The Unincorporated War

by Dani Kollin

  “He’s not guilty yet, Admiral,” answered Gupta, remaining calm despite her incivility. “However,” he continued, “be that as it may, this impending assault is classic J. D. Black. She wants us to attack.”

  Diep sighed. “Captain, they have a larger Alliance fleet on the way. If they combine with Black’s fleet we’ll really be in trouble. Black wants us to delay, not attack. She’s counting on fear to dissuade us. Well, she’ll soon learn that we don’t scare so easy.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, Captain,” interrupted Diep. “Black’s in the same bind you were in when you got nailed at the Martian Gates—she’s completely cut off from her fleet. Only hers is too far out to save her and I intend to make her suffer the same way we did.” She saw Gupta about to speak and cut him off once again. “Abhay,” she said, her inflection now more personable, “I know she’s good. She’s the best they have, and when the war’s over, if she’s not dead, I’ll want her working for what ever corporation I hope to become chairman of, but let’s face it, we caught her by surprise, plain and simple. She hopes to make up for that mistake by digging in and waiting. But a few rocks can’t withstand the power of our new warships. I’ll take advantage of that before her cavalry can come to the rescue. When we’ve finished with her we’ll take out the rest of her leaderless fleet and then nothing will stand between us and Ceres. And then, my friend, this war ends … Diep out.” What went unheard had been Gupta’s final plea.

  “But what if the other fleet is a mirage?”

  The battle began with over half the Federation fleet opening fire on the Alliance’s asteroid defense field. The Alliance ships made skillful use of the cover to fire through the bored-out holes. But even though their rail guns propelled projectiles at fantastic speeds, they were fired from such an extreme range that the UHF had been able to make quick work of them with concentrated smaller interceptor fire. The Alliance ordnance never even got close to the Federation fleet. After a brief period of time the Alliance fleet stopped firing altogether, leading some in the UHF command to hope that their enemy might actually have been short of the easy-to-construct but specialized missiles that the rail guns needed. With no need to worry about incoming fire, it only took the UHF an hour to reduce the Alliance defensive asteroids to dust.

  Bridge of the AWS War Prize

  “Lieutenant Nitelowsen,” said J.D., leaning back in her command chair, legs crossed, “order the fleet to fire main batteries, a single shot, please, and prepare Mr. Isozaki’s surprise.” J.D. saw the effect her last command had on the crew. Kenji’s genius for all manner of military apparatus was widely known, but apparently, by the expressions on everyone’s faces, none knew they’d been carry ing one on their ship. “Prepare the sensor net,” continued J.D., “and if the results are favorable get ready to send the order updates to all captains. Sensor Officer, you should be receiving a message shortly from one of Mr. Isozaki’s team. Please stand by.”

  A moment later, the officer looked up at the admiral and, seeing her give an imperceptible nod, reconfigured his sensor array, mining for a specific electromagnetic signature.

  J.D. looked over to the comm officer. “Prepare the fleet for atomic acceleration.” “Standard fifty-kilo warhead?”

  J.D. thought for a moment. Speed would be of the essence.

  “Better drop two out the back. The concussion blast will be murder, but it’ll get us up to combat acceleration that much sooner.”

  Diep sat in her command chair, content to watch the battle play out. The Alliance had just fired a fleet volley at extreme range. So they had a few rounds left after all, she thought bemusedly. No matter, they’re done. They’d been forced into the scatter shot, she knew, because the very last of their asteroids had been pulverized. The Alliance now had no choice but to start using defensive fire to destroy her superior fleet’s oncoming rounds. This was turning into the battle she’d prepared for: fleet-to-fleet maneuvering in open space that was to her maximum advantage.

  “Admiral,” said the sensor officer, “the Alliance is firing small-arms missiles.” Diep almost laughed but felt it undignified. Small-arms missiles were slow moving and easily intercepted at long range no matter what their payload. “They’ve probably spent their last rail-gun battery,” she said, “and are throwing what ever they have left at us. All defensive batteries to concentrate on primary threat.” Her orders were instantly communicated to the fleet. “Target missiles as soon as the opportunity presents itself.”

  “Admiral,” said the sensor officer, “the enemy missiles, sir …”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, sir, they appear to be malfunctioning; they’re … they’re exploding prematurely.”

  Junk, she thought, and was about to give the order to advance and engage when the weapons officer practically leapt out of his seat.

  “Admiral!” he screamed. “Main battery failure … I repeat: rail gun inoperative!”

  Diep jumped to her feet. “Get me Weapons Control, now! Find out what the hell’s going on, Comm Officer!”

  “Sir!”

  “Inform the fleet that flagship rail guns are inoperative—”

  “Admiral,” the comm officer managed to shout above the alarms, “the Xerxes, Potomac, and Runstar all report main battery failure … also—”

  Before Diep could respond, the sensor officer interrupted, “Enemy fleet firing main rail guns, Admiral!”

  Diep looked up at the holo-tank and saw the high-velocity projectiles gaining quickly on her now-defenseless fleet.

  “Weapons Officer, do we have interceptor fire?”

  “Yes, sir. Fully functional.”

  “Comm Officer,” Diep barked, “have every ship lay down an umbrella of sustained interceptor fire with what ever ordnance is available, I don’t care if they have to shove flak vests out the goddamned port!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Diep gripped the rail, held on tight, and prayed for a miracle she knew in her heart would never arrive.

  The Federation spent the next few minutes expending all their energy and available firepower intercepting and destroying what ever incoming volleys they could, but in the end the combination of Alliance rail projectiles and small-arms missiles proved overwhelming. While the Federation fleet had been forced to concentrate their interceptor fire on the incoming battery, enough small-arms missiles had gotten through to accomplish the Alliance Fleet’s main task of taking out the Federation ships’ main thrusters. A short time later the effects of the Alliance’s magnetic phase shift weaponry had worn off and the Federation’s rail guns all came back online, but by then it was too late. Without thruster power sixty-three Federation ships lay dead in the water, unable to point their now-working guns at anything other than open space. With the rest of the Federation fleet in abject disarray or destroyed outright, the Alliance ships pounced.

  UHFS Staten Island

  Captain Gupta watched, horrified.

  “Brian,” he asked his communications officer, “can you establish contact with the Starblazer?”

  The young man punched his console frantically. “Sir, no contact with the Starblazer. Sir, I have lost contact with over two-thirds of the fleet.”

  “Captain,” interrupted the sensor officer, “multiple atomic detonations to the rear of the Alliance fleet. They’re concussion-blasting to combat speed.”

  Gupta looked at the ships that were still transmitting. He was happy that the man he needed to call was at least someone he knew. “Get me the captain of the Damsahian Way.” When the connection was made Gupta saw the look of shock on his former subordinate’s face. “George,” he said calmly, “you’re in command.”

  Gupta was afraid his words would shatter the young man, but in an odd way they seemed to calm him.

  “What about the admiral?”

  “She may be alive, but we have no communications with her and we don’t have time to wait. You’re next in line, so until further notice you’re it.”

  “In th
at case, Abhay, get the hell out of here. I’m ordering a general retreat.”

  “George, our ships don’t have time for a full turn, much less to get up to full acceleration in time. We’ll all get caught by Black’s ships and give her a chance to shoot up our asses all the way back to Mars.”

  It didn’t take long for George to realize the logic. “Suggestions?”

  “Order the ships that can to accelerate on their current headings,” said Gupta, “then blast past the Alliance fleet and re-form on the other side.”

  George smiled, knowing full well who was truly in command. “Anything else … sir?”

  “Yes,” answered Gupta. “As soon as you get past Black’s fleet head straight for Ceres.”

  “Don’t you mean ‘if,’ Captain?”

  “No, George. You’re not what she’s interested in. My ships are. I have every confidence you’ll make it.”

  “But we can’t take Ceres, sir, so what’s the point?”

  “With any luck, it’ll make the Alliance chase you out of their space instead of having another go at Mars.”

  George looked quizzically at his old commander. “Why do you keep saying ‘you,’ Abhay? If I didn’t know any better I’d say you weren’t planning on joining us.”

  Gupta nodded his head. “They need these marines back at Mars if we’re going to hold the outer defenses from the Alliance assault miners. Good luck, George.”

  “Whatever you’re planning, I hope it works, Abhay,” George said through a crackling holotransmission, “and for what it’s worth, sir …”

  “Yes?”

  “I thought you got a bum rap.”

  Gupta smiled and bowed his head slightly. “Just get your ships through, George. Gupta out.” Abhay then looked over to his comm officer. “Brian, order all transports to follow my next commands exactly.”

  J. D. Black watched the confusion in the remaining ships that still had use of their thrusters and allowed a momentary expression of satisfaction. It was her plan that they’d give into panic, try to turn around and flee. Then she’d be able to bag the entire fleet and go on to Mars before the Federation had time to prepare. Indeed, that’s what seemed to be happening, but then J.D. could sense that someone on the other side had taken command of what was left of the enemy’s now-small flotilla. She watched the few ships left begin combat acceleration in her direction. They’d pass by each other and maybe get a few shots in, but that smart maneuver would put the kibosh on the grand capture she’d been hoping for.

  Then she saw something else she wasn’t expecting. She’d hoped to capture not only the transports, which would’ve helped in the next invasion she’d been planning, but also the soldiers within them, thereby depriving the Federation of tens of thousands of trained fighters. But those transports suddenly exploded. And then they exploded again. By the time she reviewed the sensor data she was impressed and a little annoyed that she hadn’t thought of the tactic herself. The officer in charge had strengthened the sides of his ships to withstand a properly spaced atomic blast and then used those atomics to almost instantly turn his ships around. He then kicked in his more conventional rear blasts to make a hasty retreat. And he had enough distance, J.D. knew, to make it work.

  “They’ll be sore as hell, even injured, acceleration couches or no,” she said to Lieutenant Nitelowsen, “but they’re going to make it.” J.D. was trying to decide what to do when events decided her actions for her.

  “Admiral,” said the comm officer, “the enemy is beginning to evacuate the downed ships.”

  “All ships prepare for boarding. We need to take those ships now!” J.D. knew if she could get her people in before the Feds got theirs out, then the ships wouldn’t self-destruct. It was a risk, but J.D., touching the scarred side of her face as her orders were carried out, knew all about risk.

  In its first publication, the Alliance Daily Star is proud to announce a major victory in the war against the corporate enslavers. Dubbed “the Battle of the Needle’s Eye,” this victory is considered to be the greatest by the Alliance so far.

  The battle took place about two days’ standard boost Marsward. Although outnumbered three to two, the Alliance only suffered the loss of four ships while capturing between thirty and forty Federation warships.

  Fleet Admiral J. D. Black won this stunning victory using a new weapon developed by the scientific geniuses of the Alliance. Though no details have been given, it is surmised that Kenji Isozaki of Gedretar had come up with the new weapon. The only losses were due to the Federation implementation of self-destruct orders to deny capture and some of our vessels being caught in the resulting explosions.

  It’s rumored that J. D. Black personally led the attack on the enemy flagship and captured her second commanding admiral. If it’s true, being named admiral to a Federation fleet may end up being the only way a Federation officer ever gets to see our Admiral J. D. Black.

  Related stories:

  “Why We Keep On Winning”

  “The God Factor: The Surprisingly Large Number of Faithys in Our Ranks”

  “Consumer Goods Becoming Expensive as War Continues”

  “Economic Turmoil in the So-called UHF”

  Alliance One, twenty-four-hour standard boost from Ceres

  Justin was being given a tour of the fleet. The fact that there were still a number of Federation warships in Alliance space made the journey more, not less, desirable in his eyes. He came in a requisitioned corporate transport that had been renamed, presumptuously in his mind, Alliance One. It amazed him that the echoes of his past life continued to pop up in the oddest of places, the naming of the presidential barge being one of them.

  J. D. Black had fumed at the unnecessary risk he’d taken. Justin then politely reminded the admiral that she’d just led a boarding party onto a ship that had been rigged to explode and therefore didn’t really have a leg to stand on. He saw from the subtle cues of her personal guard and aide that they were completely in his camp. And so J.D., not liking to get into fights she had no chance of winning, backed off.

  But Justin knew that no matter what J.D., his cabinet, the Congress, or Admiral Sinclair thought, he’d done the right thing. And every time he went up to a spacer and thanked them for their bravery and valor, the look in their eyes confirmed his determination. He’d tell them how important it was to win this war, but they already knew that. He’d tell them they had the best admiral alive, and they knew that too. But when he told them that what they did was vital and that he appreciated what each day, hour, and minute of ser vice meant, their eyes truly lit up. He was the most recognizable human being in history, the leader of the Alliance and their commander in chief, and he’d come to tell them personally how proud they’d made him. Through his eyes they were able to see that they truly mattered.

  I was there and I remember it as clearly as if it happened yesterday. I remember what I wore; I remember what I ate at the mess hall before. I remember where I stood. But for the life of me I can’t remember a word that was said. You’d think it would bug me, but it doesn’t. If you were there, you’d understand; if you weren’t, you can’t.

  —Sergeant Eric M. Holke

  Eighty-second Cerian Volunteers

  Michael Veritas looked over the Alliance fleet and the dark shapes that they were hauling back to Ceres as prizes. He asked for and got permission to take a two-person scooter and positioned it to take a holo-image that was destined to be one of the most memorable of the war. He used an enhancement imager to increase the light that was acting as a backdrop for the fleet. The effect was to show the fleet in stark light and shadow. The battle damage was visible on the ships that had taken hits and/or had been too close to the Federation ships that had destroyed themselves. But the effect was made even more pronounced because many of the damaged ships were towing the captured Federation ships completely blackened by total lack of internal power. He made another adjustment and the faint lines of magnetic energy could be seen between the ships being towed
and the ships doing the towing. At that moment Michael knew he had his perfect shot. It would be the first of what would eventually be four seminal images of the war. The second, strangely enough, would occur within an hour of the first.

  But Michael had other things to worry about as he hurried back to the War Prize, late for an interview with a rail-gun loader. Ever since the conflict began he’d become more pop u lar as a journalist in the Alliance while simultaneously becoming reviled in the UHF. Michael had taken an angle right at the start of the war that seemed to sit wrong with his peers and readership in the core; he’d committed the unpardonable sin of humanizing the conflict. He refused to concentrate on interviewing politicians, admirals, and industrialists. He certainly could have, given his connections with Justin Cord, but it had never been much of a priority. Michael had heard enough spin and had spent the better part of his life attempting to parse that spin into newsworthy stories. But in the belt there was always something unfolding, and more often than not it had nothing to do with those situated at the top. So he’d begun at the bottom. He’d interview and write about a private in a miner assault battalion or a corpsman dug in on some Damsah-forsaken asteroid. In fact, since the war had begun most of Michael’s articles had been about the little guy or what the UHF would consider pennies. Some, even on the Alliance side, were still considered pennies, but that thinking had begun to dissipate as more and more people joined the NoShares. Actual Political parties were forming on the issue to contest the first official elections to the Congress of the Outer Alliance, elections Michael intended to cover.

  He was still a citizen of the core and had purposely not become a citizen of Ceres or the Alliance. However, once his articles and commentaries began to appear it had been widely agreed that he was about as neutral an observer as the Alliance could ever hope to find. In all of his articles and images—a recently acquired skill—what came through was that he was trying to report and understand the events transpiring around him and that he was well aware of the fact that he was reporting perhaps the greatest event in human history.