by John Lumpkin
Stahl arrived and quickly ejected Neil from the Intel console. This was pointless; Stahl could call up the intel screen from any of the consoles in CIC, but Neil shifted his seat to the “Aux-1” station.
“Okay, what can they do to us at this range?” Thorne asked.
Neil eyed Stahl, who didn’t say anything for several seconds. Then, he and Stahl started speaking at the same time. Neil quickly shut up; Stahl looked at him sharply, and Thorne shook her head and looked annoyed.
“Lieutenant Stahl, what are Victor-9’s capabilities at 6,000 klicks?”
Stahl looked at his screen. “Unlikely their lasers could do damage before our counterbattery takes out their optics. Their missiles are about twenty minutes away and would have to deal with our drive flare. Their spinal gun is the primary threat. Eight minutes’ flight time for a shell; our data is a little uncertain on how much maneuvering fuel they carry.”
“Let’s give them a few hours to make their move,” Thorne said. “Stahl, get with the tactical team, and bring the fuel estimates on those big shells, so we can program some dodge maneuvers. And Frank, be generous with those estimates. I’d rather waste remass than take a hit.”
“Aye aye.”
“Comms, make sure Space Command hears about all this. Identify Victor-9 as a possible Chinese destroyer. Everyone else, get some food; go take naps in shifts.”
Because of San Jacinto’s head start, it was nearly two hours until Anjian started closing the distance between them, and another two until she was back within 6,000 klicks, moving nearly a kip faster than San Jacinto.
At 4,000 kilometers, she opened fire.
“Flares at Victor-9! Vampire, vampire! We have incoming missiles, bearing one-eight-oh! Fifteen minutes to impact,” the sensor chief said. “Mark 7 Strelas.”
“Point defenses are on-line; they will be in our optimal antimissile envelope in about eight minutes,” Tom said. “We can’t bring all defenses to bear, captain, at our current heading.” Several of the laser batteries were obscured by the structure of the ship.
“Guns, put some metal in Victor-9’s path,” Thorne said.
“Aye, skipper,” said Lieutenant (j.g.) Matthew Allison, San Jacinto’s kinetics warfare officer.
Outside, San Jacinto’s rear turret adjusted its position slightly. Automated loaders shoveled the heavy shells into the gun. In each barrel, a small plate pushed the shell into the first accelerator coil just as it was charged, and a powerful magnetic field attracted, then repelled, the shell, sending it blasting toward the next coil up the line. Ablative material coating each shell melted away in the intense fields, and, after a 15-meter trip, each shell emerged traveling at a velocity of more than seven kilometers per second. Each barrel fired twelve shells in the space of a minute, moving slightly after each shot.
It was a futile gesture, Thorne knew. This was extreme range for the guns; the shells would be easy for Anjian to dodge, somewhat harder for her to shoot down, but at least the Hans would have to react.
Neil’s handheld alerted him to a text message from Donovan.
I’M WITH SUN. IF YOU HAVE A MOMENT, HE WOULD LIKE TO KNOW IF WE CAN EVADE OUR PURSUERS.
NOT REALLY, Neil typed during a lull. WE CAN OUTRUN THEM, BUT THEY CAN CATCH US IF WE TRY TO REACH ANYWHERE WORTH REACHING IN THE SYSTEM. WE’LL HAVE TO SLOW DOWN TO CROSS THE DG CANUM VENATICORUM KEYHOLE. THE HANS ARE BETWEEN US AND THE PLANET, AND THEY COULD CATCH US IF WE TURNED TO REACH THE OTHER KEYHOLES IN THE SYSTEM.
THANKS, Donovan replied. WILL TRY TO EXPLAIN THAT TO SUN.
Thorne now had a decision: Continue running, and hope the missiles burned up in San Jacinto’s drive flare, or turn to face Anjian, pointing the ship’s heavily armored nose at the incoming threat and bringing all her lasers to bear.
“Helm, bring us about, 180 degree turn, and give me military thrust at one-half gee.” Thorne said. CIC didn’t actually have a proper helm. While the ship’s rarely used fly-by-wire system was on the bridge, the computer was much better at managing the main drive plus the two dozen vector thrusters arrayed along the hull.
So the CIC helmsman, who had the job of telling the ship’s computer which maneuvers to perform, pressed a button, and everyone felt the inertia of the turn, and then the ship’s drive firing again, completely opposite its former vector.
“Okay, let’s set up the backup CIC on the bridge,” Thorne said. “Commander Mendoza will command, Ensign Mercer will take tactical, Chief Drake on sensors.”
Neil was stunned: He was exiled, far from the action, a mere redundancy in case CIC took a hit. Without a word, he floated behind Mendoza and Drake up to bridge, to be met by Ensign Mike Hayes, the astrogator. They set up their consoles and listened to the conversation in CIC.
“Missiles are six minutes out,” he heard Tom saying. Neil looked at the plot. Victor-9 had emptied its magazine; 30 missiles targeted San Jacinto. “Zombie! Zombie! New inbounds from Victor-9. Multiple gun salvos. Estimate arrival in four-minutes-thirty.”
“Bring in the cooling fins,” Thorne barked.
So that was the Hans’ plan: Fire guns and missiles so they would arrive at the same time, potentially overwhelming San Jacinto’s defenses. But it wasn’t a strong play; Victor-9’s missile barrage was pretty weak. What were they up to?
“Start dodging the shells,” Neil heard Captain Thorne say. “But dodge toward Victor-9.”
Neil’s eyes widened. She was using the strategy he suggested! Satisfaction blossomed in Neil, chased away by a surge of anxiety. What if it doesn’t work?
San Jacinto began a rapid series of turns and thrusts to avoid the incoming gun shells; this prevented her from firing her fixed forward laser cannon at any inbounds.
But her secondary lasers, on turrets, had no such restrictions. They killed seven missiles within a minute, but they had to shift to target the inbound gun shells, which were turning to follow her.
San Jacinto’s antimissiles fired next. Neil thought he felt the ship vibrate each time one launched. An array of blue chevrons appeared on everyone’s screens, heading toward the inbounds. Forty interceptors targeted 23 missiles, which were rushing to get close enough to burst their flechettes before they were destroyed.
Three missiles got through and burst into a hail of darts. The secondary gun batteries and a dozen point-defense lasers went to work; first picking off the remains of the missiles, as these still had maneuvering fuel, and then starting on the flechettes. About 150 flechettes were on trajectories that threatened San Jacinto; it took longer for the lasers to rotate and fire on them than it did to actually vaporize them. Ten survived, but only one flechette struck the American warship. It penetrated the outer layer of armor in the ship’s forward section before shattering against its inner hull.
The lasers had less luck against the gun shells; the shells were just too heavy for a laser to reliably and quickly destroy it with every hit. Fortunately, San Jacinto’s maneuvers caused the shells to miss by significant margins.
Victor-9 abruptly ceased firing, but stayed on course.
“Is that all you’ve got?” someone in CIC said when the last shell missed by more than 200 kilometers. There were a few nervous laughs in response. San Jacinto took the respite to extend her radiators to bleed off excess heat generated by its weapons.
“Okay, they tried for a standoff kill, and it didn’t work,” Thorne said. “What next?”
“We could try for a standoff kill,” Davis suggested. San Jacinto carried 100 antiship missiles to Victor-9’s 30.
Thorne thought it over. “Not yet. That’s our primary armament. If we were in a fleet engagement, we might try it and let the rest of the fleet mop up. But they’ll have just as long to take out our missiles, and if none get through, we’ve thrown away a lot of our firepower.”
During the next half hour, the two ships halved the distance between them, each dropping drones to widen their sensor views. Anjian cut back her thrust now that her captain saw San Jacinto would give battle,
but she had built up so much speed that she would actually pass San Jacinto in about 15 minutes.
Anjian moved first.
“Victor-9 drawing in her cooling fins,” Sensors said.
“Zombie! Zombie!” The call came in again. “Coilgun salvos inbound, one minute, forty seconds to impact.”
“Guns, weapons free,” Thorne said. “Draw in our radiators.”
San Jacinto’s two twin gun turrets opened fire, altering their trajectory ever-so-slightly with each shot, creating a spiraling maze of guided metal for Anjian to navigate, dangerous terrain if she wanted to keep her spinal gun bearing on San Jacinto.
Rather than attempting this, Anjian turned in two directions – starboard and up, relative to Beta Canum Venaticorum’s ecliptic, exposing its less-armored flank. It fired its main drive to dodge the incoming fire.
This was the opportunity San Jacinto was waiting for. She launched a volley of missiles at Anjian; her guns moved to put some metal in the hostile destroyer’s new trajectory, and she fired her two forward lasers.
Both beams connected, but it was unclear whether they had done any significant damage. Anjian’s counterbattery tracked the beams and fired. One got through and wrecked the mirror on Laser Mount Two. It would be fifteen minutes until a damage-control team could dismount the mirror and get a new one working.
Unlike aircraft or seagoing vessels, spacecraft can change their facing without changing their direction of travel. So Anjian and San Jacinto were still closing on each other at a high speed, even as they twisted their noses to bring their forward weapons and thickest armor to bear. They were now less than a thousand kilometers apart.
Anjian struck back with the fury of a wolverine. It fired a spray of interceptors at the American missiles, then pivoted its nose back toward San Jacinto and fired its main gun, forcing San Jacinto to maneuver to dodge it. Smaller lasers picked off San Jacinto’s sensor drones.
Thorne ordered San Jacinto to turn into the fire, but Anjian had timed its shot perfectly; the shell was maneuvering and would hit unless San Jacinto could destroy it. The collision warning sounded again, and defensive lasers and antimissiles fired at the shell.
Neil, watching the plot and wishing he could do something to help, switched over to the sensor screen on his console, which showed the radar returns and infrared signatures from all the projectiles flying across the battlefield.
Something looked strange … the radar return from the shell looked a little uneven. Then an antimissile struck the projectile, blasting it into dust.
But the radar showed something was still out there, heading on the same course and speed, toward San Jacinto. Another interceptor curved toward it, but couldn’t make the turn and shot behind it, its fuel expended. A point-defense laser rotated toward it, fired and connected ...
The twelve-kilogram projectile struck San Jacinto’s nose at a closing speed of nearly 13 kilometers per second. The shell burst through the outer armor; the energy of the collision transformed a segment into a fine spray of plasma. The hurtling mass held enough power to puncture the inner armor and pass into the ship’s interior compartments. The compartments containing the working forward laser cannon were struck next; an astronaut and petty officer within were killed and the cannon wrecked beyond repair. The blast now burst through a corridor, killing three members of a damage control team and burning the rest, before heading into another compartment, an unoccupied crew rest area, and running out of steam. Decompression hatches slammed shut, preventing most of San Jacinto’s atmosphere from escaping.
The whole ship shuddered; Neil heard a horrible rending sound in the compartments above his head. All the lights and consoles on the bridge blinked but remained on.
Is this it? Neil wondered. Shouting from CIC and other parts of the ship filled the comm channels.
“What happened?” Mendoza yelled from her console.
“Gun hit forward,” Neil said. “I don’t know how something got through our defenses. It wasn’t their spinal mount or we wouldn’t be here.”
An idea came to him. He called up recordings of the hit from San Jacinto’s telescopes, focusing in on the image of the shell itself. It wasn’t a typical coilgun shell – there. Just before the first antimissile hit it, it had split into three parts. The antimissile destroyed two, but the third kept coming.
“Commander Mendoza, I think the captain should see this,” Neil said. The XO slaved one of her console screens to Neil’s. He went on, “Victor-9 has a capability we haven’t seen before. They shot a coilgun shell at us that apparently has multiple masses capable of independent targeting. They split off just before our antimissile hit the main shell. I don’t know if all of their shells can do this, or only some of them.”
Mendoza passed Neil’s findings to the captain; the CIC crew began improvising a defense. Damage control teams started making their way forward.
But Anjian wasn’t finished. It at last fired its main laser battery, held in reserve until now. The two beams stabbed at San Jacinto’s open wound and drilled rents along the ragged forward armor as the destroyer started to turn its damaged nose away.
San Jacinto’s counterbatteries extinguished one of the attacking lasers; the other found a seam in the ship’s forward armor and slashed into the CIC.
The flash was blinding for those inside the room. The beam actually struck Lieutenant Allison, San Jacinto’s kinetics warfare officer. His lower torso and part of his pelvis were incinerated; the rest of his body shattered into bloody fragments from the shock of the blast. Shrapnel struck several of the CIC crew, killing three of them. The rest of the people in the room suffered burns from the heat radiated from the beam’s entry into the compartment. Half of them, including the captain, were blinded.
The beam punctured the far wall in CIC and continued on, finally stopped by the inside of the armor on the far side of the ship. Tiny bits of metal and ceramic from San Jacinto’s structure sparked in the entry and exit wounds of CIC. Air briefly rushed out the eight-centimeter holes before anti-decompression hatches set down in the compartments outside.
Ensign Tom Mondragon was at a console on the far side of the CIC from the beam’s entry point; his skin felt hot, like a bad sunburn, but he had been looking away when the beam struck. Around him he heard moans of wounded men and women. He saw his chief, Palowski, slumped at his console, killed by a piece of debris. He looked over at the captain. She looked stunned; she had one hand over her eyes. The other was grasping the air in front of her.
Davis was next to Tom; the operations officer had been struck by some shrapnel on his forehead. Blood dripped shiny on his dark skin and coalesced into little drops in the air in front of him. Beside Davis was Stahl, limp in the straps that held him to his chair.
Davis grimaced. “Tom, my console’s wrecked; I can’t control the ship from here. My comms are down too. How’s yours?”
“Handheld comms are okay.” Tom tried some commands on his console. “Computer’s frozen. I need to reset.”
“Don’t bother. Transfer command up to the secondary CIC. We’re out of action. Get the Doc up here, then round up who you can and we’ll get to the bridge.”
“Okay.” He keyed his handheld. “Bridge, Combat. We’re hit bad and are out of action. Transfer all CIC functions to your stations.”
Neil gulped as Mendoza acknowledged and took over CIC. At least Tom’s alive. Besides Neil, there were seven people in the bridge; Mendoza and Hayes were the only other officers. Neil’s console screens lit up with a six different tactical panels: missiles, guns, lasers, point defenses, damage control, and sensors. All of them requested some kind of guidance.
It was overwhelming. San Jacinto’s ability to react would drop, and he would be the reason.
Okay, one by one … first, reprogram the defenses to handle the new coilgun shells … how? He pressed a key on the sensors screen, drilling down several screens before he realized the place to start was not here, but within the missile fire control menus.
Mendoza’s voice cut through his momentary panic. “Neil, Drake and I will handle the defenses. Come up with a way to disable Victor-9.”
A moment later, a voice in his ear, close as that night on Entente weeks ago …
“Commander Mendoza, it’s Ensign Quintana in Secondary Fire Control.” Erin was several decks below, in the heart of the ship. “We can take the guns and missiles down here.”
Neil looked at the XO, who was at a console facing his. She nodded.
“Erin, it’s Neil,” he said, some part of him experiencing an unprofessional flicker of feeling at the connection, even here, even now, and wondering if she felt it too. “Turning over fire control to you. Pour it on.”
“Will do.” She left the connection to the bridge open.
Panels vanished from his console screens; the remaining ones expanded. In the middle was a constantly updated telescope view of Victor-9.
The two ships were at their smallest separation; a few hundred kilometers distant and hurtling past each other. Anjian’s functioning laser drilled some hits on San Jacinto’s drive section, but a blast from a counterbattery shut the laser down before it could do serious damage to the candle. Both ships had lost their offensive laser capabilities, and damage control crews in both were racing to replace smashed optics.
Neil watched Victor-9 roll on its long axis, turn and fire its engine to stay close to San Jacinto, even as the American destroyer’s missile barrage approached. The toughest tactical decision involving missiles was setting when they should burst into flechettes. Burst too soon and the target ship could dodge the expanding cloud of unguided darts; wait too long, and the enemy’s anti-missile defenses could shoot down the missiles before they had a chance to deploy their submunitions.
Anjian’s defenses performed well; her antimissiles and lasers shot down 24 of the 30 inbound missiles before they burst. She turned into the remaining flechettes and her lasers engaged them.
