He carefully ignored the Imperial starfighters flying off on their own course as he structured the firing patterns for the Federation ships. That was a problem… but it was a problem for after there were Commonwealth ships in his home system.
#
They swung wide around the Flotilla itself, Stanford taking a moment to mentally catalog the defense platforms and the main station weapons ready to defend the mothballed ships. There weren’t as many as he’d have included with hindsight. Anything more than a dozen missiles was going to cause headaches for the remaining defenses.
Whoever was in charge of the station had clearly been watching for them. As soon as the Falcons passed the station, its massive radar arrays opened up at full power. While the missiles were capable of fuzzing their signatures and making them harder to locate, there was no way they could hide from the big stationary arrays.
Ten salvos burned through space, closing on the helpless ships behind him. Three hundred missiles.
“All Wings, fire missiles on my mark,” Stanford ordered calmly as the information slotted into his plans and the computers returned the appropriate responses. “Detonation patterns downloading now.”
A few moments passed as the computers talked to each other, and then confirmed to the CAG that everyone had the details of where to fire their missiles.
“All ships… maximum rate fire… MARK.”
The rotary magazines attached to a Falcon’s missile launchers could be emptied in twenty seconds. It was rarely the best use of the Starfire missiles, but in this case it had its advantages.
Over three thousand missiles launched into space in three waves. There were easily a dozen Starfires for each Stormwind.
If the Starfires had been faster, or smarter, or more maneuverable than the capital ship missiles, that would have been all that was needed. Unfortunately, the Stormwinds were just as fast and maneuverable as the fighter missiles – and a few tons worth of smarter.
Jammers flared to life and the suicidal robots began to dodge and weave. Entire regions of space dissolved into static, and Stanford watched it all with a practiced eye.
“Rokos,” he said softly, opening a channel to just the Wing Commander.
“You need us to play targets, don’t you?” the other man replied instantly.
“You got it,” Stanford agreed.
“Just cover us, boss,” Rokos replied. “Fifty asses in the wind, coming right up.”
Ten seconds later, Rokos’ six squadrons lit up as their ECM went to full power. The Falcon had fewer missiles than the Arrow in the same mass – and the Federation had used every gram of that mass for powerful computers and emitters.
Even knowing what was going on, Stanford’s computers were still almost fooled. A ghost image appeared on his scanners – forty-eight starfighters pretending to be six mothballed starships.
Stormwinds were smart. They weren’t fooled immediately, still focused on the Reserve Flotilla behind the starfighters.
But then the Starfires started detonating. The first wave only took out a half dozen missiles, but that was actually more than Stanford had expected.
The second wave of explosions wiped the entirety of the first two salvos, confused and lost in the radiation storm, from existence. The third and final salvo wiped over a hundred missiles away, making the missile strike far more effective than Stanford had dared hoped without the Arrows’ extra launchers.
Of course, that meant there were still a hundred and twenty capital ship missiles bearing down on them – and over three quarters decided that Rokos’ Wing were actually their targets.
Those missiles dove straight into the teeth of Stanford’s squadrons, and never really stood a chance. Positron lances filled space with the glitter and fire of antimatter, and missiles died by the dozen.
The missiles Stanford was truly concerned about were the twenty-four that still went for the real ships. With ninety-odd weapons headed right at them, his people focused on defending themselves. Once they were clear, they turned their fire on those last few missiles.
The angle sucked, and the missiles were in final acquisition mode – dodging and dancing across space. Missiles died as Stanford’s fighters took them from behind. Two, three – five.
Then the Flotilla defenses opened up. Lasers and positron lances filled space, and more and more missiles died. For a single heart-wrenching moment, Stanford thought they’d succeeded.
Two missiles broke through, dodging past everything thrown at them. Still in communication with each other, their suicidal brains picked different targets – and struck home.
Two Commandant-class carriers vanished in separate balls of fire.
22:40 December 15, 2735 ESMDT
DSC-078 Avalon, Bridge
Vice Admiral Dimitri Tobin spoke four languages fluently and had learned to curse in three more. It took a full minute for him to finish swearing after watching the Commandants’ destruction. The two carriers represented over a hundred trillion Federation Stellars of investment – a full tenth of a reasonably wealthy system’s Gross System Product.
Even for the Castle Federation, two carriers was not a loss they could easily afford. Thankfully, there had been barely anyone on board, but the loss was still more than painful. The only question was…
“Captain Roberts,” he said loudly, though far more calmly than his previous string of quietly muttered curse words. “A moment of your time, please?”
The big Captain blinked, probably checking the tactical display where the Imperial starfighters were busily scattering away from their abortive and failed strike on the Commonwealth ships, and then stepped over to Tobin.
“Sir,” Roberts said quietly. He sounded far calmer than he could possibly be, and Tobin was impressed at his self-control.
“You’ve flown with Stanford,” Tobin stated. “You taught him that trick?”
“In a manner of speaking,” the Captain replied. “I’d used it before I met him, but he came up with it on his own in an intentional high-loss scenario I threw at him.”
“Given the additional missiles from the Arrows, would it have worked?” the Vice Admiral asked bluntly.
Roberts glanced back at the main screen, showing where search and rescue shuttles were fanning out through the wreckage of the Reserve Flotilla.
“Just given their positron lances alone, it would have worked,” he said calmly. “The Lieutenant Colonel just cost us two carriers, sir,” he finished.
“And at least twenty of his own people,” Tobin agreed grimly, his implant showing him the state of Metzger’s fighter group. “This isn’t acceptable, Captain.”
“I’m not sure what more Vice Commodore Stanford could have done, sir,” Roberts said stiffly. “He had the authority and the plan.”
“Agreed.” The Admiral nodded, his eyes cold as he pulled up Lieutenant Colonel Kai Metzger’s file. “I’ll have my Chief of Staff assemble an all-Captains meeting for the morning. Can you make sure your people are ready to receive them?”
“Of course, sir,” the Captain replied.
“I’d suggest pinning down your JAG officer as well,” Tobin continued. “Section Twenty-Six of the Alliance Treaty of Mutual Defense, Captain. Make sure you know our options. I’m not certain Captain Anders will see things our way.”
Section Twenty-Six of the Alliance Treaty covered the interactions between the codes of military justice of over a dozen star nations, and the circumstances under which officers of one nation could demand charges of an officer of another nation. Disobedience in the face of the enemy was high on that list.
The big Captain nodded his acknowledgement, his face thoughtful.
On the screen behind him, the three remaining Terran warships vanished in bursts of bright blue Cherenkov radiation.
Chapter 9
Castle System, Castle Federation
10:00 December 16, 2735 Earth Standard Meridian Date/Time
DSC-078 Avalon, Flag Deck Conference Room
Lord
Captain Hendrick Anders, in Kyle’s considered opinion, did not look nearly concerned enough for a man whose subordinates had just completely messed up the defense of an ally’s home system.
The Lord Captain, the grandiose title equivalent to Kyle’s own rank, was a muscular man of medium height with bright blue eyes and short-cropped blond hair clad in a white and gold dress uniform with red shoulder lapels bearing the paired gold planets of his rank. He looked completely calm as he took a seat directly across from Kyle at the conference table.
Kyle did his best to ignore the man, turning his gaze to the other two Captains at the table. Captain Miriam Alstairs was Cameroon’s commanding officer. She was a slim woman with graying hair, and was one of the more senior Captains in the Federation Space Navy.
The fact that Alstairs hadn’t been transferred to one of the Federations newest and shiniest warships was a sign she was probably due for a star any day now.
The fourth of Battle Group Seventeen’s COs was Captain Lora Aleppo, a very small, pale-skinned woman with a shaven head who commanded the battleship Zheng He.
Vice Admiral Tobin was waiting at the head of the table with his Chief of Staff. That worthy seemed unimpressed with Kyle, though he couldn’t think of anything specific he’d done to upset her. He could, at least, follow Tobin’s hesitancy towards an inexperienced Flag Captain.
Anders was the last to take his seat, and the moment he did, a holographic image appeared in the middle of the room, hovering above the twelve-foot long black wood conference table.
Everyone in the room was provided a ringside seat to a perfectly detailed visual of the two Commandant-class carriers – and then, moments later, to the video of them exploding as that last pair of missiles struck home.
“So this was a fucking disaster,” Tobin said bluntly into the silence as the image faded. “Would anyone care to explain to me just what the hell happened?”
“The inevitable consequence of deploying the battle group before it had been properly organized,” Lord Captain Anders said calmly and precisely. “Confusion ensued, aggravated by an under-qualified senior officer. While unfortunate, the results were to be expected.”
The room was silent. Kyle wasn’t sure if everyone else was staring at Anders in horror, but he certainly was.
“I’m sorry, Lord Captain,” he said slowly. “Are you saying that this was somehow Vice Commodore Stanford’s fault?”
“Of course, with his lack of experience it was all too easy for an experienced officer to be confused as to why an obviously unqualified individual was attempting to give orders,” Anders replied. “Given the uncertainty, Lieutenant Colonel Metzger utilized his best judgment as to what the correct priorities were. If Vice Commodore Stanford had supported his more experienced juniors, none of the Commonwealth ships would have escaped.”
“Vice Commodore Stanford has been in uniform since Kai Metzger was in high school, Captain,” Kyle said bluntly. “He has, last time I checked, vastly more combat experience – especially seeing as how last night was Colonel Metzger’s first actual combat experience.
“Are you seriously sitting here, telling me that your officer did not fuck up? Thanks to Metzger, sixteen of your people are dead, a hundred and seventeen yard workers are dead, and we’ve lost two entire carriers.
“Section Twelve of the Alliance Treaty clearly states that in the case of any lack of clarity around command, the senior officer on the scene takes command,” Kyle continued. “Even if Metzger was somehow confused, his computers were perfectly capable of informing him that Vice Commodore Stanford was the senior officer.
“In short, Lord Captain, your Colonel is guilty of disobedience in the face of the enemy,” the big captain said flatly. Somehow, he managed to not yell or swear at the Imperial man, but he knew he was leaning forward, his bulk looming over the other man.
“That is my judgment to make,” Anders snapped. “Look to your own house, Captain Roberts – the Federation seems to be making a habit of over-promoting its officers.”
Kyle noted that Tobin seemed to be staying out of the argument, leaning back and watching with unreadable eyes. Aleppo was leaning back, clearly staying out of a fight that wasn’t hers. Alstairs was fuming, but she made a small ‘go ahead’ gesture towards Kyle, leaving the Imperial Captain to his tender mercies.
He smiled coldly.
“Did you miss the video the Admiral played at the start of this meeting?” he asked Anders conversationally. “Your Colonel’s actions directly resulted in the destruction of more firepower than many systems ever command. While you have the right to choose how he is disciplined, you do not have the authority to cover this kind of action up.”
Anders lunged to his feet, the smaller man trying to make up some of the height difference between him and Kyle.
“I will not be lectured by an unqualified boy,” he snarled. “I am Metzger’s Captain, and I fully agree with his decision – in the absence of a qualified commander, he had as much right to choose his own targets as any senior officer.”
Kyle slammed his palm down on the table. The crack echoed through the room, and the table itself shivered, several fine fracture lines rippling out from the impact point as Kyle glared at the Captain.
“This is my ship, Hendrick Anders,” he ground out. “Sit. The fuck. Down.”
For a seemingly eternal moment, the Imperial man met his gaze. Kyle didn’t rise, didn’t twitch, but he stared the other man down coldly. Finally, Anders sat.
“It seems I have been insufficiently clear,” Kyle continued, still holding Anders’ gaze. “If you do not prosecute Lieutenant Colonel Metzger, I will resort to the full powers available to me under Section Twenty-Six of the Alliance Treaty, and I will make you shoot him.”
Avalon’s Captain smiled coldly at his fellow officer.
“Discipline your damned dogs, Captain, or I will make you put them down.”
The staredown resumed in silence, and for a few moments Kyle suspected he may have gone a few steps too far.
Then, Anders slowly bowed his head.
“I will make certain that the Lieutenant Colonel understands the full scope of his dishonor,” the Imperial captain stated simply.
“Thank you, Lord Captain,” Tobin said, someone finally stepping in now the immediate confrontation was over. “Now that… matter of protocol is resolved, I suggest we take a short break. I understand Captain Roberts’ people have put on a light brunch, and I think we could all use a chance to let moods cool.”
#
Watching his Captains file back in, Vice Admiral Dimitri Tobin smothered the grin he’d indulged in while they’d been out. Anders and Roberts were carefully giving each other a berth as they returned, but the confrontation between them had gone about as well as he could have hoped.
Roberts’ courage had never been in doubt – this was, after all, the captain who’d intentionally set a ramming course at Tranquility. Tobin wasn’t sure if the man had actually intended to follow through – the Commonwealth ship had surrendered before it had got that far – but no one thought he lacked for courage.
Courage in battle, though, was very different than having a backbone interacting with other officers, especially an officer absolutely determined to protect a subordinate who’d made a bad mistake. Roberts appeared to have that as well.
His experience was still a concern for the Admiral, but Tobin’s Flag Captain was starting to look more promising than he’d expected.
“All right,” Tobin said as they all re-took their seats. “So last night’s incident has increased Alliance High Command’s concern level over the security of many of our systems. That was a deep strike, gentlemen – deeper than the Commonwealth ever launched in the last war.
“Walkingstick knows he can’t risk a head-on assault on Castle or another central system, but he is clearly willing to push the edge of what’s safe in the interests of cutting down our starship strength. He can afford to trade us ship for ship, and he’d come out ahead i
n the end. When he can trade us four for one, he’s giggling all the way back to Earth.”
Tobin grimaced and brought up the pictographic report he’d extorted out of Command the previous night. The graph showed a series of stylized stars with names and dates attached. Under each was a set of ships – one with multiple colors, different for each Allied nation, and one colored bright red for the Commonwealth.
“These are our losses in each system since the war began, matched against Commonwealth losses in each action,” he told his people. “Looking at it on this scale makes the issue clear, doesn’t it?” he asked.
Silence was his answer as the two men and three women in the room took in the chart. The initial exchange had been roughly even, though the Commonwealth losses had been disproportionately at Tranquility and Midori.
Since then, there had been no major actions, but the Commonwealth had initiated a series of small actions, single task groups hitting lightly or moderately defended systems. They hadn’t brought along transports or made any attempt to take control of anywhere, but they’d been inflicting heavy ship losses.
In over a dozen minor actions, including the previous night, the Alliance had lost twenty-two capital ships – and only taken out nine Commonwealth ships along the way.
“For those of you who weren’t cleared for this,” Tobin said quietly, “the current judgment of Alliance High Command is that we are losing this war.”
With a mental command to his implant, he cleared the graph and dropped a three-dimensional hologram of a ship into the middle of the conference table.
“This is part of the Alliance’s answer to our problem,” he continued. “Designed roughly a year ago as part of a joint Imperium-Federation research project code-named Plowshare, this is the Gallant-class heavy gunship.”
The ship was a saucer shape, maybe twenty-five meters thick and a hundred and twenty across. Parts of it were highlighted as he continued to speak.
“It’s built around a single big gun – like the old Avalon,” he nodded towards Captain Roberts, “the original weapons fit was born out of trying to find a use for the megaton-range lances built for the Titans before we discontinued our battleship programs.”
Stellar Fox (Castle Federation Book 2) Page 7
