by Jay Allan
Augustus Garret sat quietly in his command chair, staring at the main display. He wasn’t an optimist by nature, nothing of the sort. But sometimes he couldn’t help but give in to amazement at the unending pile of shit the universe could dump on his people.
He’d done the best he could to put Terrance Compton and the other 40,000 naval crew and Marines he’d abandoned out of his mind. What he’d done in the X2 system would haunt him until the day he died, but he’d sworn not to let it interfere with his duty or degrade his effectiveness. Compton would have been the first one to scold him if he did.
Gavin Stark was behind whatever was going on…Garret was certain of that. He’d been combing Alliance space, hunting down the miserable SOB’s fleet. Whatever Stark was up to, Garret wasn’t going to leave him so much as a functioning life boat to carry it out. Stark’s ground forces appeared to be strong and numerous, but Garret was going to strand them wherever they were and cut off their supplies. He didn’t want to think of what it would cost to dig them out of so many Alliance worlds, but that was tomorrow’s problem. First he had to find Stark’s ships. And that was proving to be a difficult task.
Then he got the communique from Alliance Gov. The Alliance and the CAC were at war. Garret had to read it three times before it sunk in. He didn’t think much of the inbred politicians who ran things on Earth, but he couldn’t imagine how even they had managed to expend all the good will from the First Imperium victory and blunder into war so quickly.
Despite the news of war, Garret couldn’t imagine Admiral An leading his fleets against him so soon after they’d fought side by side. An was a cantankerous old warhorse, but deep down he was an honorable man. Then Garret got the news. An had been removed from command and replaced by Admiral Zhu. And Zhu was a world-class prick.
Garret was determined to hunt down Stark and his renegade fleet, but the CAC forces had been hot on his trail. He’d tried to shake them, but now he realized that wasn’t going to work. The last thing he wanted was to end up stuck between the two hostile fleets. So he reluctantly decided to turn and face the pursuing CAC force before continuing after Stark’s ships.
Normally, Garret wouldn’t be overly worried. Zhu was a somewhat competent officer, but he was unimaginative and deeply immersed in the conservative orthodoxy of the CAC navy. In a straight up fight, Garret was sure he could take Zhu, and probably keep his own losses at least moderately under control. But it wasn’t a straight up fight. He’d left Admiral Harmon and a third of the Alliance fleet out at X1, with orders to stay in place and make sure nothing was able to penetrate the Barrier. Worse, all the Alliance bases in the sector had been destroyed or occupied by Stark’s Shadow forces, leaving the fleet low on supplies and ordnance. He didn’t doubt that Zhu’s ships were fully stocked and loaded to the teeth with weapons, and that would give Zhu a big edge.
“Get me a direct laser com to Admiral Jacobs.” When Garret decided to fight the CAC fleet, he ordered Jacobs to take his task force into the asteroid belt and find a good place to hide. Garret was going to have to face an enemy that had parity in hulls and a massive superiority in logistics. He was going to counter that with strategy or, more accurately, trickery.
“Yes, Admiral.” Tara Rourke was the best tactical officer Garret had ever had. If she survived her battles, he had no doubt one day she’d be sitting in his chair. But for now, he was glad he had her on Pershing. She turned toward him. “I have Admiral Jacobs on Ticonderoga, sir.”
“Mike, are you in place yet?” Garret hadn’t worked closely with Jacobs for all that long, but he recognized natural talent when he saw it. He’d relied on Compton as his number two for decades and, apart from the overwhelming personal grief at his friend’s death, Garret was feeling the loss operationally as well. Terrance Compton had been the one officer Garret trusted and understood completely. It had been like having an extension of himself.
Jacobs wasn’t a replacement for Compton…no one ever could be. But Garret had been pleasantly surprised how well the two synced. Now, he was about to see how that synergy translated into action. If Compton had been there, he would have been hiding in that asteroid belt. Now it was Mike Jacobs, with some big shoes to fill.
“Yes, Admiral.” Jacob’s voice was firm, confident. He’d seen some rapid advancement over the last few years, entering the First Imperium War as the captain of a fast-attack ship. In the estimation of virtually every highly-ranked naval officer, his performance during the war rated every promotion he’d gotten. Jacobs himself, long in awe of commanders like Garret and Compton, had more trouble believing that, but whatever job he was given, he knew he would give it all he had. “I found a spread of asteroids with high-density radioactive ores, and I’ve got the task force positioned in tight behind them.” The radioactivity of the ores would mask the minimal energy outputs from his hiding ships, making it tougher to spot his force.
“Perfect.” Garret was impressed. He’d always felt that there was an X-factor to the most capable officers, an understanding they possessed that others didn’t, an instinct that gave them the insight their less gifted peers lacked. Most officers could be trained, and they could learn by experience. They could rise to fleet command and perform perfectly well. But the very best officers had that mysterious natural ability. Garret had it; Compton had it. Garret suspected Tara Rourke also had it. And now it looked like Mike Jacobs might as well. “Just lay low until I give you the word.” Garret paused for a few seconds. “And Mike, if you think things have really gone to hell out here, and you haven’t heard from me…I’m authorizing you to use your own judgment.” Garret had come to trust Jacobs more quickly than he would have thought possible a few months before.
“Yes, sir.” Jacobs’ tone softened a little. There weren’t many officers who weren’t deeply affected when Garret brought them into his inner circle. The admiral’s reputation had achieved legendary status, and an entire generation of younger officers had come up emulating the brilliant officer’s exploits. “You can count on us, sir. We’ll be ready when you need us.” Jacobs couldn’t explain Garret’s magnetism, but he knew one thing. He would die with every one of his ships before he would disappoint the admiral.
“Very well, Mike. Good luck. Garret out.”
Garret leaned back in his chair and thought silently for a few minutes. Finally, he took a deep breath and exhaled hard. It was time. He looked over at Rourke’s workstation. “OK, Tara…if you would be so kind, please bring the fleet to alert.”
Zhu sat staring at Kublai Khan’s main screen, watching the Alliance fleet in dumbstruck wonder. The admiral was a hardliner who generally bought into the notions of CAC superiority the government endlessly promoted. But facing Augustus Garret was a sobering test for his cultural orthodoxy. Even Zhu couldn’t convince himself Garret was an inferior. Deep inside, beneath the bravado and the jingoistic conditioning, he was scared to death facing the Alliance’s terrible admiral. And now he was watching in stunned silence as Garret’s ships headed off in a dozen different directions, breaking into small task forces. Fleeing.
It didn’t make any sense. It defied every maxim of war in space. But the master didn’t make foolish mistakes, which meant those ships were doing what they were doing for a good reason. But Zhu had no idea what that could be. Unless…was it possible Augustus Garret’s dreaded fleet had finally been driven too far? Were his people running for their lives?
It was going to reduce the effectiveness of his own missile barrage…that much was certain. None of Zhu’s attack plans had envisioned the Alliance fleet simply scattering, and most of his missiles were already moving at velocities too high to effectively change vectors and pursue Garret’s dispersing ships.
But it still didn’t make sense, at least not tactically. The Alliance fleet would escape one missile attack, but their units would be scattered across half the system, out of supporting range of each other. The CAC fleet could engage them piecemeal, destroying each in detail before moving on to the next. Perhaps Z
hu’s earlier thought was correct…maybe the Alliance fleet’s morale was broken…or even Garret himself. Had he lost his nerve and ordered his people to flee?
Was it possible? Could the legendary Garret have made a grave error, lost control of his fleet? Zhu’s mind drifted, imagining himself as the commander who finally defeated the legendary Augustus Garret. He would go down in history as one of the greatest naval leaders who’d every lived…the man who had destroyed the colossus. The image pleased him immensely.
His eyes focused on the screen, watching the clusters of Alliance ships accelerating on their scattered vectors. He was pinpointing a small group of blue circles, one of them with a small flag next to it. Pershing. Garret’s flagship…alone with only two other capital ships and a dozen escorts nearby.
Zhu punched the keys on his own workstation, calculating distance and vectors. If he gave the orders now…if he committed totally…he could bring massive superiority to bear on Pershing’s small task force. He could destroy the Alliance flagship. And with it Fleet Admiral Augustus Garret.
“Captain Wu, the fleet will concentrate on these coordinates.” He tapped a few keys, sending the flight plan to his aide.
Wu was staring down at his screen as the figures came through. His eyes widened as he read them and plotted them on his tactical map. He looked up, trying hard to suppress his surprise. “The whole fleet, sir?”
“Yes, by God, the whole fleet.” Zhu snapped the response in a tone that discouraged any argument.
“Yes, sir.” He gulped hard but didn’t argue. Zhu’s order would concentrate the fleet just as Garret’s perfectly plotted missile strike came into range. The losses would be horrendous. Then the trajectory would take the surviving ships right past most of the Alliance fleet. And directly at Garret’s flagship.
Wu understood Zhu’s thinking, but he had a terrible feeling it was wrong. Horribly wrong. The CAC admiral was betting the Alliance fleet would disintegrate if they lost their brilliant admiral, that their morale would collapse if they heard of Garret’s death. But Wu knew the Alliance spacers better than Zhu did. He’d served alongside them in the desperate battles on the Rim. He knew firsthand how sharp a blade Garret had forged. Zhu expected the Alliance fleet to rout and flee if Garret was killed. But Wu knew that was folly. The Alliance crews would go berserk if they lost Garret…and they would fight like demons from hell for vengeance, ignoring losses, ignoring fatigue. They would come at the CAC ships with death in their hearts and a fury the terrified captain couldn’t even imagine.
Wu knew the admiral’s plan was ill-conceived. But he also knew he couldn’t argue. If he did, he’d be relieved at the very least. And possibly much worse. Zhu wasn’t an officer who would listen to reason, not once he’d made a decision. Wu held back a sigh and sent the order out on the fleetcom. “Flight plan has been transmitted to all ships, Admiral.” He tried to keep his voice professional, but his mind was grim. And he was afraid.
Pershing’s landing bay was eerily quiet as Chad Gravis made his way to his fighter-bomber. Gravis had served under Greta Hurley throughout the First Imperium War, initially as a squadron leader and later in command of a strike wing. He’d learned his trade from Hurley, and he’d learned it well.
Hurley was the unchallenged master of small-craft battle tactics, the officer who’d led the most massive bomber attacks in history against the fleets of the First Imperium. But Hurley wasn’t there to command the strike force. She’d been attached to Terrance Compton’s half of Grand Fleet during the battles at X2, and she was trapped with him behind the Barrier…consigned to whatever fate the universe had bestowed on the Alliance admiral and his people.
Gravis felt the shadow of Hurley looking over him, the massive shoes she’d left behind for someone to fill. Now he would have to try those shoes on…he was about to command a ragtag remnant of those massive attack wings she had led.
The squadrons had suffered crippling losses during the desperate battles on the Line and out on the frontier. There had been no time to train pilots or build bombers and, as the allied fleet contingents departed when Grand Fleet dispersed, they took their own decimated wings with them.
Most of the surviving Alliance fighters had been trapped with Compton’s fleet, and Gravis had only a few hastily-organized squadrons he could put into space. This battered cadre was all Admiral Garret had available, a vague shadow of the forces Grand Fleet had put into space a year earlier. But Garret wasn’t one to waste time thinking about what he didn’t have, and Gravis wasn’t either. There was a job to do, and they would both have to make do with what they had.
He stopped under one of the bombers, reaching up and climbing the ladder into the cabin. He pulled himself up and walked to the command seat. The “Lightning” fighter-bombers were over 50 meters in length, but most of the space was occupied by fuel, engines, and weapons. The cabin itself was a cramped affair for the four-man crew.
The other three members of the crew were already in place, strapped in and ready for launch. All 37 of Gravis’ ships were fully crewed, and now that the commander had boarded his craft the strike force was ready to go.
Gravis scooped up his helmet and snapped it into place over his head. He climbed into his harness and clipped the belts. “Lieutenant Fitz, advise fleet command we are ready to launch.”
“Yes, sir.” Fitz relayed Gravis’ report. He was a veteran, like every other crewman in Gravis’ tiny attack force. They were all survivors of the First Imperium War, seasoned flight crew who had been trained and led by Admiral Hurley. They were laughably few, but they were determined to earn their keep.
“Commander Gravis…” – Tara Rourke’s voice came through on the com just a few minutes later – “…you may launch your squadrons when ready.” There was a pause, just a few seconds, and then she added, “Good luck.”
Mike Jacobs sat on Ticonderoga’s enormous flag bridge, trying hard not to be overwhelmed by the scale all around him. There were almost 20 stations in the control center, with support staff busily working at each monitoring the status of the entire task force. Garret had assigned him the massive battlewagon as his flagship as soon as he returned from Armstrong…and gave him a third of the fleet to command.
Jacobs was honored, touched deeply by the show of confidence from the man virtually every living human considered the best naval commander in space. But he also wanted to vomit. The responsibility was overwhelming for an officer who still thought of himself as a ship captain playacting as an admiral. He’d commanded Scouting Fleet in the final campaign against the First Imperium, but this was the first time he’d led a powerful battle fleet. He had never even served on a capital ship before Ticonderoga. Mike Jacobs had been a suicide boat rider from the day he left the academy until command of Scouting Fleet forced him onto a cruiser’s bridge. But a cruiser wasn’t a battleship, and Jacobs was still fighting to grasp it all.
It wasn’t just the staggering power of the task force under his command, it was the importance of his mission. Jacobs had been a student of Garret’s tactics his entire career, and he knew his hidden force was the admiral’s primary maneuver element, the sledgehammer the brilliant tactician planned to use to crush his enemy. Jacobs wasn’t privy to Garret’s overall plan, but he knew his ships would have a key role in the decisive combat to come, and probably the key role. Jacobs was trying to stay focused on his tasks, but his stomach was tied in knots. He could think of nothing worse than letting Garret down. And failing Garret would be failing the entire fleet.
He was waiting for the transmission…for the single word Garret had promised him. “Go.” That simple command, flashed via direct laser com, would set his force in motion. His orders were simple. His ships would burst out of the asteroids and slam into the flank of the enemy fleet. They would launch a single missile volley as they emerged from their cover, and then they would close to energy weapons range. After that it would be a fight to the death, bare-knuckled and brutal.
His ships were ready. Eve
rything had been checked and double-checked. They were on radio silence, their only job now to remain hidden, to shield themselves behind the asteroids until they got the word to attack. They were sitting, waiting for the decisive moment, for Admiral Garret to unleash them on the enemy.
“Receiving a laser transmission from fleet command, sir.” Commander Carp had been with Jacobs since his days commanding a single suicide boat out on the extreme frontier. “The message is ‘go,’ sir.” Carp was a gifted officer, cool and decisive. He was young too. He’d still be a lieutenant if the First Imperium hadn’t invaded human space, but fate had given him the chance to excel…and he’d been fortunate enough to serve under another upwardly mobile officer like Jacobs.
Jacobs swallowed hard. It was time. “Very well, Commander. The task force will execute Plan Javelin.”
Garret stared at the scanner, watching as his task groups decelerated and changed their vectors inward. Slowly, surely, they were moving behind the CAC fleet, even as Jacobs’ forces were coming out from the asteroid field and engaging. Garret was a student of all military history, but certain things resonated with him more than others. He’d read the histories of Hannibal’s war with Rome many times, mesmerized by the Carthaginian general’s crushing victories against the legions. He’d often wondered if a victory of annihilation like Cannae could be recreated in space. He’d considered the problem for years, but he’d always discounted any attempt as too risky…until now. But now Garret wasn’t looking just to defeat the CAC fleet. He intended to destroy it utterly.
He’d paid a price to set the stage for his Cannae. The fleet had scattered, following his meticulous maneuver plan and leaving the enemy to concentrate on Garret’s own small task force. He’d put himself out as bait, and it looked like Admiral Zhu was playing along. Garret had micromanaged the defense against the incoming CAC missile barrages, sweating over each of the hundreds of warheads coming at his ships. Anti-missile ordnance exploded all around the incoming CAC barrage and, closer in, the electromagnetic catapults blasted out their “shotgun” rounds, spraying the warheads with hyper-velocity blasts of uranium and osmium shrapnel.
