by Peter Grant
He handed back the microphone, then turned on his heel as the Plot operator announced, “Time to first missile now thirty seconds!”
He didn’t bother going back to his seat. He’d meet his fate standing on his own two feet. Numbly he tried to force his mind to pray.
~ ~ ~
The enemy’s missiles were approaching at a closing speed of well over six-tenths of light speed. They would have been moving even faster but for the effects of relativity, which increased their mass and hampered their gravitic drives’ rate of acceleration – not that it would have made much difference at such already-staggering velocities.
By the time the corvette got within twelve million kilometers’ range of the two rebel ships, the first incoming missiles were less than half a minute from impact. The Weapons Officer launched all forty main battery missiles, but by the time the last one left its tube there were fewer than ten seconds left to program the defensive missiles. He barraged all forty of them in a single salvo, abandoning any attempt to guide them individually, trusting to sheer blind chance that their internal systems might be able to home on a target.
The decoys sucked more than a dozen of the first incoming missiles off target, but they were destroyed by the resulting kinetic impacts, removing their distracting influence from follow-up weapons. The first defensive missiles took out the next group of onrushing enemy weapons at desperately close range, their thermonuclear detonations forming a blast front of heat and light in front of the dodging, twisting corvette. That provided a measure of protection from the next few missiles, whose sensors could no longer home on the corvette’s emissions through the radiation. They streaked through the blast front, searched for a few moments, found nothing within range, and self-destructed in thermonuclear plasma fireballs.
Unfortunately, the corvette’s climb and turn to starboard took her clear of the concealment provided by her detonating defensive missiles. The remaining thirty-plus attacking missiles swerved to meet her, and at such extreme velocities they offered only split seconds for the warship’s three laser cannon to target them. Two of the cannon scored hits on onrushing missiles, blinding their sensors and sending them tumbling… but there were too many more screaming in behind them.
Several missiles howled past the little ship, missing by no more than one to two kilometers, but no-one on the corvette ever knew they had come so close. The next incoming missile tracked the Bactrian warship from a long way out by her drive emissions, saw her desperate climbing turn, adjusted its trajectory, and slammed into her head-on at a closing velocity of point six four two Cee. The kinetic energy released by the collision, at that speed, of a two hundred ton battleship main battery missile and a thirty thousand ton corvette, dwarfed the energy of any thermonuclear warhead ever fitted to any missile. The fireball expanded several kilometers in all directions, blinding white at first, fading to yellow, then orange, then crimson, then turning brown and black. The corvette and the missile were reduced to their component atoms, along with every member of the warship’s crew.
They didn’t live long enough to see their own missiles arrive at the enemy’s positions.
~ ~ ~
There was no need to issue commands in the operating centers aboard Liberty and Independence. All the preparations that could be made, had been made. Now it was up to the console operators and the battle computers.
The ten missiles aimed at the ships’ drones were ignored. They could safely spend their bomb-pumped laser warheads on the harmless decoys. The ten making for where the ships would have been had they continued on their original courses and speeds were another matter. Those weapons were actively searching, using onboard sensors to seek out their targets. There were no gravitic drive emissions for them to find, but if one or more of them happened to catch even the most fleeting glimpse of a target…
Two of them spotted Liberty. The battle computers detected the sudden jink as they changed course to intercept, and automatically activated the immense active electronic scanned arrays paneled around the ship’s hull. A torrent of radar and lidar energy bathed the onrushing missiles as the laser cannon turrets spun, locked onto the bearing, and began to fire.
At a third of a million kilometers’ range the first of the incoming missiles collected a laser beam full on its nose, followed an instant later by a second. Its sensors blinded, it could no longer figure out where to aim. It rushed past the ship, useless, to self-destruct a few seconds later.
The second missile dodged left as it detected the laser cannon emissions, then dodged right again. It snaked past three laser bolts, swiveled to point its bomb-pumped laser head at the ship, and detonated. Its warhead blasted thirty laser generating rods with megatons of thermonuclear energy, in the instant of their destruction sending a tightly focused cone of laser beams flashing across the twelve thousand kilometers separating the missile from its target.
The laser cone was designed to encompass a target the size of a corvette from stem to stern at that range. Against a much larger vessel like a Bavaria class transport it could hardly miss. Twenty-three of its thirty beams struck home. Thanks to Liberty having rolled onto her back to unmask the laser cannon, most of them hit cargo holds or utility spaces in the belly of the ship, missing vital installations, inflicting minimal harm and no casualties.
Two beams caused more serious damage. One smashed Laser Cannon Three into scrap metal and electronic slag; but as it was an unmanned barbette design rather than a manned turret, no-one was hurt. Not so the second beam. It ripped into the port docking bay in the rear of the hull, destroying a cutter, blasting through the wreckage and the airlock beyond it into the foyer, venting the local atmosphere to vacuum. The damage control party waiting in the foyer had no warning. Four died instantly as pieces of steel were blasted loose from the hull, slashing through the spaces where they were standing. Two more were injured, one grievously, as their spacesuits were pierced by multiple smaller fragments. The others, further from the impact site, were left stunned and shaken as the air around them rushed out into space with a hissing, moaning sound that quickly died away to leave them standing in vacuum, protected by their spacesuits.
Airtight doors throughout the ship were closed during General Quarters. They confined the loss of atmosphere and prevented it spreading beyond the docking bay. Alarms clanged in the Damage Control Center, where the Executive Officer was manning the backup OpCen. Space-suited rescue parties were instantly dispatched to set up temporary airlocks to give access to the damaged area, help their comrades, assess the situation, and make whatever running repairs were needed to keep the ship fighting.
~ ~ ~
Dave waited tensely in the visitor’s area behind the Command console as Captain Cullew and his team responded to the damage, assessed the ship’s condition, and confirmed the destruction of the Bactrian corvette. It seemed like hours, but was in reality only a couple of minutes, before the Captain turned to face him.
“All’s well, Sir. We’ve taken moderate damage, but we’re still spaceworthy and fighting fit, apart from one laser cannon that’ll need to be replaced at a dockyard. Our port docking bay will be out of action until repaired, but our starboard bay is still operational. I don’t yet know our casualties, Sir – we’re waiting for rescuers to get into the damaged bay – but there are bound to be some. You heard the transmission from the enemy commander to his ships in orbit, Sir. What’s next?”
“I want to make sure we capture those ships intact, with all their systems in working order. How do we stop their crews sabotaging them?”
Cullew pursed his lips. “Tricky, Sir. We’re an hour away from orbit, and we can’t afford to get within range of their missiles until we’ve neutralized them. We’re going to have to come to a halt relative to the planet, about eight to ten million kilometers away, and send over Gurkha boarding parties in assault shuttles to take possession of each ship. They’ll have to round up their crews and lock them up, perhaps using the OrbCon freighter as a temporary prison, so th
at we can send prize crews to take control of every ship. That’s going to be a problem in itself – there are three armed merchant cruisers, a freighter, and OrbCon itself. We don’t have enough Spacers to provide crews for them all. We’ll have to put anchor watches aboard until we figure out what to do next.”
“All right. Put me on that circuit the enemy commander used and give me a microphone.”
“Aye aye, Sir. Command to Communications, give Brigadier-General Carson a microphone and put him on the planetary Guard channel at full power.”
“Communications to Command, aye aye, Sir.”
Dave walked over to the console, accepted the offered microphone, and gathered his thoughts as he pressed the ‘Transmit’ button.
“Attention all Bactrian vessels in orbit around Laredo – or Termaz, as you call our planet. This is Brigadier-General David Carson, President Pro Tem of Laredo’s Government-in-Exile and Commanding Officer of her off-planet forces. Listen carefully.
“You heard the orders of your late Commanding Officer. I require you to obey them, and my orders, to the letter. You will shut down all your weapons systems and sensors immediately and withdraw all operators from them and their consoles. You will preserve all your systems, including weapons, computer and communication systems, intact and undamaged. Any deviation will result in your being treated as pirates rather than prisoners of war – and you know the punishment for piracy. It will be applied instantly and without mercy. Do not doubt my determination in that regard. Your planet has slaughtered something like two-thirds of the population of mine. I’m not inclined to be any more lenient than international convention requires me to be, and even that is only on sufferance. Disobey me at your mortal peril.
“Our ships will brake to a halt relative to Laredo, then send over armed boarding parties. You will assemble your crews in central locations to await their arrival, and obey their orders. Once we’ve confined you aboard a single ship, we’ll discuss your future. If you obey my orders and co-operate with my boarding parties, I’ll consider sending you all back to Bactria aboard one of your vessels. If you don’t, I can arrange many less pleasant alternatives. I suggest you keep that firmly in mind.”
He took a deep breath. “Finally, inform Brigadier-General Khan on the surface of the planet that provided his forces remain confined to their bases and make no hostile moves against anyone, I won’t attack them until we’ve had a chance to discuss matters. I’ll be in touch with him as soon as we’ve secured the orbitals. If he does anything other than wait for me to contact him, I will bombard his forces from orbit and wipe them out to the last man. Their deaths will be on his head. That’s all. Carson out.”
His knees felt weak as he handed back the microphone. He noted that everyone in the OpCen was staring at him, some of them with their mouths open. He’d clearly sounded convincing to them. He thought to himself, Now, if only I’ve managed to impress the enemy half as much…
Captain Cullew nodded to him as he walked back to the Command console. “That was very persuasive, Sir, if I may say so. What will you do if Brigadier-General Khan doesn’t listen to you?”
“That’s a good question, Captain,” Dave admitted with a grin. “We’d better make sure the General gets the message. Please prepare one of our former target missiles.”
Cullew’s face sobered. “Sir, you know that interplanetary convention forbids bombardment of civilian population centers.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Captain. I won’t do that. After all, there are my own people to consider down there. No, I have something else in mind.” He quickly explained.
The Captain began to smile again. “That should do it, Sir.”
“I’ll ask our forces on the planet to nominate a suitable target. Speaking of them, would you please send Message Two to the Resistance? We won’t need the others, of course.” Multiple messages had been pre-recorded to cover various degrees of success or failure. The first had been broadcast on arrival in the system. Most of the remainder were now redundant.
“Of course, Sir. Command to Communications. Send Message Two to the Resistance forces on the planet, repeated three times on all designated frequencies.”
“Communications to Command, aye aye, Sir.”
“How long will it take us to secure the ships in orbit?” Dave asked.
“Plan on up to twenty-four hours, Sir. During that time we’ll board and search all their ships, gather up their crews and assemble them in a central location, then enter orbit ourselves.”
“Very well. I’m going to think about what I’ll say to Brigadier-General Khan. I’ll leave you to it.”
“Aye aye, Sir. Attention in the OpCen!”
Everyone snapped to attention, sitting or standing, as Dave strode to the door. He glanced around, nodding to acknowledge their salute, then walked out. The door slid closed behind him.
“I wonder if he realizes what an incredible achievement this has been, Sir?” the Weapons Officer said softly. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a planetary Resistance on its last legs bouncing back like this, to such an extent that it’s retaken the orbitals of its own planet from an enemy Fleet.”
“I don’t think I have either,” Cullew admitted. “It’s a privilege to be part of it, though. We’re making history, ladies and gentlemen. This will be something to tell our grandchildren about – and I have a feeling we haven’t seen anything yet.”
~ ~ ~
Major Tredegar and Sergeant-Major O’Connor were sitting in the makeshift Operations Room when a Corporal barged through the door, face alight with excitement. “Sir! We’ve just picked up a transmission on Guard channel! The enemy commander in space has told the ships in orbit to surrender rather than fight! He says they haven’t got the performance or the weapons to challenge President Carson!”
The NCO’s manning desks and makeshift consoles in the Ops Room erupted in cheers and yells of delight. Tredegar shook his head, grinning from ear to ear. “I don’t know how the hell Major Carson managed to do it, but I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear it!”
O’Connor observed, “Unless I’m mistaken, that means he’ll soon control the orbitals. Isn’t the old maxim ‘Control the orbitals, control the planet’? What does that mean for us, Sir?”
“I don’t know, but I suspect things are about to get very interesting indeed. Corporal, get a radio in here tuned to Guard channel. I suspect the enemy will be hearing more from Major Carson very shortly.”
“Yessir!”
A radio was brought in from the adjacent comms room and set up on a table, its speaker burbling gently, No sooner had it been tuned than a familiar voice crackled from its speaker. The operators listened in fascination as Dave delivered his ultimatum to the ships in orbit, and his message for them to relay to the Bactrian commander on the planet.
O’Connor whistled gently. “Does that mean what I think it means, Sir?”
“Yes. It means he’s coming down. I don’t know what sort of landing force he has, but if he’s making demands like that he must have something with which to back them up. He’d better have, because Brigadier-General Khan isn’t going to just give up. He’ll have to be convinced he can’t win. If he surrenders without that, he knows his head will be forfeit the moment he gets back to Bactria. What’s more, his own forces will disobey his orders unless they’re convinced there’s no alternative.”
The Sergeant-Major grinned. “I see he’s promoted himself, too, Sir.”
“And a good thing he did! For a start, he’s now the Commanding Officer of all our off-planet forces, and if they include ships of war, that’s a lot bigger than a Major’s berth. Also, if he’s going to negotiate with Brigadier-General Khan, he’ll be of equal rank. That might be very useful.”
“True, Sir. What are we going to do?”
“We wait and watch. Let’s get messages out to all our units to observe what the Bactrians are doing and let us know the moment any of their units look like leaving their bases. We’ll have to get word abo
ut that to Dave somehow.”
They were in the midst of passing the messages when the Corporal from the communications room came in again. “Sir, this has just been broadcast on the same three frequencies as the first message to us from Major – sorry, Brigadier-General Carson.”
He handed a slip of paper to Major Tredegar, who unfolded it and read it aloud. “Carson to Tredegar. These communications are not secure. I want to set up a secure channel. Can you meet my people at the rendezvous you used to meet the General’s transports after you escaped from BONAPARTE? If so, put out signal panels at that location observable from orbit. As soon as possible after I see them, I’ll send down a comms team. You won’t know them, but I’ll send a handwritten note with identifying information. Look for an assault shuttle with side panels the same color as your wife’s eyes. Expect it to approach from the same direction as Nature intended. Warn your forces not to shoot at it, because it will return fire if fired upon and its weapons are a lot more deadly than those you’re used to. If unable to get to that place, you’ll have to use the orbital Guard channel to set up a rendezvous. Don’t provide any instructions or identify any locations that the enemy might be able to understand. Use incidents from the past that we’ll both remember to convey information. Until a secure channel is established, take no action upon any orders purporting to come from me. Carson out.”
O’Connor frowned. “That’s a bit cryptic, Sir.”
“Yes, but it makes sense to me. Let’s look at the map.” They hurried over to the wall, and the Major pointed at a spot on the banks of the Renosa River. “That’s where Brigadier-General Aldred sent transporters to meet us after we escaped from the Matopo Hills base. There’s a clearing on the bank where an assault shuttle can land. I guess that bit about ‘approaching from the same direction as Nature intended’ means it’ll come from upstream, following the flow of the river. That’ll help to identify it even before we see it, because the sound should come from that direction. We don’t have any bases nearby, so I’m going to take one of our captured shuttles and head out there.”