by Peter Grant
“Sounds like you’ve put a lot of thought into their self-destruct systems.”
“Yes, Sir. The Fleet tries to make them as foolproof as possible. No-one wants to run into a drifting, derelict missile that can’t be detected in time to avoid it. There are more than enough hazards to space navigation without adding to them.”
“Well, those Bactrian ships are about to run head-on into the biggest hazard to space navigation they’ve ever encountered – namely, us!”
Laredo: May 12 2852 GSC, 07:30
“Turnover, Sir! Both enemy ships have turned end-for-end and begun braking.”
“Right on time.” Commodore Eschate peered into the Plot display from his seat behind the Command console. “That’ll let them come to a stop relative to Laredo before they get into range of any missiles fired from orbit.”
“They seem pretty confident, Sir,” Commander Stater observed. “They’re braking even before they’ve passed us. If I’d been in their shoes, I’d have wanted to keep my speed and kinetic energy high until after the initial exchange of fire was over.”
“Enemy formation is changing, Sir!” the Plot operator exclaimed. As they watched, the two icons in the plot identifying Targets Alpha and Bravo began to split, moving apart.
Eschate nodded. “Pincer movement, to prevent us concentrating our fire on them while forcing us to divide our defensive fire. I’m surer than ever that it’s not rebels in command of those ships. They’ve hired experienced Spacer officers from somewhere.”
Stater looked around at his superior officer. “Sir, they’re approaching one hundred million kilometers range. We’re doing a quarter of light speed, same as them, so our closing velocity is point five Cee. I plan to launch our missiles at a distance of twelve million kilometers, because that closing velocity will have the effect of more than doubling their useful range to target. I’ll launch ten missiles at each of the enemy ships. Let’s see what their defenses are like.”
“I agree, Commander. That’ll use half your main battery missiles, and keep half in reserve in case a second pass is needed – although it’ll take us hours to come around after we pass them, of course. What are your plans for defensive fire?”
“I don’t know yet, Sir,” the corvette’s Commanding Officer admitted frankly. “It depends what they throw at us. All forty defensive missiles are on standby, and our three laser cannon turrets as well. I’ll keep the rest of my main battery missiles on standby too, just in case, even though they’re not primarily defensive weapons.”
The tension in the corvette’s OpCen ratcheted even higher as the range dropped below one hundred million kilometers, the ships streaking towards to each other at the unimaginable closing velocity of almost one hundred and fifty thousand kilometers per second. The ship’s electronic systems struggled to cope with the added complications of relativistic motion and Lorentz transformation as they plotted firing solutions for the main battery missiles. The defensive missiles alongside them were on standby, ready to deal with any incoming fire.
~ ~ ~
“Weapons to Command. They’re still coming, Sir,” the Weapons Officer reported, eyes glued to his console as he ran constant checks and updates on his firing solution. “No course change.”
“Command to Weapons, very well.” Captain Cullew glanced back at Dave. “They can’t do much else, Sir. Now that we’re splitting our formation, they’ve basically got to go right down the middle between us if they want their missiles to have an equal chance of hitting both ships.”
“But you don’t think they’ll fire before we do?”
“They can’t, Sir. Their relatively small missiles will have a range from rest of six to seven million kilometers. You can double that as a range to target because of our closing velocity, but even so, I doubt they can fire further out than about twelve million kilometers. Our missiles are former battleship weapons. They may be only kinetic weapons now, with no warheads, but we have three different models in our tubes with effective ranges of fifteen to eighteen million clicks from rest. Our closing velocity doubles that, too, so we’re going to fire our salvos at a range of thirty million kilometers from them.”
“And they don’t know what’s coming?”
“I don’t see how they can, Sir.”
“Will they have time to shoot back?”
“That depends what they decide to do, Sir. Corvette fire control systems are smaller and more limited than those of larger warships. Basically, they can control an offensive salvo or a defensive barrage, but not both at once. In their shoes I’d put up a defensive barrage with every missile I had, offensive or defensive, then dodge to try to avoid whatever gets through it. However, they might decide to fire at us at extreme range in the hope of getting a lucky hit, and only then switch to defensive missile control. We’ll be taking evasive action, of course, in case they do that.”
“I understand. Will they try to evade as well?”
“I’m sure they will, Sir, but they won’t have much time after firing. They’ll be able to make one, perhaps two changes of course, but after that they’ll have to rely on their point defense to take out anything that gets close enough to threaten them.”
The Plot operator interrupted them. “Plot to Command, range to enemy one hundred million kilometers, Sir.”
“Command to Plot, thank you. Break. Command to Electronic Warfare. Launch a drone now in silent mode. As soon as the salvo has been fired, activate its program and put the ship in silent mode without waiting for further orders.”
“EW to Command, launching drone now, activating automated programming, Sir.”
“Command to Weapons. You are cleared to engage as previously authorized at thirty million kilometers range without waiting for further orders. Weapons free.”
“Weapons to Command, weapons free, activating automated programming, Sir.”
“Command to Navigation. As soon as our salvo has been launched and the drone is activated, implement Duck and Dive without waiting for further orders.”
“Navigation to Command, Duck and Dive programmed, Sir.”
Captain Cullew turned back to the Plot display. In a voice so quiet Dave could barely hear him, he whispered, “May God have mercy on their souls… and on ours.” He looked around at Dave. “It’s in the hands of the computers now, Sir. Humans react too slowly at space warfare speeds, so we leave it to electronic brains instead.”
~ ~ ~
A long, narrow hatch opened on the port side of LS Liberty, ejecting an electronic warfare drone. Already moving at the same speed as its mother ship, it drifted slowly away, paralleling its trajectory. Its internal fusion reactor spooled up, providing power to its gravitic drive and electronic systems. It twisted in space, aligning itself with the ship’s direction of travel, then started forward under minimum thrust, its low power levels emitting a signal so weak as to be undetectable at anything but close range. The drone moved to a point between its mother ship and the enemy, then held that position as it waited to be activated.
Two cells containing fifty missiles each had been installed in Liberty’s holds. Once battleship main battery weapons, then repurposed as targets, they were now deadly kinetic energy threats even though they lacked warheads. The ship’s massive reactors had kept them warmed up and ready for action during the approach. Now forty missiles, twenty in each cell, spaced evenly across its length and width, came to life as their internal fusion reactors were started. Their gravitic drives came to standby mode as their sensors and navigation systems received information from the ship’s fire control system. Their electronic brains and artificial intelligence software ran self-checks as they absorbed the data, fed it as input to their control programs, and waited.
Around the bow massive maneuvering reaction thrusters swiveled out of their housings, pointing straight up. Others did likewise at the stern.
A hundred thousand kilometers to port, the same sequence of events took place aboard LS Independence as she sped along on the same course at the
same speed. An automated self-test of one of her missiles indicated a possible malfunction. Instantly it was powered down and flagged for the attention of a maintenance crew at a more appropriate time. An alternate missile was selected, brought online, tested, and incorporated into the firing pattern.
Aboard both ships, their Weapons Officers locked in an automated firing program. The battle computers would take their cue from the ships’ passive sensors, which were counting down the rapidly decreasing range as they focused on the Bactrian corvette’s gravitic drive emissions. The active sensors – radar and lidar – were silent. At this range they would be worse than useless; in fact, if switched on, their emissions would only indicate the ships’ positions more clearly to the enemy. They had no place in such long-range missile combat. Nevertheless, they were on standby, ready to assist with the defense of the ship if needed.
At fifty million kilometers’ range from their target, the caps over the selected missile tubes in each ship slid back into the framework of their missile cells. Simultaneously the vessels’ reactors spooled up to maximum output. Just over half a minute later, at forty-five million kilometers’ range, the fire control computers energized the powerful electromagnetic mass drivers in the selected tubes. The missiles quivered on their launch rails as final system checks were performed. Aboard Liberty a tube’s mass driver malfunctioned. At once it was dropped from the attack roster and the missile it contained was flagged as unavailable. A backup missile and tube were activated, brought to a ready state and their systems checked, then slotted into the ship’s firing pattern.
The ships hurtled onward through the vacuum of space. At such speeds, the effects of relativity rendered raw sensor data unreliable. The battle computers used complex algorithms to allow for space-time distortion and make the data usable. Their ultra-powerful processors made billions of calculations every second, refining the missiles’ targeting information so that their less powerful onboard sensors and processors would have the best possible data at launch. After that, it would be up to them to home on the enemy’s gravitic drive and other emissions as the range closed.
At forty million kilometers the battle computers signaled the fusion reactors on board every missile. They came to life, spooling up to maximum power, preparing to funnel their output to the gravitic drives that would send the weapons streaking to destruction – their own, and hopefully the enemy’s as well.
At thirty-one million kilometers the battle computers sent the last updates to the missiles’ own computers, then cut their links. From now on it would be up to the weapons to guide themselves.
At thirty million kilometers everything seemed to happen at once. The missile cells began vomiting their lethal cargoes, three missiles every second spearing outwards, using the mass drivers in their tubes to get clear of the gravitic drive fields of their launching vessels as quickly as possible. As each reached a distance of two to three kilometers from the hull its own gravitic drive sprang to life, turning the missile sharply ahead, aiming at the calculated position where it would intercept the enemy ship at the end of its run. Already moving at one-quarter of the speed of light, the drives thrust the missiles forward, accelerating hard, their sensors searching for the enemy’s emissions to home on them.
Three missiles experienced malfunctions that prevented launch, and one weapon’s gravitic drive failed to engage as it thrust outward. Its onboard systems tried again, then a third time, but without success. As soon as the missile’s control system calculated it had traveled fifty kilometers from the point where it was launched, it deactivated the magnetic ‘bottle’ enclosing and containing the fusion reaction that powered it. The resulting eruption of superheated thermonuclear plasma reduced the errant missile to its component molecules, eliminating any threat to navigation from a derelict drifting in vacuum.
The remaining missiles disappeared into the blackness of space. As the last one leapt from its tube, the electronic warfare drones began spooling up their output over a carefully calculated space of three seconds. Over the same period, the ships’ own gravitic drives and other emitters spooled down until they were silent, inactive. Because the drones were positioned precisely between the ships and their target, sensors on the latter vessel didn’t detect the change. Now they were tracking the drones, which proceeded to curve upward and outward, imitating an evasive maneuver.
Behind them, the ships activated their upward-aimed reaction thrusters. They gave off no electromagnetic radiation at all, and at so great a range the light emitted from their throats was as good as invisible. They thrust the ships bodily downward, dropping them below their existing course line. As soon as the desired change in trajectory was established the thrusters were cut off, their angle was changed, then they were reactivated at low power. The ships rolled onto their backs, exposing the four laser cannon turrets set into their sides and bellies. The turrets swiveled towards the direction from which enemy missiles would approach, but the radar and lidar systems that would guide their fire remained silent for the time being. They would be activated only if needed. The maneuver completed, the thrusters turned to face in the direction of travel and went to full power once more, braking the ship, slowing her progress, allowing the drone to pull ahead of her. The thrusters couldn’t provide anything like as much braking energy as the gravitic drive, but unlike the drive they emitted no radiation onto which enemy missiles could home.
The two groups of missiles bore down on the Bactrian corvette at ever-increasing, mind-boggling velocity. They spread out in space in accordance with their pre-programmed trajectories, offering a multitude of targets to the enemy’s countermeasures, avoiding clumping together so that a single defensive missile couldn’t take out more than one or two of them.
~ ~ ~
The team in the corvette’s OpCen froze. Time seemed to stand still for an endless moment as the torrent of missiles shown in the Plot display grew… and grew… and grew. Commodore Eschate realized with a sort of detached bemusement that he wasn’t breathing. His heart was pounding furiously within his chest. He tried to cudgel his brain into action, but all he could hear was a shrill voice yammering in an echoing silence inside his head. They’ve launched twice as many offensive missiles as we have defensive missiles – and from far outside our range! Where the hell did they get weapons like that?
The Plot operator reported, “S – Seventy-six missiles inbound, closing speed point-five-five Cee and climbing, time to arrival estimated one hundred fifty-two seconds!” He sounded incredulous, as if he couldn’t believe the evidence offered to his eyes by his own display.
Commander Stater was the first to snap out of his astonishment. “Attention! Weapons, use all forty main battery missiles, not half as previously planned. We’ll only have time for one salvo, twenty missiles to each enemy ship. Aim ten at their emissions signature, but they might be using drones, so aim ten more in a wide circle around the interception point where they would have been if they’d continued on the same course and speed as before they fired. Those ten are to use their active sensors to search for a target. As soon as the main battery missiles have gone, use our defensive missiles on the leading incoming weapons. If you have time, concentrate on those that maintain a constant bearing on us. They’re the biggest threat. EW, launch both drones, one to head for each group of incoming missiles. They’ll distract some of them. Helm, stand by for an emergency course change, climbing to starboard as soon as the main battery missiles and drones have launched, then – if we have time – a second change diving to port as soon as the defensive missiles have been fired.”
A rush of replies, interspersed with scattered, muffled curses and muttered oaths, greeted his commands. The Commodore found time to be proud of the OpCen crew as they swung into action. Even staring almost certain death in the face, they were responding like professionals.
Commander Stater spun his command chair to face him. His face was deathly white, beads of sweat clinging to his forehead, but his eyes were steady. “Sir, ther
e’s just time for you to abandon ship. If you take the lifeboat abaft the bridge and direct it straight downward the instant you launch, you’ll be clear of our present trajectory by the time the missiles arrive.”
Eschate shook his head. “I…” He had to clear his throat. “I can’t do that, Commander. We’re in this together, whatever happens.”
“Thank you, Sir,” Stater said simply. He held out his hand, and the Commodore leaned forward to squeeze it hard.
“Fight the enemy, Commander. Don’t worry about me. I’ve got to send an urgent message to the ships in orbit around the planet.”
“Go ahead, Sir.”
Eschate thrust himself to his feet and crossed to the Communications console, forcing himself to control legs that suddenly felt weak and shaky. “Give me a microphone and put me on Guard channel, so all the ships in orbit will hear me. We’re a long way from the planet, so use full power on your transmitter.”
“Y – Yessir!” The operator handed him a microphone, his hand visibly trembling, and pressed a couple of controls. “Live, Sir.”
He hesitated for a moment, knowing that the rebel ships would hear this transmission too and take full advantage of it. Even so, he could not honorably condemn more of his spacers to a pointless death. He took a deep breath.
“This is Commodore Eschate calling all ships. The enemy has launched twice as many missiles at us as we’re carrying. Their effective range appears to be at least double that of our weapons, if not more. Furthermore, they won’t have emptied their missile cells at us – they’re certain to be carrying more of them. Given their overwhelming advantage in performance and weapons, all ships in orbit are hereby ordered to surrender rather than fight. You haven’t got the speed to run away from them, and there’s no sense in throwing your lives away against an enemy whose paint you can’t even scratch with your short-range missiles. Obey their orders and preserve the lives of your crews. Convey my apologies to Brigadier-General Khan. Tell him from me that the orbitals are lost. The surface defense of Termaz is in his hands. Eschate out.”
