The Fleet Book 2: Counter Attack

by David Drake (ed)

  “Simply put, most of the battles the Fleet has fought to date, and often lost, were conducted as if the Khalia were a traditional enemy. They are not. Their fleets cannot be defeated through any tactic with which we are familiar.

  “Through the aid of computer-assisted analysis and hundreds of simulations, I have evolved a novel tactic. Here is its basis . . .”

  The equations hovered behind him on the Omni and Buchanon’s voice settled once more into a monotone. Surprisingly, the cadet found he could follow the logic. Auro had to admit it might even work. That it might, but that he wouldn’t want to risk his life on it, was side by side with the chilling realization that they were on their way to do exactly that.

  Suddenly there were glaring errors obvious in the Tactician’s logic. Only the officer’s notorious dislike of contradiction kept the cadet from voicing them, He looked around and the other ten youths in the room looked equally uncomfortable. Somehow Auro found this reassuring, though he would have been unable to say why.

  Buchanon rambled through a qualitative analysis of the tactic using the Allisen hypothesis. Even with his life depending on it, Auro still wasn’t able to follow the convoluted logic the fabled Allisen had brought to the “science” of tactics. Lost in higher theory, the lecture rolled on to the not very surprising conclusion that Buchanon was right.

  The ensign still had his doubts when a Navigation chief burst into the lecture hall and hurried up to the podium. Buchanon paused to read a printout passed him and for a brief instant looked concerned.

  “Gentlemen, on the last dropback,” his voice was calm, but the singsong cadence that marked his normal delivery was missing, “we received a message torp from an on-site agent on Bethesda. The place is swarming with Khalian ships. She cites a force of no less than one hundred and fifty Khalian warships.

  “Dropout at Bethesda will be in three hours, ten minutes. Report immediately to your briefing stations.” Then he looked up and there was a slight quaver in his voice.

  “This means they must be expecting us. May She look after us all.”

  * * *

  The command display was anything but encouraging. Even to Auro’s inexperienced eye, it was apparent they were in trouble. There were too many red sparks and too few blue ones. Nervously he fingered the communications console, wishing he were back in Port. Annoying, boring, safe Port.

  At first Auro had been afraid that people would notice his fear. Then when his stomach had revolted and he had ducked into the head, he found three other men also puking. One had been a chief with stripes indicating fifty years of service. It didn’t make the acid aftertaste more pleasant, but the young cadet felt less alone.

  The Khalian ships were still sorting themselves out: several scurrying up from the surface, one large ship that had been in the process of landing had reversed itself with impressive speed and was streaking to catch up with the others. They had to do something about that port facility. One like it on Target had been a center of Khalian activity for months during the cleanup. Between them and Bethesda red sparks swarmed in a seemingly random pattern, a very large number of red sparks. For the moment Auro watched the sparks and was reminded of Windling Bugs swarming on his native Novo Veneto. Uncomfortably Auro remembered the bloated body of a dog that had disturbed a Windling nest. To be stung once was annoying, but rarely fatal; a swarm could kill in seconds.

  The cadet kicked the scanner to max range. Bethesda was the only major planet in the system. Through some quirk of evolution the others had failed to coalesce, leaving instead six asteroid belts circling the sun at intervals. This limited approaching the system to above or below the plane of the ecliptic. Their task force was approaching from below. Even here the scan was cluttered with junk. This was, the Ensign decided, a lousy place to end his career. Particularly as he had yet to begin it. His hand shook as he reached out and checked the settings programmed into his com-unit for the third time.

  When he looked up again the Khalian horde had begun accelerating towards them, angling away from the green ball representing Bethesda. Trying very hard to look relaxed, Auro wondered how many Khalia manned the ships. With a start Auro remembered that the Khalia often took prisoners for use as slaves. How many colonists would die in the holds of those Khalian ships, destroyed by their own side’s fire?

  Auro’s duty assignment was on the starboard auxiliary command bridge. Should something happen to both the main and port bridges, command of the entire fleet would devolve onto him, Lieutenant Neiburger, four officer cadets, and two Communications chiefs. The ship itself could fight from controls adjacent to the battlecruiser’s power room. If they were hit hard enough to make even those controls inoperative, there was a high probability the ship would also have been destroyed. There was a similar cold consolation in that it was unlikely that the main and port command centers would be put out of action without this one being crippled as well.

  Glancing at the internal monitors lining the wall high over his head, Auro watched the activity in the main control room.

  Every officer on the bridge appeared to Auro to be a study in calm assurance. Even Admiral Duane, leaning on the rail around the main battle display, seemed to be speaking in hushed tones. His hands moved in a wide arc, emphasizing some point of tactics to Captain Al-Hakyim, who would fight the flagship, leaving Duane free to command the fleet. The ensign had the brief urge to scream into the intercom, illogically feeling that breaking the silence could somehow prevent the battle from starting.

  Instead he contented himself with grinding his teeth while trying to count the red blips. He found it was easier if he thought of them as just blips, not heavily armed ships.

  The estimate of one hundred and fifty was visibly overly optimistic. Either that or Khalian reinforcements had arrived within the last few hours. It was hard to be sure as the Khalian ships tended to drift about rather than keep station, but the Ensign finally reached an estimate of one hundred ninety-three Khalian ships. He was relieved to see that most of them were about the same tonnage as a small corvette. As usual, there were no ships larger than light cruisers in the Khalian formation. The readout popped on and promised that there were less than twenty as large as that.

  Curious, the Ensign allowed himself the luxury of inquiring of the command console at his side the actual number of aggressors. For a brief instant the number one hundred ninety-one appeared. There were fewer than seventy-five ships in the Fleet flotilla, the only modern battlecruiser being the flagship. Suddenly the readout was replaced by Captain Buchanon staring up at him. The instructor was frowning and shaking his head in correction. Behind him Auro could see the walls of the lecture hall. Buchanon was also visible on the bridge in the monitor overhead.

  It was against regulation to use a command console when not actively giving orders, Auro realized. Old Buchanon must have programmed that image in; somehow knowing that he would disobey. Not until ordered to, or after the other bridges became inactive, was he supposed to input anything. There couldn’t be the slightest chance of contradictory orders being sent out. An error like that could lose a battle. When Buchanon reviewed his console’s tapes, there would be dark vacuum to pay.

  Auro glanced over quickly at the command center, and there was Buchanon now talking hurriedly with a dark-haired commander. She was Al-Hakyim’s Executive Officer and kept nodding her head solemnly. Still considering the size of the approaching Khalian fleet, Auro found it difficult to become concerned. Demerits lacked the power to frighten when there was a good chance neither he, nor Buchanon, would live to see his next fitness review. The thought gave the cadet a sort of giddy relief, almost as if their fate was preordained and he had been released from any responsibility for it.

  The muted clamor of the klaxon broke Auro’s euphoria. Both fleets had been slowing as they angled away from Bethesda, determined to maximize their contact time. The actual battle would be barely visible to the unaided eye o
n the planet they were about to risk their lives to recover. Just as in the battle against Stone, a few of the smaller Khalian warships accelerated ahead of the rest. They were just entering into extreme range. With a sinking feeling Auro realized that Stone had lost nearly half of his fleet. And he had faced much more even odds.

  The thud of the battlecruiser’s forward plasma battery churned bile up from the ensign’s now otherwise empty stomach. It burnt in his throat. Behind him Auro could hear Lieutenant Neiburger draw in and hold her breath.

  * * *

  The two fleets approached each other, the Fleet task force cautiously withdrawing into the defensive formation Buchanon had outlined a few hours earlier, the Khalia rushing forward in no formation at all, their eagerness obvious. Remembering his briefing Auro switched to the system display once more. For a moment he couldn’t find it, then he found a lone blue spark diving into the system from above. There were no red sparks left to meet her.

  Uneasily Auro realized that was because they were all hurrying to attack the formation he was in.

  Buchanon didn’t approve of the captain of the Haig’s often-unorthodox methods, but the destroyer’s exploits were famous even back on Port. The cadet tried to console himself that at least she would have a free run for her secret mission, something had gone as planned.

  It didn’t help.

  After a while the Fleet formation solidified and the Hamilton’s guns fell silent. The Flotilla had formed itself into two globes, one smaller and inside the other. Being part of the inside sphere, the Hamilton couldn’t fire without endangering ships in the outer echelon.

  For the next fifteen minutes there was nothing for anyone in the auxiliary control center to do but watch the displays. Except for an occasional curse when a blue spark died, no one spoke. Auro was a bit surprised that nobody cheered when a Khalian ship was destroyed. Then again, he didn’t feel much like cheering either.

  At this point the cadet was even willing to admit to himself that he was scared. He’d even begun a childhood invocation to Her, but couldn’t remember all the words.

  Encouragingly the Khalia were losing several ships for each Fleet vessel lost. Then again, there were a lot more Khalian ships. As ships in the outer sphere were damaged, they were withdrawn into the center where emergency repairs could be made in relative safety. Fresh ships replaced them, having an edge on the depleted Khalian ships that hung near the Fleet formation.

  Even though it was apparent once it began to move, Auro failed to notice when nearly half of the Khalian fleet and most of their heavier vessels began converging towards one part of the sphere.

  Alarms rang as the Hamilton and three older cruisers accelerated to support that section of the globe. When Auro felt the throb of acceleration, he realized what was happening. The Hamilton herself was being engaged.

  The flagship was Duane’s last reserve. If they failed to stop this attack, if for any reason the outer globe burst, the formation would split open. There were still two Khalians for every Fleet vessel left, and the Fleet ships were completely surrounded.

  Speed is relative. The Hamilton was already traveling in orbit at many thousands of miles an hour. Engines strained to change her vector so that now she was racing toward the outer globe. It took less them a minute for them to take up formation just behind the outer sphere. Auro would always remember it as taking at least half an hour. The Hamilton and her fellow cruisers were in position seconds before any of the Khalian thrust hit.

  For the next several minutes Auro contemplated the near perfect frustration of being aboard a ship engaged in mortal combat and being unable to do anything about it. Twice he felt shudders as the Khalia managed to overload the shielding long enough to slip a small missile through. Both times he waited for the alarm that would announce the cruiser’s thick hull had been breached, but it never carne. Finally the Khalia’s temporary burst of organization gave way under the force of the cruisers’ heavier guns. Over twenty Khalian ships, and two Fleet destroyers, had been destroyed in less than four minutes.

  The Hamilton was actually backing slowly away from the perimeter when it happened.

  Following the battle on the, display Auro noticed that one Khalian had begun accelerating directly toward them. He switched his attention to the screen showing the command bridge, primarily out of curiosity as to how this comparatively small attack would be handled.

  Many of those ships which had first withdrawn to repair damage had now returned to the battle, and a steady migration continued as damaged ships were ordered to safety and replaced by more battle-worthy vessels—a process that had to continue uninterrupted or they would all be overwhelmed.

  Later, records would show that what occurred was that the first missile to reach the Khalian ship hit dead center. Rather than destroying the Khalian outright, this split the ship into five parts.

  Two parts were blasted into minor debris by other missiles. Another was split off on a vector that carried it away from the battle. The last two, the smallest, continued on the course they had been following. They plunged on, and ripped along the hull of the Hamilton, slamming through the magnetic shield by sheer force of weight.

  In itself, neither fragment was large enough to destroy the battlecruiser outright, but each was large enough to gouge jagged ditches in the ship’s hull.

  One of these ditches cut through a netting of cable laid inside the outer hull. This severed the primary and backup circuits connecting the main bridge to the rest of the ship. To Auro’s astonishment his monitor on the bridge was suddenly illuminated by crimson emergency lights.

  The second fragment hit at a deeper angle and tore through the bulkheads of half a dozen compartments. No. one in them had the time to put on and seal a safety suit. Forty-seven men died immediately of explosive decompression.

  Seven of these men had manned the port control center.

  In the minute it took for control of the Hamilton to be switched to the auxiliary bridge, the largest ship in the Fleet flotilla accelerated at a random angle, taking it beyond the perimeter of the outer globe.

  Realizing the battlecruiser’s temporary vulnerability or perhaps sensing her weakness, a dozen Khalian ships converged upon her. The first few were shredded by the ship’s still functional plasma cannon and swarms of missiles, fired from now independently controlled turrets.

  The combined force of the ten remaining overwhelmed the Hamilton’s shield four times in the next two minutes.

  Lieutenant Neiburger was concentrating on the battle display when she heard Auro’s hoarse exclamation. As per procedure he tried to call the Port auxiliary bridge and verify it had taken command of the flotilla.

  When after thirty seconds the Port bridge had still not answered, the lieutenant began throwing the switches that would give them command of the sixty-one Fleet warships remaining.

  It was none too soon. Without command control the exchange of ships between the protected inner and the outer sphere had broken down. Ships ready to return to combat waited, unable to know where they were needed most, while nearly crippled vessels were forced to fight on unrelieved. Buchanon’s carefully planned tactic was about to disintegrate into chaos.

  With no time to be frightened, Auro also had no time to feel pride for those around him who were responding smoothly to sort out the remaining Fleet ships and reestablish control of the battle. By the time the success of their efforts was apparent the Hamilton had begun hurrying back toward the comparative safety of the outer globe.

  The missile that struck the side of the Hamilton was fired by a Khalian ship that stood between the flagship and her companions. It failed to explode. Because of this it entered the ship nearly along her line of travel and disintegrated as it tore through several bulkheads.

  In the starboard auxiliary control room the effect was that of a shotgun firing buckshot.

  Auro, at the panel closest to the bul
khead through which the fragments entered, felt several sharp stings, no worse than Windling Bug bites, but Lieutenant Neiburger and the others were all killed or mortally wounded. One ensign moaned and writhed iii agony, clutching where a jagged piece of shrapnel had tom away half her abdomen.

  It took Auro only a few seconds to accept that there was nothing he could do for the others, and to realize, too, that he was now the sole person capable of giving the orders needed to maintain the strict discipline of Buchanon’s battle plan.

  The next ten minutes rocketed by on an adrenaline high. Even under hypnosis during debriefing, all that Auro could remember was a feeling of unreal clarity and purpose. The ship’s records show that in that ten minutes Cadet Auro Lebarie gave over a hundred commands and doing so was able to maintain some semblance of order in the formation.

  At some point he remembered seeing the indicator telling him a second control panel had joined in. Glancing over, Auro was surprised to see Captain Buchanon hunched over a second panel, wiping away splattered blood with one hand while entering orders with the other.

  The tactician’s uniform was torn and his back was bleeding. Auro was to later learn the wound was caused when the training officer had to crawl through the jagged remains of a collapsed corridor to reach the auxiliary control room.

  At about the same time, Auro became aware that his left hand hurt. He looked down and there was a sliver of metal, perhaps a quarter-inch wide embedded in the back of his hand. A trickle of blood oozed from the edges of where it had penetrated. When he passed his hand too low over the control panel and it snagged, the cadet was painfully informed that the sliver stuck out on both sides.