He turned, gazing into a view screen without actually seeing the blue and white sphere it displayed.
There was little down there in the way of local defenses. Elysium was in Incorporated World. As such, it was entitled to a Marine garrison for local security and police keeping duties, and-like an unfortunately large number of Incorporated Worlds, in Trang's opinion, it had allowed its planetary militia to atrophy. The fact that it had a permanently assigned local Marine detachment engendered a sense of security which tended to overlook the fact that the many insatiable demands on the Imperial Marine Corps' manpower meant that the permanent garrisons it could provide to planets which had no pressing local security concerns tended to be small. In fact, they tended to be tiny, and Elysium's was no exception.
Nor was there very much point in building groundside defenses against attack from space. If a capital ship got into weapons range of a planet, that planet was dead, whatever happened to its attacker, for the black holes of a dozen SLAMs coming in at near light-speed would tear any planet to pieces.
That was why most inhabited planets were defended only in space. In a sense, their complete lack of weaponry was their best protection. To date, humanity's only real wars had been intra-mural blood-lettings or with the Rish, and opponents who liked the same sort of real estate were unlikely to go around pulverizing useful worlds unless they had to. Strikes on specific targets, yes; wholesale genocide, no.
But at this particular moment, Trang could have wished Elysium bristled with ground fortifications-or at least had been fractious enough to have been assigned a decent-sized garrison. It had been over two centuries since imperial planets had faced piratical attacks on this scale, and the Empire had forgotten what it was like. It was unlikely pirates would go after any world with a Marine brigade or two waiting to chew them up on the ground, but there was less than half a battalion on Elysium.
He turned back to the plot, glowering at the bogies sweeping towards his system, and considered contacting Soissons, then shook his head. There was nothing Soissons could do if it was the start of a raid, nor any reason he should need help in the first place, and his own sensors should be able to ID these people long before they entered engagement range. All starcomming the sector capital would achieve would be to show his own nervousness.
"Maintain a close watch on them, Adela," he told his plotting officer. "Let me know the instant you've got something solid."
"Yes, Sir." Commander Adela Masterman nodded and thought into her synth-link headset, logging the same instructions for her relief, and Trang gave the display one last glance and left the control room.
***
Several hours later, Commodore Trang's communicator buzzed, then lit with Commander Masterman's smiling face.
"Sorry to disturb you, Sir, but we've got a preliminary ID on our bogies. We still don't know who they are, but they definitely have Fleet Fasset drives. It looks like a light task group-a single dreadnought, three battlecruisers, two or three freighters, and escorts."
"Good." Trang grinned back at her, aware of how worried he'd truly been only as the relief set in. He didn't have any idea what a task group was doing here, but under the current circumstances, he was delighted to see them. "How long before they go sublight?"
"At their present rate of deceleration, about eleven hours, five hours behind that Fleet transport. Given their drive advantage, they'll be fifteen or twenty light-minutes out when she makes Elysium orbit."
"Pass the word to Captain Brewster, Adela. Have him designate parking orbits for them and alert the yard in case they have any servicing needs."
"Will do, Sir," Masterman replied, and the screen went blank.
***
Commander Masterman stepped from the lift outside Primary Control, her hands full of coffee cups and doughnuts, and hit the hatch button with her elbow. The panel hissed aside, and she sidled into PriCon with a grin.
"I come bearing gifts," she announced, and a spatter of applause greeted her. She bowed grandly and glanced at the bulkhead chronometer as she set her goodies carefully out of the way. She had eight glorious minutes before she went back on watch-just long enough to exchange a few words with Lieutenant Commander Brigatta. That was nice; she had plans for the darkly handsome com officer the next time their off-duty schedules coincided.
She'd just reached Brigatta's station when Lieutenant Orrin straightened suddenly at Plotting. The movement caught Masterman's eye, and she turned automatically towards her assistant in surprise.
"Now that's damned strange," Orrin muttered.
He looked up at his boss and gestured at Brigatta's screen as he shunted his own display across to it.
"Look at this, Ma'am," he said, and the screen blossomed with a view of near-planet space. "I know that transport's skipper said he was in a hurry to unload, but he's really pushing it. She's a good fifty percent above normal approach speeds, and now she's doing a turnov-Sweet Jesus!"
Adela Masterman froze as the "transport" suddenly stopped braking and spun to accelerate toward Elysium-at thirty-two gravities. Impossible! No transport could crank that much power inside a planet's Powell limit!
But this one could, and disbelief turned to horror as the "transport" dropped her ECM and stood revealed for what she truly was: a battlecruiser. A Fleet battlecruiser-one of their own ships!-battle screen springing up even as Masterman stared... and she was launching SLAMs!
The GQ alarm began to scream, and she charged towards her station, but it was purely automatic. Deep inside, she knew it was already far too late.
***
Starcoms are never emplaced on planets.
They are enormous structures-not so much massive as big, full of empty space-and it would be far more expensive to build them to survive a planet's gravity, but the real reason they are always found in space is much simpler. No one wants multiple black holes, however small, generated on the surface of his world, despite everything gravity shields can do and all the failsafes in the galaxy. And so they are placed in orbit, usually at least four hundred thousand kilometers out, which also gets them beyond the planetary Powell limit and doubles their efficiency as they fold space to permit supralight message transmission.
Unfortunately, this eminently sensible solution creates an Achilles heel for strategic command and control. Starships and planets without starcoms must rely on SLAM drones, many times faster than light but far slower than a starcom and woefully short-legged in comparison, so any raider's first priority is the destruction of his target's starcom. Without it, he has time. Time to hit his objectives, to carry out his mission... and to vanish once more before anyone outside the system even learns he was there.
***
Captain Homer Ortiz sat in his command chair, face taut, as his first SLAMs went out.
Ortiz was cyber-synth-capable and glad of it, for it gave him the con direct as Poltava went into the attack. His crisp, clear commands to the emotionless AI sent the first salvo slashing towards the starcom orbital base across two hundred thousand kilometers of space with an acceleration of fifteen thousand gravities; they struck fifty-one seconds later, traveling at a mere three percent of light-speed, but that would have been more than sufficient even without the black hole in front of each missile.
More weapons were already on their way-not SLAMs, this time, but Hauptman effect sublight missiles. Their initial acceleration was much higher, and they had barely half as far to go. The first thousand-megaton warhead detonated twenty-seven seconds after launch.
Commander Masterman had just donned her headset when she and nine thousand other people died. Then the other missiles began to strike home.
***
Night turned into day on the planet of Elysium as two-thirds of its orbital defenses vanished in less than two minutes.
Shocked eyes cringed away from the ring of suns blazing above them, and minds refused to grasp the magnitude of the disaster. Not in four centuries had the Imperial Fleet taken such losses in return for absolu
tely no damage to the enemy, but never before had the Fleet been attacked by one of its own, and the carnage a cyber-synthed battlecruiser could wreak totally unopposed was simply beyond comprehension.
The planetary governor dashed for his com in response to the first horrified warning; he arrived just as the last missile went home against the last fort in Poltava's field of fire, and his face was white as whey. The three surviving forts were rushing to battle stations, but the marauding battlecruiser's speed soared, already above two hundred KPS, as she cut a chord across their protective ring. She cleared the planet and acquired the first of the survivors just before its own weapons came on line, and Ortiz's smile was hellish as a fresh salvo of SLAMs raced outward. The fort had nothing to stop them with, and the governor groaned as they tore it apart.
The second fortress had time for one answering salvo, hastily launched with minimal time for fire control solutions, and then it, too, was gone.
The final fort had time to get its battle screen up, yet faced the cruelest dilemma of all. Its crew had SLAMs of their own... and dared not use them. Ortiz had cut his course recklessly tight, placing Poltava far closer to Elysium than they. They could reply only with beams and warheads, lest a near-miss with a SLAM strike the very world they wanted to protect, and their gunners were shaken to their core by the catastrophe overwhelming them. They did their best, yet it never mattered at all. Their first salvos were still on the way when Ortiz launched a fresh pattern of SLAMs and flipped his ship end-for-end yet again, aiming Poltava's Fasset drive directly at the doomed fort to devour its fire.
Twelve-point-five minutes and seventy-three thousand deaths after the attack began, there were no orbital forts in Elysium's skies.
***
"First phase successful, Commodore," Commander Rendlemann announced.
Howell nodded. Gravitic detectors, unlike other sensors, were FTL, and his flagship's gravitics had tracked their Trojan Horse and the flight paths of its SLAMs. It was an eerie sensation to see the undamaged fortresses on the light-speed displays and know they and all their people had ceased to exist.
He shook off a chill and gave Alexsov a tight smile. The chief of staff had argued against trying to sneak in more than one ship, insisting Poltava could do the job alone and that trying to use more would risk losing the priceless element of surprise.
"Two small vessels leaving orbit, Sir," Rendlemann said suddenly.
"Right on schedule," Alexsov murmured, and Howell nodded again, watching through his synth-link as the two corvettes accelerated hopelessly towards their mammoth foe. No corvette had the strength to engage a battlecruiser... but they were all Elysium had left.
***
The corvettes Hermes and Leander charged the rampaging battlecruiser, sheltering behind their own Fasset drives as they closed. They were inside her, closer to the planet, but Ortiz spun Poltava to face them head-on. She decelerated towards them even as they rushed to meet her, and Hermes lunged aside, fighting to get outside the battlecruiser and launch her SLAM drone before she was destroyed.
Ortiz let her go, concentrating on her sister. Close-range lasers and particle beams reduced the tiny warship to half-vaporized wreckage, but the range was too short for effective point defense, and both of Leander's overcharged energy torpedoes erupted against Poltava's screen. Concussion jarred her to the keel, and Ortiz winced as damage reports flickered through his headset. His exec was on it, initiating damage control procedures, but half Poltava's forward energy mounts had been wiped away, along with over thirty of her crew. Her injuries were far more critical-certainly not enough to slow her as she went after the sole survivor-but they hurt all the more after what he'd done to the forts, and they were enough to make him cautious.
***
The last corvette's skipper watched the battlecruiser overhaul him while his brain sought frantically for some way to stop her. Not for a way to survive, for there was none, but for a way to protect Elysium from her.
She was coming up fast from directly astern, her drive aimed straight at him to interdict his fire. She was grav-riding on him, drawing further acceleration from the attraction of his own drive mass even as hers acted as a brake upon his ship. She had more than enough acceleration to overtake him without that, but her captain was playing a cautious end game, using his interposed drive to protect his ship until he chose to turn and engage. Perhaps overly cautious. Herme's weapons couldn't hurt his ship much, and there were times caution became more foolhardy than recklessness -
"Sir!" His white-faced plotting officer's voice was tight, over-controlled as he fought his own fear, but not so tight as to hide its disbelief. "Data base knows that ship!"
"What?" The captain twisted around in his command chair.
"Yes, Sir. That's HMS Poltava, Skipper!"
The captain swallowed a disbelieving curse. It couldn't be true! It had to be some kind of ECM-there was no way a Fleet battlecruiser could be doing this to her own people! But -
"Prep and update the drone!"
"Prepped!" his com officer acknowledged. Then, "Update locked!"
"Launch!"
The captain turned back to his own display, teeth locked in a death's-head grin. There was no way his ship could survive, but he'd gotten the message out. HQ would know everything he knew, for the enemy could never intercept his drone and its sensor data.
The drone snaked away, racing directly ahead of the corvette, hidden by her own and Poltava's drives until it was beyond effective energy weapon range. But Ortiz's scan teams picked up its gravity signature as it began to climb across the ecliptic, and they were ready.
The battlecruiser's com officer transmitted a complicated code, and Herme's skipper gaped in horror as his drone obeyed the command-the proper, authenticated Fleet override-and self-destructed.
He knew, then. Knew who his enemies were and whence they came... and how utterly he had been betrayed. Something snapped deep inside him, and he barked new helm orders as the battlecruiser's Fasset drive loomed up close astern. His own drive's side shields dropped, and his ship began to turn.
Hermes was in her enemy's blind zone, riding the arc where the battlecruiser's own drive blocked her sensors. It was a matter of seconds before the bigger ship spun to clear the drive mass and bring her weapons to bear, but seconds were all the corvette's skipper needed. All in the universe he wanted, now.
Poltava began her swing, and not even her AI had time to realize Hermes had already swung and redlined her drive on an intercept course.
***
Commodore Howell swore vilely as both Fasset drives vanished, and the fact that he'd seen it coming only made it worse. That idiot! To blow it all after the bravura brilliance of his initial strike! A second-year middy knew better than to get that close to an enemy's drive mass, for God's sake, especially when the disparity in firepower meant that enemy was doomed anyway.
But there'd been nothing Howell could do. The rest of his squadron was still fifteen light-minutes from Elysium, far too distant for any com to reach Ortiz in time. And so he'd had to sit and watch helplessly as a quarter of his battlecruiser strength vanished before his eyes.
He sucked in a deep breath and forced himself back under control. He couldn't pour the milk back into the bottle, and he had other things to worry about-like what the planetary governor did with his emergency SLAM drone.
That drone was the only thing in this system which still threatened Howell's ships. It couldn't hurt them now, but it would tell Fleet far too much if it got out with a record of Poltava's emission signature. If Ortiz hadn't gotten his stupid ass killed, the threat would be minimal; even if the governor realized how the corvette's drone had been killed and locked out the self-destruct command, Poltava's weapons would have been more than capable of killing it as it broke atmosphere. His own ships couldn't. Just catching it with a com beam before it wormholed would be hard enough from this distance.
"Think they got a clean reading on us?" he asked Alexsov hopefully, but the chi
ef of staff's shrug was discouraging.
"The forts certainly did. If they kept groundside advised, and we have to assume they did, the planet knows we're Fleet units. More to the point, Control says their port has enough sensor capability to've gotten a good read on Poltava-certainly enough for Fleet's data base to fingerprint her."
"Shit." Howell tugged unhappily at an earlobe. This was what he'd most feared about the entire Elysium operation. The actual attack hadn't worried him, given their inside information, but if the identity of his ships got out, their true objective would be lost. He and his people would become in truth what everyone now assumed they were: plain and simple pirates.
David Weber - In Fury Born (ARC) Page 62