Hawk Genesis: War (Flight of the Hawk)

by Robert Little

  The two brothers were finally released from the clutches of the medical practitioners and stood in yet another long line, the men now with uniformly short hair, and waited numbly for transportation, or directions, or another contradictory order.

  James said to his brother, “Chaos would be a step closer to organized than what we have here. Didn’t our government have a clue that war was imminent?” John said, “Clue yes, money, no.”

  Chapter 2

  Three years, Six Months later

  The Light Attack Carrier DeKlerk

  Lieutenant Commander Chamberlin stood on the small command deck of the DeKlerk and watched as the ship captain executed orders that would position the four elderly carriers near the extreme end of the huge arc of ships and craft that stretched well beyond sensor limits. The plotting boards of the carrier were so overloaded that he had been forced to reduce the scale down to a size that allowed his computers to make sense of the confusion. His board merely told him what he already knew: it was a mess.

  His orders from squadron had been issued both hastily and verbally. What he saw of the federal defensive force alignment worried him. There was an obvious weakness that nobody – at least on the federal side - had noticed or apparently done anything about, and so he had asked the Squadron CAG, who was in charge of the fighters for all four ships, to reposition his four fragile carriers to plug up the gap.

  All of his efforts to warn his superiors had been seemingly lost in the incredible amount of communications that were going up and down the chain of command. He’d gotten nothing back, making him wonder if anyone even knew he was there. Fleet actions were vastly more complex than any single computer system could track, in part due to jamming, time lag and the inevitable results of chaos, the dearth of information, too much information or sometimes even worse, bad information.

  The result of this was that hundreds of years after computers came into existence, both sides of this conflict were making major decisions that consisted largely of educated guesses, or sometimes, just guesses, known informally as WAG’s. The incredible hash of measures and countermeasures designed to spoof, hide, confuse or just blind, made it impossible to get good data on exactly where the enemy was concentrated, much less provide good reads on the enemy’s order of battle and intentions.

  Most of the ships in both fleets were converted civilian craft, usually former freighters. Warfare in space on this scale had never before been imagined much less attempted, and neither side had yet managed to produce very many purpose-built warships. The Ferret system was one of the first programs to design and deliver military technology. It worked, but by itself would not make a significant change in the balance of power, especially in this particular type of battle, a brutal head to head confrontation that chewed up ships like a meat grinder.

  The space between the two fleets was a no-man’s land of unmanned craft, radiating white noise and immensely powerful electro-magnetic pulses. Some of these drones were trying to either mimic or hide the existence of ships or fighters. Missiles streaked in both directions, guiding towards locations in space that might or might not contain anything, while counter missiles streaked to intercept them. It wasn’t even a battle yet, just the preamble to one, but nonetheless it was proving deadly to the crews of the tiny fighters who were tasked with stopping their enemy’s missiles and lasers.

  The plots Chamberlin saw looked like a topographical map of a hilly section of land. The defenses were not uniform, and they varied in their effectiveness, with the largest concentrations and/or most advanced weapons systems creating seeming hills in the area of effective defensive arcs. Chamberlin looked at the holographic display his overloaded ship computers had finally projected and saw clearly what he had originally only sensed – his area of command was without any backup missile ships, and as a result he had to position his fighters in close proximity to the enemy in order to give him time and room to respond. The nearly two hundred and forty fighters off the other three carriers had been positioned nearly one hundred thousand kilometers outside his position – they were out at the very edge of the enormous disk of federal lines.

  He was also extremely close to his enemy, which seemed to be getting a steady flow of reinforcements. It was clear to him that his opposite number must see the same weakness he saw - him.

  He passed orders to put all his remaining fighters on Alpha alert, which was a hardship on the two man crews, but vital if he was going to be able to respond effectively to the growing numbers of light carriers he could dimly detect approaching his position. He had ten fighters out on station, and they were being rotated every thirty minutes in order to ensure that they would be alert to an attack that could overwhelm them within less than fifteen minutes. The closer he could place his fighters to the enemy, the more time he would have to counter an attack, although those few fighters might pay.

  At that very moment, closer to the center of the two forces, thousands of fighters were engaging in a far larger battle, yet what happened here might offer the rebels a better opportunity to break through the federal lines and run havoc in both the federal rear area, and Elyse’ orbital infrastructure.

  His crews sat in their small craft, eating and drinking rations handed up to them. They would be able to launch in under sixty seconds, and yet they wondered if it would be enough – they were extremely close to their opposite numbers who were present in much larger numbers.

  Chamberlin was not a career officer. Before the outbreak of hostilities he had been a university professor. However, his family had a rich military tradition and in fact his own father was a general of ground forces, a formidable man who had never shown much favor for a son who refused to follow him into the army.

  Chamberlin didn’t know if his father approved of him now, but thought not. He deeply regretted not having his father’s good opinion or even regard, but at the moment these thoughts were well to the back of his mind. His younger brother was sitting in an alert fighter and he was getting ready to climb into his own. The four carriers in his group had no supporting elements, were completely unable to defend themselves, and sat well forward in his assigned area of responsibility, meaning they would have little time to react when the inevitable attack was launched. Seconds counted.

  His plotting board flashed red as his forward deployed sensors reported enemy movement. It was on.

  He ran the few meters to the flight deck to get to his fighter, which was already being unhooked from the ship. He stormed through the personnel hatch onto the flight deck, scrambled up the ladder to his cockpit and flopped into the rear cockpit. His flight officer was already strapped in and bringing their systems on-line.

  Chamberlin was in command, and was actually a good pilot, but as the commander he wouldn’t pilot this fighter. He would be occupied with controlling his other fighters, while Lt. Smith, his pilot tried to keep the two of them in position and alive, or failing that, alive. She was one of his most experienced people, and had kept the two alive since John was promoted out of the pilot’s couch to CAG. John hated not being in control of his own personal destiny, but he was now

  Alarms hooted on the flight deck, and colorfully suited maintenance and weapons loaders ran for the safety of the personnel hatches as the countdown to launch wound down to zero. The last crewman through the door had mere seconds before the main hanger doors began opening, ejecting a cloud of atmosphere as a preamble to the fighter’s entrance to the battle. Atmosphere was important, but living through the coming battles was their second priority, right after winning.

  Commander Chamberlin was still bringing up his flight and communications systems when his command fighter was abruptly shoved out of the launch bay and into space. He had the same mix of two light and one heavy missiles as the fighters under his command, but his craft was equipped with an external pod containing better sensors and communications gear, and he would be spending his time talking to his crews, trying to put them in the right place to kill the fighters streaming down on the
m out of the incredible electronic noise being generated by both sides.

  As soon as the last fighters separated from the carriers the clumsy ships slowly accelerated away from the coming battle. Even so, they would be dangerously exposed to any missiles that the defenders didn’t knock down. On the other hand, a fighter whose systems were merely damaged might just survive to reach the carriers if they were close to the battle zone. Chamberlin was walking a tightrope, but it was the only one he thought might stop the approaching fighters. He was dimly aware of attacks on the main body of his carrier groups’ fighters, but his attention was on his immediate sector, the one with enemy missiles and energy weapons aimed at him.

  All eighty of his fighter’s weapons systems were now on line and his small plot showed him where each one was in relation to the approaching ships. He could already see the tracks of heavy missiles as the enemy tried to hit him before his defensive net was in place. The missiles would arrive too late to catch him unprepared. His fighters had a very limited number of the smaller missiles, a total of one hundred and sixty, and would use their energy weapons on the small number of inbound weapons, hoarding their own for better targets – the fighters shooting those missiles.

  John Chamberlin spoke on a discrete channel to his younger brother, giving him unneeded last second instructions to watch out for his flight of four craft. His brother was right up at the front line, and John worried about him. James listened to his instructions, and replied in a highly unmilitary manner, “So mom, you’re saying I should be careful to not get killed on this fine spring day?” John grinned, “You seem to forget I’m bigger than you. When we get back, I’ll remind you of that fact.”

  James said, “If you remember, which I doubt, you may also remember what happened the last time you threatened me.” John said, “Yes, I do remember. You lost, four falls out of three.” James said, “Oh. Well, in that case, I promise not to get, you know, promoted to corpse.” The conversation, and the jokes, was a ritual before battle. The words changed, but not the love, nor the hope that they would survive the coming hours.

  Chamberlin’s fighter moved forward with the rest of his crews as they positioned themselves in a thin arc to intercept the incoming flight of missiles before they could reach their carriers. Some of his crews were lighting up their lasers, and missiles began to explode silently in space – tiny blossoms of light that lit up the course of his approaching enemy. The battle had erupted so quickly and the enemy was so close that lasers were being used at the outset, an extremely rare circumstance.

  Chamberlin watched the small plot in front of him, and spoke nearly continuously, telling his crews once again not to waste their precious missiles. The third and heavier missile was there in case the enemy fighters were supported by destroyers and missile boats, but it could be expended against either the distant enemy carriers or a fighter if the other two missiles had been used – something likely today, as he saw no sign of heavier craft.

  The blossoms of light marking the destruction of enemy missiles marched up to the front of his line. By this time, all of his fighters were shooting just as fast as their capacitors could charge up. One of his fighters disappeared in a boil of light, then a second, but for the most part the missiles were being destroyed before they could reach his men and women. This battle was shaping up favorably, as long as nothing changed. The loss of four crew would be felt later, when he had the time to mourn their loss.

  Chamberlin analyzed the plot and realized that the enemy fighters were coming in relatively dumb. The number of missiles expended in his direction seemed to indicate that his enemy’s weapons racks were or would soon be empty, and he made a lightning decision to allow his crews to expend one missile against the fighters who were closing rapidly.

  A fairly solid wave of seventy-eight missiles streaked away. A ragged line of enemy fighters began to counter with their own lasers.

  Unfortunately for them, he had excellent electronic aids, making their task far more difficult than his. This battle had taken a long time to develop, and as a result both sides had inserted large numbers of devices into the no man’s land between the huge array of forces.

  For each one of Chamberlin’s fighters, the incoming enemy had to choose between multiple ghosts. Additionally, jammers were filling the energy spectrum with white noise, making the task even more difficult.

  His missiles were proving to be far more effective than the ones sent at him, and enemy fighters began to explode. They were outside their own fleet’s defensive systems and at a severe disadvantage, due largely to the extreme care that Chamberlin had taken in placing his electronic aids, jammers and manned fighters. He effectively had the ‘high ground’ and his enemy was forced to attack into a nightmare of electronic noise, laser beams and missiles. Fighters were now exploding ever few seconds and he counted the destruction of fourteen enemy for the loss of only two – no, make that three.

  Ten more enemy fighters were blotted from space before the wave of greatly reduced craft reached ten thousand kilometers. He released his crew’s second missile and an almost solid wave of weapons exploded into the face of the thinned out enemy flight, now numbering less than one hundred demoralized fighters.

  Chamberlin’s missiles now had better targeting information and the enemy had less time to destroy his missiles, which began intersecting with their frantically maneuvering targets. An amazing thirty-two more enemy craft exploded in a wave of ugly red flowers. At nearly the last second, the remaining fighters - now outnumbered and out of missiles - began curving away at maximum acceleration, trying to get out of the way of the unexpectedly deadly fire coming at them.

  When he was sure that the enemy was committed to the retreat, he released the final, larger missile and seventy-four of his remaining seventy six fighters released a deadly rain of long range heavy missiles that began racing toward the carriers that had launched the fighters. The remaining rebel fighters were now dispersed and mostly out of position to intercept them.

  He was ruefully confident that he would discover that the two missiles that had not fired had probably been either improperly set up or loaded onto the fighters. Human error, rearing its frequently deadly head. He sent off a message to the lieutenant in charge of the deck crews that loaded munitions and changed out capacitors.

  Due to the long flight time, he knew that his opposite number would have time to target and destroy nearly all of those missiles, but he also knew that they were going to have their hands full, and some might get through everything to hit the thin hulls inside which lived human beings – his brothers and sisters.

  It had proven to be an expensive and not very intelligent attack, but Chamberlin still mourned the loss of his four crews, people he had known and cared for through over two years of combat. He also offered up a quick prayer for the enemy dead, and the ones who would probably join their ranks in the next few hours.

  At last, Chamberlin found himself with some free time and he began checking in with his crews, most of who were now streaming back to his carrier. He felt in his bones that there would be more attacks, more death, and had ordered the ship forward, in violation of numerous regulations, none of them of much concern to him at the moment.

  He left ten fighters on station and ordered the remainder to dock and reload with the same mix of three missiles, refuel and replace the capacitors that had been overheated in beating off the attack, and possibly a little food and drink for the crew. Capacitors acted like batteries, stored up the output of the fusion bottles, then in a few microseconds discharged the large amount of energy through a lens, emitting a beam of coherent light. In a battle, fighter pilots routinely overheated the capacitor, preferring that to dying. John had had more than a few conversations with people in the fighter community, trying to understand the idiots who wrote the regulations governing the use of the fighters his men and women were dying in. Did they not understand that his pilots were not even going to consider for a moment that a letter of reprimand was as impo
rtant as killing the man who was trying to kill you?

  He analyzed the data, moving blocks of information around on his screen in an effort to understand what had just happened. His enemy was highly experienced and included some of the best, most disciplined fighter pilots in space, yet he had destroyed about a third of them, over fifty craft, for the loss of only four of his own. The enemy had been forced to come into his defensive systems and been largely blinded by them, yet it was still extraordinary.

  Even as his fighter docked, Chamberlin continued to pass orders to his crews. New jammers and spoofer pods were launched to replace the ones that had been destroyed or whose energy systems had depleted. He knew that his survival depended on those terribly expensive pods, and at the present rate of use he would rapidly run out of them, although his fate without them was not to be contemplated.

  He sent a message up the line, informing his superiors of the results of this relatively small battle. He knew that to galactic east far larger battles had been and were being fought, but he had little knowledge of how they had gone, or were going. The entire region was nearly totally electronically jammed by both sides, making communication difficult to impossible. Set piece battles such as this were relatively rare, but almost always highly costly in terms of life.