The Battle of Sauron

by John F. Carr

  “Enemy Fields activated.”

  The crews are up, Diettinger thought. The question is: how long would they fight before turning to flee back through the Dropshot Jump Point with their status report on the Sauron System?

  “Vessel assessment.” It was Fomoria’s Weapons Ranker.

  “Speak.”

  “Three cruisers, Imperial Canopus class. All have suffered severe battle damage. Estimate offensive capabilities reduced thirty percent overall.”

  But heavily shielded, Diettinger knew. Canopus-class ships were pre-Secession War, designed for commerce raiding. Multiple redundancies in their Langston Field capacitors allowed them to suffer tremendous punishment from escort vessels and still engage the cargo ships.

  Any doubt he might have had regarding the mission of these Imperial ships was gone. They can only be a scouting force. Even as he formed the thought, one of the reticles on the display flickered, drawing attention to itself, and began to move.

  “Enemy vessel Canopus Two initiating maneuvers, First Rank.”

  Two of the Dragon System Defense Boats detached themselves from their attacks and altered position. Both loosed volleys of torpedoes against the Imperial designated “Canopus Two,” while continuing to maneuver themselves between the Imperial and the Jump Point. Dozens of white flares danced over the surface of Canopus Two’s Langston Field, each such flare a twenty-megaton infusion of destructive power designed to drive the target’s Field up through the spectrum into Violet and out of existence. Canopus Two’s Langston Field’s color rose no further than a dreary terra cotta that looked almost bored.

  Diettinger watched the Damaris, alone of his ad hoc task force the ship capable of engaging the moving Imperial before it reentered the Jump Point.

  Maybe.

  Diettinger checked the identification codes on the Tactical Display. “Communications.”

  “First Rank.”

  “Wideband link to Task Force.”

  Boyle was so surprised he nearly hit the wrong panel; broadband was unsecured communications, and so was never, ever used in action against an enemy who could always be presumed to be listening for just such a mistake. But he had learned, at long last, that Fomoria and her First Rank had their own rules, so Communications Fifth Rank Boyle followed the order without hesitation.

  And so saved the day.

  “Keegan and Dragons Three through Six,” Diettinger slowed his speech in the Battle Tongue to just faster than a human norm ear could follow; the Imperials would have to run it through their computers for syntax as well as translation. “Concentrate fire with Fomoria on Canopus One. Damaris, initiate ram course.”

  Damaris’ course changed with a lurch, and the great battleship bore down on Canopus Two as it crawled toward the Jump Point. The impact would cripple the Damaris for good, even if she survived. Of the Canopus, there would not be enough left to register on sensors.

  Canopus One hung motionless for another three minutes, then began to move.

  “Canopus One withdrawing; Canopus Three advancing to shadow.”

  ‘Shadowing’ would place Canopus Three between the Saurons and Canopus One, where Three’s fresh, black Langston Field could take the brunt of the attack Diettinger had ordered, while Canopus One could cool its own Field. Once Canopus One’s Field was black once more, the two ships would trade places again, constantly leap-frogging back toward the Jump Point and escape. Diettinger’s numerical superiority would render such a tactic ineffective, given time to maneuver into an encirclement of the two ships, but time was something he did not have.

  Diettinger watched the Damaris closing on Canopus Two, all her weapons pouring destruction into the retreating Imperial’s Field. A digital counter was suspended in midair beside the Damaris on the Fomoria’s Tactical display; seconds to impact. The display was green, indicating a collision could still be easily averted. As the minutes flowed past, the digits would warm to a crimson inevitability, and Damaris would very likely die.

  Diettinger had no desire to sacrifice Damaris or her crew, or his own Second Rank, but he also had few other options.

  Canopus One had almost disappeared behind Three, both ships still moving backward as their Navigation Rankers—for some unknown reason, the Imperials called them ‘Sailing Masters’—searched for the elusive thread of spatial displacement that revealed the Alderson Point through which they had come.

  The readout beside Damaris was now yellow.

  Diettinger checked to see that the broadband line was still open. “Navigation.”

  “First Rank.”

  “Intercept and ram Canopus Three. Communications, signal Keegan to ram Canopus One; Dragons, standby to destroy any surviving fragments of Imperial vessels.”

  “Affirm, Fomoria.” The acknowledgments came back and the thrusters of the Fomoria and Keegan began firing.

  On the screen before him, Diettinger saw that the herald of Damaris’ demise had gone to a warm amber, when the orange bubble of Canopus Two abruptly surged away from the oncoming Sauron battleship and hopelessly out of position to flee through the Jump Point.

  Diettinger saw that his gamble was beginning to pay off. Imperials were just as willing to sacrifice themselves in battle as Saurons—often, he knew, even more so—but now it was important that at least one of these ships survive to escape the Sauron System and carry back the news of what it had seen. It was just as important for the Saurons to prevent that, and while the Saurons could afford to sacrifice vessels to their purpose, the Imperials, by definition, could not.

  Nor were any of the Canopus-class ships as yet in position to make such a sacrifice as would ensure the escape of any of the others.

  That was not the case for the Saurons, however, and the Damaris began the laborious process of changing vectors to come about and, once again, attempt to ram Canopus Two.

  Canopus One and Three, meanwhile, found themselves literally between a rock—the Fomoria—and a hard place—the much larger Keegan. ‘Shadowing’ was not an easy operation at the best of times, and the incoming Saurons were pressing the two ships in upon one another, reducing their maneuvering room. Now Fomoria and Keegan had their own digital countdowns-to-impact with the Imperials.

  Diettinger suspected he was the only Sauron who knew how dangerous the game he was playing truly was. He had fully intended that the Imperials should hear and decipher his commands to the Task Force, as he had no doubts they were willing to sacrifice themselves to get one ship back through the Jump Point. But the ship with the best chance to do so had lost that opportunity; now their own fatalism would begin to work against them.

  Forced to choose between being rammed or relinquishing their mutual defense, the Imperial captains held fast, determined that at least one of them should reach the Jump Point and bring word back to the Empire that the despised Sauron Homeworld was defenseless.

  Diettinger decided it was time to close the trap on these two. “Communications.”

  “First Rank.”

  “Secure lines.”

  “Lasers up.”

  “All vessels, cease acceleration. Maintain intercept headings but abort rams. Dragons, close to encirclement formation.”

  The Dragons further contained the ever-tightening circles of the Imperial cruisers, and at a mere hundred kilometers from the Jump Point and safety, Canopus One and Three collided. Canopus Three’s Field went down, victim of an internal power failure, and a salvo of torpedoes from the Dragons obliterated the vessel. Keegan and Fomoria brought all their guns to bear on Canopus One, now apparently unable even to maneuver. The designers of the triple-Fielded Canopus-class ships had never envisioned the magnitude of firepower now flowing into Canopus One’s Langston Field. Even so, burn-throughs and their resultant destruction took another hour. The Task Force then regrouped, hunted down Canopus Two, offering her crew surrender terms. Her Captain agreed, then, as the prize crew was being shuttled over, tried to ram Keegan—no feint, this. Canopus Two was sent to join her sisters.


  Chapter Sixteen

  I

  The three commanders left their ships on cutters to Sauron for a meeting of the High Command Council; there they received a briefing on the near-debacle by Fleet First Rank Diettinger and Vessel First Ranks Emory and Dannevar. Despite repeated urgings on Diettinger’s part, the High Command seemed convinced the three Imperial vessels had been no more than raiders. At best, they were surveillance ships, apprehended before they could attempt to hide in the Sauron System’s vast asteroid belt.

  Vessel First Rank Emory was cautiously supportive of Diettinger’s assessment: “May I suggest to the High Command,”—the Damaris’ commander adopted as diplomatic a tone as she knew how—“that several vessels operating in nearby sectors be recalled for home system defense, on a temporary basis, of course, in the event the Imperials are planning similar raids.” Her eyes flickered briefly to lock with Diettinger’s.

  The High Command Council considered the proposal, asking for a concurring opinion from Emory’s fellow commanders. Diettinger agreed readily; anything to get more ships into the home system. But Dannevar was non-committal and, without unanimity on the part of the commanders involved, Diettinger knew that the High Command’s overconfidence would doom the idea.

  “If I might add, First Citizen,” Diettinger put in, “All the ships mentioned by Vessel First Rank Emory are elements of the special operations fleet I have been instructed to compile. If they are brought into Sauron System now, they can be refitted and re-armed early, clearing the docks for those First Fleet—”he caught himself before saying “survivors”—“elements which will soon return from Tanith. The readying of the Sparta invasion fleet may thus be completed ahead of schedule, allowing the timetable for the operation itself to be moved up. And the sooner we can press our—advantage—the greater our prospects for success.”

  The thought of the Spartan Invasion being moved up did the trick. Diettinger was authorized to recall two heavy cruisers and a dozen more smaller, though still potent, vessels from surrounding areas. The courier vessels necessary to deliver those ships’ new orders disappeared into Sauron’s various Jump Points that very afternoon.

  At least, Diettinger thought with some relief, we did not have to deal with the Cyborgs. He didn’t think the Cyborgs would have been fooled for a moment by anything he’d said. For a moment, he wondered why the three Cyborgs on the High Command Council had been absent from this morning’s meeting. However, Cyborgs were not known for their expertise or interest in naval operations, simply because it was one of the few areas in which they did not excel. In the near future, starships crewed by full complements of Cyborgs would be capable of maneuvers so far beyond human norm capabilities as to sweep all opposition from space—but, as of yet, there were not enough Super Soldiers to risk losing large numbers of them to a lucky missile shot or Field burn-through.

  The Cyborgs were content to be masters of the surface of those worlds between which starships moved, and believed that the rest would come soon enough.

  So Diettinger was eventually able to convince himself that the briefing, dominated as it was by review of the naval engagement of the day before, probably would not have been of any great concern to the Cyborg members of High Command anyway.

  But the policy effect it had would have been of interest, his mind niggled at him. So, why hadn’t the Cyborgs been there?

  The Super Soldier, a cultural icon, a dream in the mind of Sauron society, had at last become flesh in the Cyborgs. Since the first battle where they had been committed, wherein a single regiment of Cyborgs had defeated three Imperial infantry divisions, it was inevitable that the same culture would develop a reverence for them bordering upon awe.

  But for Diettinger the Cyborgs’ quiet acceptance of such reverence had always been more ominous than the reverence itself. Originally proposed to be merely the ultra-elite of an elite warrior society, the Cyborgs had now found their way onto Sauron’s ruling council. From the cutting edge of the sword that was the Sauron war machine, the Cyborgs had, all too quickly, become blade and hilt as well. For all their relative lack of numbers, the Cyborgs nevertheless seemed to be everywhere now, so for Diettinger, at least, they were starting to make him more nervous when they weren’t around.

  II

  Cyborg Rank Köln moved through the same corridors as had Diettinger only days before. Where Diettinger had been routinely delayed at security checkpoints, Köln passed with an ease that was equally taken for granted. For Köln was a Cyborg, and, although he was commander of the Pathfinder Cyborg unit attached to Diettinger’s own Fomoria, his real authority came from his genetically-engineered nature. Here on the Homeworld, the influence of a Cyborg—any Cyborg—was at its height, representing as they did the genetic imperative of the Sauron Race.

  Köln entered the inner ring of offices of the capitol, passing through a dozen more automated—and so, incorruptible—checkpoints, to pass finally through an unmarked door and join the three Cyborg members of High Command. They sat at a large round table, watching the High Command Council meeting on a wall screen connected to viewers hidden within the council chamber. Köln took the empty seat and watched in silence with the rest until the meeting concluded.

  The three Cyborgs of the High Command turned to Köln. To anyone but another Cyborg, it would have seemed three mirrors turned toward the object they reflected.

  Ulm, the Cyborg to Köln’s left, spoke first: “Diettinger’s influence with the Sauron norms of the High Command increases daily. His analyses are insightful, his proposals inspired.”

  Saentz, seated across from Köln, added, “I did not believe that his naval reputation was free of embellishment by the Propaganda board. In this I was in error. My background research on Diettinger confirms that indeed, no naval force under his actual command has ever been defeated.”

  The third Cyborg, Manche answered, “He would appear to be more than a Sauron norm, yet less than a Cyborg.”

  Köln nodded. “I have observed him carefully since my arrival aboard the Fomoria. His performance as commander of that vessel has left nothing to be desired. But I disagree with your assessment, Saentz. Although Diettinger is certainly more than a Sauron norm, he is not, strictly speaking, less than a Cyborg.”

  “By definition,” Ulm said, “any being not a Cyborg is less than a Cyborg.”

  Köln attempted to explain, “Diettinger is different. He thinks differently, at times much like a human norm, but with the military mindset that is uniquely Sauron. He is unpredictable, adaptable, utterly ruthless.”

  “Yet he lost an eye to a human norm; a captive one, at that.”

  Köln gave a barely perceptible sigh and admitted regretfully: “He is also chivalrous.”

  Manche blinked once—a sign of astonishment in a creature that did not need to blink more than once a minute. “Jest.”

  “Fact. Diettinger had the human norm at his complete mercy. Had the captive been even remotely capable of escape, the incident could not have occurred.” He cocked an eyebrow at Manche. “The human’s guards were Cyborgs in battle armor.”

  Ethics between Cyborgs precluded the possibility that Köln would lie to him, yet Manche could not stop himself, “Impossible.”

  Ulm concurred. “I should have thought so, too. This human norm must have been an exceptionally able specimen.”

  Köln nodded, reflectively. “Or must have appeared exceptionally un-exceptional. Doubtless he has found himself promoted to command of an Imperial battlegroup.”

  “He lives?” Ulm sounded nearly incredulous.

  “Diettinger released him. The First Rank had promised him he would let him live, then promised him he would get the borloi off Tanith; he kept his first promise to show he would keep his second.”

  Ulm, Saentz and Manche looked at one another. Saentz voiced their unanimous opinion. “There is no logical explanation for this behavior, save that Diettinger is in league with the Empire.”

  Köln shook his head. “You fail to understan
d; I repeat: Diettinger is different. He may be unique in Sauron history. He is certainly so in current Sauron society.”

  “Sauron society is military in character,” Ulm said. “Any member of such a society sufficiently different to qualify as ‘unique’ cannot, by definition, be integrated into the activities of such a society. That member is therefore of no value.”

  “Except as a supreme commander.” Köln concluded.

  Cyborgs rarely showed anger, never rage. Self-discipline was their watchword, and refocusing the energy and adrenaline wasted in such displays allowed both to be used to greater effect during battle. But Ulm almost shot up out of his chair before sitting back with a quiet word, “Unacceptable. Mastery of Sauron society is the Cyborgs’ destiny. Introducing a Sauron norm Dictator at our present stage of influence will disrupt our timetable.”

  “Worse, should he prove sufficiently capable, Sauron could defeat the Empire while led by a Sauron norm,” Saentz added. “Such a victory must be achieved with Cyborg leadership to allow the Sauron norm population to appreciate the logic of permanent Cyborg rule.”

  Assuming such a victory occurs, Köln found himself thinking, then: Curious; I never doubted that outcome before. Have I been observing Diettinger so long that I have become infected by his defeatism? For Köln knew that Diettinger believed Sauron would lose, was already losing, the war. Köln’s agents, Sauron norms awed by Cyborg superiority into abject obedience, had kept the First Rank under surveillance since the first day of Diettinger’s presence on the Homeworld. What does he see that I do not?

  “Then you oppose Diettinger’s appointment as Fleet First Rank for the invasion of Sparta?” Manche asked.

  “I do,” Ulm answered.

  Saentz concurred, adding: “Why not Fleet First Rank Morgenthau, commander of the flag battleship Sauron? His entire crèche was specifically educated for fleet actions.”

  “Morgenthau’s tenure as Fleet First Rank has been twice extended. His growing sense of personal indispensability is beginning to distance him from supporting our goals,” Manche reminded them. “Hence his being relieved of command upon his return from Tanith, as already stated. Added to which, his command style is correct, but not dynamic.”