by Chris Hechtl
There was a slight shuffle. He ignored it, just looking at them. “Civilians will never understand us. We're different. We're the ones who stand and fight when no one else will. We accept orders, and we get the job done.”
“We took an oath. Many of you took that oath right here in this compartment. An oath to support and defend the constitution. To protect our citizens. You've seen what the alternative is.” His eyes roved the crowd, occasionally stopping on someone who he knew. Ian gave him a slight nod of approval. The Admiral turned, looking on.
“War is an ugly thing. I have experienced it firsthand. It is the last thing anyone sane ever wants. It is death and destruction. It is pain and suffering. It is waste and loss. Those of you in this compartment and listening know this, you've suffered enough. You've experienced it first hand and it has burned you. It has burned the impurities off you until your core was exposed, a core of diamond that will. Not. Yield.” He thundered. The crew still didn't make a sound.
“The Horathian's don't understand that. They can't, they've been predators, picking off those who can't fight back. The weak, the helpless. Those that can't fight back. They think it is all easy, that this is the way things should be. They wish to replace reality with their own warped and twisted version of what they think things should be.”
“And that ladies and gentlemen, is where we come in. We're going to prove them wrong. We're going to hammer them,” he growled, voice deepening and becoming richer, fuller. Sprite smiled internally in approval. “We're going to stop them and show them what true war costs. Their pretty fleet? It's going to be cinders when we are done.”
This time the rank and file broke discipline and roared in approval. The Admiral nodded, waiting it out.
“They want a war? We'll damn well give them one. We're going to teach them what war really costs, to both sides,” he growled. “They've had it coming for some time now.”
There was a slight growl of approval over that. The Admiral nodded. “That's right ladies and gentlemen, we're going to make them pay for all the hurt they have dished out.” The hungry growl of approval in the compartment intensified. “We're going to fight, not roll over and die, and certainly not run. We're going to fight for life, if not our own than those who can't fight back. Or to buy time for those who need it,” he said.
“I know it doesn't look good. The odds are not in our favor. The enemy has tonnage, quantity on its side. But we have quality,” he said, spreading his hands to indicate those in the room and the ship. “Quality has a modifier all on its own. We have experience and determination. We all know what that means; we are here because of it. We beat the odds once, we broke out, we took this ship, we took other ships. We did it before, we can do it again,” he thundered. “We can and we will.”
There was a muted cheer. He nodded as they quieted down. “And we've got allies. Members of the crew who will go a long ways to even the balance. Our AI comrades will do their part and more to tear the enemy ships up from the inside, shut them down and weaken them.”
This time the cheer was more pronounced. He smiled.
“Ah shucks,” Sprite said to the Admiral alone. Slowly the room quieted. He could taste the hope, the burning desire to fight. He nodded.
“The Horathian way is death,” he said, practically hissing the last word. “Death and slavery for billions. You know that, I know that. We can't accept that. We won't. They want a war; we'll give it to them. All of it, on our terms. But I don't think they know what they are in for. To them, what they have done now is what they think of as a fair fight,” he said smiling darkly.
“Well, we're done with that. No more running. They aren't the only ones who can fight. Tomorrow, we jump to prove it to them. I'm proud to have served with you all. Dismissed. Now let's go kick some pirate ass.”
The compartment broke into another round of cheering when he finished.
<----*----*----*---->
“Last chance to get off Nata'roka,” Sprite said, coming to the Ssilli's attention. She had tried for the past few minutes before the alien had relented and opened her side of the channel.
“I'm working here,” the alien replied. “Can't you see I'm busy?” she asked, sounding rather testy.
Sprite checked. The alien was indeed busy; busy enough running navigational sims that she had made a ten percent impact on the ship's processors. She was scanning the Beta 101a1 system. She was running a vector overlay on top of several different versions of the system stacked. From the look of it she had some sort of time dilation calculation going on as well. That intrigued the AI. “Seriously,” the AI said. She waved a hand to indicate the sim. “You don't have to do this,” she said.
“Your chances are greatly improved if I do right?” the alien demanded. Sprite nodded. “And the Admiral's central plan is dependent on my participation correct?” She asked. Sprite nodded in reply. "Very well, I am in,” the alien said and then blew a breath. Water and exhaled air sprayed out of her blowhole in a fine mist. She felt better, much better. Just adding salt to her tank had made her feel... more alive. She wanted to pay these people back for giving her hope again.
“We can't risk you,” Sprite said.
“Life is about risk,” the alien replied softly. “What is life if you haven't done what you believed in? When you let scum like that have their way?” the alien asked. “No, I am in. Commander.”
“Very well.”
“And Commander, it's Commander Nata'roka. I may have been conscripted, but I am an officer. I forgot it. I'm not going to forget again. Ever.”
“Glad to have you on board Commander,” Sprite said, nodding her chin.
“You knew?” the alien asked. “Wait, of course you knew. My implants. Why didn't you say something?” she asked.
“Because, you were bitter and angry,” Sprite replied simply. She shrugged. “You've been through enough and I judged you wanted to resign your commission in favor of your species survival,” the AI replied. “If I may ask, why didn't you suicide?” she asked. “You could have, through your implants Commander.”
“I know,” the alien said softly. She bobbed there for a long moment. Sprite waited patiently. Finally, the alien blew a breath and then responded. “Hope,” the alien replied. “And my prayers were answered. We'll see what the future brings together,” she said. Sprite nodded and disappeared.
<----*----*----*---->
He and the engineering department had whipped up twelve independent platforms along with his other packages. Four of the platforms were independent decoys; they would serve as defensive or distraction elements. Four others were recon drones. He'd been divided on making them. Finally he'd given in, each were the size of a torpedo but stuffed with sensors. They might come in handy... or they might be a waste of resources all in themselves.
Two others were defensive platforms. Each platform had fire control communications links, along with sensors, and point defense weapons. They would act as an ancient periscope on a submarine, allowing the ship to see around physical obstacles or around her own weapons fire. Their automated point defense allowed them to be interposed into a stream of fire while their fire control links allowed the ship's tactical department to hand off defensive counter missiles or even capital missiles if needed.
Each of the defensive platforms were precious, he'd have to husband their exposure wisely. Once the enemy knew what they were they would target them. Since each had batteries but relied on beamed power from the mother ship, they lacked energy shields or propulsion. They would be doomed under a determined enough assault.
He had a similar issue with the last two platforms. They had just enough material for two more platforms, but the ship lacked the space and flexibility for additional defensive platforms. Instead he'd gone one better. He'd replicated force beam emitter weapons.
Force emitters have to either be in specially built turrets or in spinal mounts like the Arboth had, with special nodes around them, or they have to be outside a ship's shields, and there
fore off their hull. Which meant tractored and provided power by a microwave beam or on board micro fusion reactor.
Force beam emitters were the normal method of taking a shield down without battering it with physical force until it's nodes overloaded. The beams oscillated in frequency in microseconds, pushing and pulling and interfering with any energy field a ship's nodes put up in defense. The attack usually sent the shields into shut down or overloaded them. It was one method a ship could take down an enemy ship in a soft kill or capture. It was also why a warship didn't exclusively rely on energy fields, they had armor as well. Redundancy was its own survival method.
But, force beams had that fatal flaw, they not only interfered with a shield, they didn't play favorites and interfered with any force emitter in their line of fire or even adjacent to it. Which meant a ship's own force field, which was why they were normally standoff platforms.
A few warships had force beam emitters built into other energy weapons mounts, but in order to fire them they had to take down their own energy shields, or they had to synch them up to open windows to fire through. But that caused all sorts of engineering and tactical issues. It was much easier to mount a graser or other weapon over a force beam.
The other issue with a force beam was range. A standard beam had a one hundred kilometer effective range envelope. The further the range the less effective the beam was and the more energy required to cause damage or interference. That was also why they were effective as standoff weapons platforms, they could be maneuvered closer to a target.
Force beam weapons had been relegated to torpedo warheads or specialty one shot weapons for centuries before someone got it into their head to build them as standoff weapons platforms. Which worked well enough for them to go into more regular use. They were efficient at capturing ships, like captured pirate prizes on the run, than say, shooting up a ship full of helpless victims and hostages.
Unfortunately due to the ticklish nature of the beams, and the specialty equipment needed to build and maintain them, not to mention all the other projects on their hands, the Admiral and the scratch engineering staff had only managed to build two of the force beam platforms, and all were generation one, reliant on beamed power and propulsion from the mother ship. It was the best they could do with the resources and time on hand. It would have to suffice, the Admiral thought as he scrolled down to the next project on the list. He paused, mulling the emitters over one moment longer. His crew was shaking down, but they were skeletal. Something told him he wasn't going to be taking many ships intact, and even if they did he didn't have the crew to man them. No, he'd work with what they had on hand.
<----*----*----*---->
In transit the crews trained heavily. The Ssilli guided them, shaving weeks off their transit time. Their original transit time was cut from one hundred days to eighty for the nine parsecs. It would have been shorter had all the ships had the same speed and trained crews.
For once the Admiral didn't want the lost time, it meant less time to train. But for some of the crew it was a godsend, it meant the waiting would be shorter.
“Admiral, even with our greater understanding, and our access to the Horathian codes, there is no guarantee a cyber attack will be effective,” Sprite warned the Admiral in his cabin the evening before their arrival.
“Do what you can. We all will Commander,” the Admiral replied. He turned away. “We will do what we must,” he said softly. “What needs to be done.”
Chapter 22
Making a difference
Nearly six months after Phoenix had arrived in B 100 omega Phoenix jumped out of hyperspace in B101a1 at the B100 omega jump point and headed on a least time course for the Pyrax jump point across the system. After four days of crossing the two light day distance across the system to the Pyrax jump point the ship seemed to have noticed the enemy fleet. She abruptly changed course for the Beta 103c5 jump point south east. The fleet's outer shell broke formation and gave chase.
<----*----*----*---->
Admiral Rico pondered the fleeing ship. It had come onto their sensors when she had emerged from jump several days before, but from an unlikely direction. He had thought Hathaway had his flank, now he had to wonder what had happened and why this fish had slipped through Bounty's carefully crafted net.
He had to be careful this fish wouldn't slip his net either. It was a fast ship, and by its course near the outermost Mercury class planet, it could try to loop the planet and alter its course to return to the Pyrax jump point. He reminded himself to be ready for that possibility.
The Admiral was a dashing man, or so he and his wife thought. He had a strong jaw, stern looks, and a full head of brown hair. It was cut regulation short. He had piercing brown eyes, and a goatee. He stroked it, thinking of his next move.
He was an average man in other regards, medium build and frame. He had an even temperament and a love of classical literature. He knew the importance of dressing to impress, but away from the home system and news cameras he had relaxed that practice somewhat.
He smiled ever so slightly, remembering how his wife had preened and fused over him with his steward before he went before the cameras. The emperor had wanted a full press kick off, which was what he had gotten. It had sent his people off with a nice bump in morale at all the cheers. He imagined what it would be like when he returned, the parades, the interviews, the medals. He smiled in anticipation.
He was a shoe in for Admiral of the Fleet when he returned once he conquered Pyrax. Cartwright didn't stand a chance, all the little piddling star systems he knocked over didn't amount to anything when it came to true combat honors. And think of the shipyard! If he captured it intact it would be quite the feather in his cap. He intended to do so. He could just imagine the holodrama that would be made over his life. He reminded himself to update his memoirs and delete a few things that might not be too flattering.
“Sir, it's a stern chase,” the Captain reminded him. A stern chase was a near impossible chase to win when the rabbit was faster than the hounds. Once the ship was at the jump point she was as good as gone.
“I don't care,” the Admiral said. “Get. That. Ship.” He said coldly, stabbing his manicured index finger into the armrest to further make his point. “We can't afford to let her get away. She'll bring word to other systems that we're in the area.”
“Yes sir,” the flag Captain replied. He carefully didn't bring up the fact that the Admiral had chosen to concentrate his forces instead of leaving a ship on guard duty at each jump point. The Admiral scowled briefly. “Hathaway slipped up didn't he?” the Captain asked with a slight sneer in his voice. There was no love lost between the two captains.
“Don't worry about that now. I'll deal with him. He may have been out of position or dealing with something else.”
“Sir, that ship is small, she can't have a lot of fuel on board.”
“True. But we don't know how far she has come. From her speed, she's got good engines.”
“Yes sir,” the Captain replied. He waited for the Admiral to say something more but the man turned away. He was tempted to cut the connection but stamped on it. Rico was a pain in the ass, and he took slights easily, even if they were unintentional. Rico was old school; he had served briefly in the raiders but then transferred to home fleet when he made Commander. He'd bounced around to various commands and one staff position before he'd attained flag rank.
Unlike Rear Admiral Cartwright though, Rico had over a decade of experience as an Admiral. He'd distinguished himself in the fleet training exercises three times, earning praise. He had also been personally chosen by the new emperor for this command.
“Sir, do you think using the entire screen is excessive?” the Captain asked.
“Screen and supports. Hell, we'll all go. Get that damn ship. We can refuel when we return. The chase will do us good.”
“Something to do sir?” the Captain asked neutrally. Setting the hounds loose was one thing, but for such a small rabbit i
t hardly seemed worth it. Besides, wherever it eventually ended up it would do the world no good. No one had the firepower to stand up to them.
Admiral Rico frowned, hands behind his back. His fists clenched. He didn't want the depravity of the raiders, but he understood it. Mob mentality his psychology class said. The intelligence of a group of people was inversely proportional to the number of people in it. The lower that rating dropped the more their baser impulses asserted themselves.
He had spent a few years in the raiders, but he'd quickly transferred to Home Fleet when he had the chance. He had wanted to exercise fleet command for as long as he could remember. This was the first time they were attempting it in the field, and it was a mixed blessing that he had command. Getting the raiders, who were used to working singly or in pairs to work under his command, was a bit rough. He'd had to step on quite a few toes to get the job done. Obviously he still had a ways to go, he thought, watching his carefully structured formations come apart.
They all wanted the capture, he realized that. He frowned and made a note to address it at the next Captain's meeting.
“Sir, the formation...”
“I see that. Inform Captain Bluefield he has nominal command. Get the screen back in order should be his first order of business.”
“Aye sir. Should we send a ship ahead to the jump point?” the flag Captain asked, uncertain of a response.
Admiral Rico's face chilled. He did the math; he knew they'd never get there in time. “No,” he finally said.
“Aye sir.”
“Get someone in range and hit them with a force beam if they have to. Or fire a spread of missiles past them. That should turn them.”