by PP Corcoran
At the far end of the flight deck he saw the wavering energy field that kept the vacuum of space from engulfing the entire deck but allowed transit from the outside such as recovering fighters or shuttles. A Benii invention. Unfortunately neither the Benii nor the scientists of Zarminda had yet perfected the sort of energy shielding the Saiph were able to employ, therefore, during combat operations a pair of massive battle armored doors sealed the flight deck.
John raised his head from the display, a drop in the steady hum of words between various stations alerted him to the entrance of Major Olaz, the Empire of Alona’s military exchange observer or spy, and, as always two steps behind, the imposing figure of marine brevet Major Vanderhoek.
In different circumstances John would have found amusement in the exchange program which paired a six foot four, 240 pound marine with a five foot two ninety eight pound Alonan.
The Alonan and marine had been a constant presence on the flag bridge since their arrival two months ago. John had always wondered how the marine knew exactly when, and where, the Alonan intelligence operative would want to go next. Later! Thought John, I have a battle to win.
Another set of commands and the space around the colony and Planet III was covered in overlapping spheres… just. John sent the data from his terminal to Tactical.
“Tactical. Review the data I’ve just sent you. I want a cruiser equipped with a dampening field generator assigned to each of those spheres. We must hold the Black Ships in the system until we can close and engage. Assign a single Bismarck and an Ageis to each cruiser. If that generator was the only thing preventing me from escaping the system I would take it out.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
“Navigation, plot a course for the remainder of the group. I want us to come out half way between the colony and Planet III. CAG, what’s the flight time of your birds from there to the Black Ships last known location?”
“Fifty Six minutes,” Taw mentally calculated, “on super cruise, leaving them forty minutes of combat operations over the target with sufficient fuel to return safely without tanker support.”
On John’s display the tactical team’s revised ops plan popped up. Each of the disruption sphere’s location and separation had been refined and ships assigned to each as he instructed. A flashing diamond indicated the task groups expected arrival coordinates.
John’s brain went into over drive as he refined his tactical options, spitting data packets to the tactical section as he ran through the likely moves of his enemy and how he would counter them. The planning teams of CSG Itus had gamed out hundreds of scenarios over the last six months and John adapted these, on the fly, to best fit what awaited him in Guzman.
The precious minutes flew by. Ground crew rushed to get the carrier’s fighters ready to launch. After an age, the orotund voice of Taw cut across the flag bridge. “Strike package complete, sir. Birds are in the tubes and ready to launch.”
John’s head came up, his eyes flicked to the chronometer before settling on the Benii standing proudly by her operations team. “A full strike package ready with four minutes to spare, CAG. Very impressive.” John took one more look around the flag bridge before flexing his fingers on his armrests. Time to see if the faith Admiral Jing had in the carrier strike group concept would bear fruit.
“Navigation, Itus will fold on your mark.”
“Aye-aye, sir. Fold in five…four…three…two…one…Fold!”
#
GUZMAN SYSTEM - 47.5 LIGHT YEARS FROM EARTH
In one moment the space between the Guzman colony and Planet III was empty, in the next, space was filled with millions of tonnes of battle armored warships. As the ships of CSG Itus positioned themselves and their sensors swept the system, Itus was pinged by a communications whisker laser.
“Admiral, we’re receiving a data stream from the Rosa Island… it’s a relay feed from a surveillance drone they have skulking in the dark side of Planet III… There’s four cruiser size vessels in low orbit, they’re Black Ships!”
The blood red icons of the four Black Ships sprang into life in John’s tactical display. “How old is the data, Tactical?”
The commander checked his display and confirmed, “Four point three minutes, sir.”
Ok we can do this, thought John.
“Communications. Signal the dampening field ships to begin transmitting immediately. I don’t want those ships able to fold out of here. Tactical. We’ll go with Savannah Two.”
A press of a stud on his armrest and the head and shoulders of Vice Admiral Gregory Rowe, commander of the strike group’s battleships entered the holo cube in front of John. “Greg I’m going with Savannah Two. Assume command of the ships approaching from system north, I’m taking those from system south. My fighters are launching now…”
John raised his eyes to Captain Taw and gave her a single curt nod, the Benii spun and began issuing orders. Seventy-two Mosquito space fighters spat into space, formed up and accelerated toward the unseen enemy ships.
“We need to be smart, Greg. They might only be cruisers but they have those damned energy shields, but, if we pummel them hard enough we know they fail. With the dampening fields flooding the system we’ve effectively taken out their long range fold missiles…” John scowled. “However, it’s a double edged sword and we must close with them to bring our conventional missiles and energy weapons into play.”
Greg Rowe was no fool, he knew a bloody battle was imminent. “Don’t worry, Admiral. They’re messing with the TDF and it’s high time we taught them the error of their ways.”
Despite himself John smiled at his subordinate’s remark. “I like your thinking, Greg. Good luck and good hunting.” Terminating the link John sat back in his chair as the Itus surged forward at full power following in the wake of her fighters.
#
Commander Bo checked her instruments, as her Mosquito and the other eleven fighters that made up VFA-101, ‘The Mailed Fists’, skimmed at barely a few hundred meters above the cloudy, toxic atmosphere of Planet III. They were closing fast on the last reported location of the Black Ships.
“How are we doing back there, Charlie?”
“Everything is looking good, Commander. The clutter from the atmosphere should mask us until we get within missile range. Assuming the ships are still where we think they are.”
Bo glanced down at her display which showed virtually real time coverage from the surveillance drone, now that they were close to their target. Yeah, they’re still hovering less than five minutes from us, Bo thought.
Charlie was back on the intercom. “Radar horizon breach in thirty seconds… ECM coming online…weapons systems all in the green.”
Bo activated the link to the other Mosquitos under her command. “Mailed Fists. Mailed Fists lead. Weapons hot! Remember we need to get in real close to do the damage. Stay in your pairs and watch your backs. Follow me in!” Bo forced her throttles to the fire walls and the Mailed Fists lunged forward, closely followed by every Mosquito of CSG Itus.
#
John Radford was on the edge of his seat as the Itus cleared Planet III and he got his first good look at his quarry. His tactical holo display was filled with flashes of energy weapons as the enemy cruisers flayed at the swarming Mosquitos.
Missiles designed to seek and destroy the large ship killers, fired by capital ships, filled the space around the cruisers but the agile Mosquitos darted between them and released their own smaller, less powerful missiles before strafing the enemy with their rapid fire plasma cannon and needle lasers.
Green energy shields flashed in near constant brilliance as time and again the Mosquitos’ weapons hit home. Unfortunately, it was plainly obvious that the small fighter’s weapons were not powerful enough to penetrate the enemy’s shields. Well, thought John, let’s see how they do against the big boys.
“Tactical. Fire Plan Gamma. Concentrate fire on two enemy cruisers only, Admiral Rowe will get the other two.
CAG, recall a
nd rearm your fighters. The Black Ships know we have capital ships in the system, I fully expect them to make a break for it and clear the disruption generator bubble. Your fighters must be available to chase them down if we can inflict significant damage on their shields.”
The battleships and cruisers of CSG Itus launched their first wave of conventionally powered missiles toward the static Black Ships. The Terran missiles closed on the enemy cruisers and flashes of coherent light came from the targeted ships as they flushed their own anti-missile missiles in reply, an attempt to beat back the avalanche of nuclear tipped warheads bearing down on them.
Missiles crossed and inter penetrated as space was filled with explosions large enough to wipe any earthly city from existence, but, as the plasma cleared, the four Black Ships remained unscathed.
Then, three of the cruisers gathered momentum and slowly moved off, leaving their sole squadron mate in orbit. John slapped his hand hard on his armrest, causing a few furtive looks from his bridge officers before they quickly returned to their duties.
A feral grin spread across the admiral. One down, three to go, thought John. “CAG, how long before you’re ready to launch a second strike?”
“Twenty minutes, Admiral.” Replied Taw as she continued to coordinate the mosquito recovery operation.
John stared at his tactical display. The remaining three Black Ships were accelerating for all they were worth, pulling clear of the battleships’ and cruisers’ weapons range.
He had gambled on the enemy being primarily equipped with long-range fold powered anti-ship missiles, leaving the smaller short range anti-missile missiles to fend off his own heavy missiles. Frustratingly, however, his gamble hadn’t quite paid off, he needed to buy another twenty minutes so his fighters could re-engage.
“Tactical. Detail two cruisers to continue the bombardment of the stranded enemy ship, then send our destroyers in pursuit of the other three. Primary target is the enemy ship’s engines. We need to slow them down.”
For a moment the commander at Tactical looked as though he was going to question his orders. The destroyers certainly had the legs to catch the fleeing cruisers, but there was only a half dozen of them against the three cruisers who’s weaponry outmatched them and still had their energy shields intact. The commander took one look at the determined face of his admiral and changed his mind.
The six destroyers of CSG Itus broke from their places alongside the hulking battleships, like the lithe greyhounds they were, eating up the distance between them and the fleeing Black Ships. Within minutes they had gained enough ground that they entered the effective range of their missiles but they held fire and closed further. In space battle terms they were in knife fighting reach.
As one, they flushed their missiles all aimed at a single fleeing cruiser while their energy fire battered its shielding. With a blinding flash the energy shielding failed and a twenty megaton missile detonated scant meters from the cruiser’s main drive. The resulting explosion ripped the entire stern from the Black Ship, the bow tumbled, bleeding atmosphere and flames.
Then the tactical officer’s fears came true.
The last two Black Ships suddenly slowed their headlong escape and maneuvered broad side on to pursuing destroyers. Energy armament opened fire and the destroyers were wracked by millions of ergs of laser and grazer fire. It was a one-sided fight. As John and the bridge crew watched the Black Ships’ fire laid waste to the pitiful armor of the destroyers. John steeled himself to watch the sacrifice of the brave ships’ crews, promising he would forever remember their unquestioned faith and obedience they had shown him.
“Mosquitos are re engaging, Admiral!” Shouted the CAG.
“The enemy are in missile range again, sir. Admiral Rowe has opened fire.”
The enemy commander had made a mistake by turning to fight the destroyers and it was one John intended to make him pay for. “All ships are to engage as they bear. Let’s finish this!”
#
The fight was over and John sat silently in his command chair. The subdued voice of the flag bridge reflected his own anguish at the costly victory. Four Black Ship cruisers destroyed, but he had lost two battleships, five cruisers, six destroyers and thirty eight fighters. The numbers said it more eloquently than he ever could.
Unless the Commonwealth found an answer to the enemy’s energy shielding soon, the outlook was bleak for any Commonwealth ship that took on a Black Ship fleet.
The Black Ships and their Saiph masters had shown their superiority in weapons and ships. They had devastated an Alonan colony, vanquished the Turak at Selene, wiped Dagger Station and its Garundan defenders from space. Now they had humbled the new jewel in the TDF’s crown. CSG Itus. The Saiph had shown that they controlled the most powerful units in space and John had a bad feeling that they were only flexing their muscles.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Foram
ASTEROID F815B - FORAM SYSTEM - 36 LIGHT YEARS FROM ALONA
Calan breathed heavily inside his helmet, despite the increased oxygen flow, and a bead of sweat rolled into his left eye. He blinked repeatedly in an attempt to clear his vision.
Not for the first time, since he and his mining team landed on this metal rich asteroid, he cursed the maintenance crew who failed to spot the faulty power unit on the equipment hauler. Calan and his team had been forced to maneuver the last of the survey units into position by hand. The one hour job had soon became three.
Calan had briefly considered abandoning the survey and returning to the yard to swap out the equipment hauler, but the six hours wasted on this round trip journey would put him well behind schedule and if there was one thing his boss, Major Dola, did not appreciate was falling behind schedule. Major Dola waxed lyrical about the importance of the raw materials the asteroid mining teams provided to the Empire’s classified research and construction yards secreted here, in the Foram system.
Calan’s mind’s eye conjured an image of the pretentious Dola standing on the gantry of the boat bay. Like some feudal lord he looked down, figuratively and literally, on the men and women of the mining teams and bored them to death with his nasal speech, outlining the mining sections and therefore his own, importance. No raw materials, no scientific experiments and the shipyards could not breathe life into the draftsperson’s and scientists’ vision of ships. Without the ships the Empire could never achieve parlance with the Commonwealth. Calan really couldn’t suffer the speech again, so he and his team used good old fashioned brute force to shift the final pieces of survey equipment into position.
“Lieutenant Calan, sir.” Harad’s tone over comms indicated a problem. Calan sighed deeply. To expedite the survey equipment deployment Calan had allocated one miner per location to run the set up procedures, freeing the others to move the remaining equipment and although Harad was one of the most inexperienced miners in his team, Calan had been confident enough to leave Harad unsupervised. Seemingly now a poor decision.
“Go ahead, Harad.”
“I think we’ve a fault with number four. Whenever it comes out of set up mode it indicates a massive concentration of refined metals a little way below the surface.”
Calan forced the frustration from his voice. If number four really was faulty it meant unpacking the spare back on the shuttle, powering it up, running diagnostics, powering it down, hauling it to its designated location, setting it up, running another diagnostic in situ before, finally, dragging the faulty unit back to the shuttle. Would this day never end?
“Hang on, I’m on my way.” Calan set off with graceful bounces in the micro gravity of the asteroid, covering the distance quickly. Calan cleared the visible horizon and Harad came into view. He saw the young miner punching commands into the glowing green control panel, no doubt running yet another diagnostic on the errant machine. Well, at least he isn't standing around waiting for me to sort his problems!
Landing in a small puff of dust, Calan pointedly ignored Harad as he eyed the instrument display.
The diagnostic cycle completed and reported the equipment was functioning properly.
“You see, sir,” said Harad, “the computer says every thing’s working properly but it can’t be. Refined metals don't occur in nature.”
Calan silently agreed while punching commands into the obviously faulty equipment. Maybe by changing modes he could identify the fault. With a final tap Calan activated the ground penetrating radar mode. Complying with Calan’s instructions the survey equipment sent a millimeter length radar pulse in a short arc deep into the asteroid before displaying the results on a small screen.
“Odd...” Calan mumbled, while Harad tried to peer over his superior’s taller shoulder.
The radar showed a structure barely one meter under the surface. Calan adjusted the arc of the radar sweep to its maximum coverage before initiating another pulse. Moments later the return displayed on the small screen. Calan’s heart raced as his logic battled to make sense of the grainy image he saw - sleek lines interspersed with vertical and horizontal ones at regular intervals.
Calan stumbled back from the display, his eyes involuntarily scanned the surface of the asteroid as if his unaided eyes could see through the fine gray powder. His brain struggled to process what he knew to be true. A scant few meters below him was a spaceship.
#
Calan and his team stood silently alongside the fussing Major Dola, while Calan tried to tune out the major’s staccato orders, “... move that equipment... one meter to the left it looks untidy there! ... The general’s coming... clean up... I don’t care where… move it!”
It had little effect on the miners who had descended en mass to the location of Calan’s discovery.
At first Major Dola was incredulous and dismissive. Calan’s report was, “... no more than a junior officer blowing a malfunctioning equipment’s reading into something it isn’t!”
Until Calan’s team carefully excavated the area directly above where the alleged false image was taken. They had dug only a single meter before their tools struck the outer skin. Carefully, they exhumed it and revealed a smooth, silver surface which sparkled brightly in the blue of the portable work lights Callan had ordered to the site.
