Operation Wolfsbane

by Shane Lochlann Black

  Vice’s command and the command of her fellow officer Captain Heston Stone had been originally deployed to screen for the Argent. Jason Hunter, being who he was, immediately detached the two ships to freelance in and around Rho Theta. It was a good thing he had shot from the hip on this particular occasion. If he hadn’t, they would all still be in the dark about the fate of DSS Sussex and unaware that a third faction might be operating in an area sensitive enough to make Skywatch think twice about a potential strike on home soil.

  The truth was five cruisers of the caliber Admiral Tucker had been dealt could pump out one hell of a lot of destructive power before the big fella called Constitution even got involved. Tucker’s flagship was one of the old guard. She had six battle stars. While that didn’t quite put her in a league with Song of Heaven it certainly didn’t hurt morale among her crew or her sister ships. The heavy battleship of Task Force Nine was first of her class. She mounted a 12-gun main battery organized into three turrets of four primaries. Unlike the newer variants, Constitution carried no missiles. This was one among many reasons she had been assigned the Saratoga as a heavy escort. Tucker’s flagship specialized in old-fashioned blunt force trauma. Her guns were designed for short range “brass knuckles and pocket knife” brawls. She was not a finesse weapon. Where more elegant and advanced ships might be rapiers, Constitution was a two-by-four. Her skipper preferred to inflict injuries consistent with expectations.

  Admiral Tucker the man lived up to roughly the same expectations as his ship. As a Skywatch command officer with a rather colorful and storied field record, Buford Tucker was well known for “flying his own flag” both figuratively and literally. He was one of only a handful of line officers who had been busted more than once for insubordination. As a hot-headed young lieutenant, Tucker went a few rounds with his immediate report over fuel transfer regulations. Although a subsequent investigation vindicated the young officer, he was broken back to ensign for six months as a reminder to follow the chain of command when logging potential deck safety violations. He rocketed through three subsequent promotions before calling a high-ranking supply officer a “sonofabitch” because he wouldn’t approve additional maintenance on a water filtering system aboard the fuel transport where Tucker served as science officer. That remark cost him a month in the brig but brought his record to the attention of one Benjamin Powers who saw through the bluster and the big mouth to find a capable officer with what his comrades called a “high speed, low drag” approach. It wasn’t long before Tucker found his way to the center chair and went on to become one of Southern Banner’s most feared and accomplished skippers.

  Most of the command officers had already been briefed on what to expect. Vice made certain to pass along the relevant advice to her senior officers in case they were called upon to explain to the admiral the events of the past few days. Vice made a point of counseling Commander Rogers to keep the technical terminology to a minimum so as to minimize the potential of a tirade in the middle of the admiral’s briefing. Getting the high points of the physics-violating weapons across to everyone was going to be enough of a challenge without the histrionics and obligatory stories about raccoon hunts.

  Jocelyn Vice couldn’t put her finger on it, but she had the nagging feeling there was a lot more going on in and near Rho Theta than they had uncovered so far. Whatever took out the Sussex was likely still nearby, and if that were true, they were getting valuable intelligence on Skywatch’s buildup. The problem, at least from the captain’s perspective, was that the Alliance wasn’t getting anything in return. They had done a satisfactory job of establishing a spacehead and protecting the stations orbiting Rho Theta’s innermost planets, but aside from those perfunctory achievements, they had almost nothing to go on when it came to the threat of an attack by a third enemy faction. Rho Theta was well enough defended for now, but even with a complete task force, the danger to the Missouri jump gate and the nearby Proximan listening post was significant. The longer they had to wait to get the information they needed the worse it got.

  “Bridge to Vice.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Admiral Tucker is convening the strategy session aboard the Constitution, ma’am.”

  “Very well. Inform the admiral we’re on our way.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Captain Vice wasn’t the only officer surprised the briefing was not taking place on Constitution’s war deck or in her spacious executive conference. The admiral had invited his new command staff to join him in his quarters. Coffee and refreshments were served. Tucker made certain the relevant tactical and strategic starmaps were adequately displayed on his brand new light table. The drink coasters were even transparent. Commander Hunter thought that was a nice touch. She made a mental note to look in to a set for her own briefing room.

  Present were Captain Walsh of the Rhode Island, the captain of Saratoga and the skippers of the rest of Constitution’s escorts including the war destroyer Excalibur, the missile destroyer Myrmidon, the battle frigate Delos and the electronic warfare frigate Circe. Rebecca Islington and her XO were also seated next to Commander Hunter. The division sergeant at the entrance to the admiral’s quarters quietly called the room to attention as Tucker entered.

  The man was as impressive in person as he was on paper. He dressed out at just over six foot four and a solid 240 pounds. Most men his age were a little soft around the middle, but the admiral was in better shape than some ten years his junior. His face was worn with years and wisdom, but his eyes were as vibrant and attentive as one would expect. He wore his gray hair in a non-regulation ponytail and also wore a traditional tribal necklace given him by his late wife. He was a warrior of rare vintage and he wasn’t shy about speaking his mind or going nose to nose with what he often referred to as the “sons-a-bitches.” It was the admiral’s catch-all term for anyone who hadn’t gotten with the Buford Tucker program. It wasn’t entirely clear what the Tucker program was from day to day, as the admiral reserved the right to alter his criteria for success at his own discretion. That said, if your career goal was to avoid becoming one of the sons-a-bitches, your top priority was to make sure you were fully briefed on today’s requirements. He spoke slowly, running certain words together and freely substituting ‘z’ for ‘s’ in a hard-to-predict pattern. His dialect was that of a gunmetal-tinged Tennessee gentleman.

  “Be seated.”

  The admiral’s chief of staff, Captain Gardea, took a seat beside him.

  “Whatever you’ve heard about the buildup out here, forget it. Things are a lot worse than we originally thought.” A bright-looking marine corporal began handing out printed booklets that had been stapled together. The admiral’s opening statement set everyone on edge. Being handed printed documents only made things more confusing. The likely explanation for such an unusual step was the possibility of espionage. Paper documents were an unholy pain to get from one place to the next undetected. Electronic communications, on the other hand, were far simpler to intercept.

  “Powers been a busy man,” Tucker continued. Gardea highlighted the relevant portions of the map as he spoke. “He’s managed to get the ear of Commander Skywatch who put all of Eastern Banner on high alert this morning. Our recon pickets in and around Mycenae Ceti and Gaelphos count 120 hostile starships with as many as 18 heavies mobilized. The Sarn have moved 60 divisions of marines from the Gaelphos Rim to a line of space stations that have been deployed just outside the orbit of M-Ceti Eight. Turns out that’s where the World Burner ended up after that little show over M-Ceti Four. We lost two ships gathering the data, but we managed to confirm there are actually three World Burners. Our recon probes estimate they displace ten million tons each and have primary weapons no Skywatch vessel can withstand.”

  “Is it is possible they have more than three?” Commander Hunter asked, alerting the rest of the ship captains to the most obvious threat.

  “It is definitely possible,” Tucker replied. “We have some theories on how to engage the damn things
, but I don’t have to tell any of you I don’t like going to war armed with a theory.”

  The admiral let the silence settle for a moment.

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but is it an orbital assault weapon, or can it engage targets in deep space?” Stone asked.

  “I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it can lock targets given enough range,” the admiral replied. “We haven’t positively identified any weapons mounted on it that could qualify as point defense, and these ships only have the one primary.”

  “Their lighter vessels seem to be constructed on the same basic design,” Captain Walsh said. “The vessel we destroyed at Oleander Station was almost identical to the World Burner, just reduced in volume and relative power.”

  “Did Tropical Fifteen have other weapons mounts?” Hunter asked.

  “If it did, they never used them. No missiles either. Every shot fired came from their primary.”

  “That could be useful, sir,” Hunter said. “If the Kraken ship designs are all the same, and they rely exclusively on their primary weapon to engage enemy units, they could be vulnerable to missile attack.”

  “What about that, commander?” Tucker asked, directing his attention and the attention of everyone else at Walsh.

  “We weren’t as successful as I would have preferred, sir,” Walsh replied. “The Kraken warship we engaged was able to evade many of our birds. When we engaged with energy batteries, we had more luck, but we also had to be at extreme close range. We didn’t have the tactical flexibility we normally get with Rhode Island’s range and firing rate.”

  “I take it their landing parties were equally challenging?”

  “They’re well disciplined and they apparently have a variety of weapons which they freely swap out depending on the situation,” Commander Islington replied. “They also seem to be well able to adapt to using our weapons against us.”

  “Is that what you came across aboard the Sussex?” Gardea asked.

  “They employed some kind of water absorption effect on the crew,” Vice replied. “We’re not sure if it is some kind of side-effect of a different weapon or if it is caused by something else.”

  “What about the Sussex surveillance system?”

  “Burned to a crisp. Whatever their original motives, the Kraken boarding parties did a phenomenal job of covering their tracks,” Vice said.

  “And on the Proximan station?”

  “The same, admiral,” Islington replied. “They spared the Proximan crew, but that may have been a result of our interrupting their plans before they were ready. There was only the one ship monitoring the station as well. Not enough capacity to do much except relay communications. Certainly not enough to establish a spacehead or a recovery zone,” Islington replied.

  “Ben, I want you, Islington and Commander Walsh to spend some time together and go over all the telemetry from Rhode Island’s two engagements. You too, Jayce. If we run into one or more of those lighter Kraken variants I want Fury and Saratoga ready to start nailing pelts to the side of the barn.”

  All four captains acknowledged the admiral. Jayce was starting to wonder if Fury’s fusion torpedoes might also be effective against such agile opponents. She remembered well the not-quite-optimal results achieved by deploying her SPECTRE batteries against the Sai Kee.

  “Captain Vice, I read your report on the recovery of the Sussex. I made sure to send my condolences to the families of those brave officers and crew. Would you be so kind as to bring us all up to date on the research you’ve conducted on her attackers?”

  Commander Rogers took a breath to reply, but hesitated when Vice placed a hand on his arm.

  “We’ve concluded our preliminary analysis, sir,” Vice replied. “Our working theory is that a third alien faction is operating in Rho Theta space. Their weapon is unlike anything the Sarn or the Kraken have deployed. We’re going to need more time to evaluate its strategic implications. For the time being we should consider the residual effects potentially hazardous.”

  “It would help to know who fired it and from what ship,” Stone added.

  “I want you and Stone to brief the senior officers of the wolfpack and get them started on a search pattern in and around Rho Theta Three. While we’re at it, I’d like to get Hunter’s fighters to join in. If that unidentified ship is around here somewhere, I want him flushed out and strung up in time for supper.”

  “Sir, we have an advisory from Skywatch Command indicating a system-wide alert condition tomorrow morning at oh-nine-hundred,” Captain Stone said. “What should we be preparing for?”

  “D Corps is going to set down on Rho Theta Four to establish a heavy infantry base of operations. From there they will be staging amphibious assaults into Mycenae Ceti. They will also be reinforcing the automatic orbital station and establishing a failover communications array to link up with Oleander Station. That will get us prepared for the Proximans.”

  “The Proximans, sir?” Hunter asked.

  “If the Sarn have two allied forces backing them, we’re going to need some backup of our own.” The light table switched to a view of a rarely seen ship type. It was the Proximan dreadnought Cuta.

  “Oh my,” Jayce said under her breath. The vessel was as impressive as it was intimidating. The Proximans were not shy about building ships that reminded their enemies of claws and teeth. The Cuta was no different. She displaced more than three million tons and mounted an eight-gun main battery that wasn’t quite as heavy as the Skywatch equivalent, but would definitely make her enemies think twice about getting too close.

  “This is the little one,” Tucker said. “I’ve heard tell of a heavy dreadnought that’s not far behind. His Majesty has called up his royal dragoons. They are some sword-swingin’ hellcats, and they are going to give us some much needed air-cav support if we end up in theater-wide operations on the M-Ceti planets.”

  “What kind of numbers?” Captain Lewis asked.

  “Fifteen divisions with two divisions of support staff and logistics. They are going to establish a base of operations on and in orbit over Rho Theta Four. His Majesty is sending all but the home fleet to garrison positions outside Prairie Grove and the Missouri Gate in order to give us a fall-back in the event something or another pops up unexpectedly. His recon units will be operating in and around the Descartes Gate.”

  Tucker’s expression hardened.

  “I don’t have to explain to you all that we’ve been caught flat-footed here. That gaggle of bastards back at HQ left us with half our captains and about a third of our current generation hulls when they decided everything they surveyed was nothing but peace and safety for a thousand years. We are outgunned. We are out-tonned. At best, we’re looking at three-to-one against in ships and two-to-one against in men under arms. We’re a month behind in supply lines and two months behind in logistics. If we survive this, and that is by no means a foregone conclusion, we will lose planets and we may lose a system or two. We’re going to have a lot of casualties and most of the boys on the way here right now aren’t going home. There are also ten billion civilians caught in the crossfire.”

  It was what they needed to hear. None of the assembled officers wanted to hear it, but the admiral knew how to spell it out for his troops.

  “But we’re Skywatch, and that means we’re going to unleash nine kinds of hell before this is over. And God help whoever or whatever gets in our way.”

  Five

  “It just appeared on the scope, sir. No communications and no identification. Emissions pattern suggests a warship in the 60,000 ton range. Sensors indicate potential weapons fire in the vicinity. Contact designate Kilowatt X-Ray Five on oblique course to the Magellan Wall. Range 185 megaclicks and closing.”

  “Set alert condition one. Stand by battle stations.”

  The deck alert indicators aboard DSS Curacao shifted yellow. Her captain, Lieutenant Nelson Thompson, took his place at the conn. Curacao was a recon frigate. Lightly armed but fast and maneuverable. All the info
rmation on his scanners made perfect sense. The only problem was the ship they were tracking wasn’t an Alliance vessel. Thompson had his suspicions, and those made even less sense than what his tactical section had discovered.

  “How far are we from Jenner’s Star, navigator?”

  “Zero point seven light years, sir. The Hermes Gate is approximately nine light minutes on a course bearing three one zero.”

  “Is that where the contact originated?”

  “Negative, sir. Origin point puts this vessel at– well, with respect, sir. It came from nowhere. There are no charted systems on that bearing.”

  “What do you need for an ID, tactical?”

  “We need to get within 100 megaclicks at least.”

  Thompson didn’t take much time to reach a decision. “Helm, plot an intercept course. All ahead flank two.”

  “Affirmative, captain. Helm answering new course zero three zero mark ten. All ahead flank two.”

  “New contact! Designate Kilowatt X-Ray Seven. Battle computer reads as hostile. In pursuit of Kilo X-Ray Five. Range 195 megaclicks and closing.”

  “Looks like someone started a fight and didn’t invite us, pilot,” Thompson quipped.

  “Affirmative, sir.”

  “Range now 120 megaclicks at 17mm closure.”

  “Go active. Get me some kind of ID on Kilo X-Ray Five, tactical. Navigator, plot an evasive course back to Proximan space. Stand by to engage at full speed on my order.”

  “Battle computer identifies Kilo X-Ray Five as a Sarn Invector destroyer. She is trailing drive plasma and appears to be heavily damaged. We have intermittent readings of weapons fire.”

  “From which of the ships?”

  “Could be both, sir,” the tactical officer replied.

  “Set general quarters.”

  Curacao screamed into the deflection zone only minutes off the frantic courses of the two unidentified combatants. Her battle screens were at full power and her electronic warfare systems began broadcasting noise on as many frequencies as she had energy to reach. Then something happened that would end up going down in history as the moment that could have saved a million lives.