by Dietmar Wehr
When the hatch opened, Drake saw the barrel of an assault rifle pointed at them.
“DON’T ANYBODY MOVE! WHO’S IN COMMAND HERE?” The voice had the ring of someone scared but high on adrenaline.
Drake resisted the impulse to raise his hand. “I am. Commander Roland Drake, System States Union Navy. We’re not armed. We surrender.”
The barrel of the weapon lowered as a man wearing combat armor over a pressure suit stepped into the compartment.
“SSU navy, eh? If it was up to me, all of you’d be condemned as pirates and flushed out the airlock WITHOUT your pressure suits, but this is your lucky day! How many of you are there, Drake?”
“Thirty-four,” said Drake.
“Well, I guess we can squeeze you all in, but don’t even think of trying anything like taking over the rescue shuttle. I’m not taking any chances with you people. One false move and all of you will get it, understand?” He waved his weapon just to make sure everyone knew what he was taking about.
“We understand. We’re just glad you came to get us. You won’t have any trouble from us,” said Drake.
“Damn right I won’t! Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to back into the shuttle and move down to the left. You people start boarding the shuttle one at a time, and when you’re inside, you move to the right as far as you can. The last man in closes the shuttle hatch from the inside, and we can then undock. Got it?” He looked at Drake.
“We got it.”
The transfer went off without a hitch. The trip back took almost four hours due to the shuttle’s low acceleration. By the time it landed and Valley Forge’s crew were able to disembark, everyone was sore from cramped muscles and exhausted from adrenaline fatigue. To make matters worse, it was nighttime when they landed. The shuttle was bathed in bright light from multiple spotlights and ringed by FED troops. The attitude of the troops and their officers was decidedly hostile, which didn’t surprise Drake at all. He and his crew had resigned themselves to it. He imagined that Lorelei Remington had probably been met with similar attitudes when she was taken prisoner.
As they stood there trying not to let themselves be blinded by the glaring spotlights, Drake saw a groundcar pull up and a FED Army officer get out. He waved his arm and the troops lowered their weapons. Someone must have pointed Drake out to him as the CO because he walked directly over to Drake.
“Commander Drake?”
Drake nodded. “That’s correct.”
“I’m Captain Korigan, I’m taking charge of you people. We’re going to load all of you on a couple of buses, which will be here shortly. You’ll all be taken to a secure facility where you’ll have to submit to searches and change clothes. Tomorrow you and I, Commander, will have a little chat. How much you cooperate is up to you. I’m not expecting to get much from you, but it doesn’t matter. For you and your men...” he paused and then said, “this war is over.”
Chapter Eleven
Day 261/2540
Commander Stevens stepped over to the Command Station where Commodore Stacker was seated. Stevens would normally be sitting there as Kursk’s CO, but since the ship didn’t have accommodations for a Flag Officer, Stacker had decided that if someone had to stand, it was NOT going to be him. Stevens noticed that the Commodore was reading something on one of his station’s smaller displays.
“What is it, Commander?” asked Stacker.
“The Squadron is in position, Sir,” replied Stevens.
Stacker looked up at the tactical display’s sidebar data. “So it is. Very well then, execute Operation Retribution, Commander.”
Stevens acknowledged the order and walked over to the Weapons Station. What a pompous ass! He gives this ill-conceived mission a grandiose name and then can’t be bothered to pay attention to the tactical situation when we’re this close? No wonder the Old Man resigned in protest. He nodded to the Weapons Officer who had heard Stacker give the order. The WO touched a virtual button on his console, and all eight cruisers launched ten missiles each at Sparta from a distance of six million kilometers.
Stevens looked back at Stacker and said, “The first volley has been launched, Commodore.” Stacker didn’t acknowledge the information verbally as most officers would. He merely gave a slight wave with his right hand. At least he’s paying attention now, thought Stevens.
Stacker kept his expression neutral, but inwardly he was extremely pleased with the situation. He wasn’t as impulsive and reckless as that fool Chenko thought. Of course taking the squadron down to a low orbit was dangerous. That was why he had ordered the squadron to essentially hover over the target at this extreme range. Any anti-ship missiles launched from the surface or from craft in low orbit would have to claw their way out of Sparta’s gravity well and would run out of power long before they reached his ships. Without power to engage in last minute maneuvers, the missiles would coast in a straight line, and his ships could dodge them with ease. His missiles, on the other hand, were flying down into that gravity well, and the pull from Sparta’s gravity would enable them to reach the planet’s surface with enough power left to maneuver for accurate strikes on the surface targets.
It would take just over 21 minutes for the first missile volley to hit the planet. Stacker hadn’t decided yet how long he would wait until he ordered the second volley fired. Theoretically his ships could fire every missile they had before the first volley hit, but that would be risky as well. He wanted to see the warhead impacts using the ship’s long-range opticals, which meant holding this position. And just in case the Spartans were foolish enough to send their so-called missile boats at him, he would hold back some of his missiles to deal with them. He felt like a giant standing on top of a mountain throwing boulders down on the defenseless peasants at the bottom. The only thing more satisfying than watching the attack as it was happening, would be to show the recorded optical images and thereby demonstrate his superior tactical genius to the Federation Council upon his return. It was too bad that they would have chosen a new Navy Chief of Staff by then, but there was nothing he could do about that. However, if he pulled off a couple more brilliant victories, maybe he could get his contacts to convince the Council that HE should be the NCoS! That idea brought a smile to his face.
Janicot leaned against the plexiglass window to get a better look at the giant, two-story tactical display that filled one entire wall of the new, underground Planetary Defense Center War Room.
“They’ve opened fire, Admiral,” said Captain Obrist, the officer supervising the War Room staff, over the loudspeaker.
“I see it, Captain,” said Janicot. Being on the observation level took some getting used to. He’d rather be down there on the main level where the War Room Operations staff were working, but he had to admit that it was quieter up here, and that made it easier to concentrate on the battle without being distracted by the background noise of machines and people performing their duties.
Janicot turned his attention from the incoming missiles to the icon that was gradually getting closer to the FED squadron. When Captain Obrist had first suggested keeping one missile boat out at the very edge of the hyperzone, Janicot had resisted the idea. But when the simulations demonstrated that having seven missile boats in low orbit was only marginally better than having six, the added flexibility of having the seventh in a high guard orbit was obvious.
Janicot’s only concern was that MB107 was commanded by a recently-promoted officer, whose ability to stay cool under fire while in command was not yet established. That boat had been ordered to accelerate towards the enemy squadron’s expected position as soon as the orbiting deep space optical sensors had spotted them coming in. So far the FED cruisers hadn’t started scanning their surroundings with their own radar. That was an unforgiveable oversight on the part of the FED officer in charge, but it was also an incredibly lucky break for Janicot’s defense forces. It gave the 107 a chance to sneak in on them from behind.
“How soon before Grant opens fire, Captain?” aske
d Janicot. He knew that Obrist, who was standing down on the lower level, would hear him.
“We’re expecting him to commence firing any second now, Sir.”
Come on, Grant! Your missiles will reach the enemy a lot faster than your boat can. Fire those Goddamned things!
Grant was wondering if his boat should open fire now. The range had dropped below one million kilometers. The FED cruisers were only moving at two kps, while his boat’s velocity was already over 900 kps and climbing. The problem was that the position of the FED cruisers was only an approximation based on passive optical sensor data transmitted down to the War Room computers from two of the new optical sensor satellites. Their highly sensitive equipment had detected the faint reflections of sunlight off the hulls of the FED cruisers, but the accuracy of the triangulated position over that long a distance was unknown. Furthermore, his boat couldn’t see the enemy directly. He had to rely on the data transmitted to him that took into consideration where the sensor satellites thought the FEDs were AND where they thought his missile boat was. So the targeting data that was coming up from the ground and was being fed to his missiles’ guidance systems was based on observations that had a margin for error. The more data his missiles received, the smaller the margin for error, but if he waited too long, he might lose the element of surprise and the FED cruisers would start to maneuver, thereby throwing off targeting accuracy again. He couldn’t use his own radar because that would alert the enemy to his position.
Grant looked down and saw that his hands were trembling. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. When he opened them again, his hands had stopped shaking, and he felt calmer. He looked over at his Weapons Officer.
“Tubes one to eight are ready to fire, Skipper,” said the officer. Her tone was unmistakable. What she was really saying was ‘what are you waiting for?’
Grant took another deep breath and thought about how surprisingly nerve wracking being in command was compared to what he thought it would be like. It was time to make a decision.
“Commence firing,” he said.
“Commence firing!” confirmed the Weapons Officer with obvious enthusiasm. “Missiles have fired! All tubes are reloading! We’ll be ready to fire again in 13 seconds, Skipper!”
Grant smiled and nodded. “Just keep firing, Sumi, but let me know when we’re loading our last volley.”
“Understood!”
“107 has commenced firing, Admiral!” Orbits’s voice was starting to show some excitement too.
It’s about Goddamned time! Thought Janicot. He focused on the six missile boats that were in low orbit. They were frantically trying to change their vectors to get into the right positions. Unlike the 107, the other six boats would not be firing their missiles. They were too deep within Sparta’s gravity well to have any chance at all of hitting those cruisers. However, they might be able to get in front of some of the incoming missiles so that those warheads expended themselves harmlessly against the missile boats’ neutron armor. There was no way to block them all, but taking out some of the missiles would make it easier for the ground-based anti-missile batteries to stop the rest.
Stacker sat up straighter when the tactical display pinged for attention. Something had changed. He looked closely. Six small ships in low orbit were radically changing course and speed.
“What are those six ships up to, Commander?” asked Stacker.
Stevens wanted to say what he was thinking which was, How the hell should I know, but instead he said, “Well, Sir, since we know they can’t reach us with missile fire, my guess would be some kind of anti-missile maneuver. Perhaps they’re going to fire anti-missile missiles.”
“Your guess? Guessing isn’t good enough, Commander. If you don’t know the answers to my questions, then maybe you’re not qualified to command a ship!” Stacker glared at him for a couple of seconds before turning his attention back to the display. “Let’s see if you’re capable of firing the second volley,” said Stacker.
“They’ve fired—“
Janicot cut Obrist off. “Again. Yes I see it, Captain. It would have been nice if they had held off longer, but it is what it is.”
The situation was changing fast now. The FEDs first volley was now 13.4 minutes away from impact. 107’s first volley was only 4.4 minutes away from their targets. The missile boat had fired seven more times. The FED cruisers STILL hadn’t started maneuvering or actively scanning their surroundings. Janicot shook his head in disbelief. How could any officer be that careless? The display pinged again. The cruisers had just fired a third volley. Janicot was willing to bet that they’d be firing more quickly now too. At least whoever’s in command out there has got that part right.
Janicot tried to remain calm as he watched both sets of missile icons move closer to their targets. He was surprised to see the enemy missiles decelerating.
“Why are their missiles slowing down, Captain?” Janicot watched as Obrist conferred with one of his staff.
“If they hit the atmosphere too fast, the friction will vaporize the warheads before they hit the ground, Admiral.”
Yes of course. He should have thought of that himself. 107’s first volley was now just 89 seconds from impact. Those missiles would switch to internal guidance based on their own radars in another 55 seconds. If the FED commander would just continue to do the wrong thing for a little bit longer, they wouldn’t be able to dodge out of the way in time.
Stevens checked the Weapons Officer’s console to make sure that Stacker’s order to cease fire had been implemented. A total of six volleys had been fired. Stacker seemed transfixed by the tactical display. Stevens looked at it too, and once again felt that nagging feeling that something was amiss.
“Request permission to begin a 360 degree scan, Commodore.”
Stacker tore his gaze away from the display to look at Stevens with an annoyed expression. “Don’t bother me with those kinds of details, Commander, just do it.”
Stevens turned to the WO. “Begin a full 360 degree scan, Lieutenant.”
Almost immediately, he heard the triple ping alert from the display denoting an urgent threat to the ship. A series of flashing red icons appeared, and the nearest one was very close indeed. Stevens didn’t wait for Stacker to react. Kursk was his ship and it was his responsibility to take action.
“HELM, GO TO MAX EVASION NOW!” he yelled. He reached over and hit the switch that connected his headset to the open tactical com channel between all eight ships. “WE’RE UNDER MISSILE ATTACK! EXECUTE EMERGENCY MICRO-JUMP!”
That last order brought Stacker out of his disbelieving stare.
“NO! WE CAN’T LEAVE YET!” Stevens couldn’t believe his ears. Jumping away, when that was possible, from an imminent missile strike wasn’t a radical thing to do. It was standard Navy doctrine for God’s sakes! They only had seconds left before the first incoming wave hit. There wasn’t time to argue with this idiot. Stevens ran over to the Helm Station where the jumpdrive controls were. Telling the Helm Officer to initiate a micro-jump risked Stacker issuing contradictory commands and confusing the HO. Stevens would just initiate the jump himself and hope that the other ships listened to his last order over the com channel.
Stacker realized what the Commander was about to attempt and lunged at him in an attempt to stop him.
“I GAVE YOU AN ORDER, COMMANDER! IF YOU DISOBEY ME, I’LL SEE YOU COURT-MARTIALED FOR COWARDICE IN THE FACE OF THE ENEMY!”
Stevens said nothing. He was too busy trying to set up the micro-jump and fend off Stacker’s attempts to push him away from the console. Even with all that going on, some part of Stevens’s mind was aware of the fact that no one had reported any of the other ships jumping away. They should have done so by now if they were obeying his last order. While he did not have any official authority to give orders to the other seven commanders, he was the CO of Stacker’s flagship, and Flag Officers often relayed orders to other ships through their flagship’s CO. So why weren’t the other ships jum
ping away? A glance at Stacker’s rage-contorted face revealed the answer. There was a red light on the front of the boom microphone on Stacker’s headset. That meant that Stacker was also connected to the squadron tactical com channel. The other COs had also heard Stacker countermand Stevens’s order.
He was just about ready to activate the jump drive when Stacker head-butted him on the left side of his head. Stevens blacked out and fell down. He regained his vision just in time to feel the ship shudder. Oh God, they’d been hit!
As he tried to get up, he heard the Helm Officer say, “Accel’s down to 4.7! Jumpdrive is offline!” Stevens heard someone groan, then realized that he was the one who had made the sound. He looked at Stacker. The Commodore’s face had gone white as a sheet, and his expression was now one of anguished understanding at what he had done.
“If we survive this and get back, I won’t be the one who gets court-martialled, Commodore. You will for criminal negligence!”
Janicot watched as the icon representing Grant’s second volley merged with the icon representing the FED cruisers. The number inside the red triangle suddenly dropped from eight to six. Two ships had obviously jumped away. What in God’s Name was going on up there on that squadron’s flagship? Those ships had plenty of time to jump away once they began active scanning, but they didn’t, not even after the first volley hit. What kind of idiot would order his ships to stay and take hits that they couldn’t defend against? The fact that six ships were still there, and about to be hit by the third volley, suggested pretty strongly that they had lost the ability to jump away. None of them were moving very quickly either. That meant that they wouldn’t be able to evade the other volleys, and that meant that his other six missile boats now had a chance to strike back. However, first they had to intercept as many of the enemy’s missiles as possible, and that attempt was just about to happen.
