by M. D. Cooper
So far, at least from the movements of the Orion Guard ships spread out around Sosondowah and its shipyards, the enemy had no idea that Svetlana’s ships were approaching.
While her battlegroup’s stealth capabilities weren’t as good as those of the ISF ships under Caldwell’s command, they’d been careful to bleed off as much heat as possible before going into the dark layer, where no heat could be bled off because there was no where for it to bleed off to.
During the dark layer transit, the ships pumped as much heat as possible into the cooling vanes, until every ship’s trailing streamers were nearly melting. Right before transitioning back into normal space, each ship cut their cooling vanes loose, along with a DL transition system, leaving their excess heat to drift though the dark until the power drained away—or they met the hungry maw of an Exdali.
That transition out of the dark layer was now several days behind them, and the enemy had given no hint that they’d spotted the inbound ships. Either the heat bleed had been enough to fool the enemy, or Svetlana’s battlegroup was drifting into a trap.
While her ships were maintaining a low energy profile, the battlegroups under the command of Admiral Sebastian and Colonel Caldwell were doing just the opposite. Immediately after dumping out of the dark layer, their ships had boosted hard for the more populous regions of the system, telegraphing their approach and making it appear as though they were going to perform a strafing run before exiting the system.
Many hours ago, the other two battlegroups would have fired their initial volleys at the system’s defensive emplacements and turned to begin braking maneuvers. Given the ten-hour light lag between the two locations, confirmation of those events was expected at any moment—which is where Svetlana’s current sense of unease came from.
Once they knew that the battle had begun in the other region of the Machete System, her battlegroup could ready their strike.
She was about to ask Scan if there were any signs of the attack—though she thought if they had something, they’d relay it—when Scan gave an exultant whoop.
“Confirming strikes on alpha targets!”
And just like that, the tension on the bridge was broken.
Svetlana shook her head, but didn’t fault the ensign for his unprofessionalism as she put the readings on the main tank. Sure enough, gamma and x-ray emissions from around the other two stars in the Machete System confirmed that the main defensive batteries had been destroyed.
“Data burst from Admiral Sebastian,” Comm announced a moment later. “The locals laid down some heavy rail fire, but with jinking and the stasis shields, no ships were damaged.”
“Like shooting fish in a barrel,” Svetlana said quietly.
“Or sooner, I hope,” Svetlana said, looking at the time it would take her battlegroup to reach effective firing range: just under thirty-two hours.
Time to hurry up and wait.
* * * * *
The hours passed as slowly as expected, but for a brief surge of excitement, as the Orion Guard mustered a fleet of seven hundred ships and sent them to toward the system’s main stars, Iagentci and Geha, where the other Hoplite battlegroups were wreaking havoc.
“It’s going to be close,” General Lorelei said from the far side of the bridge’s main holo, where she was watching the enemy ships as they flew toward the system’s other stars. “If the Oggies pick us up even an hour before we strike their shipyards, the fleet they sent will have time to turn around and hit us.”
Svetlana nodded while chewing on the inside of her cheek. “It’s tight. I have weapons control examining a surprise for the Oggies, should they try that.”
“Oh?” the general asked, looking up to meet Svetlana’s gaze. “What sort of surprise?”
Fast forwarding the display to where the Orion reinforcement fleet would be at the critical juncture, Svetlana showed what their trajectory would look like if they braked and came back around to protect the shipyards.
“This is the most fuel-efficient route. They’ll take an anti-spinward vector and then come around Sosondowah, using the star for a gravity brake.”
“Seems logical,” the general agreed. “What are you going to do? Hit them with RMs?”
“No,” Svetlana set her jaw before replying. “Grapeshot. If we can make some small adjustments, we’ll cross their return path, and can fire volleys of grapeshot along it.”
The soldier shuddered. “Stars, I hate that shit. Barbaric.”
“I won’t deny that,” Svetlana replied with a slow nod. “But it’s effective, and the goal is to take them out before they do the same to us.”
“So long as you get my people’s boots safely on the ground,” Lorelei replied after a moment’s pause.
“Are you still in agreement about the targets?” Svetlana asked as she shifted the holodisplay to show two of the largest shipyards, creatively named Trumark-Alpha and Trumark-Omega.
“Sure. Just make sure you can take out the remaining Orion patrol boats before our assault shuttles hit vacuum.”
Svetlana found herself liking General Lorelei more than most ground pounders. The woman was always respectful, but never deferential. You never wondered where you stood with her. Yet somehow, she managed never to come off as crass or rude—mostly.
“Don’t worry,” Svetlana replied. “We’ll take them. Unless they have a whole host of ships hiding in some dark corner, there are only seventy patrol craft guarding the shipyards now. Most are pinnaces or corvettes, just a couple are destroyers.”
“Don’t forget all those defensive emplacements,” Lorelei added. “Alpha and Omega are between the planet’s moons, too. You know they’ll have rail emplacements on them.”
Svetlana nodded. “Our Hand agent sent us some data he lifted on Trumark during a raid he made there not long ago. I believe we know where their emplacements are, and we’re going to shield the assault craft.”
“Sounds hairy,” Lorelei said with a laugh, glancing at the ship’s pilot. “Got your work cut out for you, Lieutenant. You better keep us safe as we go in.”
The man gave the general a crisp nod. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Does your wording mean that you’re planning to go on the strike?” Svetlana asked.
“Sorry,” Lorelei crossed her arms and shook her head. “Freudian slip, there. I want to go in, but I need to be up here on your bird coordinating things. Colonels Yuri and Mila will have things well in hand.”
“Good,” Svetlana replied, winking at the general. “For what it’s worth, I don’t blame you for wanting to get your hands dirty.”
“I’ll get to eventually…maybe when we make a planetside strike,” Lorelei replied.
“Stars, if we have to actually pound ground, we’re doing this wrong.”
The general barked a laugh. “Just like a spacer, Admiral. Always have your head in the stars.”
* * * * *
Colonel Caldwell of the ISF stood arms akimbo on the bridge of his ship, the Daring Strike, an aptly named ship, considering what they were about to attempt.
His fifty-six rail destroyers—the dual concentric ring ships that Admiral Tanis had resurrected from an old Scattered Disk design—had just decimated the mining facilities situated around the Machete System’s largest gas giant, Geha.
He’d given the locals fair warning, and most had fled, taking every available ship and shuttle to the terrestrial worlds Akonwara and Iagentci.
The corporation that owned the mines, however, was not giving in so easily.
He’d already destroyed their stationary emplacements, and now all that remained were six hundred and ten of their ships. The vast majority of those vessels were little more than shuttles. There were some freighters with enough firepower to defend themselves from pirates or stray rocks, but they wouldn’t begin to pose a threat to the ISF ships. A smattering of corvettes and
a dozen destroyers made up the remainder of the corporate fleet.
Plus one ship that Caldwell begrudgingly classified as a cruiser.
“They’re hailing us again, sir,” Lieutenant Sandy said from the comm station. “Demanding that we stand down.”
Thus far, Caldwell had not accepted any incoming communication attempts from the Pritney-Dax corporate wags. He’d issued a statement declaring his intent to destroy the mining platforms in orbit of Geha, weathered a barrage from the stationary defense systems with no damage, and then destroyed them all with waves of rail-accelerated pellets.
He felt that his battlegroup’s actions were all the communication that needed to be had—something the civilians demonstrated an understanding of when they’d bailed from the mining platforms in droves.
Caldwell’s lips twitched in a smile at the memory of Geha’s planetary space traffic control trying to deny the fleeing ships flight vectors in an attempt to get them to stay and defend the mines. Eventually, the STC’s personnel resigned themselves to the inevitability of the exodus and began to assign lanes and keep as many ships from crossing vectors as they could.
It was still a mess, but that wasn’t Caldwell’s problem.
“I guess we can have a conversation, at least so I can tell them ‘I told you so’ later,” he said to the comm officer. “Put them on the tank.”
Lieutenant Sandy gave a curt nod, and an image shimmered into place before him. A tall, reedy man wore a crisp suit that had his employer’s name and logo emblazoned across the chest.
“Colonel Caldwell, I presume?” the man asked in an imperious tone. He didn’t allow any time for a response before continuing, “I am Harold Ems of Pritney-Dax. I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doing, but you have five minutes to reverse course and get out of PD space.”
“Good to meet you, Harold,” Caldwell replied equably. “I must admit, your statement makes me a bit curious. What I’d really like to know is what you think I’m doing.”
“P-pardon?” the man stammered as his brow lowered in consternation. “What are you getting at?”
“Well,” Caldwell tapped his chin. “You said that you ‘don’t know what the hell’ I think I’m doing, but that can’t be right. You’ve gotta have at least an inkling. I can give you some hints, if it’s too hard. We’re not here for teatime.”
Lieutenant Sandy gave a soft snort from Caldwell’s right, and he allowed his lip to twitch into a half smile as well.
“What I’m getting at,” the man representing Pritney-Dax ground out the words as though he hated the very thought of communicating with Caldwell, “is that it doesn’t matter what you have planned. If you don’t leave, we’re going to destroy you. And in case math is also a problem for you, you’re sorely outnumbered.”
“Are we? Really?” Caldwell held up a hand and counted his fingers, scowling at them as he folded each one down in turn. “Hmmm…looks like you’re right. But there’s math, and then there’s math. I suspect that things such as calculating a ship’s destructive capability are beyond you. I’ll make this simple, though. I’ll give you the same amount of time you were offering me—five minutes—to power down shields and surrender.”
“Who are you, anyway?” Harold Ems demanded. “You know that the Orion Guard is coming for you, right?”
Caldwell barked a laugh. “Know about it? We’re counting on it.”
The company man froze for a few seconds, his holopresence too still, and Caldwell could tell he had paused the feed while he spoke with his advisors.
“Closing in on four minutes,” Caldwell said after several more seconds had ticked by.
The company man suddenly moved again, and Caldwell almost laughed at the sudden change in his skin color. Harold was much redder than a moment prior.
“You never answered my question. Who are you?” Harold demanded.
“Well…have you ever heard of the Transcend?” Caldwell asked. “They’re the other half of the FGT that Orion doesn’t want you to know about. We’ve been at loggerheads with Orion for some time and we’re finally having it out. That’s what’s going on here. Technically, my ships and I are just allies of the Transcend, but since your people—that’s Orion, just so we’re clear—attacked our colony, we threw in with the good guys and came out here to kick Orion in the ass.”
“How eloquent,” the man sneered.
Caldwell chuckled. “Say whatever makes you feel good. You have three minutes now.”
“And if we don’t surrender?” Harold asked, growing redder still.
“Then we’ll cut down your fleet until you do, starting with your ship.” He spoke the words without malice.
He was relatively certain that if he took out Harold’s ship, the rest of the Pritney-Dax fleet would surrender, and in the end, he’d keep the death toll to a minimum.
“Like hell you will,” the other man spat, and the comm channel closed.
“Enemy beams are hot!” Scan called out. “We’re being tagged.”
The defense holodisplay lit up with signatures, as over half the enemy ships in range fired on the Daring Strike.
Caldwell could see the energy readings, and it was clear that the Pritney-Dax vessels were firing a lot more than spitwads. Without the protection of stasis shields, the Daring Strike would have been torn to pieces.
The Daring Strike’s AI was operating as the Fleet Coordination Officer for Caldwell’s battlegroup, and the colonel could tell he was eager to fire back at the corporate militia with extreme prejudice.
“Have wings two and four hit the engines on ol’ Harold’s cruiser there,” Caldwell instructed. “Just disable it. Show them that our flying donuts mean business.”
Lorne complained, but sent out the order without further question.
Indicators on the holo lit up, showing streams of rail pellets streaking through the half a light second of space between the ships.
For the first few seconds, the enemy cruiser’s rear shields held, light flaring around the aft section of the ship as grav deflectors absorbed the kinetic energy and redirected it back into space.
But the barrage was too much for the cruiser to handle. One of its aft umbrellas failed, and a stream of pellets tore clear through the rear of the cruiser, nearly slicing off one of the engines. Moments later, similar events repeated on the other side of the cruiser, rendering it dead in the water.
Caldwell fully expected that to be the end of it. The enemy had to realize that there was no way they could stand up to his destroyers—even if they did outnumber him twelve to one.
“I have engine flares!” Scan cried out, and a secondary display came up to Caldwell’s left, showing a large group of objects rising out of Geha’s cloudtops.
“Ships?” he asked, as data began to accumulate on the thrust and size of the objects—which was taking several seconds, given the distance to the planet.
“Shit,” Caldwell muttered. “I wouldn’t have expected these luddites to have, what…two hundred of those things?”
“Funny. Direct the fleet into pattern Alpha Eleven, FCO.”
On the main holo, the colonel watched as the Pritney-Dax fleet began to boost toward his destroyers. Each squadron was concentrating fire on different ISF destroyers, and Caldwell suspected they were hoping to find ships without stasis shields.
“All ships,” he addressed his battlegroup captains on the all-fleet network. “Engage targets by wing. Hit their destroyers first, then switch to the corvettes. Lorne, assign targeting priorities.”
Caldwell didn’t really need to say the words; he and his fleet strategists had already planned
out responses to all the possible actions the enemy could take. The ships had their targets under every scenario, all they needed to do was enact them.
At least I hope it’ll be that straightforward.
An attack by elements hidden within Geha’s cloudtops had been near the top of the list for defensive actions that the enemy would take. Wing One was closest to the gas giant and fired wide spreads of grapeshot at the inbound relativistic missiles, the tactical displays showing that the relativistic chaff was on target to hit the enemy missiles before they hit the ISF ships.
“Waste of RMs,” he muttered. “Things were only going to get up to a quarter c at best.”
“Sir, why do you think they didn’t fire them at us when we first approached?” Lieutenant Sandy asked.
Lorne replied before Caldwell could offer his thoughts.
“Yeah,” Caldwell grunted. “That.”
Sandy laughed and frowned at her console. “I’m picking up a burst of communication between the cruiser and the mining platforms.”
“What about?” the colonel asked.
“Umm, not sure, I—”
The bridge crew’s attention was grabbed by the main holotank lighting up as Wing One’s grapeshot hit the leading edge of the inbound RMs.
A few of the missiles went up in nuclear fireballs from the impacts, the resulting plasma clouds smearing into long streaks by the velocity of the weapons. Most, however, were shredded before the nukes within could detonate, turning the missiles into showers of still deadly kinetic energy, but energy now on predictable vectors.
Caldwell pursed his lips, praying that the stasis shields would hold. Even though he’d been under heavy fire multiple times during the Defense of Carthage, every time incoming fire of that magnitude hit his ships, he half expected the shields to fail under the barrage.