by Lucas Marcum
Wynn frowned and folded her arms. “We’re going to wipe the floor with those destroyers. What are they doing? They don’t stand a chance, and stripping their defensive escorts away…”
Ortega stared at the display for a moment longer, then snapped, “Double check the speed on those destroyers.”
McDermott checked the instruments again, and then said, “Goddamn. Point four and accelerating. We’re looking at sixty destroyers heading our way, and they’re moving.”
Sitting back in his chair, Admiral Ortega swore under his breath, “Motherfucker.” In a firm, clear voice, he ordered firmly, “Prepare the fleet for evasive maneuvers.” He turned to the communications petty officer, “Get me SOLCOM.”
“Aye, sir.” The sailor nodded and turned to his comm station.
Commander McDermott, staring at the display, said, “Are they going to…”
In a grim tone, Admiral Ortega responded, “Try to ram? Sure as hell looks like it.” He gestured at the display. “And while we dodge these guys, their fleet’s gonna blast through the Belt.”
Staring at the blue and red pips indicating the vessels hurtling through space, the commander asked, “If they get by us, what’s between them and Mars?” Ortega only shook his head silently and picked up his handset.
****
Headquarters of the UEAN First Fleet
UEAN Unified Fleet Forces Command—Sol (SOLCOM)
Phobos Station, Mars Orbit
Admiral Burrill leaned forward thoughtfully with an elbow on the arm of his chair and stared at the massive display over the center of the table. After a moment he said, “Well. That’s creative. Cold-blooded, but creative.” He stared for another few seconds, then said, “What’s in the reserve force, and who did we put in charge of it?”
Rear Admiral Mohler replied, “We have three heavy cruisers—Insightful, Independent, and Devoted, and three light—Shasta, Etna, and Pico Bolivar. The force itself is under Patricia Mills on the Insightful. The three heavy cruisers from Tau Ceti were supposed to join them, but they’re obviously not here.”
The admiral rubbed his face wearily and ordered, “Get them to a blocking position.”
Mohler nodded, gestured to the communications watchstander, and replied, “Patty will stop them or wreck herself trying, but we need to get her some help. I don’t think the Belt defenses are going to whittle enough of them down to give her the edge.”
With a dark frown, Burrill nodded. “Agreed.” He drummed his fingers on the chair for a moment. “When does the Belt engage?”
Glancing at his console, Mohler replied, “Any minute now.”
Admiral Burrill nodded again, and turned to his left to the two men standing silently. “Ok, gentlemen. Time to earn those paychecks. Captain Ibson, Mr. Borboa. You two wrote the defensive plan and the modernization. Thoughts?”
The two men exchanged a glance. The short, bearded man replied carefully, “Ok. So here’s the thing. None of the ten original defensive plans in the ‘DAWN’ series of war plans considered the loss or mispositioning of the fleet. We always assumed it’d be available and in position.”
Captain Ibson added, “Agreed, sir. EXIGENT DAWN is toast. Its primary defensive capability is based on the Belt beating them up, then hitting the remainder with the defensive fleet.” He paused, then added, “There are the secondary defensive positions in the Mars Trojans, but they aren’t as robust as the Belt. It doesn’t help that the defensive works on Mars were never completed.”
Borboa stuck his hands in his pockets and absently remarked as he stared at the display, “It’s actually sort of brilliant on their part to use the destroyers like that. They get chewed up when the capital ships clash anyway, so using them as big-ass missiles is a hell of an idea. They’re fast, and too big for the anti-missile defenses on the cruisers to shoot down.” He looked up and added, “Ruthless, creative, and damn effective.”
From the sensor station, Commander McMillin asked, “Since when do they do suicide runs?”
In a worried tone, Captain Ibson replied, “Since never. It’s just not who they are.” He fell silent, then added, “It doesn’t bode well. Means they aren’t planning on going home.”
Firmly Burrill declared, “Ok. I want you two to start on a secondary contingency plan. Assume the use of the reserve force and any assets we have remaining in system, including the Jade Emperor.”
Captain Ibson and Mr. Borboa traded a glance, and then Ibson replied, “I thought she was going to be in the yard for the next six months with the damage from the battle at Alpha Epsilon.”
With a grim smile, Admiral Burrill responded, “No. The boys in the yards and on the Emperor herself worked miracles. She’s beat up, but operational, and currently embarking munitions and personnel. The last of the fighter wings are loading now. She’ll be able to set sail within twelve hours.” He turned back to the display and gestured at it. “We’ll know within a few hours how Admiral Cliff and the Belt defense does.”
From the sensor station Commander McMillian reported, “Sir, the Elai Fleet has entered engagement range.”
With a nod to the two men, Admiral Burrill said firmly, “You two get to work. We’re on the clock.” He turned back and sat to watch the display.
****
Belt Defense Command
Charon Station
Katheryn Cliff nodded, her eyes locked on the display, and said without looking, “All stations, open fire when targets enter engagement envelopes. Target the cruisers and primary targets Alpha and Bravo.”
“Aye, ma’am.” The sailor on the communications console began whispering into his headset.
Next to her, Colonel Gallegos said, “Those destroyers are really moving. They’re going to outpace the capital ships pretty damn quick.”
Not looking up from the target plotting console, Commander Turnage replied, “Good. Getting their defensive fire out of the way means more of our missiles will get through. God knows the sharkheads build those cruisers tough. It’s going to take all the hits we can get.”
Chief Trinidad, sitting below them, said, “Admiral, Stations Zebra, Echo, and Fox have opened fire.” He paused, then added, “Freestanding platforms seventeen, nine, and four have opened fire.”
In the display in front of them, waves of tiny blue sparks began to move from the stations and free-floating missile silos positioned throughout the Belt. Hundreds of the missile indicators formed a dense cloud rapidly moving toward the symbols for the approaching Elai warships.
The chief said, “Second wave in thirty seconds.” There was a chirp from the display, and several of the position indicators for the mobile missile silos blinked, then changed. The chief frowned at his display and said, “Admiral. Platforms seventeen and nine are offline.” He tapped a few more keys and whispered into his microphone.
Admiral Cliff turned to Commander Turnage. “Did they get missiles off?”
“No, ma’am. Nothing we picked up.” The officer stared at the display, where the Elai cruisers were forming into a compact formation centered around the massive ships. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, the chief on the sensor station said, “Admiral, Zebra station just went offline, and Echo is showing its online, but it’s not responding to network pings.”
“Shit,” Cliff muttered under her breath. Turning to her staff, she asked, “Jamming?”
Colonel Gallegos shook his head. “Scopes are clean, and it doesn’t look like network compromise.” He added grimly, “I think they’re gone.”
Admiral Cliff grimaced. “Well, we have more platforms. We can afford to lose those.”
The petty officer said, “First wave impact in ten seconds.”
In the holotank the wave of missiles approached the onrushing Elai cruisers, which had moved into a compact formation. The display screen was rapidly updating, and the symbols for the missiles were winking out as the interlocked Elai defensive fire destroyed the missiles. The number of missiles fell rapidly, then there were several
blinks in the tank, and the symbols for three of the Elai vessels changed.
In a calm tone Trinidad announced, “Scratch two…correction: scratch three cruisers.”
The remainder of the cloud of missiles impacted, and the symbol for another Elai cruiser faded out. On the screen the enemy warships could be seen maneuvering to fill the gaps left by the lost cruisers, closing the holes left in the defensive screen.
Staring at his scope, Commander Turnage reported, “Four catastrophic kills. Six disabled and falling out of formation. Looks like…twenty-five remaining, and we didn’t get a single hit on the dreadnoughts.”
Gallegos, suddenly pointing at the display, said, “Where are those destroyers going? They’re peeling off hard.”
Admiral Cliff leaned forward, stared at the display, and cocked her head. After a pause, she said, “They’re rushing the fleet.”
Gallegos and Turnage exchanged a look, then Gallegos frowned and said, “The destroyers are going to get chopped up by our cruisers. What the hell are they doing?”
Chief Trinidad spoke up from his station, his voice grim, “I can tell you what they’re doing. They’re trying to force them out of position. Look at the speed. That ain’t targeting speed. They’re using the destroyers as guided missiles. The fleet will have to evade, and it’s going to put them out of intercept position while their friends here smash through us.”
Admiral Cliff stared at the display for a split second, then snapped, “Retarget all in range batteries on those destroyers!”
“Aye, ma’am!” Trinidad responded immediately. A split second later he said urgently, “Ma’am, we don’t have anything in range. The stations they smoked were the ones in the intercept path of the destroyers.”
Cliff turned to look at him and snapped, “Well, then, any in range! Fire anything we have!”
Shaking his head, Trinidad replied, “Anything else we fire will be in a stern chase, and their defensive fire will take them out. The fleet’s gonna have to deal with this on their own. Anything we do is only going to expose our remaining batteries, ma’am.”
Her jaw hardening, the admiral nodded. After a moment she said, “How long until the next engagement envelope?”
Turnage replied, “Seventeen minutes, ma’am.”
Blowing out a breath, the officer turned to Colonel Gallegos, who was staring at his display, and asked, “Colonel, did the fighters get into…” She paused, feeling the deck underneath her feet vibrate.
Glancing around, she saw the others in the command center were looking around as well. There came another vibration, this one shaking the floor. Whirling to Chief Trinidad, she snapped, “Report!”
The man had opened his mouth to reply when there was a tremendous heave under their feet, throwing Cliff face first onto the deck. The lights snapped, and showers of sparks spit from the consoles. Rolling onto her back, she looked up just in time to see the ceiling crumble, sending a mass of rock falling toward her. She threw her hands up instinctively to protect her face, and then her world went black.
****
Headquarters of the UEAN First Fleet
UEAN Unified Fleet Forces Solar Defense Command (SOLCOM)
Phobos Station, Mars Orbit
Rear Admiral Mohler said somberly, “Admiral Burrill, Charon Station has been destroyed. It looks like it took multiple kinetic impacts.”
Pressing his lips together, Jim Burrill nodded his head. After a moment he said, “What’s the alternate sector alternate headquarters?”
Commander McMillin answered, “It’s Jove Station, but they’re seventeen light seconds away. They’re going to have a hard time coordinating the defensive response. The missile bases are on their own for now.”
The display blinked and updated. McMillin frowned at his display. “Looks like they knocked out or disabled ten of the cruisers before Charon went offline.” He tapped a few keys and added, “That leaves twenty-five cruisers, the Dreadnoughts Alpha and Bravo, and the sixty destroyers.” Pointing at the display, he remarked, “Which is what we’ll see next, apart from a few more batteries in the Belt firing. Admiral Ortega will be in engagement range with the destroyers in the next thirty minutes. After that…we’ll see.” He fell silent, concentrating on his instruments.
The admiral rubbed his chin and asked, “Do we have time to get him a message?”
“Yes, sir. We have about five minutes to get him a message before he’ll be in action.”
Admiral Burrill nodded and said quickly, “Good. Send this: ‘Diego—Preserve the fleet. Evade, disengage, then pursue and destroy the cruiser force. Will delay as long as we can. Make haste. —Jim’. Send that, and then get me those two from intel.” Commander McMillin nodded and bent to his task.
Staring at the display, Burrill leaned forward and asked, “What’s the status of the reserve fleet?”
Without hesitation Mohler responded, “Under way and they’ll be in position within the day, sir. We’ve also received signals from Commodore Halsey in the System Guard. They’ve scrambled every available frigate and cutter they have in two AUs and are forming up near the Mars Trojans. They’re calling it ‘Task Force Mythic’.”
“Frigates.” Burrill sat back and looked thoughtfully at the display. “How many ships and what class?”
Mohler grimaced, “Mostly Mythic class, and a couple of the bigger ones, the Gothics—The UEASC Gargoyle and the Dragon.”
“They get those planned overhauls and weapons upgrades Naval Command was talking about?”
Mohler gave his commander a look and replied dryly, “Take a guess, sir.” He looked down at his display and shook his head. “They don’t have a lot of teeth, Admiral. In their base configuration, the Mythics have ten Hammerfall ship-to-ship missiles and a 100-kilowatt particle beam cannon.” He shrugged. “They could probably take an Elai destroyer easily enough. Cruisers? They might not even have enough firepower to punch through the hull armor.”
“Shit.” Burrill drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair for a moment and sighed. “All right. Get them into position. If they can link up with the reserve force, they’ll at least have a fighting chance.”
“Yes, sir.” Admiral Mohler motioned to Commander McMillin, who bent to his console and began issuing orders.
****
255th Tactical Fighter Squadron ‘The Martian Devils’
Belt Coordinates: Alpha Three Three Zero
Commander Mike Adams commented quietly, “There’s another one. The admiral is really lighting them up.” The flashes of the nuclear anti-ship missiles and the red flashes of the Elai defensive laser cannons were clearly visible to the naked eye.
His navigator/bombardier Kanji Hiyoshi replied absently, “Uh huh. Looks like…just under seven hundred thousand klicks.” She didn’t move her eye from the manual rangefinder it was pressed to as she said, “There’s a lot going on out there, but we ought to be in pretty good position to bushwhack these fuckers while they’re dealing with the missile fire.” After another pause she added, “I think we’re as close as we’re gonna get. If the admiral is sticking to the plan, our attack run will hit right when the second wave of missiles starts detonating so we can get the fuck out and back into stealth.” She looked up and said in a serious tone, “Ready when you are, Heater.”
“Right. Here we go.” Adams started the power up sequence on the Specter fighter, bringing the fighter to life. As the screens flickered on, he waited a moment, and then tapped the radio. “All squadrons—Charlie Two. Vector to zero one seven, point six. Fire on my mark.”
The display in front of his started to light up with green dots acknowledging the order as the remaining fighters from his flight received his orders. Moments later a second row of lights flashed on, as the 312th Squadron came online.
Seeing all the fighters powered up and accounted for, Adams keyed the radio and said, “All Devils, all Cats, this is Devil Lead. Accelerate to contact.” He pushed the throttle forward on the fighter, feeling the slight push as the
big fighter accelerated, then feeling it ease as the inertial dampeners kicked in.
Kanji said, “We should see the second wave hitting now.” Mike squinted his eyes ahead into the vast void, looking for the telltale flashing of the nuclear warheads. His navigator repeated, “Any second now…”
“I’m not seeing anything, Kanj.” Mike strained his eyes looking for the flashes.
The navigator replied, “I know. Maybe they’re late…” There was a flash from their left, and a green indicator blinked twice and turned to red on Mike’s control console.
A split second later the radio screamed, “Heater, this is Icecap! They just splashed Six!”
Mike cranked his head to the left, and to his horror, watched three more flashes as more of the fighters blew up. His squadron status indicator board was flashing red in half a dozen places now.
Making a snap decision, he toggled the radio, “All Cats, all Devils: fire, fire, fire!” He toggled the switch on his control stick and held his finger over the trigger.
From below Kanji called out calmly, “Targets locked. Fire!”
Mike squeezed the trigger and felt the Specter began to shudder as the missiles fired from under the wings and fuselage, their rocket motors blinding as they accelerated at fifty gravities of thrust toward the Elai cruisers.
Kanji shouted, “We’re dry! Disenga…”
The Elai particle beam caught Devil One in the middle of the fuselage and detonated the fuel cells. The crew never felt a thing.
****
Missile Battery Kappa Six Two
The Belt
Second Lieutenant David Lamb stared at the comm panel in horror as an accented voice screamed, “This is Devil Three! We need missile support! We’re getting torn apart out here!”
He looked up at the senior chief across from him. “Chief Chandler, can we do anything?”
The big man looked at the display, then answered slowly, “Not without nuke release authorization. And even then, we’re gonna get zorched as they go by. No way we’ll knock ‘em all out.”
