“The fortresses are continuing to fire,” Lieutenant Thompson reported. “The Marsha are offering to launch a suicide charge.”
“Denied,” Roman snapped. Aiming antimatter-packed shuttles at the fortresses, with the fortresses having plenty of time to realize the danger, was just asking for trouble. It would be better to hurl the shuttles through the Asimov Point and into the teeth of the Gateway’s defenses. “Continue the missile engagement.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
Roman leaned back in his chair and watched, grimly, as the damage mounted. The superdreadnaught Pashing took several hits and drifted out of formation; the battlecruisers Runner and Coyote exploded into fireballs as their defenses were overwhelmed... but otherwise the fortresses seemed to be splitting their fire. It puzzled him, until he realized that Emperor Marius would want to weaken his fleet before they faced the true challenge. The tactic might even work.
“They’re not launching fighters,” he mused. The fortresses were taking damage, but otherwise holding firm. “Why not?”
“They may be trying to shield the fighters,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “The commander might not be very experienced...”
Roman shook his head. He’d been on Enterprise long enough to understand the danger of trying to keep the fighters in their launch tubes as long as possible, no matter the conditions outside the hull. One of the many — many — reasons the First Battle of Sapphire had gone pear-shaped was that the CO had tried to keep his fighters safely on the carriers, only to have the carriers caught in the ambush and destroyed before they could launch more than a handful of their starfighters. No CO worth his rank badges would try to keep his crews safe when they had a far better chance of surviving in their craft.
“I doubt it,” he said. “They may not be carrying starfighters.”
Or the starfighter crews are unreliable, he thought. They might turn on the fortresses instead of our ships.
It was plausible. Starfighter jocks tended to be among the most individualistic of officers, at least partly because they knew death could come at any time. Someone could have started a mutiny, or flatly refused to fight... he pushed the thought to one side as the fortresses belched another wave of missiles. It was what he wanted to believe, after all, and self-deceit was among the most dangerous mistakes a commander could make.
“Continue firing,” he ordered. Four of the fortresses had taken heavy damage, but were still trying to fight. “Batter their shields down.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
* * *
“Sir, the far side of the Gateway is under heavy attack,” Ginny reported, as Marius stumbled onto the command deck. “They’re taking missile fire so far, but it could get worse at any moment.”
“Or better,” Marius noted. He sat down before his legs gave out from under him. Clearly, drinking so much had been a mistake — and taking the sober-up even worse. “They won’t want to expend too much firepower on the outer defenses.”
He studied the display, feeling an odd sense of exultation. Here, at last, was an enemy he could fight. No cowardly traitors, waiting to bury a knife in his back; no faceless rebels, lurking in the shadows; no numberless insurgents, where the dead were replaced as quickly as they fell. Nothing, but starships meeting for one final time in honorable combat.
He checked his fleet’s formation, noting with satisfaction that Ginny had deployed them in a standard pattern. The invaders would clear their way through the fortresses, if they had enough firepower, only to run into the teeth of his fire.
And I won’t need to worry about burning half of Earth, he thought. It had been hard, at first, to give the order to launch KEWs; now, he hardly cared what happened, as long as he wasn’t bothered. And yet, watching Earth burn had been almost relaxing. Maybe it’s time the planet was finally put to rest.
“There’s a new update coming in, sir,” Ginny said. “Two more fortresses have been destroyed.”
“Tell the remaining fortresses to fight to the last,” Marius ordered.
He didn’t know if the order would be carried out, but — in all honesty — he didn’t much care, not since the uprisings on AlphaCent. He’d already had to strip the fortresses of their starfighter pilots after the grinning bastards had started to mutter about pretending to be sick, as if they were too important to be punished for attempted mutiny. All that really mattered, right now, was greeting Garibaldi when he poked his nose through the Gateway. There would be one final battle, and that would be the end.
“Aye, sir,” Ginny said. She paused. “I’m picking up a communication from Earth...”
“Ignore it,” Marius said. He had every confidence in General Thorne... and besides, if the General failed, it hardly mattered. Earth could burn. He no longer cared. “Concentrate on the impending battle.”
He ran through the calculations in his mind. Roman would need at least thirty minutes to deploy enough assault pods to do real damage to the Gateway, unless he’d mounted the weapons on minelayers and used them to emplace the pods. And he’d also need to reload his external racks... it was a pity, really, that there wasn’t any way to ambush his fleet while he was replenishing himself. But Marius no longer trusted anyone on AlphaCent.
“The last of the fortresses has been destroyed, sir,” Ginny reported. “None of them tried to surrender.”
“Good,” Marius grunted. He cleared his throat. “And now to make sure their deaths count for something.”
* * *
Roman watched the last fortress die with bittersweet feelings. Nineteen thousand men and women had died, unless the crews had been stripped just prior to the battle. It was possible, he supposed, but unlikely. Emperor Marius was no longer the father to his men that Roman recalled; he spent them freely, like water, as long as he thought he could win.
“There are no lifepods,” Lieutenant Thompson reported. “They never even tried to escape.”
Someone must have deactivated them, Roman thought. It was rare, vanishingly rare, for a fortress to be lost with all hands. They tended to survive long enough for the crew to jump to the pods, even if they were quite definitely doomed. The bastards wanted the crews to die with their fortresses.
He pushed the thought away, savagely. “Are the missile ships ready to go?”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “And the Marsha shuttles are ready to follow up.”
Roman took a breath. This was it, the final battle. Either they broke into the Sol System, which would be the end of the war, or they were crushed.
There was no middle ground, not any longer. Either they won or they died.
“Signal the fleet,” he ordered.
He tried to think of something to say, something that would inspire the crew, but nothing came to mind. He’d have to think of something later, something that could be added to the history books. It struck him, in a moment of amusement, that all the other admirals might have done the same thing. How many of the dramatic statements they’d been forced to memorise had really been made up on the spot?
“Signal the fleet,” he repeated. “We’re going home.”
He took a breath. “Commence attack pattern delta,” he added. “I say again, commence attack pattern delta.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
And so everything came down to one final battle...
—The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199
AlphaCent/Earth, 4102
“Admiral,” Ginny said. “We have assault pods transiting the gateway... and shuttles.”
Marius leaned forward, surprised. So quickly?
“Order the CSP to intercept,” he snapped, although he knew it was wasted breath. The starfighters would swoop in to take out as many of the pods as possible before they opened fire, although the shuttles were an odd step. More suicide shuttles? Or... what? “And warn the forts to brace for attack.”
He cursed under his breath as the pods opened fire, spewing an endless stream of short-range missile
s into space. Their targeting sensors had clearly been improved, part of his mind noted; they’d orientated themselves far faster than he would have believed possible. He wondered, absently, if the Outsiders had managed to get a clear look at the forts before the system went into lockdown, but decided it was unlikely. Even if they had, the forts had shifted position before the attack began in earnest.
Should have kept our own pods, he thought, grimly. He’d thrust Earth’s stockpile of assault pods forward for the drive on Nova Athena, then ordered the industrial node to focus on producing long-range missiles. In hindsight, it had been a mistake. Given them a taste of their own medicine.
“The shuttles are crammed with antimatter,” Ginny reported, as one of the shuttles vanished in a blinding white flash. “They must have stuffed containment chambers into every last square inch of their hulls.”
Marius frowned as the display fuzzed for a long moment, then came back into focus, informing him that a number of starfighters, mines and automated weapons platforms had been wiped out by the blast. It was no consolation to note that the blast had also wiped out a number of enemy missiles. Roman Garibaldi wouldn’t have challenged the Gateway without a massive stockpile of assault missiles at his disposal. Hell, he might have been able to obtain more at Tara Prime. Admiral Vincent might have intended to secure control of a handful of other junctions by force.
“Or they just reengineered the craft with a single vast containment chamber,” Marius observed. The part of him that still enjoyed puzzles toyed with it for a long moment — it wasn’t as if a suicide craft needed anything more than engines and a simple control system — before putting the matter aside. “Order the fortresses to target the shuttles with long-range missiles.”
He cursed as a second wave of assault pods materialized through the Asimov Point, followed by a flight of shuttles and gunboats. The shuttles flew off in all directions, some aiming at the fortresses while others seemed to be flying into empty space, as the gunboats opened fire on the CSP. Marius gritted his teeth, helplessly, as he realized what his former protégé was trying to do. The starfighters had to wipe out the assault pods before they could open fire, but the gunboats were making it difficult. And the first wave of missiles was approaching its target...
“Gateway Three is reporting heavy damage, sir,” Ginny said. “Gateway Five has lost communications. Gateway Six has lost her outermost shield generators...”
“Tell them to keep firing,” Marius snapped.
His head started to pound, again, as wave after wave of assault pods transited the Gateway, throwing thousands of missiles against the defenses. Hundreds were wasted, picked off by the point defense or simply lost in the ongoing sea of electromagnetic distortion, but hundreds more found their targets. They were followed by shuttles, trying desperately to ram their hulls into the fortress shields. A single shuttle struck an almost-undamaged fortress and exploded so violently that the fortress was completely crippled. Another shuttle, hot on its tail, completed the destruction before a single crewman could escape.
“Gateway Nine has been destroyed,” Ginny reported. “Gateway Six has taken heavy damage...”
Marius cursed, yet again. Those damnable shuttles hadn’t just been aimed at his fortresses, they’d been aimed at his minefields and automated weapons platforms. Each antimatter blast had cleared great reaches of space, ensuring that Garibaldi would have plenty of room to manoeuvre his ships once he finally began the main offensive. Marius knew he’d come, unless the Gateway held; Garibaldi had no choice.
This was the battle.
He rubbed at his forehead, then reached for the packet of pills and popped two into his mouth. No matter what happened, he needed a clear head for the next hour or two. After that... depending on the outcome of the battle, it was unlikely to matter.
“Another wave of assault pods has just transited the gateway,” Ginny reported. “They’re accompanied by over a hundred shuttles.”
Marius nodded, shortly. “Order the fortresses to attempt to engage,” he said, as the shuttles picked up speed and flashed away from the Asimov Point. There was no point in trying to direct the CSP to handle the shuttles, not when it would mean mutual destruction. “And then send a message to Home Fleet. The enemy will make their appearance soon.”
* * *
Roman silently tallied up the latest set of reports with a profound feeling of dissatisfaction. He’d expended hundreds of assault pods and thousands of missiles — along with over five hundred shuttles and gunboats — but the Gateway was still formidable, despite the staggering damage it had taken. Earth’s gateway to the galaxy was defended by no less than twenty-four fortresses and innumerable automated defenses; he knew, based upon the reports, that they had destroyed or crippled only seven of them. And he was running out of assault pods.
And we can’t withdraw, he thought, numbly. We have to go on.
“Order the first wave to commence attack,” he said. “And tell them they’re authorized to deploy the latest ECM.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
Roman forced himself to watch as the next wave of icons reached the Asimov Point and vanished, accompanied by a swarm of assault pods, gunboats and shuttles. It was a shame the latest Outsider ECM couldn’t be fitted to the pods, although there had been so many sensors surrounding the Gateway that the ECM would probably not have been as effective as the designers had promised.
And many of those young men and women are going to die, he thought. And I’m not there with them.
* * *
“The next wave of attackers has transited the Gateway,” Ginny reported. “Sir, they’re accompanied by smaller ships!”
Marius bared his teeth. This was it! The real attack had finally begun.
“Send in the reserves,” he ordered, as the enemy assault pods began to spew yet more missiles. “Tell them they may fire at will.”
“Aye, sir,” Ginny said. “I...”
She broke off. Marius leaned forward in disbelief as the missiles on the display doubled, then tripled; hundreds of thousands of missiles, according to his sensors, were advancing on the remaining fortresses, an avalanche of missiles that could not possibly be stopped. For a moment, his heart seemed to freeze in his chest; he found it terrifyingly difficult to breathe...
“Sensor decoys,” he choked out. “They have to be decoys...”
Ginny spun around to face him. “Sir...”
Marius forced himself, somehow, to breathe, despite his fading vision. “Tell the fortresses that they have to be decoys,” he said. “Sensor illusions...”
He clutched hold of his command chair, feeling his heartbeat start to stutter erratically. They had to be ECM decoys — and, with the Gateway’s sensor net so badly degraded by the earlier attacks, it would be impossible to separate the real missiles from the decoys. No wonder the rebels had seemed so unconcerned about the fate of their shuttles. They hadn’t been trying to inflict damage so much as blind his sensors, in preparation for this moment.
“I’m calling the doctor,” Ginny said.
“No,” Marius said. On the display, the reserve starfighters were already racing towards the enemy ships. “I’m staying on the bridge...”
“You’re going to collapse,” Ginny said. “I need to get you to sickbay...”
“You’re dismissed,” Marius rasped. Had even she betrayed him at the end? “Go fetch Lieutenant Hashimoto. He can take over as tactical assistant.”
Ginny stared at him for a long moment. Marius stared back at her with morbid fascination, wondering just what she’d do. Call the medics anyway, against his orders, or summon a replacement before leaving the CIC? Perhaps it had been a mistake to have only the two of them in the compartment, but he’d trusted her...
“Yes, sir,” Ginny said, finally. “I’ll have Lieutenant Hashimoto sent in at once.”
She saluted, then left the compartment. Marius barely noticed as he switched tactical control to his console. It was far from ideal
, but it would hold long enough for Lieutenant Hashimoto to arrive. On the display, the fortresses were reeling under repeated hammer blows; their defenses hadn’t been able to cope with the sudden multiplication of threats. Five more had been destroyed, while the remainder were badly damaged. And wave after wave of enemy ships were slipping through the Gateway, their carriers spitting out starfighters before hastily reversing course and vanishing back through the Asimov Point.
I taught him this, Marius thought, feeling an odd flicker of pride. He’d never had children, even though — as a man who’d married into the aristocracy — he’d been expected to have children. Tiffany and he had talked about it, but he’d known he wouldn’t be a good father to a young baby. Roman Garibaldi was the closest thing he had to a son. And look what’s become of us.
A new set of icons appeared on the display, one by one. Marius knew, long before the sensors identified them, that the newcomers were superdreadnaughts. Roman Garibaldi was sending them through in a tight stream, taking the risk of a collision in stride just to ensure he had plenty of firepower through the Gateway before Home Fleet or the remaining fortresses could intervene. They were accompanied by yet more shuttles, racing off to throw themselves at the fortresses. Marius wondered, absently, just how they could kill themselves so casually, then pushed the thought aside. Both sides knew there would be no second chance at total victory.
His console beeped. He opened his mouth to order the message displayed before remembering that he was alone. Where was Lieutenant Hashimoto? He keyed the switch, then blinked in surprise as General Thorne’s face popped up in front of him. Somehow, he was sure it wasn’t good news. Whatever had gone wrong, thanks to the curse of time-delayed communications, had taken place hours ago.
“Emperor,” General Thorne said. “There have been a string of mutinies among the orbital defenses of Earth. Fighting has broken out on a dozen settlements on Luna and Mars. My forces on Earth have even been targeted from orbit...”
The Barbarian Bride (The Decline and Fall of the Galactic Empire Book 3) Page 37
