by John Ringo
"Great," Butch said. "Then we can get started."
"I've got two other teams I'm monitoring," the Navy guy said. "I gotta go."
"Got this," Butch said. "Go on. Jinji, we're going to have to be careful with this. There's guys working up the tube from us."
"I understand," the Egyptian said. "We will be very careful."
"I want to see each of the settings on the laser heads before you start cutting," Butch said. "I'll set them to cut two meters and no more. Don't mess with them."
"Yes, Mr. Allen."
Butch checked each laser head as the Coptics picked them up and spread out. There wasn't much room in the missile tube, but there was enough for the five-man team.
The tube was circular so Butch had decided to take it out in quarters. He slid forward and used a laser to mark the cut points. Down the middle and across in a cross. Then cut away the edges of each quarter.
Four of the Egyptians started cutting as soon as he was done, he and Jinji standing back to monitor.
The four started from the cardinal points, working towards the middle. The lasers were powerful but the metal was, deliberately, refractory. It took some time to even burn through and cutting across was slow.
"BF, Butch."
"Go, Butch."
"We're starting work on the door," Butch said. "But this is going to take a while. We're having to cut it out."
"All good. Make sure you get the edges good and smooth. The missiles don't slide along the edges but they could come close. Cut close and smooth it out."
"We don't have any grinders."
"I'll get some down to you. How's it going?"
"Slow. But otherwise fine. Where're you?"
"Up at the head of the tube. If you think that's going slow, try getting two hundred tons of melted NI out of the way."
"Heh," Butch chuckled. "Better you than me."
"Just stay safe. Nothing here worth dying over. And if you die, you can't spend your pay."
"Will do."
—|—
"Good lock," Hartwell said.
Waiting to get docked was just about the scariest thing Dana had ever done, including working the scrapyard. At least in the scrapyard the stuff went on a predictable vector.
"Get the cargo out," Dana said, wincing as a shuttle nearly hit her docked. "Fast. I do not want to be here any longer than necessary."
—|—
"Get this," Hartwell said as they undocked. "The 'Marines' are Pathans."
"What's a Pathan?" Dana asked, maneuvering carefully through the chaos. It was getting to be less of a mess, which was nice. Apparently somebody had gotten a dose of sense.
"The Therm has a bunch of Alliance groups," Hartwell said. "Afghanistan's a part of the Alliance. They sent a bunch of their guys to be trained as space marines."
"These are Afghans?" Dana said. Her assigned vector had a shuttle sitting right in it so she had to go out of route. Which put her in someone else's route. "Sorry," she commed.
"No problem," Twenty-Four replied. "Figured you had to dodge that idiot."
"Southern Afghans," Hartwell said. "Pathans. Pushtuns."
"Okay," Dana said.
"You don't get it, do you?" Hartwell said, chuckling. "These are the guys we were fighting for something like twenty years in Afghanistan. Okay, Taliban?"
"You're pulling my leg," Dana said, finally getting it.
"Nope," Hartwell said. "Taliban and Pathan aren't exactly the same, but they were most of the Taliban forces. And their commanders? They're not Marines. They're U.S. Special Forces. The guys that took down the Taliban in Afghanistan then fought there for twenty years."
"We gave 'em laser rifles?" Dana said. "What are we, crazy?"
"Welcome to a brave new world," Hartwell said. "And if we're cross-loading for the reason I think... yeah, we're crazy."
—|—
"I feel like the XO of the Yorktown," Commodore Pounders said. "We're clearing a lot of the damage by cutting it away and jettisoning it overboard. Which means we're leaving an even larger trail of debris. The good news is, we'll have about eighty percent functionality in an hour."
"So..." Admiral Kinyon said, considering the scratch plan. "The last question is maneuver control. Can we make the insertion?"
"We figured out why we were getting anomalous delta at least," Captain Pohlman said. "We took multiple hits on the Orion, sir."
"But it's running, right?" Kinyon said, frowning.
"Yes, sir," Pohlman said, shaking his head. "It's still running. Just sort of... sideways. Spring four took most of the impact and it's a bit... bent. We've figured out the compensation. And internal rotation is, of course, unaffected. We... should be able to make the insertion. But the Troy's not a really precision instrument. And it's a narrow window."
"How long to get into position?"
"We'll be in position by the time Colonel Helberg's teams are done, sir," the captain replied. "We're maneuvering for insertion at the moment. Just using very light adjustments. We'll have to increase delta for insertion."
"Understood," Kinyon said. "The orbital vector in Eridani is higher."
"To boldly go where no battle globe has gone before," Captain Sharp said. "It's true. Humans really are crazy."
—|—
"The station is going into the Eridani system?" Gorku said. "Are you insane?"
"It's a big station," Tyler said, looking at the plans. "Getting through the gate is going to be interesting. As to insane... Yes. We're insane. As a species we do things then see if it works. It's called 'trial and error.' Mostly error, admittedly. Also 'the scientific method.' Which is just trial and error dressed up in fancy language."
"It's not can you get through the gate," Gorku said, nervously. "It's what might be on the other side."
"Should be light forces," Tyler replied. "And a bunch of Rangora engineers desperately trying to take down the space docks before something comes through the gate. The fun part is trying to get through before they're ready to leave."
"And you intend to go along on this suicide mission?" Gorku said.
"I'm not the only one, Niazgol. You're going, too."
"What?"
—|—
"All hands, civilian and military, this is Admiral Kinyon.
"Troy Battle Globe, BG One, has been ordered by the President of the United States, in consultation with the Alliance partnership officials, to move forward into the Epsilon Eridani system, determine the nature of enemy forces therein, engage enemy forces at will and remove from that system any materials which can be moved in no more than one day. This can be styled as a reconnaissance raid in really enormous force. Its purpose is to show the Rangora that Terra is a strategic threat and thereby get them to the negotiating table. We anticipate light forces guarding the AV support ships. Light being defined as one or more battleship squadrons with supporting cruisers and frigates.
"Commander's intent is to have the Troy engage all armed vessels in the system then launch CruRon One, augmented, as well as Shuttle Squadrons One-Four-Two and One-Four-Three with elements of Fifth and Ninth Marine regiments to take such vessels as are determined to be mobile enough to remove from the system. We are particularly interested in the semi-mobile repair docks for the AVs. That is the primary target.
"Boot them in the ass, don't piss on them. For the first time, Earth is not standing on the defensive. We're about to teach these lizard bastards why you don't mess with Terra. We're going to teach that lesson by blowing the crap out of their pussy little cruisers and battleships and taking their stuff. If I could paint a skull and crossbones on the side of the Troy I'd do it. I want a great big 'Arrh!' from all hands as we pass through the gate. That is all."
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
"We could send some of the battleship squadrons in..."
"Anything that can destroy an AV squadron is not going to have much trouble with a battleship squadron!" Star Marshall Gi'Bucosof shouted.
The staff officer slid down
in his seat, quivering.
The arguments had been going on for the last three hours as the two Marshals tried to figure out some way to pull victory from defeat.
The support fleet, with two Aggressor squadrons, was parked on the out-going side of the gate twenty thousand kilometers from the exit. They had waited in vain for the return of the AVs until it became obvious no one was returning. Since then they had been taking down the docks.
The main battle fleet, the AV Dwarf Marauder and twenty-two Aggressor squadrons, was hovering on the input side of the gate as its various staffs and commanders shouted at each other and tried to assign blame.
"We should retreat as fast as possible," Marshall Lhi'Kasishaj said. "Hook up the tractors of the ships and pull the docks through the gate. Kulo only knows what the Terrans are going to send through any moment now. They've clearly been building ships faster than anyone anticipated."
Lhi'Kasishaj was pretty much resigned to his fate. He was going to get his head cut off, even though his people had pointed out that six AVs were simply insufficient.
Taking down the docks was, as always, taking time. They had to be disassembled and then moved through the gate in portions, otherwise the relatively fragile platforms would be damaged. But at this point, he was ready to get out of the system. Even though that probably meant being shorter.
"You spineless coward!" Gi'Bucosof screamed. "That would be your choice. You and your working group that couldn't even figure out the Thermopylae was online!"
They'd gotten that much of a transmission from the second group. That they were taking fire from the Thermopylae, and the Troy was physically blocking the gate. The humans were back to thoroughly jamming hypercom so they didn't know more than that.
"When we get back I am going to denounce you as incompetent and a coward," Gi'Bucosof continued. "This was, after all, your command."
"Which you unilaterally took over," Lhi'Kasishaj pointed out. "The mission logs show that every order was given by you. I was relegated to listening to my mission be destroyed by your orders!"
"We'll see what High Command has to say about—"
"Marshall..." Captain Azugom said. "I'm getting word that there is a gate activation. The codes are for Terra."
"Perhaps..." Gi'Bucosof said. "Perhaps the first group survived?"
"And perhaps this battle is truly over," Lhi'Kasishaj said, voicing the thoughts of every sane person in the meeting. "Captain, send a signal to the fleet to prepare to defend the system against the Terran mobile forces—"
"Marshall..." the captain said in a low tone. "It's not cruisers..."
—|—
"Damn..." Kinyon said. "We fit!"
"Close," Captain Pohlman pointed out. "We actually had to sort of bump off of some fields on the gate. That's a pretty powerful system."
"And we have..." Captain Sharp said. "Uh... oh..."
"Define 'uh, oh,'" Admiral Kinyon said, looking at the tac screen. "Uh, oh."
—|—
"Uh, oh," Low Commander Osipheth said as the mass of nickel-iron emerged from the gate.
Aggressor squadrons consisted of one Aggressor, four Cofubof cruisers, two Gufesh destroyers and two Sheshibas frigates.
As the commander of the Sheshiba-class frigate Yettoj, LC Osipheth was about the lowliest commander in the system. But it was still a command and one that he loved.
Watching the Troy emerge was, therefore, pretty much the end of any joy he might have had. Because the entire fleet was well aware that six assault vectors had just taken it on and not come back. Their effect was evident from the scarred surface. Which, along with a credit, would buy you a drink in the club.
"Jachchud signals taking override control," the tactical officer said.
The Aggressors could integrate fire from their full battle group. With the Jachchud taking control of the battle, that was pretty much it for commanding as well. Except for the battle damage.
"Relinquish control," Osipheth said. "For what good it will do."
"We hit it!" Ucelef said. "I don't know who or what... But there's a continuous set of... nuclear explosion... s..." He trailed off.
Osipheth had been looking at the same readings and had the same moment of elation. But he'd also gotten to the fine print faster than his tactical officer.
"I think... that's their drive," the commander said.
"Hah, hah!" one of the tactical enlisted Rangora said. "That's their... that's their..."
"Twenty-five megatons every tenth second," Ucelef said. "Twenty... five..."
"That's their drive!" the tactical tech said. "Their drive! Their drive! Hah, hah... hahhahhahhahhahahaaaaaaa!"
"Appears to be slowing them down, though," Osipheth said. "I think we need a medic up here. And I could use a drink."
—|—
"I have twenty-four Aggressor squadrons, total," Sharp said. "Two forward guarding the docks. That was expected. The twenty-two and an AV were not."
"Hit the guards first," Admiral Kinyon said. "Boot them in the ass, don't piss on them. Then swing around the gate to engage the heavy forces."
"Kick in the ass, aye," Sharp said. "Full launch, Sector Two. Target Sierra Twenty-three. Full launch, Sector West. Target Sierra Twenty-Four. We need to maneuver to engage with lasers. I don't have any guns on North."
"Maneuvering, come about," the admiral said. "Bring West and Two around to target the guard forces on the way by. Keep East, One and North towards the main fleet. Prepare to launch parasite craft."
"Come about, aye," Captain Pohlman said. "West and Two to spinward, aye. East, One, North to antispin, aye."
"Prepare to launch parasites, aye," Commodore Marchant said. "We're stacking them in the launch tubes."
"Antispin Aggressors are in movement," Sharp said. "They've opened fire."
"Joy," Admiral Kinyon said. "Try to keep it off the Orion, why don't you?"
"What about my ships?" Commodore Marchant said.
"Nothing says being in the Navy's safe," Admiral Kinyon said.
—|—
"Joy," LC Osipheth said as the battle globe opened fire. In the first three seconds it had fired more missiles than carried by the entire BBG. He'd already flushed his racks and was potting at it with his four terawatt laser. If any of the lasers of the defending fleet were bothering the globe, it wasn't evident. It was turning, slowly, in space, apparently trying to maneuver to take the main fleet under fire.
"Missile fire targeted on the Jachchud," Lieutenant Ucelef said. "Half of it. The other half is going for the Ru'Kezhilix."
"That's their problem," Osipheth said. "Defense link up?"
"Full lock," Ucelef said. "Not that it's doing much good. We're stopping them but not fast enough."
"I can see that," Osipheth said. "No lasers at least. They don't have that damned solar laser to hit us with."
"Laser fire," Ucelef contradicted him. "Heavy. Targeted on the Ru'Kezhilix. Ru'Kezhilix is... gone."
—|—
The laser of the Troy was not the SAPL but it concentrated more power in one battlestation than any five assault vectors. Many of the aiming collimators had been damaged in the battle but there were more than enough left to hammer the defending battleship battle groups.
It had taken some time to rotate the Troy around to where the main laser could engage but it was in the target box before the missiles got through the Rangora defenses.
One shot was all it took to take down an Aggressor's shields. The next pretty much ripped the wildly maneuvering ships to shreds.
Then the missiles started hunting for viable targets.
—|—
"Take us in alongside the Jachchud," Osipheth ordered. "The port remnants, that is."
The heavy battlewagon had barely withstood the laser of the globe for a second. Then it was cut in half long-wise. Then the viciously powerful laser went on to find other targets, starting with the cruisers. Which gave the Yettoj a few moments of breathing room.
"Alongside the por
t remnants, aye," the pilot replied.
"Sir?" Ucelef said.
"If we can get in there and shut down, we might not be noticed by the remaining missiles," Osipheth said. "We're not going to win this battle but I'd like to survive it."
—|—
"Still trying to sort out the sheep from the goats," Captain Sharp said. "We're about in the basket for the beginning of fire from the main fleet. But the defenders are mostly gone."
"Flush the parasites," Kinyon ordered. "All of them as fast as possible."
The Troy maneuvered like an aging tortoise. They still hadn't killed their velocity from gate exit and were somewhat in danger of hitting one of the docks. But it was time to come around and face the main fleet.
"Flush parasites, aye," Commodore Pounders said.
—|—
"After everything else about the Troy," Captain Kepler said, "this is one thing I can't quite get over."
"Concur, sir," Booth said.
"Carter, stand by for launch."
"Ready for launch, aye," Captain Kepler said, bracing himself into his chair. He didn't really need to. The launch system was a lower gravitational constant than the Carter's acceleration; the onboard inertial compensators would handle it easily. But knowledge and emotions were two different things. A two-hundred-meter-long, fifty-meter-wide ship was about to get shot out of a kilometer-long ejection tube in less than a second. It should feel like you were in an accelerating Ferrari.
A really, really big Ferrari.
The Carter slid up the launch tube and jetted into space, hurtling towards the target ships at forty kilometers per second.
"Make sure our IFF is up," Kepler said. "There's still a bunch of the Troy's missiles floating around hunting targets. Status on the battle group?"
"Warrington and Mayrant are out of the tube," the CIC officer said. "Monaghan and Trippe are flushing now."
"And we're in business," Kepler said. "Any incoming fire?"
"Not on us," Booth said. "Don't ask about the Troy."
—|—
"This is rather unpleasant," Admiral Kinyon said as the first flight of missiles broke through the defenses. The Troy was ringing like a cymbal.
"CruRon away," Commodore Marchant said. "Launching shuttles."
