by T. R. Harris
Sherri remained silent. She knew there was a reason she was being kept alive, and Adam and Riyad had been at the top of her list. Were they really coming for her?
“I see the worry in your face,” said Synnoc. “You have cause, because even now your two heroes are working their way toward Juir. They are making progress, yet I am growing tired of this game. Soon I will allow them entry. I will let them come here, only to fall into my trap. They will suspect it, yet their feelings for you—and the other female—with be their downfall. They will come regardless, and what can two Humans do against the whole of the Juirean people?
“They can kill you…just like I almost did.”
“Yes, your attack was unexpected. With the others, I will be prepared.”
Now Sherri laughed, which made the Juirean stand back and frown.
“Prepare all you want. It won’t help. You should know by now that every time you start expecting us to do one thing, we end up doing something completely different. Say your prayers, dickhead. If Adam and Riyad are coming for you, you ain’t got too much longer to live. Now…what did you bring me here to talk about?”
The rest of Sherri’s visit wasn’t so cordial. Synnoc lost it after that and hit her four times across the face before she passed out. After that she was removed and returned to her cell far below the Pinnacle Room, within the sub-basement of the pyramid building. Her left eye was swollen shut and the right wasn’t much better. Her bottom lip was cut and oversized, making talking nearly impossible and smiling a painful exercise—if she had anything to smile about.
Even though her attack on the Elder failed, she did gain some valuable information. Adam and Riyad were on their way, and if they didn’t make it to Juir on their own, Synnoc was going to be foolish enough to open the door for them. The alien was also going to keep her alive until then. It gave her time to figure a way to help.
Of course, it would help if she could see….
Synnoc had had enough. He was tired of waiting for Adam Cain to reach Juir on his own accord. And now his female Sherri Valentine had nearly killed him. He wanted them all dead—including the Formilian—and he wanted them dead now. He contacted Fleet Marshal Kradis.
“Clear a channel for Cain to approach; let us see if he is paying attention.”
“What of the Human fleet?” Kradis asked. “Would they not enter the channel as well?”
“Let us hope so. We have units in place, do we not?”
“Close to three thousand, and more being added every few hours as they arrive from other regions of the Expansion.”
“Then we have nothing to fear. If the Human fleet moves into the channel, we will crush them with our superior numbers.”
“And if Cain does not come straight to Juir?”
“Kradis, why are you so negative on my plan? I understand these Humans better than you. Cain wants to get to Juir. All I am doing is opening the door for his arrival.”
“What precautions are being made for his arrival, my Lord?”
“He will not attack us with his super starship, not when we are holding the prisoners. He will find a way to land on the planet and the come to us, just him and Riyad Tarazi. They will think themselves clever for doing so, since we will be looking for his starship, and not a team of Human terrorists. I have all approaches to the Kacoran Plain monitored, as well as the Malor-Hydon Tower. They will not be able to gain entry without my knowing of it.”
“Even so, Synnoc, I wish to place extra guards around you.”
The Elder laughed. “Do you truly believe Cain can threaten me here on Juir? Please give me more credit, my friend. If Adam Cain gets within fifty miles of this building it will be because I allowed him to get this close, and he will be monitored all the way.”
“My concern is only for you and the Expansion.”
“I know that. Now clear the channel and send the ships you relieve to reinforce the main fleet. As I know the Humans, once Cain begins his run for Juir, their fleet will follow through the void we’ve opened. This way we control the timetable for the engagement. Prepare, my friend. The end is near.”
27
Fleet Marshal Kradis notified the Elder the moment the Human fleet began to move.
“My Lord, developments to report. First, Cain has broken off from his attacks and is engaging multiple sequential jumps straight for Juir. It appears your broadcasts of the prisoners’ arrival on Juir has prompted him to action.”
“I will give credit where due, my friend. Your suggestion to have them rushed to Juir was a major contribution.”
“I appreciate that, my Lord.” Kradis knew his friend was embarrassed for the rude remarks he’d made to him recently. This was his way of making amends.
“And other developments?”
“The Human fleet is on the move. They are entering the channel toward Juir at fleet speed.”
“Their strength?”
“Under two thousand, my Lord.”
“They are advancing with so few ships?”
“They must believe they can follow in the opening you have left for Cain. If they strike Juir with even that few ships, it could end the war.”
“If they strike us, Fleet Marshal. We both know they cannot. What is our current strength within the channel?”
“Three thousand forty-eight. Another five hundred are due on station in two days.”
“Against a force of less than two thousand, and spread out over five light-years or more, is that correct?”
“Yes, closer to six light, my Lord. Very thin in any respect.”
“Any other Human forces in range?”
“None, my Lord. The closest is eight hundred light-years away. Even so, that is a force of only three hundred vessels.”
Synnoc grinned. “Prepare your units, Kradis. It is now time to close the trap.”
“Very well, my Lord. And Synnoc, my friend, congratulations.”
Kradis wasn’t beyond a little amend-making of his own.
The Human fleet was clustered into three task groups of approximately six hundred ships each and spread out over a line six light-years in length. A carrier-equivalent vessel was included in each cluster, with a screen of battleships, cruisers, frigates and destroyers fanning out from there. They moved at fleet speed, which meant they could only travel as fast as their slowest vessel.
Each of the ships in the fleet was represented by an energy signal on the threat boards of the Juireans, and easily tracked by the myriad of passive monitors laid in their path.
This slow rate of passage also meant that over ninety percent of the fleet was moving at approximately half their operational speed, leaving generators with a lot of extra capacity not being utilized.
However, in this case, it was being used.
The strategy of Admiral Morton Hollingsworth had devised was pure genius, and one that would assign the name Hollingsworth to the history books, as one of the great military tacticians in history. What the admiral had explained during the conference call with his senior operational commanders was this:
Every fleet vessel carried grapples, either long cables or magnetic devices used for towing or being towed in case of a breakdown. Hollingsworth ordered that each of the eighteen hundred ships in the fleet take on at least one other ship in tow, in many cases two, and all in dark status.
The building of this ghost fleet was made possible through contributions from the Q’uel, the Belsonians, the Gada, and more. As the Humans moved into Expansion territory beyond the Fringe, they found dozens of worlds no longer wishing to live under the boot of the Juireans. Some of these worlds could only contribute a ship or two to the cause, while others sent a hundred or more.
On the threat boards of the Union fleet, the Juirean force numbered over three thousand ships, and all closing on their position. On command, the captains of the active fleet released their grapples, allowing the ghost fleet of twenty-nine hundred warships to spin up their generators and activate maneuvering gravity-wells.
&nb
sp; The Juireans had saturated the battle field with field dampeners, and as the number of threats on the enemy screens suddenly tripled, they turned them off as fast as they could to begin a retreat into full gravity-wells. That didn’t happen. By then, the Humans had deployed dampeners of their own.
There would be no running away from this fight, on either side.
The Juireans had concentrated their force near the center of the six light-year battle field, aiming to split the Human force in two and then envelop each half in a bubble of attacking warships. Now this phalanx was met with overwhelming numbers of Union warships, coming at them on three sides.
Captain Derek Emerson was the head of TS-23—originally with six hundred active warships under his command. Now his force numbered a little over twelve hundred. He was in the portside command chair aboard the carrier Geoffrey Rutledge, named after one the heroes of the first Human-Juirean war. It was noisy on the bridge, but it was a soothing, confident type of noise. His people were well-trained and fearless. Most were veterans of the Sol-Kor conflict, while the captain went back through all three major star wars: against the Juireans, the Kracori and the Sol-Kor. Now he watched with almost giddy enthusiasm as his units tore into the unprepared Juireans.
Any victory was good. But an overwhelming victory against an arrogant and over-confident enemy was even better.
His units raced out to form their own phalanx, which cut the starboard side cluster of Juirean ships in half. Next, he deployed four hundred two-man fighters from his carrier. These extremely fast ships sped past the current battlefield to cut off any retreating Juirean ships. In the meantime, his destroyers and cruisers concentrated on crushing the enemy caught between his phalanx and the main part of his force. It was like a vice being closed around four hundred Juirean vessels, while those outside were harassed by his tiny fighters.
“Give me a report on the other task groups,” he commanded. He could pull up the report on a data screen himself, but then he’d have to divert his eyes from the magnificent scene he was watching across his expansive bridge.
“Results similar to ours,” a young lieutenant-JG called out. “They’re still putting up a fight, though. Enemy attempting to regroup in sector four.”
“Any calls for assistance at this time?”
“No, sir. But if need be, we could spare a hundred ships or so to the effort.”
“Pre-designate, lieutenant. That will cut down on our reaction time.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Captain, I have incoming,” another voice called out from across the bridge.
“Course?”
“Heading this way, appears to be some sort of suicide squadron. Started with forty ships, now down to eleven.”
“Will they reach us?”
“Some will.”
The ship was already at General Quarters, with half the crew wearing environment suits in air-less compartments along the outer perimeter of the mighty warship. All other non-essential compartments—such as berthing—were unmanned and evacuated of atmosphere.
“CIC, this is the Captain, do we have a tactic for the incoming?”
“Yessir—they intend to ram us,” came a voice over the bridge speakers.
Emerson grimaced, his sense of giddiness now gone.
The Rutledge could withstand just about any barrage of flash bolt the enemy could throw against them. But a ship bent on ramming, and approaching at nearly the speed of light, was something completely different. They had no defense for that, except to send out every fighter they had left, while saturating the space around the carrier with flak.
“Helm, evasive maneuvers. Get us dancing.”
“Aye, sir. Commencing evasive maneuvers.”
The contacts were now within range of the Rutledge’s screens. Four of the break-through eleven still remained; the other seven hadn’t made it.
One of the contacts sped past them at a distance of only nine hundred thousand miles.
“He’s doubling back, sir.”
“Concentrate defensive fire in that sector.”
“Yessir.”
The contact suddenly vanished from the screen.
“Report.”
“We got him, sir. Three more closing.” The voice from somewhere within the massive bridge was warbling. “Sir, strike imminent. Six seconds!”
“Brace for impact! Gravity off!” a recorded voice boomed from the 1-MC.
Emerson felt his stomach race into his throat as the internal gravity-wells dissolved. This would reduce the effect of inertia on the impact, but little more—
The collision was incredible. An object traveling that fast had unbelievable kinetic energy; it didn’t need to fire any cannon bolts to be deadly.
The Rutledge surged to port while Emerson’s body fought to stay in place. The result was a feeling like he was being pushed through a pasta press, as his waist and shoulder straps cut into soft flesh. Through squinting eyes, he saw a number of his bridge crew fly across the room as their restraints failed. The interior bulkheads of the ship raced to meet the hapless crewmembers. They struck hard against metal, moments before floating away surrounded by ever-widening clouds of blood balls in the weightless environment.
A forward monitor displayed a rapidly moving progression of compromised compartments, radiating out from the impact point. The Juirean craft—only a small fighter like the ones the Rutledge carried—had hit aft-quarter starboard, just forward of the launch bays and the right-side engine room. It had continued into the ship until exploding out the port side. Now death and destruction was infecting the ship like a cancer, both forward and aft of the breach.
“Captain! Another—”
The last remaining Juirean fighter now reached the stricken carrier. This one hit amidships, taking out auxiliary sensing, the mess decks, maintenance rooms and a number of berthing compartments. This collision, combined with the other, placed so much strain on the Rutledge that Captain Emerson heard a hideous squealing ringing through the hull of the ship. She was breaking in half.
“Shut down all engines still operating. Helm, let her go.”
“Sir, helm isn’t responding anyway.”
“Engines at twenty, now ten…all engines stop.”
The squealing continued, just not as pronounced.
“Sir, we just lost three of the starboard launch bays, along bulkheads 9-454 through 18-398.”
“Integrity?”
“Down to thirty percent and falling.”
Emerson unfastened his safety harness, but held onto the command chair to keep from floating away. “Comm, contact the nearest vessels for assistance.” He pressed a button on the arm of his chair. “This is the Captain; all hands abandon ship. I repeat, all hands abandon ship.”
Emerson turned to the young lieutenant junior-grade. “Mister Smith, what was the last word on the battle?”
“Success, sir. Decisive.”
“Glad to hear it. Now, get moving.”
“After you, sir,” said the young officer with a sad smile.
“You know I can’t do that, Mister Smith, but I will be right behind you.”
Synnoc had made the ten mile journey to the Military Command Center to supervise the great battle, knowing full-well that his friend would be irritated by the interference.
Kradis was the Fleet Marshal; it was his job to conduct the battle, not the Elder’s. But this was the moment Synnoc had been envisioning for years. He wasn’t satisfied to play spectator, not for something this important.
That was then.
Now he was an emotional wreck, yelling at subordinates and throwing anything that wasn’t attached to something large across the dimly-lit control room.
It all started when nearly every contact point on the threat board suddenly doubled or trebled. How could this have happened? Were they employing a type of dimensional jump-drive?
“No sir,” Kradis reported. “Site reports show the additional vessels had been under tow and in dark status. They were undet
ectable.”
“Not to visual observation!”
“My Lord, we could not get a visual, Our units were in hiding. By the time verification was received, they were within the dampening fields.”
Later, as the battle deteriorated even more, Synnoc began to bark orders—many of which countermanded those of the Fleet Marshal—and sending hundreds of Juirean ships into the mass of enemy vessels on one-way suicide missions. None of the Juirean crews refused. These orders came from the Elder himself.
“My Lord, they have lost one of their ship carriers.”
Synnoc looked to Kradis with manic eyes. “Out of how many?”
“They had three.”
“And the other two?”
“Still operational.”
“So I find little joy in your report. What is the latest casualty report?”
Kradis punched keys on his panel. “Over two thousand, the situation is still fluid. Permission to call retreat. We must preserve what we can.”
“And the enemy strength?”
“That, too, is fluid, since we did not have an accurate starting count.”
Synnoc glared at his Fleet Marshal.
“The Humans still have a fleet of over two thousand five hundred ships in strength. If we preserve the remainder of our units, we should be close to parity for defense of Juir.”
“Juir? They will not be allowed to reach Juir!”
“My Lord, we have very little in place to stop them. With the channel open for Cain, the only units we have available are the survivors from this battle.”
“I refuse to accept that. We have five hundred more coming from the Bondit region.”
“In two days, my Lord, and they are on course for the battlefield, not Juir.”
“Divert them.”
“That will add another day to their journey.”
A dozen sets of yellow eyes were on the pacing Council Elder. “How long?”
“How long what, my Lord?” asked Kradis.
“How long until they get to Juir?”
“They the Humans, or they our forces?”
