by Tori Harris
“You have been told that the Humans have allied themselves with the Pelaran Alliance. While it is true that they have been solicited for membership, they have not yet made the decision to join. And now that I have had the opportunity to meet the Human people, learn some of their history, and even fight alongside them, I sincerely doubt that they will become an enemy of the Wek people, even if they do ultimately make such a decision. And yet, you have been brought here with the intent of bringing about their utter destruction. You have been told that the Terrans represent such a grave, existential threat to the Sajeth Collective that all actions are justifiable … including the genocide of a species that has done absolutely nothing to warrant such an unspeakable fate. To stoke the fires of your fear and hatred, you were told that the Humans killed me and all of the brave men and women who accompanied me to the Sol system several months ago. My friends, I stand here before you now as proof of this deception … a deception that the cowards driving the Resistance movement were so anxious to maintain that they sent two of our own warships to intercept and destroy the Gresav once they learned that I had survived the Pelaran Guardian’s attack.
“Many thousands have already perished on both sides in this wholly unnecessary conflict with the Humans. But I tell you now that it is still not too late to end the bloodshed … end it now before our world is forever darkened by a shame so heinous that we shall never again regain our honor. Just as I have done, I call on each and every one of you to renew your commitment to our homeworld. Take back your vessels in the name of the Dynastic Houses of Naftur and follow me home. If you will do so, I commit to you now that it is my intention to restore home rule to Graca. I am sure you understand that this course of action poses its own perils and risks, but I am now wholly convinced that this is the right choice for our people.
“I implore you to act without delay, for there is little time remaining to put a stop to this madness. The Resistance task force has backed the Humans into a corner, forcing them to fight for the very survival of their homeworld. They will fight, my friends, … with every bit as much tenacity and perhaps even a bit more cunning and guile than we would if faced with the same situation. Their technology is also far more advanced than you have been led to believe. And while I do not mean to imply that we should fear them, we would be foolish indeed to underestimate either their resolve or their military capabilities.
“I have included coordinates for a rendezvous point with this transmission. As quickly as possible, each of you must turn your ship away from Terra and her military forces. To avoid drawing fire, simply rotate about your vertical axis and transition out of the area immediately. I will be in contact as quickly as possible to provide further instructions once the situation here is resolved.”
Naftur paused, his face taking on the confident, bold expression of a military commander well-accustomed to having his orders followed without hesitation. “Now, my friends, the time has come for you to act. Do what I have asked of you here today … and then, tomorrow — together — we shall return Graca to the Wek people.”
There was utter silence on the Gunov’s bridge as Naftur’s face was replaced once again with an image displaying the emblems of the seven houses of Graca. Sarafi’s eyes remained focused on the display screen for several seconds, sensing the stares he was receiving from both his XO as well as every other officer on the bridge. Although he had handpicked his flagship’s crew for the most part, the same was certainly not true of the other vessels that made up what remained of his task force. In each case, their commanding officers had given him the impression that they were reliable converts to the Resistance cause, but what of their crews? Many of them, he knew, had simply acquiesced to their officially unsanctioned mission … perhaps believing themselves insulated from any resulting consequences because they were following their superiors’ orders. What, then, if anything, should he say regarding Naftur’s comments?
After what seemed like a long pause, Sarafi looked Commander Freyda directly in the eyes, then slowly, methodically shifted his gaze to each crewmember present before looking back up at the situation display. The internal conflict and questions of duty to the Collective he had struggled with over the past several months no longer troubled his mind. In its place, there was only rage. Rage for Naftur’s interference — at the prospect of a return to an archaic, backward form of government on his homeworld — and at the very real possibility of his own colossal failure.
“We will commence our attack,” he growled defiantly.
TFS Navajo, Earth-Sun Lagrange Point 2
(1130 UTC - Combat Information Center - 1.5x106 km from Earth)
“Still nothing from the Cossack?” Admiral Patterson asked in a loud, irritated voice without turning to address anyone in particular.
“Not a word for over an hour now, sir,” Ensign Fletcher replied from her Communications console. “Based on what they were saying when they last checked in, we should be seeing them anytime.”
“We should have been seeing them before their last call,” he replied angrily. “Signal Captain Budarin at Yamantau Mountain that we urgently need that ship — with or without shields at this point.”
“Aye, sir.”
“We’ve got movement, Admiral,” the young tactical officer announced loudly from the holographic display in the center of the CIC.
“I see them, Commander, thank you,” Patterson replied, still staring intently at a bank of view screens nearby. “I need to know exactly what each of them is doing before we start issuing attack orders.” A distant part of his mind made the observation that, under the circumstances, his own voice sounded composed to an almost absurd degree — not at all in keeping with the surge of adrenaline-induced emotions he was dealing with at the moment. At least the waiting is over and we can finally get this behind us, he thought, trying and failing to provide himself with a quick, inspirational thought.
“I’m showing three of the Rusalovs and the Keturah-class cruiser in a slow rotation to port — I think they may be withdrawing, sir!”
“Maybe so, but let’s not start counting our proverbial chickens just yet. Even if that is what they’re doing, that still leaves us with five battleships and a destroyer to contend with. Just in case, however, change our status to ‘weapons tight’ until further notice. Designate the four ships that seem to be responding to Naftur’s instruction as neutrals, for now, but if they’re not obviously heading out of the area within the next few minutes, I want them designated as hostiles once again. Clear?”
“Yes, sir. Done. I’ll keep an eye on them for any changes.”
“Very well. Any response from the Guardian spacecraft?”
“None whatsoever, sir.”
“Alright, let me know if that thing so much as flinches. Initially, this is shaping up to look a lot like a classic naval artillery battle, and we don’t need any ships in the general vicinity of the engagement zone that we don’t intend to destroy.”
“Sir, all of the remaining Resistance ships appear to have engaged their sublight engines and are accelerating. Since the Cossack isn’t here, should the Navajo join the line?”
“We may have to, depending on how this first attack goes, but right now we’re the only backstop between our line of battle and our carriers … not to mention Earth itself. Do we have a clear field of fire for our four cruisers’ main batteries?”
“Yes, sir. Our destroyers and fighters are well clear of the engagement zone and all four cruisers have signaled that they are ready to execute their attack plan.”
“Make your target Bravo 1 and execute. Jump fire jump, Commander.”
“Aye, sir.”
***
As one, the battle line of four cruisers: Shoshone, Chickasaw, Shawnee, and Koori — each named to honor indigenous warrior cultures from the areas near their respective construction sites — disappeared in spectacular flashes of grayish-white light. At virtually the same instant, the line of ships reappeared in the same dramatic fashion, but n
ow less than one hundred thousand kilometers from their first target. Before their transition to hyperspace, each ship had altered its course slightly so that their formation was perfectly aligned to concentrate its firepower on the first Rusalov-class battleship in the enemy line.
The Navajo-class cruisers had been designed from the ground up as a platform for their primary weapons — a total of eight massive railguns dual-mounted atop the largest fully articulated turrets ever constructed. Both the dorsal and ventral mounts were capable of turning a full three hundred and sixty degrees, and in spite of their nearly seventy-five-meter length from hull mount to the tips of their barrels, could rotate at just over fifteen degrees per second. With their first target lying directly ahead, however, all four mounts were currently trained forward along each cruiser’s longitudinal axis.
The railguns themselves were not unlike their much smaller cousins mounted on virtually every Fleet vessel, and a munitions engineer from as far back as the early twenty-first century would easily be able to recognize most of the weapon’s primary components. What differentiated this gun from countless generations that had come before was its scale, as well as its ability to accelerate a projectile rivaling the size of those fired by World War I battleships to relativistic speeds. Now, just before the rails lining the inner walls of each gun were energized, a series of emitters produced an intense gravitic field along the entire length of the barrel. Within each gun’s breech, it took less than three milliseconds for the four-hundred-and-twenty-five-kilogram kinetic energy penetrator to be forcefully centered between the launch rails with an audible PING as its mass was temporarily reduced to zero. The ship’s fire control AI then took over, completing and verifying the calculations required to optimize the conditions within the railgun itself as well as ensuring that the projectile would hit its target nearly one hundred thousand kilometers away within centimeters of its intended point of impact. With all required tasks now completed, the AI issued its final clearance to fire. The end result was a tremendous burst of energy being shunted directly from the cruiser’s reactors to each railgun turret — instantly propelling the round out of each weapon’s muzzle at just over ten percent the speed of light.
Unlike the main batteries mounted on the enemy Rusalov-class battleships, the Terran Navajos made much more efficient use of gravitic fields. This allowed their guns to fire more rounds simultaneously (eight versus six) at a higher rate of fire (five salvos per minute versus two), all while transmitting negligible ‘recoil’ forces back to the warship itself. While the Rusalovs’ guns did fire larger (eight hundred and twenty-five kilogram) rounds, the Navajos’ projectiles crossed the intervening space to their intended targets at six times the velocity of the Rusalovs’ shells. This fact alone meant that the Terran cruisers enjoyed a significant advantage in both accuracy and firepower compared to the older Sajeth Collective battleships.
The first salvo took less than three and a half seconds to reach the first Resistance battleship, with each shell initially carrying over two hundred petajoules of energy — roughly that of the largest nuclear weapon ever tested on the Earth’s surface.
***
“Multiple impacts, sir!” Patterson’s tactical officer reported.
“Very well. We need to assess as quickly as possible whether or not the first target is neutralized. Based on what we’ve seen before, Wek shields have some difficulty stopping railgun rounds, but they still do manage to reduce their effectiveness quite a bit.”
“That may have been the case here as well, Admiral, but I can confirm solid hits from all thirty-two rounds on the first battleship. I’m seeing significantly reduced power output, secondary explosions, and her engines appear to be offline.”
Thank God, Patterson thought, daring for the first time to consider that his forces might actually have the upper hand in this fight.
“The remaining two Rusalovs just fired their main batteries,” the commander continued. “One two rounds in flight. Time to impact, one eight seconds. Our cruisers have adjusted course and are transitioning to hyperspace.”
“Excellent. Designate Bravo 2 as the new primary target and have them set up as quickly as possible for another shot,” Patterson ordered, turning to check the status of his small reserve force, now consisting of two destroyers and two frigates. For the moment, he still believed that allowing his cruisers to continue firing on the enemy battleships was a reasonable course of action — for as long as their current tactics remained effective, that is. After all, just a few more salvos like the last would reduce the Resistance task force to such a degree that they might well withdraw. The real problem was the Gunov. In his mind, she still represented the most significant threat against the planet itself, and he was impatient to bring her to action as quickly as possible — hopefully either disabling or destroying her before she could launch her Sazoch bio weapon. Unlike the Rusalovs, however, she was capable of rapid hyperspace transitions, and would almost certainly do so immediately if she were targeted by his cruisers. Further complicating the situation was the fact that Captain Abrams’ destroyer force was largely useless at the moment. It was simply too dangerous to allow them to engage the Gunov as long as the cruisers were blazing away with their main guns.
Patience, he counseled himself. No rash decisions … no mistakes.
“Sir, we’ve got a problem,” the commander said, calling his attention back to the holo table. “Shoshone and Chickasaw transitioned to their next initial point, but Shawnee and Koori did not. They are maneuvering in an attempt to avoid the incoming rounds, but —”
“Time to impact?” Patterson interrupted.
“Six seconds … missile launch, sir!” the tactical officer reported tensely as the holographic table automatically zoomed in on a series of strobing red ovals moving rapidly away from the two largest enemy battleships. “I’ve got multiple missiles in flight — launched from both of the Baldevs.”
“Damn,” Patterson said under his breath, fearing that he already knew the reason his two cruisers had failed to transition.
Chapter 20
TFS Theseus
(2.5x106 km from Earth)
“Something’s wrong,” Commander Reynolds said in a low voice that only her captain could hear. “Two of our cruisers didn’t transition.”
Since returning from their rendezvous with the Gresav, Prescott had been working with the other captains in his small reserve force to strategically position their ships. Although they represented only a small fraction of TFC’s available firepower in the immediate area, he knew that their presence could become critically important, depending on how the battle progressed.
“Are Shawnee and Koori still firing their main guns?” Prescott asked, glancing up at the tactical plot. “It could be that their captains saw an opportunity to get in another salvo or two before moving to the next IP … particularly since the two Baldevs haven’t opened fire yet.”
“No, sir, they are not. And if they don’t get out of the way within about ten seconds, they’re going to get clobbered by incoming rounds from the two remaining Rusalovs.”
“Sir, the signature is pretty faint from here, but I think the Zhelov and Serapion are using the same gravitic beam weapon that the Baldev did at Location Dagger,” Lieutenant Commander Schmidt reported gravely from Tactical 1.
“Missile launch!” Lieutenant Lau announced from Tactical 2. “Zhelov and Serapion are launching missiles, sir. Our cruisers are taking evasive action to avoid the incoming rounds, but —”
“But it won’t be enough,” Prescott replied. “The Rusalovs’ shells are self-guided … there’s not enough time.”
“Multiple impacts,” Schmidt reported. “Our AI indicates five nuclear-enhanced naval artillery impacts on each cruiser, Captain.”
“Dear God,” Reynolds gasped.
From Theseus’ current position, the port sides of each cruiser were visible, allowing her crew to witness all five of the flashes produced by the shells’ warheads. On each ship�
��s ventral surface — currently shaded from the light of the sun — the plumes of fire erupting from the location of each impact were as spectacular as they were terrifying.
“Time to impact on the missiles?” Prescott asked.
“They were fired too close to their targets for a direct flight path, sir,” Lau said, “but the first will still arrive in three zero seconds. Both of our cruisers have opened fire with their weapons in point defense mode, but their overall power output has dropped by about six zero percent.”
“Dubashi, send an Emergency Action Message to all Fleet vessels as follows: One. Believe two largest Resistance battleships of the Baldev-class equipped with gravitic beam weapon. Two. Beam prevents a single target from transitioning to hyperspace. Three. Demonstrated range of at least five hundred and fifty thousand kilometers. Got it?”
“Yes, sir, transmitting now.”
“Look sharp, everyone,” Prescott said in a tone intended to refocus his crew’s attention. “We obviously were not expecting to see the gravitic beam weapon employed by these two Baldevs, but the admiral has a couple of contingency plans in place for this situation. I suspect we may be called into action shortly.”
Reynolds shot him a dubious look, knowing full well that the “contingency plans” he was referring to were risky, “worst-case” options at best.
TFS Navajo, Earth-Sun Lagrange Point 2
