Strike Battleship Engineers (The Ithis Campaign Book 2)

by Shane Lochlann Black

  “The base guns.”

  “Correct. If they have LOS on us, they can target Argent with enough firepower to force us out of orbit.”

  “If they have the power.”

  Singleton handed the commander a readout from the last satellite pass over Lethe Deeps. “If these readings are correct, ma’am, they have the power. We’re reading a 60% buildup in both heat and electromagnetic emissions from more than 200 feet under the planet’s surface. If they have the hardware to go with it, we’re looking at one hell of a fight every time we break their horizon. But that’s not our biggest problem.”

  “Explain,” Doverly said as the major switched the display again.

  “That assault squadron puts us to a choice. Originally, the captain ordered our Wildcat squadrons to the surface for air support for Sixth Armor. Argent is the only orbital unit that can go toe-to-toe with three surface defense guns. That means the Wildcats are going to have to re-arm for a strike against that attack force. If we don’t engage them, they’ll have unhindered orbit-to-surface targets of opportunity, and eventually they’ll either take out Sixth Armor or the amphibious formation north of the base. Or both.”

  “How long before we break their horizon again?”

  “Eleven minutes. I think we can expect the base to open fire on us the moment they get a bearings lock.”

  Doverly cursed under her breath. She had the firepower, but there were just too many targets that needed to be engaged at once. “We have to re-arm the Cats with anti-ship torpedos to engage the assault squadron. That’s going to take a minimum of 30 minutes. But if we take the initiative, major, I think we just might be able to draw those ships back out of orbit and keep them from engaging our ground forces.”

  “I’m not following you, ma’am.”

  “The captain ordered us to engage the attack force directly if we had to maneuver. I think it’s time we followed those orders.” Doverly keyed her commlink. “Bridge. Lay in an intercept course for the lead ship in the attack force.” She switched channels. “Flight One, this is the flag. Scrub all air support missions and re-arm all our Cats with Hemlocks. Report to force commander on jets request. Doverly out.”

  Major Singleton hurried to keep up with the commander as she strode out of CIC towards the bridge. “Those defense guns are useless if there’s nothing to shoot at. I’m betting if the attack squadron sees us go after the main body they’ll retreat to defend their formation before they try to mop up a couple of scattered formations on the surface.”

  “All due respect, ma’am, this is a big risk.”

  “That’s true, but I’ve got a secret.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “I’ve got an Ace and a Jack in the hole.”

  “Commander on the bridge.”

  Annora Doverly made her way to the conn. “Tactical, arm HAVOC batteries one through eight. Stand by for target bearings. Report range to enemy task force.”

  “Six million miles. Estimate weapons range in two minutes.”

  “Very well. Major, notify Jack squadron leaders we will coordinate our attacks in order. All ahead battle speed.”

  Sixty-One

  Major Darya Komanov stood quietly with her rangefinders held up to her eyes. She was patiently scanning an orbital track twenty six degrees above the horizon. The windstorm had finally blown itself out and moved on to the east, leaving a clear, chilly evening sky behind. Far in the distance, the sound of artillery and paladin bombs occasionally punctuated the dimming light from the smaller of Bayone’s twin suns.

  A fresh-faced marine PFC emerged from the mobile command center’s airlock wearing a brand new portable life support apparatus and armed with a TK46 repeater rifle. “Ma’am, force command confirms Argent has moved out of orbit to engage an approaching enemy formation.”

  “Exactly what I would do,” Komanov mused. “Commander Doverly is as shrewd as she is wise, private. Consider yourself thankful you serve with such able officers. Do we have an updated estimate on our operational status?”

  “Sergeant Ward told me to tell you–”

  “Two hours?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Tell him he has fifteen minutes.”

  “But, ma’am– I–”

  “As you were, private. He will rage and yell and call you names, and then he will remember you are simply conveying a message from me. Then he will have my mobile base up and running in fifteen minutes. Dismissed.”

  The PFC hesitantly ducked back inside, clearly not all that enthusiastic about his new mission. Komanov re-adjusted her rangefinders and scanned Bayone Three’s orbit quadrant by quadrant. She knew it was only a matter of time before whatever lit up Starhaven’s long-range scanners appeared on her own scope. She keyed her commlink.

  “Komanov to Copernicus base.”

  A pause. Then the channel clicked.

  “Copernicus, Todd.”

  “Forgive me, Mister Todd. I am still catching up on my crew introductions. What is your position on the engineering detail?”

  “Engineer’s Mate, ma’am.”

  “Very well. Tell me, it is true your ship carries a microwave energy transfer transmitter, no?”

  “Aye, ma’am. It is built in to our forward dorsal sensor array.”

  “And it is directional?”

  “Aye, ma’am.”

  Komanov considered her next question for a moment. “How high would we need to deploy an autonomous collector to acquire the Copernicus LOS from this position?”

  “Stand by, mobile base,” Todd replied. Komanov knew it wouldn’t take long for a ship full of engineers to perform the necessary calculations. “Ma’am, it looks like our horizon is approximately sixty feet over your position.”

  “That is very good news, Mister Todd,” the major replied. “Our battlefield antenna array is seventy feet. If I attach a collector and set our power systems to draw from the Copernicus reactor, will you still have what you need to supply the engineering base? I need approximately 400 megawatts to drive our ground screens and orbital guns.”

  “Affirmative, ma’am. Our corvette is fully operational and our reactors are in series. We have an excess capacity of more than 600 megawatts.”

  “Outstanding, Mister Todd. Our own power systems will be operational shortly. Until then, we will configure our collector to match your ship’s microwave transmitter LOS. We have enemy inbounds that will break weapons range in approximately twenty minutes. Let’s work towards being operational in fifteen. Komanov out.”

  The major smiled as she continued scanning the sky for any sign of the enemy inbounds. Having the engineering base provide her with power gave the marine mobile command center a number of important tactical advantages. No matter how hard the enemy ships hit her screens, the destructive energy would have no effect on her ability to reinforce her defenses with more power. They would have to crash through her deflectors and then score direct hits on all her weapons one by one. In the meantime, the combined firepower of Sixth Armor and her own surface-to-orbit weapons would force enemy ships to pay a heavy price.

  The PFC re-appeared in the doorway. “Ma’am, Sergeant Ward locked me out of the ammunition bay and is shouting something that sounds like profanity. I think your name has come up at least once.”

  “That is excellent news, private.” Komanov lifted the rangefinders back to her eyes. “I expect we’ll be operational ahead of schedule. Carry on.”

  Sixty-Two

  “Bandits!”

  Zony checked her instruments.

  “Forward scanners are tracking sixty inbounds, lieutenant! Bearing zero two mark one!” Multiple hostile contacts were on the long-range scopes. There wasn’t much time for Argent’s Jack squadrons to vector for intercept.

  Despite the relative disparity in ranks, the marine flight leaders deferred to Lieutenant Tixia with regard to operational command of the strike wing. A full formation of 23 Yellowjacket fighters were arranged in formation with Jackrabbit 994, and this time, they w
eren’t sensor echoes. The Jacks were flexibly armed, with anti-ship torpedos as their primaries and upgraded forward and aft energy hard points for anti-fighter combat. The Tigersharks and Buccaneers were arranged in five four-ship diamond formations. The other three fighters were Jack Three and her two wings.

  Their primary mission was to hit the inbound task force, but if they had to take out their fighter wing first, so be it.

  Trailing the Yellowjackets at a relatively short range was the escort frigate Minstrel and her much heavier wing cannon. Zony was counting on Islington’s ship giving any potential enemy fighter squadrons fits. An escort frigate was much too heavy to engage with standard fighter-to-fighter tactics. At the same time, it was too light to waste anti-ship torpedos on, especially considering Minstrel was easily capable of avoiding the kinds of weapons fighters would normally deploy against capital ships. A carrier or battleship would either have to shoot down the bird or absorb the punishment. Minstrel would just out-fly it.

  The enemy fighters were set to break weapons range in fifteen seconds. Zony deployed the blast shield across her faceplate and armed the rest of her weapons as her fighter accelerated to 600 MPS.

  “Jackrabbit 994 to kits. Let’s break ‘em up!”

  Zony’s fighter banked out of formation and dove into a savage attack vector against the forward-most enemy fighter group. The entire Jack wing followed. First her escorts, then each diamond formation, one by one. This time, automated systems were not going to help the attackers avoid the skill and aggressiveness of Argent’s strike force.

  Jackrabbit 994 slashed through a three fighter formation with her plasma weapons blasting away at the scattering bandits. Her wings followed her lead, aiming barrage after barrage at the stragglers. Four enemy fighters took solid hits on the first pass. One spiraled out of the furball and detonated too close. The EM wave knocked out communications for almost ten seconds and took the starboard engine of Buccaneer Six out of commission.

  The enemy Bearcat fighters took a wide port swing to rejoin the action and managed to fly right through the trailing formation of T-Hawk Green gunships. A short, angry clash flared brightly in Bayone space as the big fission guns of the Bearcat fighters went up against massed brawler cannon fire from the heavy gunships. Mangled parts, fuel assemblies, composites, ablative armor appliques and spent missile casings tumbled, burned, vaporized and exploded into a spinning tornado of destruction. Nine bearcats entered the fight. Five emerged. Shamrock Ten took the hardest hits from the enemy fighters, but was still nearly 50% combat worthy and well on its way to repairing its battle screens when the gunship formation stabilized.

  Captain Islington’s attention was not focused on the fighter engagement. Her long-range scanners told a far more chilling story. Eleven ships were on an attack run directly at Argent’s fighters. The fleet carrier Orca was at the enemy formation’s center, and this time, she was fully crewed.

  “There’s only three dozen fighters out here. Orca’s got enough to launch a second wave right into our teeth,” she muttered. “Signals, raise Argent. Send my log entries for the last thirty-six hours and advise Commander Doverly we are way over our head out here.”

  “Aye, ma’am, coding your message.”

  “Hollis, what do you make of that ship formation?”

  Minstrel’s executive officer studied the tactical display for a few moments. “Looks like they’re set up for a standard fighter defense, ma’am. We might be better off running and gunning instead of going head to head.”

  “Agreed, XO. At least until Commander Hunter can reinforce us. That forward ship looks out of position to me. Can you confirm?”

  Meier engaged the library computer and switched the display. “She’s the battlecruiser Rigel, ma’am. Heavy energy platform. Lightest and most agile of the enemy line ships.”

  Islington rose from the center chair. “What if we led T-Hawk Green on a run against Rigel while the fighters withdraw to reload?”

  “Interesting. Rigel would have a hell of a time against that many gunships at once.”

  “It would also buy us some crucial time, XO. I make Task Force Perseus at about forty minutes out. If we can last the hour, we can re-form the line at the Bayone Three approach and match them ship for ship.”

  Hollis nodded. “I concur.”

  “Very well. Signals? Raise Argent on priority channel.”

  Sixty-Three

  “At least now we know.”

  Commander Jayce Hunter stood at the head of her flagship’s newly renovated executive conference. The display at her side showed a time-delayed overhead tactical view of Bayone Three and the surrounding space. The eleven-ship enemy squadron ticked ever-closer to the planet. Argent and her strike wing stood alone in their path.

  “Where did he get the time? The officers? The crews? How could he possibly have corrupted two thousand trained Skywatch personnel?” Tom Huggins was as distressed as he was outraged.

  “I’m forced to agree, ma’am. Even if they had some kind of technology that can teleport an entire crew off their own ship, there’s no way that many line officers would throw in with someone like Atwell,” Commander Teller added. “Leaving aside being tried for treason, they had to know what they would be up against even if they succeeded.”

  Jayce Hunter considered the situation. She stood with her hands clasped behind her back and her eyes fixed on the tactical map. Finally she spoke. “Argent will survive this. She’ll lose fighters and T-Hawks, but battleships are designed for this kind of thing. If Atwell’s captains have any sense at all they won’t get anywhere near Doverly’s position.”

  “That many ships could overwhelm Argent’s firepower. They have a capital fighter platform and at least one battlecruiser. The rest of the formation is still masked by their long-range electronic countermeasures,” Lieutenant Cooper said.

  Hunter briefly considered then rejected the idea of trying to pierce the ECM for Argent from their position. Her greatest tactical advantage at the moment would be arriving without warning to relieve Argent and her ground forces. She needed every advantage she could possibly get.

  “We never confirmed Argent launched her Wildcats, did we?” Commander Huggins asked.

  Hunter shook her head.

  “It still won’t be enough. Orca alone has twice the fighters,” Teller replied.

  “Argent has a T-Hawk squadron.” Huggins countered. “And Minstrel.”

  “Captain Islington is enough of an ‘X’ factor to match two of Orca’s escorts, but Francis is right. Atwell has shrewdly chosen his platforms. I expect Doverly plans to make it a running fight back to Bayone Three orbit in an attempt to buy time. To be honest, even though she would have fire support from the surface if she manages to get that far, she is at less of a disadvantage in open space,” Hunter said. “If we’re going to go mano y mano against that squadron, I don’t want to be fighting a gravity well or an eight thousand mile wide obstacle while we do it.”

  “Komanov’s marines can put up one hell of a lot of firepower from that base, ma’am,” Commander Flynn offered. “Conceding for the moment they will be working from a fixed position, if we can draw the enemy ships close enough, it could shift the balance in our favor, at least temporarily.”

  Hunter still hadn’t turned to face her assembled officers. She studied the tactical map as the enemy formation gradually trickled across the screen towards the lone icon representing the battleship Argent. “No, Ray. In a perfect world, you would be right, but I just have a hard-to-shake nervousness about fixed fortifications. Just about the time Komanov started to get the advantage, Atwell’s ships would just retreat out of range and we’d be right back where we started with more wasted time.”

  “Add to that the fact we still don’t know what’s inside that base,” Commander Mallory said. “We haven’t heard from Captain Hunter or Lieutenant Curtiss since their initial reports.”

  “What do we have from our ground forces so far?” Hunter asked.

  �
�Sixth Armor and Seventh Air-Ground have established a reinforced line approximately seven miles from the eastern perimeter. They are being reinforced by the 715th, so they should be able to hold against the base ground mechs for the time being. Commander Doverly scrubbed the fighter air strike in order to reinforce her Yellowjacket wing and draw the breakaway ships back into the main fight. T-Hawk Black is rotating fire support through from Apache Base. The Copernicus engineering base is fully operational and has operational fusion power. The north shore assault force was delayed by the high winds but is due to hit the beach in about eighteen minutes,” Captain Cleghorn reported.

  “This is shaping up to be a gigantic train wreck,” Hunter growled. “Every time we raise the ante, Atwell calls our bet. I’m getting tired of rattling locked doors, ladies and gentlemen.”

  The intraship hail sounded. “Bridge to captain.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Ma’am, Satcom is reporting an unusual gravitic reading approximately sixteen miles off our starboard quarter,” reported Lieutenant Amy Sutherland.

  “Are we active?”

  “Negative, ma’am. All station receptors are on passive readings only per your orders. I wouldn’t have interrupted, except whatever it is, it’s keeping pace with the formation.”

  A stir swept the assembled officers. Commander Mallory opened her mouth to speak, but decided against it.

  “Sensor echo?”

  “Navicomp and battle computer are both reporting it’s a reflection, but–”

  “Take no action, lieutenant,” Hunter said.

  “Ma’am, Constellation is in position to engage–”

  “Take no action.” The commander’s words landed on the conference table like someone had thrown a giant knife point-first into the wooden surface. Silence settled over the intraship for a short but ominous interval.