The Hot Gate: Troy Rising III-ARC

by John Ringo

  “This time we’re not sending them all,” Field Marshal Hampson said. “God knows if the Rangora have more ships waiting in Galkod system. I think a sixty thousand is a nice round number.”

  “Four waves,” Admiral Marchant said. “Twenty thousand to plow the road for the ships. Then the ships and the MinJolnir with a group of twenty thousand for interceptors. Then the rest since they can outrun our ships at a standing start.”

  “Approved,” Marshal Hampson said. “Try to keep your casualties down. We’re going to need your ships to recover the survivors.”

  “Intend to, Marshal.”

  “Take back that system, Admiral.”

  * * *

  “We’re not taking this position, sir.”

  “Noticed that.”

  There might, in fact, be a command post up ahead. If so, one platoon of grunts wasn’t going to take it.

  The human Marines were heavily bunkered in what were obviously hastily constructed fighting positions. But given that they were hastily constructed of wall material and the sort of thick NI hatches that had prevented the Rangora from moving forward repeatedly...

  “Two more troops down,” Ghezhosil said.

  “Fourteen higher, Lanniph.”

  “Lanniph, fourteen higher.”

  “The enemy’s finally decided to take a stand. Unfortunately, it’s in a heavily bunkered position. We need heavy weapons to take this out.”

  “Roger, wait one.”

  “Sure, got nothing better to do.”

  “Lanniph, Fourteen higher. Have you tried fire and maneuver and grenades?”

  “Standby, Fourteen Higher.” Lanniph keyed his hydration module and took a sip of stale water. “So, where’ve you been lately, sergeant?”

  “Tuxugah, sir,” Ghezhosil said. “Livith. Heraldon. Jittan.”

  “So, do you think this is more or less of a cluster grope than Tuxugah? I was at Qoalh so I’ve no direct experience. I understand it was unpleasant.”

  “I think this is a bit worse in some ways, sir,” Ghezhosil said. “There was actually something resembling a plan at Tuxugah. Just didn’t work, sir. But that ixi screw was...bigger?”

  “My impression as well. Fourteen Higher, Lanniph. Negative effect on the grenades. Really could use a heavy system here.”

  “Roger Lanniph. Stand by.”

  “Standing by. Which wave were you in?”

  “Drop capsules.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Kinda like hot drops, sir. Of course, you’re dropping from orbit as a screaming, blazing target. But with enough capsules and decoys it just comes down to if your number’s up or not. And drops are a rush and a half, sir.”

  “Agreed. I prefer the initial atmospheric entry portion, personally. That first slam when you hit the upper troposphere... There’s really nothing quite like it.”

  “You’re drop capsule certified, sir?”

  “We were probably dropping in different areas on Heraldon. I had a platoon of the 42nd.”

  “So I guess that you understand sitting in vacuum waiting for my air to run out is sort of a second choice.”

  “Completely.”

  “Lanniph, Fourteen Higher. We’re going to try to vector a heavy weapon’s team to your position.”

  “Roger, Fourteen Higher. Might want to send some security with them.”

  He leaned around the corner of the corridor and triggered a burst of fire down the side tunnel.

  “State reason, over.”

  “Cause we’re crapping surrounded!” Ghezhosil said, picking up the transmission from the LT’s sensor ball.

  * * *

  “We lost Sanbar,” Lieutenant Khan said.

  “Might have something to do with the sensor ball in the corridor, sir,” Sergeant Del Papa said. “All we have to do, sir, is pin them until reinforcements come up. Got a heavy laser on the way. That should convince them to come out hands up.”

  “Easier said than done, Sergeant. That is very accurate fire.”

  * * *

  “You...Yauk!” Sergeant Ghezhosil said. “Grab whoever that is down and get me his ammo.”

  “You get it!” the private shrieked. He was huddling on the deck with his arms over his head.

  “Okay, then, give me your ammo!”

  “Screw you!” the private said, finally getting his rifle into use to aim it at the sergeant. Given that Ghezhosil was out, there wasn’t much he could do but take the laser fire.

  Suddenly a knife appeared in a chink in the private’s armor by the neck seals which began gushing air and blood.

  “Might want to turn his air off when you get the ammo,” Lieutenant Lanniph said, taking another shot down the corridor. “Waste not, want not.”

  * * *

  “Gate activation,” Colonel Ishives said.

  “The additional Aggressor groups?” Captain Be’Sojahiph asked.

  “Sol system.”

  “They really think they can take this system with...” The captain stopped as the data on incoming came up. “Where did they get an additional twenty thousand missiles? Begin rotation. Have the Aggressors spread to...”

  “Missiles are not targeting us, sir,” Ishives said.

  * * *

  “Oh...ixi shit.”

  This was Captain Zoa Qa’Zafilach’s nineteenth battle. All but one previous during the Glatun War against Glatun battleships, cruisers and, notably, missiles. When, just prior to this engagement, he was given an update on the human’s Thunderbolt missiles his immediate reactions were, in order, that they were remarkably similar to, perhaps an improvement upon, the Glatun equivalent and that he hoped he never had to face them.

  So far in this battle his wish had been granted. However, if wishes were skul trees...

  “Tell me point defense is one hundred percent.”

  “Point defense is...close? Say ninety percent. Shields, though...”

  “Took damage from the human cruisers and battleships.”

  “Yes, sir. Seventy percent on shields.”

  The fleet had shot its wad of heavy missiles against the Thermopylae. To some good effect but at the moment Captain Qa’Zafilach dearly wished he had something, anything, to engage that tidal wave of missiles other than pop-gun lasers and mass drivers.

  “This is...not so good.”

  Oh, well, at least he didn’t have to worry about the Kazi.

  * * *

  The Rangora second fleet had entered the system with sixteen Aggressor groups and two AVs. Seven Aggressors had been lost to human fire along with thirty-nine of the sixty-four secondary vessels and, of course, one AV.

  Twenty thousand missiles were, therefore, targeting nine Aggressors, seventeen Cofubof class cruisers and eight Gufesh destroyers. All of which were shot out on counter missiles.

  Normally the Thunderbolts would have to fly through a welter of counter-missiles. This time they came on in an implacable wave, the formation breaking up to concentrate four fifths of its power, sixteen thousand missiles, on the nine Aggressors. Nearly two thousand per ship.

  There is a saying: There is no such thing as overkill. There is only “Open fire!” and “Reloading!”

  It only took six hundred missiles, not two thousand, to drive through the Cuwwutoa’s point defenses.

  Fortunately, although there were no more Aggressors, cruisers, destroyers or frigates to destroy, there was a great big target still in their engagement basket.

  * * *

  “Damn, damn, DAMN!” Captain Be’Sojahiph shouted.

  “In retrospect, a negotiated ceasefire might have been a valid option,” Colonel Ishives said. The introspective and intelligent tactical officer should probably have considered it was the first time his commander had lost his temper.

  “Get that jagi carcass out of my CIC,” Be’Sojahiph growled as the colonel’s body thumped to the deck. “Increase rotation speed. Begin engagement at long range with heavy missiles.”

  “Add...additional units entering system,” the
tactical technician stuttered.

  “What now?”

  * * *

  More than twelve thousand missiles were left to assault the rapidly rolling, invalid AV.

  Depending upon conditions, the final kinetic energy delivery of the missiles varied. It was a matter of relative velocities. In this case the AV was moving away from their start point at nearly a hundred kilometers per minute. And the missiles had first targeted the Aggressor groups which were at a slight angle from the AV. Thus instead of the maximum of thirty-five megatons of delivery, the missiles were impacting the AV with a measly sixteen megatons of kinetic impact.

  Unlike most previous battles, though, they were not slamming the entire length of the superdreadnought. Instead, they were selectively targeting along its midline segments.

  “Sections six and seven report heavy damage,” Major Viog shouted over the scream of alarms. The damage control officer was less worried about being shot than most since he was just about the most vital person on the ship at the moment.

  “Really?” Captain Be’Sojahiph said, slamming his helmet closed. “Was it the hiss of evacuating air that gave it away?”

  “No, sir!” Viog said. “It was probably the total destruction of all the shield generators, point defense and missile tubes in our section. Sir!”

  “Enemy’s second wave.”

  “Twenty thousand missiles, the rest of their fleet and one unclassified vessel. All accelerating at eleven seventy meters per second square.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Be’Sojahiph said, keying up the information. He compared the gravity emissions of the vessels to other systems, a job that would have been Ishives” come to think of it, and frowned.

  “Independence class?” Be’Sojahiph said. “Probably. They’re trying to replicate that horrible Constitution...thing that took out the Herraruo. But... Target all long range fire on that vessel. If they get through...”

  “Targeting set,” the tactical tech said.

  “Then fire!”

  * * *

  “Maneuver to cover the MinJolnir,” Admiral Marchant said. “Accelerate the missiles. Linear formation. Target the next segments outward from the center. Ships maintain perpendicular formation. Pound the shit out of that thing.”

  “Set up, sir.”

  “Initiate.”

  * * *

  “Second wave of missiles inbound, Captain,” the tactical tech said, nervously. “Seem to be targeting segments five and eight.”

  “Prepare to reduce rotation,” Captain Be’Sojahiph said.

  “Sir?” the tactical tech growled.

  “They’re trying to open up our center so they can break us with that thing,” Be’Sojahiph said. “We need to keep some shields up. We’ll take the damage on one segment until it’s scrap then rotate.”

  * * *

  “Sheffield’s lost forward screens,” Captain Whisler said. “Rotating out of formation.”

  “Acknowledged,” Admiral Marchant said.

  * * *

  “Skew to keep that fleet on our flank,” Captain Be’Sojahiph said.

  “Captain?” the tactical tech said.

  “Yes?” Be’Sojahiph ground out.

  “The Thermopylae has managed to reverse its previous course. It’s...closing.”

  I need at least one tactical specialist alive so I don’t have to do it.

  “Maintain fire with spinal gun. We’ll burn through sooner or later. Or at least take out their damned laser.”

  * * *

  “So that’s the situation,” Del Papa said. “They’re stuck in that corridor. Good targeting and position so we can’t winkle them out. Not without being bloody slaughtered in the process. On the other hand, they can’t get out, either. But command wants them cleaned out so we can go find more.”

  He wasn’t sure about this Marine. It was nice to find somebody who could speak English. But he hadn’t heard that sort of tone in a long time. Like the last time he worked recovery on one of the bombed out cities.

  “I can do that,” Ramage said, flatly. “Give me enough time, I can burn through the damned wall.”

  Rammer knew he had a message from Comet on his phone. He also knew what it would be. “Last Call.” That message you set up to go out when you’d bought it. “Well, this is the Last Call. Here’s all the stuff I wanted to tell you when I was alive but didn’t have the guts.” He had about sixty of them to work through already. He figured he’d just wait to see if he needn’t have bothered. He figured by the end of the day, about seventy-three people would be getting one from him. Of course, sixty or so of them were never going to pick up.

  In the meantime, there were Rangora to kill.

  “Just suppress them so we can work up the damned tunnel.”

  “On it, sergeant.”

  * * *

  Captain Be’Sojahiph’s plan worked. Partially.

  “Shields down in quadrants forty-three, thirty-seven, twenty-eight and sixteen. Those are losses of the generators. Shields yellow in twenty-four, thirty-six, twenty-seven and nineteen. Point defense down in all four plus quadrants twenty-two and sixty-seven. No additional damage to sections six and seven.”

  When a quadrant had been sufficiently trashed, surviving missiles in the wave with enough maneuverability had shifted to adjacent quadrants, working out. But that left the entire rear section, minus the central sectors, undamaged.

  “Full rotate,” Captain Be’Sojahiph said. “Continue max fire. Status on Thermopylae.”

  “Starting to accelerate towards us,” tactical replied. “Still no hits from its laser. We’re hitting it but we have been unable to take out the one laser that appears functional. There are screens and it is adjusting in a...very random manner.”

  “Odd,” Be’Sojahiph said. “Not the random adjustment, the missing. Their systems are generally quite accurate. How long until it reaches this vicinity?”

  “Four hours, sir.”

  “We have time, then.”

  “Third wave of missiles,” tactical said.

  “That’s why they make these things tough, tactical.”

  * * *

  “Prepare to skew,” Admiral Marchant said.

  “Not before time, sir,” Captain Whisler replied.

  The timing was...tricky.

  Granadica wasn’t the only fabber working on a ship when the Rangora showed up. Hephaestus on Troy had been working on an Independence class and was at about the same stage of completion. Notably it had drives and power systems loaded. Squashing it and armoring it was easy. In addition, however, the “Mini-Mjolnir” had been outfitted with heavier armor and screens designed for a Defender class.

  That wasn’t enough, however, to survive closing with a fully prepared AV that was dealing with a few mosquitoes called battleships. It needed more mosquitoes called missiles for cover.

  The problem being that the MinJolnir had much lower acceleration than the missiles. The last wave had to fully occupy the attention of the dreadnought so the MinJolnir had a chance of plowing through.

  Tricky.

  Marchant watched the vector indicators for the missiles and then made the call less on math than gut.

  “Skew fleet. Full accel on MinJolnir.”

  * * *

  “The enemy fleet is skewing,” tactical said. “They’re exposing the rammer ship.”

  “All lasers concentrate on that rammer,” Be’Sojahiph said. He’d done the math. The smaller ship was going to have a fraction of the effect of the heavier rammer. But that fraction, if it hit their central sectors, was going to be enough to crack his AV in half.

  “Rammer is maneuvering,” tactical said. “High delta. Minimal hits at this range. And...it’s shielded this time.”

  “Damn, damn and blast!”

  * * *

  MinJolnir was, indeed, ducking and weaving for all it was worth. The heavy secondaries of the AV should still have blasted it from stem to stern. However, there were six heavy screens forward. As one
dropped from laser fire, another would catch the incoming coherent light. Generally the original screen could reset. But first one dropped offline from fire then another. With no damage control technicians aboard to fix them, they were permanently lost.

  Eventually the AV was going to win. If something didn’t happen to stop the fire.

  * * *

  “Enemy missiles overtaking rammer ship,” tactical said. “They’re maneuvering to take our fire.”

  “Begin rotation,” Be’Sojahiph said. “We’ll see what survives after this missile pass. Maintain fire on the rammer.”

  * * *

  Since the missiles had the dedicated job of intercepting laser fire to keep it off MinJolnir, fewer than four thousand made it to the superdreadnought. Between the rapid rotation and point defense none made it through to the armor. However, they had been set to spread attack and dozens of screens were offline from stem to stern.

  * * *

  “Sir!” Captain Blades said, sitting up in his command chair.

  “Captain?” Clemons said, half-heartedly.

  “Forward screens in quadrant seven down on the AV,” Blades said.

  “Targeted fire!”

  “Laser’s still warming...”

  “When we fire...” Clemons said, “maintain fire as long as possible.”

  “Oh, yes, sir.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  The forward screen hit had been more or less an accident. The Thunderbolt had been part of a group of ten targeted on section two. When the screens on two had failed it automatically shifted to section one. Amazingly, the single missile made it through the point defense fire and hit the screen. All that happened was the penetrator system dropped the screen.