Massoud (Massoud Chronicles Book 1)

  She ran all the way to the base shuttle pad, jiggling with impatience as her biometrics were scanned and passcodes were entered, and ended up breathless and sweaty among her trainees, many of whom had more space experience, and some a higher rank, than she. She was not presenting a good image. It was time to take a few deep breaths and to visit the head, to clean up and settle down as best she could.

  Returning to the main cabin of the shuttle, she overheard the on-going conversation.

  “I don’t get it. I thought you couldn’t marry anyone in your chain of command.”

  Massoud instantly recognized the topic du jour.

  “They didn’t just get married. They married years ago when they were both junior officers.”

  “But then they got divorced. Didn’t they?”

  “No. That’s the weird thing. They were separated for sixteen or seventeen years, I think, but never got divorced. So, they didn’t have to remarry.”

  “But isn’t that against the regs. She reported to him.”

  “Fraternization rules are about playing favorites. They never played favorites, just the opposite.”

  “Yeah, and I don’t think she ever really reported to him! I heard they were always fighting like cats over a carcass.”

  “Ha! Bastard Biash and Williams the Witch deserve each other.”

  “Enough!” Massoud snapped, and not just because she had a duty to shutdown criticism of senior officers. In fact, she had developed a fondness for the crusty admiral, who cooed at her beautiful baby. She had even recovered some of her admiration for the strident rear admiral. However, there was another reason she disliked this discussion. It edged too close to her own questionable relationship with her last ship’s captain. She knew the beginnings of her marriage would be a permanent stain on her service record.

  The shuttle scooted from vessel to vessel, dropping personnel at their assigned locations. Massoud was to observe the war games from the Sinbad, a ship she had selected because the weapons trainee, a Lt. Lee, had struggled to adjust to his new role. He had been a logistics officer and a climatologist, and quick thinking was not his forte. The weapons interface was designed for a decisive mind to use, whereas Lee tended to question himself. Like so many others, he was out of his element. After greeting the Sinbad’s captain, Massoud shared some last-minute tips with Lee, reiterated key instructions, and assured him that she was there to support him. With that done, she stepped back to let things play out as they might.

  The first engagement of the war games did not go well. Formations were sloppy, targets were missed, and the wrong equipment was selected for the task at hand. As an instructor, she had audio access to command communications and heard Biash’s succinct and accurate summary of the experience: “That was crap.” She glanced at Captain Sung of the Sinbad and they shared a wry smile of agreement.

  There was a break in the action and Sung took the opportunity to encourage and advise her trainee bridge crew before they had to reengage. Surely, every captain was doing the same. After making her rounds, she approached Massoud and discreetly said:

  “We should be thankful this is just a training exercise. When we send these people out to their new assignments, they’ll mingle with more experienced officers. Hopefully, they’ll have the right attitude and learn on the job. If I was a Xeno commander, I would launch my invasion right now.” She said the last with a deprecative smile.

  “Xenos! Coming from the wormhole ma’am,” the surveillance officer screeched in alarm. Sung’s smile evaporated and was momentarily replaced with a look of horror, but she near instantly adopted an expression of neutral, calm control.

  “Thank you, Schmidt,” she said with firm strength, in exactly the tone that would hold a crew together. “Weapons, load live ammunition.”

  Simultaneously, the same order came through the command system from Biash, his ship being now, by default, a flagship. Instructions to maneuver to face the invaders were also given.

  It was fatuous to think that the flotilla of little ships, each with a single round of live ammunition, could be effective against the massive fleet of Xeno vessels that was now entering human territory. Ominous ships of gawkish design and painted in fluorescent colors spilled into Denison space like a vomiting rainbow. The alien fleet contained ships of various sizes, including only a few that were small enough to match the Class C vessels that were hustling towards the invaders.

  Massoud slipped into the weapons station, relieving a grateful Lee. Captain Sung nodded and silently sighed relief to see her there, before formally clearing her through the command protocol to operate ship’s systems. Sung designated Massoud third in the chain of command. The command system indicated that other instructors were taking line positions throughout the fleet. Lt. Lee offered to assist the damage repair crews, where he would be more useful. Massoud agreed and dismissed him from the bridge.

  Biash’s voice came through the command system. “The Unified Fleet is preparing to depart from Denison but will need time to deploy. It will engage the enemy as far from the planet and population centers as possible. Our job is to delay the Xenos, whatever the cost. Even if what we can do is little, what we do is necessary. Here is the chain of command—Biash, Williams, Teloc, Smithson, Sung. We understand the Xenos’ intent. They will obliterate all human life on Denison and use it as a steppingstone to other planets and colonies. There is no sacrifice too great to stop these monsters. We may be small, but we have heart!”

  Massoud’s stomach cinched at the admiral’s words. What use would heart be when they were so massively outgunned? Hadn’t she already seen what happened when a little Class C ship faced a Xeno cruiser? And the impromptu chain of command not only included her husband but went beyond him. The admiral expected every single officer, whose name he had mentioned, to perish. Regardless, Massoud had not lost her nerve. She understood the stakes. Her daughter, her nephews, her sister, her brother, and so many more humans were in mortal danger. Emotions were an extravagance that could only obscure her duty. She was focused, and her head was clear. She sensed Sung and the first officer were with her in this, but varying degrees of apprehension were visible among others on the bridge.

  Sung made a ship wide announcement of her faith in the crew—a faith that needed to be fed with fine words and encouragement. To the bridge crew, she gave precise and detailed orders, orders that would not have to be given to a more experienced set of officers. Her instructions reminded the crewmembers of their basic responsibilities, steadied their nerves, and actively assured them that the captain was in control.

  The tactical system identified the enemy flagship with a sixty-two percent confidence level. If the Xenos had not changed their ways, they were strictly hierarchical, which made their flagship a logical target. Unfortunately, their flagship was identified by monitoring enemy communications—and communications could be routed through a proxy ship. Nonetheless, the apparent flagship was the best identifiable target. It was not one of the Xenos’ largest cruisers, but this did not signify. Xeno commanders of worth did not necessarily occupy the most powerful ship; the simultaneous loss of both the most important ship and the most important officer was a situation they avoided.

  Biash had hastily divided the flotilla into three parts, and was informing the captains, through the command system, as to whether they were reporting to himself, Williams or Teloc. He would take his division through the mass of alien vessels to strike their flagship. It was a suicide mission, but death was inevitable if the invaders were not stopped at this entry point to the solar system, so why shun it?

  How much time would the admiral’s sacrifice buy for the Unified Fleet, a fleet that nearly matched the capabilities of the invaders? Perhaps none. There was a fair chance that the admiral’s little ships would be cut to pieces without inflicting any damage on the enemy.

  There were several lightyears between the Training Fleet and the wormhole, and their trajectory to meet the enemy meant that over two hours would pass before int
ercept. Personnel on the Sinbad started recording messages of farewell, but the captain put a stop to that. “Duties first; preparation first. Then you can record your messages.” She followed up with a sternly encouraging, though brief, visit to each deck of her ship to ensure that all possible preparations had been made.

  Half an hour before engagement, Massoud sent a message to Constance, knowing that she may never receive it and that, if she did, it would be many years before she could understand it.

  “Constance, I am your mother. You do not know me, and I do not know who you are now. But I love you. I have loved you since I first heard you existed. I want you to have a good life, to be happy and healthy. Do what you love. Find your own path. I miss you. Try not to miss me. I am glad to protect you. Your father would say the same.”

  She then turned to Capt. Sung. “I would like to contact my husband.” The ships were close enough for the delay in communications to be minimal.

  “One minute only.” Sung authorized a person to person transmission through the command system.

  “Teloc, I only have a minute. I love you.” The bridge crew on the Sinbad stiffened to hear the sincerity and intimacy in her voice. Massoud’s farewell made palpable the impending danger.

  “I love you too, Elizabeth,” was the gentle reply.

  They terminated their communication. There was nothing more to say.

  It was with detachment that Massoud watched the admiral’s division plunge into the center of the enemy fleet. Many of the attacking Alliance vessels never had a chance to deploy the few live weapons they possessed. Two ships struck the supposed enemy flagship, scraping its hull ineffectively and damaging its vulnerable communications array. It had been a proxy ship. The command system reevaluated and identified another potential Xeno flagship with a seventy-three percent confidence level.

  Massoud did not think about the loss of life. She had too much to do. This was almost the first opportunity to closely evaluate the range and accuracy of the enemy’s weapons after a century of peace. The new intel was more important than the grief. The good news was that the enemy’s weapons would likely be matched by those of the Unified Fleet, but, unhappily and unsurprisingly, far exceeded the capabilities of the Training Fleet and its Class C ships. The command system informed her that the data she was studying was also being forwarded to D-SUF for further tactical analysis. Hopefully, it would be of use to them.

  A small wing of the invader’s fleet turned towards the remnant of the Training Fleet. The enemy commander would want to reduce further loss of key communication equipment but was wise enough not to divert too large a segment of his forces against such a pathetic threat. The main body of the enemy fleet continued unimpeded towards the planet. Biash’s plan to delay their progress had not come to fruition.

  Massoud continued her analysis, focusing on the data pertaining to the enemy’s shielding. Some of the data told her what she knew already. The enemy’s shields, like the humans’, were tuned for EM spectrum weapons and were consequently less effective against ballistic missiles. Ballistic weapons merely lost momentum and some accuracy as they penetrated the shields. The Class C ships had undersized photon masers, due to limited engine capacity available to power such weapons. The training ships relied on less-powerful ballistic devices to a greater extent than the larger Class A and B ships.

  Williams’ division advanced towards the enemy fleet. It was now known that Biash had headed for a false target, but Williams intended to exploit the better information which his attack had revealed. Her ships were engaged by the advancing enemy wing and were hopelessly outgunned and outsized. If she distributed her resources, the muscular enemy ships would leisurely swat her forces like flies. So, she concentrated her efforts on evading the attacking wing and aiming for the possible flagship, not just firing at that ship, but ramming her entire division towards it on a collision course. Little ships were peeled from the periphery of her attack by enemy fire, but a core group got through and their valiant effort resulted in an impact that jolted the target ship, followed by a second impact that triggered a modest crumpling, and then a third impact that caused a massive explosion of plasma and material that swallowed up the few remaining Class C ships and visibly damaged two nearby enemy ships. The sacrifice was great, but the invaders had felt some pain.

  The crew of the Sinbad observed the heroic actions of their comrades with a swelling pride and resolution. They would delay the enemy, no matter what the cost. Honor, duty, and love of humanity demanded it, and they were ready to act. Despite this surge of emotion among the crew, Massoud studied the newest tactical data rabidly, suffering no distraction. Even the sense of destiny that infused her shipmates left her untouched.

  Teloc was now to decide the fate of the remaining flotilla, and Massoud was momentarily distracted to hear his general command to hold position and disengage. This was followed by a grumbling on the Sinbad’s bridge. But she noticed that he made the announcement on an open channel, allowing the enemy to hear it. He had a plan. The wing of enemy ships pursuing the Training Fleet disengaged, to return to their formation. Of course, Xenos did not waste effort on those who did not represent a threat.

  Massoud glanced up to see the displeasure on Sung’s face, and the captain looked at Massoud questioningly as if she was responsible for her husband’s cowardice. The command system bleeped in Massoud’s earpiece with a message directed to her. Sung observed her with interest; she would hear the communication too.

  “Massoud,” Teloc’s voice ordered, “analysis.”

  “They have a greater weapons range than ours. If we approach, we will be decimated before we have a chance to hit them with anything. They know that now. They don’t need to detach another wing to pursue us; they can pick us off at will if we attack, once we’re near enough. On the other hand, looking at our capabilities, the range of all our weapons is limited by physics, with one exception—the swarm torpedoes. Their limitation is their communication system...”

  “Yes, once they are out of communications range, they shut down to avoid friendly-fire incidents. They have limited coordination and target identification capabilities—too limited to operate without being controlled by the ship of origin but...”

  “Yes, yes, exactly. We need a communications relay to extend their range of operation.”

  “Using this method, there will be a communication’s delay due to the increased distance involved; it will reduce their accuracy but not blunt their destructiveness. We need a way to deploy the communications relay.”

  “A ballistic casing. Strip out the explosive. Use the casing to transport the relay. The relay will need to be placed in impact gel to protect it from damage. But we don’t have to worry about the corrosion issues in a short-term engagement. The ballistic casing will only travel the same distance as the swarm torpedoes normally would, but it should be enough to almost double the torpedoes’ range.”

  “We will necessarily base our instructions on the predicted path of the target. If it changes course, we may lose targeting accuracy, but we must risk it. Each of our ships only has one complement of swarm torpedoes. How many will it take to eliminate an enemy ship?”

  “Uncertain. Three?”

  “Let us use four. What is the target zone?”

  “The engine exhaust. The ionic discharge seems to interfere with the type of shielding they have. I observed irregular weakening in the flux. It’s the same problem we have, actually.”

  Teloc issued orders to all ships’ weapons officers to modify ballistic casings and informed them of the plan. Massoud had been biting her lip but stopped when she tasted blood. She looked over to see Sung prowling with animal anticipation. “We might do them harm here, Massoud,” she snarled.

  The surveillance team identified the enemy flagship with an eighty-nine percent confidence level. It was a ship near the center of the enemy fleet and was separated from the Training Fleet, in its rear, by a single Delta Class cruiser.

  There had been con
stant chatter on the command system as Teloc gathered data regarding his ships’ capabilities; data which was needed to flesh out the attack plan. Such ignorance was bizarre for a flag officer in a battle scenario, but he had been precipitated into the situation. He nominated his own and three other ships, all of which had the latest Cantrell engines, to intercept the enemy. It was a logical choice; only ships with these engines could catch the receding enemy ships. The intercept was predicted at approximately ten minutes before the Xenos engaged the Unified Fleet, a fleet that was straining its engines in an effort to reach the enemy. Sung’s ship and three others with Cantrell engines, would form a second attack force from the Training Fleet, and it was expected to arrive three minutes after Teloc’s wave hit the enemy. This delay would provide time to re-confirm the target.

  The remaining Training Fleet ships had older, slower engines and would attack opportunistically, although they would likely arrive too late to do any real damage. The enemy was likely to adapt, in some fashion, to the attack strategy once the first two waves had completed their runs. In addition, the delay in controlling the swarm torpedoes, due to the vast distances of space that the instructions would need to travel, would present a hazard to the Unified Fleet once they engaged the Xenos. Targeting accuracy deteriorated deplorably with distance. In short, if the first two waves of swarm torpedoes were ineffective, the moment would be lost.

  Teloc identified a new chain of command: Teloc, Sung, Smithson, Lopez, Rodriguez. The intensity of the preparations had fully occupied Massoud until this point, but listing of the chain of command caught her attention and turned her stomach to ice. The last man to make such a list died shortly thereafter, and the crazy plan that the current flag officer was going to implement was hers. She suddenly distrusted every single idea she had presented.

  The first two waves of former science ships proceeded towards the receding enemy vessels and were initially ignored. After the earlier engagements, the Xenos would know of the short range of the C Class weapons and consider them of little threat. They would wait to pick off the approaching training ships when they came within weapons range. The first attack wave was within two minutes of weapons’ deployment, when Teloc made a general address on an open channel.