by Dietmar Wehr
The officer checked his data tablet. “I believe Gort Eagleton is piloting zero zero one, Commander.”
Harrow smiled. “I thought I recognized his voice. I want to speak to him.” When she had a com headset on, she said in a higher pitched voice, “Zero zero one, this is Flight Ops Director. Try not to damage my ship, Gort.”
“I’ll do my best, and that’s Commander Gort to you, Flight Ops Director.”
Harrow heard a few chuckles from the staff in the room, and she held her hand up in a ‘wait’ gesture. “No excuses, and it’s actually Senior Commander Flight Ops Director to you, Gort. I’m wearing two hats today,” she said in her normal voice.
Eagleton didn’t answer right away, and when he did, his voice managed to convey both surprise and annoyance at the same time. “That was sneaky, Commander. Now please excuse me while I concentrate on bringing this bird in without scratching any paint.”
Eagleton muted his mic as he focused on the approach to Kursk’s hangar bay. His stinger was much smaller than a corvette, so maneuvering around the baffles that hid the interior from outside eyes was easy. But then came the hard part. Unlike corvettes, which could gently maneuver sideways until the docking clamps were able to grab onto them, a stinger craft had to be carefully flown into a long, round module roughly the same size as a corvette. It was the module that the docking clamps grabbed on to and which the stinger would fly into. There was very little light in the hangar bay, to simulate actual field conditions, and Eagleton had to rely on his computer-enhanced low-light vision gear to find the module entrance, then slowly enter the tube, which didn’t look nearly as large from inside the stinger cockpit as it did when he saw it being constructed. The inside of the tube got gradually narrower, with magnetic poles to gently pull the stinger into the correct alignment. When he received the halt signal, he cut all forward movement, and his stinger came to a stop. Smaller clamps reached out and grabbed hold of the stinger, gently pulling it over to one side where a boarding tube attached itself over the stinger’s access hatch. With his stinger now docked and held fast, it was out of the way of the other five, which would perform the same maneuver in sequence. By the time he had unstrapped and was ready to exit his craft, zero zero two was entering the module.
When the access hatch opened, he was not surprised to see Cate standing there with her arms folded across her chest and a friendly smile on her face. As he stepped across the threshold, an electronic voice said, “Commander, Attack Group arriving.” He saw Cate look him up and down and realized that she had never seen him or anyone else wear the new flight suit that stinger pilots were required to wear.
“That doesn’t look very comfortable,” she said.
Eagleton shrugged. “You get used to it after the first couple of flight hours. It doesn’t offer the same level of protection as a spacesuit, but with the helmet on, it’s airtight and has enough oxygen and power that I could abandon the craft in open space if I had to and if there were another ship nearby. Quite frankly I can’t wait to get out of this thing.”
“I’ll bet. I’m sure you want to supervise the docking of the rest of your group before that. When you’ve had a chance to get changed and settled, stop by my quarters. There are some things I’d like to chat about with you, okay?”
Eagleton nodded. “Looking forward to it, Commander.”
Harrow smiled. Gort was always careful to address her by her rank when she was onboard her ship so as not to undermine her authority over her crew. Eagleton watched her walk down the corridor for a second and then headed for Flight Ops. It was almost half an hour later when he finally made it to Cate’s quarters wearing the much more comfortable standard uniform. He announced himself and heard her tell the computer to let him in. Cate was sitting at her desk. She motioned for him to sit opposite her.
“I wanted to talk with you about what I’ve been hearing through the grapevine and what you might have heard,” she said. “When I spoke with the CEO five days ago, she said that I would be named the Acting Fleet Commander of Third Fleet in a couple of days. That announcement hasn’t happened yet. I wonder if the delay has something to do with the recommendations that you and I put together. The rumors I’m hearing are that we will stop transmitting FTL messages directly to other Alliance races, and we’ll only send transmissions to the MCS. Recon ships returning from their surveillance patrols are being re-tasked as couriers for incoming messages from the MCS. So far, so good. No word yet on how the rest of the Alliance is reacting to that shift in communication policy. It’s our recommended shift in strategic thinking that is causing a lot of controversy. Have you heard anything?”
Eagleton nodded. “Actually I have. I overheard two of Mirakova’s staffers talking in the Officers’ Dining Room. They should really have been more circumspect in where they said what they said, but apparently Mirakova got into a shouting match with her boss, and she threatened to resign if our civilian masters rejected Operation Watchtower. They didn’t say what happened after that or when this ultimatum took place, but if the politicos are taking their time making up their minds, that might explain why Mirakova is holding off on giving you Third Fleet.”
“My God, Gort, if they reject Watchtower and Mirakova follows through on her threat, that’s going to be a real blow to the EAF. We need someone with her vision, street smarts and force of will to keep the politicians from screwing things up too badly.”
Eagleton shrugged. “I agree completely, Cate, but you have to admit, Watchtower is a hell of a roll of the dice. If the Tyrell don’t fall for it or our side fucks up, the whole Alliance will be in deep shit. We could lose the war.”
“In my opinion, we’re already losing the war. LeClair’s carelessness derailed the carefully crafted strategic plan that Mirakova’s planning staff came up with. Instead of six operational carriers, we now only have two. We’re back almost to square one. Watchtower will shift the strategic balance and initiative if we can pull it off successfully, and it doesn’t require the active co-operation of any of the other Alliance races.”
Eagleton smiled mischievously. “Active being the operative word there. If, no, when they find out what we will have done by that point, they’re not going to be very happy with us again.”
Harrow shrugged. “Can’t be helped. If we pull this off, we’ll have our boot on the Tyrell’s throat, and that will count for a lot. If it fails, the negative feelings from the rest of the Alliance will be the least of our problems. How good are your stinger pilots, Gort. Everything depends on them, and I guess on you.”
“They’ll be ready, Cate. As soon as the next group of six comes on board, I’ll set up simulated attack runs on the Sheepul-donated super-ship that’s orbiting Neptune. At least we know that the KE missile works as we expected. It’d be nice if my boys and girls could conduct live fire exercises. Computer simulations can only accomplish so much.”
“I agree that it would nice if we expected to have enough to spare for live fire shots, but you know as well as I do that if Watchtower takes place when we expect, we’ll barely have enough.” She paused before saying. “I think we’ve done all we can for now. You up for a game of chess?”
Tyrell Carrier Natron / Tyrell Home System:
Torq let the data tablet drop to his desk with a grunt of frustration. Another reconnaissance report had come in with the same negative results. He glanced at the tablet to remind himself of the name of the race this report concerned. They called themselves humans. They’d been given the Seed Drone just over three grand cycles ago. The Ship-of-Battle he’d sent there to listen for any incoming FTL transmissions reported no such transmissions. Apparently these humans hadn’t figured out how to communicate that way yet. With still seven grand cycles left to go before their scheduled War Date, it was clear to him that humans could not be the enemy that attacked the Home System and fell into the ambush at the Lorentz system. Eleven of the current brood of 21 target races had been checked for FTL transmissions. That still left ten more to check. One o
f those ten had to be the enemy that he was seeking. With a second carrier almost complete, construction started on three more and another five slated to be built as soon as shipyard space was available, Torq was confident that a Tyrell carrier fleet could annihilate any enemy force. And now that High Command had seen the light and was ready to follow his recommendations, this war would soon be entering a much different phase. Even his warrior pilots now understood that they were the first of a new breed of warrior who put their race above their own selfish desires for Battle Lust and glory. Torq checked the schedule for deployment of the Ships-of-Battle to the remaining ten target races. The next one was scheduled to arrive at the system containing the race that called themselves Metrones. That meant he should be receiving their report in about three sun cycles. He hated having to wait that long, and there was only so much time that he could while away with his recently enlarged harem, although the latest female was a feisty one. He hadn’t gotten bored with her yet. He wondered if she had the stamina to last for a three sun cycle session. Why not find out, he asked himself with a grin.
Torq woke to the sound of the communications device and checked the time. It was still the middle of the night. What could be so urgent that someone had decided to wake him? The only possibility he could think of that would justify disturbing him was that the home system was under attack again.
“I’m awake! Speak!”
“FTL transmissions have been detected in the Metrone home system, Fleet Master. You did instruct your staff to call you if a positive report—“
Torq cut him off. “Yes, yes. Have the report sent to my quarters immediately. Is there anything else I should know about now?”
“Nothing else, Fleet Master.”
“Fine. Carry on.” Torq cut the connection before the officer could reply. He immediately disentangled himself from the limbs of the female, the feisty one, who was still asleep, and got up. He didn’t bother putting on his robe. The report would not be long, and the cool air felt refreshing on his naked body. The latest report was ready to display by the time he strode over to his desk. As he read it, he felt his heart rate increase. Could this really be what he’d been looking for? The Ship-of-Battle sent to monitor FTL transmissions aimed at the Metrone system had detected not one, not two, but three brief messages within a very short span of time, all in the Metrone language, essentially saying the same thing. Three other races were agreeing to combine their carrier fleets with the Metrone fleet and engage in a massive strike on the Tyrell home system, including the Home World itself! Torq was not familiar with the time terminology used by the Metrone, but he had the impression that these fleets would be gathering soon. He would have his staff translate the time intervals into useful Tyrell equivalents. He looked back at his bed and its occupant. He was too wide awake now to go back to sleep, and this news had re-energized his sexual energies. One more quick tryst with the feisty one, and he would then have a relaxing bath, get dressed and head to his office. He laughed as he strode over to the bed. She was quite accomplished in the sexual arts, and even though she insisted on being on top, a practice that was contrary to Tyrell masculine pride, he found that he actually liked it.
The sun had risen over the horizon by the time he and his weary staff had figured out what to do with the intercepted messages. The time element was longer than he at first had thought, and that would enable High Command to redirect 60 Ships-of-Battle, plus his carrier Natron, plus the second carrier if it could be completed quickly enough. He was determined to see that it was.
Tyrell carrier Natron / Metrone star system:
Torq strode to the very large tactical display and gazed with pride at the 62 red icons that represented his Fleet of Fleets. 60 Ships-of-Battle were formed in a giant wing composed of two sets of five fleets. There were six ships in each fleet, and each set of five formed a V-shaped chevron. His two carriers were positioned so that each one was at the tip of one of the chevrons. The precise formation made an inspiring sight as they floated in the blackness at the far edge of the Metrone star system. He knew that the astrogators would argue that they were actually beyond the edge of the system since the orbit of its outer-most planet was literally halfway between the Tyrell Fleet and the Metrone sun.
Torq was confident that there would be no surprise attack while he conducted the final briefing. That briefing was now concluded, and all Ship Masters were on their way back to their ships. He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes to visualize the battle plan one more time. Each chevron of 30 Ships-of-Battle would merge from hyper-space at exactly the same time but on opposite sides of the Metrone home world at the extreme range of the improved mass detection system. His two carriers, Natron and Sortron, would emerge ten times further away from the alien planet and deploy enough sensor drones to carefully scan the surrounding space. If the Metrones and their allies were caught off-guard, then he would expect the alien carriers to be in detection range of his two Fleet chevrons, and those carriers would immediately undergo massive bombardment by KE projectiles. If, on the other hand, no alien carriers were detected, that would strongly suggest they knew their transmissions were being intercepted, and they would be expecting the attack. Under those circumstances, he would order his 60 ships to converge on the planet and begin a carefully orchestrated but limited bombardment of the surface that was intended to panic the Metrones into ordering their carriers into action. When the smaller alien attack ships jumped closer to engage the Ships-of-Battle, his carriers would try to determine where in the system the alien carriers were, based on which side of the battle they emerged from hyper-space. Then as the battle raged around the planet, his carriers would deploy their small craft to seek out and destroy the alien carriers. The simulations had proven that the overall concept was sound so long as the Ship Masters and Fleet Masters kept their collective heads and did not allow themselves to be pulled down into Battle Lust. He hoped that he had successfully demonstrated to them that this battle would almost certainly last much longer than the typical clash of steel that Tyrell fleets had enjoyed so often. Battle Lust, while supremely pleasant at its peak, tended to degrade good judgement, and the after-effects could be downright debilitating. His Ship Masters knew that, and his pilots also knew it. This would be the first large scale attempt to conduct a battle while suppressing the siren lure of those hormones, and he was realistic enough to understand that there were bound to be a few officers who would fail to stay in control.
“All Ship Masters are now back on board their ships and are awaiting the order to attack, Fleet of Fleets Master,” said the communications technician. Torq turned to look at him and pointed to his mouth. The technician nodded his understanding and after activating his console he looked back at Torq and nodded.
With a channel now open to the entire fleet, Torq took another deep breath to calm his mind and body and said, “This is the Fleet of Fleets Master speaking. The aliens who call themselves Metrones are clearly the masters of an alliance that has had the audacity to attack our home system twice and is now planning to attack our families.” Torq kept his voice calm in order not to trigger anyone’s Battle Lust. “They are clearly without honor, but they are clever and resourceful. They have given us a priceless gift, a war that lasts longer than a few cyclets and a challenge that will test the steel of both our ships and our souls. Because of that gift, I have decided that the Metrones and their allies will be deemed to be Worthy Foes and will be treated as such after our victory. But now it is time for them to taste defeat. You will receive the attack signal in a few cyclets. Remain as cold as the steel of our weapons, and we will all return home in triumph.” He made a slashing motion across his throat and the technician closed down the channel.
“Send the attack signal in ten cyclets,” ordered Torq to his Fleet Weapons Master. As the officer acknowledged the order, Torq resumed his seat at his Command Station and took note of the fact that his body was not trying to arouse his Battle Lust at all. He wondered if the Metrone warriors felt th
is way too. He tooked at the countdown time just in time to see it reach zero.
The tactical display immediately shifted to show a much larger area of space that included the Metrone home world. Torq waited for detection data from his fleets to be received and displayed. Just as he was beginning to suspect that there were no enemy ships near their world, the display chimed to denote new data, and three green icons appeared in a low orbit position. He shook his head in disbelief. Was that all the ships they had? Had his staff miscalculated the timing of when the other races would send their fleets? Surely there had to be more than just three ships?
“Fleet of Fleets Sub-Master reports that the three enemy ships are being fired upon. Shall I order our craft to stand down, Fleet of Fleets Master?” asked the FWM.
Torq found it difficult to decide what to do. If the three ships now being pounded into shattered wrecks were all the Metrones could offer, then launching his 120 attack craft would be pointless, and yet holding them back did not feel right. Every instinct he had was telling him to launch his craft. He made up his mind.
“The attack craft will not stand down, but they are to remain in their launch tubes for the time being.”
The FWM stared at him in obvious disbelief for a couple of cyclets before passing on the order. The widespread fear of small spaces was the one surprise discovered when the first carrier was made operational. Launch tubes were narrow and dark, and the pilots hated being in them any longer than absolutely necessary.
