by Chris Hechtl
Besides, the two forces were still four light minutes apart. There was no way for her to control both forces.
(@)()(@)
“The bombers report three kills. They took only one damaged bomber, no losses. Should we call up the reinforcements yet?” the ship's Alpha asked
The Alpha bull shook his head. “No. Not yet.”
“They'll target the carrier craft next,” the ship's Alpha bull warned.
“I know. It is a chance we'll have to take.”
“At least they haven't used their hell weapons yet,” the ship's Beta bull said.
The Alpha bull rolled an eye to the Beta bull as the ship's Alpha bull cursed the stupidity of questioning their luck in such a way and thus cursing them. “Operative word there, yet,” the Alpha bull rumbled quietly.
(@)()(@)
The Terrans had noted the bombers for the second missile strike so they changed the courses of their missiles before they fired. The two hundred missiles fired in three groups, above and around the bombers. The bombers thinned out in a vain attempt to engage them. Seeing the opportunity, a second shot of 120 missiles were fired at the center.
Twenty-nine of the first wave of missiles were engaged and destroyed before they got past the bombers. It was a disappointing total for the bomber crews, made even worse when only a dismal 3 of the 120 missiles fired at their open center were hit and destroyed.
The Alpha bull noted the incoming fire and ordered his screen to engage. To his surprise he saw the damaged cruisers move in as well, some physically putting themselves between the incoming robotic craft and their larger brethren of the herd. His heart leapt with pride at such courage.
“Order the cruisers to fire their remaining missiles. All of them,” he said. “Continue focusing on the enemy screen but target their cruisers. Grind them away.”
“As you command, Herd Leader,” the weapons bull replied dutifully.
The counter missiles began to leap off the cradles just ahead of the offensive ones. The cruisers did their best to hand off the control of the offensive robotic craft to the lesser defenders and great defenders so they could continue their defensive engagement. Their momentary lapse in attention allowed too many of the enemy robotic craft to get through.
Ten cruisers, eight of which had already been damaged, paid for their courage with the lives of their crews.
(@)()(@)
“I think we've got one more cruiser missile exchange after this one,” Commander Fowler said hoarsely as he noted the missiles coming in. As he watched counter missiles leapt from the cruisers to engage them. “We took out ten of their cruisers in that last exchange, but eight were already damaged.”
“So? Now they aren't in the way,” Admiral Rutledge growled, eyes gleaming as the cruisers switched to point defense lasers for the second stage of their engagement.
(@)()(@)
Admiral Oh's eyes widened in surprise when a quarter of the incoming missiles detonated early. A wall of rock suddenly appeared on the plot. “Helm, get us the hell out of here!” he snarled.
“Emergency blow ventral!” his flag captain ordered over the open link. She wasn't quite fast enough.
(@)()(@)
“Mother fracker!” Commander Fowler muttered as they watched helplessly as Admiral Oh's flagship, the Shredder, was itself shredded by the incoming wall of metal.
“Evasive maneuvers!” the flag captain barked over the link, making them all look up. Thoughts of the carnage on the screen was momentarily forgotten with thoughts of their own survival as they recognized the threat bearing down on them as well. Everyone held on to whatever they could find nearest that was sturdy as the ship's inertial dampeners were momentarily overwhelmed by the emergency thrust. Two techs that had been on the move went down hard, one hitting her head, the other snapping his leg like a twig. He screamed and writhed in pain, gasping for breath.
Fortunately, the cruisers had taken the brunt of the destruction, Admiral Rutledge realized as the haze in his vision lifted.
“What's the breakage?” he demanded.
“Admiral Oh's flagship is down. Unknown status, but it's not good,” the ship's A.I. reported. “Eleven cruisers and one destroyer lost, one cruiser crippled, four others damaged.”
“That well and truly sucked,” Commander Fowler said with feeling as he got to his feet. “We're almost without a screen,” he said with a shake of his head.
“Yes. But as you pointed out not a moment ago, they can't have very many more missile loads like that left,” the admiral pointed out. “It's time to get in there and dance,” he said. “The battle line will advance to engage the enemy,” he said as he took his seat.
Commander Fowler stared at him for a moment, caught off guard. “Sir, if we do that we'll be in their engagement zone. Their main guns will tear us to shreds,” he said carefully.
“Not if we get in there and kill them first. Which is what I intend to do,” the admiral growled as a pair of medics arrived to deal with the injured. “Shut up!” he barked at the sobbing tech on the floor. “I can't think with you caterwauling!” he snarled, momentarily distracted.
“Sir, if we do this, we'll have to move in as Commander Fowler said. It is contrary to our orders …” his chief of staff protested.
Admiral Rutledge turned on him with a scowl, making the other man blink and cut himself off. “What's the matter with you people? We've got the edge here, and I damn well intend to use it!”
(@)()(@)
“Ma'am, the screen has been crippled. Shredder is offline. We're not sure, but CIC believes she's a goner,” Willard said carefully.
Jan stopped sipping her cup of coffee abruptly, swallowed, and then gently put the cup down in the cup holder. She'd just gotten the report that the wings had consolidated and were halfway back to the barn for rearming and refueling. “What happened?” she asked carefully as she picked up a napkin and wiped at her mouth.
“The enemy fired those new warheads, the rail gun rounds,” Willard answered.
“Buckshot or shotgun rounds, that's what we're calling them,” Alton said, piping up from his station. He got up and came over to them, lowering his voice as he got closer. “I just replayed the engagement from our long-range sensors. Based on what I saw, they didn't stand a chance. The enemy loaded them in the bomber ordinance and detonated them outside the engagement range. It wasn't a perfect spread but damn near. They killed eleven cruisers and crippled a bunch more,” he said with a shake of his head as they looked at him.
“Damn,” Jan muttered.
“Ma'am, TF2.2 has picked up speed. They are headed directly to the enemy,” a rating reported.
Alton paled and turned to the rating. “They're gonna do what?” he demanded, eyes bugged out in shock. She spread her hands apart helplessly.
“Com, raise Bayern now,” Admiral Kepler barked, turning to the communications station.
“Pray it's not too late. But by the time you get him to alter course …,” Willard murmured.
Jan nodded as she realized they couldn't afford a two-way exchange. “Com, record for transmission to Bayern. “Admiral Rutledge, cease and desist your charge! Stay clear of the enemy's main guns!” Jan said desperately.
(@)()(@)
“The enemy escorts have been crippled. They have changed course … they are charging!” a sensor bull reported in a surprised voice.
“Clearly, someone over there is angry. But do their great defenders have a copy of our main guns?” the ship's Alpha bull asked.
“We can only assume so, and we have no idea what the bigger great defenders have,” the Beta bull answered. “They wouldn't be courting battle at such odds if they didn't have some offsetting advantage,” he said, turning to the Alpha bull.
“Agreed. Break off. Alter course to maintain our distance. Pass on the orders to the small craft so they can compensate,” he ordered.
“We are recovering the fighters now,” the ship's Alpha bull warned. “The carriers cannot maneuver at
the moment. Many of the small craft are low on fuel.”
“Should we leave it?” the Beta bull asked. The Alpha bull shook his head.
“Continue the recovery but tell them to expedite. If necessary have them recover on nearby ships. Get that course calculated now,” the Alpha bull ordered.
(@)()(@)
“Sir, you are in command,” the bosun said. Roger waved a hand and then nodded. “This is Commander Daringer. Captain Gomez is … dead. I am assuming command. Note that in the log,” Roger said formally.
“So noted, Captain,” the bosun said formally.
“Continue with the repairs. How are we?”
“The starboard bow has a nasty gouge in it. We've got some frame damage. We can maneuver, but we can't do a full engine burn until we've sorted out how bad it is,” the bosun reported.
“Sir, flag is taking control of the screen. They are ordering a course change,” a rating reported. “The heading is …,” he paused and then looked up, face tight. “We're changing course, going directly for the enemy, sir.”
“Right down their throats. Someone's got more balls than brains,” the bosun muttered, turning away.
Roger wanted to object but didn't bother. “Get back on repairs. Weren't we supposed to get the draft back from Toledo?” he asked.
“Their cutter was torn apart, just like Toledo was,” the bosun replied with a shake of his head.
“Damn,” Roger replied mildly.
“Do what you can with what you've got,” Roger said. “But get on those repairs now.” He turned to the communications rating. “Com, raise the flag, warn them we've got frame damage and will make our best speed. Helm, figure that out with DCC and adjust our course and heading to try to keep up with the task force. If we fall behind, I'm not going to be thrilled,” he said.
“I will,” an unseen rating muttered as the bosun turned away.
Roger turned to where a pair of ratings were busy removing the captain's body while others were trying to assess the damage to the wiring and equipment. “This is not how I wanted to take command,” he said under his breath as he resumed his seat at his old station.
Chapter 45
“The Terrans have fired missiles. Our small craft are out of position but are firing their remaining missiles. These are the canister shots,” the ship's Alpha bull reported.
The herd leader heard the report as he came out of the waste room. He grunted when the ship's Alpha bull turned to him. “I heard,” he said simply as he came over and studied the report.
“How are they sorted for fuel?”
“They have enough to get back to the fleet. They are nearly depleted for energy for their lasers,” the ship's Alpha bull warned.
“As soon as they finish their engagement order them to be recovered. Order the reserve bombers to replace them,” the Alpha bull ordered.
“Yes, Herd Leader.”
(@)()(@)
The Tauren bombers fired their last counter missiles as the missiles entered their engagement zone. They fired early for these counter missiles were different than the others. Each was a smaller version of the ship canister missiles used earlier, but these were designed to clear the void of incoming missiles. Their warheads went off early, spraying a lethal cloud of small pellets into the flight path of the missiles.
Each of the Terran missiles had a shroud over the sensors in its nose cone as well as the warhead good enough to withstand some radiation as well as small impacts of micrometeors around two millimeters in diameter. At the speeds they traveled, anything larger would knock them off course or destroy the robotic craft.
Which was precisely what the incoming shotgun rounds did. The pellets and missiles slammed into each other. The antimatter warheads lost containment and went off in a silent but explosive reaction, consuming the tank of like matter within centimeters of itself and giving off incredible amounts of energy, in the form of violent kinetic energy, light, radiation, and other forms. Missiles died in droves, some from fratricide.
Only five of the missiles in the swarm survived the strike. The bombers couldn't engage, but the cruisers managed to pick them off well before they got within terminal attack range.
(@)()(@)
“They fired the hell weapons!” the Beta bull said urgently.
“And you'll note we destroyed them,” the ship's Alpha bull rumbled.
“If they are firing them, it means they are getting desperate,” the herd leader rumbled as all eyes turned to him.
“Do we retreat?” the ship's Beta bull asked.
There was a breathless silence on the bridge. Finally, almost reluctantly, the Alpha bull shook his head. “We do not. Order the reserves up from the planet. Tell them to expedite. They should be waiting with the drop tanks to extend their range,” he said, turning to the communications bull.
“As you command, Herd Leader.”
“They will need to refuel and rearm on the carriers. Pass on the alert to those craft that they are coming as well,” the Alpha bull rumbled.
“Yes, Herd Leader.”
(@)()(@)
The order from Vice Admiral Kepler to break off arrived just as the battle line got news of their broken missile strike. “Son of a micromanaging …”
“Sir!” his chief of staff interrupted. The admiral turned with a scowl in his direction. “What?”
“The recorders are on, sir,” Commander Fowler said helpfully from the other side of them. “We're getting a hot wash on the strike. They used the buckshot. It looks like it has multiple purposes,” he observed.
“Great. It slices, it dices …,” the admiral let that comment die. “Nav, pull us back. Break off since we're not allowed too close,” he ordered.
“Aye aye, sir,” the navigator replied. She immediately began to feed the new course to the helm.
“Where is Kalei?” the admiral asked.
“I gave him a break, sir. He's getting some food and rest. We've been at it for two days,” his chief of staff replied.
“Tell him to get his ass back up here where he belongs,” the admiral growled. The chief of staff winced but then nodded. “Commander Fowler!” the admiral barked, turning to the staff tactical officer.
“Sir!”
“I don't want excuses; I want results! Those damn missiles are expensive and don't grow on trees! Find a way to break through the enemy's defenses so we can use them decisively! Now!”
“Aye aye, sir,” the commander replied tightly as he turned away and back to his section. “Sure, I'll do that little thing,” he muttered under his breath. “Just as soon as I figure out how …”
(@)()(@)
The break off told the Alpha bull that the Terran battle line wasn't ready for a head-on clash. “I think they don't have our main guns after all,” he mused in speculation.
“We don't know that for certain,” the ship's Alpha bull reminded him.
“No, but we can find out. Helm, turn us in toward them,” the Alpha bull rumbled, turning his head to the helm and navigator station.
“Yes, Herd Leader!”
“Weapons, I want another robotic swarm! Fire all of the remaining cruiser missiles except the canister shot! I want those held in reserve,” the Alpha bull roared.
“It will be as you command, Herd Leader,” the weapons bull replied.
Within minutes of the battle line's change of course, the Tauren fleet turned in on them to close the distance. The cruisers erupted with fire as missiles popped off their cradles and into the dark void before lighting off their engines.
Within their ranks the bombers completed their turnaround and launched.
(@)()(@)
Admiral Rutledge fumed over being countermanded. It made him look weak and it did what he'd expected. It had emboldened the Taurens to charge at him, just what the vice admiral didn't want to happen.
“They will be in their main gun range within an hour, sir,” a tech warned.
“Very well. Do we have another shot lined up?” he asked, t
urning to the commander. “Well? Do we?” he demanded.
“Vampire! Multiple missiles inbound!” a CIC tech said hoarsely.
The admiral began to swear as he looked at the plot. As expected the bombers were lining up behind the missiles. “The standard one two punch. Alert the screen,” he growled.
(@)()(@)
“We've got incoming,” a tech reported. “Many missile launches. Flag is advising us that the screen is most likely the primary target,” the woman said in a tremulous voice.
“Joy,” Roger replied dryly as he looked over the latest report. He didn't like the structural damage. They had fallen back and were steadily losing ground to the other ships.
“Sir, what do we do?”
“We do our duty,” Roger replied, not looking up. “Unfortunately, we're not in a good position to do that. Let's see if we can change that,” he said firmly.
(@)()(@)
“Enemy small craft coming in. We really should do something about their mother ships, Herd Leader,” the ship's Alpha bull rumbled.
“One thing at a time,” the Alpha bull replied as he studied the report. “Time for the reinforcements to get here?” he asked, turning to the navigator.
“They will be here as the enemy forces arrive,” the bull replied after checking the calculations.
“Low on fuel and tired from the journey but keyed up by the prospect of battle,” the ship's Beta bull said.
“Not quite fresh. My worry is that they are untested and untried in ships that have not been fully tested themselves,” the ship's Alpha bull said. “There is a reason we stationed our marginal small craft pilots there in the reserves,” he said with a shake of his head.
“They will do their best. It is our way,” the herd leader replied simply. “Order a missile spread on the incoming enemy small craft.”
“Our own fighters have launched to intercept them,” the Beta bull warned.
“The missiles are faster. Advise them to get out of the way,” the ship's Alpha bull stated. “But I don't think they will come as a surprise this time,” he said, turning to the Alpha bull.