Federation Reborn 1: Battle Lines

by Chris Hechtl

  “Take her out,” Captain Mueller stated.

  “All stern batteries engage and destroy the target,” Commander Esenly stated. The stern turrets immediately started to track the frigate. When their lidars started to light up the ship, the tiny frigate's ECM kicked on and turned her into a ball of fuzz. Then the ship started to jink and fire wildly.

  At such close range and with a BC's sensors, the ECM did little to prevent the ship's destruction. The gunners targeted the center of the ball of fuzz and fired, volleying grazers and laser fire into her. Their computers might have been more primitive than the Federation forces but they brought the barrels up just enough to anticipate the moving ship. Within ten seconds she had been hammered. A second after that she was battered into wreckage and then destroyed.

  “An auspicious beginning,” the commander said smugly as she rubbed her hands gleefully together. The little frigate's counter fire had been easily intercepted by the shields and shrugged off with no damage.

  “Good work, guns. Now let's go find us some more targets,” the captain growled.

  ---<>---<>---

  “Hecate has been destroyed, Captain,” Lieutenant Hamilton said softly.

  “I see that, guns,” the captain said. “Meia, the fighter brood?”

  “Are out, sir. I'm out in Fighter 001. We're going in.”

  “No, hang back. Let the mines and platforms do the brunt of the work first. Prepare for fighter engagement. Helm, move us off to Point Baker.”

  “Point Baker. Aye aye, sir.”

  “Target the grazer platforms on the big boys. Ignore the small fry.”

  “Sir, they won't scratch those ships,” Lieutenant Hamilton warned. They only had twelve grazer platforms and six defense platforms around the outer shell of the jump point.

  “Not with their shields up. But we'll fix that. Prime the mines,” the captain murmured.

  “Mines, aye, sir.”

  ---<>---<>---

  Admiral Irons got the report of the battle starting up in Protodon and swore viciously.

  “Can we do anything, Admiral?”

  “Anything we've got will be too little too late. Order the Kittyhawk group to move up to Kathy's World now. Alert the picket in Kathy's World.”

  “Should we send Maine?” Sprite asked.

  “No. I don't want them to pass these forces if they blow through Amadeus and come after us. For now they are on their own.”

  “Hopefully they can hold,” Protector stated.

  “I know,” Admiral Irons murmured. He had his doubts though. He watched the SITREP fearfully. “Get me an ETA on the latest convoy. If they are arriving soon, this could be a disaster or a blessing.”

  ---<>---<>---

  “Minefield dead ahead, Captain,” the sensor rating stated, turning to Captain Post.

  “I see it,” the captain replied, tracing a finger over the shoals of mines. They didn't have a lot, but they had placed them in a clever set of arches between him and the inner star system. Other platforms were staged at strategic places around that arch as well but further out.

  “Orbital weapon platforms?” he asked softly.

  “Sir, a carrier is nearby. We've picked up two squadrons of corvettes, two squadrons of frigates, two squadrons of gunships, and two squadrons of fighters fourteen million kilometers out on a bearing of 015 by positive 30.”

  Captain Post grimaced. The escort carrier and squadrons of small ships were a surprise. He immediately typed out orders to the CAG to cover his stern. The stern of his ships were the logical targets of the fighters and small ships. They were heavily protected by armor and of course the plasma thrust from her stupendous engines but …, he shook his head. If they took out enough of his engines, he'd be dead meat. They could then stand back and pound his ship into wreckage with rocks or just let her drift and die on the vine. Not a pleasant thought.

  He wasn't going to let that happen though. Not on his watch he thought grimly. His eyes studied the plot. New unknown objects were being added as CIC's active sensors took more and more information in for processing.

  “What are the clusters?” the captain asked, pointing to the clusters of objects that the CIC was just painting onto the plot. They were further out, in the outer third shell.

  “Unknown. No active transmissions, sir. More mines?” the TACO asked carefully. "Perhaps they haven't deployed them yet?"

  “I don't know,” the captain murmured, rubbing his chin. He hated not knowing.

  “Sir. CIC is reporting active sensors are in. There is a squadron of nine destroyers, mixed classes all in orbit of the planet. A few singleton small ships in the star system. Another six squadrons of smaller ships are near the Kathy's World jump point, sir.”

  The captain looked up in surprise. That was far more firepower than he'd anticipated. His eyes narrowed. Those weren't captures either. No, he thought with a twinge of alarm, many of them were new construction. They had to be. Another bad sign.

  “Why would they do that I wonder?” the XO asked.

  “Keeping the door shut?” tactical asked. The captain and XO turned to the TACO with a frown. “But they don't have any coverage on the jump point leading to Antigua, sir, that they consider secure.”

  “But they don't consider Kathy's World secure? Interesting.”

  “Yes, sir. What do we do, sir?”

  “Do?" the captain snorted. "We blow them to hell. Put our destroyers and frigates up front. They'll screen us from the mines. Tell all commands to conserve ammunition. It doesn't grow on trees, people. Use point defense and weapon mounts.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” the tactical officer replied dubiously.

  “Sir, Captain Manchez is cautioning speed, sir. This is beyond our worst case scenario, sir. His words,” the communication's rating stated.

  “We're still going to grind them into dust. We'll have to cut off their retreat. If they do, no matter, we'll just follow and hammer them wherever they end up. They'll just die tired.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Attend to your duties and stop licking my boots,” the captain growled in disgust.

  “Order the tanker and transports to hang back. Or better yet, remain here. I don't want to risk them in what is to come,” the captain stated.

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  ---<>---<>---

  “They are going to punch a hole through the minefield. They are putting the frigates in the lead. They have formed a wedge formation with the battle cruisers in the pocket.”

  “They are using the smaller ships to screen the larger ones—to suck up the damage.”

  “Yes, sir. It looks that way,” Lieutenant Hamilton stated. “The transports and tanker are staying back. Correction,” he touched his ear. “CIC reports they have shut down their drives and are now drifting.”

  “They are keeping them back. Got it,” Captain Vargess murmured.

  “Could we send in fighters to cut them up? Maybe draw the enemy back to defend them?” the lieutenant asked hopefully.

  “No. To get to the support ships, we'd have to send them right through the teeth of the enemy ships or have them cut around somehow and waste time and fuel. Nice idea though.”

  “Yes sir,” the TACO said dubiously.

  “We're not dead yet. Remember that. This is only just beginning.”

  “Yes, sir. Admiral White has alerted the fighters and launched his fighters, sir. They'll rendezvous with us at Point Baker. We're staging them as planned.”

  “Okay.”

  “He's picking up the fighters on the ground, sir. They are on their way up. His forces are moving out as we speak. And the other squadrons are moving as well.”

  “He needs to get concentrated. If they come at this force in penny packets …,” the captain shook his head. Things did not look good. He could see the dubious look on the tactical officer’s face. It seemed he wasn't the only one to know that obvious thought.

  ---<>---<>---

  Amadeus had immediately launched his fig
hters to meet up with Halsey. The pilots would be tired and their ships low on fuel when they arrive, but he'd have his reinforcements. Something told him they would be needed.

  He had recalled the fighters on the ground; they were playing catch up with his forces. Fortunately they had the legs to do it, but they would suck themselves dry in the process. Just another thing to worry about.

  The ten volunteers on the warehouse platforms were already breaking out the mothballed fighters. If he had the time, he planned to pull Halsey back to rearm from them. Big If.

  “Sir, the point of the enemy formation is entering the minefield engagement zone now.”

  ---<>---<>---

  Meia knew that the mines would be ineffective; there just weren't enough of them to go around—not enough to saturate the enemies defenses to generate hits. But they were a screen for her forces.

  She sent half her second squadron to escort her bombers to do a long flank around the enemy just as the frigates in the lead of the Horathian formation started to fire on the mines. Using the smaller ships as a screen was a mistake in some ways; their weapons didn't have the range of the much larger ship's guns. She used her command override to reprogram the mines off of the capital ships and onto the screen. It was the only way to use them effectively. Then she took her remaining forces down south to cut up into the enemy's belly while he was distracted.

  ---<>---<>---

  “Sir, Commander Meia has reprogrammed the mines to go after the frigates and destroyers instead of the battle cruisers,” Lieutenant Hamilton said, sounding bewildered.

  “I know. It's what I would have done,” Vargess said simply. The lieutenant turned to stare at him. He shrugged. “They weren't going to get through the enemy's fire to the BCs so she went after the screen itself. It's an acceptable loss,” he said.

  “Better to use them then lose them for nothing?”

  “Yes. Make sure you keep a running feed to the admiral as well as the ansible. I want all our tactical data to go to both; they'll need it. The same for the AWACS. Keep them out.”

  “Yes, sir. Sir, battle cruisers are launching fighters to engage Force Bravo.”

  “Bravo …”

  “The bombers, sir. Commander Meia also sent them on a long flanking maneuver while she took her forces low.”

  “I see. Well, she is the CAG,” the captain murmured.

  “Sir, the squadrons are asking for permission to engage.”

  “Not yet. Let's let the fixed defenses soften them up. Tactical, keep a running feed as I said. Copy it to them. I want you to pick apart every ship, find the chinks in their armor.”

  “Aye aye, sir.”

  ---<>---<>---

  Captain Post had anticipated the mines to be targeted on the capital ships since they posed the biggest threat. But when they went after the frigates and destroyers instead, he realized his error.

  “Move us in to protect the screen. Flank speed,” he ordered. Agincourt was holding her own, but she was shooting herself dry of counter missiles despite the captain's order to conserve ammunition. She was doing her best to defend herself and the ships around her. However, the port flank didn't have her there and suffered.

  Captain Post realized he'd made a further error in attempting to conserve ammunition when Starchaser blew up with all hands. The Nelson had been old and had suffered a lot of issues with her firing control, issues that proved fatal when the mines got within their engagement range and exploded.

  She was ripped apart, and her shattered wreckage blinded the sensors on the port flank for a long moment. Some of the wreckage hit the Horathian ships, battering at their shields as they tried to jink around the largest bits as well as continue to defend themselves.

  Two of the frigates took damage; Blighter's guns went down as she jinked and rocked. The momentary inattention was fatal; a mine got within her engagement range and exploded. The gravitational lens directed the blast into the small ship, and the carnage of energy meant to batter or destroy a capital ship vaporized the small frigate.

  Her sister ship, Mizzen Mast, took hits from the wreckage and her sensor were fried from the nearby explosion. Before she could recover, she drifted into the desperate fire of Starfish and was cut apart. Her wreckage drifted, spreading apart in a cloud of metal, plastic, and bodies.

  ---<>---<>---

  Captain Mueller was appalled by the carnage. Three frigates and a destroyer snuffed out like that. They had absorbed the mines but at what cost? She shook her head. Starfish had some damage, so did Yeetree.

  “Sir, um, Ma'am. We're being targeted. Lidar and radar hits from those twelve platforms! Energy fire hitting our shields!”

  “Return fire!” the captain ordered.

  The invisible stilettos of angry energy stabbed into the warships. Nevada shrugged off the damage as did her sister ship but Yeetree and Agincourt didn't. The last two frigates were cut apart before the returning fire could silence the platforms. Twelve explosions pocketed space around them, but it wasn't enough.

  “Roznine,” Commander Esenly murmured in despair. She shook herself when her captain's eyes fell on her.

  “Starfish has taken damage. So has the flagship. We're getting damage reports now.”

  “Get damage control on it.”

  “Aye, ma'am. It seems the weapons fire was precision targeted on our shield nodes and weapons,” Commander Esenly reported.

  “Shields are recycling now, ma'am. They will be up to 80 percent in five minutes,” Trisa stated.

  “What next?” the captain asked.

  “I'm afraid to ask,” the tactical officer muttered darkly.

  “Fighters are engaging!” CIC said over the intercom. The captain looked up and pursed her lips in a frown.

  ---<>---<>---

  Commander Meia had problems. She hadn't anticipated the number of enemy fighters they had deployed within the battle space. She was instantly outnumbered. Her twenty-four Cobra fighters and six Mitchell bombers were outnumbered by a mix bag of no less than seventy-two enemy fighters.

  She had traded stealth for speed in the urge to get her forces around to attack the enemy's rear. That had allowed them to see her. Something she had expected but the numbers were daunting.

  The good news, such as it was, was that a third was out to intercept her two forces while the other third was staying in close to home. She could appreciate that. But she only had six fighters covering the bombers. They were going to be outmatched and outgunned.

  The other piece of good news was a slim one. Nearly half of the fighters were F-32 Raptors. The obsolete fighters were no match for her Cobras. But again, the numbers ….

  Her orders to Lolita Harnsworth had been for the fighters to tangle it up with any interceptors and allow the bombers to get in. To punch a hole for them to move in through to hit the big boys. That wasn't going to happen, not with twenty-four fighters moving in to hit Lolita. And there was nothing she could do to get her out of there. She swore viciously. By the time a transmission got to the red haired girl, it would be too late.

  She had her own problems though, the twenty-four fighters coming in to her force of eighteen. Now those numbers were closer to ideal.

  “I don't think we're going to have any big ships on the menu this go around folks. Lock and load, it's about to get busy,” she said. “Weapons hot and free! Fox one, Fox two!” She said, targeting the lead Raptor. She was fairly certain the big fighters were the squadron commanders, but those ships would be a bitch to kill.

  “Just as well. Against those big boys we'd be shooting spit wads at them anyway,” Norath said as the fighter battle commenced and turned into a furball.

  ---<>---<>---

  Lieutenant Lolita felt a thrill of fear when the number of enemy fighters registered. She was outnumbered six, no four to one. Not good odds. There was no way they could handle that, and survive.

  She cleared her throat, knowing what had to be done. “Abort,” she ordered, hitting the transmit key on her radio. “
Bombers abort, head back to the barn at Point Bravo. I say again abort. There is no way we can punch a hole. We're going to have all we can do to keep you alive,” she said as her force changed course. The fighters sent out to engage her adjusted their courses to intercept a moment later.

  ---<>---<>---

  Captain Post scowled as he read the casualty reports. A dozen dead on the two BCs, twice that on the three surviving destroyers. Minor damage to all three ships, though Starfish seemed to be limping badly. He'd been hurt, hurt worse than he'd expected, but he had no intention of stopping. He wasn't going to throw the lives of his people away, not after they had come that far.

  He'd expected better of his pilots though. Obviously he'd been wrong. Every single Raptor he'd sent out to engage had been destroyed. The homegrown fighters were exact copies of the venerable fighter design. Obviously command had screwed that up. The fighters had only particle shields so they had been easy pickings for the Federation Cobras. Only the more powerful Sabre, Emperor, Fragmac, Cutlass, Cobra, and Executor class fighters had survived more or less intact.

  The fighters that had gone after the all fighter force had been torn to ribbons despite outnumbering them. It hadn't been enough of a margin. Emile had warned him about that. Only five of his fighters had survived the furball. They'd taken down seven of the enemy fighters though.

  The fighters that had gone after the bombers and escorts had fared better, killing three of the bombers and four of the fighters for eight of their own number. But it had worked; the enemy fighters were in full retreat. The bombers and two remaining fighters had been rescued by a force of gunships. The gunships had chased his fighters for a bit before aborting just short of Nevada's engagement envelope.

  The enemy obviously had detailed plans of his ships and weapons. Well, so did he. They hadn't sprung anything new on him.