Tyrant's Test

by Michael P. Kube-Mcdowell

  “We don’t have to try to do this alone,” said Tobbra. “If there’s a shipyard here, Five-Tac will send us some thumpers the moment we send them confirmation.”

  “And if there’s a shipyard here, the Yevetha will try to reinforce its defenses the moment we’re detected,” said Brand. “Can you promise me our ships will get here before theirs?”

  Tobbra frowned in silence.

  “I thought not,” said Brand. “Detection and destruction of the shipyards is our priority mission, Captain. Let’s get on with it. We’re going to use our advantage and ambush that T-type. Then we’ll take care of whatever it’s here to visit.”

  “Commodore, we don’t even know what it takes to knock out a T-type.”

  Brand shook his head. “Someone needs to find out. I like the odds.”

  “But, Commodore—”

  “End of discussion, Captain.” Brand turned away from the viewscreen and called out to the comm officer. “Let me speak to Folna.”

  “On your number one,” came the smart reply.

  Brand clicked his comlink on. “Captain Madis.”

  “Yes, Commodore.”

  “We’re taking Vanguard in to engage. Break formation and hold station. I want you here to record and relay.”

  “Affirmative, Commodore,” Madis said. “We’ll get you some good pictures for the scrapbook.”

  “I know you will,” said Brand. He switched his comlink so that his orders would be echoed to the gunship, then looked up into a score of expectant faces.

  “Time to settle up for Doornik Three-nineteen,” he said grimly. “Comm, upgrade the alert to conflict-red. Tac, launch the fighter screen. Stand by to launch bombers. Helm, give me eighty percent thrust and an intercept on the hostile’s projected orbit. Vanguard, close up and stay with us. I don’t want you to miss the first act.”

  The moment the siren began keening through the forward flight deck, Esege Tuketu threw down his tiles and jumped up from his seat. He had been in his flight suit for hours, and had loosened the closures at the neck, wrists, and waist. As he ran toward his bomber, he struggled to close them, giving him a clumsy dance of a gait.

  Skids was already in the cockpit, strapping in, when Tuketu arrived. He had been triple-checking the releases for the armaments strapped to the K-wing’s hard points.

  “How’s everything look?” Tuketu asked as he clambered up the short ladder.

  “Everything looks clean. Shouldn’t have to make any hand deliveries.”

  “They’d definitely have to pay extra for that,” said Tuke. “Any change in the load-out?”

  “No change. One egg, eight CM-five concussion missiles. Packing heavy.”

  “All right. Preflight checklist, from the top—”

  As Vanguard and Indomitable accelerated toward their rendezvous with the Yevethan thrustship, a thin fighter screen—two dozen fighters altogether, half E-wings, half X-wings—fanned out around them. When the lead ships in the formation came into view on the cruiser’s viewscreens, Tobbra was prompted to once again seek out Brand for a private conversation.

  “You’re breaking every rule of engagement in the command codex,” he said bluntly. “The standard fighter screen for this ship alone is three squadrons, not two. The spacing is so loose out there that it won’t take much for the enemy to break through.”

  “I’m holding back the other two fighter squadrons for escort duty. The bombers are going to need help punching through,” Brand said.

  “We don’t even know for certain how many fighters a T-type carries,” Tobbra protested, his voice rising. “It could be twice or three times what we saw at Doornik Three-nineteen.”

  Brand shot Tobbra a frosty look. “Mind your tone and your volume, Captain, or remove yourself from the bridge. I don’t intend to carry on a running argument with you throughout the engagement.”

  Tobbra lowered his voice, but his tone was unchanged. “We shouldn’t be engaging the enemy, sir—that’s the issue. It’s my duty to point out—”

  “That we don’t know everything we might? This is no revelation, Captain. I can count, and I can read an Intell report. Give me that much credit.”

  “I mean no insult, sir.”

  “That’s not always obvious from your words,” said Brand. “Captain, if a smaller force never defeated a superior one, we could just weigh the orders of battle and declare the winner, neatly avoiding all the messy parts. But war’s not like that. Throw away your calculator. You can’t use it to make the hard decisions.”

  Tobbra frowned, but nodded silently.

  Brand moved closed and dropped his voice to a near whisper. “Theb, there’s something else at issue, too. Something you won’t find in the codex. Which is that if a perfectly hale New Republic cruiser and gunship can’t handle a T-type one-on-one, Fleet needs to learn that sooner rather than later. Because all the reports I’ve been seeing say the Yevetha have a lot of T-types.”

  Exhaling sharply, Tobbra said, “That’s why you had Folna stand off.”

  “Apart from the fact that she’s too thin-skinned for this kind of roughhousing, yes.”

  Tobbra looked out at the planet, now a distinct disc with a mottled yellow-brown face. “I’d better get back to my station,” he said. “It’s time to poll the batteries.”

  Fifteen minutes before the projected reappearance of the Yevethan ship, Brand gave the order to launch the bombers and escort fighters. He did not want to risk being surprised with the flight decks full of fuel and high explosives if the Yevethan ship made an early appearance, thanks to settling into a lower-than-expected orbit.

  The K-wings formed up in groups of three, each group sandwiched between a trio of fighters above and another below. Brand watched from the bridge as they moved out to their positions twenty kilometers ahead. Though the wings and other surfaces had been darkened for space operations, their engine exhausts glowed like candles in the night. The triple exhausts of the K-wings stood out among them.

  “I just hope they actually drop their eggs this time,” the tactical officer said quietly when Brand returned to the plot table.

  “They will,” Brand said without hesitation. “And not because we changed the combat frequencies and installed scramblers. Because it has to be done.”

  Five minutes before reacquisition, Vanguard detached from the cruiser. It moved out on a trajectory that would both give it a clear field of fire and allow it to spot the Yevethan ship while the rest of the attack formation was still below its horizon. That would provide Brand with a scant few seconds to react to what Vanguard saw and adjust his orders accordingly.

  One minute and nine seconds earlier than expected, Marauder reported in.

  “Contact, one—no, two—three—four. Four targets. Analyzing. Contacts are as follows—one, repeat, one, Imperial type two shipyard. Three, repeat, three, Yevethan T-types.”

  “Three!” Brand said in surprise, loudly enough to be heard at most of the bridge stations. “Three,” he repeated to himself. “Well, that yanks the rancor’s whiskers.”

  “Indomitable, this is Vanguard. We’re now taking fire from two of the Yevethan vessels. Shield effectiveness approximately ninety-two percent. May we engage, sir?”

  Tobbra rushed to the plot table. “Commodore, we have to break off. Order the bombers in so that we can get out of here.”

  “Twenty seconds to reacquisition,” said the tactical officer, tracing the electronic lines with a fingertip.

  “Vanguard, this is Brand,” the commodore said, glaring at Tobbra. “Can you say status of the type two?”

  “Indomitable, she’s full up. Looks like six ship-ways with complete or substantially complete vessels, three more at the keel-and-skeleton stage.”

  Brand shuddered involuntarily. “Vanguard, you are free to engage, counterforce protocol. Repeat, free fire—concentrate on the T-types—”

  Tobbra reached out and grabbed Brand above the elbow. “What are you doing?”

  With a violent jerk of
his arm, Brand broke the first officer’s grip. “What has to be done,” he said. “Confine yourself to your quarters, Captain Tobbra. Lieutenant Threld, take the captain’s station.” He turned toward the comm officer. “Let me talk to the attack squadrons.”

  There was a faint crackle on the K-wing’s battle comm as the scrambler went active.

  “Here it comes,” said Skids.

  “Indomitable to all squadrons,” said Brand’s voice. “I have a revised target appraisal—confirming type two shipyard in orbit, with birds in the roost. Confirming three thrustships in orbit. The patrol has been fired upon. These are your revised targeting orders—your primary target is the shipyard. We’ll keep the T-types busy—you’re to ignore them unless they get in the way. Flight leaders, commence your attack.” After a microscopic pause, he added, “Good luck.”

  “There they are,” Tuketu said as the cockpit was lit up by the distant flare of blaster bolts striking ray shields.

  Moments later, the tactical display in the cockpit showed him the geometry of the battle. One thrustship was preceding the shipyard in its orbit, another trailing behind. The third—most likely the one the patrol had first spotted—was docked at the cargo port on the side of the great structure.

  “‘Good luck’—Tuke, this is crazy,” Skids was saying. “How are we going to duck three Fat Men?”

  “We’ll try the low road,” said Tuketu. “Red Flight, this is Red Leader. Follow me down to the planet. On the break—now!”

  The Battle of ILC-905 lasted just eleven furious, confusing minutes.

  In the first moments, Vanguard fell under a fearful fusillade from both the lead and trailing thrustships. Even after it began returning fire, it was clearly outmatched in such a pairing. The only thing that saved the gunship from a quick end was the fact that the individual T-type main batteries were medium-cruiser-class at best.

  Nevertheless, each thrustship had eight main batteries, spaced in such a way that every approach was covered, and up to four batteries could concentrate their fire on a single target. It would not take long for the concentrated fire of two such vessels to batter down the gunship’s shields, and then to destroy it.

  Then Indomitable joined the fight, and the alignment suddenly changed.

  “Let’s see if we can divide their attention,” Brand said. “Vanguard, concentrate your fire on the trailer. We’ll take on the lead ship. All batteries, fire.”

  Indomitable’s first salvo drew an immediate response from the Yevethan vessel, drawing the fire of half a dozen gun batteries. But the interceptor screen paid the price—two of the forward interceptors exploded, one after the other, as one of the Yevethan batteries targeted the tiny escorts. The brilliant flare of light made Brand momentarily turn away.

  “Pull the screen back,” he snapped. “There’s nothing out there they can help us with right now.”

  Before the fighters could respond, a third fighter exploded just off the starboard shield boundary. It was like having a bomb go off at close proximity—the cruiser shuddered, and its shields glowed a pale yellow under the assault, signifying a momentary softening at that spot. But the shield firmed up quickly, and the remaining interceptors survived to slip behind the cruiser and hide in its shield shadow.

  “Commodore,” the tactical officer said quietly.

  Brand looked up. “What?”

  “We’re not getting through the Fat Man’s shields. Vanguard isn’t doing any better. We may have to redirect the bombers.”

  “No,” Brand said, shaking his head. “The shipyard is the priority target.”

  “Commodore, Vanguard’s taking a beating. We have to get her some help now.”

  The cruiser shuddered around them. “Retarget Green Flight,” Brand said reluctantly.

  By that time, the lead Yevethan vessel had discovered the flights of bombers trying to slip past. As though contemptuous of the cruiser’s ability to harm it, the thrustship diverted its attention to the smaller ships, picking off two X-wings and a K-wing almost immediately. Moments later, it began to launch its own fighters.

  “Brand to all batteries—target those hostile fighters! Pick ’em up where they clear the shields.”

  “Target is launching missiles,” the tactical officer said, drawing a deep breath. “Six—eight—ten articles, all tracking this way.”

  There were more than twenty fast-firing, fast-tracking antimissile octets arrayed around Indomitable’s hull, and those that had a firing solution immediately began filling the missiles’ projected path with a cloud of high-velocity metal shrapnel. When the missiles and the cloud met, spectacular flowers of red and yellow fire blossomed silently in the vacuum. But four missiles burst through the bouquet like angry insects, and three survived to slam in close succession against the cruiser’s shield perimeter.

  The bridge lights dimmed as the ship rocked under Brand’s feet. “Trading punches,” Brand said. “Arm and fire six, count ’em, six CM-nines. All batteries stand by to target the points of impact. Helm, move us closer.”

  Within seconds, launchers on both flanks of the cruiser spat out the high-velocity concussion missiles. They looped toward the thrustship on individual, indirect flight profiles meant to make them harder to intercept.

  “Number three particle-shield generator is off-line—we now have zero reserve capacity,” said the tactical officer. “I count eleven Yevethan fighters under way. Green Flight has lost five fighters and two bombers. Blue Flight has lost three fighters and one bomber. Red Flight—”

  A brilliant flare of light flooded the bridge, drawing Brand’s eyes to the forward viewscreen. “Was that an egg?”

  “Yes,” said the tac officer. “Negative on target. That was Green Two—he must have armed it early, and it blew up under him. Lost three fighter signals at the same time.”

  “Damn.”

  “Commodore, Blue Flight has broken through and is making an attack run on the shipyard.” Pointing to the middle of the plot table, the tactical officer identified the two small blue triangles moving toward the red rectangle that was the yard.

  Brand nodded grimly and studied the plot. “Good. We’re running short of pieces,” he said. “Send Black Flight to help Vanguard. We can’t afford to lose that one.”

  The orbital shipyard the Imperial Navy had called Black Nine was unarmed but not unprotected. In addition to the collision shields needed by any space-based complex, it was equipped with ray and particle shields comparable to those of a Star Destroyer.

  Its guardian thrustships, Tholos and Rizaron, more than made up for the yard’s offensive deficiencies. In addition to eight main batteries, each also carried forty fighters in four bays along the ship’s equator, and four ten-tube reloadable missile launchers. With their enhanced Imperial shields, they were formidable warships.

  The greatest weakness of Tholos was the inexperience of its primate, Par Drann. Like virtually all of his crew, Par Drann had never been in combat—not even to the extent of taking part in the Cleansing. So when the New Republic ships appeared, Par Drann responded out of the old instincts that governed fighting among the nitakka.

  Those instincts, as inherently contradictory as they were innately strong, said

  the closest threat is the greatest threat—

  in a fight of unequal numbers, dispatch your weakest opponent first—

  to discourage others from joining a fight against you, charge a newcomer immediately—

  hold nothing back when you go to kill—

  So it was that Par Drann’s orders to his gun crews kept changing—to attack the gunship that first appeared, then the cruiser that joined the fight, then the vulnerable interceptor screen, then the bombers as they flew past, then the cruiser again as the bombers retreated. The Yevethan fighter pilots obeyed the same dictums, each singling out the nearest target and attacking it fearlessly, but often breaking off an attack when a closer target appeared.

  If Tholos and Rizaron had continued their combined attack on Vanguard,
they could have destroyed it before the late-arriving cruiser could do either of them harm. If Par Drann had allowed for it, Tholos could have swept the battlefield clean of New Republic fighters and bombers before turning its attention to Indomitable.

  And if the Yevethan fighters had pursued Blue Flight toward the shipyard or Black Flight toward Rizaron, the outcome of the battle might have been different. But his Yevethan perspective did not allow Par Drann to recognize the threat they posed—not with Indomitable bearing down on him.

  “Thetan nitakka, ko nakaza!” he cried. “To the strongest of us, glory in the kill!”

  There was fire aboard Vanguard by the time Black Flight attracted the notice of Rizaron. Battery number eight, a twin-barrel laser cannon, had misfired in a spectacular explosion that gouged the entire gun compartment out of the side of the gunship.

  Worse, the snapback from a salvo of Yevethan missiles had left the particle-shield generators dead and burning. The next Yevethan missile would explode against the hull, not the shields, and the thrustship’s ion cannon were playing havoc with power all over the ship.

  Captain Inadi viewed the arrival of the bombers with more apprehension than relief. “They’ll never get through,” she said, shaking her head. “Weapons, keep up the counterfire. Let’s help them all we can. Helm, show the enemy our minimum cross section. Systems, give priority to the forward antimissile stations—they have to have power.”

  With the help of telescopic holo and the electronic battle plot, Inadi and the bridge crew watched the bombers jinking at high speed through the rain of laser blasts and ion bolts. An E-wing accompanying Black Two took a direct hit and spun out, burning. Black Three disappeared in a sphere of white fire, its escorts peeling away and narrowly escaping the hurtling debris.

  Just then, Vanguard shook as though it had been hit.