The destroyers and light cruisers were arrayed in a defensive wall a million kilometers behind the main force of capital ships. Two thousand kilometers by two thousand kilometers, the wall covered four million square kilometers. Of the sixteen light cruisers, four were dedicated fleet missile defense ships, with more countermissiles and close in sensor arrays than most light cruisers. There were eight dedicated fleet defense missile escorts among the fifty four destroyers. Each quadrant of the box was commanded by one of the special light cruisers, with two of the special destroyers as backup. Three light cruisers and eleven destroyers filled in the defense of each quadrant, with the two remaining destroyers stationed where the four corners of the quadrants met.
Their mission was simple. To kill enemy missiles before they got to the capital ships they were defending. Their secondary mission was to survive so they could attack succeeding salvos of missiles. And to make sure that they did not use all of their missiles to defeat one salvo, leaving the fleet open to the next layers of attack.
The sensory systems of the escorts picked up the missiles on passive infrared as the weapons came rushing in. At three light minutes the active sensors radiated tight beams to define the locations of the incoming swarm that was to arrive in seven minutes. They attempted to derive a pattern from the thousand missiles that were starting to weave and dodge. In some cases they might find one, but in most the missile AI was good enough to keep the pattern as random as possible.
At two light minutes subjective the escorts launched their first salvos of long range counters. These were about a quarter the size of regular offensive missiles, with little of their stamina. The thousands of missiles streaked out at eight thousand gravities, attempting to fight their way through the electronic static of the incoming birds. Some were spoofed by the decoys the incoming missiles were now releasing. Others locked on, only to lose the lock and wander off into space. Still others bore in for a kill, only to lose the target at the last second as it juked or swerved at thousands of gravities, leaving empty space to the closing killer. A couple of dozen counters achieved hard kills, slamming their bodies into the incoming missiles in spectacular bursts of light and radiation. And a hundred took out missiles with proximity kills as their warheads went off within tens of kilometers of the incoming, and destroyed them with particles of hard radiation or debris.
The eight hundred and fifty survivors continued in, accelerating all the while. The second salvo of counters had to contend with the sensor jamming radiation of their earlier mates’ kills and misses. They still took out over a hundred of the missiles. Seven hundred fifty continued on and were caught in a counter missile salvo launched by the capital ships. Seven hundred continued on, some pulled in by the sensor returns from the escorts, the rest keeping to program and looking for bigger targets.
The escorts now launched the shorter ranged counter missiles. The light cruisers carried between twelve and sixteen double launchers that fired two missiles every two seconds. The destroyers carried between ten and twelve single missile launchers with a similar rate of fire. Within seconds space was filled with thousands of missiles, accelerating at ten thousand gravities. The only hitch was their boost duration, which was about twenty seconds. They still took out over two hundred of the incoming enemy weapons. As they approached their targets miniature nuclear devices went off under the depleted plutonium rods in the warhead. A heavy vapor of depleted plutonium spewed out from the disintegrating counters, spreading hundreds of meters in circumference and catching the speeding missiles in kinetic traps.
Three hundred of the missiles veered onto tracks targeting the escorts. More of the short ranged missiles shrieked out, while lasers and close ranged rapid firers attempted to engage them, most failing as the missiles moved at over a light second away, only in real time targeting in most cases for a fraction of a second.
Two of the escorts took direct hits that shattered hulls and sent flaming plasma throughout the body of the vessels. A light cruiser and three destroyers were damaged to varying degrees, while another half dozen ships took minor damage.
The hundred or so missiles that passed through the escort wall to attack the capital ships faced another barrage of short ranged missiles, interspersed with lasers and rapid firing close in weapons. Only a score of the missiles made it to attack range, scoring a half dozen proximity hits that caused superficial damage to the huge capital ships. And then the wave was gone, while the ships reoriented on the second wave that was on its way in.
It was mostly the same story with the second wave. Three hundred missiles made it through the fire, and continued to plunge into the system. Capital ships took them under fire with long range interceptors for a minute, until the missiles had passed and were on their way into the system under eight thousand gravities acceleration, and out of catch up range for the interceptors.
“Send to Admiral Gonzalez that’s she’s going to have company shortly,” said Gunter Heinrich as he watched the missiles in his plot. “In about forty minutes, I would think.”
“Yes sir,” said the com officer, sending the ordered instructions.
“And after you’re through with that tell the destroyers and cruisers to start rolling them out.”
* * *
At least he’s letting me have access to the tactical plot, thought the Prince as he watched the unfolding drama in his mind. They were now about eighty light seconds from the fleet, and actually just a few light seconds closer to the enemy. But they were moving out on the curving track that was imparted from boosting at a ninety degree angle from their most recent vector, which was still imparting considerable velocity on their track. Within an hour the enemy would be past them, and they would open up the gap between them and the hostiles.
Damn the old man, thought the Prince again, his anger shaking through him. Who are they to pull me out of the fight? He could think of no other reason to take one of the most powerful units in the group out of the looming battle. And he would make sure they paid for it when the battle was over. Or at least Captain Sebastian Ngano would pay, since he was not sure if Admiral Gunter Heinrich would still be around.
* * *
“What do you think about the enemy ship that seems to want out of the fight?” asked Hrisshammartanama of one of his more senior officers.
“They want to protect something really bad would be my guess,” said the older Lord. “And they want it out of our way.”
“No telling what it is,” said the Low Admiral, scratching his head. “But if they don’t want it harmed it’s probably a good idea on our part to harm it.”
“I agree,” said the other Lord, giving a feral smile.
“Fire a hundred missiles their way,” ordered the Low Admiral. “Let’s see how a pair of ships handles that kind of a meal. And order all the out system pickets to watch for them.”
* * *
“They’re firing a spread of missiles on our vector, sir,” came the voice of the tactical officer to the Captain.
Damn, thought the Captain, floating in his tube of liquid. They could have waited just a bit longer. Given us some more velocity to work with.
“ETA,” he asked over the link.
“Twelve minutes,” came the voice of the tac officer.
“Ship,” he said in his mind over the link. “Decrease acceleration to two hundred fifty gravities. Sound klaxon.”
The ship obediently reduced acceleration while sounding the klaxon. The Captain ordered that he be linked to the ship’s company.
“Now hear this,” he said over the circuit. “We have been targeted by enemy missiles. All crew out of the tanks and to your duty stations. Repeat. All crew out of the tanks and to your duty stations.”
The liquid began to withdraw from his own acceleration tank, swiftly sucked up into the holding tank. As soon as it was down below the opening, that door unsealed and the Captain moved out. He hurried to the armor cubby near his chair, which opened at his approach, and backed into the opening shell of h
is armor. The armor swung shut on him and he moved forward, out of the cubby, reaching back for his helmet and gloves before the small chamber closed. His tank had lowered into the floor in the meantime, and the floor hatch had slid shut, the nanoseals closing so that the area looked like the solid surface it now was.
The rest of the bridge crew was already out and at their stations by the time he got to his chair. They’re all younger than me, he thought with a grimace. Able to move faster.
“Projected time to impact?” he asked as he sat in his couch and felt it attach to his armor.
“Ten minutes, sir,” called the tactical officer.
“Load jammers in all stern tubes,” he ordered. “Set them to go off six minutes after firing. Fire.”
“Aye, sir,” called out the weapons officer, sending the orders.
“Prepare all decoys for launch. I also want a spread of offensive missiles fired on intercept course, right behind the jammers. Let’s see what a couple of dozen five hundred meg warheads might do.”
“Jana Kleinman is requesting instructions, sir,” said the com tech, looking over at the Captain with beads of sweat on her brow.
“Send her my intentions,” he replied. “Ask them to fire a spread of offensive missiles to come in and detonate right behind ours. Full decoys, and integrate into our fire control. I want them close enough for real time. Say two thousand kilometers.”
“Aye sir,” said the tech, turning back to her board.
“We will ride this out people,” said the Captain, clenching his fists. “We will make it.”
The rest of the bridge hurried about their duties, sparing a glance every few seconds at the tactical plot that showed a hundred red arrows on the way.
“And send some Marines down to get that damned Prince up here,” said the Captain as an afterthought.
* * *
“Ring is at full power,” called out a Petty Officer from his station in the control chamber. “Matrix is fully charged, and there is ninety-nine percent feed from the couplings.”
“Check, sir,” said Gorbachev from her station. “All systems within parameters.”
“Are all ratings at stations?” asked Lt. SG Romanov from his post.
“Yes sir,” called back the chief. “All armored and ready to go. Repair robots ready as well.”
“Missile impact in eight minutes,” called a voice over the link.
The Prince allowed himself to meld into the ship for a moment, looking at the now unblocked tactical display. A hundred red arrows moved toward them, while dozens of green arrows reached out to them.
“Lieutenant Romanov,” came a voice he didn’t recognize from behind. Turning in his couch, the Prince found himself looking at two battle armored Marines. One had Gunnery Sergeant’s stripes on his helmet and armored chest. The other had corporal stripes and carried a shipboard assault rifle.
“What can I do for you, Gunny?” he asked, a sinking feeling in his stomach.
“Captain’s orders,” said the NCO. “You are to accompany us to the bridge.”
The damned bridge, he thought, looking in disbelief at the man. The Captain was going to save him no matter what, and not allow him to comport himself like an officer of the Fleet.
“Now, sir,” said the gunny, his hand on the butt of a sonic stunner that was holstered at his side.
“We’ll take care of it sir,” said CPO Gorbachev, giving him a tight smile. “We’ll make you proud.”
Sean nodded his head and ordered the couch to release his suit with a thought. The Corporal moved aside as he came up to the Sergeant, who led him from the chamber as the Corporal fell in behind.
They entered the lift and Sean turned toward the doors as they closed. He stared ahead without a word. The Captain’s word was law on the ship. And the Marine professionals were bound to obey that word, no matter the protests of a junior officer. No matter his family. So he would not accomplish anything by protesting to them. Threatening them. Attempting to bribe them.
“Missile impact in six minutes,” came the voice over the net with infuriating projected calm. The Prince called the tactical plot up in his mind as the lift moved downward fifty meters, reoriented, and sped away along the central conduit of the ship.
In his mind he was watching the red arrows moving closer. And the green arrows reaching out to them. The first dozen of those arrows were within fifteen seconds of the incoming war birds when they showered space with a cascade of energy. Blinding the incoming missiles on all frequencies, throwing off their targeting systems. The red arrows bore on ahead, toward the target that they could no longer see, but which was entrenched in their inertial systems.
As the enemy missiles passed the jammers they reacquired the battleship and plunged ahead. That was when the first wave of offensive missiles reached them and detonated in space. Not interceptors, they had still been targeted on the incoming missiles, and had done their best to find them and kill them. They turned to bright expanding dots on the display, and four of the red arrows disappeared. A second wave of missiles, these from the destroyer, detonated two light seconds behind them and took another three missiles off the board.
The lift came to a stop in the center of the amidships central capsule and the doors opened. The hallways were completely empty of crew, everyone gone to their duty stations. The Gunnery Sergeant gestured toward a door set into the bulkhead across from the lift. There were a pair of Marine guards stationed outside the door, sitting in acceleration couches within recesses and holding shipboard rifles in their armor gloved hands. The gunny stopped in front of them and gave them a code word.
“In you go, Lieutenant,” said the Marine as the heavy doors to the bridge opened.
Sean gave him an angry look that seemed to slide off the man, not a bit of concern showing in the Marine NCO’s eyes. With a hundred missiles coming in I’m probably the last thing he needs to be concerned about, thought the Prince as he walked in the door.
“Missile impact in five minutes,” came the calm voice over the net.
All of the bridge stations were manned with space armored officers and crew. Despite the environmental control most of them were sweating, and Sean could feel the fear in the room. The same fear that was twisting at his guts as the enemy missiles bore in. But everyone was going about their duties efficiently, training taking charge in the stress of the moment.
The Captain gestured the Prince over and waved at one of the two empty acceleration couches on either side of his chair. The extra chairs for the XO and a visitor. He was the visitor to the bridge, and the XO would be down in the Combat Information Center (CIC) in another capsule of the ship. Both the heads of the ship, primary and auxiliary, in the most protected portions of the heavy vessel.
Sean fell back in the seat and felt the latches attach to his armor, holding him in place. The Captain was subvocalizing orders and did not look like he would brook a disturbance at this time, so Sean held his tongue and looked around the large chamber.
“Prepare for emergency military boost,” came a calm voice over the com. “Emergency boost in ten seconds.”
The Marines had already scrambled from the room, heading for their emergency stations. Their armor would move them through the increased gravity of the boost even if they felt like they were about to fall. It was still safer to be in a couch.
Sean looked up at the ceiling overhead, the meter thick chunk of alloy containing wire runs and pipes that fed the bridge. He thought of the outer skin of the ship, ten meters of ceramic, carbon fiber and hard alloy armor, with a meter thick layer of nanoliquid between the two sections. The nanoliquid would fill and seal any holes punched through that strong mass. Then there were tanks of liquid, stores, and two hundred meters of whatever else the ship might have before the five meter thick armored skin of the central capsule. Then hundreds of meters of ship before the bridge, located in almost the exact center of the capsule, just above the central umbilical. A lot to punch through to get to this protected spot. A
nd something that was all too likely to happen if they were pounded by those following missiles.
Just then all thoughts fled as a giant hand seemed to push him back into his couch. The ship went to two hundred and sixty gees, five above the capacity of the inertial compensators, and the crew felt as if they were on the surface of a superheavy planet. Sean forced his lungs to work, as his armor pulled outward with his breaths to increase the force that his poor muscles were trying to exert. He gritted his teeth as his vision started to blur. Then his implanted systems came online and forced the blood flow through his veins, feeding his brain the needed oxygen.
“It’s a pure bitch,” came the voice of the Captain through his com circuit on a one on one link. “I hate it. But every little bit of accel might make the difference.”
Sean tried to nod his head but it wouldn’t move. He looked at the tactical in his mind’s eye again, seeing the ninety three remaining missiles meeting the first wave of interceptors. On one view arrow met arrow and seven of the red arrows disappeared. In real space view seven bright points blossomed as fast moving matter met fast moving matter, and antimatter containment breached. And eighty-six red arrows continued to gain on them.
More objects appeared on the plot as decoys were released that would attempt to mimic the signals and sensor profile of the battleship. Each boosted away at the same accel as the battleship and tried to lure missiles toward them. Some succeeded for a while, pulling a couple of dozen missiles off the kill track. Of those about ten lost lock permanently, while the others reacquired after a few moments of continued seeking.
A second wave of interceptors contacted the incoming, taking out eleven of the remaining seventy-four, leaving sixty three coming in at over point five c. A third wave of interceptors hit six more, leaving fifty-seven screaming in silently through space.
Close range interceptors started cycling from the ships as fast as they could launch, putting multiple hundreds of the small missiles in space. Box cells on the hull released another hundred interceptors. Fifty-seven missiles became forty-eight, then forty-two, then thirty-seven. And then they were within the close range envelope and boring in on the battleship, which had terminated all forward boost and was getting ready for the end game. The ships began to swerve and jerk in random directions as they released another wave of decoys. Everything from large terawatt lasers to fifty millimeter cannon filled the space behind the ships as they attempted to bring the swiftly maneuvering missiles into their firing arcs. A dozen missiles exploded, then five more, two colliding with each other in their maneuvering. Twenty missiles continued in, three more picked off by close in weapons.
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2 Page 26
