“Contact Commodore Lopez,” he ordered, as the last gunboat died. Two of his superdreadnaughts had taken minor damage, but the remaining heavy combat ships were intact. “Order him to commence Operation Sword.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
Roman nodded. The Outsiders were on the verge of entering missile range, but would they open fire as soon as they could or would they wait, diminishing his chances of shooting down the missiles before they reached their targets? Roman would have waited; the Outsiders, however, might have other thoughts. It all depended on how many missiles they could fire at a time...
“Enemy ships entering firing range,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “They’re sweeping us with targeting sensors, but they’re not actually firing.”
“Not yet,” Roman said. They’d probably fire just outside his missile range – or what they thought his missile range to be. It was what they’d done before, with the additional problem that he was trying to fall back on Point Alpha, rather than lunging forward to force himself into missile range. “Update our firing patterns, but hold fire until I issue the order.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
* * *
“The Marsha did better than predicted,” Lieutenant Juneau observed.
“Noted,” Charlie said. The Marsha had loved the idea of sprint-mode gunboats, even if the crews would probably have died before their bodies could be recovered. But they hadn’t cared. To them, dying in battle, with their hands around the enemy’s throat, was the ultimate achievement. “Have you locked missiles on target?”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Juneau said. “However, I have been unable to locate the enemy flagship.”
Charlie nodded, unsurprised. The Federation Navy rotated the datanet through every ship in the fleet, ensuring a considerable degree of redundancy. Losing the command ship would cause nothing more than momentary hesitation, while the new commander was informed that he was now in command. But specifically targeting the command ship was impossible, unfortunately. The tactic worked so well that the Outsider Navy had copied it for itself.
“Target their superdreadnaughts,” he ordered. If nothing else, they had to crush as many enemy battle squadrons as possible. They’d never have a better shot at their hulls. “And fire in two minutes.”
“Weapons locked,” Lieutenant Juneau said.
Charlie waited for the seconds to tick down, then braced himself. “Fire!”
The superdreadnaught shuddered as she unleashed her external racks, hurling five hundred missiles towards the Federation Navy. Her fellows followed moments later, unleashing their own broadsides. Charlie looked up at the display, as yellow icons seemed to merge together into a cloud of death and destruction, and prayed they would be enough. Two years of production had just been expended in a few seconds...
“General,” Lieutenant Juneau snapped. “The enemy ships have just opened fire!”
* * *
“The enemy ships have opened fire,” Lieutenant Thompson said. She paused. “They just fired their external racks.”
“Odd,” Roman commented. He would have flushed both external racks and internal tubes, just to ensure he didn’t lose a ship when a missile detonated an antimatter warhead. Were the enemy holding back? Or were they planning something? Or...did they have fewer long-range missiles than he’d believed? “Return fire.”
Valiant shook violently as she opened fire. Unlike the Outsiders, Roman had fired both internal and external missiles, although their throw weight wasn’t quite a match for the enemy ships. Upwards of forty-five thousand missiles were flying towards his ships, enough to wipe them out of space if the point defense didn’t manage to weaken the missile swarm before it reached its target. He’d fired thirty thousand missiles himself...
“Launch gunboats,” he ordered. The enemy ships seemed to flinch, but – unless they had made a colossal improvement to their drive systems – they didn’t have a hope of getting out of missile range before it was too late. “And push the point defense forward.”
He braced himself as the cloud of red icons bore down on his ships. No matter what precautions he’d taken, it was all too clear that he was about to take a beating. Hundreds of thousands of lives would be lost. And all he could do, he knew, was pray it would be worth it.
* * *
Long-range missiles, Charlie thought, numbly. They built long-range missiles of their own.
He turned his gaze to the sensor display as it updated, rapidly. The missiles didn’t seem to be as efficient as the Outsider designs, but quantity had a quality all its own. His point defense would kill many of them, yet quite a number would get through and hammer his ships...
“Engage them as soon as they enter weapons range,” he ordered. There was no choice, not really. They certainly didn’t have a hope of getting out of range before it was too late. “And then close to engagement range.”
* * *
“The gunboats are engaging the missiles,” Lieutenant Thompson reported. There was a pause. “I can confirm the missiles are armed with antimatter.”
“Surprise, surprise,” Roman muttered. If nothing else, one missile’s explosion might take out several other missiles nearby. He hoped for a chain reaction that would break the entire attack, but it didn’t seem as though they were going to be lucky. “Keep firing.”
He smiled to himself, despite the situation. Gunboats didn’t serve many purposes in war; indeed, the only time the Federation normally deployed them was as part of an assault force passing through an Asimov Point. They were large enough to survive transit and small enough to be rated expendable. However, Roman had fitted several hundred gunboats with point defense weapons and targeting systems that would allow them to engage missile swarms, hopefully from a safer distance than any starfighter. It seemed to be working, he decided. The Outsiders weren’t the only innovative people in the galaxy...
“Missiles entering attack range,” Lieutenant Thompson said. Hundreds were picked off, but thousands survived. “Sir...”
“Brace for impact,” Roman ordered, quietly.
The missiles slammed home. Roman watched as damage reports spread rapidly through the fleet; Mountbatten, Powell, Jellicoe, Bismarck, Muhammad and Caesar were blown into vapor, while Spruce and Tirpitz were badly damaged and fell out of formation. The enemy seemed to be targeting superdreadnaughts specifically, which allowed his smaller ships to cover them without worrying about their own protection, but there were just too many missiles to take them all down. Valiant shuddered twice as missiles slammed into her shields, then vibrated as the helmsman angled her weaker shields away from the enemy fire...
“Denver is reporting major damage, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “She’s...”
She broke off. “Denver is gone, sir.”
“Noted,” Roman said. He glanced at the display, then gritted his teeth. “Keep us falling back on the Asimov Point.”
* * *
“Sir, the missiles are emitting odd radiation,” Lieutenant Juneau reported. “They’re...Jesus Christ!”
Charlie had barely a moment to realize what was happening before his superdreadnaught screamed like a gored bull. Admiral Justinian had designed missiles intended to channel the fury of an antimatter warhead into a single deadly beam; the Federation had taken the concept and improved upon it. What did it matter if the missiles were destroyed within milliseconds of activation, the designers had asked, if most of the blast went in the right direction? It was the old concept of a laser warhead, scaled up to eleven. And the Outsiders were taken completely by surprise.
“Hope, Light, Charity and Admiral Anderson have been destroyed,” Lieutenant Juneau said. “Twelve other superdreadnaughts have taken significant damage...”
“I see,” Charlie said. They’d been hurt worse than he’d expected, all the more so because he hadn’t anticipated long-range missiles. The warheads hadn’t been the only things the Federation had scaled up. But he still held the missile advanta
ge, even if the Federation Navy was falling back on the Asimov Point. “Continue firing as soon as we enter normal missile range.”
He smiled, darkly, as the two fleets converged. The battle was far from over...
“Picking up a signal from Point Delta,” Lieutenant Juneau said. “Enemy ships destroyed all but one of the guardian squadron. The Asimov Point is no longer secure.”
Charlie felt sweat trickling down the back of his neck. There was no point in taking out the guardian squadron, unless the enemy had something up their sleeve. But there was nothing on the far side of Point Delta, apart from Outsider fortifications. They’d just detached a squadron of ships from their main body, for what?
“Continue the advance,” he ordered. He was jumping at shadows. If he broke off now, it would leave the Federation in possession of the system. “And fire as soon as we enter engagement range.”
Chapter Thirty-One
If, however, someone manages to solve the problem of coordination, the enemy commander will never know what hit him.
-The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199
Boston, 4100
“They’re continuing the advance, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
Roman shrugged. He’d expected as much, even though the enemy CO probably knew the Asimov Point was no longer secure. There was no real reason to break off and retreat to Point Delta, at least as far as the enemy CO could see. They’d be giving up their sole chance to inflict real damage on Roman’s fleet if they retreated...or so they thought.
“Keep us falling back,” he ordered. The enemy would be within standard missile range in three minutes, unless they reduced speed sharply. By then, he wanted to be able to call on the launchers orbiting Point Alpha. “And get me a direct link to Commodore Lopez.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
Roman keyed a switch. “Record,” he ordered. It was a shame they couldn’t open enough bandwidth over the StarCom to allow for a proper conversation, but it hardly mattered, not when he could simply record a message. “Commodore Lopez. You are ordered to begin Stage Two once you receive this message. I say again, you are ordered to begin Stage Two once you receive this message.”
He closed the connection, then looked up. “Send the message,” he ordered. “And then start the timer; two minutes, thirty seconds.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
The display suddenly sparkled with angry red icons. “Admiral,” Lieutenant Thompson added, “the enemy ships have opened fire.”
“Return fire,” Roman ordered. The timing wasn’t perfect; the enemy had managed to open fire before he could call on the fortresses for additional protection. “Order the fortresses to launch their starfighters, then stage them out here to support us.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
Roman checked the timer. One minute, twenty-seven seconds to go.
* * *
“The enemy ships have opened fire,” Lieutenant Juneau reported. “They’re targeting our lighter ships.”
Charlie frowned. That was odd. Oh, he could see the point – the fewer point defense platforms, the better – but he couldn’t understand why the enemy were wasting their fire. Right now, their only hope lay in killing as many superdreadnaughts as possible...or on trying to break contact and escaping. Combined with the loss of Point Delta, it was either an attempt to rattle him or a sign the enemy had something else up their sleeves.
“Continue firing,” he ordered. They were almost close enough to go to rapid fire, whereupon the Federation ships would be rapidly smashed. But they should be clawing him back before they died. “And launch a flight of probes. I want to know what’s out there.”
He forced himself to sit still as the superdreadnaughts continued firing. The enemy kept their odd firing pattern, stripping away his smaller ships one by one. It was actually quite impressive, in a way, but worrying. The one thing he’d learned about Emperor Marius’s protégée was that he was far from stupid, yet he was being stupid now. Or acting stupid. Why?
It looked like a certain victory. The Federation ships would be unable to reach the Asimov Point before most of them were killed. He could bring up the Marsha suicide squads and break through the defenses, then obliterate the fortresses and punch deep into the heart of the Federation. The access to the inner Asimov Point lines alone would prove decisive. Countless wavering worlds would switch sides, turning on their Federation garrisons and surrendering their industrial plants to the Outsiders. Victory – total victory – would be within their grasp.
So why were the enemy practically handing him a victory?
“General,” Lieutenant Juneau snapped. “I’m picking up incoming ships!”
Charlie swung around and stared at the display. Red icons – new red icons – had popped into existence, advancing on his formation from the rear. The Federation Navy had crafted a trap, he realized numbly, as the tally of incoming ships started to click upwards. Five whole battle squadrons, nearly a hundred smaller ships and...several large ships of unknown design and capabilities. They couldn’t exist. But they did.
The fleet they sent to Goldstone must have doubled back, he thought, with a sudden sense of bitter sickness. He’d never thought that anyone would dare uncover a priceless world merely to lure an enemy fleet into engagement range. Hell, Admiral Garibaldi had already sacrificed over fifty thousand lives just to prime the trap. He must be out of his mind...
He forced the thought aside. “Emergency orders,” he snapped. Now, stripping away the smaller ships made sense. “All ships are to alter course to...”
The new fleet opened fire.
* * *
Roman watched, feeling cold exultation, as Commodore Lopez opened fire. His ships had been loaded with long-range missiles too, but that wasn’t the only surprise. The engineers had bolted countless missile pods to the hulls of bulk freighters, giving the Commodore a throw weight well above anything the enemy might expect. By now, a new tidal wave of missiles – a full Weber – was raging towards the Outsider Fleet. The enemy ships were attempting to evade, but it was far too late. They were going to take one hell of a beating.
“Reverse course,” he ordered. The Outsiders had noticed Commodore Lopez a minute or two too early. They’d have a chance to get back to Point Delta or, more likely, head for somewhere they could drop into FTL. “And continue firing.”
* * *
Charlie sat, stiff and cold, on his command deck as the missiles closed in. The enemy had timed it perfectly, catching his fleet between missiles coming from two different vectors. He had no choice, but to turn to face the newcomers, which left his flanks exposed to missiles from the old force. And that meant he was definitely about to take a pasting. Losing the smaller ships would really hurt.
“Continue firing,” he ordered, although he knew it was pointless. The battle was lost; the only thing he could do, really, was pull out of the system as fast as possible, leaving any stragglers behind. “And order the Marsha to launch attacks on the enemy fleet.”
He braced himself as the torrent of missiles slammed home, the impacts sending shocks through his command chair. A dozen superdreadnaughts died instantly, their shields battered down by multiple missile hits, while several more fell out of formation, streaming plasma from their damaged hulks. He hoped – prayed – that the Federation was willing to take prisoners, as there was no way he could stop and pick any survivors up before the advancing enemy overcame him. Fifteen more were badly damaged, badly enough that one or two additional hits would either cripple or destroy them. And his smaller ships had been almost completely wiped out. The only really intact survivor was a single battlecruiser.
“The Prometheus is to detach herself from the fleet,” he ordered. His voice was so cold it sounded like someone else speaking, even in his own ears. “She is to fly directly to Point Delta and make transit, if that seems possible. If so, she is to head directly to Galen and report to the commander there.”
He gritted his teeth. Chang Li was there, along with representatives from a dozen worlds that might join the Outsider Federation. They wouldn’t now, he was sure, not after the Outsiders had taken a terrific bloody nose. It might not prove decisive – the Federation would need time to recuperate itself, then locate Outsider homeworlds – but it would certainly prolong the war. And, no matter how long it took the Federation to find the worlds in the Beyond, they would have no difficulty targeting Galen, Athena or any of the other worlds in the Rim.
We could lose most of our gains, he thought, bitterly. And that would be disastrous.
“The battlecruiser has left the fleet,” Lieutenant Juneau reported. “She’s on her way.”
Charlie nodded. The Federation had destroyed the pickets at Point Delta. Presumably, their ships were still there. Would there be time for the battlecruiser to get through the Asimov Point before she was intercepted? Or would the forces guarding Point Delta’s far side come through long enough to cover her retreat?
“Send a signal to the captured fortresses,” he ordered. “The crews are to evacuate at once.”
He took a breath. “And send another signal to the fleet,” he added. “The main formation is to proceed to the closest point we can activate the stardrive. Any starship that falls out of formation, including this one, is to be abandoned.”
Lieutenant Juneau looked up at him. “Sir?”
“Do it,” Charlie snapped. He had to save as many ships as possible, even if it meant abandoning vessels that might be salvageable, if they had time. “And enter the order into the fleet’s log. The responsibility is mine and mine alone.”
* * *
“I don’t understand,” Roebuck said. The new orders had come in while they’d been sweeping the captured fortress for useful intelligence. “Why do we have to prepare to leave?”
“The battle is going badly,” Uzi said. It was impossible to tell what was going on, at least through the sensors mounted on the small fleet of shuttles. The fortress’s own sensors had been ruined beyond immediate repair. “And the CO wants us to haul ass out of here before the feds catch up with us.”
The Shadow of Cincinnatus Page 30
