Through the Reality Warp

by Donald J. Pfeil

  Billiard had been out on another raid when final reports on the Lorian fleet buildup came in. With them were reports from his private spies that the new Red-hat weapon, the new unlimited power source, was nearing completion.

  As soon as he’d returned to the revolutionary base on Sutet IX and read the reports, Billiard knew that his first estimate had been right: now was the time for the one major blow that would topple the government of the Lorian Empire. Reports in hand, Billiard had burst into Admiral Koppett’s office still wearing a sweat-stained flight suit he had worn on that day’s raid into Lorian territory.

  “Admiral, this is it!”

  “It, Colonel?”

  An expression of amusement showed on the admiral’s face, along with a slight bit of annoyance at having Billiard burst into his office unannounced.

  “The God is on his way to fight. Word of this has just been confirmed. And, by all the devils in hell, we’re ready. This is what you’ve been pushing for, Admiral. This is the hour when everything we’ve worked for pays off.”

  Billiard was so excited, so enthusiastic in his vision of the final battle, that he failed to notice the frown crossing the admiral’s face.

  “I don’t think so, Colonel,” the admiral said softly, looking down at his desk and beginning to play absently with a small, jeweled ceremonial bubbler he habitually used as a paperweight.

  “What? But Admiral, this is what we’ve been training for, waiting for. This is what we’ve been trying to force the God into for the past four months. The whole plan I’ve worked out has been to force him to gather all his units into one mass—one we can destroy in one grand battle, leaving the way to Lori wide open. You’ll be God in three months, Admiral.”

  As though waiting out the tantrum of a child, the admiral remained silent until Billiard had finished speaking. “I don’t think you or your men are ready for this battle, Colonel. I think it’s too soon. We haven’t enough men. Enough weapons. And you’re still not back to top physical shape after what you went through on Thopt.”

  “But I am ready, sir. And so are my men. Those men out there are trained to a fine pitch. If we don’t hit the God this time, while we have a chance, it may be another year before we can force him out with his entire fleet again. And in another year my men will be stale, exhausted from the raids, probably even wavering because of lack of results from the revolution. I say it’s now—or never.”

  “And I say you’re wrong. It’s… it’s too soon.” Billiard started to speak, but the admiral held up his hand. “Hear me out. I think you’re wrong, but I hired you because you’re supposed to be a military expert. As an expert, how much are you—you personally—willing to gamble that you are right in your estimate of the situation?”

  “I don’t understand, sir,” Billiard said, puzzled by the sudden change of tack, suddenly alert to the possibility that the admiral had something more than just his arm up his sleeve.

  “Are you willing to gamble your life that you’re right?” the admiral asked.

  “Of course I am,” Billiard answered. “I gambled my life when I agreed to join the revolution, and I gamble it every time I go out on a raid. Why should this be any different?”

  The admiral-politician was silent for a moment. Then: “I believe,” he said, again in that strangely quiet voice, “I have your last status report here somewhere. Ah, here it is! According to this, you have eight squadrons of combat boats with trained crews, three transports, an orbital monitor, and the battleship and two cruisers you captured in that last raid.”

  “That’s right,” Billiard said, wondering at the apparent change of subject. “One of the combat-boat squadrons is a bit under strength; but maintenance tells me they’ll have the missing ships back on the line within two weeks.”

  “Very well, here’s your gamble,” the admiral said with a slight smile. “You think this is the time for an all-out attack, the time for us to go on the offensive. Very well, you have my permission to attack the main Lorian fleet.”

  “Er, thank you, sir,” Billiard said, still with puzzlement in his voice.

  “Hear me out, Colonel. You have my permission to launch the offensive. You even have my permission to cut orders promoting yourself to general. You are given permission to take overall command of the offensive. Your fleet will consist of three squadrons of combat boats, one cruiser as your flagship, and the monitor.”

  “But, Admiral—”

  “No arguments, please, Colonel. Excuse me, General. I don’t think this is the right time for an all-out offensive, and I don’t intend to let your impetuousness destroy the greater body of fighting forces we have worked so hard to build up here over the past year. If you want to attack, you can do it on those terms. Otherwise, we’ll continue with the same tactics that have proved so effective for the past year, and continue training until we are ready to go on the offensive.”

  For several long seconds, Billiard stood staring with disbelief at the admiral. Finally he shook his head as if in disbelief at what he had just heard. “Very well, Admiral. I accept your offer. I assume you’ll let me pick the units I want for the attack?”

  “Of course. Just don’t get any ideas, young man, about whom you are attacking. The enemy is the God of the Lorian Empire.”

  There was a hard, unmasked threat in Koppett’s words. Suddenly Billiard understood why the admiral wanted the majority of the revolutionary forces to remain under his command. Billiard had to fight down a laugh. Obviously, the admiral had not spent much time with the men, if he thought their prime loyalty was to him, or even to the revolution. In the course of their training, then their hardening under fire during the hit-and-run raids, the men had been molded by Billiard until their loyalties lay in just one place: with their commander, Latham Billiard.

  With a slight smile, Billiard snapped a salute to the admiral, then spun about and left the room, a wide grin splitting his features once he was outside.

  III

  The console in front of him now buzzed softly for attention. Billiard briefly rubbed his eyes, trying to erase the tiredness that seemed to be an integral part of his life these days, trying to get his thoughts in order for the battle ahead.

  He pressed the accept switch, and one of the small stereo screens on the console cleared, showing the face of the cruiser’s com officer.

  “General Billiard, Captain Garth is calling from Squadron One—urgent!”

  Billiard nodded his head, and another of the small screens glowed to life, this time showing the tanned, finely shaped face of Billiard’s second-in-command whom he had reluctantly assigned to command of the combat-boat squadrons. Hers was an assignment Billiard wanted for himself, but he had a prime responsibility for the overall operation. That had to come first, regardless of his personal desires in the matter.

  “General,” Santha said in a calm, determined voice, “we’ve just lost all hi-wave contact with Squadrons Two and Three, and the last of our probes was knocked out several minutes ago. We’ve got no intelligence on the battle situation coming in here at all.”

  “Were there any contact reports from the other squadrons before they lost contact?” Billiard asked, settling back into his chair. It would probably be quite a while before he would be able to get out of that chair for anything other than a brief stretch.

  “None, sir. Our last report from the probes indicated that the Lorian fleet was headed toward the Pavian System under full drive, and that Squadrons Two and Three were well clear. There should have been no contact, even if they were using an outrider patrol. I’m headed in there now, but I’ve got to know the status of the other two squadrons before I dare commit my men!”

  “I don’t have anything plotted here,” Billiard said, “but I’ll put the com section to work on making contact with Two and Three immediately. I’ll get back to you as soon as they have something. What’s your situation now?”

  “As I said, we’ve lost our probes. But there are two flights of flit-boats that should be making
contact with the Lorian fleet within the next few minutes. The enemy fleet still seems to be pretty tightly grouped, although some of their combat boats have snuck through our outer sphere and have hit us. No major damage, though. The attacks so far are just nuisance raids, probably to keep us off balance. Nothing serious.

  “What is serious, though,” Santha continued, “is that I don’t dare commit my squadron to the attack without knowing what the situation is with Two and Three. If they’re under attack and can’t hold, and we go into the Pavian System after the Lorian fleet, they’ll fold us up and englobe us, then cut us to pieces at the God’s leisure, probably as after-dinner entertainment. Right now I don’t know if this is just a communications foul-up or if the God has a second fleet and it’s already taken out our other two squadrons.”

  “We’ve had no reports of a second fleet,” Billiard said, half to himself.

  “We’ve also no reports from Two and Three,” Santha answered. “If there is a second fleet, and that’s why we haven’t heard from the other two squadrons, we’re in big trouble.”

  The General, beads of sweat running into the worry lines on his face, tried to steady his thoughts, to work out a plan of battle. “Avoid commitment of your boats as long as possible,” he ordered. “I’m bringing the flagship in.” Billiard waited for a few seconds to see if Santha had any further comments; then he cut the screen and turned to issue orders to Forgari, captain of the flagship, who had joined him moments before. He hoped these orders would take him into the heart of the battle—and not into the mouth of a trap.

  IV

  The battle cruiser carrying Billiard and his staff was still far from the Pavian System when the flit-boats of the revolutionaries hit the Lorian fleet and the Lorian God committed his fleet to battle.

  The God had taken his fleet into the system, which had a substantial junk belt, and had begun positioning his combat boats inside the belt, where they could get some cover from the larger asteroids. These would confuse detectors and intercept some of the missiles that were sure to be launched once the battle began. His heavier units—cruisers, battleships, and supply wagons—he clustered farther in-system. His strategy soon became obvious: rather than going for an all-out attack against Santha’s squadron, which was showing up clearly on the Lorian hi-wave detectors, he intended to suck the revolutionary forces in to attack him in the system, in a crowded area that would make his numerical superiority even more effective by limiting the maneuverability of the combat boats.

  The two flights of flit-boats Santha had sent out when the probes were lost made contact with the Lorian fleet soon after the enemy combat boats had taken up their positions in the junk ring, and though the flit-boat pilots attacked with bravery and determination, they didn’t stand a chance. Using kill-torps and lasers, the Lorian boats put out a screen of fire so thick that no unarmored ship could have hoped to get through. Still, the flit-boats bored in, while enemy fire tore holes through hulls barely strong enough to hold air pressure; cut cables and electrical conduits; smashed instruments; and killed pilots and gunners. Twenty-four flit-boats headed into the Pavian System, looking for a fight. None came out.

  Billiard, knuckles white as his hands savagely squeezed the arms of his command shell, listened to the babble of voices coming over the hi-wave frequency used by the flit-boats.

  “A-Seven, watch vector 21, elevation 9… Two combat boats coming out toward you…”

  “B-Nine, answer, answer…”

  “Gotcha, you bastard…!”

  “B-Nine, answer… Answer… Answer. Has anyone seen B-Nine? Anyone knowing where B-Nine is ple—”

  The words were cut off by the whine of a fusing com set. For long minutes there was complete silence on the hi-wave, then one last call. “A-Three to command. A-Three to command. They’re moving out of the junk ring… Everybody else has been smoked… I’m heading in… gunner dead… I’ll try to ram…”

  And that was the last anyone heard from the flit-boats. But they had done their job: they had pulled the Lorian combat boats out of the junk ring and kept them engaged while Santha’s squadron of boats approached. The God and his navy staff, veterans of many battles, now spotted the revolutionary boats coming in but their own boats were committed and they were not about to sortie their heavy units from the inner system until they knew exactly what strength the revolutionary navy was bringing against it.

  Fifty combat boats—half of Santha’s squadron and led by Lieutenant Stapos—charged straight in on the same path taken by the ill-fated flit-boats. Meanwhile Captain Garth led the remainder of her squadron in a feint to system north, then on a drive inward, hoping to break through to the mass of heavier Lorian ships. The feint worked, but at great cost to the ships under Stapos. The Lorian combat boats, out of position and scattered following their destruction of the flit-boats, were able to regroup sufficiently to put up enough of a fight to stop the fifty boats coming directly at them, but not enough to interfere with the second fifty charging straight into the heart of the system, heading for the concentration of ships that was the nerve center of the Lorian fleet.

  Twin enemy battleships, the Meppa and the Millith, had their hangar decks open, and were preparing to launch additional combat boats, when the attacking ships hit them.

  Aboard the Millith the captain was maneuvering to bring his long-range lasers to bear—weapons designed for use in reducing surface forts from orbit but difficult to use in space battle. The big ship was still swinging ponderously, when four kill-torps tore into the hangar deck, exploding inside the hull, rupturing bulkheads and destroying compartments. A second spread of kill-torps from the same boat, launched just before a hit from a laser blew the revolutionary boat to molten fragments, ripped deeper into the wounded giant; one of them tore through to the bridge, killing every man there including the captain.

  Further explosions tore through the Millith as the fuel tanks and ammunition stores exploded. The ship, which had been under light acceleration, suddenly shot ahead, out of control. Bits and pieces tore from the ragged gashes in the once-clean hull; then suddenly the mighty battleship was gone. In its place hovered a glaring, expanding sphere of incandescent gas which, like the last mad strike of a dying animal, killed eleven of the attacking combat boats that had ventured too close…

  Twenty-two boats of the attacking half-squadron were still in service when the Meppa entered the fray, but they were soon joined by nine more, sole survivors of the fifty ships that had been led into battle by Lieutenant Stapos. Their ammunition was almost expended, but none thought to turn back.

  Although the attackers had no way of knowing it, the Meppa was the flagship of Admiral Paru, second in command of the fleet and subordinate only to the God of Lori. Again and again, the combat boats of Santha’s command bore in against the battleship, and again and again they were beaten off with heavy losses.

  Space in the area, billions of cubic miles of it, now became so full of debris and expanding clouds of water vapor and air from shattered ships that even normally invisible laser beams could be seen as pale wands of light that brought death wherever they touched.

  Billiard knew the battle was still in doubt, knew he had no business venturing into the Pavian System. He was fleet commander, and as such it was his duty to stay out of the actual battle as long as possible and to direct the attacks of other, more expendable, ships. But the ex-Mercenary had stayed out as long as he could.

  “Captain Forgari.”

  “Sir?” The pilot of the flagship rose to attention, turning and looking up at the raised operations center from which Billiard was directing the attack on the Lorian forces.

  “Take us in.”

  “Sir? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  Forgari understood what General Billiard had meant, but he also knew that Billiard should not have been giving that order. So he was giving his commanding officer a chance to reconsider his plan of action.

  “I want you to join up with Captain Garth’s unit, Capt
ain,” Billiard said in a firm voice that told the cruiser’s commander that the General had no intention of changing his mind.

  “But, General—” Forgari started to say. He did not get a chance to finish his objection, for just at that moment the screens lit up on both his hand consoles. These screens, which had been dark without reason since before Santha’s message to Billiard, should have been keeping him in communication with the two missing combat-boat squadrons.

  “Squadron Three calling Command Center! Squadron Three calling Command Center!”

  The com officer started to answer, but Billiard cut him off.

  “Squadron Three, this is General Billiard. Report your status.”

  “Squadron Three, Lieutenant Somms commanding. We were hit by flit-boats. There must have been close to two thousand of them. They tied us up and cut off all our communications.”

  “What about Squadron Two?” Billiard asked.

  “Their commander was killed right at the start of the fighting, and now they’ve joined up with me.”

  “What kind of losses have you taken?” This was the key question, and Billiard knew the answer to it might well decide who won the battle raging in the Pavian System—and who might, therefore, win the battle for control of the entire Lorian Empire.

  “Not too bad,” the voice of the young squadron commander answered. Billiard visibly slumped in relief, tension draining out of his body. “Out of the 198 effectives we took into the fight, 147 are still operational. We lost thirty-seven ships—destroyed—and have fourteen still under power but too damaged to be of any use in a fight.”