WarWorld: The Battle of Sauron

by John Carr

  And that, he knew, is exactly how it will end. Diettinger’s sympathy remained, but it was tempered by determination. That will be true even if I am forced to fall back on my last resort.

  “Dictator, two ships of Intruder Three destroyed; TF Damaris launching missiles from extreme range, maneuvering to match velocities with incoming enemy vessels.”

  “It’s taking too much time to eliminate those ships,” Diettinger considered. “Likely they’ve removed on-board crew-support systems to accommodate more capacitors for their Langston Fields.”

  The display flared as two more ships of Intruder Three flared and disappeared.

  Too long, Diettinger repeated to himself. But it was happening. Intruder Three was being reduced, and every few dozen tons of mass stripped from the approaching Imperial fleet increased Sauron’s chances of survival by millions of megatons. Once TF Fomoria reached the battle to link up with TFs Damans and Falkenberg, Intruder Three was doomed. It would be the closest battle of his life, but...

  “Precedents! Precedents!”

  “Enhance!” Diettinger slammed his hand against the immersion display controls so hard a crack raced down the covering; Sauron System’s three other Alderson Points were flashing red. The bridge was filled with the babble of conflicting reports.

  “Holcroft Alderson Point, seventy vessels..,”

  “Frederick Alderson Point, ninety-three Imperial vessels...”

  “Bellero Alderson Point, readings in excess of two hundred vessels...”

  “Report!” It was the only order of his life he had ever had to shout.”Bellero surveillance, say again.”

  “Readings show two hundred and fifty-plus vessels have appeared at the Bellero Alderson Point, Dictator. Telemetry indicates seventy tankers with heavy escort...” the Signals Ranker looked at Diettinger, pale.”Telemetry...” he repeated, but seemed unable to get the rest out.

  “Display,” Diettinger ordered, “Enhance sensor readings, Bellero Alderson Point.”

  The myriad twinkling lights resolved themselves into the green points of friendly vessel indicators, and for one insane moment Diettinger thought some long-hidden Sauron fleet had arrived to save the day. “Enhance,” he repeated, and the images stepped up another notch in clarity.

  “Enhance,” Diettinger ordered a last time, his voice laden with the certainty of death.

  What was it Connolly and Shannon had called Hawksley? he wondered. Fey; the aspect of a man who has perceived the inevitability of his own doom.

  The display showed the Bellero Alderson Point filled with Outworld Coalition vessels. Pirates, raiders, former Sauron Trade Bloc and Secessionist spacecraft. All those interstellar nations which had allied with Sauron to topple the Empire, had been branded traitors by Imperial edict, had plead poverty of vessels to support Sauron against the imminent invasion . .and now, just as obviously, had been granted amnesty to switch sides. There was no defect in the display; its program simply had not been updated. It could only differentiate friend from foe if it was told beforehand which was which.

  And its Sauron programmers had not known that.

  Twenty-Eight

  I

  “Pour it on, Mister Willoughby,” Hawksley’s voice was tight to his Exec, now serving as Weapons Officer; Falkenberg had matched velocities with the lead ships of Intruder Three, which meant her crew was dying by inches. Helmsman Plunkett had collapsed and died of a gravity-induced brain aneurysm that morning. He had been twenty-one.

  “Captain, Sensors show eight enemy carriers closing on our position; they’re launching fighters.”

  Since the Imperials had dropped the other shoe the day before, they had spread to every section of Sauron System. The first wave of fighters had engaged the Dragons of Hourglasses North and South. The operators of the remotely piloted Dragons couldn’t hope to match the skills of pilots at the scene, engaging the defense boats in real time, with no response lag. The RPVs were wiped from space in a matter of hours.

  TF Keegan was being systematically dismembered, despite the fact that Dannevar’s command had obliterated four Imperial battleships; eight more had closed in to take their place.

  TF Damaris was a wounded bear set on by hounds; the remaining Imperials and their new allies would slash at her flanks until several elements of the Sauron battlegroup turned and engaged; in a fury of fire, TF Damaris would then dash two or more ships to incandescent slag... but always more replaced them.

  TF Fomoria, relatively unscathed, maintained a murderous volume of fire into Intruder Three, but the lead elements of the Imperial reinforcements were now engaging Diettinger’s command, drawing more and more firepower away from the crucial attacks on the ships which flew spearlike toward the Homeworld.

  At least, Diettinger reflected, we finally know the whereabouts of the Imperial Motherships. There was no need for them to guard outlying areas of the Empire against opportunistic raids by the Outworlders. The Saurons had expected the Outworld Coalition to take advantage of the climactic battle of the war. Now, seeing the hundreds of Outworld vessels fighting alongside the Imperial vessels, grinding the Sauron Home Fleet to dust, Diettinger realized that they were, in fact, doing just that. Like any successful parasite, the Outworlders knew when to switch to the host with the best chance of survival.

  With the fresh influx of capital ships and their fuel tankers to maintain pressure on the Sauron Fleet, hundreds of Imperial heavy fighters now ranged through Sauron System almost at will. Evidently warned of the Barlowe/Freas stations by their surviving comrades in-system, the Imperials had launched whole wings of assault fighters which had come up on Freas from the backside of the planet, swept in and destroyed the propagator array on the world’s surface. Barlowe was ignored; without both projectors operating, no mesons were produced, and mere charged particle accelerators were no threat.

  Diettinger entered a private code into his command console, activating the program he had hidden deep within Fomoria’s computers weeks before. Its final activation could now occur from any number of events; his own voice command or key code entry, even a damage threshold being reached aboard Fomoria herself. Diettinger had written such fail-safes into his program because, even now, he could not bring himself to activate it until he was certain it was necessary. Not before he saw for himself the fate of the Homeworld. He could tolerate the prospect of his own imprisonment, even his execution for war crimes, if he could only be sure that Sauron would be invested, occupied, and ultimately, her citizens re-integrated into Imperial society. That would bespeak of some thread of hope for the survival of Sauron. And its survival, he knew, meant its ultimate victory.

  Only if the Imperials proved themselves bent on genocide would he initiate his final option. Only if they demonstrated that the society they wished to preserve was not worth living in or dying for.

  Hawksley watched as Falkenberg’s target began to shimmer with burn-throughs; the violet egg of the overloaded Field suddenly swirled with yellow-white lesions that spread, flared.. .then it was gone.

  “One more down!” Hawksley shouted. And a hundred and four to go, he thought.”What’s happening with those carriers?”

  “Launching fighters, captain. Nine... ten... twelve squadrons; looks like they’re all those new Morgan-class Imperial heavies.”

  Willoughby turned.”Morgans? What carriers are those out there?”

  The Sensor operator called out the immersion display’s recognition estimates based on the configurations of the enemy vessels: “Looks like we got the Aquila, the Ranger, two Eagle-class . . and the Centurion, sir - “ he stopped short and shot a glance at Hawksley.

  Hawksley caught the look and addressed his exec. “Mister Willoughby,” Hawksley made himself heard over the din on the bridge. “Are you going to have a problem with this?”

  Willoughby began locking the Falkenberg’s weapons onto the next target in Intruder Three. “No sir, skipper.” He did not turn as he added in a low voice, “Just as long as you don’t ask me to shoot d
own my brother, I’ll be just fine.”

  II

  Ire of Eire was about to die. Captain Shannon had brought the New Ireland cruiser in too close to the onrushing cylinder of Intruder Three’s formation. Computer controls might not be suited for adroit maneuvering or intuitively-timed attacks, but they are splendid for coordination. Fourteen broadsides along the cylindrical formation’s starboard aspect struck as one, peeling away Ire of Eire’s Field at one stroke. Debris from the New Irelander paced the stricken cruiser as it continued, out of control, into the midst of Intruder Three.

  Had the Imperial ships been programmed to avoid objects in their path, there might yet have been survivors from Shannon’s crew; but that was exactly counter to their purpose.

  Ire of Eire tumbled into the path of the Imperial attack cruiser Camlann, 75,000 tonnes traveling now at twelve gravities’ acceleration. The New Ireland cruiser disintegrated into fragments, splashing back from the Imperial’s bow and flowing over its hull. Camlann fared little better, her forward section splitting like a hammered eggshell, frame cracking down the spine, the wreckage shattering, splintering, tumbling off course and through the formation, grazing another ship of Intruder Three, the heavy cruiser Lütjens.

  Lütjens survived the impact, but her course was irrevocably altered; hours later she would plunge into Landyn’s Star and be consumed.

  Aboard the Fomoria, Second Rank noticed brief spikes in various readings at her station, and instructed Sensors to concentrate their instruments on the wreckage of the Camlann.

  She moved her acceleration couch beside Diettinger’s and reported in a low voice: “Dictator, readings indicate tremendous levels of radiation in the debris from the Camlann. If this is indicative, the ships of Intruder Three must be packed to capacity with solid nuclear waste.”

  “This was not previously detected; not even in the debris from the destroyed vessels of Intruder Three.”

  “It would be heavily shielded while on board, if only to prevent our sensors from discovering it and guessing Intruder Three’s true purpose,” Second Rank replied. “All previous losses to Intruder Three have been high energy burn-throughs. The collapse of a Langston Field, on ships of this mass, releases more than enough energy to mask the presence of such radioactive material even while it is being converted to plasma.”

  Diettinger considered this newest information. “Then even the reduction of mass from atmospheric burn-up works in their favor; what mass doesn’t reach Sauron will spread radioactive waste into the atmosphere.” He cocked his brow at her in a grim smile.”How very thorough.”

  Their voices had been kept low during the exchange, but it was simply not possible to keep them low enough. Koln turned in his seat and addressed Diettinger once again.”Dictator.”

  “Speak.”

  “I call your attention to the results of Ire of Eire’s collision with the Camlann”

  “Elaborate.”

  “It is a viable tactic.”

  “It is absurd. We are outnumbered, Cyborg Rank Koln. Sacrificing all of our remaining vessels in deliberate ram attacks would save the Homeworld from Intruder Three only to expose it to the remnants of Intruders One and Two and their reinforcements.”

  “Then I require release authorization for the remaining EVA Commando units in Task Force Fomoria”

  Diettinger did not answer immediately. He reviewed the Fomoria’s position, made a few brief passes over his console, then looked up at Koln. “Cyborg Rank Koln; given the performance capabilities of the Commando’s delivery torpedoes, what is the probability that your Cyborgs can intercept and board the vessels of Intruder Three?”

  Koln’s eyes glittered. “I would estimate approximately twenty-percent of the enemy force could be captured, if TF Fomoria is able to match velocities before launching. I point out that this figure would be substantially higher had Task Forces Keegan and Damaris been brought into the operation earlier.”

  “Wasted seed, Cyborg Rank Koln,” Diettinger used the Breedmaster’s equivalent of ’spilt milk’; a mild Sauron profanity which he delivered with condescension.

  “Second Rank,” he turned his attention from Koln for the moment.” Will a twenty-percent reduction of Intruder Three significantly reduce the impact damage to the Homeworld?”

  “No, Dictator; and if all of those ships are carrying this poison, it will require only a few to pollute Sauron’s seas and atmosphere for several thousand years. But it would provide us with a significant number of reinforcements able to attack the other elements of Intruder Three from within its own formation, at point-blank range. If nothing else, they could alter course within the Imperial fleet element and perhaps throw the bulk of Intruder Three into disarray. And that would reduce the potential damage to Sauron significantly.”

  Diettinger thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No. It would mean the loss of most of TF Fomoria’s Cyborgs. A minimum estimated return of twenty-percent casualties to Intruder Three is not sufficient to warrant the expenditure of such assets.”

  Koln pounced: “That estimate is based on my coordination of the effort from this station. The capture estimates rise to sixty-five percent if I participate in the operation personally and coordinate it on-site.”

  With only one eye remaining, Diettinger nevertheless managed to generate a glare of sufficient intensity to make Second Rank grateful that she was not the object of his attention. A long moment passed; at the instant Koln was about to repeat his demand, Diettinger cut him off.

  “Do it.”

  Koln left the bridge so quickly he almost seemed to vanish. Second Rank waited a moment longer before speaking. “Dictator.”

  “Not now.”

  She thought his rage, though contained, seemed almost palpable. “First Rank,” she prodded in a quieter voice.

  Diettinger blinked, turned to her, and finally, his sigh fading into his weary gaze, said, “Speak.”

  “Let the Cyborgs be the heroes of the hour. The more that are lost now, the less that will remain to contest your policies should we survive this.”

  Diettinger watched her for a long time.” You have no love for the Cyborgs, do you, Second Rank?”

  Her gaze was level, remorseless.”They see themselves as instruments of Sauron’s future. I see them as instruments to Sauron’s future.”

  “That is a profound difference.”

  “I am comfortable with the distinction, Dictator,” she said, and returned to her station.

  “Weapons,” Diettinger addressed the Ranker before him. “Patch communications from Cyborg Rank Koln’s delivery torpedo through to me.”

  “Cyborg Rank Koln is entering his torpedo cockpit now, Dictator,” Weapons Rank informed him.

  “Status EVA Commandos, TF Fomoria”

  “All stations ready.”

  “Cyborg Rank Koln,” Diettinger said to the panel before him.

  Koln’s face appeared; the Cyborg was sufficiently occupied with pre-launch procedures to prevent his addressing the transmitter. “Dictator,” he acknowledged. Now that he was getting his way, Koln could afford to be magnanimous; he had even deigned to leaven his speech with an actual tone of respect.

  “I will continue to provide you and your unit commanders with data on Intruder Three as TF Fomoria closes with it. I will notify you when launch of your forces will coincide with maximum fire support available from the Task Force; although your release orders will pass through this station, they will cycle directly from Fomoria’s bridge throughout the Task Force to coordinate your operation. Will that be satisfactory?”

  Koln blinked, looked at the transmitter.”Perfectly,” he answered.

  “I will deactivate the pre-launch lock-down procedure, if you wish,” Diettinger added as an afterthought. The lock-down flooded the torpedoes’ interiors with a shock-dampening gel which immobilized the occupant and isolated him from much of the effect of the twenty-five gravities’ brought on by launch acceleration. While it was crucial for the survival of Sauron norms i
n such operations, it was less so for Cyborgs.

  Koln, however, became suspicious. “That will not be necessary, Dictator,” he said. “This is arguably the most crucial operation of the war. It will not do to have even one of my Commandos arrive with sprained ankles or a broken arm.”

  Your commandos, Diettinger thought, but he tried to show only slight disappointment.” Very well,” he answered.”Stand by for launch order.”

  Sixty Morgan heavy fighters swept toward the seven remaining vessels of TF Damaris. Emory’s flagship was at the fore, leading her formation toward the front of Intruder Three. Falkenberg and its remaining companion, Banshee, were vectoring to intercept the Morgans and cover the Sauron units.

  III

  Aboard the Falkenberg, Hawksley was counting the seconds to intercept range. “XO, what’ve we got left?”

  “Uh . . all turrets still operational,” Willoughby reported after a pause. “But . . we’ve only got eight missiles, skipper.” Falkenberg’s executive officer seemed far too distracted for his captain’s liking.

  Hawksley’s voice took on the steel-in-velvet tone of the Burgess aristocracy.”What seems to be the problem, Mister Willoughby?”

  “Nothing, skipper; just trying to get a lock on the Morgans flight controllers; confirm their targets.” He did not look up.

  Hawksley didn’t lack brains, of course. What he did lack at the moment was crewmen. Falkenberg’s bridge crew was now down from ten officers and non-coms to six, and Willoughby was one of only two men besides himself qualified to crew both the Weapons station and the helm. Hawksley caught the eye of the other; Chief Cooper, now running the sensor suite, who nodded his understanding. Both hoped it wouldn’t become necessary. But Coop was up to the task if it did.

  “Mister Willoughby,” Hawksley ordered, “Put the signal intercepts on audio. We might catch something you miss.”

  Looking even more miserable than a man should after a week under high-G stress, Willoughby threw a switch, filling the Falkenberg’s bridge with randomly intercepted chatter between the commanders of the Morgan squadrons and their controllers.