by Dietmar Wehr
The problem was that each incoming wave had 80 missiles in it, and they were spread out enough that six missile boats could not possibly block them all. As the red missile icon reached the green missile boat icon, the number inside the red triangle dropped from 80 to 66. The boats continued their trajectory upward to try blocking the other incoming volleys, while at the same time getting within their own missile range, but Janicot’s attention was now focused on the sidebar data relating to the ground-based anti-missile batteries. There were 22 missile batteries with 20 anti-missile missiles each. If every missile hit an incoming warhead, they might have enough, but Janicot knew that was being too optimistic. This first generation of AMMs weren’t nearly that reliable. Sparta City was going to get hurt.
“Captain Obrist! Has the Chancellor been transported to the new Command Bunker?”
“Yes, Sir, he has!”
Janicot thought fast. “Order the evacuation of all Navy and Army surface buildings, Captain! Let’s hope those missiles are aimed at military targets because there’s not enough time to evacuate the whole city!”
Electronics Technician Morgan opened the hatch of the shuttle he’d just finished repairing and heard the air raid warning siren. He suddenly remembered that he had taken his personal transceiver out of his ear earlier because the normal chatter was making it hard to concentrate on his repair task. As he fumbled to get the device out of his pocket, he heard what sounded like cloth ripping. He could tell that it was coming from the anti-missile battery that was almost a kilometer away. He shivered with fear because he knew what was causing that sound. Anti-missile missiles had an acceleration of 34Gs. That meant that they would go supersonic after travelling a mere 166 meters. The ripping sound was the sonic booms generated by missiles launched so close together that it was impossible to distinguish one boom from the next. The fact that any AMMs were firing meant that the Base was under missile attack from space. But that wasn’t what was causing his fear. His fear was caused by the knowledge that if one AMM battery was firing, then others would too, and there was another battery less than 100 meters from where he was standing. No one knew how dangerous it was to be that close when 20 sonic booms went off.
Morgan heard another sound behind him that he recognized. It was the sound that’s made when an AMM battery’s protective cover is blown clear just prior to launch. Something in the back of his mind screamed at him to hug the ground and cover his ears with his hands. He listened to that scream and covered his ears just in time. The sound of the staccato booms was deafening. The series of sonic boom compression waves knocked the wind out of him and left him struggling to take a breath.
When the battery finished launching its birds, Morgan rolled over onto his side to help his lungs pull in some air. He saw hundreds of people running away from the Navy Operations building that was roughly a kilometer away. Something streaked down so fast that it barely registered on his awareness. It hit the three-story building, which exploded with a fury that made Morgan instinctively curl up into a fetal position with his arms covering his face. His fear of being hit by debris didn’t prevent a part of his consciousness from noticing that the sound of the explosion seemed to be coming from two different directions. When the sounds and the vibrations in the ground died out, he opened his eyes and sat up. The Operations building was a blasted ruin. Looking around, he saw that the Army building was gone too. He was too stunned by the violence of the blasts to think coherently. All he could think of right now was to get up and get to his truck. As he stumbled over to the vehicle, he looked past it to the center of the city. There was a rising black cloud over what looked like the Government Quarter. My God! They’ve killed the Chancellor!
He got into the truck and turned on the two-way radio. There was nothing but static on any of the channels he tried. Then he remembered his transceiver and dug it out of his pocket. When he had it in position, he heard static from it too. The transmitters must have been destroyed. Off in the distance, he saw someone try to stand up only to fall back down again. People, who were a lot closer to the blasts than he was, were hurt. They needed help. He wasn’t a medic, but he had a truck that could carry wounded to the hospital, and since he wasn’t getting any orders over the radio, that’s exactly what he was going to do until someone told him otherwise. He floored the accelerator, and the truck leaped forward.
Remington woke to the piercing sound of the evacuation siren. She had only ever heard it in simulation exercises. She lifted her head just in time to see one of the security officers running past her cell to the exit.
“HEY! WHAT ABOUT US!” she yelled. There was no answer. Quickly getting up, she went to the plexiglass barrier that formed the front of her cell and tried to look down the corridor to where the door was. It was just closing behind the fleeing officer. Looking the other way, she saw no one but heard some of the other prisoners yelling something that was difficult to hear clearly due to the siren’s noise level. It was obvious that this wasn’t any training exercise. If the building was being evacuated, that could only mean one thing. An attack from space was in progress. She’d seen a demonstration video of an HE warhead hitting a ground target, and the thought of being in an underground level of a building about to be hit by one made her moan with fear. Looking around, she focused on the metal-framed, double bunk bed that was bolted to the wall. There was space under the lower bed for storage of personal items like books, personal grooming supplies, etc. She quickly pulled out the containers from underneath and rolled her body into the now empty space. She covered her face and ears as best she could with her arms and hands.
When the warhead hit, she felt the concussion wave right through the concrete floor she was lying on. The entire structure seemed to bounce upward a few centimeters as the force of the blast diminished. There was a loud CRACK, and something hit one of her feet. She opened her eyes, but the room was now pitch black. The lights were all out. She waited to see if the emergency lights would come on. Eventually there was a faint light from down the corridor. There was just enough light now that she could see the condition of her cell. Debris had fallen from the ceiling. She climbed out from under the bed and saw that more debris had fallen on the upper bed, and some of that had smashed right through and was now lying on the lower bed. Some of those pieces were large and heavy enough that they would have caused her serious injury if she’d only had one bed over her. She looked at the barrier and saw that it had cracked in several places, with sections missing. One of them was large enough for her to climb through.
The corridor was also filled with debris, some of which was quite large. She ran down the corridor looking into each of the other cells. Being closer to the point of impact, they were all in far worse shape than hers. None of the other prisoners were moving, and she didn’t know if they were alive or not. If they were, then they would need a lot more assistance than she could give them. She decided the best thing she could do was to try to get help.
She ran back to the exit at the other end of the corridor. The door had been partially ripped off its hinges. Once past that, she found deserted guard stations. After trying to call the elevator for what seemed like a long time, she gave up on it and headed for the stairs. The stairwell was filled with smoke, and she felt heat from somewhere higher up. She remembered passing an emergency station that contained a fire extinguisher and an oxygen tank with attached facemask. She managed to get it open and put on the oxygen mask, with the tank slung over her shoulder.
As she started up the stairs, she saw that it quickly became choked with debris, some of which was burning. Getting around it was awkward but doable. The surprise was what she found when she pushed open the door on the next level, which was the building’s ground floor. There were lots of fires and thick black smoke, but she was able to see that for all intents and purposes, the ground floor and everything above it was gone, except for some small sections of the outer walls. What was left was burning piles of rubble. She felt the heat through her facemask. By stepp
ing carefully, she managed to get out of the wreckage and into the open. There was debris everywhere, and some of it looked like human bodies. Farther away she could see emergency vehicles approaching. She ran towards them waving her arms.
Security Commander Powell regained consciousness and groaned from the pain at the back of his head and his face. The explosion must have sent a piece of debris flying that hit his head, knocking him to the ground, and he must have hit the ground with his face. His nose felt like it was broken, and he was sure that it was bleeding. His left leg hurt like hell too. He heard someone running and opened his eyes. At first his vision was blurry, but it started to clear up. Standing about 10 meters in front of him was someone waving their arms. He blinked furiously to clear the remaining blurriness and gasped. It was that Goddamned FED lieutenant who had tried to kill the Chancellor! How the HELL had she gotten out? She was obviously trying to escape. Looking down, he saw that he still had his sidearm. He reached for it and grimaced with the pain in his wrist. He must have fallen on it the wrong way, but he could still extract his pistol and shoot that bitch. He got the gun out and raised his arm. His arm was trembling, and he had difficulty holding the gun steady. When he thought he had it aimed properly, he pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He’d forgotten to switch the safety off, dammit! He cursed out loud and tried to move the lever, but the attempt sent excruciating pain through his wrist, causing him to almost drop the gun.
Remington heard someone curse and looked around. When she saw who had uttered the curse and what he held in his hand, she lowered her arms and said, “I’m not trying to escape, Commander. Look around you. Where the hell would I go? I’m just trying to get help for the other prisoners who are still trapped in the wreckage. Some of them are still alive and may be seriously injured.”
Powell lowered his gun and looked around. She was right. There was no way that she could escape from this planet, even with all the chaos caused by the attack. He wondered if he was going into shock. He was usually a lot more level-headed than this.
“Okay, Lieutenant…I guess I won’t shoot you today. Now how about you help me up, and I’ll see what I can do about getting help for your people.”
“I can live with that,” said Remington.
“I’m so relieved to hear it!” said Powell with obvious sarcasm.
It was the middle of that night when Stevens and the rest of his crew followed Stacker out of the shuttle and onto the concrete field of the civilian spaceport. Stevens had been on Sparta before and knew the layout of both the military and civilian spaceports. He looked between the grim-looking and heavily armed SSU security people that surrounded them and over to the military spaceport where he saw two smoking ruins where the Navy and Army buildings used to be. They were now surrounded by floodlights and emergency vehicles.
“Looks like we gave the SSU a bloody nose,” said Stacker with obvious delight.
“Proud of yourselves, aren’t you?” said one of the security guards. “FED navy and army prisoners were in those buildings when you destroyed them. Congratulations, you’ve managed to kill more of your own people than you did ours.”
Stevens sensed that his laugh had the ring of truth to it. Stacker was in front of him. If his own hands hadn’t been tied together, Stevens would have tried to strangle Stacker. Stacker looked around at the rest of the crew and quickly lost his gleeful expression. He clearly didn’t believe the guard, but it was obvious the rest of the crew did.
When the ship’s crew was finished being loaded onto a bus, the bus sat there while they waited for the crews of the other crippled cruisers to be brought down. By the time all the crews were loaded onto buses, most of his people were asleep. He hoped they’d get to their destination soon. He was tired as well. He wondered if he’d ever see Earth again.
Chapter Twelve
Day 262/2540
“Son of a bitch!” said Belloc. “I should never have sent that courier with the prisoner exchange proposal. The idea of sending home the bastards who conducted this attack turns my stomach!”
“I agree completely,” said Sorensen. “I knew some of the people killed. At the very least, we should shoot that asshole Commodore. I get the impression that some of his officers would thank us for it.”
Janicot sighed. “Unfortunately, that would set a bad precedent, regardless of how warranted it might be. If we arbitrarily kill one of our prisoners, what’s to stop the FEDs from killing one or more of theirs? That was part of the proposal. Remember, Mandy? We’ll treat our prisoners decently so long as they do the same. How would it look if we go ahead with the exchange, and their people tell their leaders we killed the Commodore? Besides, we need those people who are loyal to our cause but were unable to get back here in time, and we need them more than ever.”
Before he could continue, Belloc said, “You’re referring to the captured cruisers?”
“Precisely, Chancellor. Once we get those six cruisers repaired, our fleet of patrol cruisers will have tripled.”
Sorensen gave a chuckle. “WHEN we repair them.”
Belloc looked at her and frowned. “Is there some doubt about that, Mandy?”
Sorensen shrugged. “There’s good news and bad news, Chancellor. The good news is that those captured cruisers can be repaired with the right equipment. The bad news is that right now we don’t have the right equipment and getting it will divert resources from other military projects such as completing the ships we’ve started building from scratch.”
Belloc nodded. “I see. Tell me, Admiral, how soon can we strike back at the FEDS.”
Janicot hesitated. “Well, if you mean striking back other than capturing freighters, I’m afraid the answer is at least four months before we could even think of doing something else. All our cruisers are out on commerce raiding missions, and in fact one of them just left two weeks ago. It’ll take her four months to get back, and only then would we have all three available for a combined attack. I wouldn’t even consider ordering a Xanadu-type of attack with less than three cruisers now. These patrol cruisers are totally useless for the kind of operations that we’d like to be able to do. Just look at what one missile boat did to six FED cruisers.”
“Wait a minute,” said Belloc. “That missile boat took those cruisers by surprise, didn’t it?”
Janicot shook his head. “Not really. We know from preliminary interrogation results that the entire FED cruiser force should have gotten away scot-free, but six of them didn’t jump away when they should have because of confusing commands. What I was getting at was that none of those cruisers could defend themselves against even one incoming missile.”
“It seems to me that the FED Navy screwed up in their design,” said Belloc.
“Well in hindsight, yes, but their Navy hasn’t fought a war like this in almost 500 years. They chase smugglers and the odd pirate that’s armed with nothing more lethal than a short-range cannon taken off a tank. There was never any need for anti-missile defenses because their Navy cruisers were the only ones with missiles to begin with.”
“So we can retaliate in four months?” asked Sorensen.
Janicot sighed. They STILL weren’t getting it. “Only if you want to throw away the only three cruisers we have that are operational right now. We’re short-handed as it is. It would be extremely short-sighted to sacrifice the few experienced officers and crew we have for what basically amounts to a poke in the eye. Any damage that those three cruisers could accomplish will not affect the outcome of this war whatsoever in my opinion, Madam Secretary.”
Sorensen was about to reply, but Belloc stopped her with an upraised hand. “If these patrol cruisers are so vulnerable, then why are we trying to build more of them?”
Janicot nodded. They were finally starting to ask the right questions. “Exactly, Chancellor. Now that it’s been made painfully clear what this design’s weaknesses are, we should forget about building carbon copies and instead concentrate on upgrading that design with some basic anti-missile
capability. None of the new construction is anywhere close to completion, so we can still modify them with minimal disruption to the building schedule. What I would also suggest is that we start work on designing a more powerful commerce raider. Something that’s bigger, with more missile tubes, more missile storage capability, lots of anti-missile defenses and room for enough extra personnel to bring back at least three captured freighters instead of only one.”
