“What are those?” asked Jennifer, pointing to one of the smaller craft that were being ejected from the carrier.
“One of our secret weapons,” said Sean, bringing up a closer view of one of the ships. “And, hopefully, the Cacas worst nightmare.”
* * *
“Launch all fighters,” ordered Admiral Chuntao Chan over the com. The immediate acknowledgements came back from the six fleet carriers in her task force, which was coasting toward the system at point eight four c from twenty-five light hours out in the outer reaches.
The icons started to appear on the tactical holo, as each carrier launched one hundred and twelve of the specially modified fighters that were their weapon in the fight. She zoomed the vid on one of the fighters, a larger version of the standard six hundred ton attack ship These were more than double the size at fifteen hundred tons, allowing them to carry the special equipment they needed to sidestep the laws of physics. That, and the increased weapons load.
The Admiral looked proudly at those ships as they started accelerating at one thousand gravities in the direction of their vector. She hadn’t invented the technique. But she did have a major hand in their development. And in scrounging up enough negative matter to allow them to operate. That negative matter had been expensive, and the Empire had to forgo the deployment of half a dozen ship gates to get it.
She glanced at the holo coming through on the wormhole com from Task Force Five, not under her command and of similar composition. It too was launching its fighters, from a position ten light hours to the rimward side from hers.
After they had accelerated up to point nine four light, she saw her own birds starting to deploy their negative matter, at first a thin film that was reflecting silver in places, then a solid wall of material that reflected all light, in all spectrums, and absorbed any kind of particle radiation. Now they’re cut off from the rest of us, she thought, wishing her fledglings good hunting. Moments later they increased their acceleration to sixteen thousand gravities. Soon they would pass the speed of light, outrunning any indication of their coming as they headed for a target that had yet to appear.
At the same time the two carrier task forces started decelerating at their maxim rate. They would have two hours to lose velocity before the Ca’cadasans were in range to pick up their grabber emissions. They would drop thirty-five thousand kilometers per second from their velocity at this time, as well as curve enough to avoid entering the system. They were of no use in the fight that would develop, in the system and the near space outside it, and would be as safe as any ships could be during the action.
* * *
Captain Svetlana Komorov watched as the negative matter screen was raised around her attack fighter. It was still a thrill to know that in very little time she would be going faster than light. Or not, she thought with a laugh.
There were many theories about how the process worked. Some thought it was a variation of the Alcubierre drive, that actually warped space before and behind. That would mean that they might one day get the ships up to nine or ten times light speed, the theoretical limit for such a drive. Another theory was that they formed a baby universe enclosed in the sphere of negative matter. That would imply an unlimited top end, though they had found that two times light speed was the practical limit for the moment. It would probably never replace hyperdrive, or the new wormhole gates, as it was a slower form of getting from points A to B than either of those methods.
Komorov had studied the math. She had been chosen to lead the test group due to her mathematical and conceptual abilities, which were top of the line. And she still didn’t understand how it worked. She doubted that anyone did. The important thing was that it worked, and that the Cacas would never see it coming.
“Increase acceleration to sixteen thousand gravities,” she ordered her Pilot. That was also a practical limit while in the bubble. Theoretically, they could accelerate at an even greater rate, but in testing it had been found that ships tended to fall apart over that limit. Again, they didn’t know why, and she thought sixteen thousand gravities was plenty.
She had been promoted to Captain and Wing Commander prior to this mission, in reward for her work on the development of the tech. Now she was in charge of an entire one hundred and twelve ship wing. And with the raising of the bubble she was totally cut off from her other ships. Someone had suggested putting wormhole coms in the attack fighters, but there weren’t enough of the things to go around, and they each cost more than her entire wing.
“We will reach light speed in one point nine one minutes,” called out the Navigator. “All inertial systems are a go.”
That was the part that concerned every ship commander the most. Once in the bubble all navigation was estimated by the clock. They were completely blind. Anything small that got in their way would be cancelled by the negative matter, up to a point. Anything large enough to cancel a large portion of the shield would expose the ship to normal space, inertia would return, and they would turn into an enormous bomb. Not the ending that any commander or crew desired.
“Time to target, thirteen hours, fifty-three minutes. Maximum velocity, two point zero light.”
And now we just have to hope there’s a target there for us to hit.
* * *
“Battle Fleet Two is starting their boost,” called out Admiral Kelso, the Emperor’s Flag Captain. The timer showed the enemy fleet just over an hour away. They were already evident on the hyper detectors of ships at the edge of the system. The enemy would know that they were being detected, and the response had to look like a defense fleet moving out to meet them.
If they’re smart, they’ll realize that we should have a fleet waiting for them at the edge of the system. He had such a force, of similar composition to Battle Fleet Two, though much smaller.
He switched the holo zoom to Battle Fleet Two, closely looking over the ships from the vid feed of the flag, the vessel equipped with a wormhole com.
“Those ships are going to get pounded, aren’t they?” asked Jennifer.
Sean looked over at his lady, remembering that she hadn’t been briefed on the entire plan, as there had not seemed a need. “Yeah. They’re going to get blasted out of space.”
“Those poor crewmembers.”
“The only crew those ships have are on Augustine,” said Sean with a smile. “The only result of those ships being destroyed will be their controllers being out of a job and becoming bystanders, for a short moment.”
“What does that mean?”
“There are no crew aboard those ships. Until a couple of months ago, every one of them was sitting in orbit around a fleet base planet, only robots and caregiver crew on board.”
Sean zoomed in on one of the ships, pointing out to Jennifer the differences on the thirty to forty year old vessels that had been obsolete for decades. “And this part is really good,” he said, pointing to a one hundred and fifty thousand ton destroyer. “Control. Turn on the cammo for destroyer, uh, BF2 Four Twenty One.”
A couple of seconds later the ship shimmered for a moment, then assumed the appearance of another battleship. “Holographic projectors. And the grabbers are set to go on overload on command, to put out emissions that look like those of a much larger ship.”
“And they’re under robot control? Doesn’t that break the Man in the Look laws?”
“Those ships are under remote control. There is a human in the loop for each and every vessel. There are task groups in that fleet, each with a flag equipped with a wormhole. And they have subspace radio connections to the other ships in their task groups. So all the laws have been followed to the letter.”
“Who came up with this idea?” she asked, and Sean smiled. “You did?”
“You remember the stunt I pulled on the Cacas outside of Sestius? When we sent some of Mara’s squadron on autopilot as decoys?”
“Yeah. So you trick them again, and singe their asses without losing a spacer.”
“It won’t be tha
t easy. We will lose people. More than I want to lose.” He changed the zoom, one of the flagships looking at one of the other task groups. One hundred obsolete battleships, from ten to twelve million tons, and six hundred destroyers, three hundred of which would transform into larger ships on command. “It will still be my fault that they died, since I gave the command that sent them into battle.”
“And it will be your triumph when you win,” said Jennifer, putting her arms around him.
“That’s not how it works,” said Sean in a quiet voice. “Oh, I’ll get most of the glory, but the real triumph will be that of those men and women that don’t make it out of here.”
* * *
“We’ll reach the first translation point in one hour, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, a look of anticipation on his face.
And all is as ready as I could make it, thought the Great Admiral, looking at the tactical holo that showed his force. A large scout force was arrayed ahead of the main force, a hundred supercruisers and three hundred scout ships, with a few superbattleships, four to each drop. They were also spaced out, so that some would make their final jump at the hyper VII barrier, a half dozen light hours out from the system, while others, also translating down, but not as far, would jump at each successive barrier. They would look over the system, make sure everything was as it was supposed to be, and send their findings to the fleet through hyperdrive pulses, a code that would at least give them a warning if it was a trap.
If it was a trap, the fleet was still committed to a translation at the edge of the system in their stair-step fashion. Only they would come out at point zero one light, giving them the option of slowing down to a reverse vector in minutes, then a jump back into hyper and out of the system. The enemy might get some shots, but not many.
But even if it is a trap, it will have to be a very robust one to take on this force, he thought. As long as the enemy didn’t have an overwhelming force, he would do battle with them. And crush enough of their fleet to effectively end this war. The rest of the conquest would be easy after that. He would be able to send out smaller task forces, take hundreds of major systems in a single stroke, and gut the human Empire.
“Send out the final signal,” said the Great Admiral, looking over at his Com Officer. “The Day of Battle is upon us. We will win a great victory for the Emperor.”
It was the same signal sent out by the Admiral in charge of the invasion of the human home system. A signal that had lived in the history of the race. They had won a fight that was uneven, if still one of the greatest in the history of an Empire that had rolled over everyone they had ever come in contact with. And had let the enemy get away. Still, that Great Admiral had won renown with that victory, just as this Admiral hoped to win even greater accolades with a real military triumph.
* * *
They’re almost here, thought Grand Fleet Admiral Gabriel Len Lenkowski, looking at his tactical plot. His command was the largest single battle fleet in recent history, consisting of over nine hundred battleships and four thousand scouting and escort vessels. His flagship, the superbattleship Anastasia Romanov, named after the last late Empress, was one of the most modern ships in the fleet. And she’ll be going into combat for the first time today, he thought, hoping she would live up to her name. He had known Anastasia personally. She had welcomed him as family whenever he had visited the palace. And Augustine had never guessed that we had once been lovers, before she married into the Imperial family.
Anastasia had been out of his league. Len had been born into a wealthy but common family. He had earned a knighthood, and would accept nothing more. Lenkowski had been born to lead men into combat. Anastasia had been born to be married into greatness, the first daughter of an Archduke that had passed the Imperial genes down to his offspring. And she had been attracted to the brash battleship captain who had been assigned to her father’s system defense fleet. The affair had not been long term, but it had still meant something to Len, who continued to pine after her for decades, never marrying.
Then had come the years of rising up the ranks, but never getting to lead men in battle, except for many minor actions on the frontier. Until he had reached the pinnacle, Chief of Naval Operations. He always wondered how much the Empress had to do with that, but had been afraid to ask her. She had moved on, and committed herself wholly to her husband. It’s so damned easy for women, thought the Grand Fleet Admiral. They can be in bed with you one day, friends the next. And we men just can’t do that.
He drove that thought from his mind, concentrating on the task at hand. This was his big chance coming up. The big battle, and if he wasn’t in command of the whole shooting match, at least he was in charge of a big piece.
“Command reports estimated first translation in forty minutes,” called out his Flag Com Officer.
“I concur, sir,” said the Flag Tactical Officer.
“Send signal to all ships. Make sure that all systems are powered down. We don’t want to give the ball game away before the first pitch.” He looked at his command on the holo, spread out over cubic light hours of the outer reaches of the system. Hidden. And the ships hiding in the system, almost the same size as the one waiting outside. Not everyone was within forty minute light speed transmission. But all the flags had wormhole coms, and they could send tight beam transmissions to all the ships in their task groups, and other forces well within that forty minute time frame.
Thirty-nine minutes, he thought, looking at the timer. Of course that was only an estimate, but probably as close to reality as possible. I wonder how Mgonda is doing? was the next thought.
* * *
Grand Fleet Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda was looking at the very same holo as Lenkowski, made up of the information that was coming in over the wormhole com. His force, the Hyper VII battle force, made up only of ships that could translate into the highest accessible dimension, waited in normal space, three light months out of the system. His job was to come in and take out the enemy ships that jumped back into hyper when the trap was sprung. Mara Montgomery’s force was the final plug, designated to catch any ships that got around him. He liked Mara, who had been his scout force commander when he had been in charge of Sector IV, and so was determined that very little got around him to challenge her smaller force.
His force consisted of one hundred and eighty of the new hyper VII battleships, almost all that there were, plus six hundred lesser vessels. All of his battleships possessed a pair of wormholes, with multiple configurations that allowed them to communicate or fire masses of pre-accelerated missiles at the enemy. It was a much smaller force than he had led in his position as Sector Commander, but more advanced than anything else in the Empire.
His were not the only ships that had those wormhole missile tubes. Unfortunately, there were not all that many of the wormhole accelerators around the Donut. There had been enough so far, but nothing of this caliber had ever been attempted, and there were not enough of them to go around.
We probably won’t need them, he thought, hoping, praying, that it was so. The only advantage his ships had over what would probably be a superior enemy with massive firepower were those wormholes. If they were tasked elsewhere, which, with the Emperor in the system, could very well happen, he could be facing more than he could handle.
Part of that is because the Emperor is in the system, he thought. Of course the Fleet would do everything they could to protect him, and he couldn’t fault that decision. But it meant that ships insystem would get the mission tasking over his, no matter the priority, because the Emperor might be put at risk otherwise.
No use worrying about what I can’t control, he thought, then worried about it anyway. That was part of his job description.
* * *
THE DONUT.
“I think we found something,” said one of the Agents over the com.
“Something? Like what?” asked Jimmy Chung. Lucille raised her eyebrows and shot him a nonverbal question, and he motioned her to be quiet.
“We just listened to a conversation between him and the Emperor,” said the other Agent. “The Emperor ordered him to increase security on the wormholes, after having a dream about the Station coming under attack.”
“And that’s all you have? Hell, a lot of people don’t believe that prophetic dream bullshit.”
“But, sir. It’s a direct order from the Emperor. And he chose to disobey it.”
“And that makes it a Fleet matter. I will contact the CNO immediately and let her know, but McCullom is going to have to handle this.”
“What will McCullum have to handle?” asked Lucille as he cut the connection.
Chung gave her the gist of the conversation, and she slammed her hand on the desk. “That’s what we needed. Now, why can’t you just march some agents down there and arrest him?”
“What? March all of my thousand people down to his office and arrest him on a Navy matter?”
“Why would you need all of your people?”
“Because I would want all of them behind me when he orders his thousands of Marines to escort all of my people out of his territory. The Fleet is very territorial, and it will piss them off to no end if we try to step in and arrest one of theirs.”
“Did the Emperor say when he thought the attack would come?”
“I don’t think so. Wait a moment.” Jimmy linked back with his agent, then had the message played over the office com. “Doesn’t give a time frame. Except to say it will be soon.”
“Then we need to do something.”
“And again, Lucille, what do you want me to do? I will swear out a formal complaint with the CNO through my Director. But that is all I can do,” he said, enunciating each word slowly.
“Can you at least position some of your agents around the station? To make up for his failure to obey imperial orders?”
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 06 - The Day of Battle Page 31