hits could have done significant damage to or even destroyed one of his escorts. The status reports were still updating, showing weakened shields and occasional hits on destroyers or light cruisers, when something else caught his attention. “Dungeon, return to formation immediately! Alter your track to avoid those merchant ships!”
Unlike the rest of the fleet, the lone heavy cruiser had continued onward instead of altering her course upward, and was now heading straight into the mass of Syndic merchant ships waiting silently along the path the fleet would have taken. Geary waited as seconds passed, having flashbacks to the senseless loss of a cruiser and three destroyers to a minefield at Sutrah.
Dungeon’s reply finally came, her captain sounding baffled. “We’re going to let these Syndic ships escape?”
“It’s a trap!” Geary called back immediately. “Use your head! They’re not trying to run, and there are no escape pods leaving those merchants! They had no crews embarked, just the pilots of those FACs, and they’re probably rigged as booby traps. Get your ship clear now!”
Lost Fleet 6 - Victorious Page 10