Rumors of Glory (The System States Rebellion Book 1)

by Dietmar Wehr

  Corvosier shrugged. “It’ll still be dark by the time the shuttle lands. They won’t notice that it’s an assault shuttle until just before it lands and maybe not even then. Most of the telltale differences can only be seen in daylight.”

  “That might work, but what about the shuttle’s transponder? Assault shuttles have a very distinctive transponder id. Can we change that without it taking too long?” asked Stacker.

  “I believe we can, but I’ll find out for sure, Commodore.”

  “Good. While you’re doing that, have all the shuttle pilots meet me in the Flight Ready Room in five minutes. If we can’t find a volunteer, then the transponder id change is moot anyway.”

  It was actually almost fifteen minutes before Stacker and Corvosier stepped into the Ready Room. The delay was caused by arrangements to have Stacker’s briefing transmitted to the shuttle pilots in the other two cruisers at the same time. The chatter between pilots quickly died down to nothing as Stacker took up his position at the front with his hands on his hips and his feet further apart than usual. He considered it his gunslinger stance. Corvosier stood to his right and a half step back.

  “As you all know, we’re in orbit around the capital planet of what they’re calling the System States Union. What you won’t know is that I have secret orders to attempt to decapitate the leadership of the SSU if at all possible. A direct attack by missiles is out of the question because the Spartans have told us to maintain a distance of one million kilometers. However, we’ve come up with another plan, and it requires a volunteer shuttle pilot. There is some risk of physical injury, but the chances of surviving the operation are high. This is NOT a suicide mission. That said, there is a virtual certainty that whoever volunteers for this mission will be captured by the SSU and held as a prisoner until the SSU is defeated or an exchange of prisoners can be arranged, whichever comes first. Therefore I’m only going to ask for volunteers from individuals who are unattached and without dependents. If this operation succeeds, there is a chance that the whole SSU house of cards will collapse, and the pilot who volunteers will become famous for his or her daring and devotion to duty. I can’t promise a promotion as an incentive for volunteering, but I will promise to push for that promotion as hard as I can. And in case it makes a difference, the volunteer’s pay will accumulate for the duration of being a POW. I can also pretty much guarantee a medal that will impress the hell out of navy personnel and civilians alike. This briefing is being transmitted to your peers on the other two ships. Whoever volunteers first will get the nod. Any quest—“ Stacker stopped speaking when he saw a female pilot put her hand up.

  “Lieutenant Remington,” said Stacker.

  “I’ll volunteer, sir.”

  Stacker looked at Corvosier, who was smiling, and nodded back.

  “Very good, Lieutenant. Captain Corvosier will brief you on the details. The rest of you are dismissed.” Turning to Corvosier, Stacker said, “Get her ready fast, Captain. We’re running out of time.”

  Yes, sir.”

  It took almost another half hour to get everything ready. As the assault shuttle launched, Stacker looked over to Corvosier and nodded. The CO turned to the Communications Station on the Bridge and said, “Advise their Operations people that our envoy is on the way down and that we’ll be moving out to beyond the hyper-zone to minimize the risk of any unintentional provocative actions.”

  “That’s very strange,” said Janicot.

  Belloc looked up from the data tablet he was reading. “What’s strange?” he asked.

  Janicot pointed to the main display. “Their ships are gaining altitude even though we didn’t tell them to.”

  Before either man could say more, Obrist came up to them. “They said they’re moving higher because they want to minimize the risk of provocative actions.”

  “Well, that’s very considerate of them, don’t you think, Admiral?” asked Belloc.

  “I’d be happier if they would just stay where we tell them to stay, sir. How long before that shuttle lands, Captain?”

  Obrist looked over his shoulder at something and said, “Roughly 55 minutes, Admiral.”

  “Okay. Make sure that pilot gives us control when they’re ready for their final approach. If he refuses to give up control, then tell him we’ll fire on him if he doesn’t comply.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll see to it personally, sir.” Obrist left, and Janicot turned back to Belloc.

  “Fifty-five minutes will give me just enough time to get back home, change into something more official looking and get back here. Let me know if something unexpected comes up,” said Belloc.

  “Will do, Chancellor.” Belloc nodded and turned to go.

  Remember the sequence, thought Remington as the shuttle broke through the cloud cover. She could see the spaceport lights up ahead. Arm the escape pod launch system, then set the timer, then eject the pod. Not complicated if she did it in the right order. If she did it in the wrong order, then she’d be royally fucked. The timer had to be set to give her six seconds for the escape pod to accelerate far enough away to avoid damage from the blast. The armaments people on the ship had assured her that six seconds was plenty of time, but she wasn’t so sure of that after seeing the entire cargo compartment filled to the rafters with wired warheads taken off anti-ship missiles. That was a lot of explosive potential back there.

  “Aerospace Control to NS089. Switch to remote landing control on my mark. Three…two…one…mark.”

  Remington activated the option to enable the shuttle’s auto-pilot to accept commands from Sparta Aerospace Control and took her hands off the controls. The shuttle banked gently as a test of the landing system and quickly came back on course for the spaceport.

  “NS089 to AC. You have control now,” she said.

  “Control acknowledged. Sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  The voice of the ground controller was surprisingly friendly, considering the tension between their respective governments. She realized her hands were shaking. Must be from the adrenaline rush. Okay, remember the sequence. First arm the system, then the timer, then eject. Six seconds. God I hope that’s enough. What if it’s not enough? The missile pukes could be wrong about that. Maybe I should set it for eight.

  The shuttle was coming in for a gentle vertical landing now. She could see the main spaceport building clearly. There were a dozen vehicles of various types not too far away. She looked closer to try to identify which vehicle the SSU Chancellor might be in. It was still dark and the vehicles being black didn’t help.

  She felt the shuttle touch down and heard Aerospace Control say, “Aerospace Control to NS089. We are shutting down your engines. You may resume control of your vehicle. Welcome to Sparta.”

  “Thank you, AC,” was all she said. She switched the auto-pilot back to internal control and looked out the cockpit window again. Two vehicles were coming closer, and one of them definitely looked like the kind of luxury vehicle a VIP would use. The other one looked like it would carry the Chancellor’s security detail.

  Both vehicles stopped about twenty meters away, and half a dozen armed men emerged from the security vehicle. They took up their position near the limo, and when they were ready, one of them opened the limo door and a well-dressed man, whose face matched the picture that Remington was shown before leaving the ship, got out.

  That’s him! Damn! He’s not coming any closer. I guess it’s show time. Remember the sequence. She carefully armed the escape pod ejection system, and when she was sure it was ready, she reached for the detonation timer. She turned the knob until the readout said six seconds. It would start to countdown as soon as she let go of the knob. Her hand froze for several seconds as she pondered whether to leave it at six or change it. She made up her mind and changed the setting to eight seconds and let go of the knob. She immediately used her other hand to activate the ejection system.

  Janicot was watching the shuttle land on the main display, which also showed the video feed from the helmet
cameras of the six base security personnel. It only took seconds for the security people to emerge from their vehicle and line up three on either side of limo door where Belloc would get out. When Belloc emerged and waited, all six helmet cameras swung around to look at the shuttle.

  Janicot jumped in surprise when the top of the shuttle’s pilot compartment flew off with a bang, immediately followed by an object emerging from the shuttle and rapidly ascending into the air.

  Janicot activated his boom mic and yelled, “GET HIM IN THE LIMO! GET HIM IN THE LIMO FOR GODSAKES!” One of the security people turned and pushed Belloc towards the still open limo door. Janicot looked up at the main video feed showing the shuttle as seen from a camera mounted on the main spaceport building. The shuttle exploded so violently that the camera was disabled even though it was over a hundred meters away. He was about to speak again when the main display pinged and the image switched back to the tactical data showing the location of the FED cruisers. They had just gone to maximum acceleration.

  Janicot was stunned. The Chancellor might be dead or at the very least injured. Consulting him on what to do about the retreating cruisers was out of the question, but Sparta and, more importantly, the SSU had just been attacked, and Janicot, as Chief of Space Operations for the SSU Navy, had all the authority he needed to act.

  “Switch me to our boats!” yelled Janicot. When the Communications Technician had done that, he pointed at Janicot to signal that that channel was open. “CSO to 101 and 102, pursue and attack those FED cruisers! We’ll feed you tactical data as long as possible. Don’t use your onboard radar unless you have to. Out.”

  Drake electronically acknowledged the order even as he cursed under his breath. He’d seen the shuttle explosion too. As the CO of the second missile boat, he was the same rank as 101’s skipper, but in terms of seniority Drake was the junior CO. His boat was also in the least favorable position. When the alert had sounded, the three FED cruisers were in front of Drake’s 102 in terms of orbital position, but by descending to a position over the planet’s capital, the cruisers had basically circled most of the way around the planet and were now behind him. That meant that his boat was moving away from them at 111 kps. The other boat was behind the cruisers and was moving at least partially in the same direction. He could tell that the cruisers were accelerating directly away from Sparta to get out beyond the hyper-zone boundary in the least possible time. There was no way that Drake’s boat could catch up to them. Not only did they have a huge head start in terms of distance and velocity, they could also accelerate faster. That was the only advantage of not having thousands of tons of extra mass in the thin layer of matter that was collapsed down to the atomic level. His boat had that armor, and her maximum rate of acceleration suffered as a result, but his boat’s missiles could still catch the bastards. With two missile boats against three cruisers, the only chance they had of stopping even one cruiser was to co-ordinate their attacks. The other boat’s skipper had the same idea.

  “101 to 102.”

  “Go ahead, Boomer,” said Drake, using his counterpart’s call sign.

  “I’m thinking we need to co-ordinate our fire, Paladin. Do you agree?”

  Drake felt himself blush at the use of his call sign. It always sounded so pretentious.

  “Affirmative, Boomer. I guess that means I fire first, eh?”

  “And you get to pick the target too. I’ll fire at the same ship. With a little luck we might be able to pick them off one at a time with separate waves. Go ahead and fire when ready. I’ll make sure my birds arrive at the same. Just let me know which one you’re going for, okay?”

  “Okay, Boomer. Standby while I set up the first wave,” said Drake. “Weapons, have you got a firing solution yet?”

  “I’ve got it, Skipper. You should see it on your number two screen now.”

  Drake looked at the indicated screen. His Weapons Officer had selected eight high explosive warhead missiles for the first wave targeted on the cruiser that was leading the three-ship squadron. With a flight time of just over 16 minutes, the missiles would have travelled the necessary 1,843,955 kilometers to reach where the targets would be by that point. The missiles would have a velocity of 3,741 kps by then too. It looked good, and Drake touched the virtual button approving the firing plan. All eight missile tubes fired simultaneously.

  “Boomer, we’ve just launched eight HEs at the lead bogey! Have you got that?” asked Drake.

  “Got it, Paladin! Fire the next wave when ready!”

  “Set up the next two waves the same way, Manny!” said Drake to the Weapons Officer.

  “Okay, Skipper. The HEs are loading now. Watch your number two screen!”

  As soon as the screen showed the missile launch tubes loaded and ready to fire, Drake approved the firing plan. While waiting for the third wave, he noticed that Boomer’s boat had fired her own wave of eight HEs that were programmed to arrive at exactly the same time as his first wave.

  Once his third wave was on its way, he paused. His boat has just shot itself dry of HE-tipped missiles. She still had 16 missiles armed with kinetic-energy penetrator warheads. If they hit their targets, they would inflict damage but not nearly as much as a high explosive warhead, unless the KE warhead hit something vital such as a power plant or maneuvering engine by sheer luck. The Weapons Officer had gone ahead and initiated loading of KE missiles since there was no other choice, but Drake wasn’t sure if he should launch them immediately. The problem was figuring out which of the three targets to fire at. Waiting to see the impact of the first three waves wasn’t a viable option. By the time those missiles reached their targets, the bogeys would be so far away and moving so fast that any missiles his boat fired at that point would not reach them before they crossed the boundary and jumped away, assuming that they still could. Since there was no way to tell which cruisers still had jump capability, picking a target arbitrarily might turn out to be a waste if that target was already crippled by the HE missile wave. If both missile boats fired all their KE missiles, then there would be nothing stopping the FED cruisers from reversing course and attacking Sparta again. At least one boat had to hold some missiles back just to prevent that possibility.

  “Boomer. I’m down to my 16 KEs. How do you think we should allocate them?” asked Drake.

  “Standby, Paladin. I’m still firing my HEs.”

  Drake waited, aware that with each passing second, his remaining KE missiles were getting closer to becoming useless.

  “Boomer to 102. You hold your KEs back, just in case they think we’ve shot ourselves dry and turn on us. I’ll fire five KEs at each bogey and we’ll see what happens.”

  “Okay, Boomer. 102 is standing by,” said Drake. “Did you hear that, Manny?”

  “I heard, Skipper. All tubes are loaded and ready to fire if you need them.”

  Before Drake could saying anything more, he heard the CSO’s voice again, “CSO to 101 and 102. You’ll be relieved to know that Chancellor Belloc was not killed in the shuttle explosion. He’s injured but not seriously. I’ve been listening in on your tactical chatter. I approve your strategy to hold some missiles in reserve. You’ve done all that you could do. 101, return to base to reload as soon as you’re down to your last missile. 102 will remain on High Guard until relieved. Any questions?”

  “No, sir,” said Boomer.

  Before Drake could answer, his tactical display pinged for attention.

  “THEY’VE FIRED BACK!” yelled Boomer.

  Yes, thought Drake, and they’ve fired back at you, Boomer. A new icon containing the number 30 was accelerating away from the cruisers and towards Boomer’s missile boat. Boomer’s neutron armor was about to get a major test.

  Drake realized that he was holding his breath and let it out. Because of the distances involved, there was still roughly nine minutes to go before his first wave reached its target. He adjusted the scale on the Bridge’s main display. The enemy’s missile volley was accelerating hard, but it was stil
l moving backwards due to the momentum those missiles started with. Another icon appeared on the display. Boomer had just fired the first five KE missiles. Twenty seconds later there appeared a second group of five, and twenty seconds after that the third and final volley appeared. There were now nine clusters of missiles clawing their way up to their projected interception points and one cluster of 30 missiles that were just about finished slowing their backward velocity to zero and could now start to actually move closer to THEIR target.

  Those nine minutes seemed to take forever. As the countdown timer reached zero, two of the three enemy icons flashed red, indicating hits, and they began to fall behind as the third icon continued to accelerate away.

  “What the hell just happened?” said Drake to no one in particular. His and Boomer’s first volley were supposed to target the leading cruiser. Instead, his volley hit one of the other two, and Boomer’s volley had hit the third one. “Comp, evaluate results of first volley of missiles. Why didn’t our missiles hit the lead target?”