by John Carr
“Dis-tance to star-burd targ’t,” Hawksley choked out the query against the punishing acceleration.
Plunkett’s head turned a half-an-inch, a heroic effort, ”Eight . . hundred thousand.”
“Shoot!”
Plunkett’s thumb depressed the firing key and Falkenberg, already closing fast on an intercept course with the starboard Imperial, loosed her full starboard weapons array from a point-blank seven hundred and fifty thousand kilometers.
The Imperial’s Field shot up three levels from red to brilliant green, moving her captain to vector away in an evasive maneuver. The emerald sphere of the enemy’s Field drew back, fading into the murk of the Ostian atmosphere.
“Where’s the other one?” Hawksley’s question was too low to be for anyone but the Exec.
“Climbing and closing, skipper... barely in sensor range with all this atmospheric interference. Looks like he’s trying to stay with his buddy and keep a line on us, too.”
“Mistake,” Hawksley’s assessment was barely audible. “Helm, minus one hundred kilometers at ninety degrees and maintain burn for seventy seconds, then cut our thrust to two gravities, come about thirty degrees to starboard and give us a ninety second burn at six Gs.”
At the battle console, Plunkett and Pettigrew shared looks of relief tinged with misery; all helmsman loved to drive their ships like maniacs, and no doubt the skipper’s orders would result in their escape from this latest in an endless stream of Imperial pursuers. But the other junior officers in the bridge crew expected to look as green as that last target’s Field before it was done.
“Mister Willoughby, as soon as our screens are clear of enemy vessels, let’s get to the rest of these tankers,” Hawksley ordered. “The sooner we’re finished here, the sooner we can get the hell out of Dodge.” Hawksley released a tight sigh: Where the hell were Dannevar and TF Keegan?
II
Aboard the Fomoria, the blue line connecting Barlowe and Freas in the immersion display was radiant cobalt, actinic where the projected beams met. The dividing line shifted slightly back and forth, as if each stream of projected particles were by turns gaining and losing in some subatomic pushing contest; which was exactly what was happening. Both projection stations were alternating the flow of particles from their accelerators, to spread the point of impacting neutrons back and forth across the line of intersection. The Technical Rankers were attempting to makeup in volume what their system lacked in precision, and so far, they seemed to be doing well.
But not, Diettinger was relieved to see, as well as Task Force Damaris,
All around the mass of Imperial ships, TF Damaris, reinforced by the System Defense Boats of Hourglass North, ravaged the vessels of Intruder One. The System Defense Boats, unmanned, were under remote control by dozens of Weapons Rankers scattered about the ships of TF Damaris. Without even the high-G tolerant Saurons aboard to slow them down, the boats threw themselves into the mass of Intruder One in bursts of acceleration at double-digit gravities. Each pass trajectory incorporated slingshot maneuvers into, through and around multiple bodies of the Sauron System asteroid field or one of the other outlying planets in TF Damaris’ theatre of battle. Several elements of the heavily armed drones went too far and too fast to rejoin the attack on Intruder One, and began banking to slip into the gravity wells of Landyn’s Star. From there, they might still find work to do.
“Status on TF Keegan?”
“Regrouped, Dictator. Harassing Intruder Two’s attempts to flush the elements hiding in Ostia’s upper atmosphere.”
Even Diettinger’s Second Rank had not initially been privy to the knowledge that the Falkenberg was the only ship there, although by now Diettinger knew she had guessed the deception - as must have the Imperials. The hulk of the Wallenstein, deep in its decaying orbit within Ostia’s lower atmosphere, had been broadcasting “ghost” transmissions and dropping false transponders, creating the illusion of dozens of active ships when in fact Falkenberg alone had been manipulating the tankers which had brought such grief to the Imperial refueling attempts. But Wallenstein had been discovered days ago, and scuttled on Hawksley’s command, adding yet more debris to the navigational hazards with which Falkenberg had been sowing the Ostian skies.
Diettinger marveled that Hawksley and his ship were not yet vapor; or, at least, they hadn’t been less than one-half of a light-hour ago, when the status telemetry had been sent.
“Status, Intruder Three?”
“Unchanged.”
Diettinger watched the Imperial reserve group labeled Intruder Three; they had not changed their position in nine days of continuous battle that had seen over one hundred Imperial vessels destroyed already. Are they simply waiting for their comrades to bleed us white by their own deaths? Could they be that determined to eradicate us?
He shook his head. The question, he knew, was rhetorical, its answer being: Of course...
No matter. Intruder Three could be dealt with once Intruders One and Two were neutralized. It was time to begin doing just that.
The immersion display began deleting representative ship symbols one after another from the main body of Imperial ships designated “Intruder One.”
Immersion displays updated themselves constantly, and along with the positional representation of ships in battle, hundreds of lines of data were also displayed at various clear points in the display. One such column of figures abruptly changed color from green to amber, drawing Second Rank’s comment.
“Dictator,” she addressed Diettinger.
“Speak.”
“Imperial casualties, Intruder One, now at forty percent and still rising.”
The immersion display was set to change colors as enemy casualties had reached a level which could reasonably be expected to result in their breaking-off from combat to regroup. Diettinger, who had commanded at the Second Battle of Tanith until relieved by the now destroyed First Fleet under Morgenthau, knew that in this battle such an aspect of the display was superfluous. Still, watching the display, he could almost convince himself that Intruder One was slowing in its advance,
“Enhance detail, casualties TF Damaris” Diettinger ordered quietly.
Second Rank’s throat was tight with hope. “Forty-seven percent casualties on core force, Dictator; but factoring the addition of Hourglass North’s Remotely-Piloted Vehicles into TF Damaris’ total number of vessels...”
“.. .would be irrelevant, Second Rank,” he finished.”If TF Damaris is destroyed, Hourglass North’s RPVs will be taken over by Sauron-based controllers under System Defense First Rank Eglin. Whose Second Rank, Pell, against all odds, has survived to achieve command rank while still believing in the existence of an impregnable defense.”
He smiled at Second Rank. “And probably the Tooth Fairy, as well.” He returned his attention to the display.”Status Task Force Keegan”
“Continuing only light harassment ops against Intruder Two’s perimeter,” Second Rank reported.”Enemy task force still shows only minimal refueling of elements...” she lowered her voice.. .”Non-secure signal intercepts imply Falkenberg still active in Ostian atmosphere, Dictator.. .thus far.”
Diettinger tracked his gaze slowly across the room to regard Second Rank, dropping his chin and raising an eyebrow as he did. ”Well,” he answered in a low voice. “We simply must do something to save the gallant Captain Hawksley, if only for the sake of old friends who might be commanding critical task forces.”
Second Rank’s back stiffened, her embarrassment undiminished by the fact that Diettinger’s rebuke was too low for anyone else to hear.
“Send Keegan” Diettinger continued. “Hourglass North at your disposal. TF Keegan to engage and destroy all elements, Intruder Two. Strongest emphasis: Casualties immaterial.”
Second Rank’s gaze swept back and forth across the array, and at once, she understood: It was Carrhae. Ten Roman legions, far from home, cut off from reinforcement, surrounded by horse archers, locked shields in defensive formation
against the Parthian horse archers that circled them for hours, releasing volley after volley of arrows into their midst. The Romans had seen it before; they knew they had only to wait out the enemy cavalry, maintaining dispersed formations to minimize the effects of the enemy army’s fire, and when its horses tired and it ran out of arrows - as they always did - the Roman allied cavalry would pin their flanks, holding them until the legions could engage, and the legions, as ever, would triumph.
But the young Parthian general knew his Romans, as surely as Diettinger knew his Imperials. First, contacting the legions in the dry Mesopotamian flatlands, he deprived them of water; then, driving off the unreliable allied cavalry auxilia, he deprived them of mobility; and with the deployment of a thousand camels bearing baskets of arrows to replenish his archers, he deprived them of hope.
Whenever the Romans dispersed their formations to lessen the impact of the Parthian volleys, Parthian heavy cavalry, armored lancers, charged the legions’ ranks. The only defense against such a massed cavalry attack was to close ranks and lock shields, which concentrated the Roman infantry and made it once again vulnerable to the hail of arrows from the Parthian horse archers. Heat, thirst, the erosion of morale that followed constant attack by an enemy with which the legions could not come to grips, all took their toll. It had taken over four hundred years, but a means had at last been devised to defeat the mightiest organization of men under arms in history.
But at Carrhae, Second Rank caught herself, the Romans surrendered; and Diettinger has made it clear he does not believe the Imperials will do that, here... which meant that Sauron System must be the grave of the Imperial Fleet, if its people were to survive.
It scarcely mattered. Like every Sauron, like every human since the dawn of intelligence, the moment of the kill flooded Second Rank with emotions beyond number. It was more than enough to distract her from her observation of Cyborg Rank Koln, whose own glittering grey eyes left the immersion display to sweep across the bridge, flicker briefly over Second Rank, then Diettinger, then back to his own duty station.
His scrutiny had taken less than two seconds; more than enough time to gauge the distance between himself, Second Rank’s concealed weapon, and the Dictator, and to calculate how long it would take to reach each of them in turn.
There was more than enough time for that, as well...
III
Doubtless there were many in the Imperial force of Intruder Two who felt that their portion of the battle, though frustrating, must be close to an end. The Sauron Task Force Keegan had shown such lack of commitment in its attacks, since breaking off, that it could only be due to lack of fuel, morale, ordinance and surviving crew.
If the raiders - or, as all were now sure, only one raider - hiding in Ostia was making it difficult for the Imperial force to refuel, then surely the Sauron force at this side of the system could be faring no better. At which time, the blackness of space between Intruder Two and the Sauron System asteroid belt was filled with hundreds of glittering lights, the distinctive flares of spacecraft engines in vacuum.
TF Keegan leapt from the asteroid field, a pouncing tiger; patient for days, its hunger would wait no longer. TF Keegan had been mauled, to be sure; her original complement of thirty seven vessels now numbered only twenty-one, but all had been refueled and rearmed from the hidden supply caches guarded by the Banshee, the Ire of Eire and the dozen other ships left hiding in the asteroid field when Falkenberg had broken off to play raider in Ostia’s atmosphere.
These too were now placed under Dannevar’s flag, raising TF Keegan’s twenty-one to thirty-three, which in turn were now reinforced by over one hundred of the same Dragon-class defense vessels that had been working such grief upon Intruder One.
Lacking Alderson drives, Dragons were able to commit far more of their displacement to weaponry and maneuvering engines; lacking living crew, remotely controlled by Weapons Rankers throughout TF Keegan’s elements, they could use both assets to excess, and this they did now.
Intruder Two began to turn more and more of its flanking ships to meet the onslaught, TF Keegan closed remorselessly, and the battle began to resemble a general melee.
Diettinger alerted his Signals Rank. “Send First Rank Eglin: Fire at will.”
The defense platforms scattered throughout the asteroid belt were concentrated at those portions of the belt’s orbit which corresponded to the general approach routes toward Sauron from the system’s Alderson points. For the last six weeks, all of the defensive asteroid platforms under Eglin had been slowly shifted with thruster packages to concentrate their fields of fire in line with Diettinger’s overall plan.
At a signal from Eglin, those fields were now flooded with hundreds of missiles, each bearing dozens of multiple seeker warheads, comprising every last vestige of fissionable material the Saurons had been capable of producing. There was not one thermonuclear weapon left on the Homeworld; a fact which would have gladdened the heart of every Breedmaster, but for the circumstances which brought it about.
Millions of megatons raced toward the ships of Intruder One, still clawing its way out of the wreckage of its ships in the line of mesons between Barlowe and Freas, Like Viking raiders clambering over walls only to see rank upon rank of archers, Intruder One’s remaining ships stepped into death. The missiles detonating all around them were joined by TF Damaris and its own cat’s-paw fleet, the Dragons of Hourglass North.
Halfway across Sauron System, Intruder Two was amazing its Sauron attackers simply by remaining intact. Now outnumbered and outgunned, the Imperials would not be outfought, and while the heavily reinforced TF Keegan, its supporting Dragons, and wave after wave of asteroid-launched missiles steadily decimated its ranks, Intruder Two mounted savage counterattacks and simply refused to die.
IV
“Christ, Skipper,” Willoughby breathed at the sight in the display. Falkenberg had climbed out of Ostia’s atmosphere to chance an attempt at gauging the progress of the battle; with the reduction of interference from Ostia’s ionosphere, the immersion display had abruptly conjured a vision of an inferno.
Hawksley nodded.”The Saurons are going to win this one, all right,” he agreed, ”But by God, they aren’t going to enjoy it.”
“Incoming signal from the Fomoria” the commo officer called out.
“Put it through,” Hawksley spun himself around a handhold; Falkenberg was on minimal thrust, so down to microgravity and giving the crew a respite from the punishing maneuvering of the past few days. He glided to the readout panel and keyed in his command code, reading the message.
“Mister Willoughby,” Hawksley called out as he cleared the panel and swinging his own archaic hooded viewscreen into position before him.
“Captain.”
“Take a look at that Sauron computer game they plugged into my bridge, and tell me what you see at...” he keyed his viewscreen controls and read: “Sector one-two-seven mark zero-niner-eight; over at Intruder Three.”
Unlike his commander, Willoughby liked the Sauron immersion display; of course, he had always liked computer games, too.”Display; enhance detail,
Intruder Three.” Willoughby watched as the display kicked up the resolution of the requested area in preset powers of ten. “Stop...” he was silent for a moment as he read the figures.”Skipper...”
“They’re starting to burn thrusters, aren’t they?”
“Yes they are.”
“Yeah,” Hawksley breathed, then looked up at nothing in particular. “Shit,” he hissed, moving back to his acceleration couch and strapping himself in as he issued commands: “Commo, send Fomoria, Signal acknowledged, moving to intercept.’ Mister Willoughby, get us over there with all speed.”
“Aye, aye, Skipper. All hands, six-G maneuvers in thirty seconds. Helm,” Willoughby ordered, “Lay on a six-G intercept with the Intruder Three element and initiate at twenty seconds from my mark... Mark.”
“Six-G intercept, aye,” the helmsman acknowledged while his second
repeated the warning to Falkenberg’s crew to get to their acceleration couches; anybody not in one in twenty-one seconds was unlikely to get into it before blacking out in twenty-three.
Willoughby moved over to Hawksley’s side and asked in a low voice: “We going in, Skipper?”
Hawksley shook his head. “Just a quick pass-through; Diettinger wants to get an idea of which Imperial group they’re going to try to rescue; although if we can - uhh!” The Falkenberg’s engines roared into life and the privateer’s leap wrenched Hawksley s words from his tongue - “... can break up their... formation... that’d be... nice, too.”
Willoughby nodded; scarcely a lowering of the eyes at six-Gravities’ acceleration. Well, he consoled himself, we shouldn’t have to hold this speed for long. Six-Gs would take them across the roughly 400 million kilometers to intercept in less than thirty hours, if they didn’t turn at midpoint to slow down - and as Falkenberg would be outnumbered one hundred and forty to one by the ships of Intruder Three, Willoughby was very sure they would not.
Twenty-Seven
Diettinger watched as the display icons representing intruder Three began, perceptibly, to move. At the moment, the enemy vector was detected as being a constant one-G acceleration directly for Sauron, a maneuver which would steadily diminish their chances of coming to the relief of Intruders One or Two, and bring them directly into contact with Diettinger’s own Task Force.
Which wouldn’t be the worst thing they could do, he reflected. Intruder Three held one hundred and forty fast ships, while TF Fomoria topped out at fifty slower, but much more powerful platforms. A few dozen Dragons whose maneuvers had carried them away from their respective control groups were now in high-speed orbits around Landyn’s star, creating a small reserve for TF Fomoria, but their fuel and ordinance would be essentially spent. They could be regarded as bonus skirmishers, at best. The Homeworld itself bristled with planetary defense stations which would provide adequate support to his command if the Imperials maintained their course to intercept.
