He went over his ship. His crew was by no means depressed. There had been a terrific lift in spirits when dummy-warheaded missiles made theoretic hits, though fifteen interceptors tried to stop them. The crewmen now tended elaborately to explain the process. A part of the trick was the curved path along which the re-set missiles flashed. Such courses alone could never be computed by an unwarned enemy under battle conditions. But the all-important thing was that the missiles changed their acceleration as they drove. That couldn’t be solved and the solution put into practice during one fleet-action. Once the enemy had experienced it, they could later duplicate it without doubt, but it would still be impossible to counter.
So Bors’s men were cheerful to the point of gaiety. They would fight magnificently because they were thinking of what they would do to the enemy instead of what the enemy might do to them. If enemy crews had been assured that the fleet was half defeated before the fight began, to find the fleet not crippled by spy-set devices would be startling. To find them fighting like fiends would be alarming. And if—Bors grimly repeated to himself, if—the modified missiles worked as well in battle as in target practice.…
He turned in and, despite his tensions, fell asleep immediately and slept soundly. When he awoke he felt curiously relaxed. It took him a moment to realize he had dreamed about Gwenlyn. He couldn’t remember what he had dreamed, but he knew it was comfortable and good. He wouldn’t let himself dwell on it, however. There was work to be done.
It was singularly like morning on a planet. The ship was spotless, immaculate. There was the fresh smell of growing things in the air. To save tanked oxygen the air-room used vegetation to absorb CO2 and excess moisture from the breathing of the crew. There was room to spare everywhere, because unlike aircraft and surface ships, the size of a space-ship made no difference in its speed. There was no resistance due to size. Only the mass counted. So there was spaciousness and freshness and something close to elation on Bors’s ship on the day it was to fight for the high satisfaction of getting killed.
Bors saw to it that his men breakfasted heartily.
“We’ve got a party ahead,” he told the watch at mess. “Eat plenty but give the other watch a chance to fill up, too.”
Somebody said cheerfully, “The condemned men ate a hearty breakfast, sir?”
Bors grinned.
“The breakfast we can be sure of. The condemned part—we’ll have something to say about that. Some Mekinese wouldn’t have good appetites if they knew what’s ahead of them. One word! Don’t waste missiles! There are a lot of Mekin ships. We’ve got to make each missile count!”
There was laughter. He went to the control room. He checked with the clock. Shortly after the other watch was back at its stations he calculated carefully. The enemy fleet would break out of overdrive short of Kandar, of course. It would have broken out once before, to correct its line and estimate the distance to its destination. It would have assembled itself at that breakout point, but it would still arrive in a disorderly mob. One’s point of arrival could not be too closely figured at the high speeds of overdrive. So when the Mekinese came, they would not be in formation.
Bors called the flagship, when the gas-giant planet was in line and a barrier against the radio waves. King Humphrey’s voice came from the speaker by Bors’s side.
“Bors? What?”
“Majesty,” said Bors. “Talents, Incorporated says the enemy fleet will break out of overdrive in just about ten minutes. We’re out here waiting for it, instead of aground as they’ll expect. They’ll break out in complete confusion. Even with great luck, they’ll lose time assembling into combat formation. Being out here, we may be able to hit them before they’re organized.”
A pause.
“I’ve been discussing tactics with the high command,” said the king’s voice. “There’s some dispute. The classic tactic is to try for englobement.”
“I want to point out, Majesty,” Bors interrupted urgently, “that when we cross the north pole again, we’re apt to detect the fleet signalling frantically to itself, sorting itself out, trying to get into some sort of order. It’ll be stirred up as if with a spoon. But if we come around the planet’s pole—and they don’t expect us to be out here waiting for them—we’ll be in combat-ready formation. We may be able to tear into them as an organized unit before they can begin to co-operate with each other.”
A longer pause. Then King Humphrey said grimly;
“There is one weak point in your proposal, Bors. Only one. It is that Talents, Incorporated may be wrong about the time of breakout. The more I think, the less I believe in what they have done, or even what I saw! But we’ll be prepared, however unlikely your idea. We’ll be ready.”
He clicked off. Only minutes later, the combat-alert order came through. In the next ten minutes, Bors’s ship hummed for five, was quiet for three, and then, two minutes early, all inner compartment doors closed quietly and there was that muffled stillness which meant that everybody was ready for anything that might happen.
In the control room, Bors watched out of a direct-vision port, giving occasional glances to the screens. There were flecks of light from innumerable stars. Then the shining cloud-bank of the gas-giant planet went black. Screens showed all of the fleet—each blip with a nimbus about it which identified it as a friend, not a foe. There was the blip of the leading ship, the “point” of the formation. There were the flanking ships and all the martial array of the fleet.
Then the screens sparkled with seemingly hundreds of blips which seemed to swirl and spin and whirl again in total and disordered confusion.
Gongs clanged. A voice said, “Co-o-ntact! Enemy fleet ahead. Wide dispersion. They’re milling about like gnats on a sunny day!”
A curt and authoritative and well-recognized voice snapped, “All ships keep formation on flagship. Course coordinates.…” The voice gave them. “There’s a clump of enemy ships beginning to organize! We hit them!”
The fleet of Kandar came around the gas-giant world and flung itself at the fleet of Mekin. It seemed that everything was subject to intolerable delay. For long, sweating, unbearable minutes nothing happened except that the fleet of Kandar went hurtling through space with no sensation or direct evidence of motion. The gas-giant planet dwindled, but not very fast. The bright specks on the screens which were enemy ships seemed to separate as they drew nearer. But all happened with infinite and infuriating deliberation.
It was worth waiting for. There was truly a clumping of enemy ships ahead. Some of them were less than ten miles apart. In a two-hundred-mile sphere there were forty ships. They’d been moving to consolidate themselves into a mutually assisting group. What they accomplished was the provision of a fine accumulation of targets. Before they could organize themselves, the Kandarian fleet swept through them. It vastly outnumbered them in this area.
It smashed them. Bombs flashed in emptiness. There were gas-clouds and smoke-clouds which stayed behind in space as the fleet went on.
“New coordinates,” said the familiar authoritative voice. It gave them. “There’s another enemy condensation. We hit it!”
The fleet swung in space. It drove on and on and on. Interminable time passed. Then there were flashes brighter than the stars. A Kandar cruiser blew up soundlessly. But far, far away other things detonated, and what had been proud structures of steel and beryllium, armed and manned, became mere incandescent vapor.
A third clumping of Mekinese ships. The Kandarian fleet overwhelmed it; overrode it; used exactly the tactics the Mekinese might have used. It ruthlessly made use of its local, concentrated strength. It was outnumbered in the whole battle area by not less than ten to one. But the Mekinese fleet was scattered. Where it struck, the Kandarian fleet was four and five, and sometimes twenty, ships to one.
It was a smaller fleet in every class of ships, but it was compact and controlled and it made slashing plunges through the dispersed and confused enemy. With ordinary missiles three ships could always
destroy two, and four could destroy three. But in the battle of the gas-giant planet, where there was fighting the Kandarians were never less than two to one. They were surrounded by enemies, but when those enemies tried to gather together for strength, the mass of murderously-fighting ships of Kandar swung upon the incipient group and blasted it.
Nearly half the Mekinese fleet was out of action before Bors’s ship fired a single missile. He’d sat in the skipper’s chair, and from time to time, the course of all the fleet was changed, and he saw that his ship kept its place rigidly in formation. But he had given not one order out of routine before the enemy strength was half gone. Then the communicator said coldly:
“All ships attention! With old-style missiles we could do everything we’ve accomplished so far. But the Mekinese are refusing battle now. They’ll begin to slip away in overdrive if we keep chopping them down in groups. We have to give them a chance or they’ll run away. The new missile system works perfectly. All ships break formation. Find your own Mekinese. Blast them!”
Bors said in a conversational voice, “There are three Mekin ships yonder. They look like they’re willing to start something. We’ll take them on.”
He pointed carefully to a spot on the screen. His small ship swung away from the rest of the fleet. It plunged toward a battleship and two heavy cruisers who had joined forces and appeared to attempt to rally the still-stronger-than-Kandar invaders.
They became objects rather than specks upon the screens. They were visible things on the direct-vision ports. Something flashed, and rushed toward the little Kandarian space-can.
“Fire one, two, three,” Bors ordered.
Things hurtled on before him. A screen showed that the missiles first fired by the enemy went off-course, chasing the later-fired missiles from the Isis. The Mekinese shots had automatically become interceptors when Kandarian missiles attacked their parent ships. But they couldn’t anticipate a curved course and their built-in computers weren’t designed to handle a rate of change of acceleration. The three Mekinese ships ceased to exist.
“Let’s head yonder,” said Bors.
He pointed again, on the screen. Within the radar’s range there were hundreds of tiny blips. Some were marked with a nimbus apiece. They were friends. Many, many more were not.
The Mekinese fleet, too, could determine its own numbers in comparison to the defending fleet. Pride and rage swept through Mekinese commanders, as they saw the Kandarians deliberately break up their formation to get their ships down to the level of the enemy. It was unthinkable for a Mekinese ship to refuse single combat! And when two and three could combine against a single ship of Kandar.…
The invaders had reason to fight, rather than slip into overdrive. They still outnumbered the ships from Kandar. And for a Mekinese commander to flee the battle area without having engaged or fired on an antagonist would be treason. No man who fled without fighting would stay alive. There had to be a recording of battle offered or accepted, or the especially merciless court-martial system of Mekin would take over.
There was one problem, however, for the Mekinese skippers. When they engaged a ship from Kandar, they died. Still, no ship left the scene of the battle to report defeat.
It was absolute and complete. It was not only a defeat. It was annihilation. The Mekinese fleet was destroyed to the last ship, even to the armed transports carrying bureaucrats and police to set up a new government on Kandar. Those ships which dared not run away without a token fight, discovered the fleet of Kandar wasn’t fighting a token battle. It had started out to be just that, but somehow the plans had changed when the fighting started. For the aggressors, it was disaster.
When his fleet reassembled, King Humphrey issued a general order to all ships. He read it in person, his voice strained and dead and hopeless.
“I have to express my admiration for the men of my fleet,” he said drearily. “An unexampled victory over unexampled odds is not only in keeping with the best traditions of the armed forces of Kandar, but raises those traditions to the highest possible level of valor and devotion. If it were not that in winning this victory we have doomed our home world to destruction, I would be as happy as I am, reluctantly, proud.…”
PART TWO
Chapter 5
Nobody had ever found any use for the Glamis solar system. There was a sun of highly irregular variability. There were two planets, of which the one farther out might have been useful for colonization except that it was subject to extreme changes of climate as its undependable sun burned brightly or dimly. The nearer planet was so close to its primary that it had long ceased to rotate. One hemisphere, forever in sunshine, remained in a low, red heat. Its night hemisphere, in perpetual darkness, had radiated away its heat until there were mountains of frozen atmosphere piled above what should have been a mineral surface. It was a matter of record that a hundred standard years before, a ship had landed there and mined oxygen-containing snow, which its air apparatus was able to refine so the crew could breathe while they finished some rather improbable repairs and could go on to more hospitable worlds.
The farther-out planet was sometimes a place of green vegetation and sprawling seas, and sometimes of humid jungles with most of its oceans turned to a cloud-bank of impenetrable thickness. Also, sometimes, it was frozen waste from pole to pole. The vegetation of that planet had been studied with interest, but the world itself was simply of no use to anybody. Even the sun of the Glamis system was regarded with suspicion.
The fleet of Kandar made rendezvous at the galactic-north pole of the second planet. On arrival the massed cruisers and battleships went into orbit. The smaller craft went on a scouting mission, verifying that there was no new colony planted, that there was no man-made radiation anywhere in the system, that there was no likelihood of the fleet’s presence—or for that matter its continued existence—becoming known to anybody not of its ship-crews.
The scout-ships came back, reporting all clear. The great ships drew close to one another and small space-boats shuttled back and forth, taking commanders and captains and vice-admirals to the ship, which, by convention, was commanded by King Humphrey VIII of Kandar.
Captain Bors got to the conference late. There were some grave faces about the conference room, but there were also some whose expressions were unregenerate and grimly satisfied. As he entered the room the king was speaking.
“I don’t deny that it was a splendid victory, but I’m saying that our victory was a catastrophe! To begin with, we happened to hit the Mekinese fleet when it was dispersed and disorganized. That was great good fortune—if we’d wanted a victory. The enemy was scattered over light-minutes of space. His ships could not act as a massed, maneuverable force. They were simply a mob of fighting ships who had to fight as individuals against our combat formation.”
“Yes, Majesty,” said the gray vice-admiral, “but even when we broke formation—”
“Again,” said the king, more fretfully still, “I do not deny that the fighting ability of our ships was multiplied by the new way of using missiles. What I do say is that if we’d come upon the Mekinese fleet in combat formation instead of dispersed; if we’d attacked them when they were ready for us, it would be doubtful that we’d have been so disastrously successful! Say that the new missile settings gave each of our ships fire-power as effective as two or three or five of the enemy. The enemy was ten to one! If we hadn’t hit them when they were in confusion, we’d have been wiped out. And if we’d hit their fleet anyhow, we’d be dead. We did not hit the main fleet. We annihilated a division of it, a small part. We are still hopelessly inferior to the vast Mekinese fleet.”
Bors took a seat at the rear of the room.
A stout rear-admiral said somberly, “We hope we annihilated it, Majesty. There’s no report of any ship fleeing in overdrive. But if any did escape, its report would lead to an immediate discovery of the exact improvement in our missiles. I am saying, Majesty, that if one enemy ship escaped that battle, we can look for all t
he enemy ships to be equipped with revised missiles like ours.”
Bors raised his voice. “May I speak?”
“Ah,” said the king. “Bors. By all means.”
“I make two points,” said Bors with reserve. “One is that the Mekinese are as likely to think our missiles captured theirs as that they were uncomputable. Missile designers have been trying for years to create interceptors which capture enemy missiles. The Mekinese may decide we’ve accomplished something they’ve failed at, but they’re not likely to think we’ve accomplished something they never even thought of!”
Voices babbled. A pompous voice said firmly that nobody would be so absurd. Several others said urgently that it was very likely. All defense departments had research in progress, working on the capture of enemy missiles. If it were accomplished, ships could be destroyed as a matter of routine.
Bors waited until the king thumped on the table for silence.
“The second thing I have to say, Majesty, is that there can be no plans made until we know what we have to do. And that depends on what Mekin thinks has happened. Maybe no enemy ship got home. Maybe some ships took back inaccurate reports. It would be very uncomfortable for them to report the truth. Maybe they said we had some new and marvellous weapon which no fleet could resist. In that case, we are in a very fine position.”
The king said gloomily, “You think of abominably clever things, Captain. But I am afraid we’ve been too clever. If Mekin masses its entire fleet to destroy us, they can do it, new missile-system or no new missile-system! We have somehow to keep them from resolving to do just that!”
“Which,” said Bors, “may mean negotiation. But there’s no point in negotiating unless you know what your enemy thinks you’ve got. We could have Mekin scared!”
There was a murmur, which could not be said to be either agreement or disagreement. The king looked about him.
The Murray Leinster Megapack Page 217
