by Grant, Peter
Light speed delay made it seem like an interminably long pause until the Communications operator announced an incoming signal. The Commodore called, “Put it over the broadcast, so we can all hear it.”
“Aye aye, Sir.” The operator pressed a control on his console. A disembodied, remote voice crackled over the hundreds of millions of kilometers separating it from SysCon.
“Mining Control to SysCon. Target Bravo destroyed the patrol craft maneuvering to intercept her, but she released a lifeboat just before she was hit by a missile. We think at least some of the crew escaped. The second patrol craft is en route to pick up survivors. Bravo was then intercepted by the four PSDF assault shuttles assigned to us. They lost one shuttle destroyed and one severely damaged, but they hit Bravo with both missiles and plasma cannon. Bravo’s systems shut down immediately after their attack, but the extent of her damage is unknown. She’s headed away from us.” The voice provided trajectory co-ordinates. “Please arrange to have someone intercept her if possible. The two surviving shuttles are rescuing those aboard the damaged shuttle, and will then return here to rearm. Please tell us what’s happened elsewhere. Also, please advise Senior Lieutenant Maxwell that his wife is uninjured. Over.”
The rush of exhilaration was so strong that it almost overwhelmed Steve. Abha’s alive! She’s safe! He wiped his eyes surreptitiously to hide a tear of relief.
He felt a light squeeze on his arm, and looked up. Colonel Houmayoun was smiling at him. “I’m glad your wife is safe. I’ve no doubt she helped to land some telling blows on the enemy.”
“I hope so, Sir.”
The Communications operator broke in again. “Target Bravo’s signaling on the emergency frequency, Sir!” He didn’t wait for orders, but put it over the broadcast.
A voice crackled over the speakers, redolent with frustration and depression. “This is Jake calling Constandt. I’m sending this from a cutter’s radio, because we can’t use the ship’s comm gear. The bastards were waiting for us. They knocked out our reactor and blew a hole in our capacitor ring. We’re coasting on a ballistic trajectory with no power, no drive, no working weapons and no way to maneuver. We’ve lost all our internal systems. At least we got a piece of them too. We killed some sort of patrol boat and a couple of other small craft. No idea what they were.
“We’ve had it. You and I both know what’ll happen to us if we surrender, particularly after we killed some of their people. Some of the guys want to take their chances in court, but they’re just cowards. To hell with them! I’m not going to let the hangman get me. I’ve locked myself in this cutter so they can’t stop me, and I’ve armed the special warhead – the one you rigged for use as a demolition charge if we ever needed it. I’m going to trigger it now. It’s a quicker, easier death than hanging. Make them pay for us, you hear me?”
The transmission stopped. There was a brief pause, then a sudden burst of static obscured Bravo’s indicated position in the Plot. The operator studied his console for a moment, then called, “Nuclear explosion at Bravo’s position.” A starburst icon appeared in the display to denote it.
There was a long silence. Everyone in SysCon gazed at the Plot display as if hypnotized. At last the Defense Minister said, softly, “If some of them had talked, and given us enough information, they might have avoided the death penalty. Whoever Jake was, he stopped them having that chance.”
“I hope they’re all getting a warm welcome from Johann de Bouff in hell, Sir,” Steve said viciously. He could feel no pity for any of the men who’d just tried, and failed, to kill his wife.
Commodore O’Fallon nodded energetically. “Let’s hope we can send Constandt to join them there before long!”
The Plot operator called, “Mount Garnley’s fired, Sir!” He adjusted the display, which expanded to show the entire star system, then contracted around the three asteroids launched by Target Alpha, the two drones keeping station above and on either side of their formation, and the two patrol craft half a million kilometers away from them. Missile traces appeared near the ships, moving towards the asteroids.
The Communications console announced, “Message from Mount Garnley, Sir.” Again the operator put it over the broadcast without waiting for further instructions. Steve recognized Fran’s voice, even flattened and attenuated by distance.
“Mount Garnley to SysCon. I’ve fired three groups of three missiles each at the three asteroids. They’re programmed to explode simultaneously one thousand eight hundred meters above each asteroid, which should provide sufficient energy to deflect them downward, below Rolla’s trajectory, without causing them to break apart. I’ll stand by to fire more missiles if necessary.
“Once the asteroids are deflected clear of Rolla, I respectfully submit we should track them to make sure they don’t settle into orbit around our star and come back at us one day. We can steer them into our star with more nearby explosions if you see fit, or break them up with direct hits. Please advise. Until I receive further orders, I’ll keep station on the asteroids with my two patrol craft. Over.”
Commodore O’Fallon said, “Commander, signal her to keep station on the asteroids until further notice. We’ll consider what to do about them after we’ve dealt with Target Alpha.”
“Aye aye, Sir.”
They watched in the Plot as the missiles approached Targets Gamma, Delta and Epsilon. Steve noted that they were moving much more slowly than usual, clearly striving for the maximum possible accuracy rather than speed of interception. As they moved in, the two drones keeping station on the asteroids rose higher above them and moved out to either side of their formation, obviously having been ordered by their parent ships to get out of the way of the holocaust that was soon to erupt. Their radar transmissions continued, illuminating their targets for the missiles.
The asteroids’ icons were suddenly obscured by the starburst traces of nuclear explosions. The plot display fuzzed for a moment, then cleared. The other traffic nearby was displayed as usual, but the asteroids were replaced by a label reading ‘Recalculating’. A pause, then their icons reappeared. Their original trajectory line remained in the Plot, but was joined by a second, dotted line predicting their new course. Over the course of a few minutes, as the electromagnetic interference caused by the explosions cleared, the drones were able to relay fresh observations of the targets’ changed direction. The dotted line firmed, becoming dashes rather than dots, then solidifying into a single line. Above it, the original trajectory faded into a dotted line.
“That’ll do it!” Commander Foster exclaimed with great satisfaction. The new course line extended well below Rolla, then out towards the system boundary. “They’ll be affected by our star’s gravitic pull, of course, so we’ll have to calculate its effect on their future trajectory. See to that, please, Plot.”
“Aye aye, Sir.”
Commodore O’Fallon sighed as he sat down. “So we’ve dealt with Target Alpha, at least initially; and Bravo’s gone; and the asteroids are no longer a threat. It’s cost us a shuttle and a small patrol craft, and some casualties as well – God rest their souls, and God bless them all for helping to keep us safe. Now we have to wait and see whether the destroyer can intercept Alpha before she gets to the system boundary. It’s going to be a long afternoon.”
Glancing at the SysCon time display, Steve was surprised to see it was already past noon. It seemed only a few minutes ago that he’d sat down with his class, and uploaded the signatures of Constandt de Bouff’s ships.
“We may not need to wait for the destroyer, Sir,” Colonel Houmayoun pointed out. “Lieutenant-Commander Le Roux has been braking hard and turning to pursue Alpha. He’ll soon be hot on her tail again.”
O’Fallon smiled nastily. “I do believe you’re right, Colonel. He’s still got twenty defensive missiles on each ship, which can be used offensively as well if necessary, plus three laser cannon apiece. We’ll see what he does. Meanwhile, all primary console operators – and you, Commander Foster, and you, Lie
utenant Maxwell – go and get something to eat. I’ll monitor things here. When you’ve eaten, come back here and relieve the secondary operators so they can do the same. Nothing’s likely to happen for the next hour, so we may as well take advantage of this break in the action.”
~ ~ ~
The platoon was met by cheering members of the accommodation ship’s crew as they disembarked from their assault shuttles. Some asteroid miners were also present, living up to their reputation for a casual disregard of spacefaring and project regulations by offering unlabeled bottles containing a clear fluid. The coughs, splutters and gasps of those who accepted their offer suggested that it wasn’t water.
Lieutenant Labuschagne and his platoon sergeant waded into the throng with grim determination, slapping the bottles away from their troops’ hands. “Hold it!” the NCO bellowed, causing all heads to swivel in his direction, indignation on the faces of the miners. “For all we know, there may be more of those bastards out there, and we may have to fight them again. Stay sober, dammit!” The abashed faces of some of his platoon showed they hadn’t thought about that. Abha couldn’t help but approve.
“Have you heard any more about what’s happening with the other pirate ship?” she asked one of the ship’s officers.
“Yes. Seems a couple of patrol craft clobbered her. She’s damaged and running hard for the system boundary. She’d launched some asteroids towards the planet, but the last we heard, they were planning to deflect them using nuclear warheads. They didn’t seem too worried by them.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. The news meant that Steve was probably as safe as she was.
Space-suited techs were waiting with sets of tri-barrels for the plasma cannon. They passed them through the airlock into the vacuum of the docking bay, where they set about replacing the burned-out barrels as fast as they could. Others shepherded powered carts carrying missile containers from a cargo hold to the docking bay vestibule, where the missiles were carefully prepared for mounting beneath the shuttles’ stub wings.
While the shuttles were rearmed, Dan and Abha took the troops to the mess hall for a quick meal. They were still eating when the accommodation ship’s commanding officer entered. He was an older merchant service officer, gray-bearded, somewhat rotund, with a twinkle in his eye. He tapped on a table for attention, and they all looked at him.
“I just wanted to say, thank you all very much for saving our asses this afternoon. If those bastards had got within range I daresay none of us would be here right now. We’re taking up a collection among the crew and asteroid miners aboard this ship, and they’re doing the same aboard the refinery ship, I’m told. When your tour of duty here is over, we’ll give you the proceeds to have one hell of a party back on Rolla. Those of us who are planetside at the time might just join you for the fun and games.” There were smiles and a few cheers from the soldiers.
“The second local patrol boat’s just radioed good news. They located the lifeboat from their sister ship. Everyone aboard managed to escape. Their skipper ordered most of them into the lifeboat before he began radar transmissions, keeping only himself and his engineer outside it to manage the ship. As soon as he activated the radar, they joined the rest in the lifeboat; and as soon as they heard the alarm from the bridge warning of a missile launch, he sealed the hatch and ejected the lifeboat. That was some pretty smart work right there.”
Dan exhaled in relief. “Phew! I’m glad to hear they’re all safe. That was very good work by their captain. If he hadn’t forced Target Bravo to switch on her radar and gravitic drive, we’d never have been able to track her so precisely or target her so accurately. I’m glad he made it.” His soldiers nodded and smiled their agreement. Some applauded the good news.
Abha nodded, also feeling a rush of relief. “We’ll have to recommend him for recognition. He’s a civilian, of course, but he’s still eligible for the Lancastrian Cross series of awards.” She couldn’t help smiling as she recalled the Cross in Silver that Steve had earned as a merchant spacer after a fight with pirates as a young man. Prior to receiving the Lancastrian Star in Silver a few months ago, it had headed his rows of medal ribbons.
“Have you heard any more from SysCon?” she asked the captain.
“They’re not giving us very frequent updates. They seem a tad busy right now.” Everyone laughed. “From what we can see in our Plot display, the two patrol craft that damaged the other pirate ship have turned around and are hot on her tail. A destroyer’s moving to intercept her as well, but she probably won’t get into range in time to stop the pirates reaching the system boundary. It’ll be up to the patrol craft to stop them. Two other patrol craft launched missiles at the three asteroids the pirates aimed at the planet, and knocked them off course. They’re standing by them waiting for further orders. So far, so good, it seems.” He grinned, half-waved at the soldiers, and hurried out.
Dan nodded slowly. “Good news all round, then.” He looked at Abha. “I reckon we owe you and the rest of the Fleet training mission a hell of a lot. If you hadn’t trained us so well and arranged this shuttle upgrade, we wouldn’t have been able to stop them out here; and I reckon your husband’s hard work training our patrol craft crews had a lot to do with their success.”
“All part of the service,” she said lightly. “Seriously, our efforts would have been useless if you hadn’t all buckled down and worked so hard. It makes our job much easier when we’re working with people who are really motivated. You can all be proud of yourselves. In fact, one of the most important aspects of today’s fight is that local personnel did all the work. You set up our fire plan – I was just along for the ride. Rolla’s assault shuttles and troops saw off Target Bravo, and Rolla’s patrol craft crewed by her own spacers took care of Target Alpha. Your armed forces came of age today, protecting your own planet. The problems you had in the past are pretty much over and done.”
~ ~ ~
The tension in SysCon ratcheted upward once more as Lieutenant-Commander Le Roux’s patrol craft closed the distance between themselves and Target Alpha.
“When will he fire?” Holloway demanded, pacing to and fro in agitation.
“His defensive missiles are much shorter-ranged than his main battery missiles, Sir,” Commodore O’Fallon reminded him. “They’ve got a powered range of only two million kilometers. He’ll want to be close enough to let them accelerate all the way into the target, or at least have enough reactor fuel left to shut down, coast to interception range on a ballistic trajectory, then restart their drives for final maneuvers. Trouble is, if he’s too far away when he fires, Alpha will be able to take evasive maneuvers, and defensive missiles don’t have enough fuel to correct their course as easily as main battery weapons.”
“What about his laser cannon?”
“He’ll probably try to get within half a million clicks before using them, Sir.”
“Won’t Alpha’s cannon endanger him at that range?”
“Yes, Sir, if she’s got a fire control system that can work that far out; but I’ll be surprised if she does. Besides, she’s about to have to deal with forty nuclear-tipped missiles. I suspect she’ll have so many targets closing in that the patrol craft will be the least of her worries!”
“I’m delighted to hear it.” There was unmistakable vindictiveness in the Defense Minister’s tone.
The Prime Minister re-entered SysCon with Colonel Houmayoun, and crossed to the Watch Commander’s console. “I’ve just made a statement to the news media for immediate broadcast,” he informed them. “I told them about what’s happened so far, and that the planet’s safe from attack. I’ve announced that our forces have suffered some damage and casualties, but I haven’t been specific, to give us time to inform the families first. Journalists are agitating to be given access to SysCon to watch the final developments. Commodore, do you have any objections?”
“I certainly do, Sir! This is a live operation, not an exercise. I don’t want anything distracting my people from do
ing their jobs. A question or comment at the wrong time might do just that.”
“But if we let in a few representatives of the media, on the strict condition that they remain silent until given permission to ask questions?”
“They won’t do that, Sir. They’re journalists. Silence isn’t in their nature.” A laugh ran around those nearby.
Colonel Houmayoun suggested, “What if we had them sit with the trainees over at the spare consoles?” He gestured to where Steve’s class had spent the entire day glued to their screens, following the action. “They could answer some of the journalists’ questions if they spoke quietly.”
The Commodore wavered. “Prime Minister, it’s against my professional judgment to let them in at all; but if this is politically important, that’s for you to say, of course. However, they’ve got to keep quiet! If they distract my operators for even a moment, I want to be able to kick them out at once.”
“I’ll make sure they understand that. Thank you, Commodore.”
He turned to an aide and whispered in her ear. She nodded, and hurried out. Within moments, five journalists followed her into SysCon. She led them to the trainees’ consoles, where they hurriedly pulled out spare seats and sat down at different terminals. A low murmur of conversation arose from them. Commodore O’Fallon frowned, but restrained himself.
The Plot operator announced suddenly, “Patrol Division One has fired, Sir!” The tracks of ten missiles – five from each patrol craft – blinked to life in the display, accelerating rapidly towards Target Alpha, still three million kilometers ahead.
