by Chris Hechtl
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Three days into the chase the two carrier forces finally managed to make it into their respective positions. They'd had to maneuver carefully, keeping their power at minimum. The cruisers and destroyers had done their best to draw the enemy's attention on them. No doubt the enemy would be looking for an ambush though.
On the eve of the fourth day, Captain Firefly authorized the CAGs to make their move. Within minutes the first interceptors began to launch from the carriers.
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The interceptor pilots had eighteen hours to carefully maneuver to point Baker. There they received the go signal from the CAG. When that happened, they unmasked to draw out the enemy fighters. Some likened it to deliberately whacking a hornet's nest.
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Admiral Quartermain saw the fighters above and below him coming in and realized he was about to be ambushed. He immediately scrambled to get his fighters out.
The good news was that it was a single squadron coming from each direction. The bad news was that he'd read all the reports on the effectiveness of the enemy's fighters compared to his own. His command had the latest generation of Cutlass fighters, but he was certain that wouldn't be enough.
His twelve ships could put out sixty fighters, eight each from his four battle cruisers, four each from his other cruisers. It could have been sixty-eight but he'd opted for more counter missiles and supplies in the smaller ships. He was starting to wonder if he would regret that decision when the fighters began to launch and form up in long loops around his command.
"Battle stations complete. We're set for fighter defense, sir," his chief of staff reported.
"Order thirty fighters to go after each of the enemy squadrons. I don't care if they drive them off or kill them. Use superior numbers to make them think twice."
"Aye aye, sir."
"They had to have come from somewhere. There has to be another force, two forces around," the admiral said thoughtfully as he turned to his staff TACO. Commander Jaffa nodded. "Find them. Launch recon drones on a back trace of those fighters. We need to know what we're up against."
"Aye aye, sir. We're going to start running short of recon drones soon, sir."
The admiral shrugged. "We'll deal with that later. In this case it's use them or lose them."
"Aye aye, sir."
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Despite the disparity in force sizes, the Federation interceptors stayed on mission. They were outnumbered by two and a half to one but they had surprise on their side. The federation fighter's superior tech, superior fighters, and training more than outmatched the enemy fighters. They also had the range advantage, firing a swarm of missiles in the opening engagement.
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Captain Nedila saw the fighters dying not in ones and twos but in droves in their initial engagement. They were not so much as driving the enemy fighters off as they were blunting their attack with their own sacrifices. She wanted to close her eyes in pain but couldn't. Somewhere out there was the true attack. The enemy must have screwed up somehow to throw off their timing this badly.
Either that or they were deliberately taking out their fighters to leave the road open … her eyes widened and then she stabbed the key linking her to the flag bridge. "Admiral, do you realize they are going to kill our fighters and leave us vulnerable to whatever comes next?"
"I just realized that too. Nothing we can do about it now," the admiral rumbled back. After a moment the line was cut.
She shook her head as she looked back at the engagement. He was right. Damn it, she hated it, but he was right.
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Lieutenant Prichard maneuvered his fighter like a surgeon for an off-bore lock. He looked through his hull to lock on to the enemy fighter and then thumbed the trigger key to fire a missile at an enemy fighter sixty degrees off of the direct line of sight of the missile nose cone and sensors. Thrust vectoring in the fighter and missile allowed them to remain locked on to the enemy and drive their attack home while he focused on another target with ruthless efficiency.
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The dogfight was short and brutal with the three surviving enemy fighters breaking off and attempting to return to the safety of their motherships. None managed to survive to get back into range of them. The cruisers fired spreads of war shot at the federation fighters, but they maneuvered away and got clear without taking damage.
Only one federation fighter had been lost, six damaged, and one had been crippled in the engagement. Her pilot managed to get her clear of the enemy's course before her engines gave out. Nervously she set off her IFF and waited for SAR to come and rescue her.
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Once the enemy fighter threat was nullified, the bombers moved in. Two of the enemy recon drones got a sighting of the bombers before they were destroyed.
The hopes of achieving complete surprise were dashed when the enemy force began to radically alter their course to throw them off.
The respective CAGs had known this was a possibility; after all, the fighter dogfight would have tipped their hand to anyone. But they still bore in for the attack.
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Admiral Quartermain pounded on his armrest in frustration as the bad news continued to pour in. "It just gets better and better," he snarled in impotent fury. The enemy had played him well, sucking his fighters out and then blowing the spit out of them with their own. His ships had thus been uncovered for the bombers to come in to strike.
Judging from the axis of the forces involved, there had to be two carriers out there. The sizes of the forces told him that they had to be CEVs; there was no way this many ships could come from the cruisers.
Judging from their incoming vectors, one was ahead of him, the other behind. They'd pinned him in a pincer. No doubt they planned to focus the majority of their attack on his biggest ships, his battle cruisers.
He ran the navigational plot as his staff scrambled to defend against the coming threats. If he tried to retreat, he would get run down and chewed up. If he tried to run forward, he'd be running a gauntlet with the enemy carrier behind him to harry him along and the CruRon ahead. It was a catch 22.
Even as he realized that CIC reported the CruRon had stopped running and had turned. He nodded in grudging admiration. Whoever had planned the engagement was good, damn good.
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Captain Firefly checked the status of the engagement and battle zone. Sicily had Voyager and Dunatis near for support. His ship and Cockatrice were guarding Shredder. Sword Breaker and her division mate were laying low while guarding the four support ships near the Bf996 jump point.
So far, the battle was playing out like a textbook trap. Sicily's force was behind and above the enemy force, driving them forward. His was ahead and below while moving towards the enemy on a convergent force. If the enemy tried to run in either direction, the other force would perform a loop and then follow. No doubt they'd lose ground in the process of performing the loop, but they'd be available to perform SAR for this battle zone while also putting themselves on the tail of what would most likely be a wounded and therefore slower enemy. He had plenty of fuel to spare from the platforms they had in the star system.
No matter which direction the enemy jumped, they were doomed. He was curious if the enemy's commander would play it out until the end or throw in the towel as Terrans liked to say. If he had any empathy for his people, he'd likely see that he was done and surrender in order to save as many lives as he could.
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Admiral Quartermain forced himself to relax as he locked his helmet on and adjusted his gloves. The bomber strike was due in less than a minute. He checked his seals and then gave the officer of the watch a thumbs-up.
His ship was the rearmost battle cruiser and also the flagship so naturally she was a target for one of the enemy squadrons. As he watched the Mitchell class bombers split into groups of four. Two of the bomber qua
rtets went after his ship and Hatak; the other quartet seemed to focus on the light and heavy cruisers.
Spreading the love he thought. For that he could only be grateful. It took him a moment to realize it wasn't all good. The ships engaged would be fighting for their own lives and therefore not focused on overall defense of the flotilla.
Behind the bombers another force of general purpose Cobra class fighters seemed to be lining up for their own torpedo or strafing runs.
"Frack me," a tech muttered as the ship's sensors became awashed in snow as the enemy began to deploy jammers and strobing ECM to blind them to what was coming.
"Point Defense has lost lock. The enemy bombers altered course as the ECM went off; we're trying to regain lock …"
The admiral just sat back and listened, knowing he was now just a passenger while his people did their best to fight his ship.
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Captain Lessa Galvin wasn't thrilled about the losses to her wing. She knew the CAG was less than thrilled as well. Of the twenty-four bombers and twenty-four fighters that had made runs on the enemy force they'd gotten half back. But they had crippled four of the ships and battered two into derelicts. Unfortunately, only one of the cripples had been one of the battle cruisers. A hot wash from the various tactical departments had come to a consensus that the battle cruiser hadn't been the enemy flagship.
Captain Cuts Sharply over on Sicily had done marginally better with only eleven craft lost, two damaged. His boys and girls had managed to inflict damage on three ships, crippling one and making three kills. None of the kills had been battle cruisers though.
As she scanned the video feeds of the hangar decks swarming with activity, a motion out of the corner of her eye and then a blinking dot on her HUD told her that something had changed. She turned to look at the system plot.
The fighters from the cruisers and destroyers were out there pretending to try to set up for another strafing run. But the change was in the enemy's course; they'd apparently made up their mind and had altered course. They were going to perform a loop around the star system's primary and a sling shot around one of the planets before heading to the Bd1f17 jump point. "So, they are running," she murmured.
"Looks that way," the ship's A.I. stated.
"Make sure the CAGs are coordinating the next attack. We've winnowed their screen but we've taken some damage. I'm concerned about our long-range mission if we lose more of our wing."
"Aye aye, ma'am. Captain Firefly has indicated we are to continue pursuit and run the enemy down."
She grunted. "Understood." She wasn't happy about having the A.I. in charge. She couldn't help but feel like he lacked empathy for the boys and girls out there fighting and dying. She knew she was supposed to rely on her training. They were there to do the job and yes, dying might happen. She still didn't have to like it.
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Captain Firefly checked the tactical report. No changes as of his last check.
He regretted not attritioning the enemy. He'd allowed the CAGs to focus on the battle cruisers over taking the enemy apart piecemeal. Now they had fewer craft to do the job.
But they had done a good job of crippling and damaging the enemy. Of the five enemy ships lost in the first and second engagement, all but one of them were light cruisers. The battle cruisers were tougher customers, but the enemy commander had to know that he was done. The course he'd put himself on would take a week to get to the distant jump point.
Meanwhile his forces were consolidating. He'd pulled the support ships forward now that it was a pursuit. He'd considered but rejected sending Winterspell's CruRon on ahead to the jump point as a blocking force. The twenty-three prize ships would continue on course and leave for Garth.
The two CEVs had two more good strikes in them left. The question was which ships to target? The three remaining heavy cruisers were all damaged at various levels. Any attack would no doubt take additional losses on his side, weakening the chances of any further attack getting through.
But his simulations stated that the enemy commander would believe they would continue to focus on his battle cruisers. Perhaps a shift in target was in order.
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Admiral Quartermain ducked under wiring and then moved around some wreckage. He was smart enough not to touch the wiring even though he hadn't seen any signs of arcing. No doubt they were safe, but it was smart to take precautions.
Hatak had been lost with the three remaining heavy cruisers. There were life pods strewn in the wake of his remaining ships. The communication channels were filled with the desperate requests for rescue from the shipwrecked crew. He'd ordered his people to try to ignore it. Given that their communications were partially crippled, especially in the stern, that wasn't too hard an order to pull off.
The one good thing about all the life pods was that it would hopefully force the enemy to slow and allow their SAR to go out and rescue them. Not that he had much hope that it would slow them for long. His ships were being battered into wreckage, and they still had four days to get to the jump point.
Given that the enemy could easily outrun him even without his damage, the prospects of getting home were increasingly dim. The mission was doomed. He'd come to realize during the pounding that it had been doomed from the start.
"How are we?" he asked, coming upon the captain. Captain Nedila had been with him for years. She was solid and usually unflappable.
"In a word, bad, sir. They are concentrating on our weapons and engines. We've still got half of our drive rooms and half of our weapons, but the torpedo strikes have ripped a hole in our starboard flank beyond frame six-niner-five. The chief is assessing the damage, but from his hot wash it isn't good."
"That bad, eh?" the admiral rumbled.
She turned to him. "Yes, sir. Our structure in that area is what the chief calls iffy. And, a spike knocked out one reactor and half the hyperdrive capacitors," she said, turning to face him.
The admiral stared at her. "So, what you are telling me is that we might not be able to escape?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I don't know, sir," she admitted. The last bomber strafing run had taken out all of the heavy cruisers and one of the battle cruisers for good measure. The remaining three were limping badly. She had to admire the enemy's persistence even if she hated it and wished they'd all roast in hell for what they were doing to her beautiful ship.
The admiral stared at her for a long moment. She grimaced. "I don't know what to tell you, Kuresh," she murmured. "Run and die tired or turn and fight. It's your call. We'll follow you to hell; you know that."
He nodded and reached out to grip her shoulder. "Well, fortunately there is a third option," he said as he turned and made his way back to his flag bridge.
She was so tired she was only mildly surprised when the call to abandon ship came through their suits a short time later. Apparently, the admiral was going to abandon ship and scuttle their vessels to keep them out of the hands of the enemy.
Chapter 31
Antigua
Admiral Pashenkov dispatched a cruiser force from Protodon to hunt down the two enemy light cruisers somewhere between B-95a3 and Dead Drop. Scattered ion trails picked up by the passing convoys and reported on either end confirmed the ships were still haunting the passage.
He wanted to knock them out so he could reduce the B-95a3 picket as well as the convoy escorts. Currently, convoys only needed escorts from B-95a3 to Dead Drop, through Tau, Pi, and from Pyrax to New Horizon. The training Admiral Irons had the crews put through in running escort from Pyrax to Triang early on had been good for them. The ship's crews took on the duties like a well-oiled machine.
The convoys were making great headway in clearing out the backlog in Protodon. BuLogistics had stacked up a lot of material there rather than send it all to Dead Drop since they had been expecting there to be more battles in Dead Drop. Now that Garth had been taken and was being held, they were cleaning things out for the next
step. Soon some of those ships would remain in Garth, which would slow the convoys down for a time.
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Colonel Lyon wasn't the only one keenly interested in the SEAL sleepers in Pi sector. Rear Admiral Draven had also sparked an interest in them. He wrote a series of emails about getting the SEALs to Rho in order to tap into their vast institution of knowledge for the benefit of the SEAL community.
The admiral had a point of course. But getting them to Rho would take at least two years, quite possibly three, given that a courier would have to bring them the orders and find them, and then they'd have to traverse Pi sector from wherever they were to the jumping-off point.
He had been curious about Admiral Irons' reaction and thoughts. Admiral Irons had been quiet about the situation however. A lot of things were going on in Pi that he didn't understand. He did admit that Admiral Logan could no doubt use a SEAL team there.
He frowned as he checked the status. Admiral Draven had just squeaked under the wire to get his A.I. He was struggling to command the SEALs though. Joshua had heard through scuttlebutt that the admiral had stepped on a lot of toes with assuming SEAL status. Due to his high rank, no one was willing to call him out on it just yet.
Another problem was where the admiral was commanding the SEALs from. Antigua was the capital, but the SEALs were based out of Agnosta. Having a commanding officer try to exert command from so far away probably didn't sit well with some. He knew he'd hated it when he'd gotten orders from some paper pusher in Marine Recon back in the day.
He had been respectful of the admiral due to their disparity in rank. He was up for his first star next month however, and he knew through Captain Fletcher that Admiral Draven had been sternly warned to stay within his own wheelhouse.
It was still a complicated problem, one that a single bump in rank wasn't likely to solve. Something was going to have to give with the admiral because a certain cadre officer and head of the SpecOps wasn't about to give up his seat for any piker who thought that putting on a trident meant they could hang with the big boys.
