“The system is under attack,” came back the voice of the group commander. “We believe it’s the Cacas.”
“Shit.” Visserman was on her feet in an instant, grabbing her flight jacket and running from the room. “Do we know how they got here, sir?”
“We have no way of knowing that at the moment. Just get to your ship and get her in the air. We’ll worry about the rest after we’re in position to attack.”
The signal died, and Debra knew the Group Commander had no more time for her. He had to get himself ready, as well as coordinating his sixty-three other aircraft and pilots.
The ready room was total confusion, all of the pilots in her squadron trying to get to their cubbies at once and everyone getting in the way of everyone else. She elbowed her way past a frightened looking second lieutenant, then made her way to her own cubbie. Backing in quickly, ignoring the shouts of the offended officer, she let her battle armor suit close up around her. Without a second look at the officer, who was not in her flight, she was out the door of the ready room and running across the tarmac to her revetment.
Her F-48 Peregrine was sitting in the revetment, the crew chief and another enlisted rating making the last minute settings to prepare her for a combat flight.
“Give us one more minute, ma’am,” said the Sergeant, tapping a button on the control panel by the wall. “She’ll be good to go.”
Visserman wanted to yell at the Sergeant, to get him to hurry up, but she knew the man and knew he was doing his best at the moment in a tense situation. She nodded as she looked over at the other enlisted soldier as he slid a pair of proton packs into the nose compartment of the ship. At the same time a pair of sealed tubes rose up from two hatches that had opened on the tarmac underneath the plane and inserted themselves into the weapons bays of the fighter.
“She’s ready to go, ma’am,” said the Sergeant, pulling off the last attachments that linked the aircraft to the diagnostic system.
The cockpit cover retracted while the Chief Warrant Officer lifted her suit off the ground and maneuvered over the seat, lowering herself into place. As soon as her butt hit the seat the locks in the cockpit grabbed her suit and held it in place. She ran a quick diagnostic on her fighter over her HUD, then powered up the ship. The Sergeant and his subordinate moved away from the ship, the NCO raising his hand in the air in a farewell gesture. She only hoped it wasn’t a final farewell, and that her ground crew, and the base, would still be here when the mission was over. And that she would still be around to return.
Well, you wanted a combat tour, she thought as the fighter lifted off the tarmac and she nudged it forward for a moment. Looks like your wish has come true, though you didn’t want it to be in the capital system.
She pulled the joystick back and pushed the throttle forward, rocketing upward into hypersonic speed in seconds. Debra tapped into the com net, getting a situation report so she could see what she was up against. As the data came over the link she realized that her worst fears had not been bad enough.
Chapter Eleven
By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail. Benjamin Franklin
The brand new hyper VII missile defense destroyer Marta Jornell was the first ship to eat a missile. A ship purpose built for missile defense, she probably would have survived the single missile homing in on her if she had been loaded with weapons and crew. As it was, she was empty of any kind of munitions, and had nobody aboard except from builders putting on the finishing internal touches. None of her sensors were active, and the construction crew didn’t even have time to know that they had been targeted before a five hundred megaton warhead detonated amidships, vaporizing several thousand tons of the destroyer and sending the rest on a fast tumble out of the ecliptic of the system.
After that more ships were hit, some unmanned, others with enough crew and weapons to mount a defense. It was still a one-sided slaughter, here and there a Ca’cadasan fighter taking a beam hit or running into the stream of a close in weapons system, exploding in the emptiness of space. Most of the hits were on Imperial ships, and within minutes a task group worth of vessels were so much scrap. The enemy weapons hadn’t the time to generate the velocity for the kind of kinetic kills that normally shattered ships, and warships, even the lighter varieties, were very tough beasts. Cruisers took multiple hits before they were killed, while some of the battleships took a half dozen detonations and were still salvageable.
Over a thousand Ca’cadasan fighters were now engaged in attacking the Fleet repair and construction center which had been caught flat footed. There had been no reason to believe the Cacas were capable of attacking them here, and now they paid the price. Ships that had taken from six months to a year to construct were destroyed in seconds. Crew were killed before they could get to their stations, while valuable ship builders were wiped out aboard ships getting ready for trials, or on shuttles taking them back to their habitats. One of the habitats, a huge spinning structure that was home to twenty thousand workers and their families, lit up the targeting computers of a Caca ship attack craft, and ate a ship killer missile that reduced its unarmored hull to millions of fragments, the bodies of helpless civilians floating among them.
Space was sprinkled with the flares of antimatter explosions. The first minutes went to the Cacas. After that the ships that were crewed and armed started coming to ready stations, while the many forts started launching their fighters and adding their beam weapons to the mix.
* * *
“Missile impact in eighteen seconds,” called out the Duty Officer, Captain Victoria Crenshaw, who had now assumed the position of tactical officer on a platform that had never been intended to fight a battle.
“Engage,” ordered Admiral Hoshi Nakama. “Pull out all the stops.” With that order he gave his Captain permission to fire everything she had that would bear, no matter what might be in the background that could be hit as well. There was a lot of valuable equipment out there, but the Central Station was the most valuable piece of property in this space, and the Admiral was not about to lose it on his watch.
Sixteen weapons were coming in. The station was too big for one of them to destroy it, but four would probably do the job of putting it out of commission for a year or more. Now the lasers aboard started swinging through space, seeking the missiles that were coming in on evasive paths. One weapon evaded at the last second, crashing into a cutter that was trying its best to get out of the way. Four more detonated from direct laser hits from batteries that wouldn’t have been out of place on a battleship. Eleven came on, into the firing arcs of the close in weapons systems.
Close in weapons systems were based on an old idea that had never gone out of style. Each weapon consisted of three fifty meter long magrail tubes that were extended when in use. Each tube would accelerate the thirty-five millimeter shells to an exit velocity of point three three light, at the rate of three hundred rounds per minute. Fifteen rounds would leave each weapon each second, arming as soon as they were free of the tube. Each round was a simple casing around a class IV crystal matrix power cell, more powerful than any explosive this side of antimatter. It powered the blast of the round as its simple sensor system calculated the closest approach of a material object. If all worked well that detonation occurred in front of the missile, and the resultant puff of plasma was enough to destroy the sensor head of the incoming weapon. With a little more luck the missile would be knocked off course, or even destroyed as its warhead breached. In the seven seconds it took the missiles to close with the station, the two hundred and ten autoweapons that could bear had put out over twenty-two thousand rounds, streaming them in cones that took up the most area. Eight missiles detonated far enough away that they had minimal effect. A laser took out one more, and two got close enough to cause damage.
One missile detonated within five hundred meters of the station, sending waves of heat and radiation into the twenty centimeter thick hull. Alloy vaporized, holes opened, and atmosphere and people came streamin
g out of the openings. Those who been able to get into battle armor had a chance of survival, a chance of making it back to the station or another platform. The ones who hadn’t were either killed instantly, or choked out their last breaths in the vacuum. There was no one to rescue them, everyone else busy trying to fight back or survive themselves.
The second missile hit dead into one of the lower sections of the station, an area of quarters and several hundred repair hangars. The missile penetrated the hull and went in to a depth of a hundred meters before the one gigaton warhead went off, sending a blast wave out that ruptured thirty cubic kilometers of station and incinerated everything flammable within the area. The hundreds of destroyers and cruisers in the repair hangars also sustained variable damage. They were all tougher than the station, but they weren’t invulnerable, and the substance of the station perpetuated the blast like a vacuum couldn’t. Scores of ships were ravaged by the explosion, damaged to the point where it would take what was essentially a rebuild to be put back into service. The others all sustained some damage, from major to minor.
“That was a hit,” called out Crenshaw as the deck jumped underneath their feet.
No shit, thought the Admiral as the damage klaxons sounded. He looked at the damage schematic that showed almost an eighth of the station for all intents and purposes gone. Bulkheads cracked, blast doors blown in, thousands of life monitors offline in a chilling technological display of death.
“We have nine more incoming,” shouted out one of the Techs manning a tactical board.
Nakama stared at the icons coming toward his station, fewer than in the first spread, but then again, he had fewer weapons to try and take them out.
“Splash three,” shouted out the gleeful Tech. “Splash two more.”
The Admiral looked over at the tactical plot, watching as fast accelerating icons came in from the side and three more missiles fell off the plot.
“Those are our fighters,” said Captain Crenshaw, a smile on her face.
Every fortress in the dock area, every platform that carried them, had been launching fighters as fast as they could get pilots into them. They had been able to get less than a thousand into space, from the five thousand or so that were stationed at Central Docks. But they were joining the fight.
As the Admiral watched the plot, a unit of seven Ca’cadasan attack fighters, six hundred ton vessels, fought to change their vectors to get away from a full squadron of human short range birds. Unlike the long range attack fighters that massed up to a thousand tons, these smaller craft were made for close in system defense, and were capable of over twelve hundred gravities acceleration. The squadron had been making a head on approach, and now boosted on a vector change that curved them in from the side and behind the Caca fighters. An exchange of weapons and all of the Cacas were gone, along with three of the human fighters.
“We have Cacas heading for Jewel,” called out one of the Techs. He looked back at the Admiral. “Orders, sir?”
Nakama stared back for a moment, trying to make the most important decision of his life. His command was Central Docks, and it was one of the most vital facilities in human space. It was also the place his very important carcass happened to be at the moment. He might wish that didn’t make a difference, but it did. He knew the Donut was under attack at this time as well, but there was absolutely nothing he could do about it, so it was out of his mind. But Jewel was also important, the most heavily populated planet in the Empire, as well as the seat of Government. The Empress and the heirs were there, and the damage to the morale of the Empire would be unimaginable if they were killed.
“Order a fighter strike to go after those fighters,” he ordered, a sick feeling running through his stomach as he spoke.
“That will degrade our own defenses,” said Crenshaw, doing her job in letting him know the consequences of his orders.
“I know. And we will just have to do the best we can.”
The Captain smiled in return, letting him know she had also thought out the harsh equations of battle and approved of his decision
“Have we found where those damned fighters are coming from?” the Admiral asked his command crew.
“I think they are coming from that freighter,” said one of the Techs, looking back at the Admiral.
“How in the hell are they getting so many fighters out of that one ship?” asked Crenshaw, pinpointing the vessel on the tactical plot. They couldn’t actually see the ship, not with all of the other objects in their space, especially with all the added flotsam and jetsam about. Which meant they couldn’t hit the ship with any of their defensive lasers.
“They have a wormhole,” said Nakama in a hushed voice. The intelligence people had floated it as a possibility, but he had dismissed it in his own mind. After all, it had taken his own civilization decades to perfect the technique of generating the shortcuts through space. And they had only become practical with the completion of the Donut.
“I didn’t think they had the capability to make them,” said Crenshaw, mirroring his own thoughts.
“Made it, found it, or shit it out their oversize asses, I think we are dealing with one. Send…”
The station shook again, this time from several minor hits in the five to ten megaton range, fired from some of the faster space superiority fighters that were mixed among the ship attack craft. These missiles were made to take out other fighters, but any damage done to the station had to be a plus as far as the Cacas were concerned. The lights blinked on the control deck, then went out completely for a moment before the emergency lights came on.
“Send a signal out to whoever we have that’s combat ready,” continued the Admiral, knowing that he had to get this order out before anything else happened.
“All communications are down, sir,” called out the Lt, Commander in charge of the com crew. “I’m receiving nothing. I think that last hit must have cut us off from any of the com arrays.”
“I think everything has been cut off, Admiral,” said Captain Crenshaw, looking up from the board she had been monitoring, a worried expression on her face. “We’re strictly on local emergency resources at this time.”
“Dammit,” growled the Admiral, slamming his hand down on a chair arm. He looked around the control room for a moment, amazed that any of them were still here. All were still in their skinsuit duty uniforms, none had had the time to get into their battle armor. None had had the presence of mind to even think about it. They had periodic drills, but no one had really thought this station would ever come under attack. Nakama looked at his Com Officer.
“Commander Jingar. Get together a team. I need to get a message out to the nearest section that still has com access. And get us connected back into the net.”
“Yes, sir,” agreed the Commander, getting up from his seat and heading for his armor cubby, pointing at two of his people to follow suit.
“I should go, sir,” said Crenshaw, waving for the commander to go back to his seat. “I know this station better than anyone here. Even better than you, sir.”
Nakama looked at his duty officer for a moment, all of the things that could go wrong running through his mind. But there was no guarantee any of them would be here after the next few moments.
“Go,” he said, waving her toward her battle armor. “But be careful.”
The Captain smiled and ran to her cubby, backing in and letting it put her armor on over her skinsuit.
“Everyone get into your armor,” ordered the Admiral. There was nothing they could do at the moment anyway, and the armor could be the difference between life and death.
“I’ll get through, sir,” said Crenshaw before her faceplate lowered. “Don’t you worry.”
But that’s my job, thought the Admiral, feeling helpless now that he was cut off from having any input to the battle, no matter how little.
* * *
“Orders, ma’am?” asked the Chief who was running the helm, looking back at his commanding officer.
Jean d’Arc was evading as best the Chief could do with a ship that was more or less stuck in one place. Lasers and close in weapons were manned and firing at everything that came with their firing arcs. As she glanced at the plot she saw another squadron of Caca ship attack craft come sweeping in, putting missiles into every ship they could hit. Those that were still in the process of construction or major refit were easy targets, and most were hit by weapons that left them tumbling wrecks. Most flew off on odd tangents, some went into other ships in collisions that caused minor damage to the intact ships, and in some cases continued the breakup of the heavily damaged warships.
Mei and her task group were now in the fight. She had lost a couple of ships at the start, before they had gotten their crews to battle stations. Some more had been damaged since, but trying to kill a ship that was powered up and moving was a completely different proposition from hitting a bunch of helpless new construction. The Admiral grinned like a predator as half the Caca squadron disappeared under the fire of her ship’s weapons. A friendly fighter that had been following too close, trying to move in for a kill, died as well, a victim of the misnamed friendly fire. Mei felt bad for the pilot, but at the moment her task group was more important than a single fighter that might happen to wander into the kill zone.
“Might I suggest that we move out of the Central Dock area and give ourselves some room to maneuver,” said the Tactical Officer.
Mei thought that over for a moment, then rejected it. They were where they needed to be. Their present position put them in major peril, but it also allowed them to engage the enemy in the most efficient manner where the enemy was attacking.
“Make way, but keep us near the outer region of the Docks,” ordered the Admiral. She looked over at her Tactical Officer. “Engage the enemy, but also look out for concentrations that we can head into. Com. Inform the rest of the squadron of our intentions. They are to do the same. I don’t think they need stick with us, though I would prefer that we stay in small groups at least.”
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 11: Day of Infamy (Exodus: Empires at War.) Page 14
