Crimson Worlds Collection II

by Jay Allan

  Duke’s job was to distract the enemy, not engage in a fight to the death. His ships were moving in at 0.05c and accelerating. They would come in and execute a single attack run and quickly zip past the enemy and out of their firing range. It would take a while to decelerate and turn about, but Compton would be behind with the rest of the fleet to mop up.

  “Enemy missiles inbound.” The AI was the only way Duke was getting information now. Wrapped up tightly in the couch, he couldn’t so much as turn his head to look at a display or monitor. “Point defense systems activated and ready.” His weapons crews weren’t able to do much except watch the AIs fire their lasers and shotguns. It was an ongoing debate in most of the navies about how useful human gunners were. Some schools of thought held that AIs would always shoot better without human interference; others argued that intuition and experience had their place and could enhance targeting.

  Duke was firmly in the latter camp. He’d seen a career gunner anticipate evasive moves by a target that no computer would have guessed at. But that was mostly firing heavy weapons at enemy ships. Even Duke had to acknowledge that effective point defense was almost entirely mathematics…and best left to the machines.

  Even with the stims, the perception of time was erratic in the couches. Duke listened to the reports as his point defense fired at the missiles, but it still seemed like only an instant had passed when the AI warned him the enemy volley was entering the inner perimeter around his forces. The point defense had been effective, but there were still 40 missiles closing on his vessels, and attack ships didn’t have much protection.

  It was hard - one of the toughest things for a spacer to get used to – to lay helpless and nearly motionless, waiting to see if a missile detonated close enough to destroy you. There was no warning, no chance to think. One minute you’d be laying in the couch, the next you might be dead, vaporized with your vessel by a 500 megaton warhead exploding right next to you…or caught in the twisting wreckage of a mortally wounded ship. All you could do was wait to see if you were still alive a second later, a minute later. It was probably the one thing that broke more naval crew than any of the other dangers they faced.

  “Detonations.” The AI continued to feed data to Duke. “Explosions of 3 to 9 gigatons, captain. “Yuan and Muscovy destroyed. More damage reports coming in…”

  “Did you say 3 to 9 gigatons?” It had taken a few seconds for the report and its meaning to sink through the haziness. Antimatter warheads.

  “Affirmative, captain. Do you wish me to continue with the damage report?”

  Duke lay motionless, struggling to stay clear minded. “Get me Admiral Compton. Now.”

  Compton was looking at the long-range scanning display, cursing under his breath when he got the call. “We know, James,” he said before Duke could get anything out. “We’re picking it up on our scanners. There’s nothing you can do about it. Focus on your attack run.”

  “Yes, sir.” Duke’s voice was weak, tentative. Compton knew he was at 38g and in no condition to have a conversation. Especially one that wouldn’t make a difference. Antimatter missiles meant that more of Duke’s people would die; it also meant Compton’s fleet would suffer more damage and casualties when they went in. But it didn’t change anything else, so there was no point dwelling on it now.

  “Figures.” Compton muttered under his breath after he cut the line with Duke. Well, he thought, you had to figure there was a good chance they’d have more antimatter ordnance back here. Compton hated himself for thinking it, but he was glad he’d ended up having to send Duke’s people in first. Maybe the enemy would use up its enhanced ordnance on the attack ships. Better a 90-man suicide boat than a capital ship with over 1,000 crew, he thought. The logic was sound, but it didn’t make him feel any better.

  Chapter 13

  Bridge – AS Indianapolis

  System X1

  One Transit from Sigma 4

  “I want probes launched from every ship, Commander Carp.” Jacobs was staring intently at his display, watching the data flowing in from the ships of Scouting Fleet. “We’ve got no chance of surprising anyone anyway, so I don’t want any time wasted. All probes are to scan at maximum power.”

  Jacobs knew he was advertising his fleet’s presence, but with all the fighting from Newton to Sigma 4, there was no way a warning hadn’t been sent up the line already. The First Imperium’s communications were millennia ahead of anything the human powers possessed. Jacobs knew it was based somehow on dark energy. That didn’t mean he understood anything about how it worked, but he did know it could transmit directly through a warp gate. All human-developed com systems required sending a physical ship or drone through a gate. That not only slowed transmission speeds, it also restricted communications to existing networks with the required physical infrastructure in place.

  “All ships confirm the order, sir.”

  “Very well, commander.” Jacobs turned slowly. “Lieutenant Hooper, prepare to launch a probe from Indianapolis.” He tended to work informally with his staff, blurring the specific distinctions between different officers’ duties. Of course he hadn’t had a staff at all until a few months ago, when Admiral Garret put him in charge of Scouting Fleet. Technically, Carp was the tactical officer on his fleet commander’s staff, and Hooper held the same post for him as captain of Indianapolis. But Jacobs didn’t bother with any of that; he just did what he wanted, which usually translated into Carp as his senior aide and Hooper as the junior, and the lines between fleet staff and ship crew very blurred.

  “Probe ready, admiral.”

  Her answer couldn’t have come more than 20 seconds after his order. Damn, he thought…she really is good. “Very well, lieutenant. You may launch when ready.”

  “Commander Carp, a reminder to all ship commanders…I want everyone on their toes. We don’t have any idea what’s hiding here, so keep your eyes open. Anyone gets blindsided and survives it, they’ll be dealing with me. And they’ll never be sorrier in their lives.” Jacobs had the fleet on yellow alert, and he wanted his captains taking it seriously. The system looked empty, but that didn’t mean a thing. There were still a hundred places enemy pickets could be hiding.

  “Yes, sir.” Carp tried to hide the smile on his face. He knew Jacobs was unhappy with some of the contingents that made up Scouting Fleet. He was used to Alliance standards, but of the other powers, only the Caliphate and Martian Confederation came close. The PRC’s were at least as good…and might even be a little better. The CAC’s were OK, about on par with the Central European League’s forces. But a third of Jacob’s ships were from Europa Federalis, which fielded the worst attack ship corps of any of the powers. The Europan navy overall was a formidable force, but its strength was highly concentrated in its larger ships. Service in the attack boats was unpopular, and most of the officers with connections or prospects lobbied hard for postings to the capital ships…or at least the cruisers. The crews serving on the fast attack craft were mostly those who had no other options, and it showed in their performance.

  “Admiral, I have Captain Mondragon for you.” Hooper was monitoring the admiral’s communications while Carp relayed a slightly edited version of Jacobs’ warning to the ship commanders.

  “Put him through, lieutenant.” He’d found Francisco Mondragon to be a welcome exception to the norm for Europan attack ship officers. He’d even begun to trust - and genuinely like the fiery Basque.

  “My compliments to the admiral.” For a hotheaded officer with a wide rebellious streak, Mondragon was capable of almost theatrical politeness. He’d come to respect Michael Jacobs, and it showed.

  “Thank you, Captain Mondragon.” Jacobs smiled. He couldn’t help but like the guy. “Are your ships ready?”

  “Yes, sir. All probes have been launched. With your permission, I will tie them into Indianapolis’ information systems. I believe your people will be able to analyze the data more effectively than mine once we are zipped up in the couches.” There was somethi
ng in Mondragon’s voice, an excitement, a level of engagement that wasn’t there before. For the first time in his 20-year career, he was on a mission he thought mattered, serving a commander he liked and respected…and it was obvious to anyone who was paying attention.

  “I agree, captain.” Jacobs was impressed. He hadn’t even thought about tying Mondragon’s probes into his network. “You can coordinate with Commander Carp to integrate the data nets.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And captain...as soon as you complete the integration, your force may engage Plan Delta as soon as you are able.”

  “Yes, admiral.” Mondragon’s voice was steady, with just a touch of edginess. Jacobs was impressed. If he had been preparing to blast away at full thrust to head deeper into enemy space, he wasn’t sure he’d sound as calm.

  The fleet had only found one other warp gate besides their entry point. Jacobs would have preferred to scour this system before pressing on, but Compton had been clear. He wanted at least a minimal scouting force pushed forward as quickly as possible. Jacobs knew he shouldn’t be giving the hazardous duty to Mondragon’s people again, but the alternative was Pierre Cleret…and Jacobs wouldn’t have trusted him to take out the garbage by himself. Cleret was arrogant and obnoxious…borderline insubordinate even under normal conditions. Jacobs strongly suspected he would do very poorly if he ran into anything unexpected. And pushing ahead through First Imperium space was asking for trouble.

  “Good luck, Francisco.” Jacobs voice was softer now, sincere. “And to your people.”

  “Thank you, sir. We should be underway within twenty minutes.” His voice sounded almost apologetic. Jacobs cut the line, wishing there was a way for him to tell his subordinate he realized it took longer to get the Europan ships ready for full thrust…and he knew it wasn’t Mondragon’s fault. But some things were best left unspoken.

  “All units are to conduct immediate reactor and engine diagnostics.” Mondragon snapped out the order even before his acceleration couch had completely retracted. He looked over, seeing his tactical officer sitting hunched at his station, holding his head in his hands. It wasn’t easy to jump right into action after a long stretch in the couches, but now wasn’t the time for lackluster effort. “Now, Lieutenant Tomasino! If you need a stimulant, have the AI administer one, but get yourself together.”

  “Yes, sir.” Tomasino’s voice was weak, throaty. “Relaying your orders now.”

  Mondragon sighed hard. It was going to be the same on all of his ships. Not all, he reminded himself - he had a few Alliance and Caliphate craft in his group. It didn’t matter - there was a least-common denominator effect in task group operations. He could give the toughest tasks to his best ships, but his overall capabilities were more affected by the worst ships, not the best. His father had been fond of the phrase, “A chain is only as strong as its weakest link,” and Mondragon had found the adage to be very true in military operations.

  His ships had accelerated at full power through the X1 system, trying to reach the warp gate as quickly as possible. Admiral Jacobs - and Admiral Compton, still fighting back in Sigma 4 – wanted a report on the new system, already designated X2, as soon as possible. He’d had his ships switch over to deceleration at various intervals, spacing out the task force into several lines with differing velocities. The ships in the vanguard had the highest velocity – they were tasked to plunge deep into the system, launching probes and scanning at full power. The ships farther back, traveling at lower velocities would execute vector changes, scouting out laterally from the warp gate’s location. The rearmost ships, which included his own Faucon, had decelerated the most. They would remain closer to the warp gate, serving as a communications link with the forces still in the X1 system. Mondragon had initially placed Faucon in the lead group, but Jacobs had expressly ordered him to remain close to the warp gate.

  “I’m receiving acknowledgements, sir.” Tomasino sounded more alert, not back to normal yet, but better.

  Mondragon swore under his breath. He’d always known the Europan attack ships lagged badly in performance benchmarks, but it really started to frustrate him now that he saw up close how the Alliance and Caliphate vessels operated. He stared down at his screen, scanning the ship statuses. Just as he thought. The Alliance and Caliphate ships – and the CAC ones too – had all acknowledged his orders, and they were well into their diagnostic routines. Half the Europan vessels hadn’t even responded yet.

  “All units are to launch probes immediately.” Mondragon’s voice was sharp brittle. He was seething at the performance of the lagging ships. “Any captain who has not commenced engine diagnostics and launched a probe in three minutes will be removed from command, effective immediately.” He’d had it.

  Tomasino looked stunned. He hesitated, just a second, and he blurted out a shaky, “Yes, sir.”

  Europan forces weren’t used to the kind of pressure Mondragon was applying, but he didn’t give a shit. Watching admirals like Jacobs and Compton in action had seriously affected him, and he intended to demand the same kind of performance from his own people, and if he had to chuck a few officers out the airlock to make the lesson stick, so be it. He smiled as he felt Faucon shake; she had launched her own probe in less than a minute. His people never would have managed that a few weeks before.

  “All units have acknowledged the order to perform diagnostic testing, sir.” Tomasino still sounded shaken. He wasn’t used to relentless pressure and threats of draconian punishments, not even from Mondragon. But there was a new Francisco Mondragon in the command chair, one who had seen the standards of performance it was possible to achieve.

  “Very well, lieutenant.” Mondragon glanced at the chronometer. “Status of probe launches? One minute, fifteen seconds remaining.” He leaned back in his chair and fought to hold back a smile. He was actually enjoying this.

  “Compiling now, sir…19 confirmed launches so far.”

  Not good, he thought. He had 11 Alliance and Caliphate ships, and he knew without checking they had already launched. That left 8, and he’d have bet 4 of them were the CAC vessels attached to his command.

  “Updated report, sir…24 launches.” Tomasino was staring at the screen, watching the launch reports come in. “We’re up to…” He snapped his head around, just as Faucon’s alarms went off. “Multiple scanner contacts, captain.” He looked back, eyes focused on his display. “We have 7 contacts inbound from deeper in the system, sir.” He paused, and then he continued, his voice sharp and clear. “They’re First Imperium Gremlins, captain. Confirmed.”

  Chapter 14

  Landing Bay Alpha – AS Midway

  Sigma 4 System

  28,000,000 kilometers from Sigma 4 II

  Terrance Compton stood next to the inner airlock, watching the fire control crews coat Greta Hurley’s ship with fire-retardant foam. Commander Wilder had brought the ship in hot, with damage to the stabilizers and empty compressed gas tanks for the maneuvering jets. The landing had been one of the most impressive bits of piloting Compton had ever seen. The bomber would never fly again, but the cockpit was more or less intact. The foam was really just a precaution.

  The bomber’s crew had managed to restore communications, but not before the attack was over. Hurley had planned her operation well. Even without her direct supervision, her wings destroyed all of the antimatter-powered platforms. Once all the railguns were taken out, the remaining squadrons assaulted the orbital fortresses, inflicting considerable damage on several of them.

  Casualties had been high, mostly during the earlier approach, when the railguns raked her formations. The strike force had lost 202 fighters, though almost 50 crews had managed to eject. Their lifepods would keep them alive for several days, but the fleet was going to have to advance into the enemy’s firing range to recover them. Nearly 100 of the returning bombers had damage, ranging from Greta’s shattered craft to units needing only minor fixes.

  Compton watched as Hurley’s crew climbed out of
the bomber’s hatch, the landing bay personnel helping each of them into a small ship’s car. It didn’t look like anyone was seriously injured, but Compton had ordered them all taken to sickbay to get checked out. He smiled as he saw Wilder climb out of the stricken bomber. It was just like Hurley, he thought, to insist on being the last one out. He wondered how much of a fight Commander Wilder put up before he gave in to superior pigheadedness.

  “Open.” The airlock door slid aside at Compton’s command, and he stepped into the inner chamber. “Close outer door.” The hatch behind him slid shut with a soft whoosh. “Open inner door.”

  “The landing bay is subject to Condition Orange protocols, Admiral Compton. There are hazardous operations currently underway.” The voice of the AI was crisp and professional.

  Compton snorted. “The day I cower from a damaged fighter already covered in foam is the day I light myself on fire.”

  “Self-immolation in neither necessary nor recommended, admiral.” Sometimes Compton had trouble telling whether the AIs were messing with him or not. The personality modules had the capacity for humor, but he got the feeling they were programmed to act more formally with higher ranked personnel. He felt they usually took anything he said literally, even when he was clearing joking. The navy tended to keep its virtual assistants a little more straight-laced than the Marine units, but he was sure they were even more so with flag officers. “I was merely suggesting that you wait until the area is stabilized before entering.”

  “Open the door.” Compton was tired of sparring with a machine. “Now.”