by Dani Kollin
“Louis,” Gupta said patiently, “there’s a battle coming. I can hold the enemy at the minefield, but you’ll have to get your ships ready to go, with or without the civvies.” Ginzberg opened his mouth to argue but was immediately cut off. “Let me be perfectly clear, Louis. If you’re not under way in twenty minutes I’ll save Admiral Black the trouble and hand you over to her myself.” He then motioned for the comm link to be cut. With any luck, thought Gupta, he’ll pull it off in half an hour. “Helmsman, hold position here. Lieutenant, order the task force to do the same.”
As the lieutenant relayed the orders to the fleet, Gupta’s second in command floated up from his post below. Gupta approved of the officer: sharp and respectful and always asked good questions.
“Admiral, a word if you don’t mind?”
“Certainly, Captain. What is it?”
“Black’s fleet is going to be at the minefield in a little less than ten minutes. If we boost hard we can meet them at the other side.”
“Why, Captain?”
“To engage them after the mines have caused the most damage but before they can repair themselves, sir.”
Gupta sighed. “Yes, I know that, Captain. I mean why would J. D. Black do this? I expected better of her.”
“Sir,” posited the captain, “she’s a lawyer who got lucky in one ambush. But to expect real fleet capability out of her?” The captain then shook his head. “Not likely.”
“I pray you’re correct. But something’s not right.” Gupta once again stared at the theater. The thumbs he’d been madly twiddling behind his back suddenly came to a stop. He looked back at the captain.
“How many picket boats in this area?” asked Gupta, pointing to the perimeter of the minefield.
“Three, sir.”
“Good. Let’s send them to intercept.”
“Right away, sir … but if I may, sir … why? We know where the enemy’s coming from.”
“Captain, I’m looking at this area of potential battle and it occurs to me that it’s the only spot I don’t have any eyeballs on. Yes, our sensors have detected the enemy fleet there, but has anyone actually seen it?”
The captain shook his head, “No, sir.”
“I want an eyeball, then. Just to confirm.”
“On it, sir,” answered the captain as he floated back down to his station.
As Gupta stared intently at the blips representing the oncoming enemy his comm officer cleared his throat … twice. Gupta sighed. “What is it, Lieutenant?”
“May not be my place, sir.”
“It’s not your place to obey a direct order from an admiral, Lieutenant?”
“Of course not, sir, I mean yes, sir, uh what I mean is—”
“You had a thought, Lieutenant, out with it.”
“Well, Admiral, it just occurred to me that the minefield’s not the only place we don’t have an eyeball, as you put it.”
“Where’s the other place, son?”
The lieutenant pointed to the vast field of asteroids floating beyond the mine-field off the main shipping lane. “There, sir.”
Gupta studied the chart for a moment. “Lieutenant, we have that area rigged with sensors. If there was a two-person garbage tug we’d know about it.” But his thumbs stopped twiddling and he found, hard as he tried, he couldn’t take his eyes off the spot on the holographic display that the lieutenant had pointed to. “Send one of the picket ships past the minefield to scout out the resource field. Let’s just eyeball everything. Good thinking, Lieutenant.”
The lieutenant nodded gratefully and went back to work.
For the next four minutes Gupta’s fleet of twenty sat and did nothing.
“Admiral,” came the captain over the comm link, “got something here.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense, Captain.”
“Well, sir, our picket, the one we sent to the resource field, according to our sensor net in the field … well …”
“Yes?”
“Well, it’s not there.”
Bridge of the AWS War Prize
J.D. stared intently at her holodisplay. “Picket ships,” she muttered almost as if it were a curse from God himself.
Bridge of the TFS Vishnu
“Admiral, our two pickets are about to make visual contact with the approaching fleet.”
“Pipe it in, Lieutenant.”
The lieutenant activated a control and a faint image of a young sailor came into the center holo-tank. The holo of the soldier was fuzzy, which the crew had expected. The enemy was undoubtedly trying to block or disrupt all communications.
“Fleet Command, fleet Command,” said the young officer excitedly, “visual analysis and active sensor is … is, Damsah’s ghost, Fleet Command, they’re … ice. I repeat: The enemy fleet is ice. We’re picking up multiple transponders mimicking ship noise.”
Gupta winced. They threw icebergs at us?
“They’re traveling at a completely unvarying rate of speed,” continued the officer. “By my kids’ first dividend, one of them even has a rotation. Fleet, we’ve been suckered; they are not, I repeat, not an enemy fleet.”
The admiral made a motion for the connection to be cut.
“OK,” he said into the comm link attached to his acceleration couch. “If that’s nothing but a decoy, where is their fleet?”
“Lieutenant, open a connection to the other picket boat.”
“Connection made, Admiral.”
“Pilot, this is Admiral Gupta; what’s your name?”
“Taylor, sir. Lieutenant Allison Taylor.”
“Lieutenant, how long till you’re past the resource field?”
“Clearing the last couple of rocks now, sir.”
“Lieutenant, just take a quick look and turn around. In and out, quick as you can, understand?”
“Yes, Admiral… wait… I have something … ships! Damsah! Alliance ships! I count at least ten large, no … make that fifteen, no …” The connection was broken by a burst of static.
“Sir,” came another voice over the comm, “the picket ship’s been destroyed.”
“Navigation,” barked the admiral, “set course to intercept that fleet as it leaves the resource field. Communications, order the rest of the task force to do the same. Same goes for the other task forces.”
The orders were given and the crew began to feel the slow but steady tug of their warship as she began hurtling herself toward the field of combat. In unison nineteen other ships began turning and boosting as well
“What do you think she’s up to, Admiral?” asked the captain over the link.
Gupta had a sardonic smile. “Admiral Black wanted us and all our attention focused on that ice fleet. Which reminds me, deactivate the minefield.”
“Begging your pardon, sir,” asked the captain, “but are you sure that’s wise?”
“Pardon granted, son. And yeah, I’m sure; deactivate it. She meant to kill us with our own ordnance.”
“Sir?”
“Brilliant plan, really. We slow down and wait for her in the wrong location while her real fleet slips through the resource field and rushes the shipyard. We would’ve been too slow and too far away to stop her in time. Then she would’ve had us backed against our own activated minefield.”
“We could’ve shut it down, sir.”
“On whose orders, son?” answered Gupta. “Don’t forget, she would have targeted my ship first. If I’m gone and the battle is raging, who shuts the field down? Never mind, don’t answer. I’ll tell you. Our fleeing ships do. That’s what she counted on. Blown up by our own protective net. Brilliant. The losses would’ve been astronomical.” Gupta laughed. “Well, I see you’re willing to gamble, Ms. Black, but this is one gamble you’ve lost, thanks to our young lieutenant here, and the life of one brave picket pilot.”
“Sir,” answered the lieutenant, “you deserve credit too.”
“Thank you, Captain, but the battle is not yet won.”
“No, sir. It’s
not, but by now she’s probably realized we didn’t bite and that we’ll be waiting. I wouldn’t be surprised if she decides to cut and run.”
“We’re learning many things about Admiral Black, Lieutenant,” answered Gupta, “but something tells me she’s not the sort of person to cut and run.”
It took the task force almost fifteen minutes to arrive at the coordinates where the enemy had been identified. Gupta sent in automated probes, expecting to find an Alliance fleet charging full bore through the resource field. Instead he discovered a much more diminished cluster of warships—all at a dead stop. If anything, the formation was smaller than he’d expected. There were only twenty ships and they were all arranged in a defensive perimeter, using the asteroids in the field to obstruct incoming shots. And to a ship they were all jury-rigged, with not a one being from the recently captured Confederation fleet.
“Captain,” Gupta said, beginning to feel cold drops of sweat forming at the base of his forehead, “where the hell is the rest of their fleet?”
Bridge of the AWS War Prize
“Lieutenant Nitelowsen,” asked J.D., “how close are we to the shipyard?”
“Fifty thousand clicks, Admiral,” replied Marilynn with her usual efficiency.
“Minefield?”
“Deactivated … from their side, sir.”
J.D. flashed a venomous smile. “Then what say we crack open some ice and get this party started?”
A round of cheers broke out from the gallery around her.
“OK, people. Pipe down. There’s still work to be done.”
From the view of the shipyard what happened next would be remembered, by those who survived, as one of the most terrifying moments of the war. Twenty seemingly harmless icebergs cracked and then split apart. In the center of each, with only one exception, was a fully functional, fully modern warship. The exception was an Alliance-built glorified platform holding a rail gun that ran the entire length of the ship. What it lacked in maneuverability it more than made up for in firepower. Almost as one the Alliance ships turned on the unsuspecting and still-entangled Confederation fleet.
Bridge of the AWS War Prize
“Admiral, we have multiple pings on civilian craft breaking from the shipyard,” said the young Jovian in charge of the sensor array. “They’re interfering with the yard’s defensive batteries and, well, just making a mess of things.”
“As planned, Lieutenant,” answered J.D.
“Admiral, those warships are just sitting there. We could drop off a few A.M. detachments and capture the whole lot without denting the paint job.”
“You’re right, Lieutenant Esparza. Our assault miners could take the whole lot with only a small loss of time and momentum. But then we’d be dead in space with depleted boarding parties and forty ships coming at us from two different directions. With ten more ships I might have risked it, but not now. Bring the main batteries to bear and destroy the ships while they’re still entangled.”
“Yes, sir. Main batteries to bear!” barked the lieutenant. “Fire at will!”
In the next ten minutes twenty of Earth’s finest and most modern warships were blown to bits with only three able to break away from the space dock before being themselves destroyed. In the melee not one Confederation ship had been able to bring their main battery to bear. The magnetically propelled death from the Alliance rail guns had assured the Confederation ships’ complete and catastrophic end. Then, without fanfare or communication of any kind, the Alliance fleet turned and boosted at full acceleration toward the perimeter of the resource field and into the fray.
Bridge of the TFS Vishnu
“Sir, there are reports that the ice ships are breaking up—”
With a sudden horror Admiral Gupta realized exactly where the other ships were and almost as quickly that he had just lost the second great battle of the war. He remembered giving the right orders. He remembered commanding his ships to gain speed and run for the orbital batteries of Mars. He’d been able to return fire on the ridiculous jury-rigged ships of the Alliance that suddenly started to attack his fleet like a pack of crazed hyenas. He’d swallowed his pride and run from them hoping to build up enough speed. Speed to escape the enemy coming at him from both sides—an impossible situation. He’d even considered accepting Admiral Black’s offer of surrender. He believed that she’d see his people treated well and not harmed or audited. But he also knew that any ship he surrendered would be used against the men and women of the Confederation in the next battle. He knew he’d lost, but now he was determined to make sure her victory wouldn’t come cheap.
It had been his last order to Commodore Diep that had turned out to have the only real and lasting damage on the Alliance. Over strong protest he ordered and then had to practically beg Commodore Diep to abandon her course and return to the orbital defenses of Mars. It was only when he reminded Diep that his ships were dying in order to buy her the time to prepare Mars for attack that she finally agreed. That last order and the pride he felt for his soldiers were the only honorable things he remembered. His ships fought with bravery and some skill against hopeless odds. Their dedication and sacrifice, he thought sadly, deserved a better leader than they got. His last act before the power faded on the wrecked ship and the sounds of battle from inside the Vishnu grew too loud to ignore was to recommend commendations for his now-destroyed task force. As soon as he was done the bulkhead door blasted open and thankfully he remembered nothing more of the terrible battle he’d just lost.
Bridge of the AWS War Prize
“Admiral, a.m.’s reporting bridge of enemy flag ship secured … enemy admiral wounded and unconscious, but in stable condition … rest of their task force is surrendering … two of the enemy ships escaped and are boosting toward Mars … Captain Sadma reports her ship is capable of pursuing.” The lieutenant looked up. “Orders?”
J.D. considered refusing but figured two more inoperative ships wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Plus she didn’t want to dampen Christina Sadma’s aggressive spirit. “Put her and Captain Omad in the tank.” J.D. waited while her two best captains appeared in all their holographic glory. “Are your ships capable of pursuit?”
“Yes, Admiral,” they replied in unison.
“Omad’s in overall command,” said J.D., and then held up her hand to stifle the complaint she knew was already coming. “Christina, you’d pursue them to the steps of the Martian capital … tell me I’m wrong.”
J.D. saw the young woman wince but then smile mischievously. “Omad will at least stop before you get yourselves killed. “You’re both worth more to me than ten warships, remember that … now good hunting, Black out.” J.D. turned back to Marilynn. “Prelim damage report?”
“Admiral, of the forty ships engaged we’ve lost four, Freedom, F the Dividend, Eternal Light, and Sandscrapper. Another twelve can only be classified as severely damaged. They’ll have to be towed back to repair facilities. Of the twenty ships in the enemy formation, ten have been destroyed, two escaped, and the remaining eight are severely damaged. We may get lucky, but we must assume they’ll have to be towed as well. Of the twenty-four thousand personnel in the Alliance fleet we have over eleven thousand casualties. Of those it’s believed that there may be as many as … as five thousand p.d.’s, sir.”
Marilynn reported the last figure of the permanent deaths in a whisper and J.D. saw the shock on the faces of those nearest to her. She cut it off quickly. “We’ll mourn later,” she said in a voice stripped of emotion. “We still have a job to do and we dishonor the dead if we waste their sacrifice with our grief now. Lieutenant Nitelowsen, continue.”
“Admiral, enemy casualties are harder to calculate accurately. Two-thirds of the enemy fleet has been effectively neutralized. That is roughly forty thousand personnel, of whom it is believed twenty-four thousand are p.d.’s.”
“Prepare a report for Fleet HQ and the President and let’s get our fleet to those space yards. Tell Admiral Sinclair we can begin Operation Vultu
re.”
Justin was listening to Admiral Sinclair’s briefing on the balcony overlooking the thoroughfare below. At the table were Cyrus Anjou, Kirk Olmstead, and Padamir Singh. They could all see the crowds gathering below. It was impossible, thought Justin, for the Cereans not to know that a battle had been brewing. After all, the fleet had just upped and left. But now there were rumors that it had already been fought, and given the spontaneous outburst of music and dancing below, most seemed to have figured out it was another victory for the Alliance. But before Justin could say anything to anyone, he needed to know what type and how big a victory it was.
“Sir,” beamed Sinclair, “I’m happy to report that the shipyard’s been taken and secured. Our salvage and reclamation fleet is in place.”
“Good. What else?”
“It’ll take about a week for the cleanup; once that’s done we should have that shipyard in Alliance space in a little less than two weeks.”
“Now comes the fun part,” Kirk chortled. “There’s already quite a fight brewing in Congress about where to send the damned thing.”
Justin nodded grimly. “Cyrus?”
“Mr. President, this issue is not about NoShare versus Shareholder. On this it’s a straight colony vote.”
“Meaning?”
“It’s the one issue that both those factions can agree on,” answered Kirk. “Greed.”
Justin sighed at what was turning into another Political donnybrook. “Admiral,” he asked, “where does the military feel it should go?”
“Jupiter,” answered Sinclair without a moment’s hesitation, “and stop looking so smug, Cyrus. I didn’t arrive at that answer easily.” Sinclair then called up a hologram with a detailed map of Alliance space. “Besides being my home and the most beautiful part of the solar system, Saturn may have the advantage of being farthest away with a good resource base, but any ships made there would be at the effective end of the supply chain. And no offense to Neptune, but even the TNOs,” said Sinclair, using the standard acronym for Trans Neptunian Objects, “are more developed than that planetary unit.”