by Nick Webb
“Commander, what in blazes is Granger playing at? We don’t stand a chance against that fleet and he knows it. We just detected an extra three ships q-jumping in to join the other ten, and all CENTCOM sends is one ship as backup?” He waved his arms, clearly agitated.
He was absolutely right, of course. It was insane. By all rights they should have arrived with an armada of ships to repel a Swarm incursion of this size. But they couldn’t spare them. Operation Battle-ax depended on it. If Granger was right, that plan would put an end to the Swarm threat forever. They just had to survive the next few months before they could implement it.
“Admiral Azbill, I understand your concern, and I share it. But believe me, we can do this. Just give me operational authority down here and by the end of the day we’ll be clinking glasses down at the local pub.”
His eyes narrowed and she could feel him fume. “Commander Proctor—”
She held up a hand. “Fine. Keep operational authority. But please, allow me to coordinate your forces with the Warrior, and I promise we’ll pull through.” She paused, watching the officers all around her. They were desperate. Death was visible on their viewscreens: thirteen dots converging on their position so rapidly that they’d barely have enough time to mount any kind of effective response. They needed hope. They needed a legend on their side. They needed The Hero of Earth. She continued, “Captain Granger promises we’ll pull through. Believe me, if it were anyone else, I’d say retreat as fast as possible. But that man is more than just some washed-up fleet captain. He’s a genius. Pure grit and genius. If anyone can save us, it’s him.”
The words felt hollow and stale in her mouth. He was, after all, just a man. A man who made mistakes and bad calls just like every other officer in the room.
But that’s not what these people needed to hear. It’s not what they wanted to hear.
And besides, he really did have grit. Grittiest old bastard she’d ever met.
Admiral Azbill nodded. “Fine. I’ll keep operational authority,” he nodded to all the officers scattered amongst the stations in the command center, “but you are all to do as she says.” He turned back to her and waved an arm to the command station. “Commander, after you.”
She didn’t skip a beat. “Direct three of your frontline ships to make a point blank full-throttle charge against the incoming fleet. All weapons firing at full spread, targeting their lead ship. Mag rails to puncture, lasers to rip into the wounds.”
The ensigns at the comm immediately began chattering into their headsets, relaying instructions to the planetary defense fleet, while Admiral Azbill sidled up to her, still nodding at the comm station as if to confirm her orders. “Commander … three ships? They’ll be slaughtered.”
Proctor pressed her lips together, and nodded once in answer. “Maybe not. But it’s part of the strategy. Not only will it soften up their lead ship for the Warrior, but it acts as a feint. We’ve been conditioning the Swarm for two months to expect certain strategies, giving them patterns to look for and adapt to.”
Admiral Azbill lowered his voice. “You’re engaging in psychological warfare with a species that we know nothing about?”
“On the contrary. We know something very important about them.”
“And what is that?”
She glanced at him with a gallows humor wink. “That they want us dead. At all costs.”
Chapter Four
New Dublin, Eyre Sector
Bridge, ISS Warrior
Thirteen ships.
Aware that every head was turned toward him, watching and scrutinizing his reaction, Granger shoved his fear deep into a corner and forced a smile, standing up slowly and clasping his hands behind his back. Calmly. Deliberately. Give them a good show, Granger.
“Good. An extra three ships to beat the shit out of. Full thrust, Ensign. Bring us in hot. Be ready to execute maneuver Granger One.”
Every head turned back to their station, brimming with confidence. He could feel the energy in the room. The bridge crew worked with a seamless discipline and coordination. It was show time.
“Any word from Proctor?” Granger glanced at his command console, scanning for signs the New Dublin defense fleet was taking orders from his first officer.
“Aye, sir. Three New Dublin ships are converging on the Swarm fleet. One minute until direct engagement.”
Granger nodded. Good. Proctor had things under control on the surface. Now it was time to make sure the impending sacrifices of the day would not be in vain. “Time until maximum weapons range?”
“Weapons range in seventy seconds,” said Diaz.
“Commence fire when ready,” replied Granger, sitting back down.
“Aye aye, sir.”
He glanced at the clock. Sixty seconds.
Fifty.
Forty.
Another stirring speech? There was still time, given his tendency toward brevity. No, they were ready. Another quick readiness review of the weapons crews? No, only thirty seconds left. That would take at least another five minutes.
Twenty seconds. The Swarm fleet began to resolve on the screen, shifting from pixellated blobs to menacing, multi-nacelled behemoths that were already disgorging thousands of fighters.
“The three New Dublin ships have engaged the Swarm, sir.”
He watched the screen as the three sacrificial lambs plunged swiftly into the fray, forcing the Swarm fleet to suspend its approach to New Dublin and deal with the defenders.
But despite the new iridium armor plating and the upgraded smart steel defenses—which now worked much better thanks to a reset of the modulation frequencies that the Swarm had somehow decoded for their first run at Earth two months ago—the defenders sustained punishing fire, and the lead cruiser burst apart in a dazzling, sickening bright blast.
“In weapons range, sir.”
“Fire.”
Every mag rail gun aboard the Warrior blazed as hundreds of high-velocity projectiles leapt out from the hull and slammed into the nearest Swarm vessel. The view on screen pulsed with brilliant explosions as the slugs rammed into the other ship, which began disgorging fire and debris as the mag rail projectiles ripped through its hull.
“Retarget. Hit the next ship with the mag rails. Laser crews target the holes in the first.”
“Aye, sir,” came the reply from the tactical station, and Lieutenant Diaz coordinated the new orders.
Granger glanced at the clock, cringing as he realized the time was nearly up for their first pass. The ship rumbled and jolted as the Swarm fleet understood it was being attacked from a new vector. Granger watched on the viewscreen as the enemy vessels grew large, then began to shrink as the camera switched views, indicating that the Warrior had sailed right on by the pitched battle.
The ship rumbled a few more times as the Swarm ships managed to fire off a few more shots—the viewscreen flared up with an intense green glow every time the deadly pulses made contact with the hull—but soon the other ships receded completely from view, falling behind the limb of the planet as the Warrior continued its blazingly-fast orbit around New Dublin.
“Right. First pass complete. Time to second?” he said, turning to navigation.
“At this speed, six minutes.”
It wasn’t fast enough. They’d planned on ten ships. Not thirteen. “Increase thrust to one g, aft.”
Ensign Prince swiveled in his chair to look at Granger with a raised eyebrow. “But sir, that will require a steady increase in thrust radially inward toward the planet. That’ll take us over the safety threshold within three minutes.”
“You heard me, Ensign.”
From deep within the deck plates, the ship groaned as it tried to keep up with the increased gravitational stresses. Granger placed his hand on the console. She was no Constitution, but she was just as good. He didn’t want to openly admit it to himself, but she was actually a whole lot better, given her extensive refit after the battle over Earth two months ago.
“ETA now
three minutes, sir.”
“And the Swarm? Have they resumed their course?”
Ensign Diamond at sensors studied his readings. “Yes, sir. The three ships in the first wave are destroyed. But the second wave is intercepting now.”
He suppressed the pit in his stomach. No time to feel guilt. No time for remorse. There was only time to survive. After survival, there would be time for luxuries. Luxuries like feeling.
“Adjust heading to meet them.”
His fingers drummed the seconds away. On the screen, the planet rotated serenely, almost blissful in its apparent ignorance of the destruction and carnage occurring far above its peaceful atmosphere. New Dublin was a beauty, for sure. Green and blue and cloudy. Why in the world the Swarm wanted this planet so badly—enough to send thirteen ships against it—made him wonder. The planet, and the sector, held modest strategic importance. It was relatively centrally located. It had some resources, but no more than any other average world. It was almost identical to the other three planets being assaulted today in the Swarm’s four-pronged attack, but the fleet attacking it was the largest by far. What was he missing?
“Ten seconds,” said Prince.
Granger shook his head. There would be time for solving mysteries later. He would make sure of it.
“Fire.”
Chapter Five
New Dublin, Eyre Sector
Bridge, ISS Warrior
“Admiral Azbill, the Praxis, the Harrier, and the Crenshaw report engagement with the Swarm!” reported an officer at the tactical station.
Azbill furrowed his brow. “Where’s the Warrior?”
Proctor motioned him over to one of the command stations she’d commandeered. “Take a look, Admiral.” She pointed to the tactical schematic. The Warrior, still advancing under the cover of New Dublin’s horizon, was bearing down on the pitched battle with blazing speed. Far faster than a regular orbit at that altitude. “She’s orbiting at a two-x low-orbital speed. In a few seconds, the Swarm’ll never know what hit them.”
He frowned, pointing to the area on the screen where the invading fleet had momentarily stopped to deal with the three New Dublin ships. “But what about the—”
One of the dots disappeared, and Azbill’s hand jerked away.
“Sir! We’ve just lost the Praxis!”
Azbill pounded Proctor’s command console. “Dammit, Commander, there were five hundred people on that ship!”
The tactical officer called out again. “The Harrier is reporting hull decompression. They’re not going to make it much longer. The thirteen Swarm vessels have them completely surrounded.” He typed in a few commands, and the view on the screen that comprised one of the walls of the command center was replaced by the camera feed from a satellite passing the field of battle.
The Harrier and the Crenshaw flitted in and out of the enemy ships, targeting all their mag rails and lasers on the cloud of fighters belching out of the Swarm carriers, moving between the massive vessels as quickly as possible—just as Proctor had instructed them. Their job was to interdict and impede, at the expense of their lives.
And they were doing a hell of a job. The fleet of Swarm ships buzzed like an angry bee’s nest.
“Here she comes,” murmured Proctor.
The satellite’s camera angle widened, and from the right side of the screen the Warrior blazed in, all guns firing, making a ferocious dive for the Swarm ship in its sights.
And Proctor grinned—the Swarm ship was getting the snot beat out of it. Multiple deep gouges sprouted in its starboard hull, which exploded as the Warrior’s laser crews trained their guns on the erupting wounds.
A second Swarm ship soon found itself on the receiving end of the Warrior’s guns. And the next moment, she was gone as she disappeared behind the limb of the atmosphere, leaving destruction in her wake.
Admiral Azbill paused, his mouth temporarily gaping open. “Lieutenant, status of those two Swarm ships?”
Some fumbling with the controls, and a moment later the woman replied, “No active energy readings from that first ship, sir, and reading massive power failures and structural integrity fluctuations in the second. Though it is still firing at the Harrier.”
A moment later the satellite’s camera, just before it passed out of view, revealed the remaining Swarm ships descending on the Harrier and the Crenshaw in a tide of green anti-matter pulse beams. The Harrier exploded, and the camera cut out.
“Fine. That’s one and a half enemy birds out of commission.” He turned to glare at Proctor. “But at the cost of three of our best ships? Three ships that we just tossed out there as cannon fodder? Over fifteen hundred officers and crewmen?”
She met his gaze, and held it. “Yes. Three ships. We’ve tried one, but they don’t stop for one. They don’t stop for two. They stop for three, and so three is the number we sacrifice so that the rest of us have time to fight.”
The room fell to a quiet murmur as she spoke. The statistics were grim. Sobering. Ghoulish. But they all knew she was right. The unspoken historical statistics were far more grisly. At Earth, two months ago, over thirty of IDF’s best ships fell before they’d even made a dent in one Swarm vessel.
She swiveled toward the tactical station. “Send the next three from their holding pattern in low orbit. Direct intercept course. Same as before.”
The officers at the tactical station paused, and looked to Admiral Azbill, who, frowning, finally nodded.
“This had better be worth it, Proctor, or—”
An alarm started blaring, and Proctor didn’t have to ask what it meant. On the wall’s viewscreen, from the camera of one of the ships approaching the Swarm invasion fleet, she saw the tell-tale bright shimmer.
They’d initiated a forced quantum singularity.
Chapter Six
New Dublin, Eyre Sector
Bridge, ISS Warrior
The shimmering spheres hovering amidst the invading fleet could only mean one thing. Fortunately, it was the last thing Granger worried about at that point of the battle. “Commander Pierce, deploy all wings.”
“Aye, sir.”
He turned to navigation. “Ensign Prince, full reverse. Slow us down for direct engagement.”
The ensign keyed the commands in, and Granger could feel the scarcely perceptible sway of the internal gravity field as it adjusted to keep up with the changing inertia. It was strange—during his brief battle with cancer, one that he should have lost, he could feel every turn, every imperceptible shift. Even the slightest change in acceleration had registered with him on a visceral level. Something about the tumor in his brain had affected his balance, but in turn had let him detect even the slightest change in momentum.
Now, that was all gone. He was healed. Whole.
But how? The mystery had remained unsolved, and, frankly, he didn’t have time to sit around philosophizing about it. Especially right now.
An alarm blared, and he chided himself for his momentary lapse into thought. The flashing indicator on his board told him they were nearly there. “All gun crews, prepare for operation Granger Two.”
He glanced at the tactical stream relayed from the planet by Proctor. Mentally crossing his fingers that she’d managed to set up her end of operation Granger Two, he did a last minute check of their capacitor banks. Eighty-five percent.
Good enough.
“Sir, contact with thirteen New Dublin ships. They’re rising up through the atmosphere below and behind us.”
Granger smiled. Good work, Proctor.
“Continue braking maneuver, and open fire on my mark.”
He watched as the blips on their sensors grew larger, and then the viewscreen on the wall split to reveal the thirteen New Dublin planetary force cruisers soaring up through the atmosphere like comets. Ultra-compressed gas streamed out behind them as they accelerated to speeds far greater than what was considered safe and prudent for an atmospheric ascent. Within another ten seconds, he supposed all of their exterior guns would
be useless, just as their sensors, cameras, and anything else attached to the exterior hull were all long burned away by now.
But it wouldn’t matter. All that mattered was the sacrifice of those skeleton crews. And what that sacrifice would accomplish.
“Adjust speed, Ensign. Keep us right between our boys down there and the Swarm.”
“Aye, sir.”
He raised a hand, finger pointing toward the screen, poised to give the fire order. He glanced at the tactical readout. Five more seconds.
Three.
One.
“Fire.”
All the mag rails opened up, unleashing a storm of high-velocity slugs on the still-advancing fleet. In response, half the Swarm vessels returned fire. Over a dozen green beams lanced out, slamming into the Warrior head on. The ship rocked, and the deck plates bucked.
“Brake. Hard, Ensign!” He sat down and grabbed his armrests, but didn’t buckle his restraints. He’d ride this out like a captain on an old sailing ship buffeted by hurricane force winds.
The Warrior slowed dramatically and everyone aboard the bridge lurched forward as their momentum caught up with the ship’s.
And from behind the Warrior came the New Dublin fleet, hulls still glowing faintly red from their destructively fast ascent through the atmosphere, accelerating like bullets toward the Swarm ships.
All the green anti-matter beams ceased, and for a moment Granger could almost imagine the confusion on the faces of the Swarm upon seeing the thirteen ships blaze out of nowhere. Until he remembered that they didn’t have faces.
What the hell did they have? It was a mystery he knew they’d have to figure before they would have any chance of permanently defeating their enemy. They had to be more than blobs of green slime.
