by John F. Carr
Manche knew that meant the Dictator could be reacting to one event (in the literal, relativistic sense of the word) before it had been—or indeed could be—perceived by enemy forces on the far side of the Sauron System.
He stopped abruptly. In fact, it was such an obvious advantage, he found it impossible to believe that the Imperial commander would not have thought of it and made some allowance for it. Turning, he strode directly through the center of the display, while projected data streamed across his features and uniform in a rain of light.
Typical Cyborg, one of the technicians thought to himself, deft as a tank.
Ulm looked up, the faintest depression over his right brow; an awakening frown on the countenance of a human or Sauron-norm, it was the equivalent of a snarl from a Cyborg. “What?”
Manche leaned across Ulm’s console and addressed one of the Communications Rankers. “Direct link to the Dictator, immediately.”
“Not possible, Councilor Manche,” the ranker explained, and it was only the fact of his being a Sauron that kept the terror from his voice. “The Fomoria is under communications blackout as per the orders of the Dictator.”
Manche calmed himself. It was not his responsibility—or place—to second-guess the legally appointed Dictator. In any case, he decided that Diettinger must surely have dealt with this consideration already.
Hadn’t he?
Manche returned his attention to the display and its representation of the relative fleet positions…then to the relative positions of the worlds of the Sauron System…then to the assets around and on those worlds.
He noted that the outer worlds of Freas and Barlowe bore no orbital forces of any kind, and began to wonder anew.
III
So far, Diettinger thought, so good. Every hour the Imperials delayed was another ounce on Sauron’s side of the scale, a growing probability that his gamble could work. Reconnaissance and intelligence reports told him that the composition of the Imperial Fleets was exactly as he’d expected. An operation such as this required little in the way of innovation; regardless, intelligence reports indicated that despite the current five-to-one numerical advantage in vessels they enjoyed in this battle, they still had an Empire to control, after all. The requirements of doing so, while simultaneously invading Sauron, meant that the war had left the Empire with only a few more options than Sauron in the number and type of ships available—and thus, how they could be used.
Diettinger had been glad to see Hawksley had kept his nerve. Despite daily Imperial patrols across the upper gaseous atmosphere of Ostia, the Falkenberg had neither been discovered nor succumbed to the temptation to engage.
Assuming, of course, that the poor devil’s ship hasn’t been dragged into the gas giant’s gravity well and crushed at Ostia’s metallic ammonia core, Diettinger thought grimly.
Soon enough, the Falkenberg would be allowed to engage. Incommunicado via normal means, Hawksley would nevertheless receive a signal he could not possibly miss, and then the Burgess privateer would bring his ship into battle at what might prove to be the most crucial juncture. Hawksley’s action could be no more than a Forlorn Hope, of course, but insofar as he was the hinge of Diettinger’s plan, it was only fair that he have at least a remote possibility of survival. That was more than he could grant to most of the Sauron Fleet.
Second Rank had argued that no non-Sauron could be trusted with the mission Diettinger had given Hawksley. But it was crucial that a non-Sauron ship carry out the action: Falkenberg’s configuration and telemetry were so similar to those of an Imperial vessel that she was actually safer engaging close in with the enemy than fighting alongside her allied Sauron vessels. The few seconds, perhaps even minutes, of confusion at the appearance of an apparently friendly vessel might prevent the Imperial commanders from reacting soon enough.
Whether or not Hawksley, his ship, or his crew lived or died was not a factor in Diettinger’s planning, of course. He was not a reckless man and did not stake the success of his battle plans on the sacrifice—or the survival—of individuals participating in them. But it would please him if the man from Burgess somehow found a way to live through this.
It will please me a great deal if any of us do, he thought.
“Code Red,” one of the Sensor Ranks declared, almost startling him. “All elements.”
Diettinger watched the numbers of the display, hanging in mid-air, flickering as the Imperial Fleet elements began to accelerate inwards from the Jump Points, reducing their relative distance to Sauron, the Home Fleet, the Fomoria and Fleet First Rank Galen Diettinger’s last gamble in a long war.
Or perhaps, he reconsidered, the next-to-last…
Diettinger adjusted his point of view within the immersion display, sweeping across the battlefield to a point above and behind the largest of the approaching Imperial fleet’s three elements, designated on the display as Intruder One. In four hours the lead ships of that element would reach the actual perimeter of the Sauron System: the orbital path of Barlowe, the outermost of Landyn’s Star’s seven satellites.
Intruder One would never actually come anywhere near Barlowe itself. The small planet had long since passed the point in its orbit which would intersect with Intruder One’s present flight path.
“Intruder Two,” Diettinger addressed his Sensors Ranker, “Enhance.”
Being the first large Imperial element engaged by Emory with Task Force Damaris, so now reduced from one hundred fifty-three to one hundred and twelve contacts, Intruder Two was seventy percent the strength of Intruder One’s even two hundred enemy vessels. But the ship classes are larger overall, Diettinger noted. A follow-on force, intended to exploit a breakthrough.
“Second Rank. Evaluation: Remaining Imperial force elements.”
Second Rank did not take her eyes from her own data displays; her report had been ready for the Dictator ten minutes after the Imperial elements had formed up in line of battle. “The remaining Imperial force, Intruder Three, is the smallest element, at one hundred and forty ships. The majority of these are faster, lighter vessels, comprising what Imperial strategists have called an ‘operational maneuver group.’ If Intruder One’s mission is to pierce the Sauron fleet defense, allowing Intruder Two’s forces to pass through that opening and press the attack on the Homeworld, then Intruder Three’s mission will most likely be to operate on the perimeter of the battle as a harassing force, causing as much damage as possible while constituting a potent reserve of firepower with a rapid response capability.”
Second Rank finally turned to look at Diettinger. “This is implied by the preponderance of Chinthe-class light cruiser escorts—extremely fast vessels with high firepower-to-tonnage ratios—comprising Intruder Three.
“Possibly a ruse, Dictator,” Second Rank continued. “The Imperials may be holding their motherships out-system as a strategic reserve.” Second’s voice lowered, and now it was her turn to frown. “Or they may be using them as point defenses elsewhere in the Empire. The Outworld Coalition has, to our knowledge, signed no separate peace with the Imperials. The presence of motherships at key systems along the jump routes would be an effective deterrent to large scale “Outie” raids, while allowing the Empire to deploy the bulk of its Fleet here.”
Diettinger frowned. Chinthes were most commonly used as escorts for motherships; there being no such large ships among the forces of Intruder Three, Second Rank’s assessment seemed reasonable. There were fewer than ten motherships among all the other Imperial elements combined. Since their appearance ten years earlier, motherships—and the extremely potent attack fighters they carried—had rapidly grown to dominate Imperial fleet tactics. Over the years, Sauron naval strategy had given elimination of motherships top priority in engagements with Imperial forces, but not enough to explain the current lack of such vessels here, at this most crucial of the Empire’s battles.
Diettinger nodded, not entirely convinced. He looked back to the immersion display; at this point in their respective orb
ital years, Freas and Barlowe were on opposite sides of Landyn’s star, the sun of Homeworld. A line drawn between the two worlds would barely miss the system’s central body, passing comfortably within the gravity well of the F9 star. Diettinger keyed in a command to draw just such a line now. The beam leaped between the displays showing Freas and Barlow’s positions; on one side, toward the galactic core, were Dawkins and Niobe, Landyn’s first and third worlds, with half the asteroid belt beyond them. On the other, away from the core and trailing, lay Landyn’s Star itself, then Proteus, Sauron and Ostia.
Intruder One, on a bearing from the Wayforth Alderson Point, was coming from Coreward, and would cross that line—if it maintained its course for Sauron—at almost the same moment it entered the fringes of the asteroid belt defense zone. Intruder Two, coming from the Dropshot/St. Ekaterina Alderson Points and heading straight for Ostia, would cross it at a point nearly equidistant from the gas giant and the asteroid belt perimeter. On entering orbit at Ostia, Intruder Two would be much closer to the asteroid field than to the Freas/Barlowe line, and Diettinger decided to let it pass over without incident; Hawksley’s Falkenberg and the units waiting to support it should suffice to deal with that element of the Imperial forces.
As always, the real worry continued to be the enemy unit whose intentions were unknown; in this case, Intruder Three.
“Sensors.”
“Ready.”
“Display projected intersections of Intruders One and Two with Freas/Barlowe line.”
“Affirmative.”
Now green traces of light stretched ahead of the Intruder icons, datalines above them displaying velocities and timetables. Diettinger saw that Intruder One would reach the line in sixteen hours. Intruder Two would cross it in twelve, but not be in position to attempt to secure Ostia for another six.
“Signals.”
“Ready.”
“Send Task Force Keegan: Engage Intruder Two at Freas/Barlowe line. Delay enemy arrival in Ostia zone for four hours, fifteen minutes.”
If Diettinger’s first plan worked against Intruder One, it would take almost half an hour for the event to be perceived by Intruder Two; or indeed, for any laser-borne message from the former to reach the latter.
And if it works well, I want Intruder Two’s ships to be too thoroughly committed to come to their comrades’ aid.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I
The Keegan and her escorts leaped toward the Imperial ships of Intruder Two. Outnumbered three to one, Vessel First Rank Dannevar was determined to make up in ferocity what he lacked in numbers.
Not a reckless man by nature, Dannevar was fully aware of the value of such tactics against numerically superior foes. Strapped into his acceleration couch on the Keegan’s bridge, he directed each element of his own command as they maneuvered for position against the oncoming Imperial fleet elements.
Despite closing thrusts well in excess of five gravities acceleration, the act of closing to battle in space is slow, slower than the tacking and jibing of ancient sail-powered warships, slower even than the scull and pivot of their decked-oared forebears. The distances in space battles are vast, but there is no horizon to mask an enemy’s intent. Little subtlety is possible or warranted, and while the exercise lacks a measure of visual splendor, it wants for nothing in the earnestness of its participants’ intent.
Still, Dannevar thought, the Imperials appear to be eager to close, even for them. Intruder Two’s maneuvering could scarcely be called that. Their drives were burning at six Earth gravities’ acceleration, the maximum sustainable velocity for human norms. Task Force Keegan’s ships were burning at six-Gs.
“Helm. Compensate vectors to close and match velocities at engagement range.”
“Affirmative.”
It wouldn’t do at all to overshoot the Imperials; after all, Dannevar’s job was to engage and hold them for a while.
Dannevar watched the numbers in his own immersion display as they rippled downward, reflecting the dwindling distance between TF Keegan and its Imperial opposite number. This was all preliminary; Dannevar reviewed the opening moves of this battle as he had dozens of others before, the prelude to the engagement of lasers, missiles and particle beams euphemistically referred to by ship captains as “The Dance.”
If the close to “The Dance” is slower than that of the warships of bygone eras, the resolution is slower still, since Langston Fields stood up to a great deal more punishment than oak and the flesh of men. Only at the end can the march of progress be appreciated. Biremes foundered when rammed, oaken Men of War might explode if their powder magazine was hit, either one could burn for hours, causing a lingering and mean death for such beautiful artifacts.
But starships did not linger.
The collapse of a ship’s Langston Field meant that all the energy stored in that Field, and all that was pouring into it from the outside, transferred directly to the inside of the ship. That much energy would not be contained by mere metal, and would not even note the presence of flesh. Starships, when they die, do so almost instantaneously. They may glow; certainly their constituent components do so. Fusion does that to matter. At best, the crew and their ship die by increments, as was the fate of the Wallenstein. In the worst cases, where Langston Fields collapse catastrophically, one spectacular flare of energy consumes decades of design, years of labor, tons of materials and centuries of human lives in a nanosecond.
And it’s on to the next target, Dannevar reflected. He watched the display; his “fierce face” deployment had not, as yet, caused Intruder Two to turn tail and run back to Sparta. He had not expected it to. His aggressive advance would be doing its work in the minds of the enemy commanders, bridge crews and gunners.
Still; they do seem resolved; well, that was only to be expected. The point of this whole exercise is to make them reconsider that resolution.
The thought of Sparta had reminded Dannevar of something; something from school, something about the ancient Greek warriors. Not those of Sparta in fact, but of Athens and their first encounter with a Persian army.
The Persians had waged war in an exceedingly simple manner: they showed up. By fielding a battle host many times greater in number than their opponents, the Persian’s reputation alone often led to relatively bloodless contests. The result was their psychologically defeated foes were rounded up and ransomed, sold into slavery or, just as likely, released. Little blood was shed, since warfare was largely still ritualized. The Persians only wanted to build an empire, and do it reasonably; they weren’t interested in actually hurting anyone.
The Persians thus watched in amazement the first time a badly outnumbered Athenian force charged against their mighty eastern army with a willingness not just to die, but to actually kill—and do both to great excess. With no more reputation behind them than what they showed that first day, it was the Greeks who routed the Persian host; the savagery with which they defeated and pursued their foe was unmatched in the Persian experience. So much in fact, that Persian chroniclers declared the Greeks must be madmen, so great was their lust for blood.
That was what Dannevar was trying to do now—or so he thought. A Sauron task force, outnumbered but nevertheless willing to give battle with no quarter asked or given, should have been sufficient to give any sane commander pause.
II
“Task Force Keegan engaging Intruder Two, Dictator.”
“Status Intruder One.”
“Time to intersect Freas/Barlowe axis two hours, forty-seven minutes.”
“Status Intruder Three.”
“Holding position one-point-seven billion kilometers rim-trailing.”
Diettinger shook his head slowly, rocking his cheekbone back and forth along his thumbnail. Why are the Imperials holding the Franklin Alderson Point? An escape route or a reinforcement zone, or both? Reinforcements were unlikely, though there was the question of the absent motherships. And no replenishment tankers had arrived yet.
Meaning, they
are coming soon, or the Imperials are confident of their ability to seize Ostia. If Ostia fell, its orbital refueling stations would be scuttled by the Saurons before they could be captured. Imperial refueling platforms would then have to be deployed; the Empire had starfaring refineries for skimming hydrogen from water planets and gas giants and converting it into usable hydrogen fuel for its fleets. None were in the Sauron System yet, nor were they likely to arrive until the initial assault had established at least local space superiority at the system’s gas giant.
So they will bring tankers, Diettinger decided. And they will come in from the Franklin Alderson Point. The fast ships of Intruder Three made sense, now. Such ships could intercept any threat to forces arriving from Franklin long before any large-scale attack could be mounted. Should they be overwhelmed, those same new arrivals would have plenty of time to vector along the perimeter of the Sauron System until reaching other friendly forces for protection, enough time even to find the Jump Point and leave again.
“Signal Hourglasses North and South to engage, standard thrust.”
On Sauron, System Defense First Rank Eglin received and relayed the commands and turned to his own second-in-command, the newly-promoted Second Rank Pell, commander of the asteroid defense perimeter units. “Platform commands, standby.”
Pell allowed himself a faint smile of satisfaction.
He watched as the High Command’s immersion display began to alter, reflecting the shift of forces which would begin the most decisive battle of human history.
“Vessel First Rank Dannevar reports heavy losses both to Imperials and Task Force Keegan; Intruder Two still advancing toward Ostia, but slowed. He estimates that Intruder Two can be delayed as ordered, but not five minutes more.”