While it was certainly true that the Damarans had done their share of damage at home, it was instead their unique combination of arrogant pride mixed with equal parts ambition and a natural, instinctive fear that had led them inexorably to this moment. For it seemed that they had always been afraid — and on such a fundamental level that their fear might accurately be described as a trait that was hard-coded into their DNA makeup. In fact, their biological lineage could be traced to a group of migratory herbivores that perhaps would never have evolved to such a high degree on a world where natural predators had been more plentiful.
All of these factors, combined with an exaggerated perception of an existential threat and the desire to increase their power and influence in the region, had prompted the Damarans to make a series of tragic errors in judgment. In concert with their long-time allies and co-conspirators, the Lesheerans, they had crafted a complex strategy by which they would take control of the seven-world Sajeth Collective alliance. Conveniently, the basis of their plan had been rooted in fact. The mighty Pelaran Alliance was expanding its power base in this part of the galaxy, attempting to co-opt a race of relatively primitive, ape-like creatures to use as military surrogates. These primitives — the Damarans refused to acknowledge the species by name, perhaps in an effort to assuage their collective conscience for the genocidal act they had planned — were expected to make for a relatively “soft target” for the Sajeth Collective Fleet. Once the Pelarans’ latest proxy species was destroyed, it was believed that their progress in the region would be halted — at least for the foreseeable future.
In order to accomplish their military objectives, the Damarans had staged what amounted to a coup within the Sajeth Collective military. Since the bulk of the Collective’s warships were built and crewed by Wek personnel, a cleverly crafted campaign of disinformation and jingoistic propaganda was put into motion with the goal of targeting them on a specific, emotional level. As a result — and within a relatively short period of time — a large number of the proud Wek race had become convinced that the Pelaran Alliance not only posed an immediate threat, but had also killed a much beloved member of what had once been one of their world’s dynastic families. Most of this was, of course, either an outright lie or a gross exaggeration of the facts, but, as is so often the case, bad news sells, and is generally much easier to believe than “the truth” in any event. Accordingly, less than a month after the campaign began, the demand for action within the Collective’s Governing Council had reached such a fever pitch that several influential representatives had formed a group called the “Pelaran Resistance.”
Up to this point, the Damarans and Lesheerans had been delighted to see that the results of their efforts were far exceeding even their most optimistic expectations. Even sooner than they had hoped, fractured loyalties within the Governing Council as well as the Sajeth Collective fleet were rapidly stripping the loathsome (but nonetheless useful) Wek civilization of much of its former influence. Once the military expedition to Terra had been successfully completed, it was clear that they would finally be able to relegate the planet Graca to little more than a virtually limitless source of resources for themselves and their Lesheeran allies.
Unfortunately for the Damarans and the Lesheerans, however, the military expedition to Terra had not gone as planned.
Now, as the planet’s terminator raced across the face of its largest continent at just over fourteen hundred kilometers per hour, a new day dawned for its nearly two billion inhabitants. It was a day that, with the exception of the recent reduction in Sajeth Collective military activity in the area, seemed rather unremarkable — but it was not to remain so.
At a distance of just over three hundred thousand kilometers from the planet, a large volume of space seemed to distort convulsively — the starfield blurring, then disappearing entirely for a split second — followed immediately by ten flashes of grayish-white light. The primitive, ape-like creatures from Terra had crossed the vast distance between the stars to arrive at Damara.
TFS Theseus, Damara
(489.3 light years from Earth)
“Transition complete, Captain,” Lieutenant Dubashi reported. “Range to Damara, three one seven thousand kilometers. All systems in the green. The ship is at General Quarters for combat ops and ready to C-Jump. C-Jump range 39.4 light years and increasing. Sublight engines are online, we are free to maneuver.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Prescott replied in his usual, steady tone while simultaneously checking the AI-reported status of the nine other warships comprising his task force via his own Command console.
“No major combatants detected, Captain,” Lieutenant Commander Schmidt announced from Tactical 1. “I’ve got four vessels the AI is categorizing as patrol corvettes that are in a favorable position to intercept us if they choose. Otherwise, we’re receiving all kinds of sensor emissions, as expected. They definitely know we’re here, sir.”
“Threat assessment?”
“Evaluated as minimal at this time, sir, but if they decide to fight, we will be within their projected maximum beam weapons range in zero three minutes.”
“Understood. Keep an eye on them, Schmidt.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Flag to all ships,” Prescott announced, his voice immediately routed to every bridge in the task force, “execute the deployment as planned. Prepare for incoming ordnance from both the surface and the approaching patrol vessels. Weapons hold. Launch operations hold.”
After two weeks’ worth of exercises preparing for what amounted to a naval blockade mission, Captain Tom Prescott (technically now Rear Admiral (Select) Tom Prescott) was finally growing accustomed to referring to his ship as “the Flag.” The announcement of his impending promotion had not been unexpected, given the events that had transpired over the previous year. Although Terran Fleet Command had thus far gone out of its way to avoid becoming top-heavy with high ranking officers — particularly during the period when there had been no operational ships — the organization now found itself in desperate need of officers to place in command of squadrons deployed on detached service for extended periods.
The composition of the original fleet had been capped by international agreement at sixty warships, nearly half of which were to be comprised of Ingenuity-class frigates whose primary mission was originally envisioned as one of exploration. In addition, the “terms and conditions” documentation provided by the Pelarans had dictated that the initial production run must also include a total of thirty-three major combatants consisting of eighteen destroyers, twelve cruisers, and three carriers. Even though each of the warships had been fitted out with technology that was dramatically more advanced than what the Pelarans had initially specified, TFC’s fleet was still primarily seen as a defensive force. The plan had been to send most of the frigates out on extended-range missions of scientific inquiry while the larger combatants would remain in the general vicinity of Earth (and, eventually, her colonies).
All of this had changed with the Resistance incursion into the Sol system, particularly since their attack had included an attempt to completely annihilate Human civilization just a few short months after its first interstellar flight. Six destroyers and two cruisers had been lost to engagements with the Resistance task force, and in the immediate aftermath of the attack, TFC’s Leadership Council had authorized construction to begin on their replacements. This was in addition to a “hull cap” increase to a total of one hundred warships. Repairs and upgrades to existing vessels had, of course, been the first priority for Fleet’s three primary shipyards, but with much of that work completed, a total of thirty additional ships were now in production.
Throughout Human history, naval strategists had realized that their forces could indeed be used for defensive purposes, but accomplishing that mission required the will to utilize those forces for the projection of military power — often far from home and over extended periods of time. Interstellar naval forces, it turned out, were little diff
erent in this regard. To their credit, TFC’s leadership recognized not only the need for additional ships, but also the immediate need to advance officers possessed of singular talent and integrity to lead those forces. Accordingly, Admiral Sexton had recently published a list of ten promotions to rear admiral (lower half). No one had been surprised to see Captains Prescott and Abrams on the list of those chosen to fly the flag of a one-star admiral.
For now, however, until the list of promotions was approved and finalized by the Leadership Council, the designation of TFS Theseus as the task force flagship was more a matter of professional courtesy and practical operational necessity than one of actual rank. Prescott was indeed in overall command of his small task force, but he remained a mere captain for the time being. And although he was afforded the lofty honor of electronically hoisting his broad, one-starred pennant, he was not afforded the luxury of being assigned a “flag captain” to take over the day to day operations of commanding his own ship. Fortunately, however, he still had Commander Sally Reynolds as his second-in-command, and he would have chosen her to run his ship over any other officer in the fleet that he could name.
“Sir, we are being hailed,” Dubashi reported from the Comm/Nav console.
“One of the corvettes?”
“The transmission is currently being relayed by the lead vessel, but originates on the surface. The source identifies itself as the Damaran Headquarters of the Sajeth Collective Fleet. It’s textual only, sir, and I don’t think they are looking for a response.”
“Oh boy, here we go,” Reynolds grumbled to herself without looking up from her own Command console.
“I’m not sure I’m following you, Lieutenant. Read the message aloud, please.”
“Aye, sir. The message reads as follows: ‘Terran vessels, Terran vessels, you have been designated as enemy combatants and, as such, are subject to immediate attack. Discontinue your approach towards Damara and depart the area immediately, or you will be destroyed. Replies will not be acknowledged and this warning will not be repeated.’”
Without comment, Prescott glanced back down at his touchscreen and was gratified to see that all nine warships in his task force had acknowledged his orders. A quick check of the tactical plot on the starboard view screen confirmed that each had smartly executed their pre-arranged course corrections and were making their way to their assigned duty stations. This included TFS Industrious, which had executed a C-Jump to place it in a position to allow for full sensor coverage of the opposite side of Damara. In less than three minutes, the remaining ships in his formation would be in a position to provide optimal support for one another in terms of defensive fire and, if necessary, to unleash a devastating railgun, energy weapon, or missile attack against any location on the planet’s surface.
“They don’t have to reply, but they’re most definitely listening. Open a channel please — same frequency, but go ahead and send translated audio, video, and text.”
“Yes, sir,” Dubashi replied, rapidly entering the required series of commands before turning to face Prescott once again. “Ready when you are, Captain.”
Prescott mentally ran back through some of the intelligence he had read regarding the Damaran culture and decided that standing might imply a position of authority or even dominance — exactly what he was going for in this case.
Fleet had recently made the decision to allow the crews of all starships to wear the same flame- and projectile-resistant flight suits already used by TFC pilots. Although perhaps a bit less traditional than the standard “utility” uniforms originally used for the purpose, Prescott had to admit that the solid black “bags” did have something of an intimidating air about them. So much the better, he thought, tugging briefly at his and taking a deep breath as he drew himself up to his full height to address one of Humanity’s first interstellar enemies.
After a quick nod to Lieutenant Dubashi, Prescott paused momentarily until she acknowledged that the channel was open, then began speaking in a clear, emotionless tone. “Damaran representative transmitting on this channel, this is Captain Tom Prescott of the starship TFS Theseus, here on behalf of Terran Fleet Command. My task force has been sent here in response to your world’s unprovoked attack on our forces located in the Sol system and the attempted genocide of our species. My orders are to impose a temporary naval blockade, restricting all flights to and from Damara until such time that representatives from our two worlds can work out a mutually acceptable diplomatic resolution to the current crisis. We have no wish to cause further bloodshed or damage to your planet, but we will not hesitate to respond to any further aggression on your part, as required. We understand that a full diplomatic response from your world may take some time. We ask that you please respond that you have received this message and intend to comp —”
“Missile launch!” Lieutenant Korwin Lau reported from the Tactical 1 console. “All four corvettes are launching missiles. Stand by … missile launches also detected from the planet’s surface. Tracking a total of six-three inbound so far, Captain, and increasing rapidly.”
“Time to impact for the nearest grouping?”
“Seven three seconds, sir.”
“Understood. Lieutenant Commander Schmidt, please coordinate a point-defense weapons barrage across all nine ships. Instruct the AI to avoid planetary impacts from the railguns’ fragmentary rounds. Dubashi, signal Industrious to jump clear if they have any incoming ordnance, but maintain sensor coverage of the far side of the planet, if possible.”
“Aye, sir,” both officers responded in unison.
“Countermeasures launching,” Schmidt continued, “railguns and beam weapons engaging inbound targets in point-defense mode.”
Outside, a total of fifty-five decoys designed to duplicate the emissions characteristics of Fleet warships streaked away from the task force in every direction while nearly two hundred fully articulated railgun turrets swiveled in the direction of the incoming missiles and opened fire. As the first of the railgun projectiles reached a pre-defined distance from the task force, small explosive charges within each individual round detonated, immediately creating a dispersed pattern of fragments that filled the intervening space in the direction of the approaching threat with continuous waves of destruction. Compared to the task force’s beam weapons, the kinetic energy projectiles traveled at the relatively slow velocity of ten percent the speed of light. At this range, however, flight time from railgun muzzle to the first wave of Damaran anti-ship missiles was still less than ten seconds.
“Multiple impacts detected, Captain,” Schmidt reported. “Seven missiles destroyed thus far. Now a total of one two seven hostile missiles in flight. They appear to have stopped firing for the moment.”
“They probably figure they’ve fired enough to gauge their effectiveness. Just to be absolutely clear, I want zero impacts on the planet’s surface from our point-defense weapons, but I also don’t want to endanger our ships in the process. If the AI projects that we can’t take down all of the incoming missiles without hitting Damara, I need to know about it immediately. My preference is to hold this position and take down every last missile if we can do so without endangering the planet.”
“Understood, sir, but I can already tell you that it’s unlikely we can get them all without some danger of hitting the surface,” Schmidt replied.
“It’s just the fragmentary submunitions, right?” Reynolds asked. “They’re only about a kilogram each. Surely the planet’s atmosphere would either burn them up or at least slow them down enough to avoid any major damage.”
“No, ma’am. Well, I should say that we don’t know for sure. We’ve never conducted a relativistic weapons bombardment of a planetary body, but the computer models indicate that more than half of the original mass will still impact the surface at around half of its original velocity. That means each individual fragment could carry as much as fifty-six terajoules of energy — roughly equivalent to a thirteen-kiloton explosion.”
“I
see,” Reynolds replied. “And with potentially tens of thousands of those —”
“Yes, ma’am, it would pretty much sterilize the area of impact, which could span thousands of square kilometers. One six missiles destroyed,” Schmidt said, immediately resuming his updates of the ongoing point-defense weapons barrage. “Revised time to impact, four seven seconds.”
“Helm, please confirm we have a coordinated emergency C-Jump plotted for the entire task force.”
“Confirmed, sir. All ships prepared for a ten-light-second C-Jump on our command,” Ensign Blake Fisher reported from the Helm console.
“Very well. Stand by to execute on my mark.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Well, I have to say that I honestly did not expect this reaction from the Damarans,” Reynolds said after a brief period of silence. “You have to assume that they have detailed intelligence regarding what happened to the Resistance task force by now.”
Terran Fleet Command Saga 4: TFS Fugitive Page 5