by Lucas Marcum
The young officer stared at the comm panel for a moment, then said, “Nothing from Charon?”
One of the other two men on the tiny missile station said, “No, sir. Nothing.”
The small holo display tank winked and flashed as the computer updated the deaths of the fighters. The indistinct yelling of the dying fighter crews emanating from the comm panel was the only sound in the compartment. Lieutenant Lamb looked at the deck, and then said quietly, “Chief, get the men to the lifeboat. I’ll stay and launch. I have the codes, and I’ll use it on my own authority. I can’t let them by, but I’m not going to ask you to stay.”
The chief stared at him for a moment, then replied calmly, “Lieutenant, you say some dumb shit, but this takes the cake. You do know it takes two people to target and sequence, right? And you can’t do it by yourself?”
Lieutenant Lamb flushed. “I know that. I was going to slave the consoles together.”
The chief gave him a withering stare. “No. Don’t be stupid. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to do it right. You’re going to sit your ass down, and we’re going to sequence the launch for a delayed launch. Then we’ll ALL get into the lifeboat together and be long gone when they blast this place.” He looked at the lieutenant and shook his head as he turned to his control console. “Jesus Christ, sir. You watch too many old movies.”
The old sailor turned to his console and started punching in codes as they prepared to launch the missiles.
****
Headquarters of the UEAN First Fleet
UEAN Unified Fleet Forces Solar Defense Command (SOLCOM)
Phobos Station, Mars Orbit
Commander McMillin announced, “Admiral Burrill, the 312th and 255th Tactical Fighter Squadrons have been destroyed. They managed to knock out two cruisers and disabled three more in conjunction with Battery Kappa Six-two firing on its own initiative.”
Admiral Burrill replied grimly, “Good. Did they make it out?”
“No, sir. After they launched, the Elai cruisers hit it. Station Kappa six-two is off the net, assessed as destroyed.”
Nodding silently, the admiral turned back to the big holo display. The twenty remaining Elai cruisers were speeding past the final defenses of the Belt and had reentered open space.
From behind him he could hear the hatch open, then footsteps. Captain Ibson’s voice came through the muted tones of the command post. “Sir. We have a plan.”
Turning in his chair, Admiral Burrill gestured to the holo. “Good timing. They just broke through the Belt.”
Captain Ibson and Mr. Borboa traded a look, then Ibson started speaking, “So now that we’ve whittled the Elai fleet down to manageable numbers, all we need to do is delay them until the Defensive Fleet is back in position. Admiral Ortega ought to be able to handle them when he catches them.”
Borboa added thoughtfully, “The trick is to slow them down enough so we don’t let them get into kinetic range of Mars.” He paused, then added, “It’s going to hurt, though.”
Admiral Burrill frowned and said firmly, “Let’s hear it.”
The two men exchanged a look, then Captain Ibson said, “We need to hit them hard, fast, and keep them constantly engaged so they have to slow down to use their defensive weapons. The reserve force needs to hit them and hit them repeatedly. We know Captain Mills only has six cruisers, but it’s the only force in range. If the math works out, Admiral Ortega might be able to catch them. If it doesn’t…well. Plan B isn’t good.”
Admiral Burrill gave the men a hard, humorless smile. “I think at this point, we’re well past plan B. What’s the backup plan?”
“Well, sir. Then we’re going to be engaging them in Martin orbit with a beat-up fleet carrier and a bunch of under-armed System Guard Cutters.”
Admiral Burrell looked at the two intelligence officers, then at the holotank, and muttered under his breath, “Shit.”
Mr. Borboa nodded. “Our sentiments exactly, sir.”
****
Aboard the United Earth Alliance System Cutter Dragon
Flagship of ‘Task Force Mythic’
En route to rendezvous with Reserve Force,
Trans Martian Space
“Commodore, we’re getting signals from SOLCOM HQ. We’re being ordered back to Martian space to set up a third defensive line.” The lieutenant commander sounded apologetic.
Nicole Halsey put her hands on her hips and frowned darkly. She pointed a finger at the comm panel and declared, “That secondary force is going to get the shit beat out of it without us, and if they do get by those cruisers, what are we going to do by ourselves? Hit them with our dicks?”
There was a muted chuckle from the crewman on watch. Like her famous ancestor, Commodore Halsey was known for her fiery temper, salty language, and aggressive leadership style. After a moment, the petite woman turned and said to the captain standing at her side, “Well, Yoshi. Take us about. I think it’s a shitty idea, but maybe SOLCOM sees something we don’t.”
Captain Takeda nodded and gestured to the lieutenant commander at the communications station, who turned to relay the commands to the small flotilla. As the watchstanders carried out their orders, Halsey tapped her chin for a moment, thinking, then said, “Did we get those Mark twelve screamers installed yet?”
With a nod, Takeda replied, “Yes, ma’am. Everyone but the Hobgoblin has one up and running, and she’s got two.” He held up a hand. “No, I don’t know why. Commander Lucius has one installed forward like usual, and another where his particle beam cannon is supposed to be. The yard couldn’t get it back online in time, so he slapped a screamer in the slot and pushed off.”
Halsey grunted. “So he’s going into action with ten missiles and two beamed sensor scramblers?”
“It would seem so, ma’am.” Takeda shrugged and added, “Commander Lucius was very insistent on not missing the fight.”
“Well, he’s got balls, I’ll give him that.” Halsey pondered this for a moment, then nodded. “Ok, let’s get a conference call with the captains going. SOLCOM has their plan, but since their plan’s stupid, we’re going to come up with a better one.”
Takeda nodded and replied, “Does it involve ‘closing with the enemy’, ma’am? Because I’m pretty sure that’s Admiral Burrill’s plan, too.”
With a broad grin, the fiery officer answered, “Why, yes it does, Yoshi. Except we’re going to do it with a little more flash, so to speak.”
With a sigh, Takeda replied, “That’s what I’m afraid of, Commodore.”
****
Headquarters of the UEAN First Fleet
UEAN Unified Fleet Forces Solar Defense Command (SOLCOM)
Phobos Station, Mars Orbit
“Task Force Mythic has come around. They’ll enter Martian space in thirty minutes at the speed they’re moving,” Commander McMillin announced, indicating the massive holo display. On it, the data numbers blinked as they updated, indicating changes in the fleet.
Admiral Burrill nodded, leaned in close, and looked at the display. “Is that speed for the system guard cutters right? Point six?”
Commander McMillian nodded. “Yes, sir. The cutters have the same power plant the Defense-class destroyer does, minus the weapons and armor, so they can really move when they need to.”
The display chimed and updated. The symbols for the First Fleet changed, updating the status of the ships. Three of the symbols flashed and changed, indicating signal loss from the ships. Admiral Mohler shook his head and murmured, “Three cruisers. Damn.”
Admiral Burrill leaned on the edge of the holo table and said in a distant voice, “Three cruisers. Seventeen hundred crewmen lost in a few tenths of a second.” He shook his head abruptly. “Who?”
“Adaptable, Competitive, and Diligent.” McMillan’s voice was low.
In the same distant tone, the admiral asked, “Anyone get off of them?”
“No, sir. The Elai destroyers that hit them were moving over point five. There’s
nothing left.” The man looked back down at his console and added, “Admiral Ortega made them work for it, though. He killed thirty-five of their destroyers. The rest are still accelerating outward. It’ll take them days to slow down. They’re effectively out of the fight.”
Checking his console, Mohler said, “Sir, our next event will be in forty-five minutes, when the Reserve Force engages.”
Nodding, Admiral Burrill stared at the display, now showing the scattered First Fleet reforming and beginning to pursue the remaining Elai cruisers and the two massive ships. Checking the intercept times, he muttered, “The Reserve Force is going to get hurt.”
Mohler nodded. “Yes, sir. Per Captain Mills’ last transmission, she’s going to do a hard, close firing pass and focus on the big boys, then accelerate through and make a long turn. If things work out, she’ll get a second pass right before they get to orbital insertion range.”
Admiral Burrill nodded, then asked, “We get any more intel on what those things are? I know we’re calling them dreadnoughts, but they could be carriers, or troopships, or who the hell knows what else.”
Admiral Mohler nodded and said, “Yes, sir. Most of the intel section thinks they’re carriers, and that like us, they’ll deploy closer to the gravity well for orbital control.”
Raising an eyebrow, Burrell queried, “Most of intel?”
With a shrug, Admiral Mohler replied, “Well. You know Captain Ibson and Mr. Borboa. They don’t agree on anything, but on this, they agree: They’re both adamant that they’re not carriers.”
“What a surprise. Those two would argue over what color the sky is on a clear day. What do they think they are?” Burrill replied drily.
“Exactly what we’re calling them…dreadnoughts. The analysis they’ve put together is in the intel report under the ‘minority dissent analysis’.”
With a frown, Burrill sat in his chair and called up the Naval Intelligence report. After a few moments of reading and without lifting his eyes from the screen, he said, “Layered hull armor and big particle beam cannons. Huh. Interesting.”
Mohler said, “I was speaking with Captain Ibson earlier about these. He thinks we’ll be able to tell after we see them prepare to engage. If they move to close engagement distance, they’re dreadnoughts. If they move away, they’re probably carriers.”
Drily, Burrill replied, “So no way to tell before we actually go up against them?”
Apologetically, Mohler replied, “No, sir. This is an entirely new class of vessel.”
Leaning back, Admiral Burrill drummed his fingers on the arm of his command chair for a moment, then said, “If those are dreadnoughts, the Reserve force is going to get chewed up if they try to run through.”
“It’s possible, sir.”
Staring at the display, Admiral Burrill made a sudden decision. “Send the following to the Reserve Force. ‘Primary target is the cruisers. Do not, repeat DO NOT engage heavies. Recommend hit and run.’ Sign that and send it. It should get to Captain Mills in time.”
Commander McMillin checked his display and replied, “Yes, sir. It’ll get there in time. Sending it now.”
Leaning back in his chair, the old officer could feel the tension in his neck and back. After a moment he looked at Mohler and said, “And now, we wait.”
****
Forty-five minutes later the command team sat tensely, watching the holo tank. Moments later, the display flashed and updated. After a moment, Commander McDermott reported in an emotionless tone, “Seven Elai cruisers destroyed. The Reserve Force has lost two ships, the Independent and the light cruiser Etna.” He paused and added, “The Insightful is reporting severe structural damage. Captain Mills has ordered the crew to the lifeboats.”
His jaw clenched tight, Admiral Burrill nodded and didn’t reply.
Mohler, seeing his face, said quietly, “Patty Mills is hard to kill, sir. She’ll be ok.”
The display blinked again, and Commander McDermott announced in a flat voice, “The Insightful has rammed Dreadnought number two.” He paused a beat, then continued in the same emotionless tone, “The Insightful has been destroyed. Dreadnought Bravo is badly damaged and no longer under power. Flagged as a mobility kill.”
Burrill nodded and replied in a careful, even voice, “Understood. Who’s assumed command of the Reserve Force?”
Turning back to his instruments, McDermott replied, “Reserve Force command has now fallen to Commander Rodriguez on the Pico Bolivar.” Pausing a moment, he said, “The remaining ships in the Reserve Force—Pico Bolivar, Shasta, and the Devoted—are coming around. They’ll reinitiate contact in fourteen hours, which will be our next event.”
Vice Admiral Mohler moved up to the display and stared at it. After a long moment of silence, he said, “Admiral Burrill, they’re going to be two hours early.” He stuck his finger into the hologram and indicated the main fleet, rushing toward the enemy cruisers. “Ortega and the first fleet are sixteen hours out. If they can hit in force, they can probably finish off the remaining cruisers, and hopefully dump enough fire into Alpha to stop her.” He poked at the Elai cruisers with a finger. “But these fuckers here get in range in fourteen hours.” He turned back to the senior officer. “So either the Reserve Force hits them again, alone, and probably gets wiped out, or they slow and wait for the main fleet, and let them get into kinetic bombardment range of Mars.” He turned to face the display and declared, “Two light cruisers and one heavy don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell. Not in a stern chase.”
Standing, Burrill moved toward the display, watched the projected pathways of the three forces, and mentally did the math. After a moment, he muttered, “Shit.”
There was a moment of silence, then he commanded in a firm tone, “Order Task Force Mythic and the Jade Emperor to rendezvous at Point Green and set an intercept course. They are to delay the Elai fleet at all costs.”
Commander McDermott replied, “Aye, sir.” He tapped his controls, inputting the instructions to the ships in the cutter flotilla, then wiped his hands on his uniform pants.
****
Aboard the United Earth Alliance System Cutter Dragon
Flagship of ‘Task Force Mythic’
En route to Point Green, Trans Martian Space
“Salty old bastard. NOW he lets us engage.” Commodore Halsey contemptuously tossed the data pad onto the small desk next to her. She drummed her fingers on the arm of her command chair for a moment, then declared, “We’re gonna get F’d in the A if we go in alone.” She turned to the commander of the Dragon, who sat in his command chair next to hers. “Yoshi.”
The calm man turned and replied, “Yes, ma’am.”
Leaning forward, the petite System Guard officer asked, “If we dump as much power as we can into the screamers, what sort of range can we get?”
Yoshi frowned and pulled a tablet out and started scrawling on it with a stylet. After a moment he replied, “The Mark Twelves have more robust wiring than the Ten series did. If you aren’t worried about frying them, I can probably get you…” He paused and tapped the pad. “Fifteen thousand klicks for about ninety seconds of complete sensor blockade before they burn through. Longer if we reduce the effective range.”
Halsey snapped her fingers and declared in a cheerful tone, “Yoshi, I knew picking an engineer as my flag skipper would come in handy! Work up a plan to boost them and get it out to the task force.”
One of the watchstanders nearby said, “Commodore Halsey, Captain Takeda, the enemy fleet has accelerated. Revised time to contact is thirteen hours, twelve minutes.”
Halsey and Takeda traded a glance, and Halsey said, “Fuckers see us coming. They’re trying to throw off our intercept and make sure we don’t hit them at the same time as the reserve force.” She frowned, then grinned. “Ok. Two can play that game, and we’re better at it.” She raised her voice and said to the crewman manning the helm, “Helm, slow to point five, maintain course. That ought to revise our intercept time back closer to
where we were.”
The small force of brilliant white system cutters with the bright orange slashes on their hulls slowed in unison as they adjusted their speed.
Watching the holotank and seeing the intercept times adjust, Halsey murmured, “Your move, you shark-toothed fucks.”
****
Headquarters of the UEAN First Fleet
UEAN Unified Fleet Forces Solar Defense Command (SOLCOM)
Phobos Station, Mars Orbit
12 hours later
The insistent chirping of his communicator woke Admiral Burrill out of a deep sleep. Rolling over on the couch in his office, he checked the indicator, noting that there were about two hours left until the next clash between the Elai and the human fleets. Sitting up, he rubbed his face, then headed to the small shower in his office head. Ten minutes later, with the muzzy feeling out of his head, a fresh shave, and a hot cup of coffee, he stepped into the command center. He moved up to the holo display, checking the positions of the enemy forces. He put a hand on the shoulder of Vice Admiral Mohler, who was dozing in his command chair. The man started awake, looked around, and saw his boss.
With a frown, Burrill asked, “I’m pretty sure I told you to go get a couple hours of sleep, Mike.”
Grimacing as he stood, the man replied, “I did, sir, but there were a couple things I wanted to check out, so I came out a little early. Guess I was more worn out than I thought.”
With a crooked grin, the older officer replied, “Guess so. Go to my office. There’s a couch. Take an hour.” The grin faded. “I’m gonna need you at your sharpest, Mike. This is the big one.”
With a weary nod, Mohler moved toward the door, then paused and turned. “Sir. We got a plan from Commodore Halsey. It’s…unconventional, but it might work. It’s in your queue for review.”
“I’ll take a look. Now scram. I need you alert.” With a weary nod, the man turned and disappeared out the hatch. Sitting in his command chair, Burrill keyed up the plan from the System Guard commodore and sipped his coffee as he stared at it. After a moment, he picked up the handset and said, “Intel, this is Operations.”
