The Battle of Sauron

by John F. Carr

  The Canada’s torpedo detonated inside the Fomoria’s Field. Much of the energy was still absorbed by the backside of the screen, but the rest pouring into her hull, vaporizing plates of reflective armor, exposing the true outer hull and in places even burning through that. Superheated air and coolants burst within the Fomoria’s skin, rattling the heavy cruiser with a sound like bad plumbing in winter.

  “Chinthes slowing; holding positions aft and negative. They’re firing, First Rank.”

  “Assess and report,” he ordered. “Torpedo damage status?”

  “Combat efficiency unimpaired.”

  “Strela at two kilometers positive, First Rank. Opening fire with lasers; locking torpedoes. Canada closing, firing again.”

  “Chinthe assessment, First Rank.”

  “Speak.”

  “Main laser batteries in the hundred-gigawatt range, tens-kiloton thermonuclears in torpedoes, but light salvo indicated small load same.”

  Diettinger was glad he’d killed one early; the Chinthes were armed with the firepower of a light cruiser. The Fomoria now had enemy ships pouring fire into her Field from five of her six aspects, leaving only one free for shifting power into areas of the Field that might require it. The trap was obvious. “Aft and ventral batteries, engage destroyers and continue firing until destroyed. Dorsal batteries, engage the Strela. Weapons.”

  “Weapons ready.”

  “Mixed ordnance, heavy salvo, on the Canada.”

  Mixed ordnance was the proverbial kitchen sink. The Canada would receive fusion torpedoes, particle beams, visible lasers and X-ray cluster bursts in an attempt to burn through her Field and roll back her point defense systems. Weapons’ fingers flew over the keypad in response to First Rank’s commands almost as fast as they were given; this was, after all, what he’d been born to do.

  “Engineering, six-Gs in one minute. Deathmaster Quilland.”

  “Quilland here.”

  “Have your Marines standby.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  VI

  “Sir, Chinthes report their Field’s going into the green.”

  “Tell them to hold on for a few more seconds. Signal Königsberg to engage; she’s to take up our position as soon as we’ve cleared and unload on the Sauron ship with everything she’s got. Gunnery, prep starboard batteries for enhanced charge and standby.”

  Adderly watched the hologram; if they could keep up this punishment to the Sauron’s shields, and not lose another ship, this might work. The Sauron should soon have to shunt power from the starboard, non-engaged sector of his Field to those being bombarded and, hopefully, weakened.

  Then, if he knew Saunders, the rabid Scotsman would be in their position almost before they left, allowing Adderly to bring Canada across the Sauron’s bow and hit the enemy’s thinned starboard Field sector with the battlecruiser’s full broadside. He wouldn’t get a Field collapse out of it, but there might be a few burn-throughs, and that could provide him with the edge he needed.

  “Königsberg at two hundred thousand kilometers and closing, sir.”

  “Speed?”

  “Speed of…this can’t be right—uh, he’s coming like a bat outta hell, Cap’n!”

  Adderly grinned. Good old Colin.

  “Helm, execute. Gunnery, standby.”

  “Thirty degrees, five-Gs emergency, aye.”

  “Gunnery standing by.” The Gunnery officer’s last word was wrenched out of his lips as the Canada’s main and maneuvering engines roared into life at five gravities’ thrust.

  Chapter Three

  I

  “Engaged Field sectors moving into orange, First Rank.”

  Diettinger had activated the overhead viewscreen and was watching the Strela in its positive aspect rain its lasers into them. “Enemy status?”

  “Chinthe shields moving into violet. Canada and Strela shields moving into the green.”

  “Weapons, fire mixed salvo on the Canada. Engineering, accelerate to six-Gs. Marines, launch pods.”

  Fomoria and Canada leaped toward one another at a forty-five degree angle. Fomoria’s mixed salvo savaged the Imperial battlecruiser’s starboard side, piercing her Field with a dozen burn-throughs. Canada’s starboard batteries, overcharged for Adderly’s planned enhanced broadside, blew out over half their capacitors, destroying the weapons and turning the surface of the Imperial battlecruiser into ragged foil.

  On the heels of the mixed salvo, Fomoria disgorged dozens of pods and hundreds of chaff dispensers. The pods were torpedoes, their payloads removed and modified with internal maneuvering controls, and each carried one of Diettinger’s handpicked Extra Vehicular Activity Marines.

  A quarter of the pods sped past the Canada, effectively out of the battle until they could be retrieved or turned around. Perhaps half a dozen were hit by point defense, despite the chaff, or caught in the ragged salvo the wounded battlecruiser managed to generate from her ruined batteries, a volume of fire that vaporized chaff and pods alike. The rest pierced the Canada’s burned-through, pockmarked Langston Field, losing some kinetic energy to the Field’s effect, but not enough to keep them from intercepting the hull. The pods maneuvered into position and disgorged the bulk of the Marines in battle armor, who regrouped on the hull and began planting breach charges.

  The Canada’s own salvo was much reduced, but still effective. Fomoria’s acceleration carried her out from between the combined beams and missiles of the Strela and the two Chinthes, and directly into the path of the oncoming Königsberg. Saunders had everything the light cruiser could bring to bear firing on the Sauron, with the Field shifting to meet it.

  Canada’s broadside burned through the Fomoria’s weakened starboard Field sector at three points, disabling two batteries and breaching the hull at the hangar door.

  “Proximity alert.”

  The Königsberg and the Fomoria closed at a combined speed approaching thirty kilometers per second, respectable even at the distances normal in space battles.

  “Roll starboard 18, negative five hundred meters. Ventral and port batteries maintain fire, fire for effect.”

  Diettinger’s orders made little sense to anyone until the moment the Königsberg and the Fomoria passed each other. Narrowly avoiding collision, Diettinger’s maneuver had kept the distance between the ships to less than four hundred meters, putting them inside one another’s Langston Field.

  The ventral and port batteries of the rolling Fomoria were firing blindly, but it was impossible for them all to miss. The Fomoria’s lasers, with no Field to stop them, raked across the belly and port-low aspects of the Königsberg, opening her to space like a gutted fish. As if to add insult to injury, the two ships’ intersected Fields merged into one, a phenomenon their creator Langston had called “bobbling,” combining as they passed, distributing the stored energy in the Fomoria’s Field evenly between the two. The Fomoria’s screens dropped from yellow back to dull red; all of Adderly’s work from the beginning of the battle was lost.

  II

  Adderly, however, was too busy to notice.

  “Damage Control! Helm, hard about, come to 170, slow to one-G.” Adderly was coughing as the air filled with smoke. He tried to pick out details on the bridge. The battle hologram stood out brighter than ever in the haze, but now he could no longer see the crew around it.

  “Helm, acknowledge, damn-it! I know you’re not dead, I can hear you bleeding.”

  “Hard about 170, aye,” the helmsman hacked out a reply. “Slowing to one-G.”

  “Damage report.”

  “Starboard batteries out, sir. Field intact, but…” He fell silent for a moment. “Captain, I’m getting weird signals on my board, looks like multiple hull breaches.”

  “What?” Adderly directed his acceleration couch to the Damage Control Officer’s station. “What’s the location?”

  The DCO shook his head. “Everywhere, sir. Mostly toward the rear of the ship, but spread out in pockets—there goes another one!”


  “They must have gotten something inside the Field, but what would do—”

  He suddenly recalled Diettinger’s file: ‘The product of a race of soldiers and a man who had never yet lost a naval engagement. An innovator.’ To Adderly those two facts meant Diettinger’s success stemmed from chances he took that the regular Sauron High Command would never have considered.

  “I will be dipped in shit,” Adderly whispered. “Helm! Emergency stop, all engines reverse full.”

  “Reverse full, aye, emergency stop.”

  The next instant the klaxons went crazy, followed by the voice of the Canada’s Security Officer on the emergency address system.

  “ATTENTION ALL DECKS! ATTENTION ALL DECKS! INTRUDER ALERT. INTRUDER ALERT. ENEMY MARINES ON DECKS ONE AND THREE, SECTIONS FIVE, SEVEN, EIGHT, NINE AND TWELVE. NUMBER UNKNOWN.”

  Adderly keyed in the Security Officer’s station. “What the hell is going on, mister?”

  The SO was a young Imperial Marine, Lieutenant Harris, who was struggling to get into his battle dress and talk at the same time. Adderly could hear small arms fire in the background.

  “Saurons, Captain, some kind of EVA marines. They’re using breach charges and coming in through the hull. We’re losing atmosphere up here and half my men can’t get to their suits.”

  “What’s their strength?”

  “Unknown, sir. There are at least a dozen of the bastards inside; they aren’t even trying to secure an airlock. They’re just burning their way in—” Harris suddenly looked confused, then startled, finally shocked.

  Adderly realized he couldn’t hear the background noise anymore, understanding only when he saw the lieutenant’s cheeks turn pink and his eyes red as he began frantically groping at the wall where an emergency oxygen hood was mounted. Harris was pulling on it when an impossibly broad shape appeared in the doorway behind him.

  “Harris—” No use, there was no atmosphere to carry the warning and Harris wasn’t wearing an earphone. The armored Sauron’s weapon probably killed Harris; it certainly destroyed the communications plate. The screen went black.

  “Engineering, seal off decks one through four.”

  “Which sections, sir?”

  “All of them, stem to stern! And seal deck five as well. Then flood them with whatever you’ve got, and I don’t mean gas. Use coolant, use fuel, use plasma, if that’s all you’ve got; but do it, and I mean now!”

  “But… Captain Adderly, there are still men up there…”

  The look in Adderly’s eyes showed that he knew that; in fact, he was not likely to ever forget it.

  III

  “Entering Tanith’s gravity well, First Rank.”

  “Cut velocity, enter orbital path.” Diettinger had heard nothing from Damage Control, meaning they were on the job. Fomoria was now at eighty-seven percent combat effectiveness, well within acceptable limits. “Deathmaster Quilland: status of Extra Vehicular Activity Marines?”

  “Assault Leader Bohren reports top six decks of the Canada secured, First Rank. Imperials tried flooding the decks with liquid hydrogen from their fuel cells, but the Marines reached the sixth deck before it was sealed off.”

  “Very Good.” The EVA Marines were on their own for a while, at least until Fomoria emerged from the other side of Tanith. “Communications, enemy status?”

  “Strela is coming alongside the Canada. Both Chinthes are firing controlled bursts into the aft decks of the Canada, igniting pockets of fuel in the flooded sections.”

  Diettinger turned in his seat at that. “What?”

  Communications was just as bewildered. “It is apparently intentional, First Rank. I am getting comm fragments that indicate the Imperials think they have trapped the EVA Marines up there and are trying to finish them off.”

  Diettinger thought about what that implied. Can they be that irrational? Could any race of men hate another so much?

  “And the Königsberg?”

  “Drifting, First Rank. Acceleration now .001-G, drifting. Field erratic. I’m picking up sporadic communications that indicate severe internal damage.”

  Diettinger nodded, satisfied. It had all gone surprisingly well. The opportunity to fire at the Königsberg inside her Field had decided the battle. He realized Second Rank was looking at him.

  “Speak.”

  Second Rank Althene Adame rose from her acceleration couch against the now three gravities acceleration with little effort and approached Diettinger’s chair. “The message buoy, First Rank.”

  “Yes, Second. The one I ordered you to send. I presume you did so.”

  “Of course, First Rank, but…”

  “But now you are concerned that it was unnecessary.”

  Second Rank said nothing.

  “Recall, Second, that we have not yet secured the borloi and we may yet have to deal with an enemy convoy and its reinforcements.” He turned back to the screens. “And, in any case, what is done is done. Return to your station.”

  “Entering Tanith orbit, First Rank.”

  “Time to drop point?”

  “Twenty-three minutes, First Rank.”

  Diettinger accessed Drop Bay Three. “Cyborg Rank Köln.”

  “Köln here.”

  “Standby for drop in twenty-three minutes”

  “Affirmative.”

  The featureless cloud cover of Tanith revealed nothing of the surface beneath to the naked eye, but the screens projected the outlines of continents, islands, inland seas, overlaid with the traceries of man’s marks on the face of the jungle world. There were not many of those.

  At one minute before drop-point, Diettinger turned control over to Köln. Sixty-one seconds later, Weapons’ panel read green.

  “Pathfinders away, First Rank.”

  “Deathmaster Quilland. Prepare your men for drop on the next pass.”

  “Affirmative.”

  Forty-five minute later, Cyborg Rank Köln signaled the spaceport sufficiently secured for reinforcement, and the Fomoria’s drop-tubes opened again. Diettinger’s full complement of ground forces was now committed to Tanith’s spaceport. “Take us out of orbit. Make for the Canada. Standby to retrieve any EVA Marines who have not reached the enemy ship.”

  Chapter Four

  Seeing the Fomoria closing on them again from Tanith orbit, Adderly ordered the Strela and the two Chinthes to try and remove any survivors off the Königsberg.

  The Canada was beyond help.

  The Sauron EVA Marines had not been caught in the upper decks as was hoped. Canada’s marines had been killed to a man by at least fifty Sauron Cyborgs, probably more.

  Adderly had given the order to abandon ship, forcing his bridge crew off almost at gunpoint, finally demanding they leave as his final order. He had then tried to initiate the scuttle codes, but found he couldn’t access them. Either the Saurons had done something to the ship’s computer or it had been damaged when the Canada took the mixed salvo from the Fomoria.

  Whatever the cause, Adderly had been frantically trying to run a manual self-destruct program when the Saurons had blasted their way onto the bridge.

  The next thing he knew, figures in armor were shoving him into a space suit. He was prodded down the corridors ahead of a wicked looking energy weapon and hustled into his own shuttle. A Sauron waiting there put cable ties about his wrists while another one piloted the shuttle out of the bay.

  He looked out the viewport, hoping for some sign of the Strela, but it was nowhere to be found. Instead, the dagger-shaped Sauron heavy cruiser grew in his sight. His shuttle landed in a cavernous hangar bay, and the rush began again.

  The Saurons always seemed to be in a hurry, but Adderly found that he didn’t really mind. He was beyond caring. No one taken prisoner by the Saurons had ever been heard from again; he doubted that he would be an exception.

  Adderly wound up in a room with a desk, a viewport and a conference table. The two armored guards who’d brought him in the shuttle stood behind him on either side. Incredibly, he
found himself looking at a sampler on one wall that appeared impossibly ancient and read in Anglic: “Discretion is the better part of valor.”

  After a few moments, the door behind him opened and a distinguished-looking man entered. Tall, with sharp features, his straight white hair failed to make him look old. He went to the desk and sat down.

  The helmet was suddenly unlatched and jerked from Adderly’s head. He blinked despite the lighting of the room, which was subdued and comfortable.

  The man at the desk frowned at the cable ties on Adderly’s wrists and said something to the guard in a strange language. One of the Soldiers was about to pull Adderly’s wrists apart to break the cable tie, but the man stopped him with a single word of Sauron. The guard instead broke the tie with his fingers.

  “You are the commander of the Canada,” the man stated.

  Adderly frowned. “I am Captain Will Adderly of the Imperial Naval Space Service and commander of the INSS Canada. May I ask who you are?”

  “Vessel First Rank Galen Diettinger, commanding the Fomoria.”

  Adderly’s jaw dropped. “What?” He looked over his shoulder at the huge forms behind him. “But…this is a Sauron ship!”

  Diettinger looked puzzled. “Yes. Is it surprising that a Sauron ship should be commanded by a Sauron?”

  One of the guards guided Adderly to the chair opposite Diettinger’s desk.

  “But you…you’re human. At least, you look human.”

  At that, Diettinger actually blinked. He leaned forward, frowning. “What did you expect, Captain Adderly?”

  Since the Secession Wars had begun, interstellar trade had ground to a standstill. Imperial propaganda had been stronger every year, and Imperial paranoia over Sauron eugenics had grown more strident with each passing day. It suddenly struck Adderly that he had been fighting Saurons for twenty years, yet this was the first time in his life he had ever seen an actual Sauron.