Trial by Fire

by Charles E Gannon

  Caine shrugged. “Believe what you like, but any minute now, I expect that your sensor operator is going to inform you that the exhaust signatures and mass scans are a match for what the transponders are telling you. You’ll only be sure when the ladar starts showing you silhouettes, but by then it will be too late to change your course of action.”

  “But it makes no sense,” insisted Urzueth. “If these are the real ships, then what did we destroy at Barnard’s Star, and why did you let us?”

  “I’m just continuing with guesswork,” admitted Caine, “but, at Barnard’s Star, I believe you destroyed specially constructed decoys: ships which had the shape of these craft, and their signatures, but were otherwise only moderately armed and probably uncrewed. Had you examined the wreckage—what little there was—I suspect you would have eventually discovered evidence that you had destroyed unfinished hulls fitted with only those basics necessary to fool your sensors.” Caine remembered all the strange and secretive activities he had heard whispers about in the weeks before Convocation. “Those decoys were probably built secretly. Out in the Belt, I’d guess, and with their fusion drives rigged for triggerable containment failures. That way, you wouldn’t have much wreckage left to study.” And suddenly Caine realized why the quarantine on DeePeeThree had not been lifted after he had discovered primitive exosapients there. “What you thought were shift-carriers were just frames, superstructures, and fusion engines, turned into finished decoys out at Delta Pavonis Three or beyond, where, due to quarantines, there wasn’t enough deep space traffic to stumble across them.”

  “But why? What was the purpose of all this—waste?”

  “To make you believe that you’d destroyed all these ships at Barnard’s Star. Because that, in turn, made you believe you’d achieved far more than you had, made you believe you were safer than you were.”

  Yaargraukh nodded from the other side of the holotank. “Of course. The humans predicted that after our victory at Barnard’s Star, we would want to move quickly, that we did not wish to lose the initiative. Which was, after all, a prudent strategy. So when we scanned the wreckage, we trusted our long-range sensor data, which matched what we expected. And, reassured, we did not wait to conduct a more detailed post-action analysis.”

  Urzueth Ragh waved an impatient claw. “Which would have shown us that we had not destroyed the ships we thought we had. So. I accept this. But this waste of resources to build decoy hulls. To what specific end did the humans do it?”

  Caine ran his gaze across the entirety of the strategic plotting holotank. “Right now, it looks to me as though you only brought about sixty percent of the forces that hit Barnard’s Star.”

  “This is correct.”

  “And that sixty percent is further split into three parts. The largest part, with all your interface and landing craft, is here in cislunar space. Almost as large, and containing an equal number of your capital ships, is the flotilla guarding the Solar System’s only remaining supply of antimatter: the refinery that we ‘failed’ to destroy in the Belt. And you left a small holding force at Jupiter, which is your best, but not your only, source of deuterium for your fusion plants and engines. Is that about right?”

  Urzueth Ragh simply bobbed.

  “Then I’d say your current deployment is what we were hoping to achieve by letting you destroy all those wasteful decoys.” Caine shrugged. “You’ve set yourself up for the oldest strategy in the book: divide and conquer. Or, in tactical terms, the outcome at Barnard’s Star made you so confident that you split your forces into small groupings that our returning fleet can now defeat in detail. You guessed that with more than half of our forces destroyed, what ships we had left were bottled up in Ross 154 or behind it, out along the Green Mains. So when you arrived in the Solar System, it seemed both operationally prudent and strategically safe to split your fleet into three parts. Any one of those elements was large enough to take care of whatever motley collection of human hulls might be able to somehow punch through to Earth.

  “But now it turns out that the big fleet you thought you had destroyed was mostly made up of decoys, and that the real fleet has shown up on your doorstep. Which means that, here around Earth, you are now seriously outnumbered and you can’t recombine your forces in time. And even though our technology is behind yours, you’re about to be saturated with our very best systems.”

  Urzueth Ragh’s polyps were writhing spasmodically. Hu’urs Khraam looked at Caine with a strange, slow calm in all this motions. “A question remains: how did you know the ships would respond to a request for their transponder codes? Granted, our sensors can discriminate the class of vessel by its engine signature, but still, why let us know that these ships still exist? Why not let us believe that we had underestimated your production capability, that you had produced so many more than we anticipated and that this was a new fleet—possibly the first of many?”

  Caine shrugged. “I didn’t know they’d reveal their codes. But I guessed they might, because I think the World Confederation is trying to show you that this war is about to get a lot more costly—and bloody—for you, and that maybe this is the time to end it. Equably.”

  Hu’urs Khraam raised up. “And you believe that by revealing your secret—now—that we shall be cowed?”

  Caine tried a different approach. “Here’s another way to look at it. You’ve just been handed one surprise. So there could be more on the way. At any rate, you now have irrefutable proof that, within a few hours, you are going to have a real fight on your hands. Which, if you lose, would be disastrous for you, both up in orbit and down planetside. Because, if you lose orbital cover for even five minutes—”

  Yaargraukh rumbled deep in his chest. “Then we are all doomed. The moment we can no longer strike at Earth’s planetary forces from orbit, the humans will launch their missiles, and scramble all the aircraft and assault VTOLs that must surely be waiting out beyond the interdict line in the rest of this archipelago, and in Australia. They would be in among us so quickly, and so closely, that even if we reacquired orbital fire support later on, it would be useless. We would be hitting ourselves along with the humans. We will have irretrievably lost control of the ground campaign.”

  Hu’urs Khraam’s voice was slow. “So by showing us the tail numbers—”

  Caine nodded. “I think my leaders are making one last attempt at averting a full-scale strategic confrontation. Because once that kind of conflagration starts, there’s no controlling how far or fast or hot it will burn.”

  Darzhee Kut’s voice raised tentatively. “Your word for that is ‘apocalypse,’ is it not?”

  “There are several that would be suitable, Darzhee Kut, but that is the basic idea. So, I believe my leaders are sending your leaders a message. That there’s still a chance to control this situation before it spins so far out of control that there’s no way to stop it.”

  Hu’urs Khraam looked over toward First Voice. “If you would join me, for my joints are weak, I would be in your debt.”

  First Voice approached, waved back his train, never bothering to look at Hu’urs Khraam. Together with two Arat Kur analysts, they formed an improbable huddle.

  Yaargraukh had come around the holotank, stood close to Caine but did not look at him as he muttered, “As I feared when we spoke at Convocation, it seems we are destined to fight before we may finish the bridge we pledged to build between us.”

  Caine nodded. “True, but even now, that pledge gratifies me. If we survive to complete it, how many bridges can claim to have been so sturdily built, and under such inauspicious conditions?”

  Yaargraukh’s tongue flicked. “None that I know of—or would care to stand on.”

  Caine smiled back. “Take care in what is to come.”

  “You too, Caine. It is wise you do not trust my kind. They do not understand your actions, and Graagkhruud has not troubled himself to place them in an accurate context.”

  Caine would have thanked him, but Yaargraukh moved on, h
aving seen, or intuited, the breakup of the huddle. Hu’urs Khraam took one last look around his circle of advisors, who in turn looked down at their computing tablets. They all bobbed in his direction. Hu’urs Khraam turned to Caine. “It is decided. We shall fight.” He turned to Urzueth Ragh. “Summon the fleet from Vesta. At best speed, they should reach Earth in several days. They are to launch drones and high-endurance missiles to join our battle here as soon as it is practicable.” He turned back to Caine. “Your species is to be congratulated for its characteristic cunning. But for us, this is only a setback, not a defeat.”

  Caine watched the red motes—his—approach the yellow motes—theirs—and feared that Hu’urs Khraam might yet prove correct. The Arat Kur had a distinct technological edge that might yet prove decisive, even when so heavily outnumbered. It promised to be a very close contest, but with the enemy’s belt flotilla approaching at high-gee, whatever control humanity could buy with the best of her blood and her ships might be short-lived indeed.

  That was when the first rockets hit.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Central Jakarta, Earth

  As the barrage intensified, a rocket knifed into the eastern face of the Ananka Building. Trevor turned his face away as the window blasted inward from the shock of the nearby detonation.

  Tygg continued briefing the rebel officers they’d summoned. “It’s a fine day for our little surprise party, mates. Weather is just the way we want it. After this morning’s rain, we’ve got a temp that’s still going up, probably to ninety-seven Fahrenheit. The air will stay supersaturated the whole day: mist everywhere as soon as the sun peeks through a bit more. Storms expected by three PM, which will cover our retreat if we have to turn tail, but bogs the exos down if they abandon their compounds for the countryside. They don’t know their way around the bush too well.” He had to raise his voice over the constant roar of window-buffeting explosions. “This barrage will continue right up until M-minute. As you’ve seen, this phase of it is only crudely aimed and—so far—is coming in from the jungles and nearby kempangs. So stay in your positions and under cover. And do not fire, under any circumstances, until you receive the ‘go’ signal for the final attack, which will commence in a few hours and focus upon their C4I and PDF assets.

  “Until we get that final signal, don’t even let friendlies know you’re in the neighborhood. I reemphasize. We are not part of the general attack, which will commence first. The assaults which will commence after the peak of the barrage, and the current uprising in the streets, are primarily a cover for infiltration teams and special missions like ours.” Tygg paused. It had the desired effect. The faces around him leaned closer, a bit more solemn. “For the locals working with us final assault teams, it’s going to be very hard, spending hours watching their mates, maybe their own relatives, fighting and dying while they sit by and do nothing. So when you go back to your units, take one last measure of your war-fighters. If you’re worried that one of them might not be able to wait, watch, and do nothing until signaled, then reassign that person to one of the squads that will be joining the general assault. Or let them join up with the rebels doing the street fighting now. Because anyone who can’t take the waiting while other people are doing the dying, is no good to us today. Timing is everything.

  “And so is communication: here are our protocols for the final assault, which won’t be confirmed for at least two hours. The jumpoff signal will be sent over the cell repeater net that will be activated as part of the general assault, or on the remaining pagers if the net is down. If both of those are carked, we’ll be relying on the fiber-com net some tunnel rats have been building for us. We’ll try to stay connected to them via runners. If that’s not feasible, we’ll rely on smokes from preset command-and-control points in the area of operation. Red smoke means the general standoff units are to commence firing. Green smoke signals maximum sustainable covering fire from the standoff units, and then our final close-assault charge after a ten-count. In our particular case, don’t get eager and rush the presidential compound immediately, or you’re going to be too close when the breaching charges go off inside its walls. Now off you go, mates, and good luck to you.”

  As all but two of the Indonesians left, Trevor cleared his throat. “Tygg, before the show starts, I just want to say I appreciate how you jumped on board with my mission.”

  “Yeh, well, hard to reach the home office for permission, eh? Besides, my unit was too badly banged up to achieve our original objectives. At least this way, we’re back in the main fight.”

  Trevor nodded, hoped he wasn’t blushing in shame. The main fight? You mean that part of the battle where, acting under falsified orders, I usurp local forces to bust into the enemy compound to rescue my sister, a woman from the past who’s in love with another man instead of me, and maybe even the other man himself? Oh, it’s still a worthwhile mission and it still uses the local assets to achieve Downing’s objectives—breaching the compound, taking out their HQ—but I’m not even one hundred percent certain that the people I’m trying to rescue will be there. But if I know Opal, she’ll gravitate towards Caine’s probable location like iron filings to a magnet . . .

  “Trevor?”

  “Uh . . . yeah, Tygg?”

  “Shall we maintain our OP here?”

  “I don’t think so. We’re going to need our all our close assault elements, including us, on the ground and ready to go at a moment’s notice. Anyone left up here until the last minute isn’t going to get to us in time to join the attack.”

  Private Gavin shrugged, didn’t see Tygg’s sharp look—which could be universally translated as a preemptive “put a sock in it”—and pointed into the corridor behind them. “I dunno, Captain. Those elevators are very fast.”

  “They’re quick when they’re working, Gavin. But the barrage is only going to get worse. A hit, or an EMP strike, might take out the power. And eighteen stories is a very long walk.”

  John Gavin frowned. “Why another EMP strike?”

  Tygg jumped in before Trevor could respond, and while his words answered Gavin’s inquiry, his tone signaled that the garrulous private had asked his last question. “When we activate the disposable cell repeater net that the indigs have been building up secretly over the past month, the Arat Kur may decide to hit a big off switch, rather than jam it. Particularly when all our radios start turning back on.” His tone lowered. “Of course, it might be our side that generates an EMP.”

  Gavin had evidently missed Tygg’s tonal hint that question-time was now over. “We’d launch an EMP strike? Why us? We want to be able to talk.”

  Tygg shook his head. “Talk or no talk, we can’t be sure what weapons might have to be used to gain control of the battlespace.”

  “Eh?” Gavin wasn’t much good at reading between the lines.

  Trevor stepped in. “Private, according to your lieutenant, better than ninety percent of the world’s remaining submarine assets are currently hiding near or inside the fifty-kilometer nautical limit. And they are fully armed.”

  For one moment, the expression on Gavin’s face suggested that he was wondering what good all those torpedoes were going to do here in Jakarta. Then he evidently grasped what Trevor meant by “fully armed” the same instant he understood what kind of submarines were being discussed. “Oh.”

  “So,” Tygg concluded, “if you see a sharp flash overhead, don’t look up; look down. And if you’ve got the time, cover your ears and your ass. In a deep, dark hole.”

  Trevor looked over the Aussie’s shoulder, out the still-intact plate glass window that presented Merdeka Square as if it were a mural. So far, the national monument—the decidedly phallic Monas—hadn’t been hit, despite the fact that the air around it was filled with the smoke of recently or currently exploded inbound rockets. To the far right, a smaller warhead, clipped by the almost uninterrupted upward flow of enemy PDF fire, cartwheeled down and struck the most dramatic minaret of the Istiqlal Mosque, bounced off, exp
loded halfway on its tumble toward the dome. Lucky that time, but before the day was out, that dome was going to be hit, holed, maybe dropped. The cheap, free-flight rockets being used to overwhelm the Arat Kur’s PDF intercept sensors and automation were notoriously inaccurate. Hopefully, one wouldn’t come down on Jake Winfield’s head while he made his way to the docks to recruit some additional help rumored to be coming ashore there.

  As if to prove the accuracy limitations of the great majority of in-rushing rockets, there was a muffled blast overhead. Two ceiling panels shook loose, and ancient interfloor dust and detritus rained down. Barr, the secret-service man, looked up as though the rest of it were about to fall on their collective heads. “How long can they maintain this rate of fire?”

  One of the two remaining locals, a shopkeeper by the name of Kurniawan, smiled. “Long time. Soldiers without uniforms, they kept many rockets in secret places. They hid the best ones our army had, even before Ruap took over. And they got lots more since: good rockets, some very smart. Some were even sent here before the Roaches came, almost half a year ago. The smart rockets are small enough to hide in garbage cans. They mostly American, Russian, English, guided by laser or little computer chip, launched by a radio signal or wire. Then, soon after the Roaches land, little boats from Thous’ Islands start coming with simpler rockets. Some of those were old. Real old. Katyusha, RPGs. A lot from China. A lot aren’t even weapons. They’re just like firework rockets, with a tin tube around them. Or mylar.”

  “Mylar or tin? Why that?” asked Gavin.

  Trevor supplied the answer. “Tricks the Arat Kur PDF systems. Only works for a second or two, but with this many rockets launched from relatively close ranges, they can’t spare the time to sort things out in detail. Any rocket they miss could hit one of their arrays, particularly if it’s one of those smart ones with a chip. Some of those are programmed to act like an off-course free-flight rocket until it approaches within a few hundred meters of its target. Then it goes active and swerves into a direct engagement vector.”