Democracy's Right: Book 02 - Democracy's Might

by Christopher Nuttall

  “I don't think they have anything to gain,” Wachter commented, as the enemy fleet picked up speed, heading towards the planet. “If they win, they get the rest of the system without further ado; if they lose, the system doesn't matter anyway.”

  Penny nodded. If she’d been in command of the rebel fleet, she would have wreaked havoc in the system anyway, purely out of spite. Morrison might have belonged to the Imperial Navy, but it was still a massive investment and there were quite a few corporate outposts on the other worlds. Losing them, when added to everything else the rebels had destroyed in the last few months, would hurt. Not for the first time, she asked herself just how long the Empire could sustain the war. She knew enough about the Empire’s dented economy to know that it might not be very long.

  “They're launching additional drones,” she noted. “Do you think they suspect something?”

  “Probably,” Wachter said. He grinned at her, mischievously. “The only question is what do they suspect? The truth ... or something else?”

  He clapped his hands together, then addressed the coordinators. “On my command,” he ordered, “the fleet is to advance towards the enemy.”

  Penny swallowed. The plan struck her as too much cleverness, particularly if the timing went wrong. But the rebels could hardly refuse the bait Wachter intended to dangle in front of them. They wanted the Morrison Fleet? They’d have their shot at taking it out. But it would also line them up for an ambush ...

  “Yes, sir,” the coordinator said.

  The display changed as the enemy fleet finished its reconfiguration, pushing out additional smaller ships as it angled towards the planet. Penny watched, admiring the crisp professionalism the rebels showed. Even after five months of constant exercises, endless drills and summery reliefs for gross incompetence and corruption, the Morrison Fleet could barely dream of completing such a manoeuvre so quickly. Maybe in a few more months, she told herself, if Wachter stayed in command. It was quite likely that the Thousand Families wouldn't allow him to continue to hold the fleet. They’d be more likely to insist he retire again before he got ideas.

  “The command is given,” Wachter said. “The fleet is to advance towards the enemy.”

  ***

  “Admiral,” the tactical officer said, “the enemy fleet is leaving orbit.”

  Colin blinked in surprise. Was the enemy fleet trying to escape, although it was too late to do that without a running battle? But no – the display showed the enemy fleet coming right at them, without a care in the world. It made no sense, Colin knew; someone smart enough to do the right thing wouldn't simply throw it away, would he?

  He ran through the vectors in his head. There was no way the enemy fleet could escape engaging missiles with his formation, not now. And, trapped in the gravity shadow, there would be no way they could escape the arsenal ships. Even if they had improved their point defence – and his drones suggested there had been some improvement – it wouldn't save them from a hammering. His forces would take a beating too, but it would be survivable.

  There had to be a trick. But what?

  He briefly contemplated possible alternatives. The enemy could be trying to bluff him, to force him to retreat ... or they could have a nasty surprise waiting for him. He examined the sensor records, wondering if the Imperial Navy had finally deployed its own version of the arsenal ship. But there were no non-standard ships included in the enemy fleet. They could have added extra external racks, even bolted missile pods to their hulls ... and it wouldn't give them a significant advantage. No, something was odd.

  “We will hold position at the edge of the gravity shadow,” he said, finally. The enemy seemed to be doing precisely what he wanted them to do. But they had to know it too. “And lock weapons on the enemy superdreadnaughts. Prepare to fire.”

  “Aye, sir,” the tactical officer said.

  ***

  Penny felt oddly exposed as the two fleets converged. There was no way for the enemy to identify the command ship – Wachter had set up an encrypted signalling system, just to make it impossible for anyone to locate him – but she still felt vulnerable. They would be trapped in the gravity shadow when the enemy fleet closed to missile range. If they managed to fire a colossal missile swarm, she knew the Imperial Navy would be badly damaged.

  “Send the signal,” Wachter ordered, his voice as calm as if he were addressing a class at the academy. “Tell Yamani I want her ships in position two minutes from now.”

  Penny looked over at him. If the timing was skewed ...

  “Our formation is starting to slip,” Wachter commented. “Tell the lead starships to hold their horses. We don't want to tip our hand too soon.”

  ***

  Colin frowned down at the display, puzzled. Something was wrong about the enemy formation, something that was becoming clearer and clearer as the seconds ticked by. The Imperial Navy, having evolved its tactics over hundreds of years, had long since concluded that superdreadnaughts were best handled as a single solid core. There was no point in spreading them out when a solid mass of superdreadnaughts couldn't be threatened, let alone destroyed, by anything possessing less firepower.

  But the enemy formation was starting to drift. Some superdreadnaughts were keeping up with the rest of the fleet, others were falling behind. Were they trying to tempt him with the prospect of bringing all of his strength to bear against a small fragment of their force ... or did they have something else in mind? Or ...

  “Enemy fleet will enter missile range in two minutes,” the tactical officer said. “They’re probing our formation heavily.”

  Of course they are, Colin thought. They want to know where to aim for best effect.

  But their formation still made no sense. A shiver ran down his spine as he studied the display, trying to understand what he was seeing. Could the rear superdreadnaughts be having drive problems? Had they lost a node or two? Or ...

  “Shit,” he said, out loud. The enemy plan was cunning ... and he'd almost fallen completely for it. “Alter course; bearing ...”

  “Contacts,” the sensor officer snapped. New red icons appeared on the display. “Multiple contacts, including at least two superdreadnaught squadrons!”

  Gutsy bastard, Colin thought. He’d sent a third of his force away, using drones to mask their absence. No wonder some of the superdreadnaughts had seemed to fall back. Drones simply couldn't keep up their speed for long. And crafty too.

  “Designate the newcomers as Enemy-Two,” he ordered, as the display stabilised. They’d need at least five minutes to recharge their flicker drives, five minutes he had no intention of giving them. But the enemy commander had caught him very neatly between two fires. If he swung his ships around to engage Enemy-Two, Enemy-One would have a clean shot at his hulls. But there was no alternative. Enemy-Two would be in missile range in seconds. “Lock missiles on Enemy-Two, then fire at will. I say again, fire at will.”

  Moments later, the superdreadnaughts launched their first barrage.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Admiral Sahrye Yamani winced in pain as Admiral Yeltsin returned to normal space. She had never expected to be promoted, nor to be given such a big responsibility. But there were few experienced officers available and she had won a victory, of sorts. Public Information's designated shills had already started turning her into a heroine, informing the public that she had won the greatest victory in history. Sahrye was mildly surprised that they hadn't included the claim she’d faced the rebel CO in single combat and won, but no doubt it was just a matter of time. Public Information was not known for understating anything.

  “Enemy fleet is in the projected zone,” the tactical officer reported, as the display lit up with red lights. “They’re altering formation now.”

  But they’re out of place, Sahrye thought. They’d been so intensely focused on the Morrison Fleet that they would have to alter their formation to bring most of their weapons to bear on her fleet. We have a chance ...

  “Lock
weapons on the enemy superdreadnaughts,” she said, as if that hadn't been standing orders from the start. “Fire as soon as you have viable locks.”

  “Enemy superdreadnaughts opening fire,” the sensor officer said. “Arsenal ships are holding back.”

  “Weapons locked on target,” the tactical officer said. “Admiral?”

  “Fire,” Sahrye ordered.

  Her superdreadnaughts fired in unison, flushing their external racks and then unloading their inner tubes. Thousands of missiles roared into space, heading directly towards the enemy starships. Their smaller craft hastily started to move, placing themselves and their point defence between the missiles and the superdreadnaughts, but they were badly out of place. It would take several minutes to completely reconfigure their formation and they didn't have the time.

  Sahrye’s own smaller ships fanned out, their point defence already seeking targets. The enemy missile swarm might have been thinner than they’d been expecting, but it was deadly enough to inflict real damage. Would they try to strip away her point defence cover or go directly for the superdreadnaughts? She watched as the missiles sorted themselves out, then threw themselves at the larger ships. It seemed the rebels had decided that her superdreadnaughts were the logical targets.

  “Admiral,” the communications officer said, “Admiral Wachter is deploying Omega.”

  Sahrye smiled. She was the only person on the ship who knew what Omega was, after a very private briefing with Admiral Wachter. The rebels were in for a very nasty surprise if they tried to flicker out, once they realised that they might have bitten off more than they could chew. Unless, of course, they decided to be stupid and jump anyway ...

  “Understood,” she said, out loud. There was always a time when careful planning and forethought gave way to action. “Keep us pressing against their lines.”

  She allowed her smile to widen. Admiral Wachter’s fleet was climbing up from the planet’s gravity shadow, while her own was moving forward like a dagger to plunge into the rebel side. And, if the rebels couldn't jump out, they would have to alter course sharply and flee, allowing the Imperial Navy a chance to combine its two formations and give chase. This time, the rebels were facing superior firepower ...

  “Enemy missiles entering point defence engagement range,” the tactical officer rapped out. “Defences engaging ... now!”

  ***

  Colin silently cursed the enemy commander under his breath as the incoming missiles roared into his formation. With his smaller ships so badly out of place, there was relatively little point defence covering his superdreadnaughts, which had to fend for themselves. They were still part of the datanet, still combining their firepower for maximum advantage, but they couldn't put out the sheer volley of fire they needed to protect themselves. The enemy didn't look to have made any major improvements in their seeker heads, yet it didn't matter. Their targets were far too obvious.

  He watched, grimly, as his ships started to take damage. Superdreadnaughts were tough, but there were limits to how many missiles they could absorb before their shields started to fail and allow missiles to strike their hulls. Several ships staggered under colossal blows, one leaking plasma so badly it fell out of formation before vanishing into a fireball. There were no lifepods, as far as Colin could tell. Even if there were, abandoning ship in the midst of a battle ran the risk of being mistaken for a sensor drone or small weapon and being picked off by one side or the other. And then, the Empire would be unlikely to take prisoners – or keep them alive very long, if it did.

  “Enemy-one is entering missile range,” the tactical officer said. “They’re locking missiles on us.”

  “Flush the arsenal ships at them,” Colin ordered, “then order the arsenal ships to flicker out.”

  New icons flared into life on the display as the arsenal ships opened fire. Hundreds of thousands of missiles roared out of his formation, plunging down towards Enemy-one. He could have sworn he saw the enemy formation hesitate, even though it was probably a product of his imagination rather than anything else. There were enough missiles in flight to inflict serious damage, no matter how effectively they’d prepared their point defence. Enough, perhaps, to cripple the enemy fleet ...

  “Force-one is opening fire,” the tactical officer said. He frowned, puzzled. “Sir, they’re deploying gunboats along with the missiles.”

  “Curious,” Colin muttered. Gunboats had no place in fleet combat, everyone knew that. But the enemy commander had already proven himself a wily bastard. No doubt he had something clever up his sleeve. “Ramp up the point defence, then launch spoiler missiles.”

  “Aye, sir,” the tactical officer said.

  Colin gritted his teeth. The enemy timing hadn't been perfect, but it had been close enough not to matter. If he turned to deal with one enemy formation, trusting in his firepower advantage, the second one would attack from the rear, catching him between two enemy forces. His firepower advantage would be useless if he had to defend against two fleets at once. But the only alternative was to retreat ...

  “Alter course,” he ordered, grimly. Perhaps they could pretend to retreat, deliberately allowing the enemy to combine their two forces into one combined force. Then he could bring back the reloaded arsenal ships and hammer the enemy before they diverged again. His hands danced over his console, designating vectors. “Take us away from the planet.”

  A dull shudder ran through the superdreadnaught as a missile struck home. His flagship had been lucky, Colin realised, as he pulled back and surveyed the damage. Three superdreadnaughts were definitely limping, with several more badly damaged. He might have to slow his fleet if he wanted to keep them with him, which would give the enemy a chance to catch up. Whoever was in charge on Morrison, he decided, had played his cards very well. Perhaps it was time, instead, to cut his losses and retreat.

  “The arsenal ships are gone, sir,” the coordinator said. “They’ll be back within thirty minutes.”

  Colin smiled, although there was little humour in the expression. Endless practice had cut the reloading times down to barely fifteen minutes per ship. The Empire couldn't have matched it, but then the Empire had never seen the point of building ships that were basically missile carriers and little else. Besides, once the arsenal ships had shot their load, there was little else they could do.

  He forced himself to watch as the second wave of enemy missiles approached his formation. A retreat under fire – and that was what they were doing, even if he didn't want to admit it to himself – was hellishly complex at the best of times. Now, with missiles approaching from two different vectors, it was nightmarish. And then there were the enemy gunboats ... what the hell were they doing? No one in their right mind would put gunboats in a major fleet action ...

  ***

  “The enemy fleet is turning away,” the tactical officer reported.

  Penny nodded. The enemy might be altering course, but they’d fired a missile swarm of missiles towards the Morrison Fleet first. There were not only enough missiles to do serious damage, but also threaten the planet’s orbital industries if they got past the fleet. She gritted her teeth as the missiles flashed into the point defence engagement envelope, then started to vanish one by one. The improvements were definitely working, she noted; the ruthless drills the point defence crews had undergone were paying off. But enough missiles got through to take out three superdreadnaughts and heavily damage two more.

  “General Pike and Admiral Villeneuve have taken heavy damage,” the coordinator reported, grimly. “Villeneuve requests permission to fall out of formation.”

  Wachter glanced down at his console, then nodded. “Tell her to return to planetary orbit,” he ordered. “She may have to be scrapped completely.”

  Penny winced. The icons on the display were nothing more than coloured lights, hiding the sheer hell that had been unleashed inside Villeneuve. Her compartments had been ripped open, depressurising large parts of the ship and taking out most of her drives. It was a
testament to the sheer scale of redundancy built into superdreadnaughts that she hadn't been destroyed, although it was a very lucky escape. As it was, Wachter was probably right. It would be cheaper to build a new superdreadnaught than repair Villeneuve.

  “The gunboats are closing in,” she reported, looking down at her own console. “The command links seem to be working.”

  “Good,” Wachter said. He grinned at her, then looked back at his console. “Continue pursuit.”

  ***

  “The enemy missiles are showing an improved targeting capability,” the analyst muttered, through the intercom. “I don’t understand how ...”

  Colin looked at the display ... and understood. “The gunboats,” he said, shortly. “They’re actually using the gunboats to help steer their missiles.”

  Historically, the Imperial Navy had worked hard to improve seeker heads for its missiles, but they’d run up against some hard limitations. Building advanced seekers were either immensely costly or far too obvious to starship-mounted passive sensors, which then ordered the point defence to pick those missiles off first. And no one in their right mind wanted to risk a starship so close to the enemy formation.

  But using gunboats worked ... indeed, it was so obvious that Colin had to wonder why no one had ever thought of it before. Perhaps someone had, he speculated, and the beancounters had objected. Gunboats were too expensive to waste, they'd probably argued, even without outfitting them with better sensor suites and communication links. Hell, one could build a whole corvette for the price of a handful of gunboats. But whoever was in charge at Morrison had decided that the expense could go hang.

  “The gunboats,” he said. But how to deal with them? The tiny ships were hanging on the edge of his point defence envelope; they’d dart out of range if anyone came after them. They were far faster than destroyers, let alone ponderous superdreadnaughts. “Target them with shipkiller missiles, then open fire.”

  The tactical officer glanced up. “Sir?”