Battle of Hercules

by Richard Tongue

   “Danny…,” Caine began.

   “And let’s not forget Alamo. Stranded out here beyond enemy lines with an enemy fleet on our tail because I decided to take the easy way out, to fly out here on a death or glory mission. Well, I think the glory is probably out of the question, but the death’s going to be here soon.”

   Zebrova looked at Caine, saying, “Sir…”

   “It’s my fault, Lieutenant!” he replied, smashing his fist on the desk. “It was my decision, and I was the one who talked you all into it. I should have realized right from the start. I knew they had my psychological profile, and they dangled the perfect bait in front of me. They knew I would take it – how else do you think they got those ships here so fast?” He barked a bitter laugh, “My move to take the initiative, and all the time we’re just dancing on their strings.”

   “You damn coward,” Caine said, and he recoiled into his chair. “Yes, things are going against us. Yes, you took a decision, and it has had consequences. Twenty people aren’t going home again, and undoubtedly there will be more dead here and on Hercules, but that isn’t the point. We’re out here to do a job – as you yourself said.”

   “Everyone who signed up knows the risks they are running, sir,” Zebrova said. “We all volunteered. Those troopers knew going in what they were doing, they knew the odds of surviving a full-scale assault were poor. They went anyway.”

   “Hell,” Caine added, “Most of them would still have gone if they’d known they weren’t coming back. This mission is important, Danny, and you were damn right about that. The data on Hercules – the data we now have here in Alamo – is vital. If we can crack that, we unlock the Cabal. That could easily stop a war. Risking a hundred and fifty lives to save millions? That sounds like a good deal to me.”

   Taking a deep breath, Marshall replied, “It all seemed so clear before, so obvious.”

   “It’s hard to lose anyone. But everything you said before we came out here was right; this mission could change everything if it is successful.”

   “If. That’s a big word.”

   Caine pointed up at the clock on the wall, counting down the seconds until they made contact with the enemy, saying, “I’m sorry, we don’t have time for this right now. In less than ninety minutes, we’re going to be in the biggest firefight we’ve ever faced, so you need to get your head back into the game.”

   Marshall looked up at the two of them, shaking his head, “You haven’t thought it through, have you?”

   “What do you mean?”

   Sighing, he continued, “We can’t go home. I’d thought about jumping back to 54298, transferring the fuel from Hercules, and heading back from there…”

   “Good plan,” Zebrova said.

   “But it won’t work. That’s the only way home, and the fleet following us knows that just as well as we do. They’ll jump after us, and we’ll be right back where we started – except this time we’ll need to elude them for two days, not two hours. Hell, they might even have a picket fleet waiting for us.”

   Zebrova’s eyes widened, “I hadn’t thought of that.”

   “Alamo cannot jump home. Even if we had the fuel, we couldn’t make it.”

   “Have you considered accepting the Commandant’s offer?”

   “Not for one second.”

   “Good,” Caine said. “That’s the Danny Marshall I know talking.”

   “We can’t go home, we can’t stay here...what are our options, then?” Zebrova asked.

   Marshall replied, “We’re going home, alright. It’s just going to take longer than we thought. We’ll work our way around the edge of the Cabal, and strike for either Jefferson or Sagdeev.”

   Caine whistled, saying, “That’s quite a trip you’re talking about.”

   “Seven, eight jumps if we’re lucky.”

   “We have fuel for two,” Zebrova said.

   “If either of you have any better suggestions, I will be only too glad to hear them.”

   “You’ll make Mulenga happy, anyway,” Caine said after a pause. “Where are we going first?”

   Marshall frowned, saying, “Gliese 479. It’s not the best way home…”

   “But we can’t take the easiest way back,” Zebrova interrupted. “Good choice.”

   “Who named all these stars, anyway?” Caine said, shaking her head. “The crew aren’t going to like it.”

   “I don’t like it,” Marshall replied, “But I can’t think of a better option. At least this will give us a chance to lick our wounds for a bit.”

   “Agreed,” Zebrova said.

   “I should be back on the bridge.” Marshall rose, then paused for a second, “Sorry about earlier.”

   “Don’t mention it, Danny,” Caine said. “This is what we do. Better you do it in here than out on the bridge; senior officers tell no tales.”

   “Thanks, in any case, to both of you.” He stabbed a finger down on the desk, and Mulenga’s voice answered.

   “Astrogation.”

   “This is the Captain. Plot a course for Gliese 479.”

   “Where?”

   “Gliese 479, Lieutenant. We’re not going right back. Start working out the best routes to take us to Sagdeev; as soon as the battle is over I’ll come down.”

   “Sagdeev? I thought….”

   “We’re not going straight back. Get that course ready.”

   “Aye, Captain.”

   “We do have the information we came for. All we have to do is get it home,” Zebrova said.

   “You make it sound so easy, Lieutenant.”

   A siren sounded, and Marshall quickly raced out onto the bridge, only just getting through the doors as they opened. He looked up at the display screen, and saw a host of new contacts appearing on the view, all of them on intercept courses for Alamo.

   “Report!”

   Matsumoto, yielding the chair, said, “Enemy carrier just launched a fighter assault. First contact in five minutes.”

   “Lieutenant Caine, call the crew to battle stations, and alert Hercules to follow suit.”

   “Hercules already hailing, sir,” Weitzman said. “They’re at battle stations now.”

   “Very good,” Marshall replied, sitting down at his chair. Now the wait for action would begin once again, but this time it would be mercifully short. Crewmen bustled around the bridge, a hum of activity as systems were prepared, the slam of the heavy hatches isolating each area of the ship. He looked at the fighters approaching, watched the tracks start to intersect, and began to plan the battle.

   “Tactical to all stations. Report battle status. Repeat, report battle status…”

  Chapter 22

   “All stations report ready for action, sir,” Orlova said to Major Marshall.

   “Very good. Time to action?”

   “Estimated three minutes before the first fighters get missile lock.”

   Nodding, the Major turned around to look at each station, saying, “Just relax, everyone. We’ve done this before.”

   “Usually we had a full crew,” Mathis muttered.

   “That’s enough of that, Sergeant,” Diego said from the rear of the room. He was hanging from a strap on the ceiling; the Major had ordered the gravity spin taken off a few minutes before, as soon as the fighters had launched.

   Orlova checked her board, looking at the systems for the hundredth time. It had taken some doing, but eventually she had managed to transform it into a semblance of the layout she was used to back on Alamo, enough for her to know where the important buttons were without having to think about it. Missile salvo was in the tubes and ready to fire, countermeasures were primed and ready, there wasn’t much else for her to do except wait.

   While the clock counted down, she quickly flicked open the data feed from Alamo, going over the second-tier tactical information. Most of it related to the recent battle on the asteroid
; the shuttle carrying the survivors had just docked. When she got to the casualty list, her eyes widened. Right at the top, ‘Zabek, Ensign L., Deceased.’

   “Damn…,” she said, quietly.

   “Problem, Sub-Lieutenant?” the Major said.

   She shook her head, “I just found out a friend of mine died in action on the fueling station.”

   “I’m sorry.”

   Nelyubov, strapped in at the reserve crewman position. said, “Is this the time to be worrying about that?”

   Curry turned from her station, replying, “Damn it, Frank, you…”

   “No,” Orlova said. “He’s quite right. Time enough to mourn the dead when we’re safely in hendecaspace.”

   “They’ll have company,” Mathis said. “Five minutes on the firing line.”

   “Sergeant,” Diego said, “Improve your attitude or got off the deck.”

   Turning, the technician said, “We’ve gone a bit too far for that, haven’t we? Have we considered surrender, a trade of this ship for safe passage home?”

   “Sergeant,” Diego began, but the Major shot him a look that silenced him.

   “It’s a fair question. Captain Marshall considered it, and dismissed it. Do you really think we can risk trusting them?”

   Mathis nodded, returning to his station, and the Major continued, “Now get yourself focused, Sergeant. We’ve got a battle to win.”

   “Aye, sir.” He looked up at his sensor systems, “Contact in thirty seconds.”

   A look flashed between the two men, and Orlova realized what had just happened. Both of them were playing a long-established game, just another way of occupying the final dragging minutes before battle was joined. She shook her head, smiled, and returned to her station, her hands poised over the countermeasure controls.

   Sensor stations was now giving her a good picture of the incoming fighters, which seemed to fit into two basic types; the first was a simple missile carrier, a pair of ship-to-ship weapons slung on each side of a narrow wing structure. The second was long and cylindrical, and bore an uncanny resemblance to the satellites Alamo had encountered at Jefferson. Flying particle cannons. The enemy commander was saving those for the final wave, letting the missile carriers soak up the countermeasures; good strategy.

   “Ten seconds,” Mathis called. “Eight. Six. Energy spikes, lead fighters!”

   It almost felt like an anticlimax as the first cluster of missiles leapt forward, six of them operating in series, all of them diving for Hercules. Two of them drifted away immediately, easy prey to her automated hacking attacks, but the rest continued to bear down upon her.

   “Return fire,” the Major said.

   “Not yet,” Orlova said. “The big threats are in the third wave.”

   “The Major gave you an order,” Nelyubov said, loosening a strap.

   “And she’s right to override it,” the Major said. “If she has information I haven’t. Proceed as you think best, and fire at will.”

   “Yes, sir,” she replied, diving into her task with relish. Another of the missiles had been knocked out by the computers during the initial exchange, and the three that remained were starting to split up, each of them making for a different spot on Hercules’ hull, another key area. Curry was beginning a random walk pattern to throw off the targeting, but her course changes were uncertain, hesitant. Of course, it was nine years since she’d done this in anger.

   Another of the missiles winked out, and she started to engage them directly, looking up briefly at the second wave of fighters. All of them were heading for Hercules; none of them were breaking off for Alamo.

   She wasn’t the only one who’d noticed; the Major said, “Sergeant, contact Alamo and see if they can give us some cover. Our friends out there seem to have some sort of grudge against us.”

   “Aye, sir.”

   “And see if Captain Lane has made any progress at all on the combat fabricators.”

   Orlova grimaced; four days she’d been working on those, and still no progress. Their absence meant that Hercules was limited to the twenty-four missiles in her magazines; on Alamo, there’d be a chance that some of them would be replaced during a long battle. Her fingers rattled across the console, and the final two missiles collided into each other with a satisfactory explosion.

   “Good work, Sub-Lieutenant,” the Major said.

   “Thank you, sir, but the fun’s just getting started!” she replied, looking over her panel to see what they were doing next. The first group of fighters hadn’t fired their second missiles, instead seemingly accelerating ahead of the formation, pulling away from their targets. Alamo was closing on the rear to provide support, adding its countermeasure systems to theirs. Behind, the four capital ships continued to advance, but they were many minutes away from taking any part in the battle. Unless they had any other surprises up their sleeve.

   “Energy spike, missiles inbound,” Mathis said, and Orlova instantly began to work on them. This time the control programs had the benefit of analyzing the countermeasures she had deployed during their first wave, so she let Caine handle the heavy lifting on Alamo. Different Tactical Officers had different styles of fighting, and hopefully the computer systems would be slow to adapt. Three of the missiles blew up, the remainder passing through the spreading clouds of debris to home onto their target.

   Now the third wave of fighters was getting close, and Orlova could get to work; she unleashed a salvo of missiles, targeting one at each fighter; while there was a good chance that most of them would be deflected, it would at least serve as a distraction to throw off their attack run. Another of the incoming missiles was knocked down, but two of them were still heading for Hercules; she frantically redoubled her efforts.

   One more gone, just one to go, but it was getting too close now. The physical countermeasures were the last line of defense, but the missiles would have to be using very primitive systems for them to be effective.

   “Collision alert!” she yelled.

   The Major calmly said, “Curry, pivot the ship.”

   Hercules lurched to the side as the missile came into its final trajectory, before disappearing in a blink of light. Orlova looked down at her controls, momentarily mystified, before a smile appeared on her face.

   “Alamo used its laser to knock the last one down! Precision shot!”

   “Make to Alamo, pass on my thanks,” the Major said to Mathis. “Any damage?”

   Ballard shook her head, “Nothing, sir. Shot was nice and clean.”

   “Let’s try to keep it that way. How are your missiles running, Sub-Lieutenant?”

   “Two knocked down, four still running. Make that three and three,” she added. The particle beam carriers were throwing themselves around the sky, trying to evade the approaching missiles, but for two of them it proved futile; their images winked from the sensor display. Another wave of missiles passed overhead, Alamo throwing itself into the fray, aiming for the same targets.

   The second wave of fighters were weaving in, trying to get between the new missiles and their targets, but their bravery proved largely fruitless, their countermeasure systems only catching one of the missiles as they soared past. Two more of the third wave were wiped out, only a pair remaining, and those rapidly changed their course, hitting their afterburners to fly harmlessly away from Hercules and Alamo, too fast to even attempt a shot with their particle beams.

   Briefly, there was elation on the bridge, and Orlova allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief, but there were still twelve missiles out there mounted on fighters, and they began to weave around on her display, like birds soaring through the sky, an intricate series of maneuvers that interlocked the two waves into a single devastating attack run.

   “Multiple energy spikes, out of sequence!” Mathis said.

   Frowning, Orlova worked on her countermeasures again, looking with frustration at the missile display as
the tubes slowly began to load for the new shot; another system that wasn’t working as well as it should. This time the missiles weren’t coming in as a salvo, but one at a time, half a second apart; the first one easily fell to Hercules’ countermeasures, but the next one was proving far harder to bring down.

   Another new tactic; each missile was passing on the lessons learned from its destruction to its successor, giving it a greater chance of getting through. She briefly looked across at Alamo, hoping that Caine could provide cover, but the remaining missiles lanced across the sky towards the other battlecruiser, either as a distraction tactic or a long shot. Either way, it was working; Alamo had to defend itself first.

   “Green light on the missiles, sir,” Orlova said. “Targeting incoming missiles.”

   “Negative,” the Major replied. “Knock down those fighters. We can survive a few impacts; if they get a chance to rearm we could be in real trouble.”

   The fighters were curving back towards the carrier; Orlova thought that his fears were an outside chance at best, but she obeyed the order, six missiles shooting from Hercules’ launch tubes towards their targets. The two swarms passed each other as the remaining enemy missiles – four of them now, another curving away into infinity after a reprogramming of its targeting computer – homed in on Hercules.

   Frantically, she worked her control systems, trying every trick she knew to knock down the incoming targets, but her book of tactics was beginning to run dry. Two of the fighters disappeared into brief flares of life, her indicators reading the pilots managing to eject at the last second, but that didn’t stop the rain of death that was heading her way.

   “Knock ‘em down, Sub-Lieutenant,” the Major said, leaning forward on his chair. “Knock those bastards out of my sky.”

   “Trying, sir!” With a quick combination of electronics and physical decoys, she managed to deal with one more of the missiles, but the remaining three ranged in at targets spread across the ship; the enemy had an excellent knowledge of Hercules and its structure, and they were using that to maximum advantage.