by Ingo Potsch
Like the rest of the flotillas, the one to which the Mandana belonged had cleared for action shortly after the first indication of enemy presence had been detected. Hers was a far different part from that of the Warriors of Walhalla. There much less protection in terms of thick armour for her weapons' maintenance crew and for the astronauts serving the forward missile acceleration-tubes, for her hull was much thinner and even her defensive artillery was weaker. Her conning-tower afforded shelter only from alpha and beta rays – up to certain strength – and from small debris, rather like dust than pieces of matter; it was vulnerable to projectiles from cannons and of course to nuclear explosions, even if these happened a couple of kilometres away. Relying mainly on her speed and quickness of controls, enabling her to manoeuvre with amazing swiftness, the destroyer's mission was to dart in towards the enemy lines and get in as many hits with her missiles as possible. Then, if fortunate enough to escape a more or less direct hit from the Aesuron’s reply, she would have to scurry back to the shelter of the battlecruisers, and await another opportunity to make a further missile attack upon the enemy.
About three and a half hours later Bartholomew-Caffrey's command - coming from another direction - increased speed to twenty six lights years per hour, the Fourth Battlecruiser Squadron forming a column astern of the Third, while a far-flung line of destroyers took up station ahead. The course was now slightly converging upon the enemy, whose spaceships, looming with varying degrees of visibility behind the hyperspace perturbations, were now at a distance of a little more than ten light years.
Half that distance away the Fifth Battle Squadron, including the gigantic Vulture of Vengeance, was rushing toward the scene from another direction, with the object of supporting the battlecruisers when occasion arose. These battleships were up to three times heavier than the battlecruisers and believed to represent the utmost in concentrated destructive power, while being able to take unprecedented punishment.
It was a proud moment for the gallant Admiral Bartholomew-Caffrey when he realized that now he was between the enemy battlecruisers and their bases on the edge of the Inter-Arm Void, basically cutting them off; while there was an ever-increasing possibility that Grand Admiral Jollyheart's main fleet would speedily be in a position to cut off the Aesuron battleships from their potential retreat through the Picus Viridis Tunnel to their backward support stations. Yet at the same time the odds against Admiral Bartholomew-Caffrey were bordering upon the enormous. His duty was to engage, entice, and hold the enemy in an upward direction without being overwhelmed by their superior force. Even at the risk of losing some of his best ships he had to engage the attention of the enemy, lure them into the belief that at last the Human Nation’s battlecruisers had run into a trap, and hammer away at them to keep them busy until the Commander-in-Chief arrived upon the scene with a fleet deemed vastly superior.
One and a half hours later the opposing battlecruiser forces opened fire simultaneously at the maximum range of their missiles. The destroyer Mandana was keeping station broad on the beam of the Human Nation battleship Bludgeoning Blade, and warding off threatened Cruiser attacks, for the time was not yet ripe for the destroyers to hurl themselves against the to-be-battered hostile ships.
"By the Gracious Heavens, this is going to be some massive mauling," muttered Bergerault, as a whirlwind of heavy nukes shredded the leading battlecruisers. The first tree of the approaching missiles had been intercepted with counter-missiles. Then, the battlecruiser already had to turn around her long axis, for her sensors had been torched on the starboard side. The next few missiles blinded her completely. Then, two of them got their warheads right home, bull’s-eye type of hitting where it hurt.
It turned out that the Aesuron gunnery was excellent, several direct hits being received by the Human Nation’s battlecruisers from the enemy’s heavy long-range missiles, but a couple of minutes later, the steady, rapid, methodical salvoes of the Human Nation’s thirteen and a half megaton missiles began to make themselves felt. Those were smaller and thus got through the defences better. While they had of course less destructive force, their power was still sufficient to damage sensors, especially optical telescopes needed for proximity defence by machine-cannons and their rapid fire. Between the patches of cloudy hyperspace distortions, rent by the lurid flashes of the thermos-nuclear explosions, were expected to be soon descried the familiar hyperspace signatures of the hostile vessels fast being reduced to dust, leaving little more but memories. At least that was the expected outcome of the situation, given the battle plan and the amount of munitions expended. For the time being all seemed well with the Human Nation’s battlecruisers, whose volume of fire was still being delivered with that terrible regularity which the Aesuron had good cause to dread. And the commanders of those ships from the Human Nation’s Space Fleet which were already engaged in fighting expected more of their comrades to join this day of final reckoning, as they had been informed that further supporting squadrons were attacking along other vectors.
Suddenly the huge Incredible Incendiary was destroyed; a gallant battlecruiser of nearly one half more tonnage than the already fairly big Warriors of Walhalla. She had paid the price of Admiralty’s approach of trying to lure the Aesuron into the trap; she serves as the cheese for the mouse, so to say. It’s unfortunate, though, if the cheese in the mouse trap attracted the attention of something much bigger than a little cute rodent.
In previous Space Fleet battles such an appalling catastrophe as the blowing up of a mighty ship had occasionally caused the two fleets spontaneously to cease fire for a period of some minutes to reorganise and cope with the changed situation; but in this Grand Inter-Arm Void struggle, regardless of the fate of the battlecruiser, the rest of the squadron redoubled their efforts. Not for one second did the hellish pounding cease, as the death-dealing salvoes of missiles hurtled into the direction of the opposing ships. To quote the words of one recruit on board the Tantamount to Tantrum who survived the massacre to later comment on it sarcastically, it was "like a glorified bar brawl: whenever you see a head, crack it!"
Twenty two minutes later Bergerault witnessed the battleship Bludgeoning Blade destroyed. So quickly did she disappear into a burning cloud ionizes matter and fine dust that the Tantamount to Tantrum, following her astern, passed through the smoke that marked the grave of the devoted ship. It came as a shock to all those in the Human Nation’s fleet who realised the destruction of the Bludgeoning Blade that an almost brand-new battleship could succumb so quickly to the alien assault.
Beyond, the Venomous Vendetta, already badly scorched, took a direct hit and was blown apart, taking with her six hundred and forty gallant officers and enlisted astronauts.
By this time the Fifth Battle Squadron, which had been attached to Admiral Bartholomew-Caffrey's command, came into action, opening fire at missile range, and although the pressure of the enemy's predominance in numbers was considerably relaxed, the danger was by no means over. For, in the now thicker haze of dimensional distortions the Aesuron main battle fleet had arrived upon the scene, and Admiral Bartholomew-Caffrey was literally betwixt two wild fires. Yet he handled his vessels with admirable strategical and tactical skill, being convinced, as was every man under him, that in spite of losses he was succeeding in holding out against the Aesuron. He might have thought differently had he known that already upon her way and just a little before the arrival at the scene of the grand battle, the Aesuron main fleet had annihilated two auxiliary squadrons and that one full-feature carrier group was just being destroyed.
Majestically the five greatest battleships of the Human Nation’s main fleet, Vulture of Vengeance, Patronus Patriae, Brotherly Band, Miracle of Mirth, and Messenger of Might, bore into the mêlée, each of them firing barrages of heavy long-range missiles with terrible effect. The head of the Aesuron central group seemed to be literally overpowered by the concentrated fire within just a couple of seconds and blasted to dust. A large Aesuron battleship, possibly the Fourteen-Sev
enty Five-Ninety Eight – as the aliens gave numbers to their vessels, not names - received terrible punishment. Sensors, telescoped, and then also turrets, were blown away piecemeal, until, a mass of smoke and flames, she hauled off the line of attack and was quickly screened by the hyperspace distortions caused purposely by some of the Aesuron destroyers. Whether she finally succumbed to her wounds - and it seemed as if she could not do otherwise - Bergerault was unable to determine. Other Aesuron vessels, badly damaged, were swung out of position, some of them scorched almost to the deep-fried level and showing tremendous limping, producing typical hyperspace distortions indicating damaged dimensional dampeners and other issues.
About three quarters of an hour later, both fleets altered course several points, the rival fronts turning outwards and completely reversing their previous direction. It was at this juncture that the Human Nation’s destroyers were ordered to take advantage of the apparent confusion in which the Aesuron had been thrown and to launch a missile attack upon the besieged enemy ships.
"Now for it," thought Bergerault, the glint of battle in his eyes. It was his chance - a daring dash of an attack against the broad sides of the enemy vessels, running up against the quick-firing artillery of the Aesuron spaceships. Never before in the history of Space Fleet warfare had destroyers been ordered to attack battleships like that. It was a desperate attempt, and thus it might come as surprise to the enemy, and therefore contain the chance of success. If this brave assault yielded anything, Bergerault was due for promotion. Everything now depended upon the captains’ skill in handling the destroyers, speed, and the apparent turmoil into which the enemy had been thrown by the terrific missile-fire originating from the battleships of the latest and most powerful classes.
In four columns line ahead the destroyer flotillas raced off at top speed. Drawing clear of the cruisers, they turned seven points to starboard, a course that would bring them in contact with the enemy front. Thick clouds of hyperspace distortions were created by other ships of the fleet, a deliberate manipulation of the superposed dimension’s fabric of brane frequencies, since that alone offered any concealment during the attack in outer space.
With a couple of chief petty officers of different seniority, one fellow at the communications’ station, and one astronaut to coordinate the internal command and control of the destroyer, Bergerault took up his station within the conning-tower. All his mental powers were at work, and yet he remained perfectly cool and collected. Hardly a detail that came under his notice of that onward rush escaped his recollection.
For the first few light years the destroyers kept perfect station. Had they been on peacetime manoeuvres their relative distances could not have been better maintained. Through the eddying, micro vortices-laden clouds of distortions, Bergerault had his vessels sensors strained upon the destroyer next ahead, ready at the first sign to reduce speed or swerve should the sister-craft be hit or fall out of line. The possibility of the Mandana receiving a fatal hit never occurred to him, since he successfully suppressed the idea. Once the order had been given to attack, Bergerault was all brave soldier, with his eagerness going far beyond slavish obedience. It was real zeal which drove him on, just like many of the other commanders. Of course, if asked about it, he would concede to the theoretical possibility of death. Yet, in the ideas prevailing in his mind it was always one of his destroyer’s consorts that might meet with bad luck, but Bergerault's command - no, never.
Missiles were beginning to rip through hyperspace all around the devoted destroyers; yet, seemingly bearing a charmed life, they held grimly on their way. They were expending their dotation of artillery projectiles rapidly, though. Each time an enemy missiles approached them, their machine cannons fired of a barrage of proximity-fused shells. The hostile devices were then intercepted by the veritable wall of projectiles which these guns produced. Given the limited size of the destroyers, that system could hardly go on for long.
More than once the sharp crash of a powerful nuclear warhead exploding astern caused the lieutenant-commander to duck his head; despite his bravery. Useless as it was under these circumstances, the instinct could not be entirely suppressed; it was sitting too deep. Already rents were visible in the Mandana's funnels, through which the smoke poured in long trailing wisps. By now, the Mandana was due to launch home two of her deadly weapons the accelerations tubes were readied and the destroyer trained onto the target; a tiny adjustment of her course. With his hand upon the firing-trigger the command master chief petty officer in charge of missile coxswain waited, as impassive as if carved in marble, ready to speed the missiles on their way, and apparently indifferent to the fact that the enemy was at the same time as well pointing deadly warheads at the Mandana, each of which would involve the destroyer and her entire crew in absolute and instantaneous destruction, if hitting home.
Suddenly the leading destroyer ported helm, turning so swiftly and skidding so excessively that, for the moment, Bergerault thought that she had received a mortal blow. Her alert commander had noticed a suspicious movement amongst the irregular line of besieged Aesuron war-ships, now almost within effective missile range.
Out from behind the screen of battleships tore an Aesuron light cruiser and nearly an entire squadron of their long-range frigates, known to bear effective high-distance missiles. Whether it was with the intention of intercepting the Human Nation’s destroyers, or whether about to launch a missile attack upon Admiral Bartholomew-Caffrey's battlecruisers, Bergerault knew not. All he did know was that the rival flotillas were closing at an aggregate rate of more than a lightyear a minute, and that the next few seconds would find the light cruiser and her frigate consorts mixed up in a most inconvenient scrap-shredding.
All attempts at formation were now cast to the winds. Interlining, dodging across each other's bows, the engaging vessels raced madly to and fro, their machine cannons blazing as rapidly as the automated delivery systems could thrust home the cartridges and the mechanics clang the breech-blocks. So intricate was the manoeuvring that Bergerault saw two of the Human Nation’s destroyers almost collide. Their close proximity as enough, though, for devastating interplay between their hyperspace drives, as the respective force fields interacted disadvantageously. Both destroyers basically came to a half, and, while in that position, they were raked by a dozen shells from the enemies, who pounded them with artillery, so close were they. The Human Nation’s cruiser Atossa was sending a few missiles to distract the attackers, yet it was too late and the destroyers received enough hits to damage them so much that they failed to remain in hyperspace.
Almost the next instant Bergerault was aware that a similar peril threatened the Mandana, for a Human Nation’s destroyer, hit in her generator-compartment, circled erratically to starboard across her bows.
Gripping the hyperspace drive direct control levers, Bergerault rammed them to full speed astern. It was his only chance, for he could not pass either across the bows or astern of the crippled destroyer without certain risk of colliding with others of the flotilla. Then he waited - perhaps five seconds - in breathless suspense. Then, the Mandana began to lose way! It now remained to be seen whether she would gather sternway before her sharp stem crashed into the other destroyer amidships.
Even as he gripped the levers Bergerault and tried to get his vessel clear of the danger, he also saw on his overhead screen what was going on there. One of the Mandana’s telescoped had automatically zoomed in on the other vessel, for it was the closest-by object. The crippled craft's rear gun turret slew the weapon round to have a smack at the Aesuron vessel that had hit her so badly. The next instant a hostile shell punched squarely into the machine cannon’s housing, bursting with a bright detonation.
When the smoke had spread, the gun turret was no longer visible, only a few twisted pieces of metal marking the spot where the mounting had been. Of the astronauts controlling the machine cannon none remained.
Being already damaged severely, the destroyer drew in more artillery fire. Se
veral Aesuron frigates, smaller and faster than the destroyers from the Human Nation, buzzed around and pumped round after round of high-speed projectiles into the defenceless vessel. The Aesuron were so certain to complete the killing that the hurt destroyer wasn’t even worth a missile to them. And they turned out to be right. Despite the Mandana’s best efforts to keep the hostile frigates away, the injured destroyer succumbed to the hornets’ stings. The current energy buffer was hit and subsequently several of the main supply lines from the generator. The conning tower was turned into a sieve and the ripples of shock waves ran through the ship’s main body, which was about to break apart, even before the vessel dropped out of hyperspace.
Everybody but one astronaut on board was dead. By the vagaries of impacts and explosions he was practically unhurt, except for being partially stunned by the terrible detonation. For some moments he stood stock-still, as if unable to realize that the destroyer he was so familiar with disintegrated and his comrades had disappeared; then, making a sudden bound, he leapt into the only remaining fictional rescue raft. Evidently under the impression that the vessel was on the point of foundering, he had decided to make for it.
Well it was for him that the Mandana was now almost motionless, although her twin hyperspace drives were churning out energy into the force field to make her going hard astern. Caught by the backwash of the revolving force fields, his tiny rescue raft was swept past the side like a cork in a mountain torrent, until one of the drones of the Mandana's attached itself to the rescue raft. The drone was connected via a carbon nanotube rope to the destroyer, and quickly the little device and the rescue raft were pulled into the Mandana’s hangar.
As coolly as if mustering for divisions, the rescued chief petty officer made saluted, thanked the astronaut who had rescued him, introduced himself as a gunner, and requested to be allowed to assist in serving the Mandana's artillery.
