Sentience 1: Storm Clouds Gathering

by Gibson Michaels

  “Transition complete. Initiating long-range scanning now, Admiral,” announced the ensign manning the scanner station.

  “Very well,” Bishop responded reflexively. “Verify arrival of all units and inform me if we lost anyone. Head straight into Ginia at full in-system speed for 10 minutes and then throttle back to half.” The LTJG manning the comm forwarded the admiral’s orders to the rest of the portion of the fleet, which had arrived with Enterprise.

  “Arrival 3½ light-minutes out from Ginia is confirmed, Admiral. Our second wave should be arriving within the next 10 minutes,” announced the Enterprise’s CO, Captain Lionel Starkey. The Grand Fleet had been broken into four waves to help assure the safe arrival of so many ships transitioning so close together. Warships comprised the first three waves, with the transports and support ships bringing up the rear. The transport wave wouldn’t arrive for almost 24 hours, allowing the Grand Fleet sufficient time to dispose of the mutineers and take out any other defenses the rebels might have cobbled together. No sense letting anyone get a free shot at unarmed transports full of Fleet Marines.

  About four minutes later, the ensign manning the scan station announced, “Admiral, multiple contacts bearing 178 by 003, almost directly ahead… range two light-minutes. Looks like the mutineers, sir. The number appears about right.”

  “Very good, Ensign,” responded Bishop. “Get me an exact number on those enemy vessels.” Bishop tended to speak a bit less abrasively now that it was all Northerners who surrounded him, but it was doubtful that Bishop ever noticed the fact. “Helm, adjust course to 178 by 003.”

  “178 by 003 aye, sir,” the helmsman acknowledged.

  “Admiral, that course will bring us dangerously close to that asteroid belt, eighteen light-seconds ahead,” said the Enterprise’s Captain Starkey.

  “You may maneuver a bit to avoid hitting any of them, Captain, but I want as direct a course as practicable, directly towards that group of traitors there ahead of us,” responded Bishop. “Advise the fleet to that effect.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  The first wave of the Union fleet slowed to allow the second wave to catch up, and then both slowed still further to allow the third wave to join and take position. Bishop wasn’t going to initiate battle without everything he had, striking together in one massive hammer blow.

  Forty-six minutes after the Union’s first wave arrived, all three waves of the Union Grand Fleet formed up into a single massive formation, which passed close abeam of the Ginia asteroid belt. None of them saw any of Thorn’s ships hiding there. They saw exactly what they expected to see, dead ahead of them. Neither did they notice any of the ships easing out of the asteroid belt and into their plasma shadows, right behind them.

  “Uh… God, how I hate that!” exclaimed Aline McCauley.

  “Oh, quit bitching, Aline,” said Ruby Demedicci. “You ought to be used to it by now after — how many hundred times have you been through transition now?”

  “I’m not sure anyone could ever get used to that,” said Daniel Simmington.

  “Never seems to bother J.P. over there,” observed Robert Eastman.

  J.P. Aneke had invited the entire Consortium Executive Board to accompany him to the Ginia system aboard his personal space yacht. Dozens of personal spacecraft of all sizes, occupied by Northern politicians, business executives and the idle rich, were also emerging into normal space four light-minutes away from Ginia and about forty-five minutes behind the Alliance Grand Fleet, based on classified information obtained by the shadow president himself. Congressmen and the cream of Waston and Nork society were all flocking to the Ginia system to personally see history in the making. It wasn’t every day you got to see an insurrection put down by the Alliance Fleet. The multitude of fusion plumes visible directly in front of them made an awesome sight.

  “Captain,” intoned J.P. Aneke into his intercom. “Follow the fleet directly in front of us at our best speed possible. I want a front-row seat when those rebellious Southerners get what’s coming to them.” J.P. touched his console and zoomed the view screen to maximum magnification.

  By the time the Union fleet came within one light-minute of the Confederates, Joe Bishop launched every fighter he had. The earliest fighters to launch circled ahead of the fleet, while the rest of their brethren continued blasting themselves out of the launch tubes. Tankers were also launched to refuel the early birds, so all would have nearly a full fuel load when they turned for the Confederates. Within 58 minutes, almost 1,400 union fighters turned towards the Confederate fleet, with only a bare 200 held in reserve for defense of the carriers.

  Admiral Kalis waited until the Yankees had been launching for 40 minutes before ordering his fighters out. 690 Confederate Raptors and Demons were launched into space within 16 minutes... much faster than the inexperienced Yankees. The Confederate fighters broke into two groups, standing off at the periphery of the Confederate fleet.

  “Ooh, are all of those small plumes appearing from the big ones fighters launching, J.P.?” asked Aline McCauley.

  “Yes, just watch. There will be almost 1,600 of them by the time they finish launching.”

  “How many fighters do the rebels have?” asked Ruby.

  “According to Fleet calculations, no more than 690,” answered Aneke.

  “How confident are we that our Fleet will beat the rebels?” asked Morgan Rainey. “Being this close to a real space battle makes me nervous.”

  “Fewer than 70 ships to over 200 of ours. Better than 3:1 in ships and better than 2:1 in fighters,” replied Aneke. “You’re a banker. Do the math for yourself, Morgan.”

  “What’s going on, skipper?” asked Lieutenant Mark Cortez, piloting a Mustang in the Union’s lead wing. “Those destroyers out there have had us in fire-control lock for several minutes now, but none of them have thrown any flak our way.”

  “Probably want us to take the first shot,” answered the Flight Leader, LCDR Mathew Baldwin. “Now shut up and maintain radio discipline. Just keep boring in on those carriers.”

  Flying right past so many warships without a shot being fired felt somewhat ominous to the Union pilots, as they penetrated the Confederate defensive globe. Not that anyone was actually complaining about the lack of someone shooting at them. Were the Confederates just going to give them a free pass right through to their carriers? Spooky. Onward came the Union fighters, until they finally achieved fire control scan-lock on the enemy carriers. Just after they launched their first wave of anti-ship missiles and watched them streak away towards the enemy carriers, their targets… disappeared.

  “Multiple zombies! They have fire-control missile lock on us, Captain,” yelled Lieutenant Bart Gomez, manning the electronic-countermeasures console in the ECM shack, just off the CIC. He’d used the ship’s intercom, but hadn’t actually needed to... he’d yelled loudly enough to be heard clearly at the captain’s station.

  “Very good, Gomez. Let me know when they put birds in the air,” answered Captain Jennifer Stallings, commanding officer of the CSS Lexington. Of course there was no actual “air” out there, but that was another odd expression that seemed to have just carried over into the modern language from ancient days on old Earth.

  Seconds later, Gomez yelled, “Vampires… multiple vampires! I’ve got missile scans coming right at us, Captain.”

  “Did you get the time-stamped recordings on that launch, Gomez?” Stallings asked.

  “Yes ma’am. Recordings locked.” Gomez yelled back.

  “Helm, execute tachyon transition. Get us the hell out of here,” yelled Stallings. And then the universe turned inside out.

  The Federal pilots watched in confusion as their missiles lost lock on their targets... targets that acquisition scan said weren’t there anymore. While those bewildered leading fighters finally started to swing around, the Confederates verified they had captured hard evidence of the Alliance fighters firing at their carriers, and then a hailstorm of anti-spacecraft missiles, pulse-las
ers and charged particle beam weapons suddenly spat from over 65 ships of the Confederate fleet at relatively close range. At that range, there was just no time for active ECM, phosphorus flares or evasive maneuvers to help the Union’s first wave of fighters escape the sudden onslaught. Over 200 Lightnings and Mustangs exploded. Only six life-pods ejected.

  By the time the second wave of Union fighters reacted and employed evasive maneuvers, lighting off ECM and popping flares as they tried desperately to claw their way out of range of the rebel fleet’s short-range weaponry, 345 screaming Raptors and Demons tore into them. Another 100 Lightnings and Mustangs were lost on the Confederate fighters' first pass, while 30 more perished from anti-spacecraft fire from the ships of the Confederate fleet. Within six minutes of the time that the Federals started the war, they’d lost over 330 fighters to the Confederates' loss of only two.

  Things evened out a bit after that, as the remaining Union fighters carrying anti-ship armament went after the Confederate cruisers and frigates, while the 700 equipped to mix it up with other fighters went after the 343 rebel fighters. Within the next half hour, the Confederates lost three battlecruisers, four heavy cruisers, three light cruisers, six frigates, three destroyers and 167 fighters. The Federals lost another 234 Lightnings and Mustangs to Confederate fighters and anti-spacecraft fire. During the melee, none of the Union fighters noticed the 345 Confederate Raptors and Demons heading directly towards the Union fleet.

  “Damn, we’re much too far away to see our fighters attack the rebel fleet,” complained Ruby Demedicci.

  “Patience, Ruby,” responded Ted Wentworth. “You’ll see plenty when the Grand Fleet closes into firing range of the rebels. Our fighters are just tenderizing them a bit, before our fleet throws them onto the barbeque.”

  The nine Confederate carriers which had been accelerating towards the massive oncoming Union fighter assault had achieved transition velocity 20 minutes before the Federals actually opened fire. They all waited to make their jumps into tachyon space until all had verified recordings of the Union’s missile launch. All but one reached the rendezvous point undamaged after a mere thirty-second transition at 320c.

  The light carrier CSS Princeton experienced a failure of its ECM recording apparatus and had delayed their transition long enough to bring the back-up equipment online and get the incoming missile scans recorded. That delay allowed two Federal anti-ship missiles to get through, killing 357 spacers and inflicting massive damage to the ship. Fortunately neither the ship’s reactors nor propulsion systems were hit, so Princeton completed her preprogrammed thirty-second jump as planned.

  Two transitions within 30 seconds of one another left most of the carrier crews almost insensible, but stimulant injectors that could be used to administer meds from outside of a combat suit had been predistributed, so the crews got a bit of artificial help at getting their heads and guts back together. Damage control parties finally got the fires put out on the Princeton, but the crippled ship was out of the fight. One of the Federal missiles took out her primary spacecraft launcher and the second hit her launch bays.

  When their munitions were expended or bingo fuel was reached, the remaining Confederate fighters peeled away to return to their carriers at the predetermined rendezvous point. Fleet-Admiral Kalis, who had previously transferred his flag to the light cruiser CSS Exeter, ordered a general withdrawal of the Confederate Fleet back towards Ginia, when he received the message they would be without fighter cover while his fighters went to rearm and refuel. Another battlecruiser, two heavy cruisers, two frigates and four more destroyers were lost by the time the Confederate fleet managed to withdraw out of range, but they managed to destroy another 41 Union fighters.

  When long-range scans revealed half of the Confederate fighter squadrons were heading directly towards his carriers, Bishop ordered 250 of his outbound fighters with anti-fighter armament aboard to reverse course and assist the 200 Union Raptors and Demons swirling in a figure-8 racetrack pattern in combat space patrol, in front of the Union fleet.

  By the time an echo from the reemerging Confederate carriers appeared on Bishop’s long-range scans, he only had about 225 fighters with full anti-ship loads remaining that hadn’t launched their missiles yet, so he sent orders for those to divert and go after the defenseless Confederate carriers, sitting all alone out there. The Federal fighters were almost halfway to the Confederate carriers when three more blips appeared nearby on the Union scanners, but after initially ascertaining there were definitely nine ships out there, no one thought to count the blips again after that.

  When 330 Confederate Raptors and Demons tore into 200 of their Union brethren guarding the Union fleet, it was reminiscent of war games played countless times before, except that the real weapons resulted in real losses and real deaths this time around.

  Bishop, wanting to keep those enemy fighters away from his carriers, ordered his combat space patrol to meet the enemy well away from the Union fleet. This was what the Confederates were hoping for, as it enabled them to engage the Union fighters at a true 3:2 numerical advantage without being subjected to anti-spacecraft fire from the Union fleet. With virtual equalities in both equipment and experience, the 3:2 advantage in numbers the Confederate pilots enjoyed became the primary difference maker in both tactics and results. Only 24 of those Federal fighters remained when the 250 returning Lightnings arrived to smash into the remaining 219 Confederates.

  When the Confederates' munitions were expended, the surviving 167 turned and ran back towards the Confederate fleet. Five more were lost to pursuing Lightnings before the Union fighters were recalled, so they could be rearmed, refueled and relaunched before the returning strike fighters arrived.

  Vice Admiral Kent had been ordered by Admiral Kalis to bring only his three carriers to the rendezvous point, while leaving the remainder of TF-22 hidden in Ginia’s planetary shadow. Instead of finding nine defenseless carriers at their mercy, the 225 redirected Union Mustangs carrying anti-ship loads ran right into the teeth of 230 Confederate Raptors and Demons specifically outfitted for destroying fighters… which they did… with incredible efficiency.

  Admiral Thorn had been shadowing the Union fleet within visual distance of their myriad of drive plumes and she marveled at the incredibly vast numbers of enemy vessels right in front of her. Two full task-forces were a considerable force, but being this close to just over three complete enemy fleets was a bit unnerving.

  Thorn had noted the time when the Federal attack force finished assembling and turned for the attack on Admiral Kalis’ 1st Fleet. Knowing the nominal cruising time necessary for the attack force to reach 1st Fleet, approximate loitering time during the attack before munitions were expended, and the time to return for rearmament, Thorn had a rough idea of when the fighter armada should be returning to their carriers. She wrestled with the tempting idea of attacking the Yankees while their strike force was well away, but Admiral Kalis’ orders were explicit — she was to wait for the enemy’s combat space patrol to be dealt with, so that her fighters could reap maximum carnage on the enemy fleet with full anti-ship loads.

  Thorn almost jumped when she saw the Federal defensive screen zoom away to meet Kalis’ inbound fighters, but from her position behind all those drive plumes, they had been unable to get a hard count of the number of defensive fighters that had been drawn away. There was just no telling how many, if any, defensive fighters might still be loitering in front the Union fleet. Although she was admittedly antsy to launch and struggled with the decision, she waited.

  Suddenly over 100 drive plumes, obviously from fighters, were spotted inbound and then began disappearing. They’re recovering them. Too early… too early to be returning from the strike force. That has to be defensive fighters coming back. Although she was disappointed that so many of the Federal fighters appeared to have survived their encounter with Kalis’ fighters, it appeared a window of opportunity had opened. When the small plumes stopped disappearing, Thorn turned to her commun
ications officer.

  “Signal the fleet by tight-beam laser. All carriers launch fighters immediately. All ships to battle-stations in preparation for action. On my order.” Admiral Eileen Thorn was about to order a close-range attack on five times her own number. This could get ugly… very, very quickly.

  After the Federal fighters turned away to return to their carriers, Admiral Kalis ordered the remainder of 1st Fleet still able to fight to again reverse course, back towards the incoming Union fleet. His command had been ravaged, taking the brunt of the massive initial Federal attack, so he also ordered the remainder of TF-22 hiding behind Ginia to rendezvous with 1st Fleet near the mid-way point between the two converging fleets. On his way back to the fight, Admiral Kalis also issued an urgent distress call, requesting assistance from Norf Fleet shipyard, to collect survivors from among the wreckage of 1st Fleet.

  “They’re launching more fighters,” exclaimed Daniel Simmington.

  “Must be the defensive reserve,” remarked Aneke. “They’ve evidently spotted a threat moving towards the fleet, although I don’t see how that could be possible. With over 1,400 fighters coming at them, the rebels would be foolish to spare any of their defensive screen to try attacking the Federal fleet.”

  “I’d have thought Bishop would have already had his fighter screen launched and ready,” remarked Morgan Rainey.

  “Me, too,” said McCauley. What the hell is Bishop up to?”

  Due to the tremendous aftward distortion generated by their own drive plumes, most of the ECM operators on the Federal carriers never detected the Confederate fire-control scanners locking onto them. The few that did were understandably startled when signals suddenly erupted, in such incredible strength, from seemingly empty space. None saw the missiles themselves lock on.