by John F. Carr
Adderly ground a knuckle into his forehead. He’d expected something like this, but he hadn’t been sure. The Saurons had duped them; now what?
His First Mate cursed quietly beside him. “The Fomoria must be headed for the spaceport.” The Mate suddenly grinned. “That’s why you plotted the forty-five degree course change!”
Adderly nodded, once. “Yeah. Helm.”
“Standing by, sir.”
“Clear that course change from the board. Put us at four thousand meters and compensate for speed of one-point-five-Gs total. We’re hitting those Saurons from the rear.”
The First Mate looked puzzled. “But, Captain Adderly, the spaceport…”
Adderly nodded, staring at the combat holo. “That’s right. The Saurons will get away, or it’ll fall, whichever they choose.” He turned to the First Mate. “I’m getting weary of doing what this Diettinger wants me to do, Jimmy. The Saurons can stand two full gravities’ acceleration more than we can; by the time we match orbits to engage whatever is at the spaceport, they’ll be long gone.”
He turned back to the hologram. “But if we can put three task forces against Saurons where they’re expecting two—we can grind the bastards down to dust.”
I hope, he added to himself.
III
Diettinger watched the viewscreens, scanning with the naked eye for information that could only be hoped for on sophisticated sensors. Where was the enemy? Would they arrive before the operation was complete?
Before him on the screen, the troop ships turned over to him by Leviathan, Wallenstein and Damaris had moved into position and begun sprinkling points of light toward the black expanses of the planetary based Langston Fields. The lights were assault boats launched by the hundreds amid broadband interference decoys deployed by the thousands.
Dozens of lasers reached up from the surface of Tanith to intercept them, and where a laser hit, a light went out, but there were too many lights to extinguish them all. The decoys attracted most of the planetary lasers, wasting the defender’s shots.
The Fomoria tracked the planetary lasers back to source, eliminating them before the more valuable shuttles would join the cloud of decoys.
Finally, the pinpoints reached the surface of the spaceport’s Field, to disappearing into the artificial night beneath, out of sight and out of communication. The planetary defense lasers ceased firing. There was nothing to do now but wait.
The bridge seemed silent for a long time before Communications, monitoring the ground troops, made his report. “First Rank, Cyborg Köln reports eighty-three percent of relief force arrived intact. They are now regrouping at the spaceport.”
“Resume suppressive fire on enemy ground lasers. Deathmaster Quilland, dispatch shuttles and begin retrieval. Weapons, interpose the Canada Remote Platform between the main concentration of ground batteries and the shuttle flight paths.”
“Wallenstein element is holding against the Garibaldi group, First Rank. Damaris and Leviathan elements breaking through the Washington group. Aleksandr Nevsky’s group is moving to reinforce same.”
“And the King George V?”
“Beyond the south pole of the planet, continuing on course for the equator.”
Diettinger called up the data to his own screen. Any moment now, they should be breaking off for the spaceport, but they were not. Were they allowing the Saurons to take it? What was worth such a sacrifice to the Imperials?
“Communications, signal Leviathan and Damaris elements that the King George V may attack their rear.”
“Your pardon, First Rank, but planetary field interference is very heavy, and no line-of-sight for message lasers at this time.”
“Then put the Canada up and relay message lasers through her—immediately.”
Either way, we get the borloi, thought Diettinger. And, the spaceport is secured for the arrival of the First Fleet, with more troops for the subjugation of Tanith herself. The Occupation Breedmasters will follow, and we’ll have our backdoor into the Empire.
His mission was nearly completed, and with it, his status as Fleet First Rank. The Second Fleet had been his official reinforcements for securing the borloi, and so it was under his control. The First Fleet would bring a new commander with a mission of his own.
Just as well, he considered. This damned eye is becoming a nuisance.
Aboard the Leviathan, Communications Fifth Rank Boyle strained to catch the lock-on signal of a message laser.
“Message from Fomoria, First Rank Vonnerbek, via Canada. Enemy group closing in on our elements from the equator.”
“Status Washington?”
“Multiple burn-throughs, all Fields, all ships, Washington group.”
Vonnerbek considered. All the Leviathan element Alderson Fields were into the violet, but there were no burn-throughs as yet, and thus no serious damage. The Imperials would have to preserve their Fleet to have any chance of defending their borders once the Saurons had Tanith. The Washington groups would be forced to break off at any moment.
And the Aleksandr Nevsky was closing to reinforce the Washington now. Vonnerbek’s Intel sources had identified the Nevsky as the command flagship.
The human norms put great stock in such things, he remembered.
“Fight us through to the Aleksandr Nevsky group. Signal Damaris element to go about and guard our rear. Maintain fire on the Washington group until it disengages.”
Saurons were the product of hundreds of years of genetic engineering to produce the perfect soldier, whose defining personality trait was an utter subjugation of the ego to the goals of the Battle Plan. Vonnerbek was too perfect an example of the eugenicist’s art.
What he himself did not possess, he could not conceive of in others.
IV
“Last shuttle secured, First Rank. Full complement recovered, cargo intact.”
Diettinger actually sighed in relief. Now, to resolve this battle before—
“First Rank, enemy group King George V is engaging Damaris element. Wallenstein element is breaking through Garibaldi group. Leviathan element is fighting through to engage Aleksandr Nevsky group.”
“Status enemy forces.”
The report did not bode well for the Imperials; only the KGV and Aleksandr Nevsky’s ships’ Fields were not in the violet. All those in Washington’s force had suffered burn-throughs, several were destroyed. It was nearly over, now.
“Dispatch all attached forces to return to respective elements and reinforce. Bring Fomoria and Canada into position to reinforce Leviathan element. Signal all element commanders to prepare to break off engagement.”
The naval part of the mission was over. When the First Fleet arrived, Vonnerbek could rack up all the victories he wanted.
“Emergency signal from the Leviathan, First Rank.”
“Clear.”
“Fomoria, this is Communications Fifth Rank Boyle. We have massive damage here, request immediate relief.”
Fifth Rank? What had happened to the bridge? “Fifth Rank Boyle, who is in command?”
“Unknown, First Rank. One of the enemy Fields collapsed—I think it was the New Chicago—we were too close when she went, our Field was already in the blue. It caught the released energy and overloaded. We have heavy internal damage. No response from bridge or forward weaponry.”
“Status on enemy ships?” Diettinger asked Second Rank.
Althene was frowning, unable to resolve what she saw with logic. “No change, First Rank. The Washington group has no Field that isn’t violet, but they aren’t breaking off.”
Diettinger went cold. Of course. They wouldn’t. In that instant, the entire character of the war changed for him. As a Sauron, a Solider by breeding, training and perspective, he had seen the war as a conflict between industrialized nations, an inescapable result of the dynamics of evolution. The Empire was in the way of Sauron’s advancement; Sauron represented the next step in human evolution, therefore the Empire must go.
That the Empir
e would resist going was axiomatic. But that it would do so suicidally had been an extremely low probability consideration. Or so Sauron military philosophy had proposed.
But they are wrong, he suddenly realized, and, unthinking, his hand stole to the wound that had claimed his eye.
It is not, as Sauron philosophy has supposed, simply a war of evolutionary imperatives, not to the Imperials. To them it is a war of extermination.
“Standby, Fifth Rank Boyle. Signal the crew to initiate evacuation procedures.” A Fifth Ranker! “And try to find some officer of command rank.”
“First Rank, the Aleksandr Nevsky is in range of the Leviathan. She is firing now.”
“Make for the Leviathan, use maximum acceleration incorporating gravitational enhancement. All batteries and Canada to fire on the Nevsky.” He considered the wording of his next order. “Communications. Signal all commanders. No break off. Continue to fire on all enemy forces until destroyed.”
“Standard pursuit options, First Rank?”
Diettinger shook his head. “Pursuit options unnecessary. The enemy will not attempt to disengage.”
Ever again, he thought. But perhaps he could change their minds; today, at least.
“Weapons. Prepare the following modifications to the Canada.”
Chapter Eight
I
Commander Sakai, Kellogg’s FleetOps Officer, felt he was becoming a part of his console. “Admiral, the Fomoria and the Canada are closing with us, bearing one-five-zero, our heading, speed of five-Gs.”
Kellogg was staring at the combat holo. The Aleksandr Nevsky’s Captain Harbour was carrying out his orders to the letter. The Aleksandr Nevsky poured destruction into the Leviathan, burning through her Field again and again. Washington had bought them all a chance with her sacrifice of herself and the New Chicago; those sacrifices were not to be in vain.
“Who’s on station there?”
“Heavy cruisers Montpelier and Vladivostok, Admiral, with a destroyer screen of seven Chinthes.”
Kellogg grunted. “Hmm. Not much against the Fomoria and a captured battlecruiser. Tell them to engage and hold the Saurons until we’ve finished off the Leviathan.”
The FleetOps officer complied, then stared at his screen confused. “Admiral, I have the Canada making seven-Gs and still accelerating.”
“Saurons can stand more than nine-Gs with acceleration, Commander,” Kellogg informed him, mesmerized by the sight of the Leviathan’s death throes.
“Yes, Admiral, but…Admiral, the Canada is at nine-Gs now, and still accelerating. The Aleksandr Nevsky’s gunnery officer is saying she has locked all weapons onto us.”
“Our shields will hold, Commander,” Kellogg remained cool. Canada’s purloined torpedoes would be impossible to evade when launched at that speed, and most would probably get through their Field. But ’Nevsky was unwounded as of yet, and Kellogg would not lose the chance to destroy the Leviathan. “Unless you’re afraid they are going to ram us?” he added dryly. At nine-Gs, the Canada could not hope to correct for any evasive maneuver taken by the ’Nevsky.
He went back to watching the holo. Every part of him was directed toward destroying the Saurons; the mission that required Tanith’s troops long forgotten.
“Admiral—”
“What the devil is it, Commander?”
“The Canada, sir; she’s reversed heading and firing full thrust—she’s maneuvering like a fighter plane!”
At that, Kellogg did turn away from the holo and the death throes of the mortally wounded Leviathan. Eighteen-Gs aboard the Canada would flatten any living thing, Sauron or not. “What’s happened to her weapon lock-ons?”
“Holding, Admiral, but her Field is going into the violet and she’s still closing!”
“Who the bloody hell is firing on her?”
“Montpelier and Vladivostok report scoring hits, Admiral. But not enough for that.”
Kellogg’s survival instinct overrode all bloodlust and most of his training. She’s firing into her own Field! “Cease fire on the Leviathan, signal all ships in the vicinity to break-off and take evasive maneuvers.”
FleetOps Officer Sakai had patched in to all the commanding officers of Task Force Aleksandr Nevsky; he was about to pass on the Admiral’s commands when he died.
Canada’s last attack was a marvel of coordination possible only for a suicidal crew…or a very good remote controller. Converted by Weapons’ expertise into a forty thousand ton missile, Canada’s Field opened, and every intact torpedo port launched on the Aleksandr Nevsky. As Kellogg had guessed, Canada’s lasers had been directed against the inside of her own Field, the stored energy then augmented by scuttle charges, and the Field capacitors themselves disengaged.
Canada’s Field collapsed while she was only three kilometers from the Aleksandr Nevsky, even as her torpedoes drove the Imperial flagship’s Field up thorough the spectrum to blue-green. The released energy from Canada’s resulting immolation proved more than the Nevksy could take.
Aboard the King George V, Adderly watched the destruction of the Aleksandr Nevsky in mute horror. When he regained his voice, it was to answer his commo officer’s announcement of multiple signals coming through.
“Hold them, commo; get me senior commander of the other battleships, first, whoever that is.”
Jesus! The Alexander Nevsky gone; eighty thousand tonnes of battleship—just gone…
“Captain Adderly,” the commo officer almost whispered. “The other bridges say that Captain Lester of the KGV was senior commander after Admiral Kellogg and Captain Harbour—sir, they all want to speak to you.”
He suddenly found it difficult to breathe.
Sweet Jesus.
II
Rescue of the Leviathan’s survivors was simplified by the breakoff of the Imperial Fleet. The Communications Fifth Ranker who had contacted Fomoria had, indeed, managed to find someone of Command Rank. The Occupation Breedmasters aboard Leviathan had demanded priority for the fertilized Sauron ova they had brought for the subjugation of Tanith. In Sauron society, Breedmaster carried more influence than ancient Spain’s Cardinals of the Inquisition, so the first thing that came aboard Fomoria were seventy suitcase-sized environment boxes, all that had survived of the one hundred that had been sealed away safely at the center of the Leviathan.
The Breedmasters complained that less than half might still be viable, but Diettinger ignored them. There were more important things to consider; the Sauron First Fleet had arrived.
“Congratulations, Diettinger,” Fleet First Rank Morgenthau spoke from the bridge of the fleet battleship Sauron. Pleased at the status report on the spaceport and the damage inflicted on the Imperial Fleet, Morgenthau was less enthusiastic over the use to which Diettinger had put the Canada.
The Fleet First Rank was from the same crèche as Fighter Rank Severin, Diettinger noted, though of higher caste. Young, but bred specifically for the job of Fleet Commander. “It was an older design, Fleet First Rank. Little could have been learned from her that we did not already know.”
Morgenthau appeared about to comment, then stopped. “Well done,” he said, finally. “We will isolate the remainder of the Imperials from the Alderson Points and hunt them down before leaving. The Damaris will escort you there now and accompany you back to Sauron.”
“We are still carrying several hundred crew from the Leviathan, along with the Occupation Breedmasters and their stores and equipment.”
“Immaterial. The Leviathan crew should be returned to Sauron for treatment and reassignment. The Occupation Breedmasters as well; we have more than enough of them here with the First Fleet.”
“Fleet First Rank, I request permission to stay in the Tanith sector and aid in the hunt for the Imperials. I feel I have gained a particular insight into their nature.”
“Request denied. The borloi is required immediately on Sauron.”
“We could transfer the borloi to another ship—”
“Do I have to repea
t my orders?” Something flickered across Morgenthau’s face. “There have been…severe reverses…elsewhere, First Rank Diettinger.”
Can that be why he reacted as he did to the loss of the Canada? Diettinger asked himself. Are we reduced to using the enemy’s captured ships now, as well as their captured females?
“Understood. Then may I call special attention to the portion of my report that deals with two Chinthes which may have escaped early in the battle—”
“So noted.”
“Fleet First Rank, I stress the danger of reinforcement which those ships present to the—”
“That danger has been assessed, Diettinger. Rendezvous with Damaris and return to Sauron.”
Disciplinary action among Saurons was rarely needed, and thus so rarely encountered that Morgenthau’s calm reiteration of Diettinger’s orders was almost the equivalent of a physical blow.
Diettinger replied with a stoic acknowledgement and broke the connection.
“Make for the Alderson Point Three, Second Rank. Coordinate with Damaris for simultaneous Jump sequences to Sauron.”
III
Adderly watched the combat holo with growing hopelessness. The glowing sphere with its ships and navigational aids had filled his vision for the last T-week, undergoing a bizarre apotheosis as it did so. From cold mechanical simulacrum it had become mildly hypnotic, and it seemed now to be Tanith, and the space surrounding it and the ships that lived and died there. This was reality for Adderly and his bridge crew; not the smell of burned metal, the sight of burned flesh, or the wreckage that had been filling Tanith space on an almost daily basis since the Saurons had first arrived.
Now over two hundred vessels surrounded Tanith, Sauron ships of every size and function. Messages from Tanith had continued, but the troops there had retreated from the spaceport. They had no hope of recapturing it now.
By seniority of commission, Adderly was now Commander-in-Chief of the Eleventh Imperial Fleet. The survivors of Kellogg’s force, from destroyers on up to the King George V herself numbered less than fifty. The original mission, to pick up Tanith’s garrison for use in revolt suppression at New Hibernia, was forgotten. Instead, hopelessly outnumbered, the Fleet had fallen back to the asteroid belt. There, where less than two weeks ago they had hunted the Fomoria and her prize, they were tending to their own wounds and praying for a miracle.