The Final Act: Book III: The Settlement Chronicals

by W. J. Rydrych

  Admiral Lundblad stared at the screens, not showing his apprehension. Except for the fact none of their satellite hangers appeared operational, what he saw was worse than any of them had expected. He had little doubt that if he, or any of his senior officers, had been in command of the Gath his small force wouldn't have stood a chance; they would have already been blown from space. They had gambled, gambled that the Gath would remain below to screen the planet and be uncertain as to when to best start hostilities. The gamble had been his own; several on his staff expressing strong reservations, but as commander of the fleet the decision had been his. But so far it was working even better than he had expected.

  The next 24 hours would tell the tale. Once they started their attack the Gath would certainly respond, but would eventually have to withdraw to their hangers for refueling and rearming; in fact, at the rate they were wasting fuel that might happen even before the battle started.

  Glancing over at Faud, Admiral Lundblad asked, "how long can they keep their fleet up? Any idea?"

  Faud thought for a few minutes before responding, "well, on Alpha 2 they stayed aloft for up to six to eight hours; but if they had to do a lot of maneuvering it was less."

  Turning his head to look at the clock on the wall, "a few hours more perhaps; three to four."

  Admiral Lundblad sat in thought for a moment, "let’s wait until we see some of their ships returning to the hangers, then launch our attack ships. Give orders to avoid their fleet as much as possible and pass through to concentrate on the hangers. The motherships can take care of their platforms."

  Faud glanced at Admiral Lundblad and nodded, before turning to one of his staff to relay the order.

  On the planet below . . . .

  The immense room stretched far in the distance in all directions from the circular, dome-shaped chamber where Gath-1 and Gath-2 sat with their chief military officers. Filling the outer room were rows of Gath in front of displays and instrument panels. From the exterior the dome shaped chamber was opaque, looking like black metal, but the interior was a three dimensional display screen. The Gath in the central chamber reclined facing upward so they could observe the display above and around them, which showed the space above Beta 3.

  Gath-1 zoomed in his personal display on a part of the sky to get a better view of one of the large alien ships in orbit far above. After they achieved orbit a group of smaller objects had left the big ships and spaced themselves evenly between them and the planet, then stayed in that fixed position. Then they had watched as during their orbits of the planet the motherships had disgorged many small satellites, which his people informed him appeared unarmed, for some reason. Far below the descending ships the Gath defense fleet waited, groups circling the planet to remain under each of the orbiting motherships. But surprisingly the invaders had yet to launch any attack ships or begin an assault.

  Gath-1 was suitably impressed by the huge ships of the aliens. While the ones they were now constructing were just as large, an innovation they were copying from the aliens, they were far from completion. For some time they had been thinking about speeding up that completion, but as yet no decision had been reached. But while impressed by the alien technology, he felt the aliens were indeed being foolhardy. For them to attempt to conquer Gath with just ten of their large ships was unfathomable foolishness. He was confident that his thousands of ships would easily destroy the invaders.

  Still, he had to admire their audacity. But for now, instead of ordering an attack, he would wait to see what they planned.

  Several hours later . . . .

  The entire fleet of ten motherships was now in position, shield platforms deployed, the monitoring satellite network established and initial surface-mapping completed. Most of the Gath fleet still remained far below, with parts occasionally breaking off to return to their hangers, to be replaced by others. But Admiral Lundblad still held back their own attack ships. The number of Gath ships that had returned to their hangers to refuel was still small, and most had been in the air for well over five hours.

  They would wait as long as possible to allow their mapping of Gath hangers as each new hanger door opened to receive or launch ships. When they started their attack he wanted a massive strike, avoiding combat with the Gath ships whenever possible. If successful the Gath ships would eventually have to disengage and could be trapped outside their hangers. But now some Gath fire from the weapons platforms had started, and was building to the point they had little choice but to respond.

  Admiral Lundblad glanced over at Faud and nodded, “give the order.”

  Faud watched the cloud of Gath ships intermixed with the weapons platforms far below, looking for any significant change in their disposition. Then, satisfied, he picked up the handset and issued the order for the motherships to begin firing on the weapons platforms and to launch the attack ships.

  Within seconds the display screen was obscured with the blazing light of mothership lasers and a cloud of missiles raining down. Moments later the fleet's attack ships began to stream from the motherships and accelerate downward to mingle with the Gath ships, or pass through their fleet to the surface below. Streaks of laser fire penciled upward toward the motherships causing the shield platforms to glow and further lighting the background of the display screens.

  Noticing a shifting in the overall pattern, Faud motioned to a technician who adjusted the display. The change was clear; the Gath fleet was separating, part staying in position guarding the surface, with the rest rapidly accelerating to the higher orbit of the Earthfleet ships. Motioning to Admiral Lundblad, Faud showed him the area of the display where the Gath attack ships were climbing upward, and issued the order to position attack ships to block the Gath from getting above the motherships and to concentrate fire on the rising cloud.

  "Well," Faud said to himself, as the Gath ships approached, "now we'll see."

  10 Hours Later . . . .

  Faud leaned back in his chair, fatigue showing in his worn and haggard face. The control room had quieted in the last few hours and most of the consoles were being handled by replacement personnel, those on duty since the beginning of the battle allowed a much needed rest. The situation was stabilizing and damage reports were coming in; both that suffered by the Stockholm and other fleet losses as well. The concentration now was on rescue operations for the ships that had suffered the worse, including evacuation of those that had become inoperable.

  Faud flipped through the screen to see what was new in preparation for the briefing that Admiral Lundblad had requested, taking occasional notes. Most of the responsibility during the conflict had fallen on Faud's shoulders since the collapse of Admiral Lundblad early in the conflict. While Lundblad was only 73 and appeared to be in good physical condition, the pressure had been just too much.

  At first, when Lundblad had failed to respond to Faud's questions and comments he thought Lundblad had suffered a stroke, but he had received a medical report a little while ago that it was mostly stress, and that Lundblad had returned to his quarters. In some ways Faud wasn't that surprised. He had seen the change in the Admiral in recent months. He appeared to have lost weight and to have trouble concentrating. He had just marked it down to fatigue.

  Picking up his notes, Faud turned to Rear Admiral Takahashi Hara, the new Executive and Operations Officer for the attack fleet, instructed him to take over, and headed for Admiral Lundblad's quarters. Outside the Admiral's door he was met by a nurse who was just leaving, and stopped her to ask about Lundblad's condition. Apparently he was back on his feet but had been given a mobile monitoring device in case there were any changes. The nurse cautioned, however, not to discuss anything that might cause the Admiral too much stress.

  "How do I do that?" Faud wondered as the nurse walked away, "the picture he had to give wasn't pretty."

  Faud knocked, and was ushered into the Admiral's small sitting room to find Gertrude Foley and Admiral Moreno present, along with a pajama and robe clad Lundblad.

>   Still in the planet's shadow, this was their short period of night, which lasted for only about 45 minutes each two hours. The light had been dimmed, and the three had been looking out the large viewing window at the largely empty sky beyond; the other motherships being too distant to be visible.

  The planet below was dark, without any surface lights, but between the ship and the planet a glow from some of the Gath weapons platforms was still visible, caused by the heat remaining from the fleet's lasers. Occasional shafts of light arched upward from those weapons platforms still operational, which was less than a dozen, and shortly those would also be disposed of. Below the ship there extended for some distance a faint greenish glow, like the aurora borealis, from the shield platforms which still glowed with the energy from the Gath laser hits.

  But even in the dim light Admiral Lundblad looked tired and worn, as if he had shrunken in size. Motioning Faud to join them, Lundblad smiled slightly, asking first if Faud wanted something to drink, and when Faud shook his head, signaled for him to begin.

  The picture Faud painted was a somber one. The Bolivar had blown up when multiple missile hits punched their way through the bulkheads to the fuel storage areas. The explosion had been such that no one had survived. The Kiev and the Barkley had been reduced to hulks, but most of the complement were in the process of being evacuated to the other ships. For now they were concentrated in areas near the ship cores where limited life support was still operational. Both ships had to be considered a total loss, useless except for salvage.

  The Osaka had been damaged to the point of being non-operational, with most of the life support systems lost. Luckily, however, the core of the ship remained sealed, allowing most of the occupants to survive. Most were in the process of being moved to other ships, with some remaining to attempt to bring some of the systems at least partially on line. For now the Osaka was out of the battle, but in time the damage could be repaired, at least to the extent of allowing it to assume blockade duty.

  Many of the remaining motherships had severe damage, the Stockholm having suffered multiple hits. Even now the repair crews were at work sealing hull and bulkhead breaches.

  The losses were even heavier among the attack ships. They had started with over 1,500 operational, and had been reduced to under 500. As soon as the evacuation of the Osaka, Bismark, and Barkley was completed shuttles would attempt to tow as many of the damaged attack ships to the remaining motherships as possible for repair. But while it had been touch and go for hours, they had gradually attained their primary objective; destroying most of the Gath attack ships and driving the rest to their hangers; hangers that were now largely sealed. Now all fire was directed at keeping them from re-launching. As soon as a hanger door opened fire rained down; but now the planet’s surface was largely quiet.

  Keeping the planet covered with the remaining six operational motherships would not be simple. Faud had ordered spacing adjustments to fill the gaps left by the losses as well as they could, but he was still worried the gaps were too large and Gath ships could slip through. The Gath weapons platforms were no longer a concern, with the few remaining being disposed of now. While at first they had caused heavy damage to the attack ship fleet, as the battle progressed their fire decreased under the concentrated fire of the motherships, and now posed little risk.

  Admiral Lundblad was quiet, pondering what he had heard, "do we need reinforcements?" he asked.

  Faud nodded, "six ships doesn't give us very good coverage; seven when we get the Osaka back on line. If we can get three more it would help; but even if the order was given today, that's six months off."

  Lundblad thought for a moment, "can we get by until they arrive?"

  Faud shrugged, "do we have a choice? It's too early to tell for sure, but we think we may be able to get most of the Osaka's weapon's systems back on-line in a week, but at best it will be able to maintain the orbit its in; maneuvering or true flight is out of the question for now. A full repair to make the ship completely operational could take six months to a year. In the interim we can operate the weapons with a skeleton crew and bring in oxygen and food by shuttle. We have a team there now doing a detailed damage assessment, plus most of their own people are still available."

  Admiral Lundblad lowered his head, but after a short time raised it again and looked over at Faud, "dead and wounded? Do you have an estimate yet?"

  Faud nodded, "the full complement of the Bolivar, which had no survivors except some pilots who were off at the time. They and their ships have been dispersed among the surviving motherships. Fatalities aboard the Bismark and Barkley were high, but we managed to get most of them off; perhaps two to three thousand dead. The Osaka? A few hundred dead at the most. Then, of course, the loss of almost 1,000 attack plane pilots; something hard to replace."

  Continuing, "including the Bolivar it looks like total fatalities could exceed thirty thousand, with another two to three thousand seriously injured. A lot of minor injuries."

  No one said anything, watching Admiral Lundblad slumped in his chair gazing at the wall.

  "I wonder," Lundblad said after a short time, "if the mission would have been approved if they had realized casualties would be this high; what's the total when we include the Alpha 2 fatalities? Nearly fifty thousand dead to rescue four thousand?"

  "That's not really the right comparison, is it?" Dr Foley asked quietly, "only history will say whether it was worthwhile."

  There was a soft knock on the door, followed by Rear Admiral Okada entering the room. He walked over and handed Lundblad some papers, then took a seat. Lundblad carefully read the papers Okada had given him, and after a few moments signed them. Then, leaning forward he handed them to Faud.

  "Well," he said, "those are decisions you'll have to make."

  Honecker took the papers and quickly glanced at them, and then looked more carefully and paged through before looking up at Admiral Lundblad.

  "I'm afraid I can't handle the command any longer," Lundblad said, looking at Faud, "the doctor insists I take a long rest. I'm transferring to inactive status effective immediately. I've discussed it with Admiral Moreno, and he agrees with my decision that you're the right man to take over."

  Reaching into the pocket of his robe Admiral Lundblad reached over and placed a pair of new shoulder boards in Faud's hand. "Here," he said, "a pair you can put to use. I'm here if you want to discuss anything."

  Admiral Okada reached over and took the shoulder boards of a full Admiral from Faud's hand, and fastened them on his shoulders.

  Lundblad stood as a sign the meeting was over, but as the others were leaving he motioned for Faud to again take a seat and sat down again himself. Faud looked at Lundblad, "are you sure this is something you want to do?"

  Lundblad nodded, "yes. But I think you need more explanation of why."

  Looking moodily at the view through the window showing the desolate surface of Beta 3 as daylight slowly moved across the planet, "perhaps I could continue, but it's getting just too hard. In a few months I would have turned command over to you anyway; events over the last day simply speeded it up."

  Looking at Faud, "we can't succeed, you know."

  Faud looked glumly at Lundblad, "yes, I know." Adding, after a moment, "we can replace our attack ships, but are running short of qualified pilots, and they have an inexhaustible supply of both; both of which are getting better and better. There are just too many Gath, and burrowed in as they are they're invulnerable. According to our experts the chambers may go down hundreds of levels in some locations, not just the ten to twelve we dealt with on Alpha 2, and they number in the billions. We can destroy the hangers but they'll simply repair them or build more; each time better protected. And at the same time we use up our resources."

  Admiral Lundblad nodded, "I've had Gert modeling the situation based on the best estimate of Gath resources and population she can put together. It always comes out the same; we can give Alpha 2 five years or so of delay, maybe ten if we're l
ucky. But in the end we either give up the blockade or the Gath wear us down to the point they overwhelm us.

  Once that happens," he continued, "her predictions show the Gath will return to Alpha 2. By then Gert thinks they'll have made major improvements in weapons and learned better tactics; even now, step by step, they're improving. The colonists won't be able to depend on foolish tactical decisions by the Gath anymore, and will face superior technology. Even Earth itself may not be able to hold them off. Which means abandoning the blockade and evacuating Alpha 2 before its too late, and preparing to defend Earth itself."

  Faud looked at Admiral Lundblad and commented, "perhaps it would be best to call off the blockade and start the evacuation immediately. It appears inevitable."

  Lundblad responded after a moment of thought, "perhaps. But we still have an outside chance. You'll see what I mean after you meet with Gert."

  After a short pause, he looked again at Faud, "maybe my retiring now is a cop-out, but in the next few years there are decisions to be made that I don't any longer feel capable of making. I think you are; I'm depending on it. Faud," he said slowly, "lean on Gert's advice, and trust her. You'll find she’s one of the few you can depend on for accurate, unbiased opinions."

  As Faud got up to leave, Lundblad stopped him one more time, "one of the first things you do before you consider evacuation is talk to Gert about the 'special' project. My staff knows nothing about it; it's between Gert, myself, and of course the people working on it. Now, deciding whether it should continue is in your ballpark. Ask her about 'project Armageddon'. Bad as it sounds, it may be the only way to avoid defeat."

  Before the meeting Faud had felt fatigue pressing down on him, and had wanted to finish the meeting as soon as possible so he could quickly tour the Stockholm's damage areas before going to his quarters to get some much needed rest. But now his mind had cleared, and the full weight of his new responsibilities was beginning to set in. It was one thing to be a part of a team with a leader to make difficult decisions; quite another to have those decisions on his own shoulders. Some day he had hoped to have fleet command, but not this soon; he didn't feel ready.