by Britt Ringel
Almost a full twenty percent of the Parasite cutter symbols flashed brightly and faded into nothing as the first laser shots of the battle found their marks. Brewer felt his chest draw a rapid, awestruck breath even as the process repeated and another one hundred sixty-three cutters disappeared from the screen. The sterility of the board concealed the deadly storm enveloping the leading edge of the Parasite wave.
“Uh, ELTI Gatling?” Michaels announced indecisively. The man furrowed his brow at his panel and stated once again with more conviction, “ELTI Gatling.”
“How?” Davis demanded. “We’re still five light-seconds out. How?”
A fifth laser volley issued from the fleet and a heartbeat later, its third volley connected with cutters. Another one hundred fifty of the tiny ships were smashed.
Brewer shunted the admiral’s interrogation aside and desperately tried to keep count. The information coming in two-second spurts was overwhelming. Five hundred cutters down, he told himself without full conviction. Halfway through the wave. His eyes squinted involuntarily at the strobing screen as another salvo carved into the thinning haze of cutters. The gunners had achieved only a seventy-eight percent hit rate with the last wave. Brewer noted that each, successive volley was less and less effective. They’re only human. Between target allocation, target lock and firing, their performance has been nothing short of amazing.
Another bright flash ripped through the cutter symbols. How many is that? How close are they? A quick glance between the two fleets told him the Parasites were less than 0.2ls from particle beam range. An intense flash silhouetted the backs of the tacticians seated in front of Brewer as the Parasite destroyer succumbed to frigate laser-fire.
The fifth volley struck within two seconds of the fourth. Between the fusillades, two hundred ninety more cutters were annihilated. Undaunted, the remaining cutters charged forward. The next volley culled another one hundred forty-one.
The Parasite ships finally entered weapons range with just six percent of their original numbers. The sixty-three cutters had long had their targets locked and their cannons pulsed out neutron particles at over nine-tenths the speed of light. There was not time to recharge. The next volley of Terran fire converged upon the remaining cutters to slice them to fragments. Two seconds after the final cutter’s destruction, the particle beam fire reached Docent.
Alerts erupted from most of the flag bridge’s stations. Brewer’s own console, duplicating Davis’ station, bled red light along the length of its screen. Overlapping reports from the officers on the flag bridge flooded in to Admiral Davis. Brewer was busy interpreting their meanings when Commander Michaels made three, distinct calls of ELTI.
As one, the bridge crew dropped into silence.
“Repeat that!” Davis ordered in disbelief.
“ELTIs from Agar, Musket and Flintlock.”
“Admiral,” another officer interrupted, “Captain Dawson says he needs to take Docent’s second power core offline.”
Davis angrily waved off the officer. “Commander, repeat what you said. We lost which ship?”
Michaels tried to control his breathing. “Agar… Musket… Flintlock, Admiral. They’ve all been destroyed. It is unclear yet whether the cutters or the Parasite flagship dealt the blows.”
Brewer watched the admiral’s eyes bulge. Davis muttered incredulously, “We’ve lost three ships?”
“Four,” Brewer corrected dispassionately. “Gatling died right at the onset of the battle.”
Glassy, doubtful eyes met Brewer’s. “That’s… that’s two frigates and two destroyers in fifteen seconds. It—it’s a quarter of our fleet.”
“Collect yourself, Admiral,” Brewer advised in a low growl.
“We’ve, we’ve….” Davis continued to stutter.
“Admiral!” Brewer snapped. “If you can’t provide the example our sailors need right now then consider stepping aside for someone who can.”
“Dammit, man,” Davis swore. “How can you not see what’s happening here? More of them will be coming! We’ve got to get back to the Republic. We can’t go on.”
“Why don’t you study the status of your fleet before making your recommendation to me, Admiral,” Brewer instructed with an icy glare. “If I wanted snap judgments based on half the information, I could have selected any number of other flag officers. I chose you because you have a reputation for fact-based decision-making.”
The compliment achieved its effect. Davis offered the secretary an abrupt nod before collecting himself. A moment later, he ordered, “Acknowledge Dawson’s message about the power core. I want preliminary damage reports from each ship captain within the next ten minutes. Order Pathfinder to return to the fleet.” He operated his chair arm controls briefly. “We’ll proceed in-system at current course and speed while we recover.” He nodded once again to himself before looking around the bridge. “Let’s move it, people!”
Chapter 50
The fleet was withdrawing in good order. Face it, Brewer leveled with himself, we destroyed the enemy yet we’re retreating with our tail tucked between our legs. The admission was a difficult one but he was used to hard truths. Throughout his entire career, he had seen his share of failure. Most new leaders refused to face reality only to pay a greater price in the end for their unwillingness to accept it. Hard won experience born from heartbreak had taught Brewer the virtue of pragmatism.
It was still damned hard to admit. He swallowed the bitter pill knowing full well the repercussions for his Republic. As he walked down Docent’s corridor, he looked irritably at the door to the briefing room. The next hour would be torturous. He would spend it spoon-feeding truisms to people who should be competent enough to have already grasped them. Yes, your careers are over, he thought coldly. So is mine but that’s the least of our concerns. He bit down hard at the notion. His exposure to the Parasite Initiative was terminal. There was no disavowing it. The only redeeming feature was that he might still give one, final service to his Republic.
The motors inside the doors pulled open at Brewer’s approach. Admiral Davis and his adjutant were already at the conference table along with the thirteen, open panels of the surviving ship captains on the wall screen. A side screen contained the fleet’s status and a repair priority schedule but the admiral was discussing the fleet’s dive sequence for when they reached the J-3 tunnel point within the hour. Davis had clearly started the meeting without him.
Brewer scanned the priority list. Propulsion was at the top. Without waiting for Davis to finish, he opened with his first salvo of truth. “The fleet’s repair priorities have changed,” he stated matter-of-factly.
Davis glared at the interruption before taking a calming breath.
The recent combat had changed the flag officer, Brewer noted. During the exercises in Tarvos, the fleet commander had been a steady source of leadership and political reliability. In the forge of battle however, the man had become brittle. His refusal to accept the true consequences of first contact had been irritating. His insistence that the fleet run when it should be preparing for battle was inexcusable.
“Mr. Secretary,” Davis began in a carefully moderated tone, “I value your advice and I understand that you have operational control over this fleet but when it comes to the tactics of combat, I am the deciding authority.” He tapped his chest to make his point. “Speed is of the essence. The fleet will extend and recover. We will dive back down our route for as long as that is necessary. Once we have made all the required repairs, I will either order us back to resume our mission or we will continue into the Republic and reorganize.”
“Admiral!” an indignant ship captain beseeched from his panel on the wall screen. “We can’t give up!”
Brewer glanced at the outraged man and snorted; it was Pathfinder’s captain. The secretary ignored the protest and turned to Davis. “This mission is over, Admiral. You have a new mission.” He ignored as well the incredulous looks from all the ship captains.
“What
are you talking about?” Davis asked, clearly annoyed at the defiance coming at him from above and below. “We’ve suffered a setback but we haven’t failed. We just need time to adjust our tactics, perhaps gather more resources at Tarvos.”
“This fleet will not be sailing to Tarvos, Admiral,” Brewer insisted quietly.
“Mr. Secretary,” Davis said the words with considerably less respect this time, “I will determine exactly what is required for the wellbeing of this fleet.” His voice rose as he explained how the military is run to a simple politician. “I will set the strategy and I will chart the course and do you know why? Because I am in command here!” He glared at Brewer for several moments before returning his focus to his captains. “We’ll dive in sequence and continue toward the Republic. I want propulsion systems fixed as best as possible so we can arrive in Tarvos within two weeks.” He cast a sideways glance at Brewer and added, “I will lobby our political leaders for the proper amount of military support and if they can give the warfighters the adequate tools, we will reenter Parasite space and fulfill our mission.” He looked around the wall screen and then let his daunting glare fall upon Brewer. “Are there any questions?”
Brewer remained silent.
“Good,” Davis stated with a harsh nod. “Then prepare for our dive and use the time in tunnel space to the utmost.” The admiral disconnected from the briefing channel with the wave of a hand. He rose from his chair to tower over a seated Brewer, yet the tone he chose was more conciliatory. “I hope you now understand the stakes, Mr. Secretary. I will not allow you to arrogate my position inside my fleet.”
Brewer looked up at the admiral. He debated whether to stand or not. Didn’t I just sit down? He slid his datapad over the surface of the conference table to Davis. “The latest sensor report, Admiral. Additional elements have arrived from Junction.”
Davis picked up the datapad and studied it. Brewer felt a sadistic satisfaction as the standing man turned white.
“Five super-carriers?” the admiral gasped. “Ten destroyers?”
Brewer smiled upward at him. “Accompanied by a number of military cutters too numerous to count.” His comment was a slight distortion of the truth. The main reason Docent’s superior sensors could not compile an accurate tally was the incredible distance between herself and the tiny ships, not their awesome numbers. Yet, still, it felt good to slip the dagger deeper.
Davis placed the datapad down and started for the door. “You see?” he said as he walked past Brewer. “This is why we must withdraw. We’ll lose them in J-Three and return to the Republic.”
Brewer let the man leave without argument. There was simply no good reason to stop him yet. Davis was right that the fleet needed time to repair. A retreat to J-3 was unavoidable. He watched Davis’ adjutant trail behind him out the door. The portal closed, leaving Brewer alone in the quiet conference room. Docent was scheduled to dive in a little over ten minutes. He would remain here until after the transition. An age-spotted hand picked up the datapad and weary, grey eyes stared at the Parasite fleet composition. Instead of the alien ships, Brewer reflected upon ten years of planning and a lifetime of service.
* * *
The time in tunnel space was subdued like all excursions into the alternate realm. Docent sailed silently and in isolation for the three days necessary to traverse the distance between the stars. For Brewer, the seventy-two hour exile was a mental test rather than a physical one. While the command destroyer’s crew was busily repairing damage, the Secretary of Internal Security had little more to do than wait for the inevitable.
When Docent dove out from the tunnel point, little had changed inside the J-3 star system. Its K2 yellow-orange star burned brightly, 74lm away, as it would for many more billions of years. The only notable change since the last time humans were here was to Davis’ fleet.
The admiral had immediately set course for the Skoll tunnel point to get the ships moving. After that, he convened a fleet meeting to receive the status reports of each ship. Much of the drive damage sustained during the encounter at J-2 had been mended, restoring most of the fleet’s propulsion. However, the short time in tunnel space had provided only a limited window to repair other ship systems. Of the three damaged destroyers, only Parrott had been able to heal herself fully. Worse, both of the two damaged frigates, Blunderbuss and Snaphance, still had unrepaired pulse turrets. Davis chastised his ship captains for their apparent ineptness but ultimately decided to trade more space for time.
Brewer had resolved to remain silent during the meeting. Although his name and professional reputation were indelibly a part of this operation, thirty years of honed, political instinct urged his restraint. After all, jumping onto a sinking ship would only see him drowned. He had also seen enough operations tainted by political instinct to realize there were times when letting the experts solve the problems was the correct course of action. The temptation to add his opinion was difficult to resist but it was, by far, the proper choice. Admiral Davis was a respected and learned Republic naval officer, Brewer told himself. Let the doomed man dig his own grave.
The meeting adjourned after Davis listed new repair priorities. No questions were asked at the end of the briefing. When the wall screen darkened, the admiral looked to Brewer while rising from his chair. The secretary’s brooding silence had been welcome, if a little unnerving. “I’ll assess the fleet again once we dive into Skoll,” he answered the unasked question. “I’m very pleased to have your tacit support. It will be needed when we reach Tarvos.”
The comment made Brewer smirk. A little late to build bridges, Admiral. “This fleet will not lead the Parasites into Republic space, Admiral Davis.”
The chase had become nearly a stalemate. The smaller, purpose-designed ships of the Terran formation had a fleet speed of .25c. The Parasites were content to sail only marginally faster. Although Docent had witnessed the alien cutters and destroyer-sized vessels attain greater velocities, the Parasite super-carriers seemed to face the same constraint of balancing speed with maintaining structural integrity that restricted Terran ships. The Parasite fleet managed a meager .01c closing speed as a result. Commander Michaels had offered an alternative theory, that the aliens were content to trail the humans back to their point of origin.
Eighty-one light-minutes separated the major fleets, although dozens of military cutters had used their blistering speed advantage to close to within 12lm of Davis’ formation. Curiously, instead of continuing their charge to eventual destruction, the cutters reduced speed to .25c at the 12lm mark and simply paced the human ships across the star system.
Davis raised a finger to his chin in thought. The hum of an air duct was the only noise in the conference room. Finally, he answered, “I agree whole-heartedly that the Parasites mustn’t be allowed to discover our space but I believe you’ve missed something.”
Brewer felt an eyebrow rise. “Oh? And what is that?”
Davis reseated himself and leaned close to Brewer. The volume of his voice lowered as he injected a reasonableness that had been long absent. “We can withdraw to Narvi even if the Parasites remain in pursuit. We just need to exterminate that fleet in Narvi so it cannot report back where our border begins.” He offered a smile to the politician. “You see, we’re not going to be able to defeat this Parasite fleet alone, Mr. Secretary. Our fleet wasn’t built to destroy a force of that size. It’s suicide.” He cocked his head at an angle and asked, “Do you want to die for nothing, sir?” Davis paused for effect and then began to wave a finger as he smiled. “But this fleet can just barely stay ahead of the incoming tide. It was built for that and I believe we can defeat the Parasites with additional support.”
“Which you believe you will find in Narvi,” Brewer finished.
Davis nodded eagerly. “Yes.” He looked down for a moment. “This is a bit in the weeds for the Secretary of Internal Security but, you see, Third Fleet is headquartered in Titan. I’m sure you know that. The Fleet is divided into four task group
s. Task Group Three-Two is based in Anthe. That group is broken down further in peacetime and spread among the separate systems within Three-Two’s area of operations. Tarvos is the homeport for Task Unit Three-Two-Two. That Task Unit has a destroyer and frigate attached to it.”
“You wish to supplement this fleet with those two ships?” Brewer asked. “They’re standard naval vessels without the advanced technology equipped here.”
“Yes,” Davis conceded, “but they’ll help replenish what was lost and we’ll have the local system defense forces in Narvi as well. A couple corvettes, a few gunboats and patrol craft… they can make a difference in this type of fight. There’s even an atmospheric, space-capable squadron of attack shuttles for planetary defense we could use if we get close enough to Hulda.”
“You want to bring the Parasites close enough to the colony in Narvi to use those shuttles,” Brewer stated dryly.
“We know how effective the fighters from Eagle were a decade ago,” Davis replied. “Plus, I’m sending Pathfinder ahead of the fleet. She can move much faster than our fleet speed. Her mission will be to notify Tarvos that we’re coming and then dive to Anthe to bring back the heavy cruiser, Claymore, to support us.” He grinned openly. “A heavy cruiser will clench our victory.”
Brewer sat pensively before Davis. The dive between Tarvos and Anthe was a mere two days. Could Pathfinder sail there and back in time if she broke free of the fleet immediately? It would be an enormous risk but the entire plan was a gigantic risk. Failure would not only doom the fleet but also the Narvi system and quite possibly, the Republic. He sat in contemplation for several, long minutes. This fleet respected Davis; they would follow his orders unquestioningly. Finally, Brewer ordered, “Contact Pathfinder.”
