The Battle of Sauron

by John F. Carr

  As a result, Sauron “delicacies” were defined more by texture, psychology and appearance than by taste; the visual esthetics in serving Sauron cuisine were of great importance. Actual food from Sauron—as opposed to the nutrient rations that were standard fare throughout the Sauron Sphere—was prized far more as a physical link to that Homeworld than for any qualities of flavor. Truth to tell, very little of Sauron’s flora or fauna possessed any distinction in the matter of taste, and most of it was very well-suited to making a meal of any Sauron that might try to eat it. Nevertheless, massive quantities of spices, chemical flavor and scent enhancers went into a Sauron chef’s attempts to evoke some response—any response—from the diner’s palate. Saurons had long since given up inviting any of their Secessionist allies to state dinners featuring their own food.

  Althene and Mara waited as the steward took away the last of the service, brought both women coffee, and then disappeared to his station. By virtue of its aroma, coffee was one of the few foods which Saurons enjoyed as much as human norms. The dinner conversation had begun with reminiscences of experiences shared, moved on to experiences related and now flowed without interruption to experiences planned.

  “Have you met First Rank Dannevar, of the Keegan?” Emory asked.

  “Not yet. First Rank Diettinger was aboard Keegan earlier this week for a conference with him. He remarked, in the briefing later, that Dannevar seemed exceptionally qualified.”

  “Your tone indicates there is something odd about that assessment.”

  Althene paused to sip her coffee. “Only the word ‘exceptionally.’ Diettinger is not normally given to such effusiveness.”

  “He has mentioned First Rank Lucan of the Wallenstein glowingly enough in his report of the action at Tanith.”

  Althene nodded. “Indeed, but under First Rank Lucan, the Wallenstein has never suffered a single casualty in combat—ever. The reputations of ‘The Phantom’ and his ship have become something like a winning streak. Sometimes I believe Lucan is so closely watched because of some secret wagering pool among the High Command.” She was startled to see her friend pale.

  “I’m sure you don’t seriously believe our High Command regards Sauron lives so lightly,” Emory said evenly.

  “No. Of course not. I simply meant that there is probably a team of statistical analysts who find First Rank Lucan’s performance to date problematic, at the least, when assessing casualty probabilities.”

  Emory nodded, her look saying: An acceptable recovery, old friend… acceptable, and wise… She added, “How would you compare First Rank Lucan’s combat style to that of First Rank Diettinger?”

  Althene frowned. “I have never served with Lucan; but from my studies of his actions, I have observed that he leaves nothing to chance. That might sound like hyperbole, but it is not. I believe Lucan has the ability to absorb tremendous amounts of detail without it affecting his decision-making capability, or without being overwhelmed by it. As a result, he is able to place the Wallenstein in the optimal position for any given action, much like a Chess Grand Master can perceive the ultimate outcome of a match several moves ahead of the resolution.” She shrugged. “And, obviously Lucan has also been tremendously lucky.”

  Emory smiled. “You believe in luck?”

  “You asked me to compare Lucan and Diettinger. ‘Luck’ is at the heart of any such comparison. But while Lucan’s command philosophy is aimed at prevailing by anticipating all possible events and their consequences—advantageous or otherwise, Diettinger’s method makes no attempt to predict or compensate for such variables; rather, he actually relies on their occurrence, then exploits them to his own advantage. Anyone who has ever served with or under Galen Diettinger comes to believe in fortune, Mara. Diettinger is a master at what I call ‘luck management.’ Thrown into a series of chaotic events, he is able to bend most, if not all of those events, to his purpose as they arise. It’s like that song we sang as children:

  “The universe exists in chaos,

  Man is the measure of the universe.

  The ultimate chaos of man’s existence,

  is the human endeavor called war

  “Diettinger has done just that; he has mastered chaos,” Althene concluded.

  “Then you consider him superior to Lucan as a commander?”

  “Without doubt. Lucan’s method does not allow for variables, while Diettinger thrives on them, as well as on errors; his own or those of his opponents. Ultimately, Lucan must one day find himself in a position for which he has not prepared.” Althene took another sip. “Or, to put it another way, he will run out of luck.”

  Emory cocked her head, half smiling. “I suppose it is only fair you should be so effusive in praising your commander; he has certainly shown no restraint in his assessment of your performance aboard Fomoria.”

  “I am honored.”

  “Indeed, he has made a formal request that you be retained as his Second Rank for the upcoming invasion of Sparta.”

  Althene almost dropped her cup. “Invasion of Sparta?” Her features twisted into a snarl of disbelief, contempt, all about to explode into a diatribe against the absurdity of such a plan, when Emory’s unflappable gaze caught her, held her, calmed her.

  Emory continued. “Yes. It’s an open secret that Vessel—now Fleet—First Rank Diettinger will command the operation. After the First Fleet has crushed the Imperials at Tanith, the only logical course is to press the advantage we will surely gain and end this war once and for all. One of the advantages to the limitations on space travel imposed by the Alderson Drive is that no spy could send word of such an invasion without using a ship to do so; and, of course, no ship can leave the Sauron System without clearance.”

  Emory stood, pushing off towards her window, while holding her cup. Beside the window, in the same position where Diettinger kept an antique embroidered sampler, Emory had a picture of her husband and their two children, a boy and girl. A band of black velvet ran diagonally across the frame’s upper corner, reminding Althene that all three had been killed during the Imperial retaking of Lavaca.

  If Mara can find some comfort with this Hawksley, Althene reflected, then I can wish her well in doing so. I can even envy her.

  “That will allow us a tremendous advantage in surprise when the operation commences.” She turned back to Althene, sad eyes saying more than her words told.

  “Yes,” Althene agreed, realizing the truth. We are being monitored, even here. The steward? Probably, but not necessary. A transmitter or listening device, hidden anywhere in the room or on the wall outside. Maybe even in the frame of that picture… So the familiar dance began once more, as each strove to make her meaning clear to the other indirectly, in terms that would leave neither open to prosecution.

  “Yes,” she repeated. “Surprise will be crucial. But surely the enemy will guess our intentions, don’t you think? They are not fools.”

  “No. I should imagine, therefore, that speed and unpredictability will be of the essence. Diettinger is no doubt planning an operation which can be implemented immediately and modified at a moment’s notice.” She turned to look at Althene. “He is like that, is he not?”

  Althene felt a chill. Was Mara drawing her into a trap? “First Rank Diettinger’s capacity for innovation is well-known. It is commonly regarded as his greatest asset.”

  “Dannevar and I have been told that, as commanders, we can both benefit from exposure to that quality. It has been suggested that we therefore keep Damaris and Keegan close-by Fomoria in the coming campaign.”

  The ensuing silence deepened as Althene considered the implicit threat: Galen is under suspicion. Why is it that when he is in danger, he becomes Galen to me, while in the heat of combat, he remains First Rank, or at best, Diettinger? Well, there is the obvious fact that I am in love with him, of course.

  Emory’s remarks indicated that she and Dannevar had been instructed to watch Fomoria, but to what purpose? Is she warning me indirectly that she would take ac
tion, if necessary and instructed to do so? Or that Damaris would support Fomoria in any unorthodox decisions her commander made in the battle to come? Where, then, did that put Dannevar and the Keegan?

  This is why we make such dreadful spies, Althene admitted. It’s the same reason why our food seems so bad to human norms. We can learn to mislead, even deceive, in battle, but only with much practice. True subtlety eludes us. She thought about Diettinger—Galen. Well. Most of us, anyway. She decided to gamble on Mara Emory, her oldest friend.

  “I know that my First Rank will value such a commitment. Of course, as commander of this operation, he will make all decisions as to the disposition of the forces under his command as he sees fit.”

  Emory nodded. “Naturally. I believe the—suggestion—was meant to reinforce Dannevar’s intent, like my own, to simply—emulate—your First Rank’s methods to ensure the operation’s success.”

  Althene sent a look of understanding. As the steward returned to refill their cups, she added: “Do you know, he has never lost a naval engagement of which he was in command?”

  “Yes.” Emory kept the irony from her voice, but her eyes said that there was a first time for everything.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Alone in his cabin, Diettinger reviewed the files he had been working on for the better part of a week, ever since the Fomoria and the other two in-system battleships had begun their rounds of the Sauron System Alderson Points, ending at Point Three or Dropshot. He didn’t know how long the battle at Tanith would continue, but he suspected the end was near and that Imperial ships would soon depart the Tanith System for Sauron. He believed it was imperative that his force be available should the Imperials make a breakthrough into the Sauron System; that would not be accomplished with the Fomoria parked in orbit above the Homeland, which was why all three ships were triangulated some three hundred kilometers around the Dropshot Alderson Point, the shortest sequence from Tanith.

  Diettinger had used this cruise as an opportunity to work-up detailed operational and strategic plans for the invasion of the Imperial capital of Sparta: every reserve of Sauron troops and materiel were committed, every facet of Sauron’s commerce was harnessed to the operation. The remainder of the Fleet, which High Command assumed was even now subjugating Tanith, was estimated and accounted for. Every one of the Allies who had joined in Sauron’s Declaration of Secession, including several Outworld coalitions; even a Claimant fleet—from a world whose governor had been promised that his dubious Imperial bloodline would assure him the title of Emperor in the puppet regime which Sauron would install after a victory of respectable size—had been secured.

  The plan was finished, ready for his briefing to the High Command Council. And Diettinger knew it would all be for nothing if the Imperials at Tanith had fought Morgenthau the way they had fought against him.

  He reached for his drink, missed, and struck the container, spilling some, still clumsy from the loss of stereoscopic vision. The first treatments for regeneration of his eye were scheduled for tomorrow afternoon, immediately upon conclusion of his briefing, and he was frankly eager to have the whole thing over with. Movement in the orbit of Sauron caught his eye, and he turned to look at the image projector.

  Besides his own heavy cruiser Fomoria, the only other vessels currently in the Sauron System were Captain Emory’s Damaris and the Keegan under Dannevar, both full battleships. All is at peace, Diettinger thought. Tomorrow I will complete the plans that will send us all—Dannevar, Emory, myself and whoever is left—to our deaths. Simply because the High Command will not listen….

  There was a spark in the sky outside followed by a ping from the Alderson Point detection system. The warnings were sent by tight-beam lasers to the Fomoria and Sauron System Defense.

  Diettinger frowned; he heard another ping, then another, three in all. Instinctively, his hand slapped the communications link on his desk.

  “Communications here, First Rank.”

  “Traffic Control.”

  Boyle had learned; Diettinger’s commo panel began sounding instantly.

  “–ders or you will be fired on. This is Sauron Traffic Control–”

  Another sweep of Diettinger’s hand cut the signal. With a speed possible only for a Sauron, he was on the bridge and securing the straps of his acceleration couch. “Sensor status.”

  “Phase array bearing on signals, First Rank.” The hands of the sensor station duty officer were a blur across his board. In response, Fomoria’s main detection array came about to seek out the vessels Diettinger had seen appear at one of Sauron System’s six Alderson Points.

  “Navigation.”

  “First Rank.”

  “Set course for the Dropshot Alderson Point and hold. Stand by to initiate five-G thrust.”

  “Five-G thrust, affirm.” Navigation sounded an alarm that notified Fomoria’s crew of imminent high-thrust maneuvers.

  “Engineering.”

  “First Rank.”

  “Stand by to provide five-G thrust on signal from Navigation.”

  “Five-Gs affirm. Standing by.”

  “Communications.”

  “F…First Rank.” Boyle actually stuttered. Diettinger changed completely when the Fomoria went into battle; flesh and blood metamorphosed into something metallic. Boyle sometimes wondered if the First Rank wasn’t part Cyborg.

  “Restore Traffic Control signal.”

  Traffic Control had ceased to attempt contact with the incoming vessels; their time, literally, had run out. The Fomoria’s bridge-crew now listened as the Alderson Point defense systems began vectoring small craft and missile boats to intercept the intruders.

  Diettinger kept looking down, over Communications Rank Boyle’s shoulder; the signal panel still showed no sign that Sauron Naval Command wanted to talk to him. Are they Sauron ships, then? he wondered. “Full tactical.”

  The walls of Fomoria’s bridge, her floor and ceiling all but disappeared, replaced by the panorama of Sauron’s System spread out around them. The Homeworld loomed behind, while directly ahead on the tactical display several bright flashes of blue light converged on the Dropshot Alderson Point.

  Diettinger tapped his controls; targeting reticles swept across the holographic images, stopped over the glowing pinpoints of slowly moving light, then began to travel with them.

  Diettinger trapped the area around the reticles and enlarged the image. Six Dragon-class system defense boats—no more than maneuvering engines, Langston Fields and missile racks—were closing at high-G acceleration to engage three identical class starships of moderate-size, all showing varying degrees of battle damage.

  And all three starships were Imperial.

  Boyle’s eyes flickered to the signal panel. “First Rank.”

  “Speak.”

  “Signal from NavCom.”

  “Open. Fomoria here, Diettinger commanding.”

  “Your vessel, the Keegan, the Damaris, and System Defense Force 980 now comprise Task Force Fomoria. Proceed immediately to Dropshot Alderson Point. Intercept three Imperial vessels at that position. Engage and destroy.”

  No confirmation of orders was expected or required; the Communications Rankers and their planetside Naval Command counterparts confirmed transmission and receipt almost automatically. Which freed Diettinger that many precious fractions of a second sooner:

  “Signal Keegan and Damaris. Patch in the Dragon squadron leader.”

  All of the commanders responded visually. The System Defense Squadron Leader was facing away from the screen, coordinating the initial attacks on the Imperial vessels. The first minutes after enemy ships emerged from an Alderson Point were crucial, as system defense forces attempted to inflict as much damage as possible on the intruders before their crews had fully recovered from the disorienting effects of Jump Lag. The best advantage lay in being close enough to an emergent vessel to attack before its systems and crews had recovered sufficiently to raise their Langston Fields, but that was the height of good fo
rtune, and such was not the case today. The intruders were far beyond weapon range.

  They would not be such for long.

  Diettinger was surprised at first to see his own Second Rank on the bridge of the Damaris, then remembered she was still visiting with First Rank Emory. That was bad for the Fomoria; Second Rank was his most able tactical commander.

  “Keegan, take up position three thousand kilometers port of Fomoria to bracket the intruders. Damaris, move to position between the intruders and the Jump Point. Commit all of Damaris’ Jump Point mines at the Alderson Point loci.”

  Emory cocked an eyebrow. “Confirm signal, please. Fomoria, all of Damaris’ mines?”

  “Confirmed. Under no circumstances are any of the intruders to be allowed to escape back through the Jump Point. All vessels of this task force are expendable for this consideration. Fomoria out.”

  Diettinger had seen the look in his Second Rank’s eyes at his last order. There was nothing to be done. Reconnaissance reports from the intercepting Dragons told him that the three Imperial intruders matched the description of similar vessels recorded by sensors during Fomoria and Damaris’ escape from the Tanith System. The fresh damage they bore on entry into Sauron space, and the known lack of Sauron naval assets anywhere else, meant they could only have come directly from the battle at Tanith. That meant the Imperials controlled the Tanith Jump Points, and that meant they had won. Should even one of these three ships escape to relate the paucity of Sauron defenses, the entire Imperial Fleet at Tanith would descend upon the Sauron System as fast as they could get through the Alderson Points between there and Sauron.

  But if they were all destroyed here, on this side of the Alderson Point, the Imperials would have to assume that Sauron’s defenses were too strong to risk attacking them without reinforcement. Diettinger was trying to buy time for the Homeworld, at any price.

  One after another, the Imperial ships flickered and disappeared, their sleek hulls replaced by flat black ovoids which quickly began to glow a dull, sullen red.