The strike had landed one hundred and twenty meters from the coordinates requested by Defense Force Command. DFC transmitted a report on the success and a list of new targets to Vegetius and her sisters.
Sulu Station, centrifugal acceleration 10 m/s2
The security officer collected the signed forms and left. The heavy door squeezed shut slowly behind her.
Mitchie leaned against the table. The six analog ship captains and their XOs faced her. They clearly wondered if her pitch would justify the execution threats and written and verbal security pledges they’d been through. She wasn’t worried about that.
Captain Moeloek of the Barito was an old acquaintance. The rest of the captains she’d met when recruiting for this mission. The XOs were all military officers seconded as support, brand new to her and their captains.
“Through some odd luck we acquired a Fusion superweapon,” Mitchie began. “It can destroy the memory of any computer we or the Fusion use. So it’s like weaponizing a plague. Before you can infect the enemy you might catch it yourself.”
AS Camel’s Captain Ingram broke in. “But our ships don’t have computers.”
“Exactly. So we can be Typhoid Marys, spreading death to the Fusion Navy. Those of you willing to deploy will carry transmitters into battle. When the Disker ships draw the Navy into the right position we release the infoweapon. If all goes well, all that will be left to do is collecting prisoners before they run out of air.”
“What happens if this stuff gets to a planet?” asked another captain.
“Nothing good,” answered Mitchie. “I’ll be showing you a detailed briefing on that. The short answer is that it’ll destroy the economy and infrastructure. Then the people get to choose between dying of thirst or starvation.”
Her audience had no comment on that.
Mitchie put a looping animation on the room’s display wall. Joshua Chamberlain’s cargo bay doors opened. An antenna dish unfolded out to become wider than the doors. The ship turned to the right. Then the loop reset.
“The local shipyard is making antenna systems with read-only memory. We will test how they work in vacuum. Once they’re working right we’ll practice deploying them and coordinating our coverage to make sure we’ve transmitted the infoweapon to the entire volume occupied by Fusion forces.”
She switched to a different animation. “We’ll also practice deploying decoys, jammers, and countermissiles in case the Fuzies object to our presence.”
One captain raised a hand. Mitchie nodded at her. “Yes, Captain Wang?”
“You said ‘willing to deploy.’ Why? We’ve all volunteered for this job.”
Mitchie turned off the display. “You’ve volunteered for a mission. Most of you probably expected it to be cargo delivery or smuggling.” Nods. “Not sitting in the middle of a fleet engagement as the missiles fly back and forth. You also need your crews to volunteer. Twice.”
Captain Ingram said, “You don’t think the threat of execution is enough to motivate them?”
“Execution is only for blabbing the existence of the infoweapon or our battle plan. If anyone wants to sit out the whole thing there’s a boring but comfy asteroid ready to accommodate you for a few months.”
“That sounds worse than a day of combat,” said Captain Wang.
Mitchie let that go. She waited while the captains traded comments on how to sell the mission to their crews. When that died down she started the display again. “Here’s the best info we have on what the infoweapon actually does.”
On the display wall Pete Smith began to explain.
***
Being back on the station was a relief after a week of drilling on antenna deployments and coordinated beam sweeping. The captain’s call included all combat ship commanders and the staffs of squadrons and above. Mitchie had passed along Admiral Chu’s warning that this was not the real plan, it was the cover story. “Yes, you still need to go,” she’d told her captains. “You have to do your part to keep the cover story solid.”
Even for this limited audience there was no auditorium that could hold them. They’d wound up in a standing room only gymnasium. The ‘combat resupply auxiliary squadron’ went in the back row. Mitchie studied the shoulder blades of the officers in front of her. Hopefully the visuals wouldn’t be important.
Admiral Galen opened with a pep talk. “Once these new ships are all in commission we will resume the offensive, and God willing, hold it until the war is over.” He introduced Commodore Blucher, the fleet operations director.
“The first phase of our offensive has already begun,” said Blucher. “The fire support missions to Bonaventure have started attacking the orbital defenses the Fusion has put in place. This is a feint. We will not engage them near the fixed defenses.”
Captain Ingram leaned down between Mitchie and Captain Wang. “He just put up a system map of Bonaventure.”
Blucher continued, “Our forces will jump in simultaneously from Shishi, Fuego, and Neveah. They will combine at the Lapis gate. Interdicting the arrival volume will cut the Fusion occupation forces off from their supplies. Intelligence predicts this will force the Navy to leave Bonaventure and meet us on our preferred terms.”
Sure, blame us if the plan doesn’t work, thought Mitchie.
“If they refuse to meet our challenge we will increase the pressure on them.” Blucher paused.
Ingram whispered, “Now it’s a multi-system map. Fuego to Coatlicue.”
“Our force will divide into five flotillas,” said Blucher. “One will remain on interdiction duty. The others will jump into Lapis. Second Flotilla will attack the system’s infrastructure—shipyards, power generation, mining, whatever will reduce their ability to support the Navy.”
Shocked mutters sounded among the warship commanders. Mitchie couldn’t blame them. Striking civilian targets would be a major escalation.
“The other flotillas will jump to Danu, Corcyra, and Yalu to make similar attacks. After hitting their primary targets they will return to Lapis and reform the fleet for operations against the Fusion Navy. We expect the multisystem countervalue strikes to force them into leaving Bonaventure and confronting our forces.”
Or they’ll retaliate by smashing hell out of our planets while the fleet’s too far away to protect us, thought Mitchie. A lot of low whispers were going around the room. She suspected they were sharing similar thoughts.
Blucher began the detailed explanation of the plan. The order of squadrons through each jumpgate and waypoints from each one to the Lapis gate fell through Mitchie’s ears without touching her memory. Her squadron would be traveling independently.
I can’t believe they’re briefing this so early, she thought. Even if no one in here is a Fusion agent it’s going to leak.
Blucher droned on about logistical details.
Oh, of course. We’re leaking this to terrify the Fusion into coming out for a fleet engagement. That way they’ll make a nice tight target for the infoweapon. She visualized a Navy formation going dark as its computers died. That better work. If it doesn’t we’re stuck with this as our fallback.
Bonaventure System, acceleration 10 m/s2
“Aran to Macy. Hosea. Repeat Hosea,” crackled the speaker.
Hiroshi picked up his mike. “Juniper,” he said to acknowledge the message. He looked at the codebook lying open on his console and reported to Mitchie, “Flotilla reports our ships all on course and schedule.”
“Thanks,” she answered. Mitchie had become ‘squadron commander’ by being the only analog ship captain with a regular commission. The others had been made reserve lieutenants to put them under the DCC regulations. Their crews chose to collect hazard pay as civilian contractors.
Her command was in name only for now. The squadron had been scattered among the three flotillas. She couldn’t even pick out AS Barito among the plumes of the flotilla’s warships. The communication security rules for the operation kept her from trying to contact her subordinates over anal
og radio. I’m just glad the Commodore is keeping me posted.
Working double shifts on the bridge went slowly. Mitchie staggered them so she had eight hours each with Hiroshi and Mthembu. That was still long enough to get tired of each one’s quirks.
Hiroshi’s current obsession was fretting over whether the Fusion would take their bait. He checked Bonaventure with the telescope three or four times an hour. Mitchie preferred it to Mthembu’s prayers for God to force the Navy out of their fortress.
“Oh, yes! Come out to play!” Hiroshi’s shout yanked Mitchie out of her brooding. He still had the telescope pressed to his eye.
Mitchie turned to look at Bonaventure. They’d been on this course long enough for her to memorize the pale white dot’s location against the local constellations. Now it was a bright blue dot. “Damn,” she said. “That must be their whole fleet.”
“Looks like. Take a look.” He passed her the telescope.
Mitchie twisted the focus—his eyes were better than hers—and aimed it at the planet. Bonaventure was cloud-covered with bits of blue or green peeking through the gaps. Now she couldn’t see it at all. Blue torchship plumes made a hexagonal array wide as the orbit of Bonaventure’s moon. More appeared on the edges as she watched, lighter warships catching up with the formation. Flickers in the gaps hinted at a second formation following at a safe distance.
She lowered the telescope. “Yep. If they’re sending that much it only makes sense to send the rest as well. Probably just leaving a security element behind.”
“Could you tell where they’re headed?”
Mitchie chuckled. “Not by eye. We’ll need a longer baseline to figure it out with our instruments.”
“Think they’ll try to beat us to the Lapis gate?”
Mitchie almost sighed at his naiveté, but remembered teaching him strategy was part of her job. “No. I expect they’re going to attack one of the flotillas before it can join up with the other two. That’s their best shot at weakening us for the main battle. Their whole fleet against just a third of ours.”
“So why’d we come in separated?”
“Putting this many ships through a single gate would take so long the Fuzies would engage before we all jumped in. Plus dividing up like this made it more tempting for them to come out like we want them to.”
“So we’re trying to bait them into the trap?”
“Yes.”
Hiroshi thought a moment. “Isn’t that rough on whoever’s the bait?”
“That’s war,” said Mitchie.
The next code words from the commodore translated as “Double acceleration,” “Maintain course,” and “Operate independently.” Mitchie was on watch with Mthembu.
“Shall I increase thrust, ma’am?” he asked.
“Not yet. We’ll wait until everyone else is done maneuvering. Don’t want to catch someone’s plume.” Mitchie watched as the flotilla’s warships pivoted fifty degrees and increased thrust. “Looks like they’re pulling forty gravs. That’s going to stress the crews. Someone might not notice an auxiliary speeding up.”
“Yes’m.”
Once they were clear of the flotilla Mitchie made a warning on the PA and Mthembu put them on the new vector. Hitting their rendezvous point with the higher acceleration required a course change—less than a degree. Without the flotilla to check their course Mitchie began hourly position sights.
In between sights she watched the fleets. The Fusion Navy aimed at the Neveah flotilla. All three Disker flotillas were burning at forty gravs to meet up. The Fuzies weren’t willing to abuse their crews that much. They were only pulling twenty gravs.
Mitchie covered sheets of butcher paper with guesses on the fleet’s plan. She remembered how she’d felt after a day at thirty gravs. The warship crews had medications for dealing with it but two days at forty was going to hurt them. Concentrating the fleet wouldn’t let them win if the enemy spacers were all thinking better.
Half a day at five gravs might be enough for them to recover. Especially with some top of the line stimulants to clear their heads. Mitchie ran the numbers. They could do that, but the flotillas would be too separated for common defense. They would all be in missile range of the enemy. Would that be enough to win? Or at least to survive?
She cursed under her breath. Wish I’d gone to the Tactical Command School. Would be nice to have a clue about this stuff. She studied her sketch of the system some more. How are they going to drag the Fuzies over to the Lapis gate? Even if we can win it we don’t want a straight slugging match.
When Bonaventure’s sun blocked their view of the imminent engagement Mitchie fretted even more. She kept a calm façade up in front of her bridge crew. When she went off shift she took Guo to their cabin and ranted at length.
“Sounds like you should have been briefed on the fleet contingency plans,” said Guo.
“Oh, Hell, no. I don’t have need to know for that.”
“Do you have any information Admiral Galen doesn’t?”
“No.”
“Do you have everything you need for your piece of the plan?”
“Yes,” snapped Mitchie. “Fine, I’m supposed to be in the dark. I just hate not knowing what’s going on.”
“That’s because you spend all your time on the bridge,” said Guo. “Pull some shifts in the windowless converter room and you’ll get used to having no idea of what’s happening.”
She laughed. “I’ve done shifts in there.” The twelve hour shifts guarding the converter from a potential break-in by their passengers were when they’d fallen in love. The memory lightened her heart.
Guo smiled at her, glad to see her mood improved. “Let’s relax you some more.” He rolled Mitchie onto her belly and started massaging her back. The shoulders needed extra work.
Eventually he worked his way to the base of her spine. “Now what should we do next?” he teased. Her stomach rumbled. “Okay, let’s feed you.”
***
Joshua Chamberlain was decelerating by the time they cleared the sun. A query to their commodore brought back the “Maintain course” code word. The bridge crew took turns studying the ragged formations of blue plumes.
“I think they’ve crossed over each other,” said Hiroshi. “Neveah flotilla is closest to us now.”
“Makes sense,” said Mitchie. “They had a lot of side velocity coming in to the meet.”
“They’ve lost a bunch of ships. Neveah’s about three quarters the size of the other two flotillas. There’s so damn many Fuzies I can’t tell if they lost any or not.”
“I’m sure they did. They were chasing, so their accel increased the closure with incoming missiles. Ours are running away so it’s harder for missiles to catch them.”
“Oh, so the Fuzies are burning slow so they’re less likely to get hit,” said Hiroshi.
“Yep. The hard part will be convincing them to keep coming.”
A day out from their destination Mitchie spotted the other five ships of her squadron. Six hours of tracking them reassured her that every ship would reach its exact rendezvous point. Defining “exact” as “less than fifty thousand klicks off.”
When Joshua Chamberlain and her sisters stopped thrusting they formed a line between the sun and the Lapis gate. Bonaventure orbited safely on the far side of the sun. If they had to wait more than a week to use the infoweapon they’d have to move to new positions to keep the planet obscured.
Mitchie transmitted “Barley” to the squadron ordering status reports. Everyone replied “Quartz.” She shifted her attention to the clashing fleets. The Fusion force was at least two days away from their kill zone. She decided to sit tight.
Bonaventure System, acceleration 0 m/s2
A day later the fleets were moving even slower. The Disconnect flotillas had combined into a single formation. As their relative velocity decreased the Fuzies threw more missiles, flocks of them visible in the telescope until counter-missiles turned them into splashes of light. The crew had nothing
to do but watch.
“I could make some popcorn,” offered Hiroshi.
Mitchie snorted. “In free-fall? You’d be cleaning it up forever.”
“Enough butter would make it sticky enough to behave.”
“Ew. That’s too much butter. And you’d still make a mess of the galley.”
He paused to think. “There’s some pudding in the fridge.”
“Feel free.”
The frequency scanner had been shimmering along its length as encrypted transmissions coordinated the fleets. Now it spiked in multiple bands.
“Something’s happening,” said Hiroshi. He grabbed the telescope.
Mitchie shoved off her couch to the comm console. She scanned through the bands, searching for any analog voice transmissions.
“The Disker formation is breaking up. A bunch of ships are pulling out at high thrust. Oh, God! The others just fired some missiles at the ones retreating.”
Mitchie thumbed the PA button. “General quarters. All hands to your duty stations. General quarters!”
“The missiles blew clear of them. Warning shots maybe? What’s going on?”
She’d switched back to the scanner. Hiroshi’s questions went unanswered.
Mthembu popped through the hatch holding half a banana. He’d been due to relieve the decurion in less than half an hour. “What’s going on?”
“It’s a mutiny!” said Hiroshi.
“Let’s have facts, not guesses,” said Mitchie. She finally found a broadcast she could understand.
The speaker’s voice had a strong Shishi accent. “—than we can bear! You’ve wasted our courage by using our ships to shield yours. The flower of our world sacrificed to protect the plutocrat’s investment. No more! The Imperial Legion is going home. Our blood will be shed to protect our people!”
A Bonaventure voice replaced him. “Shut your excuses, you scared shirking skulking sneaks. You’re just cowards. When the rest of us die fighting you’ll have your excuse to surrender!”
Mitchie turned the volume down as they continued trading abuse.
Torchship Pilot Page 26