by Tori Harris
The Damaran sat straighter in his chair, raising his chin slightly at the idea of his first independent command. “I won’t let you down, sir, thank you.”
“Your life will literally depend on that being the case, Commander,” Sarafi growled. “This mission is a dangerous one, but I can assure you that it is absolutely critical to our cause. If you succeed, perhaps my report of your performance may improve.”
“What is my mission, sir?”
“As I have said, we must assume that an attack on our forces at this location is imminent. While I agree, to some extent, with your sentiment that we have nothing to fear from the Humans, waiting here to engage their forces is not what we were sent here to do. We need every available ship in order to successfully attack Terra itself, so we cannot afford to risk a confrontation until our attack is underway. Unfortunately, five of our ships have not yet arrived, and we have no way of letting them know that we have relocated our forces unless someone remains behind at this location.” Sarafi paused, staring into Miah’s large, dark eyes in an effort to determine whether he had the vaguest understanding of what he was being asked to do.
Finally, the reality of his mission seemed to dawn on the Damaran. “So I am to remain here at the original rally point with only four ships? What am I to do if the Humans attack with a superior force?”
“Crush them,” Sarafi grunted, now beginning to enjoy the conversation as he sensed Miah’s fear increasing. “As you said, they are nothing more than ‘fledglings’ thus far … and certainly not capable of fielding forces that pose a threat to the ships I am placing under your command. We must place our faith in the intelligence reports you have been providing, Commander.”
“Can you tell me which vessels will be in my detachment?”
“Of course. I am leaving you with two of our new battlespace defense cruisers, the Hadeon and the Keturah. While I am reluctant to do so, their network of surveillance drones is already in place. Just remember that two ships cannot defend the area as effectively as four, so you should consider reducing the size of their defensive perimeter accordingly. You will also have two Shopak-class heavy cruisers at your disposal, but I recommend you exercise command from the Hadeon, since she possesses the most modern command and control systems.”
“And when may I abandon the original rally point and rejoin the task force?”
Sarafi could hear that the Damaran’s heart rate had nearly doubled since realizing the scope of his mission — the smell of his fear becoming so thick that it threatened to overcome the Wek officer’s own self-control. The commodore drew in a deep breath and swallowed the saliva now filling his mouth before continuing, “All five of the remaining vessels are battleships – each one commanded by a senior captain whose experience we desperately need. I am loathe to begin the attack on Terra until they have joined the task force. As each one arrives, you will immediately direct them to the new rally point. Your detachment may accompany the fifth and final ship.”
“But what do I do if they …”
“Everything you need to know is contained in your orders, Commander,” Sarafi interrupted. “Please take some time to review them and then you may ask any additional questions you have. I will be moving the task force to the new rally point in two hours, so you will need to act quickly. I suggest you shuttle over to the Hadeon immediately and take command of your detachment.”
“I understand, Commodore. Thank you, sir.”
“Dismissed, Commander Miah. Good luck.”
TFS Navajo
(Combat Information Center)
With the Hunter reconnaissance flights nearing the end of their list of potential Resistance rally points, Admiral Patterson was now well past the point of feeling anxious. For the past several days, he had pushed the question of what to do next in the event of an unsuccessful search to the back of his mind. On an intellectual level, he knew that ignoring the need for a backup plan was in no way based on his confidence that the Resistance ships would be found. The cold reality was that he simply didn’t know what to do next. Sure, there were a number of actions that he could and would take: checking the recon locations again with larger search radii, extending his picket line with the remainder of his standard Hunters, and overseeing the deployment of a number of additional capital ships expected to come online within the next few days, to name a few. All of these were purely defensive moves, however — the kinds of moves that desperate commanders have made throughout history upon finding themselves in an untenable situation.
Before entering the CIC, Patterson stepped to one side of the corridor and removed a well-worn index card from his wallet. Like the small “cheat sheets” some of his college engineering professors allowed during tests, the card was completely covered with his scrawl. Rather than odious formulas and physical constants, both sides contained motivational quotes and other bits of wisdom he had collected over the course of his career. Interestingly, the words he was looking for this morning were not those of a great military leader … although some Green Bay Packers fans might disagree.
“The strength of the group is the strength of the leader—I am the first believer that Leaders must have the quiet confidence, the certainty, of professional preparation, and personal conviction that the task can and will be done. If so, it will.”
~ Vince Lombardi
Patterson reflected for a moment, then carefully placed the fragile card back into his wallet while reminding himself that all leaders struggled with doubt, even fear, on occasion. The key was keeping those emotions in check, and never putting them on display in front of those you are trying to lead. That thought in mind, the admiral authenticated his identity and, with renewed resolve, drew in a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and strode confidently onto the floor of the CIC.
“Good morning, Commander,” he greeted the young officer staring intently at the holographic display table in the center of the room. “Anything interesting yet?”
“Ah, good morning, Admiral … great timing, actually. It was a pretty peaceful watch until about half an hour ago, but since then there has been quite a bit of activity.”
“Unfortunately, that’s usually the way that kind of thing works. What’s going on?” Patterson asked, now reasonably alert after his self-administered pep talk and five and a half hours of desperately needed sleep.
“First off,” the commander replied, selecting two large ships with a gesture that sent a zoomed-in real-time view of each to large view screens nearby, “as expected, Ushant and Philippine Sea completed their climb to orbit about two hours ago. Neither has begun flight operations as yet, but both are reporting a ‘mission effective’ status and should begin taking over some of the combat air patrol missions that Jutland has been handling within the hour.”
Patterson regarded the two carriers with satisfaction while taking a sip of the morning’s second cup of “navy coffee,” noting absently that it was just the way he liked it — strong, hot, black, and with a pinch of salt. “That’s excellent news, but I actually want them taking over all of the CAP missions from Jutland as soon as possible. Pair each one with a cruiser to maximize their defensive firepower.”
“Aye, sir.”
“As soon as they get their Hunters on station, have Jutland recall their entire air wing with the exception of the birds that are out looking for the Resistance task force. Have we heard from her CAG this morning that you know of?”
“I’ll check with the bridge to make sure, but I don’t think so, sir. That’s Captain Zhukov, right?”
“Dmitri ‘Deadeye’ Zhukov, yes indeed. Have you met him?” Prescott asked, giving the man a sideways look and a raised eyebrow.
“Yes, sir,” he chuckled. “I don’t intimidate easily, but that guys scares the hell out of me.”
The admiral grinned while nodding his head knowingly. “Yeah, I understand why a lot of people say that. He’s a pretty intense guy, but probably the finest pilot in the fleet.”
“I assumed his call sign refe
rred to the fact that he was a good shot with a pulse rifle or excellent on the gunnery range in his fighter until I met him in person.”
While many people still associated Russians with blond hair and gray eyes, those tracing their ancestors to eastern sections of the huge country were much more likely to have dark brown eyes and hair. Captain Zhukov’s were, in fact, so strikingly dark that it was often difficult to see any distinction between his irises and pupils.
“Nope, although I’m guessing that’s probably true as well,” Patterson laughed. “Don’t worry about confirming, I’ll check in with him directly. The reason I want Jutland’s fighters aboard is that I want her out of Earth’s gravity well and ready to respond when word comes in that we’ve found that enemy task force.”
“Aye, sir. That’s actually the next item I have for you,” the officer said while reconfiguring the holo table to display the most recent status information from Jutland’s reconnaissance flights. “As you know, the Hunters C-Jump back to the nearest NRD surveillance drone or communications beacon after visiting each reconnaissance location. That means we should hear from them about once every ten and a half hours. As you came in, I was just noticing that this one right here,” he said, zooming in on the last known location of “Nail 42” flight, “is running a little later than expected.”
“Hmm … well, there’s some room for variation there. How much later are we talking?”
“They’re just over five minutes off the average at this point.”
“I’m sure they’re watching the situation pretty closely over in the Jutland’s CIC, but I’ll mention it to Captain Zhukov in just a moment. Anything else?”
“Nothing else out of the ordinary at the moment, Admiral. Our favorite Pelaran elder statesman and superweapon is still right where he’s been for the past week. No change in emissions since its most recent campaign speech ended.”
“Good, hopefully it will stay that way for a while. Thank you for the update.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ensign Fletcher!” Patterson called without looking in the direction of her Communications console.
“Yes, Admiral!” came her usual, enthusiastic reply. Over the past week or so, the young comm officer seemed to have had the dubious honor of always being on duty while the “old man” was present in the CIC. Since he rarely left the room, however, this was hardly a surprise. What did come as a surprise, especially since she was sure she had made a horrible first impression, was the fact that he actually seemed to have taken a liking to her.
“Good morning, Katy. I’d like to speak with Captain Zhukov aboard the Jutland. I’ll take it in conference room two, please,” Patterson said over his shoulder before stopping mid-stride and turning back to Ensign Fletcher. “Also, go ahead and issue a prepare for launch order for TFS Theseus.”
“Aye, sir, will do, and good morning to you as well,” she smiled.
Patterson smiled pleasantly in return before heading off once again in the direction of the conference room. The admiral’s three sons were only a little older than the young ensign. Although raising three boys had been more than enough, as far as he and Mrs. Patterson were concerned, he had still always wanted a daughter. There’s always granddaughters, he thought, assuming I don’t screw all this up. The CNO’s job was stressful under the best of circumstances, but taking personal command of Earth’s defenses had allowed the full burden of his responsibilities to bear down on him like nothing he had ever experienced before. Perhaps more so than any single person in Human history, Kevin Patterson had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Please, God, don’t let me screw this up, he thought, silently repeating the G-rated version of astronaut Alan Shepard’s famous prayer from three centuries before.
By the time he managed to close the door and take a seat at the table in the small conference room, a chime, accompanied by a textual notification on the wall-mounted view screen, indicated that the commander of Jutland’s air wing, still generally referred to as the “CAG,” was standing by. “Open the channel please,” Patterson ordered, to which the AI responded with a slightly more urgent-sounding chime, followed immediately by the appearance of Captain Zhukov on the screen.
“Good morning, Admiral. I take it you noticed that one of our Hunter formations is past due.”
“Good morning to you, Dmitri Nikolayevich,” Patterson began, using the officer’s given name followed by the patronymic based on his father’s first name. Although the patronym had fallen out of common, everyday use, even in Russia, it was still seen as a sign of polite respect — especially when used by a superior officer from another country. “I did see that. Any chance it’s a coincidence?”
“I would say that with each passing minute a coincidence becomes less likely. If we hear nothing within the next half hour, we must conclude that the formation is most likely lost. Of course, this does not necessarily mean that they were destroyed by hostile forces, but …”
“But it doesn’t mean they weren’t, either,” Patterson interjected. “Do you have a strike package ready for me?”
“Yes, sir. We prepared three different options, but the one I recommend that we execute first is more of a reconnaissance in force. We begin by sending in one of our Reaper squadrons — twenty-four aircraft — configured for an anti-ship strike with C-Drive-equipped missiles.”
“That’s a more conservative approach than I would have expected from you, Captain. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I do not believe I have ever been accused of conservative combat tactics, Admiral,” Zhukov smiled, “but, as you know, we are in a bit of a tenuous situation. Assuming the missing Hunters were destroyed by the Resistance task force, this seems to imply that either: a) they jumped directly on top of the enemy formation; or b) the Resistance ships have deployed sophisticated defensive measures covering a large region of space surrounding their rally point. It is also possible that we are dealing with more than one rally point, so I would like to continue the Hunter reconnaissance flights even after we locate some of the enemy task force.”
“I agree wholeheartedly. How many Hunters do you have in action at the moment?”
“Ah, I’m glad you asked that, sir. Fifty-six are in operation at the moment, including the two that may have been lost — that’s nearly half of the C-Drive-equipped Hunters we have available at the moment. Please recall that the decision was made to embark all of the available C-Jump-capable Hunters aboard the Jutland before she launched since, at the time, we did not know how long the other two carriers would be delayed. Now that all three are in space, I suggest we divide the RPSVs evenly so that each ship will have forty available, in addition to one hundred fifty-two with sublight capability only.”
Admiral Patterson swore silently to himself, then closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger as if trying to ward off a particularly bad headache. “Yes, of course, Captain. You’re absolutely right, and I realize now that I’ve issued a couple of orders that did not take that into account. I appreciate your compensating for my oversight, but please don’t hesitate to ask a question if I tell you to do something that doesn’t make sense. Yes, please make it as you say. Once you get the RPSVs redistributed, let Ushant and Philippine Sea take over the local CAP missions as well as the long-range reconnaissance flights. Since we have probably lost any potential of surprising the Resistance ships, we also need to beef up the local patrol missions quite a bit. Admiral Naftur seems to think they are waiting for the arrival of several additional ships, but if we have spooked them, they may decide to attack with the forces they have available. I also want the Jutland out of Earth’s gravity well and paired up with the Navajo. As the situation develops, we’ll need as many ships as possible ready to move — and hopefully dedicated to offensive combat operations at some point. Please pass all that along to Captain Donovan when we are finished here.”
“I will do so immediately, Admiral. Regarding the strike package, economy of force is o
ur primary concern. With all of the Block 2 upgrades underway, we have only six active squadrons of F-373s available — and we had to strip all of our planet-side bases to get those. Two squadrons are now deployed aboard each carrier. Getting back to your original question, there are far too many unknowns at the moment, so I am reluctant to commit a significant portion of our tactical strike forces until we have a better idea of what we are up against.”
Patterson stared off to the side for a moment, slowly nodding his head as if testing Zhukov’s reasoning against his own set of assumptions. “Everything you said sounds reasonable to me. And I also agree that it seems likely the Resistance ships have some pretty intense anti-ship defenses set up around their perimeter. So I assume your plan is to C-Jump into the general area of the missing Hunters’ last recon location, but allow yourself some room to maneuver or retreat in case it’s too hot to conduct your attack.”
“That is correct, sir. The Operations Order calls for two flights of twelve Reapers to C-Jump into the area simultaneously at a distance of one light minute either side of the Hunters’ last destination. We have no way of knowing where the Resistance ships were located relative to this point in space, but dividing our forces should minimize the possibility of sending the entire squadron into the middle of an enemy formation. Each flight’s first priority will be using their passive sensor suites to gather as much information as possible regarding the enemy task force’s disposition, strength, and composition. Each flight commander will then evaluate the situation to determine whether to press the attack or return to base. Unlike the RPSVs, our Reapers are capable of multiple, consecutive C-Jumps, if necessary.”
“Very well, Captain. I have a couple of additional things in mind, but I’m going to need real-time comm out there — surveillance too, if I can get it. Are any of your fighters rigged to deploy a surveillance drone?”
