* * *
“We're ready to go, sir,” said Commander Winifred Rodriguez over the com.
Rodriguez was a squadron commander of one of the only two squadrons still available to the Northrup. Hers was a sixteen ship strong attack fighter squadron, the newest type, carrying eight of the warp anti ship missiles. They also carried a couple of powerful lasers, only of use when the ship wasn't in warp, but at the moment the most important weapons they deployed.
The commander looked around the small bridge of her fighter, a two thousand ton ship with little in the way of amenities for the crew. Six on the bridge, pilot, copilot, com tech, sensor tech, engineering tech and of course the commander. Their chairs could convert into sleeping couches when needed, and there was a head and tiny galley behind the bridge. The engineering compartment at the stern held two more crew-members, an engineering officer and his tech.
“Give it one minute, and wait for the targeting information to come across,” said the wing commander, Captain Stafford, the fighter boss. “When I give the word, blast your way out.”
“Wilco.”
“The other squadron is out and forming up,” said another voice over the com, identified as Lt. Commander Jugi, in charge of the remaining nine ships of his squadron. Unfortunately, when the ship had been hit, some damage had come through into that hangar and destroyed seven of the space superiority fighters. The one positive out of that was that the hatch had been made considerably weaker than the one that was trapping Rodriguez.
“Stand ready, Jugi, We'll be out in a moment and form up with you.”
“Start getting those reloads out into space,” came the voice of the captain.
“All of them?” asked a voice identified as an ordnance officer. “What about reloads for the fighters.”
“They're going to be strictly for missile defense once they make their attack,” said the captain. “We need the rest of those weapons in space and ready to launch.”
Rodriguez didn't like the sound of that. Her birds were made to attack using warp missiles. Unlike the space superiority fighters, which had a secondary missile control mission. It wasn't up to her, and she realized the captain needed fire heading into the enemy, and it would take too long to hangar the fighters and rearm them.
“You understand your mission, Commander Rodriguez?” asked Merkle, the stress of her situation quite noticeable.
“Yes, ma'am. Hit the bastards which our missiles, then go on missile interception. Understood.”
“Don't get too close. We caught them off guard with our first launch, but after that they deployed warp lances. And I need you and your ships in space, not drifting as victims to a collapsed warp field.”
“Don't worry, ma'am. I have no desire to find myself drifting in space at the tender mercies of the Cacas.”
“Target these points and wait for my signal,” said the lt. commander in charge of damage control.
A schematic came up on the forward viewer, showing the areas that needed the attentions of the fighter mounted lasers. Sixteen points, mostly the same size, the rest already cut through, leaving fifty percent remaining. Rodriguez moved her fingers, pointing to the schematic and assigning firing points to all of her craft.
“We're ready to fire.”
“Give the engineers a second to get clear.”
Rodriguez waited impatiently. She wanted to get off the ship before it was hit hard enough to convert to plasma, taking everything with it, including her fighters. Including herself. Not that she wouldn't feel for the spacers onboard, but if she had to go, she preferred it be in her fighter, striking at the enemy.
“Go commander. Blast your way out, then go and give them hell.”
“Wilco. All ships. Fire until the hatch is free.”
* * *
“All engineers. Get away from the hatch and make sure you're well clear.”
“What about our equipment?” asked Finn, looking for the best path to get away quickly.
“Leave it, Finn. If it's still there after they get out, you can go back for it.”
And get back into the ship, where we belong, she thought, stepping carefully away, making sure she never lost grapple contact with the hull.
Ten steps away and she turned, crouched down to get four points of contact, and waited for the fireworks show. She was not disappointed, as sixteen arcs of vaporized metal rose from the edges of the hatch. Finn estimated that the holes they were punching were only ten centimeters or so in diameter, the the fighter lasers had burned through in a fraction of the time her torch was doing. Those were lasers meant to penetrate the armored hull of a ship. Really too small and underpowered to do much damage to a warship. Really more of a nuisance weapon, able to take out smaller vessels and maybe cause some concern to the captain of a warship. Enough for what they were doing.
The beams were visible through the alloy vapor, moving along as they sliced through the hatch. In less than ten seconds the job was done, except for one section that was a little larger than the others. That one went out in another three seconds, and the beams switched off.
“Engaging grabber units,” called out the officer in charge of the operation. With that the hatch rose away from the hull, slowly at first, increasing its velocity quickly, until it was moving at speed, the distance growing.
A pair of fighters moved quickly out into space, followed by another, then another, until all sixteen were in the clear. The engineers were all waving, their cheering coming over the com. It was only a single squadron, but it was going to attack the enemy. That's all that counted. And then, with a visible ripple of space, they were all gone, into warp and moving faster than the light they were leaving behind.
“Orders, sir. Can we go back in and start to work freeing crew?”
“No, Finn. We want you to head on down to the ventral hyperdrive array. They can use a hand getting everything connected.”
Finn cursed under her breath. She really hated being out on the hull, and working on the hyperdrive array would be even worse. But it needed to be done, and if they could get into hyper they might be able to get away. Finn thought it over, shaking her head as she grappled herself along. No, when they got into hyper, the enemy would do the same. It really would not accomplish anything. Still, she understood why the captain wanted it. Hyper opened up other possibilities for a tactically astute mind. Finn wasn't sure if Merkle had that kind of mind. What she did know was that the Fleet was very good at promoting people into positions they could handle. The captain would have attended all the naval colleges on the way up. At least Finn could hope that was the case.
* * *
“Captain Merkle is reporting that she has deployed her warp fighters, sir,” said the com officer, the one who was monitoring the wormhole system. To either side were three Klassekians, members of six different sibling groups. Two were in contact with the remaining ships in Merkle's group, the rest with the scout squadrons accompanying Garasra. Some of them had lost siblings, and were still in a low level of shock, though not far enough to be relieved of duty.
What an amazing species, thought the Gryphon officer. So unique, so strong, and yet so fragile. All peoples in the Empire were known to have feelings for family members, some more than others. Humans were the baseline species. Gryphon were at one end of the curve. They loved family, but when reaching adult status they grew distant. Wanting to get out on their own and make their way without the help, or hindrance, of family. The Phlistarans had been on the other end. They stayed close to everyone in their extended families. Until the coming of the Klassekians. Their quantum link made them close to their birth siblings like no other species. A strength that made them valuable to the Empire. But the death of a sibling, a traumatic event to one who saw the death through the eyes and thoughts of the brother or sister who had died, was a severe shock to the system. Fortunately, everyone in the group shared the trauma, there for each other like no other species.
“How many?” asked the admiral, sure that the an
swer would not please him.
“Sixteen attack fighters, and nine of the space superiority type. Twenty-five in all.”
Out of the five hundred and twelve they carried before the attack, he thought, grinding his beak. There had been combat patrols out, but they had gone down quickly, heading for the enemy and getting blasted out of space by warp lances.
“What is she doing with them?” he asked, hoping she could pull something that saved her ship and her command.
The officer talked for a moment, then listened intently.
“They are going to sweep in from the rear and hit the enemy, sir. Then go into missile defense.”
“Why can't they rearm and go back at them?” asked the tactical officer, looking over at the admiral.
“I think she used the missiles to attack on their own,” said the com officer, a quick smile showing on his face.
“They told you that?” asked Garasra, eyes narrowing. “And you didn't see fit to inform me?”
“We, we were dealing with a missile attack, sir. I thought you were too busy to listen to another report.”
Garasra shook his head, an emotional cue his people had learned from the humans. “I don't want you having to think about reports from important subordinates,” said the admiral, saying each word slowly, enunciating everything as clearly as he could. “If something comes in from the carrier force, I want to hear it, immediately.” He felt a chill when he said carrier force, since that group was reduced to one heavily damaged carrier and some of its protective ships. “If I don't have time for it I'll raise a hand. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. And I'm sorry.”
“That's how we learn,” he said, turning away and looking back at the plot. In traditional historical Gryphon such a lapse could mean death for the miscreant. The humans had allowed species they integrated into their at large society to retain their own customs, but had insisted on reforming their systems of punishment. Garasra thought that a good thing, mostly.
“We are tracking missiles changing vectors, sir,” called out the sensor officer. “Two hundred thousand. Range, three light minutes. Velocity, point nine light. ETA, three minutes, thirty seconds.”
“Start dropping decoys,” order the admiral, happy to see that he had several hundred thousand of the new devices. He hadn't been so sure about testing untested tech, but they had worked wonders for Merkles. “Begin cycling counters immediately.”
The mine launches had all been within less than a minute of striking when detected. This one gave them the time to react. A launch every twenty seconds meant they could get ten launches off before the missiles got to them. And get thousands of decoys deployed and signaling for missiles to come get them.
“Are we still boosting on the same profile?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are they still taking twenty minutes or so between launches.”
“As far as we know, sir.”
“Then in two minutes start boosting on this course,” ordered the admiral, his finger pointing out a course on the plot.
He would play this game as long as he could. It wasn't worth returning fire with his shipboard launchers, since the enemy would see the wave coming the entire way and would simply jump into hyper to get away. He was already sending wormhole launches at them, but the enemy was changing vectors every couple of minutes, something that benefited their quarry. If he could keep working his way in, avoiding any future mines, and making the time for the engagement of incoming weapons, he should do well enough. As long as they stuck to the predictable schedule.
* * *
“Things seem to be going well, Supreme Lord,” said Great Admiral Trostara, his personal chief of staff.
“Yes. Four of the attacks have gone off without a problem,” rumbled Mrastaran, looking at the five plots hanging in space to his front. On four of them the outer fleet, four carriers and all the logistics ships, were gone. Two of those still had most of their battleships, but those were always difficult to take out. And the enemy had some new anti-missile tech as well. Even the wormhole launched missiles from gate and stealth ships were having difficulty tracking targets, probably the reason most of the battleships had avoided ship killing hits.
The mine fields had taken a toll on the ships plunging into the systems, all five of them. Mrastaran hadn't expected to do much but present a nuisance to the enemy. They had gotten some hits in each case, enough to make the expense of the mines worth their while. All of the human fleets had since taken evasive courses that took them away from the gauntlets of mines, and made it all the harder for the gate launched missiles to approach without giving themselves away. That they had all done it at about the same point in the ambush indicated tight control at the top. That, or even more chilling, a high level of competence across the board. Knowing the humans he would have guessed the second.
If only I had such warriors in my fleet, he thought, as he watched the plot of the one ambush that hadn't worked to perfection. There was still a surviving carrier there, as well as a couple of logistics ships. He knew he couldn't ask for perfection across the board, and he thought of Lokasure as the most promising of his commanders on this operation. It happened, according to the humans. You couldn't always predict all the variables, and something had interfered with targeting. And now they were trying to get away, too slow, but still zig zagging to make his wormhole missiles have to change vectors and give themselves away.
Zig zagging was a term the humans had used on their home world, back in the wet navy days. When things called submarines, the water equivalent of stealth/attack craft, had stalked them from hiding. By not presenting a predictable target the enemy was more prone to miss. And so it was proving now. The enemy was changing to random courses at random intervals. The missiles could still go after them, but they had to boost, making them clear to enemy sensors and giving them a longer engagement time.
Nothing he could do about it but let his commanders press their attack. Still, he sat there staring, as if that would do anything, and letting his mind wander back to the first problem.
He had put what he thought were competent males in positions they could thrive in, hopefully. If they didn't they were either killed in battle or relieved of command when their mission was over. Relieving didn't involve execution, as it had in the last regime. Those males still had worth, as administrators or trainers if nothing else. The problem was there weren't enough intelligent males who could think on their feet for all the command positions. He really needed every ship commander to be capable of fighting his vessel with brilliance. Instead he had eighty percent of his vessel captains competent enough to follow orders, and helpless when there was no one over them who could give them concise and understandable commands. And it wasn't a problem that was going to fix itself overnight. A new generation of officers, chosen to train based on their intelligence and not their family status. Possibly hundreds of years, and he had maybe ten if he could stretch this thing out. So he had to work with what he had.
Make me proud Lokasure, he thought, watching that admiral pursue the enemy. Even if the male didn't get them all he wouldn't take it out on the admiral. Give him another mission, and see how that went. If a pattern developed, then Admiral Lokasure could become a system administrator and another male would get a chance. But don't lose your fleet, was the last thought as he leaned back in his chair and took a sip on his drink.
Chapter Nineteen
The time to take counsel of your fears is before you make an important battle decision. That's the time to listen to every fear you can imagine! When you have collected all the facts and fears and made your decision, turn off all your fears and go ahead! George S. Patton
Sean was also watching five plots. Six if the one of the overall front was taken into account, hanging back behind the others. If he had known the Caca Emperor was observing the other side of the same action he wouldn't have been surprised. It was almost as if they were playing chess with each other, moving pieces across the board, sacri
ficing one here for a victory there. The Emperor would have been outraged at such a thought. These were people he was watching, with their own hopes, dreams and plans for life.
On the other hand, he couldn't afford to dwell on it. And the shattered hopes and dreams that came with every battle. That way lay madness. He could think about it on the way up to battle, then he must needs erect a wall between his feelings and his reasoning faculties. He owed it to the people making the sacrifice to make his decisions from the cold harsh position of reason. Mourning could wait, regrets put on hold. When Sean had been a junior officer he had wondered how the people in command had been able to live with their decisions? How his father could do the same? Now he knew. And if he had, he might have refused the throne. If there had been anyone else qualified that even wanted it.
“Are you watching this, Admiral Chan?” he asked, already knowing the answer to that.
Chuntoa Chan was the brains of research and development, the branch that had pulled the Fleet from the position looking at superior Caca tech, to forging ahead and punishing them with new toys. She was not a combat officer, though she had been allowed to lead a carrier force in one campaign as a bone to put in her resume'. She had performed well, and received a campaign ribbon to go on her dress uniform.
“I am, your Majesty. We thought they would have stealth ships soon. After all, New Moscow knew that we had them, and the Cacas have very inventive ways of getting people to talk.”
Sean grunted. Yes, he had heard of their methods, and in fact had talked them over with their captive Caca great admiral. Threatening to eat someone, or even worse, doing so to a family member, did a remarkable job of loosening the lips of even the most die-hard holdout. One of the things that made the Cacas the most hated opponent in human history. Before this war no one would have guessed any species would take the place of the hated Lasharans, the religious fanatics who thought blowing up masses of innocent people was a viable strategy. But Lasharans didn't eat their enemies, even though they were mostly carnivorous omnivores.
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 17: The Rebirth Page 21
