by Dietmar Wehr
More warheads exploded from rail gun fire, but not all of them did. Several hit the spaceport with blinding flashes of light and loud booms that dwarfed the sound of thunder. He quickly turned his attention back to the two warheads heading his way. It was clear now that they would be landing on the other side of the ridge, and Trojan cursed the fact that the half-built duplicate command post was likely to be hit. He had just enough time to turn and look in that direction when both warheads hit the site and exploded. They landed close enough that he felt the shockwaves from the blasts. The sound was deafening. With the site temporarily obscured by smoke, Trojan looked up expecting to see more warhead streaks, but there weren’t any. Shivering from the cold rain, he waited until the smoke cleared. Even from this distance he could tell that Majestic had taken a lot of damage. The good news was that all the damage could be repaired. The bad news was that doing so would delay making Majestic operational by months. At least no construction workers had been killed. They all would have had time to get to the shelters.
Trojan shook his head. The Union had gotten lucky that their attack had taken place during the relatively short period when Majestic was being installed but before the hardened roof and stone layers could be added. There was no point in staying any longer out here on this ridge in the rain. The attack seemed to be over, at least at Site B. He carefully slid down the ridge and got back into the groundcar.
“Take me back to the spaceport and close the god-dammed door!” he shouted. He needed to get access to satellite-based communications to find out what else had been attacked. If the spaceport control tower was damaged, he could always try his recon craft, assuming that it was still in one piece. Despite his urgings, the auto-pilot took its time getting the vehicle back to the spaceport. Trojan cursed the programmed speed limits. By the time the vehicle stopped at the base of the control tower, the lightning was no longer striking in the distance. It was hitting nearby, and the resulting thunder was so loud he had to cover his ears until he got inside the tower. The control tower itself was completely automated. Fortunately it didn’t seem to be damaged. Trojan quickly activated the communications equipment and within seconds had static-filled audio contact with 1st Fleet/Army Force HQ.
“They came in fast, General!” said his Deputy. “Four ships emerged from hyper-space with a velocity of roughly one fifth light speed. They planned it perfectly and approached Hadley from the North Pole. As the planet rotated in front of them, they were able to hit both continents. Alpha got most of the missile fire. HQ itself is undamaged, but a lot of the equipment on the surface is so much scrap metal now. Two freighters sitting on the ground took direct hits in spite of our rail gun defenses. There were too many missiles coming in too fast for the guns to stop them all. The Union ships have already reached their closest point and are now opening the range again. It looks like the attack here is over, General.”
“Any word from Makassar?” asked Trojan. Even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. Makassar was too far away to get word of any attack this quickly.
“No word of any attack, only routine stuff, but as you know, that’s hours old. Do you need assistance, Sir? I can have an infantry platoon and half a dozen personnel carriers on their way there in seconds.”
“I’m fine, but I don’t know if anyone’s hurt at Site B. Send some medical and engineering people there just in case. I’m heading back there now to see for myself. Trojan out.”
The trip back to the Project Admin Offices seemed to take forever. Trojan had considered taking his recon craft there instead, but a quick glance when he exited the control tower revealed the fact that the craft had been knocked on its side by blast concussion and was damaged. What worried Trojan now was the lack of communication with Site B. There could be any number of reasons for that. Not all of them were serious, but some were.
The only bright spot when the groundcar pulled up to the building entrance was the fact that the storm was easing off now. Trojan was still soaked to the skin and would very much have liked to head for his quarters and the dry uniforms he knew were stored there, but that had to wait. Checking on his people came first. It didn’t take long to find out that no one was seriously hurt. A few of the construction crew had minor injuries. The Project Admin building itself was more or less intact, although blast fragments had damaged the communications array, which explained the loss of contact.
As he stood shivering on the observation platform overlooking the valley, he could see that he had under-estimated the extent of the damage to Majestic. Most of the computer panels that hadn’t been blown apart were either bent out of shape, knocked over completely, or had suffered punctures from flying debris and were now being damaged by rainwater. If more than 10% of the installed computer components were still salvageable, he’d be surprised. The whole project was almost back to square one again. At least the manufacturing plant on Danube was still running. All they had to do was keep it going longer than planned, and eventually they could replace the lost equipment. The engineering staff had already come up with an estimate of the delay, taking into consideration the loss of the two freighters that would have been used to carry the replacement parts to Hadley. Seven months. That meant it would be well into 2545 before Majestic came online, and a lot could happen between now and then.
Chapter Five
SSU cruiser Jutland:
Drake breathed a sigh of relief as the distance between Jutland and the planet began to widen. Oracle’s prediction that all mobile defenses would be protecting Makassar appeared to be correct. The strike force had only been targeted by ground-based anti-ship missiles, and due to the strike force’s high speed, none of those had gotten close enough to be a threat. They hadn’t even had to fire any of their own AMMs. That allowed them to keep their anti-missile capability a secret. Drake doubted if any of the FED orbiting satellites were able to get a close up visual image of the Union ships. If they had, they would have seen the ring of external missile launchers that resembled a belt of bullets on each ship. With 377 external launchers, each one containing an anti-missile missile, the upgraded patrol cruisers had a decent amount of defensive capability, and with half of the AMMs pointing to the rear, it was just as easy to defend against missile attack from behind as from the front. One drawback was that each external missile launch tube had to be reloaded manually when the ship was in orbit around a Union planet or docked with a Union station, but Drake considered that a small price to pay for all those AMMs. The other drawback was the fact that they still had to make do with the first generation of AMMs. That was a worry, but Drake also knew that the second generation of AMM was in the testing phase. A ground-based version was the first priority, but the ship launched version would be next.
“Lee to Strike Force. Congratulations on a well-executed attack. Jutland, you were a little slow in firing. I hope that won’t happen again next time. Strike Leader out.”
Drake made sure his mic was turned off before calling Commodore Lee an asshole. Jutland had fired its missiles less than one second after the other three ships. All his missiles had been on target, so the delay hadn’t affected target accuracy at all. It was obvious to Drake that the Commodore had it in for him, but he was at a loss as to what he should or could do about it.
Makassar Defense Force:
Lt. Commander Remington noticed that her duty shift conning the Normandy was only half over when the tactical display started pinging madly for attention. Four red icons had appeared at the extreme edge of the radar satellites’ detection range. The lack of transponder ID and the alarmingly high speed made it obvious that they were hostile ships. Remington heard Commodore Stevens clear his throat over the squadron com channel. She hit the Battle Stations button without waiting to hear what the Commodore was about to say.
“Stevens to squadron! We have four bogeys approaching at high speed! Normandy! You’re in the best position to fire at them! Execute plan Alpha3 immediately! Stevens out!”
Remington smiled. The Comm
odore’s order meant that she could initiate missile fire herself without having to wait until her CO made it to the Bridge and relieved her.
“Confirm Alpha3, Weps,” said Remington. The Weapons Officer replied immediately.
“Alpha3 is ready to fire, Commander!”
Remington looked down at her number two screen which showed the status of Normandy’s missile tubes and the Enable Launch virtual button. She touched the button.
“All missiles have fired!” yelled the Weapons Officer. He’s too excited, thought Remington, but she understood why. It was his first time in an actual combat situation. With one combat engagement under her belt, she was practically considered a veteran. Even her CO didn’t have that to brag about. She checked the tactical display. Alpha3 was the plan to fire two missiles at each bogey. One would be slightly ahead of the other. The one in front would be armed with the standard high explosive warhead. The missile lagging behind would be armed with the new Mark 1 fission warhead. The idea behind the plan was that if the bogeys had any kind of missile defense, the lead missile would be the focus of that defense, with the hope that the following missile might be more likely to get through and hit the ship. Remington didn’t think these bogeys would use active defenses. She was willing to bet that they had neutron armor and would let the FED missiles hit that armor, just as the single Union ship had done eight months ago in Earth orbit. She checked the estimated time to intercept and was surprised to see that it was almost 21 minutes. Those bogeys were coming in slow. Arrogant bastards. Before she could think of anything else, she heard her CO’s voice as he entered the Bridge.
“Okay, Commander, I have the Con!”
Remington acknowledged the change of command and got up from the Command Chair. “We’ve fired eight birds under Alpha3 as per the SL’s order, Commander,” she said in a calm voice.
“Understood. What’s our reload status, Weps?” asked the CO.
“We’re reloading with the same combination, Skipper!”
Remington nodded. The Weapons Officer had taken it upon himself to make that call without waiting for orders. She hadn’t ordered it, because there was no rush. Alpha3 called for one volley only. Additional missile volleys would only be fired if needed after the first volley hit.
“Fine,” said the CO.
As he strapped himself in the Command Chair, which Remington thought was completely unnecessary and overly melodramatic, she said, “Request permission to remain on the Bridge, Captain.”
He looked at her with a thoughtful expression. “Permission granted.”
She stepped over to stand near the Tactical Station. Maybe my physical presence will help calm Weps down.
SSU Task Force:
Commodore Montoya was puzzled. Radar had identified six ships in orbit around Makassar, but only one of them had fired missiles. He found it difficult to believe that there was only one warship defending this planet. The other five weren’t acting like unarmed freighters anxious to get away from a combat situation. They were maneuvering like warships, so why weren’t they firing missiles? His squadron was still too far away to fire accurately on the planet and wouldn’t be in optimum firing range for another 44 minutes. That was the whole point of coming in slow. Decelerate down to virtually zero velocity at close range and pound the various industrial targets as they came up over the horizon, while the defending ships wasted their HE and KE missiles against his squadron’s neutron armor. He hated it when the enemy didn’t do what they were expected to do.
He was tempted to order those eight incoming missiles taken out with AMMs, but the mission plan specifically called for allowing enemy missiles to shatter against the armor. Besides, his heavy cruisers didn’t have a full load of AMMs, because they didn’t think they’d need them. If he started actively defending against incoming missiles, his squadron would soon exhaust their limited supply of AMMs, and then additional incoming missiles would hit their hulls anyway. So why not just let the armor do its job?
With time to impact just seconds away now, Montoya leaned forward to get a better view of the main tactical display. She watched the red icons merge with the green icons of his ships…and was thrown to one side so violently that his vision blurred. The Bridge lost power. When the emergency lights came on, he realised that the artificial gravity was still working. Thank God for that! Several people were shouting in panic or in pain. He couldn’t tell which. His Command Station console was dark, as was the main display.
“What the hell hit us?” yelled the Helm Officer. It was a good question. The only thing that Montoya could think of with that much power was a fission or a fusion device. He needed to get the ship’s power back on if they were to have any chance of surviving this battle.
“We’ll figure that out later,” he said in what he hoped was a calm voice. “Right now we have to restore main power. Bridge to Engineering?” There was no reply. “Helm, get down to Engineering and find out how quickly they can restore main power!” The Helm Officer nodded her acknowledgement and sprinted for the exit. After checking, Montoya discovered that no one on the Bridge was seriously hurt, but without internal communications it was impossible to know how the rest of the crew fared. The lack of power was maddening. His ship was deaf, blind and almost certainly crippled. He had no idea of the condition of the other three ships, nor did he know if the FEDs were firing more missiles at them.
It was at this point that two things happened almost simultaneously. The Helm Officer returned and main power came back on. Montoya listened to the officer’s report.
“Whatever hit us caved in part of the hull on the lower side, decks two through seven. That disrupted power conduits. The XO and the EO figured out how to reroute main power to the upper half of the ship. The bad news is maneuvering, Skipper. The best we can do now is 1.1G.”
Montoya thanked her and sent her back to her station. A quick check revealed that while internal communications were back online, he was still unable to contact any other ship in the squadron, but the tactical display was working. It was clear to him that all four ships of the squadron had been hit hard since all of them were now coasting on a ballistic trajectory. Continuing the mission and getting away was going to be difficult. The Helm Officer was already calculating possible trajectories with the ship’s reduced acceleration, and all of them involved running a long gauntlet of potential missile fire from the FED ships. If the FEDs had more of those fission warheads, and he had to assume that they did, then the chances of surviving long enough to micro-jump away were slim. On the other hand, if the FEDs did fire more missiles, he would definitely use his AMMs to stop them. He wondered if the FEDs knew that Union ships carried anti-missile missiles. If they didn’t, then maybe there was a chance to survive this, but the key was restoring communications with the rest of the squadron.
“Montoya to XO.” He had to repeat the call twice before the XO responded.
“XO here.”
“I still don’t have contact with the squadron, XO. Tell the damage control people that’s their top priority now. We have to co-ordinate our actions if we want to get through this.”
“Understood, Skipper. I’m on it,” said the XO.
Makassar Defense Force:
Remington looked at the tactical display sidebar data carefully. All four bogeys were no longer maneuvering, just coasting and on a new trajectory too. The fission warheads had been powerful enough to knock the ships off their previous vector. She looked at the Weapons Officer. He returned the look and shrugged. He didn’t know why they weren’t firing more missiles either. She decided to ask the CO. As she stepped up to the side of the Command Chair, the CO took notice.
“What’s on your mind, Commander?”
Remington bent over and spoke in a low voice that only her CO could hear. “I’m puzzled why we’re not firing more missiles, Captain.”
When he replied, his voice was equally low. “Commodore Stevens is calling on them to surrender. No response so far which could be because their commu
nications are damaged. As you know, we don’t have a lot of Mark 1s right now. If we can get them to surrender without using any more nukes so much the better.”
“Yes, Sir,” said Remington. As she walked back to stand near the Weapons Station, she pondered the CO’s answer. Those four bogeys were still getting closer to Makassar. They could start firing missiles at ground targets any minute now. If it were up to her, she’d fire at least one more volley of Mark 1s and cripple those ships as quickly as possible, regardless of how few Mark 1s they had left. What was the point of having them if they weren’t going to be used? She was still debating the pros and cons of firing versus not firing when the CO surprised her with a missile launch order.
