WarWorld: The Battle of Sauron

by John Carr

  Third Rank Pell blinked. “No Alderson Point in Sauron System is more than thirty degrees above any such plane, Dictator, nor closer to Landyn than nineteen billion kilometers. Fuel constraints force incoming vessels to approach in this pattern to minimize their time-in-flight to Ostia and the system’s other refueling stations. Such an approach pattern provides raiding vessels with the maximum opportunities for cover from planetary bodies, as well as exploitation of the gravity wells of same for maneuvering purposes. Any approach beyond this envelope leaves the intruder dangerously exposed and consumes profligate amounts of fuel.”

  Diettinger nodded, watching the young Ranker in silence for a long moment. “Carry on.” He finally said quietly. He turned to Althene, who was beginning to pale.”He certainly knows his textbook on system defense, wouldn’t you say, Second Rank?”

  Althene nodded. “It has evidently displaced anything he learned from his historical or tactical training.”

  Koln looked again, then turned to Althene. “Tyre,” the Cyborg said. “Aqaba. Maginot. Corregidor. Dien Bien Phu. New Delhi. Second Beijing.” He stopped speaking, but the place names continued to roll off in his mind: Giennah Prime. New Washington. Meiji Four. All of them disastrous defeats, all of them brought about when a statistically perfect defense had been surmounted by an enemy who had simply done something statistically improbable.

  “How?” Koln turned to Diettinger.

  The Dictator looked at the Cyborg without expression. He understood what the Super Soldier was asking him. “How not?” he said. He went back to the console and returned the display to its original detail, then stepped it one setting farther out. Landyn was a bright spark at the center; the outside of the sphere was broadly defined by glowing red ovals which showed the general positions of the system’s six Alderson Points. None was closer than two and one half billion kilometers.

  “Sauron’s first line of defense is the garrison patrols at the Alderson Points themselves. Distance precludes these forces from supporting one another effectively.” Diettinger grimaced. Before the Second Battle of Tanith, they could have stationed ships at each Jump Point with enough firepower to blast any invading force into little more than mathematics.

  “Drawing the garrison patrols inward, however” he indicated two positions, each about eighty degrees above the orbital plane and only forty million kilometers from Landyn, “splits them into two forces rather than six, and places both less than half an AU from Sauron itself.”

  “It also leaves the Alderson points utterly unguarded.” Althene pointed out.

  “‘He who would defend everything, defends nothing’, Second Rank,” Diettinger reminded her. “It is unlikely that the Imperials will oblige us by attacking precisely as our statisticians” he made the word sound distasteful - ”declare they will. But they must have fuel, and that means they must capture Ostia or take and hold access to a Jump Point which they control. Once committed to battle in-system, the Imperial fleet will have to consolidate a bridgehead at either or both locations. This may prevent them from pressing their attack on the Homeworld for days, perhaps even weeks. Ultimately we can be assured of denying them only one of these objectives. We must therefore make the second prohibitively expensive.”

  Diettinger sat back from the console. Precious few decisive battles in history had proven to be bloodier than the attackers could tolerate. Even if the entire Imperial fleet were obliterated, it would only mean a respite before another was built and that one launched against Sauron as well. The resources of an Empire - even a crumbling one - far outweighed those of a single system.

  Diettinger looked back at the Alderson Points, thinking, But perhaps time is all we need. If we can somehow get enough of it...

  Diettinger stood up, stretched slightly. His implant chronometer told him the Standard Time was 1100 hours.

  “Signal the Fleet.” he told Althene.”Patch through to all force commanders and have them standing by for briefing at 1600 planetary time. Cyborg Rank Koln,” he turned. “I will brief the High Council at 1300.”

  “Dictator, permission to speak,” Koln interrupted.

  “Do so.”

  “Your decision to withdraw the garrison patrols from the Alderson points will not be received favorably by the High Council.”

  Diettinger only looked up at him.”Less favorably than the First Citizen’s orders to me to proceed with the invasion of Sparta?” he asked quietly.

  “I would not know, Dictator,” Koln answered smoothly. “I merely point this out as a possible complication you might wish to prepare for.”

  “Noted, Cyborg Rank Koln. Dismissed.”

  Diettinger watched him go, then returned his attention to Althene. “Signal Fomoria, inform them I will be transferring my flag aboard at 1300.” He looked about the room briefly. “And find that Third Ranker; what was his name?”

  “Ah? Excuse me. Pell, Dictator.” Althene was considering the implications of Koln’s warning.

  “Yes, Pell. Have him report to me with his staff immediately.”

  “At once, Dictator.” Althene began to withdraw.

  “Second Rank,” Diettinger recalled her. “The garrison patrol re-deployment will make sense when it is complete. More importantly, it will be effective, but only if it is carried out exactly as I have planned it. Therefore, do not allow any outside comments or opinions to incline you toward any modification of my orders on this matter. I will not tolerate any deviations to the implementation of this plan.”

  “Understood, Dictator.”

  “Carry on.”

  Nineteen

  I

  “...the garrison fleets are now deployed in an hourglass configuration,” Diettinger was concluding his report, “two cones, one above and one below the plane of the ecliptic, with Sauron at the center of the converging cones. This will allow these fleets to support one another as well as to rapidly re-deploy to any point above or below the plane of the ecliptic in the minimum amount of time. The programs for the re-alignment of the asteroid defense batteries have been completed and are ready for initiation on my command.”

  Ulm began to ask a question, “Dictator; your assessment of the defensibility of Ostia - ”

  Diettinger interrupted. “Is irrefutable. The solution I have provided is the only practical one. It is being implemented as we speak.”

  The briefings were held not to receive any stamp of approval, but simply to keep Sauron’s various planetary administrators apprised of what was required of them. Diettinger was Dictator, after all. Even so, some of the Sauron-norm members of the Council shared looks between themselves; the Cyborgs said nothing.

  This will force the move, Koln thought to himself. The imminence of the Imperial invasion meant that Diettinger would soon be boarding the Fomoria to command the defense of Sauron System from his flagship. The plan to put Koln in charge of ground forces for the invasion of Sparta presumed victory over the Imperials in the coming battle. That plan had not changed, but its means of implementation had. Koln looked at Council Member N’kobo, who acknowledged the glance and spoke.

  “Dictator,” the Sauron norm said, “Over the past four days, I have reviewed the reports of several ship-to-ship engagements employing the assault tactics which you developed using EVA Commandos. I note that this tactic was especially effective in your recent engagement at Tanith, resulting in the capture of the INSS Canada. Your briefing states that this type of operation will be used again during the defense of Sauron.”

  N’kobo referred to a tactical innovation Diettinger had developed, as a means of countering the Empire’s equality in space combat, which inserted the Sauron superiority in ground combat into the naval equation. Sauron Commandos - all of them Cyborgs - in powered battle armor were loaded into modified torpedo tubes which they could guide through gaps in a target vessel’s Langston Field, to debark on the enemy ship’s hull. From there, they would cut their way into the vessel and take the battle to the crew. It was based on the old Roman corvus tacti
c of dropping boarding ramps down between galleys, permitting the Romans - themselves never very good sailors - to pit their heavily-armored legionnaires against nearly naked enemy marines, and it had allowed the Romans to change the name of ancient Earth’s inland ocean from Mares Tyrrhenian, Adriaticum, Aegyptus and more to simply Mare Nostrum - literally, “Our Sea.”

  “It is a major aspect of the overall plan, Council Member N’kobo,” Diettinger’s tone was utterly neutral.

  “I point out, Dictator, that the combat environment may preclude such a tactic. Surviving Imperial commanders may be ready for it, which would cause unacceptable casualties among our forces, denuding the number of troops available for ground defense should the Imperial attack succeed in landing troops on Sauron or Poictesme.”

  Diettinger’s tone remained unchanged, making his next words even worse, “They will attempt no such landings, Council Member N’kobo. The Empire will attempt to destroy the Sauron Home Fleet, then bombard the Homeworld itself from orbit.”

  “A siege, Dictator?” Another pro-Cyborg Council Member, Beaufort, interjected. “With so many subject systems in open revolt elsewhere, surely the Empire cannot hope to maintain a blockade here.”

  “Once again, you are not listening,” Diettinger’s tone had gone to steel.” The Imperials will bombard the Homeworld from orbit. Once they have orbital superiority, they will saturate the planetary environment with thermonuclear bombs, perhaps one or more of the prototype meson weapons our intelligence has told us they are developing. They will cease such bombardment only when there is nothing left alive on Sauron, and they may continue to do so even afterward. In short, Council members, Sauron, once defeated, will be Earthed.”

  Koln’s elation was so great he actually almost smiled; Diettinger had taken the bait. He felt an odd bewilderment at finding pleasure in having second-guessed the Dictator. Cyborgs did not compare themselves to other humans, not even to other Cyborgs. The former comparison was inapplicable, the latter irrelevant. But Diettinger, as Koln had already decided, was a special case. Outsmarting him was a maneuver in which anyone could find cause for self-congratulation.

  Althene braced herself for the inevitable storm of protest; Diettinger’s pronouncement of Sauron’s doom was a heresy which even a Dictator dare not commit. It could not fail to outrage the Council. For his part, Diettinger seemed resigned to the argument which, as Dictator, he must win. Even so, Althene wondered if the Cyborgs’ planning expertise had the new Dictator already waiting outside the Council Chamber.

  Instead, N’kobo raised a hand in a reasonable gesture, and replied.”Then surely, more such troops are required aboard the ships of the Home Fleet. Even the garrison patrol vessels could have some portion of their torpedo complements given over to the modified troop-carrying units. May I suggest doubling the complement you have apportioned to this aspect of the operation?’

  Beaufort jumped in: “Indeed, Dictator. And may I add, the resulting increase in organizational workload would best be served by appointing another sub-commander, solely for the administration of these forces. Someone with a proven expertise in planetside operations.”

  Althene tried to stave off disaster. “Dictator, Council members; we are fortunate in that the Fomoria’s own Deathmaster Quilland has an exceptional operational record in this field. May I suggest that he - ”

  Diettinger cut her off. “Quilland has insufficient experience with this level of commitment.” He turned to look at Koln, and the Cyborg froze. “I hereby appoint Cyborg Rank Koln as the sub-commander for this phase of Sauron’s defense. He will coordinate EVA operations from the Fomoria. In addition, the complement of EVA Commandos aboard all vessels in the Fleet will be doubled, while that of Cyborgs serving in such capacity aboard capital ships is to be quadrupled.” Diettinger turned back to N’kobo. “An excellent suggestion, Council Member N’kobo. My thanks.”

  Koln sat watching Diettinger for some time as the meeting was concluded. Finally the Dictator looked at him, briefly, the ghost of a smile passing over his features.

  You devious bastard, Koln thought. Given the Cyborg devotion to perfect accuracy in matters of lineage, it was an inaccurate assessment; but Koln found himself at a loss to think of a better one, at the moment.

  II

  After a history of predominantly victorious aggression, the Saurons prepared for the defense of their Homeworld with little reflection on the circumstances which had taken their planet from the wellspring of conquest to last redoubt.

  It was now three weeks, four days and seven hours since any ship had entered Sauron System. The hulk of the Wallenstein had been towed into orbit around Ostia; Special Operations units had spent three days aboard the wreck, then set it in a slowly decaying orbit that was even now bringing it into the gas giant’s upper atmosphere. Given the tremendous amount of background radiation emitted by Ostia, no one, who did not know there was a wreck there, would detect her unless specifically looking for one. It was doubtful that anyone would. So the Wallenstein waited, on-board computers her only crew for her last mission in service of the Homeworld. Above her, the fuel tanker shuttles ran on endlessly, back and forth.

  Technicians in the asteroid field system defense network reviewed and re-checked their new station-keeping programs. Vectoring jets on the slowly turning bodies of nickel-iron ore flared slightly; correcting, altering, correcting again as missile bays and beam weapon mounts were brought to bear on new convergence zones. As on the Wallenstein, no living Saurons were stationed on these platforms; the control computers buried deep within the asteroids would launch their missiles until their bays were empty, fire their beam weapons until their generators burned out - and perform all other instructed functions until they themselves were destroyed.

  Aboard the Damaris, Vessel First Rank Mara Emory reviewed the command links between her ship and the rest of the vessels under her command. Task Force Damaris was stationed one billion kilometers from Sauron, on overwatch patrol for the Dropshot and St. Ekaterina Alderson Points. At ninety-three vessels, TF Damaris was the largest such force in the fleet, excepting only the patrol forces of non-Jump capable ships, arrayed in their curious hourglass formation over Sauron’s poles.

  Emory did not allow herself to worry about the fact that TF Damaris was so far from any hope of reinforcement. It was no part of Diettinger’s plan that her command be sacrificed, so it was no part of her own preparations that she allow for the possibility of such waste. She ordered a slight adjustment to the deployment of picket ships guarding the tankers at the task force’s center and then, satisfied with her subordinate’s implementations of her orders, retired to her quarters for a brief nap of Second Stage sleep. She thought briefly about her escort at the gala, the night the Wallenstein had arrived - when the dead horse had come over the wall, so to speak . . Then she went to sleep. She did not dream.

  Across the surface of Sauron itself, thousands of missile silos had been sunk into the ocean floors, beam arrays were set deep beneath the planet’s crust, ground troop concentrations were standing by to obliterate any assault forces which might, somehow, get through; all looked skyward, and waited. Newly emplaced units that had been hurriedly deployed to the planetary poles were daily freed of snow and ice by crews who, though perhaps curious as to the reason for their deployment in areas never before regarded as necessary to fortify, were too well-disciplined to question orders which came directly from the legally appointed Dictator.

  III

  One and one half billion kilometers away, the Falkenberg Task Force under Hawksley kept station along with Banshee, Ire of Eire and three dozen more capital ships at the Wayforth Alderson Point. Beyond the fleet perimeter, Marius-class heavy fighters were escorting several minelayers, each of which deployed not only mines, but missile racks as well; light frameworks of torpedoes and sensor packages. Enemy ships exiting an Alderson Point were usually preceded by atomics, and the missile launch racks were well outside such weapons’ blast radii.

  Captain Ian
Hawksley looked out from the Falkenberg bridge with no sign of emotion. There was nothing like enough ships in the fleet to cover all the Jump Points of a system like Sauron.

  There was a time, Hawksley reflected, and not so long ago, when Sauron and the Coalition of Secession could have put over four thousand vessels into space. But that had been a great many comrades and one family ago.

  Now, deep within himself, grew a sickening dread that even if that many ships were available, they would not be enough; that Diettinger’s assessment of the Empire’s bloodlust was, if anything, conservative; that whatever route the Imperials chose to attack Sauron, they could not be stopped.

  Of course, he admitted, not stopping them is part of Diettinger’s plan.

  He remembered the meeting with the Sauron dictator, remembered being acutely aware of the fact that he came from a world whose motto was “Sic Semper Tyrannis,” and remembered hoping that Diettinger’s astonishingly dangerous looking guards understood that these days, the world of Burgess directed its ill will at the Empire; not at whatever other tyrants happened to be supporting its own desire for independence.

  Hawksley s escorts had brought him to the Strategic Operations room deep beneath the Sauron capitol, and having delivered him, they simply went away and sealed the door behind them.

  “Come in Captain Hawksley,” Diettinger had gestured to the large briefing table at the center of the room, and it was only then that Hawksley realized he was alone with the man. His second impression of Diettinger was much like his first. The Sauron leader exuded an eerie confidence, one born of a supreme self-awareness, and something else... Hawksley realized Diettinger reminded him of nothing so much as the professional gamblers he had seen during his apprenticeship on Burgess cruise vessels.

  But if memory served him, he was sure he had never before in his life set eyes on a high-roller the likes of Galen Diettinger,