“That, Ladies and Gentlemen, gets us up to date. If this war is to be brought to a satisfactory conclusion, we need to find a way of landing a crushing blow. Your task group, composed of the cruisers De Gaulle and Spectre, the strike boat carrier Pankhurst, plus three support ships, all under the command of Admiral Nisman, will proceed first to the Centaur planet, then beyond. Your objective will be simple: find where we can hurt the Nameless.”
Wingate nodded towards the two marine officers as he continued.
“We have no way of knowing what if anything you will find out there, so you will be assigned a larger than usual marine complement – a full company under the command of Major Kerr. That is the overview, you will now be taken through the mission in more detail...”
3rd July 2068
As the metaphorical crow flew, the journey to the Centaur planet should have taken in the region of four weeks, three, if Spectre had been on her own. But between the slower speed of the support ships and the need to use isolated systems when they made real space re-entry to cool down the engines, the trip took closer to six. They didn’t stop for long or even enter the system. Instead, the Pankhurst deployed a scout to quietly check it. A year and a half earlier, when Willis landed on the planet, it had been scoured of all intelligent life, with just the mouldering ruins of cities to declare their previous existence. Now there was a Nameless space gate on the planet’s Blue Line and a handful of their transports loading or unloading from a small space station, all protected by a few warships. As a target it was well inside the task force’s weight class but the Admiral shook his head. This wasn’t what they were here for and there was no point tipping the Nameless off that they were there for the sake of such a paltry prize. So they turned their back on known space and headed out into the unmapped void. After all, they could always attack on the way back.
“There’s one thing I just don’t get,” Lieutenant Yoro, Spectre’s communications officer said. For the first time since leaving Earth, Spectre was alone, in jump space en route to another star system whose name was just a computer-assigned string of letters and numbers. The Pankhurst and De Gaulle were waiting behind in the previous system. There were several possible routes forward. Admiral Nisman had decided to stop his force at the edge of a small and unremarkable solar system and deploy the two scout ships carried by Pankhurst forward along with Spectre. For the first time since Dryad, Willis was out on her own, without a senior officer looking over her shoulder.
“Just one thing, Coms?” Willis replied mildly. “I’m impressed.”
The young man blushed and started to stutter a reply.
“Just a joke, Lieutenant,” she interrupted with a smile. “What is it?”
“We’ve been picking up Nameless transmissions for weeks. Mostly faint but always behind us. If we’re heading towards Nameless territory, why aren’t we hearing anything from in front?”
“I’ve been wondering that for weeks,” said Commander Yaya.
As the ship’s second-in-command, she’d been on watch when Willis came up to the bridge. With the ship in jump space there weren’t many personnel on the bridge. The small Chinese-American officer had worked hard to ensure Willis’s smooth integration with the rest of the ship. Willis’s transfer in had likely delayed Yaya’s promotion to a ship of her own, but she seemed to take developments calmly.
Beyond Yaya, the main holo was set to navigation mode. Before they’d left Earth, modifications had been made to the software. It now displayed lines to indicate systems that were thought to be close enough for the Nameless to jump. This far beyond explored space, the charts were based on astronomical observations from Earth and as a result, the estimated distances between stars were a bit sketchy.
With the Nameless limited to individual jumps of four point seven light years, gauging the distance between systems was important. If the gap was too wide, it could be eliminated as a route forward.
They’d expected to be able to follow the Nameless space gates like breadcrumbs, but unlike the ones closer to the combat zone, out here they were deployed in interplanetary space. So unless they were active, they were devilishly hard to spot. In fact, by now they hadn’t seen one in over a week. Whether that was because they weren’t spotting them, or because they simply weren’t there, was the big question.
“Well, the most obvious reason is that there is nothing ahead of us to hear,” Willis replied as she leaned against a support column.
Groundsiders never really understood how bloody big a galaxy was. Too many people seemed to think that a line could be drawn on a chart from Earth, through the Centaur world and onwards to the Nameless world or worlds. One of the three task groups was indeed following that path. Problem was a degree or two ‘off’ that line, rapidly equated to scores of light years. In fact, the course they were on was not particularly promising. They were moving slowly toward the edge of the galactic arm Earth resided in. The average gap between stars was opening and soon those gaps might be wider than the Nameless ships could jump.
“Even so, I figured we’d be picking up their FTL transmissions by now,” Yoro said, “even if they were too faint to get a fix on.”
“Their FTL transmitters are better than ours,” Yaya added, “but they’re still pretty narrow band transmissions. Outside the combat zone they might be mostly using couriers like we do. If they’re making only the occasional transmission, then we could be in jump space when it happens and not have heard.”
“The longer we’re out here, the longer the odds we’re simply missing them ma’am,” Yoro politely pointed out.
“Could be a point of security,” Yaya suggested. “They must know the importance of protecting their core worlds and the best way to do that is not allow us to find them in the first place.”
“Or there aren’t worlds to find.”
Yaya rolled her eyes.
“Have you been reading science fiction again, Lieutenant?”
The theory of an entirely space-based civilisation had been suggested in the early days of the war, although mostly by people who no one took seriously.
“All possible,” Willis said. “But as I said, most likely we’re on the wrong track. We haven’t sighted a space gate in over a week, although our route might have something to do with that. We’ll make the usual quiet insertion. See what there is to see.”
The first system composed of lots and lots of nothing interesting but within the second, roughly within the Goldilocks zone, a space gate floated. They wouldn’t have spotted it except that a convoy of gate jumpers came through at just the right moment. Willis dispatched a message drone back to Nisman while Spectre held position at the very edge of the system, watching.
“There wasn’t much activity,” Willis said, nodding towards the display, “but what there was, was informative. A convoy of fifty gate-jumper transports came through as we were sweeping the system. By comparing their engine output to acceleration curve, we established that they must have been running near empty.”
“So transports returning to base to refill,” the Admiral mused.
“Yes, sir,” Willis replied across the laser link.
“That was a big convoy to have only one escort to protect them,” Captain Pincuc of the De Gaulle observed.
“Why waste armed ships back here when they’ve never seen us out this far?” asked Captain Beecher, commander of the Pankhurst and the last participant in their electronic meeting.
“Big convoys would make sense,” Willis said. “While we were waiting for you, we did observe the gate re-orientate to receive the convoy, then turn again to launch them off.”
“And you got a fix on that heading?” Pincuc asked.
“Yes, but that probably means the gate can only receive ships from one direction at a time. So presumably having two convoys coming in at the same time from different locations is a problem. A smaller number of big convoys are more efficient.”
“So we could wait here for an inbound convoy and really clean up!” Be
echer said enthusiastically.
“And give away that we’re here,” Nisman replied more soberly.
“I would imagine, sir, that the only reason the escort is even along is for its FTL transmitter,” Willis said. “I doubt we could take it out before it got a signal off.”
“Wouldn’t matter if we did,” Nisman replied. “The loss of even a complete convoy of those crappy gate jumpers might sting but it isn’t a war-winner. No, what I want to know is where these ships are coming from. Having seen them jump, at least we don’t have to guess which way to go. Where these ships come from, that’s what I’d give my pension pot to know. No gentlemen, onwards and outwards.”
For another five days they followed the breadcrumbs through three systems. Spectre led the way, charting each in turn and identifying the space gates. By now the density of solar systems was dropping significantly. The convoy outpaced them, which considering Spectre was the fastest cruiser in the fleet, was a bit galling. But when they found it, there was no doubt it was what they sought.
“It’s big, whatever else,” said Yaya as she studied the readouts. “Computer is estimating five hundred metres across and nine hundred tall.”
At first they’d thought the system had just another space gate. Then Sensors reported it wasn’t the standard gate design they’d become familiar with. Instead it was the more sophisticated double-gate arrangement linked by a small space station, which had been seen only a few times at major Nameless supply dumps. Then they observed a ship moving close to one of the system’s planets. Spectre had made a quiet insertion behind a gas giant and deployed several drones to look around the planet. It was hard to know yet whether this counted as the jackpot but certainly it was, as the Admiral put it, a discovery of interest. The space station was shaped like a giant lollypop, a spherical body with a long thin structure below, terminating in a second much smaller sphere.
“Passives are reading significant heat being radiated off the lower sphere, Captain,” the sensor officer said, “so that’s likely to be the station reactor.”
“Which puts it well away from the rest of the station,” Willis replied absently. “It also makes the station very vulnerable to having its main power knocked out.”
“So, not a starfort then,” Yaya said. “Which begs the question, what is it?”
That was the million-dollar question all right, Willis thought to herself. But she doubted they would be able to answer that from their current position.
“What kind of defences are we seeing?” she asked.
“Not much,” Yaya replied. “We can see a cruiser here, plus two escorts or scouts, here and here.”
“Which is a pretty limp defence.”
“Doesn’t mean there aren’t armed satellites as well – we wouldn’t spot them at this range. That station could easily hold a squadron of fighters as well.”
“Given how crude their fighters are, that wouldn’t worry me much.”
Willis flicked the display to visual. Nameless stellar architecture definitely had a distinct look to it. A gate jumper transport ship was little more than a shipping container with an engine and a cockpit bolted on. The space gates had an equally crude look to them. Even the space stations with their double gates had a certain ‘pile ‘em high, sell ‘em cheap’ look to them. But that big station, that definitely reminded her of the first time she’d seen Black Prince alongside a Myth class cruiser. Her ship had been a wartime expedience, lashed together. By contrast, the Myth had been built with the expectation of long service. Despite its obvious alien lines, there was something about the station that suggested it had been designed for many decades of service. Her gut told her there was something important within that hull, while her head wondered how to peel it open to get at whatever it was.
“Y’know, it might just be a freight handling centre,” Captain Pincuc suggested.
“And I don’t see that as a bad thing,” Willis replied firmly.
Once Spectre had made an equally discrete retreat from the system, the Admiral ordered the task group to fall back and join their support ships at a relatively close but isolated system six light years away from the alien station. Safely hidden from any prowling Nameless warships, Nisman then summoned them to a high-level conference on board the De Gaulle.
“I have no doubt that we could destroy the station and every other construct in the system,” Nisman said. “In fact I think we could do it with ease. But to take a hostile habitat...”
He turned towards the most junior officer present, the commander of their marine contingent.
“Major Kerr, what are your thoughts?”
With his Fleet Marine uniform and as the most junior officer present, there was no doubt Kerr was the odd man out.
“Sir,” he carefully replied. “There are a lot of potential problems with any attempt to board that station. We have flat-out no idea about its layout – the corridors could be twelve inches high for all we know. It could be chock full of troops or have substantial internal defences. The delivery ship or ships would have to slow to a near halt for my men to be delivered onto target, leaving it and us very vulnerable.”
“So that would be a no then?”
“Sir, we’ve drilled for this, and we have the equipment to breach and board, but that’s against a human installation where we could be sure of the design. An op against this station would more or less be a step into the unknown.”
“The Major’s right to say we don’t know anything,” Willis cut in. “In fact, even after all this time we know next to nothing about the Nameless. Even if that station is just a floating warehouse, its’ intelligence value would be incalculable.”
“And we are only two weeks from our bingo point,” said Beecher. “Another fourteen days and we’ll have to go back for resupply.”
“Maybe then go back now,” Pincuc replied. “Report in and come back better prepared.”
“That’s seven weeks to get back to Earth – bare minimum. Another seven to get back here, plus whatever turn around time. Call it four months,” Beecher pointed out.
“And with respect to the Major, because frankly I know everything he says is correct, but how much better prepared can we be?” Willis added. “There’s no way we can learn about the layout without going in. Right now that station is poorly defended, probably because they have lost so many ships and secondly because they’ve never seen us out this far. If they glimpse even one of our ships – and the odds are sooner or later they will – then we’ll lose the element of surprise and this opportunity will disappear. Right now, unlike any kind of a ship, that station can’t run away.”
“It could blow itself up though and leave us with nothing but a lot of crispy marines,” Pincuc said dourly. “No offence, Major.”
“None taken.”
“My gunner believes he can severe the connector between the main station body and the reactor section,” Willis said. “That would cramp their ability to self-destruct.”
“We could use the strike boats to take out the space gate and draw away the station’s defenders,” Beecher said enthusiastically.
Nisman held up his hand for silence.
“Gentlemen, it is plainly within our remit and abilities to destroy this installation. In fact, we can do it with such little risk that we would not even need our marines to do so. However, attempting to capture a hostile alien space station is something that has never been attempted before, making it a much more difficult mission by several orders of magnitude. The marines will be subject to the greatest risk, so the question must be directed to them – yes or no?”
All eyes turned to the marine officer.
The Major had given no immediate answer. Instead he went back to his own people to examine the problem. A week ticked by as the marines attempted to work the problem, while Spectre returned to keep an eye on the station. While they waited, another large convoy, this time on route Earthward, came through. Sitting on the bridge of a ship designed and built to hunt down enemy transpo
rts, it was maddening to see such a prize pass unmolested. Several small courier type ships, never seen before, came and went. Finally, after three days of observation, Spectre once again slipped away to rejoin the task group.
“It’s on,” Nisman confirmed as the hatch closed behind him.
Once again they were gathered on board De Gaulle. The Major still looked stoic, while Captain Pincuc appeared unenthusiastic.
“Or to be more precise, we’re on to make the attempt. There are a number of cut-outs, which mean this will be either a smash and grab or just a smash.”
“Spectre is ready sir,” Willis said.
“Just as well, Captain,” Nisman replied, “because Spectre will shoulder the highest level of risk.”
There was little warning for the small space station and its attached gate. The eight missile strike boats and their two supporting gunboats dropped into real space right on the Red Line and powered in. The planet it was orbiting was small, roughly in the same class as Mercury, with such a shallow mass shadow that it took the strike boats only fourteen minutes to close to firing range. The cruiser and the two escorts orbiting the planet were only starting to react when the strike boats each launched a missile at the space gate. It was overkill. With no defences of its own, the first missile ripped the gate station open, the second and third blew it apart, leaving the balance to simply spread the wreckage wide. The strike boats altered course towards the approaching defender and continued to close the range. Unnoticed, a single scout ship dropped into real space a light minute out from the planet and watched.
Another sixteen minutes passed and the two groups of warships closed on each other. On the human side, the two gunboats moved to the front of the pack, ready to protect their missile-armed brethren. The three Nameless warships shifted into a triangular formation, the two escorts ready to defend and let their big brother be the one to strike back.
The Last Charge (The Nameless War Trilogy Book 3) Page 24
