Citadel: Troy Rising II

by John Ringo

  "Prepare to launch parasites, aye," Commodore Marchant said. "We're stacking them in the launch tubes."

  "Anti-spin Aggressors are in movement," Sharp said. "They've opened fire."

  "Joy," Admiral Kinyon said. "Try to keep it off the Orion, why don't you?"

  "What about my ships?" Commodore Marchant said.

  "Nothing says being in the Navy's safe," Admiral Kinyon said.

  "Joy," LC Osipheth said as the battle globe opened fire. In the first three seconds it had fired more missiles than carried by the entire BBG. He'd already flushed his racks and was potting at it with his four terawatt laser. If any of the lasers of the defending fleet were bothering it it wasn't evident. It was turning, slowly, in space, apparently trying to maneuver to take the main fleet under fire.

  "Missile fire targeted on the Jachchud," Lieutenant Ucelef said. "Half of it. The other half is going for the Ru'Kezhilix."

  "That's their problem," Osipheth said. "Defense link up?"

  "Full lock," Ucelef said. "Not that it's doing much good. We're stopping them but not fast enough."

  "I can see that," Osipheth said. "No lasers at least. They don't have that damned solar laser to hit us with."

  "Laser fire," Ucelef contradicted him. "Heavy. Targeted on the Ru'Kezhilix. Ru'Kezhilix is . . . ​gone."

  The laser of the Troy was not the SAPL but it concentrated more power in one battlestation than any five Assault Vectors. Many of the aiming collimeters had been damaged in the battle but there were more than enough left to hammer the defending Battleship Battle Groups.

  It had taken some time to rotate the Troy around to where the main laser could engage but it was in the target box before the missiles got through the Rangora defenses.

  One shot was all it took to take down an Aggressor's shields. The next pretty much ripped the wildly maneuvering ships to shreds.

  Then the missiles started hunting for viable targets.

  ✺ ✺ ✺

  "Take us in alongside the Jachchud," Osipheth ordered. "The port remnants, that is."

  The heavy battlewagon had barely withstood the laser of the globe for a second. Then it was cut in half long-wise. Then the viciously powerful laser went on to find other targets, starting with the cruisers. Which gave the Yettoj a few moments of breathing room.

  "Alongside the port remnants, aye," the pilot replied.

  "Sir?" Ucelef said.

  "If we can get in there and shut down, we might not be noticed by the remaining missiles," Osipheth said. "We're not going to win this battle but I'd like to survive it."

  "Still trying to sort out the sheep from the goats," Captain Sharp said. "We're about in the basket for the beginning of fire from the main fleet. But the defenders are mostly gone."

  "Flush the parasites," Kinyon ordered. "All of them as fast as possible."

  The Troy maneuvered like an aging tortoise. They still hadn't killed their velocity from gate exit and were somewhat in danger of hitting one of the docks. But it was time to come around and face the main fleet.

  "Flush parasites, aye," Commodore Pounders said.

  "After everything else about the Troy," Captain Kepler said, "this is one thing I can't quite get over."

  "Concur, sir," Booth said.

  "Carter, stand by for launch."

  "Ready for launch, aye," Captain Kepler said, bracing himself into his chair. He didn't really need to. The launch system was a lower gravitational constant than the Carter's acceleration; the onboard inertial compensators would handle it easily. But knowledge and emotions were two different things. A two hundred meter long, fifty meter wide, ship was about to get shot out of a kilometer long ejection tube in less than a second. It should feel like you were in an accelerating Ferrari.

  A really, really big Ferrari.

  The Carter slid up the launch tube and jetted into space, hurtling towards the target ships at forty kilometers per second.

  "Make sure our IFF is up," Kepler said. "There's still a bunch of the Troy's missiles floating around hunting targets. Status on the Battle group?"

  "Warrington and Mayrant are out of the tube," the CIC officer said. "Monaghan and Trippe are flushing now."

  "And we're in business," Kepler said. "Any incoming fire?"

  "Not on us," Booth said. "Don't ask about the Troy."

  "This is rather unpleasant," Admiral Kinyon said as the first flight of missiles broke through the defenses. The Troy was ringing like a cymbal.

  "CruRon away," Commodore Marchant said. "Launching shuttles."

  "Arrh, me hearties!" Kinyon said, neutrally. "Boarders away! Adjust missiles to full anti-missile settings. Keep them off the parasites. And let's see how many they carry."

  Each of the Aggressors carried four hundred missiles. The Assault Vector Dwarf Mauler carried an additional five thousand.

  The Aggressors could flush their magazines in under a minute. The AV took a bit longer, two minutes.

  Two minutes after the Troy exited the gate, just short of fifteen thousand missiles, each having the kinetic energy equivalent of a ten megaton nuclear weapon, were in space and headed towards the battlestation.

  But the Troy had missiles as well. Most of those were set to target on the enemy ships. Ten percent, though, were set to engage incoming missiles.

  About ninety percent of the fire was getting through the defenses with the Troy sending most of its fire to the enemy fleet. Two hundred megatons of energy was hitting the battlestation every second. Most of it, however, was hitting on the North sector which was pointed at the enemy fleet. Which just meant it was slowly mining out the sector and otherwise doing no damage other than marginally changing the Troy's delta v.

  As the missiles shifted to defense, that fire dropped off. The Troy, even with all the damage it had sustained, fired fifteen hundred missiles per second.

  In ten seconds, Troy had launched as many missiles as the entire enemy fleet launched in one hundred and twenty. The missiles were successful at interception fifty percent of the time. Some hit multiple times. Those that "missed" were automatically programmed to continue on to the distant ship targets.

  Ten seconds after that, there were no more enemy missiles.

  "Cease fire," Admiral Kinyon said. "Let's close a bit before we use up more missiles. No need to leave them in the target basket longer than necessary."

  "Close the fleet on the Dwarf Mauler," Lhi'Kasishaj said. "Keep those missiles off of us. Activate the gate. We're getting out of . . ."

  "We are going no where!" Gi'Bucosof shouted. "Close on the battlestation and destroy it!"

  "You're insane," Lhi'Kasishaj said. "That thing has more firepower than we can possibly face!"

  "There are things you do not know, coward," Gi'Bucosof said. "In a moment, it will simply be a very rich prize."

  "You don't seem to be enjoying the game, Niazgol," Tyler said, moving a pawn. He had to be careful to get it into the right space since the Troy was rocking in a most unpleasant manner.

  "I have rather had my fill of battles," Gorku said, considering the board. "And being in this one seems unnecessary."

  "Depends upon the definition of unnecessary," Tyler said. "Your move."

  "I know," Gorku said. "I'm considering it."

  "I think the vulnerability of my rook is rather obvious," Tyler said.

  "And I'm wondering why you put it out in the middle of the board," Gorku said. "Unsupported by other pieces."

  "It seems rather unnecessary, doesn't it?" Tyler said.

  "Yes," Gorku said, looking him in the eye. "What game are you playing?"

  "More like which," Tyler said, smiling. "Seriously. Your move."

  "I rather don't want to do this," Gorku said, ruffling his back fur. "But . . . ​ Paris."

  "Yes, Benefactor?"

  "Code Tol-Par-Kie-Fon," Gorku said. "Override Benefactor Six One Seven Four."

  "Yes, Benefactor," Paris replied. "All defense shut down. Evacuating all personnel areas. Shutting down drive. Openin
g bay door. Sending surrender codes to Rangora fleet."

  "I'm sorry, Tyler," Gorku said. "But it has to be this way."

  "Yes, it does, rather," Tyler said as the hatch slid open. Three marines in suits entered with their lasers pointed casually at the floor.

  Gorku blinked in surprise. He could clearly feel the Orion drive continuing to fire. And there was a hum under all the fire of the lasers still functioning and missiles being ejected. Through the crystal wall, the ripple of distortion from the maneuvering drives was visible.

  "How?" Gorku said. "That . . . ​that is a hard coded override! It's a Benefactor override!"

  "What you failed to consider," Tyler said, gathering up the pieces, "was that Earth had a rather developed IT field before we met the Glatun. And while we had immense trouble with the complexity of your software when we first encountered it . . . ​well we've had seventeen years. That's the same time as from the development of the Apple Two to the internet boom. If you think we were going to put the survival of Earth in the hands of AIs we didn't fully understand . . . ​ Seriously, did you really think we were that stupid?"

  "How long had you known?" Gorku asked.

  "AIs don't come fully awake until they're activated," Tyler said. "We rather thoroughly vetted the software before we activated it. And once we knew what back-doors would look like in Glatun code, we were able to find them easily enough. Not to mention things like Benefactor overrides. We've had full control, including overrides, on all the AIs you supplied for some years now. We've even reverse engineered the coding so we can make our own. I was just wondering if you'd really go through with it."

  "The Glatun are conquered," Gorku said, sadly. "What else did you expect me to do?"

  "So you didn't really escape," Tyler said. "Is the Admiral aware?"

  "No," Gorku said. "No, he's not. He thought it was all valid. The order was. My escape, though, was provided courtesy of the Rangora High Command."

  "I recall you had Rangora servants," Tyler said. "So all that hooey about being a Glatun patriot was so much bullcrap. You were a spy all along?"

  "No," Gorku said. "I didn't give the Rangora a thing before the war. That didn't mean I didn't leave my options open. I saw that we could never face the Rangora. I did what I could to prevent the war and even to find allies, like Earth, that might help. But in the end . . . ​ What would you had me do?"

  "I guess . . . ​trust us," Tyler said. "But that was yesterday. For today, these gentlemen will escort you to slightly less comfortable quarters while we crush another Rangora fleet. And tomorrow . . . ​we will see what we can do for the Glatun."

  "We are on vector for the enemy fleet, sir," Captain Pohlman reported.

  The Troy was finally flying straight now that the enemy's missiles were so much space dust.

  "Finally," Admiral Kinyon said.

  "We were getting a lot of alternative delta from the missile hits, sir," Pohlman pointed out. "But we're headed for them, now."

  "Keep North pointed at them," Kinyon ordered. "Tactical shift targeting to the AV. All tubes, all laser. Hold fire for my command."

  "All tubes, all laser, target the AV, aye," Sharp said. "This is gonna be fun."

  "How are the Marines and parasites doing?" Kinyon asked.

  "Nominal," Commodore Marchant said. "Just getting in range to start boarding actions."

  THIRTY-FIVE

  "Holy crap," Dana said, maneuvering to dodge incoming laser fire. "Can we get some fire suppression here?"

  The space docks had "only light defenses." Light defenses were enough to take out a shuttle. As had already been proven too many times.

  "Roger," Hartwell said, firing their own pop-gun. "Carter, this is Thirty-Three. Could we get some fire suppression, over?"

  The shuttles were working in tandem with the cruiser battle groups. Each flight, supposedly, had a CruRon covering it. So far, it seemed like most of the covering was coming from their onboard lasers.

  "Roger, Thirty-Three," the Carter responded. "Can you pin-point it for us?"

  The exterior of the three kilometer long space dock was not smooth, it looked like the skyline of a city. Which meant that fire was coming from a dozen angles.

  "Try following the line of my fire," Hartwell said, firing another burst of lasers. "Good enough?"

  "Roger, got it. Incoming fire from the Warrington."

  The surface structure, whatever it was, vanished in a flash of light. The Warrington had apparently fired a missile.

  "Thank you, Jimmy," Hartwell said.

  "You are welcome. Please consider us for all your future weapons of mass destruction needs."

  "And they made a nice LZ," Dana said, banking around to head for the destroyed structure. It was still outgassing which meant the Marines wouldn't have to cut through a bulkhead.

  "Whoa," Hartwell said as they entered the structure. It hadn't been obvious how large it was from a distance. The blast from the Warrington had opened up a large support corridor of some sort. Large being defined as large enough for multiple shuttles to fit.

  "We're taking fire," Dana said as the hull rang.

  "Can't spot it," Hartwell said.

  "Thirty-Three, Thirty-Two. Fire coming from ten o'clock, low."

  "Got it," Hartwell said.

  A group of Rangora were clustered around a semi-portable laser. It had about the same output as the shuttle's, but was manually targeted.

  Hartwell laid the auto-karat on the group and walked laser fire across them. The power-pack from the laser blew up in a flash of actinic light, taking out the survivors of the crew. And a section of bulkhead and deck.

  "EM Hartwell, Staff Sergeant Pridgeon."

  "Go, Pidge."

  "We going to take any more fire? I've got a guy down and we're evacuated."

  "Don't know," Thermal answered. "But you're about to get to fire back. Ramp coming down."

  "We have an entry near quadrant four engineering control," Major Ward said. Eric C. Ward was the operations officer of the 2nd Marine regiment which was tasked with capturing both the space dock designated SO Two as well as its support ship, Sierra Two Eighteen.

  It was one hell of a task for a bare two thousand Marines.

  "It's the main engine transfer corridor," Ward continued. "There's enough space to put down a Flight."

  "Let's maximize that," Colonel Bolger said, moving his chew from one cheek to the other and spitting into a receptacle in his helmet. "Put in Two Batt."

  "Two Batt to LZ Charlie, aye," Major Ward said, sending the orders.

  "Time to move forward," Bolger said. "Get me a shuttle to saddle."

  "Two-thirty there," Staff Sergeant Pridgeon said, pointing to the side. "Get me some covering fire down this corridor!"

  Rammer grabbed one handle of the crew-served laser and hefted as Lassie got the other.

  "Let's rock," Rammer said, humping the laser down the ramp.

  The "corridor" was about as high as a gymnasium and seemed to stretch forever. Whatever it was for, the steel bulkheads and deck were scuffed up and scratched as if something big was normally moved through it. Arrayed along the sides were more hatches than he could count. And all of them seemed to be disgorging armed Rangora who seemed strangely upset at the unexpected visit from the Terran Marines.

  Laser fire seemed to be coming from everywhere and he really had no fricking clue what they were doing. But the staff said set up the laser and give covering fire and that was good enough.

  He powered up the laser as Lassie latched down the tripod in case they lost gravity. It was about that time he realized the gravity was above Earth normal. Which just made him glad that was what they normally trained in.

  He scanned the vector for targets and caught a burst of fire from a hatch down the corridor. He swept the laser across the hatch and was rewarded by the sight of a burst of volatiles. A moment later a part of a Rangora tumbled out of the hatch.

  "We're taking fire," Lassie said as the bulkhead next to them flash
ed into gas. The laser had a shield but it wasn't much good against heavy fire.

  "Where?" Rammer snapped. Rangora were pouring into the corridor, taking cover behind the debris left by the strike from the ships. The fire could be coming from anywhere.

  Rammer walked the laser into the groups he could spot, getting some, missing others. He felt a punching sound to his side and looked over.

  "Frack," he muttered. "I need a new AG, Staff! Lassie's down!"

  "Missile, Missile, Missile," the battle comp chimed.

  "Crappity, crappity, frack, frack," Rammer said, sending another burp of coherent light downrange.

  "Thirty-Three, pull out and go pick up more troops," Mutant commed. "Ware fire."

  "Roger, Mutant," Thermal said, firing a burst of lasers into a group of Rangora about a hundred meters down the corridor. The bastards were big but they had a remarkable ability to hide in the rubble that the missile strike had caused.

  "Pulling out," Dana said, lifting off.

  The shuttle almost immediately went into a spin which slammed it into the bulkhead of the corridor. Dana corrected and got it limping back into space but it was hard. Something was broke.

  "What just happened?" Dana asked.

  "We got hit by Thirty-One," Hartwell said. "Damage to starboard maneuvering control. Get us out of this cluster and I'm on it."

  "What about Moose and Charlie?" Dana asked, crabbing out of the opening as another shuttle came in.

  "Thirty-One's toast," Hartwell said. "Ate a missile."

  "Crap," Dana said. "These had better be worth it."

  "We're taking some serious fire from down-corridor, sir," Captain Silver said. Benjamin "Streak" Silver was the commander of Alpha Company, Second Battalion, Second Marine Regiment and had found himself on point of the regiment's assault. Which meant that his company, in particular, was soaking up the casualties. "Is there any way we can get some heavy fire support? The shuttles are doing what they can, but we're getting slaughtered in here."

  "Roger, Ben," the battalion commander commed. "We're working that exercise. Just maintain your Operational Status. I'm sending in Charlie company as force addition."