by Tori Harris
“That’s a squadron and a half — thirty-six fighters each. Should we reasonably expect our two squadron commanders to manage that many spacecraft at one time?” Patterson asked.
“It shouldn’t be a problem. They occasionally run massed attack training exercises where they coordinate even larger numbers of ships. The neural interface they’re using is similar to the one our special ops troops use in their EVA combat armor, so it’s designed to handle complex operational scenarios with lots of moving parts … once you get the hang of it, that is. Other than the twelve Hunters from the Theseus, these are all crewed fighters anyway — with their AIs there to back them up in case they do anything … uh … unexpected. Worst case, Zhukov or Waffer can always make the decision to designate additional flight commanders, if necessary.”
“Well then, I’m sure Prescott will be happy to have the extra help … I’ll be surprised at this point if he doesn’t end up going toe to toe with three cruisers and a Wek battleship. Please issue final clearance to depart.”
A photo-realistic representation of the Earth nearly two meters in height, complete with current weather patterns (as well as real-time surface activity when zoomed in far enough to display it), currently dominated the center of the CIC holographic table. On either side of the planet, icons representing the two carriers were paired with those of their respective fighter squadrons awaiting orders from the flagship. Immediately upon receipt of the admiral’s “go order,” the icons representing the fighters disappeared in forty-eight simultaneous flashes of grayish-white light.
“Alright, I’m afraid that’s about all we can do for Prescott and company for now,” Patterson said, quickly reconfiguring the holographic table to display the location of the secondary Resistance rally point. “We should begin receiving data from Crossbow anytime.”
As if on cue, the space above the table shimmered slightly, then refocused to show two large, spherical outlines. Although hyperspace and “normal” space technically occupied the same physical location, the holographic table was often configured to display each as its own distinct region. Currently, the larger of the two spheres — representing “normal” space — displayed a blinking red icon near its center to indicate that, for the moment, there was no available data. The second, smaller sphere displayed a cluster of blue icons representing the seventeen Theseus-class destroyers awaiting the admiral’s orders in hyperspace at Location Crossbow.
“Are you planning to wait and see what happens at Dagger before ordering them to attack?” Captain Davis asked, nodding to the assembled ships.
“Originally, yes, I was. My hope was that Admiral Naftur’s presence combined with a show of force from Theseus and her fighter escorts might have persuaded the remaining Resistance forces to stand down,” he replied, uncharacteristically leaning with both hands spread wide against the side of the holo table. “Hell, all of this is seat of the pants, Ogima. You understand that, right?”
“I know what General Eisenhower said, sir: ‘No plan survives contact with the enemy.’”
“He probably did say something like that,” Patterson chuckled, standing up straight once again and rubbing his eyes without bothering to remove his glasses, “but that’s not his quote. That particular maxim paraphrases German Field Marshal Helmuth von Molkte the Elder. What he actually said was more like ‘No plan of operations extends with certainty beyond the first encounter with the enemy’s main hostile force.’ Eisenhower, on the other hand, said ‘In preparing for battle, I have always found that plans are useless, but planning is indispensable.’”
“Alright, alright,” Davis laughed, raising both hands in mock surrender. “You’d think I would have figured out by now that I shouldn’t make historical references in the presence of the ultimate military history buff! What I meant to say is that we’re doing the best we can with the time and resources we have at our disposal.”
“True enough, I suppose. I definitely don’t think we would have ever planned for anything like this particular scenario, though, regardless of how much time we had available. I’ve gone over this whole situation in my mind a thousand times, but there’s still something that doesn’t quite add up for me. It’s almost as if the Resistance ships never really had any intention of attacking Earth outright.”
“Sir?” Davis asked.
“I don’t know … it’s probably nothing. It just seems like they’re going about it as if they have other, competing objectives in mind, that’s all. Never mind me, Captain. If a man runs on Navy coffee long enough without getting much sleep, his inner monologue tends to turn into a running commentary that no one really wants to hear. Back to your original question … since Naftur does not seem to have had the impact we were hoping for at Location Dagger, I don’t believe waiting for a resolution there is worth the risk of losing our opportunity at Location Crossbow. Go ahead and authorize the alpha strike with no changes from the original plan. Oh … and send Gamble 22 back to Location Crossbow as well. Tell him to remain in hyperspace while the destroyers conduct their attack. If those Resistance ships decide to make a run for it, I’d at least like to know what direction they went.”
“Aye, sir. Transmitting now.”
SCS Gunov, Location Crossbow
(5.93x1011 km from Location Dagger)
Commodore Naveen Sarafi stared with satisfaction and no small degree of wonder at the display screen in his ready room. Although long-range communications had been a reality for Sajeth Collective vessels for centuries, the underlying technology had advanced surprisingly little during that time. Although, by and large, the systems had proven themselves to be effective and reliable over the years, they were also unwieldy and somewhat impractical from an operational standpoint. At one time, in fact, the original deep space communications network had relied solely on fixed, planet-side installations coupled with geostationary satellites to connect far-flung governmental and military organizations across the Sajeth Collective. Unfortunately, even after countless attempts to miniaturize components of the system, the equipment still took up copious amounts of space. While entire buildings filled with comm gear were perfectly acceptable at sprawling governmental facilities, such had never been the case aboard ships of war, where every cubic centimeter of space was sorely coveted. Perhaps worst of all, the equipment had often forced captains to choose between either remaining out of communications or sitting stationary for extended periods (sometimes days at a time) while the system synchronized and established connectivity with the nearest node on the network.
At long last, the equipment providing the video feed and tactical information currently displayed on Sarafi’s screen represented a much needed and long promised quantum leap in communications technology. From the moment he had first been briefed on the system’s revolutionary capabilities, he had realized that, once widely deployed, it would usher in a new era of ubiquitous, real-time comm for the Collective and provide a tremendous advantage for its military forces. This fact had not been lost on the military oversight committee of the Sajeth Collective’s Governing Council, which had classified the most sensitive details at such a high level that very few officers who worked with the equipment every day were aware of its true capabilities.
Among the Resistance task force’s officers, only the commodore had been granted full access. And not for the first time, Sarafi found himself wondering if, under the circumstances, this might be a case where violating information security made more sense than potentially putting their entire mission at risk. After all, there were already hundreds of officers aboard his task force who were familiar with the Pelaran-derived surveillance drones being deployed by the newly commissioned Battlespace Defense cruisers. They knew the drones were capable of setting up a real-time defensive perimeter around their forces extending out to well over a billion kilometers. They knew that the system relayed detailed surveillance data — allowing the fleet to maintain nearly complete situational awareness, including live video, from any location inside the perimeter. In
fact, he rationalized, the only thing they really did not know was the system’s range. And, in truth, neither did he. The Collective’s scientists did believe that there was a theoretical limit to the distance between nodes, but it was something on the order of one hundred light years — perhaps even more. In any event, when compared with the limitations imposed by the old Sajeth Collective network, the new system had virtually unlimited range.
From a practical standpoint, the decision to share certain details of the system’s capabilities was his alone to make. The mission to the Sol system had been put together so quickly that the new surveillance drones did not yet allow for continuous oversight of his activities by his masters on the Governing Council. Yet as isolating and problematic as it was for him to be the only member of his task force with access to the drones’ data, Sarafi admitted to himself that it was a bit intoxicating to be the only officer possessed of what felt like a nearly omnipotent view of his battlespace. At the relatively short distance of 22.9 light days, the Gunov had reestablished contact with the surveillance drones at the original rally point in less than an hour. Since then, he had simply watched and waited. In the interim, two additional Rusalov-class battleships had arrived and been forwarded on to the secondary rally point without incident. The longer he had waited, however, the more he had begun to wonder whether the loathsome Commander Miah had been correct. Perhaps the Humans were either unwilling — or even unable — to send additional ships to investigate the loss of their scout vessels. If that were indeed the case, his move to the secondary rally point had been an unnecessary precaution.
Contingencies wrapped within contingencies, he mused. In Sarafi’s opinion, there were far too many allowances for such things in the mission plan he had been given. The whole thing read like nothing more than a long series of conditional “if-then” statements, some of which were based on scenarios that he thought so unlikely as to border on the absurd. Then again, the first seemingly unlikely event had already taken place — the Humans had located the original rally point — forcing him to alter the original, simple plan (which he favored) in a manner he never would have predicted. Rather than simply allowing all of his forces to arrive at the original rally point, then proceeding to Terra for a quick, devastating strike (any interference from the Guardian notwithstanding), the plan now required him to use a portion of his forces as “bait” in hopes of enticing the Humans to attack. Otherwise, there was little if any military justification for leaving several ships to “guard” the original rally point. While sacrifices were sometimes required in battle, Sarafi was still somewhat uncomfortable with the idea that so many lives were being placed at risk in pursuit of what amounted to nothing more than a grand political agenda.
The Resistance leaders with seats on the Governing Council realized early on that the biggest single risk inherent in the expedition to attack Terra was that their forces would be completely wiped out by the Guardian spacecraft, the Humans, or a combination of both. Their concern, however, was not for the loss of their naval forces so much as the potential for wasting the opportunity represented by such a monumental crisis. A “victory,” from their perspective, required at least some of the task force to return home carrying a precious cargo of data — propaganda, Sarafi corrected himself. Depending on what events had transpired in the Sol system, that data would be leveraged to either justify the destruction of a nearly defenseless civilization, or to prove just how dangerous the Terrans had already become. The former would solidify their place in history as defenders of the Collective, the latter would most likely tip the balance in favor of all-out war in defense of their member worlds.
After what seemed an interminable period of waiting, the Humans had finally arrived at the original rally point. Watching events unfold from 593 billion kilometers away, Sarafi initially feared that the Resistance leaders’ strategy had backfired. Surely, with only a single Human ship arriving on the scene, there was little chance of anything more dramatic than an immediate surrender. Just as anticipated, however, Commander Miah — that fool of a Damaran — had somehow managed to provoke a confrontation. Unfortunately, the result, while exactly what the mission planners had hoped for in one sense, had hardly provided the raw material needed to portray the Humans as bloodthirsty savages bent on the destruction of the Collective.
The relatively small, Pelaran-enhanced Human vessel, along with a small group of fighter spacecraft, had easily defeated four resistance vessels, any one of which should have been more than their equal in battle. Precisely how this had been accomplished was still a bit of a mystery. The Human fighters had fired twenty-four missiles at the Babayev at a range that should have allowed them to be easily intercepted — even for one of the older, Shopak-class cruisers. Yet, for whatever reason, it appeared that none of the missiles had been intercepted by energy weapons fire or blocked by the ship’s shields. Once again, Sarafi silently cursed the rigid security measures governing the use of the new surveillance drone system. Since none of the officers aboard the Resistance ships at the original rally point had been granted access, their AIs were likewise not authorized to share their invaluable, on-scene tactical analyses or even their comm feeds with the Gunov. Instead, Sarafi was limited to the data-gathering capabilities of the surveillance drones themselves which, while considerable, paled in comparison to the warships that had launched them.
The longer he watched, the more unacceptable the situation became, and, in response, Sarafi began composing the official justification he would use to render the normally inflexible security protocols a bit more pliable. At least, he hoped, sufficiently pliable to avoid being prosecuted for improper handling of classified data. The notion that he still had to be concerned about such things seemed patently ridiculous at this point anyway — considering that he was currently in the process of leading a technically extralegal, officially unsanctioned military expedition against the homeworld of another civilization. Laws governing such things, he knew, were often ignored, or in some cases reshaped to indemnify those in positions of power.
In any event, it was not necessary for Sarafi to clear all of his personnel for access to the classified information. Even if he could justify something as simple as allowing the Gunov’s tactical officers to analyze the raw surveillance drone data feeds, he felt certain that they would be able to quickly determine why the Human attack had been so successful. If he did not do so at some point, would he not be held equally accountable if the Humans then managed to execute the same sort of attacks against the bulk of his forces?
Perhaps worst of all for the political component of his mission was what he had observed after the Babayev had been rendered defenseless in the aftermath of the skirmish with the Human warship. Hadeon, obviously surprised to find herself at a tactical disadvantage, had ceased fire and shortly thereafter begun launching her shuttles in the direction of the stricken cruiser Babayev. The only scenario Sarafi could imagine to fit what he had observed was that Commander Miah had fired first, then promptly surrendered to the Human vessel as soon as he had suffered his first loss. Once the shooting had stopped, the Human warship had shown remarkable restraint, allowing the Resistance vessels to conduct their rescue operations when it would have been entirely within their rights to destroy every enemy vessel in the area.
Sarafi had been considering the idea of sending in additional Resistance warships to provoke the Humans into continuing the battle when the Baldev arrived. Surely, this was the best possible scenario for accomplishing the political portion of his mission objectives. If the Human warship managed to destroy four cruisers as well as the lead vessel in the newest class of Sajeth Collective battleships, he would certainly capture all of the data necessary to convey the nature of the threat back to the Governing Council. If, on the other hand, the Human vessel was destroyed, Sarafi felt confident that he could proceed with the original mission to attack Terra with a reasonable assurance of success.
At that moment, the distressing sound of what he now recognized a
s a defense perimeter violation alarm interrupted his deliberations.
“Commodore Sarafi to the bridge,” his communications officer announced urgently over the ship’s intercom system.
Chapter 4
TFS Theseus, Location Dagger
(3.3 light years from Earth)
“Multiple new contacts!” Lieutenant Lau announced from Tactical 1.
“Did we detect hyperspace transitions?” Prescott asked, glancing quickly at the tactical plot for confirmation.
“No, sir … stand by … confirmed, the Baldev is launching fighters.”
“Understood. Let’s try to stay clear of them if we can. Let me know when you have a total count.”
“Aye, sir. Ten so far and still launching. It looks like they are just forming up to one side of Bravo 1 for now.”
“Commander Schmidt, it occurs to me that the Wek aren’t big believers in point defenses, so if those fighters happen to get within range of ours at some point …”
“The sea-whiz will make believers out of them, sir.”
“Very good. Be watching for the opportunity. You might have to tweak the AI’s settings a bit. Otherwise, if we switch the railguns to point defense mode, it will primarily be looking to stop inbound missiles rather than taking down fighters.”
“Aye, sir,” Schmidt replied, sensing that his captain’s unusually specific instructions were a sign that he was perhaps a bit more apprehensive than during previous engagements.
“Both Badger flights are standing by, sir,” Dubashi said from the Communications console.
“Excellent. Signal them to —”
“Multiple contacts, multiple hyperspace transitions. These are behind us, sir!” Lieutenant Lau interrupted, this time in an even more excited, urgent tone.
