by Tori Harris
“Silence on the bridge!” Sarafi bellowed, the savage tone of his voice leaving little doubt of what would happen to the next member of the crew who dared to speak out of turn. “Clearly, the Terrans’ first attack was highly effective — much more so than any of us had expected. But now I need each of you focused and executing your duties flawlessly. Do so, and we may yet prevail. Fail, and we will be lucky to survive, even with the advantages afforded us by the Gunov. Am I making myself clear?” There were muted grunts and growls of approval around the bridge in response.
Now, at last they have a real enemy and a reason to fight, he though grimly. “XO, hold your status report for a moment. Tactical, have the Terran vessels returned?”
“No, Commodore, not yet.”
“At least one of them will do so in order to assess the results of their initial attack. Comm, notify all ships that they are to hold their fire until they hear otherwise from the Flag. Tell the Rusalov-class battleships to stand by to launch all available fighters and prepare for a focused kinetics cannonade. For the remainder of this battle, the Gunov’s fire control AI will be designating targets and controlling their main guns. Also let them know that the Humans have hyperdrive-capable missiles accurate enough to transition inside our shields. The Rusalovs should activate their aft shield augmenters. All other ships should execute random evasive maneuvers per Annex-Three of the TACPLAN.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Now … I need a quick summary of our task force status, please,” he said, drawing in a deep breath and closing his eyes to clear his mind.
After a brief pause, Sarafi’s new XO, a steady, formidable Wek female called Ragini Freyda, spoke up. “Sir, based on the information we have thus far, thirteen of our Shopak-class cruisers have been completely destroyed. The two remaining standard cruisers are heavily damaged and requesting our immediate assistance.”
“That will, regretfully, have to wait for the time being. And what of our Keturah-class BD cruisers?”
“One of them is also requesting our aid. The other is reporting minor damage to her propulsion section, but she is still underway, able to maneuver, and her BD system is still operational.”
“Inform the captain of the remaining operational cruiser that he is to feign heavy damage. Make it look as if his ship is adrift without steerage way. I also want him to lower his shields and reduce his power output to the minimum required to operate the BD system. Tell him that I expect the Terran ships will launch a large number of the scout vessels we encountered at the original rally point as soon as they transition back into the area. From what we have seen, the scouts are not equipped with shields and are incapable of rapid hyperspace transitions. If that happens, he is to take control of all remaining energy weapons as well as the Carrada Area Denial System to execute his attack. He may only get one chance, so tell him I fully expect his ship to eliminate the enemy scout vessels completely, if possible. The Rusalovs are to delay launching their own fighters until after the BD cruiser has completed its attack, then scramble them as quickly as possible. Once on station, the fighters are to clean up any remaining enemy scout vessels and then assist in our larger attack on the Terran destroyers. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” his XO responded, entering the necessary information at her Command workstation to relay Sarafi’s orders while wondering at the commodore’s newly found prescience. While not a bad officer per se compared to some she had had the misfortune of serving under, Sarafi had never struck her as particularly imaginative in his thinking. “Transmitting now.”
“Instruct the other two Gresav-class ships to form up with us. We will operate in support of each other and concentrate our firepower while directing that of the battleships.”
“Aye, sir.”
Sarafi sat back in his command chair momentarily while considering what else he might do to improve his odds against the Terran ships. How many more of my decisions this day will result in such an appalling loss of life? he asked himself. And how many of my own people am I willing to sacrifice for the sake of this mission?
In spite of the urgency of the current situation, another part of his mind strayed to the notion of how much better off his homeworld might be at the moment if they were allied with these Terrans rather than with the Damarans and their ilk. Their strategy thus far had been brazen — almost elegant in its simplicity — and yet there was certainly no arguing with the results they had achieved. Even after having suffered such grievous losses, however, Sarafi had confidence that he would regain the upper hand and exact a heavy toll against the Human ships. Nevertheless, he was forced to concede that Naftur might have been right about them all along. When required, they fought like a cornered Zakula, while at the same time being capable of offering compassion and mercy to a vanquished enemy. There were contradictions here — a great many of them in fact — and Sarafi once again promised himself that he would spend more time thinking through them for himself when time, circumstance, and duty allowed.
“Contact,” the tactical officer announced. “Same range as before, sir … just over six hundred thousand kilometers. The AI indicates that it is the same vessel that hailed us before, the Karna.”
“And she is hailing us again,” the comm officer announced.
“These Humans talk nearly as much as the damned Damarans,” Sarafi snarled, temporarily overcoming the rather bleak mood on the Gunov’s bridge and drawing a few muffled sounds of amusement in response. “We will indulge them once more to give our comrades a few additional moments to prepare, then we shall allow our weapons to speak on our behalf.” This time, there were more raucous sounds of approval from the bridge crew in response to their commodore’s defiant tone. He smiled with more enthusiasm than he felt at the moment, then allowed the room to settle before continuing. “Put the Terran captain back on the screen, please.”
Once again, Captain Abrams appeared on the forward display screen, this time wearing a decidedly somber expression considering the success of the Humans’ first attack.
“Hello again, Captain. I presume you are calling to offer us the opportunity to surrender?”
“Yes, I am, sir. I also want to assure you unequivocally that the destruction of your vessels that has occurred thus far need not lead to a wider conflict. We will make no apologies for defending our homeworld, but we also have no interest in seeing additional bloodshed on either side. I urge you to stand down and allow us to assist you with rescue operations. Once they have been concluded, we will provide whatever additional aid you require before escorting your remaining forces out of the area.”
Sarafi stared broodingly at the Human captain for a moment, unsure what to make of his seemingly sincere offer. “I am afraid my response is unchanged, Captain Abrams. I, too, am here to defend my homeworld, as well as the six others that are part of our alliance. I must also caution you of the dangers associated with becoming overconfident in ships and their weapon systems to such an extent that you underestimate your opponent’s leadership. Now that I have seen your ‘trick,’” Sarafi paused, staring at Abrams through narrowed eyes, “I can assure you that it will no longer avail you. So, once again, I am obligated to extend you the same offer … which you will, of course, decline. Let us put a stop to all of this unnecessary chatter and settle this like warriors, rather than bootlicking diplomats.”
“As you wish,” the scowling Human captain responded curtly. “Abrams out.”
“Sir,” the tactical officer reported, “our other two destroyers have formed up to port and starboard and slightly aft of our current position. Also, the Terran vessel has transitioned to hyperspace again.”
“Understood. Comm, warn the other two destroyers that we are getting underway and that they should expect repeated Annex-Three type maneuvers. Helm, in thirty seconds, begin a smooth acceleration to our best maneuvering speed. Make your first relative bearing three five zero, up forty-five on the bow. Once you see that our sister ships are maintaining their positions, begin your evasive man
euver series. Inform me immediately if they are unable to stay in formation.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Commodore, during the first Terran attack, all seventeen of their ships were coplanar,” Freyda observed.
“They were indeed. As were ours, for the most part,” Sarafi responded, pleased that his young protégé had noticed not only the manner in which their enemies had executed their attack, but also his response to it. “I am uncertain that we can depend on their doing the same thing again, but they are new at this game, are they not?”
“That is certainly our assumption, yes, sir,” she replied, smiling conspiratorially.
“With any luck, however, the success of their first attack may encourage them to make somewhat more of a bold stroke when they return. Everything I have seen so far leads me to believe that their hyperdrive missiles require stationary, or at least predictable, targets. I just explicitly told them, as if they did not already know, that we will not fall prey to another of their hyperdrive missile attacks. I am sure Captain Abrams and his ship’s AI also noted several of the changes we have already put into motion to prevent them from using that particular type of attack again.”
“So you believe they might reenter the battle using a similar formation, but attack in a different manner?” she asked.
“I think they will have little choice but to close with our vessels and fight it out. Executing what amounts to a sneak attack using their missiles is one thing, but attacking a group of warships that are completely out of their class is quite another. So, I intend to put the three vessels we have remaining that are most nearly their match at the center of the battlespace … and above the plane of their previous attack. That will also place us almost directly over our surviving BD cruiser and very nearly equidistant from all six of our Rusalov battleships around the perimeter.”
“There are no warships in our inventory whose shields can withstand an attack from three Gresav-class destroyers simultaneously,” Freyda observed, proudly “not even the new Baldevs.”
“If our computer models are to be believed, that is certainly true,” Sarafi smiled.
“We have detected no shields being used by the Terran vessels. Are you certain that they are so equipped?” she asked with a sidelong, suspicious glance.
“I am. But I can say no more on the subject for the moment.”
“Contacts!” the tactical officer interrupted. “All seventeen Terran vessels have returned, sir. They have broken into six groups. Each group appears to be headed for one of our Rusalovs. No sign of fighters thus far.”
“Well, well,” Sarafi drawled with a savage smile, “their formations look strikingly similar to their first attack, do they not? I will say this for the Humans, what they lack in experience, they seem to more than make up for with reckless courage. Comm, signal the battleships with a reminder that the fire control systems for their main guns will be under the control of the Gunov’s AI for the remainder of the battle. Whenever possible, they should also concentrate their secondary weapon systems on the targets designated by the Flag.”
“Commander, you will direct the cannonade from the Rusalovs while I manage our three Gresavs. Your first priority is to remove Terran vessels from the fight. It matters not if they remain largely intact. Shift your fire as quickly as possible after you disable one of their number.”
“Aye, sir.”
“And we shall begin,” he said, staring intently at the tactical situation display, “with this one.”
Chapter 8
TFS Theseus, Location Dagger
(3.3 light years from Earth)
As soon as there was sufficient distance between the hulls of the Theseus and the Keturah, Ensign Fisher executed a maximum performance turn to place the stricken Resistance BD cruiser dead astern, then once again pushed the destroyer’s Cannae sublight engines to emergency power. With his situational awareness increasing once again in the aftermath of the near disastrous collision, he adjusted the ship’s departure vector to place the damaged enemy cruiser between their position and the now distant Baldev. For the moment, his tactic seemed to be working — the battleship had yet to resume its energy weapons fire.
“Helm, keep increasing the distance to Charlie 4 just in case, then maintain course until we’re out of Bravo 1’s grav beam and can make another tactical C-jump. Thirty light seconds again is fine. Execute as soon as possible.”
“Aye, sir. Projecting six one seconds to C-Jump on this heading.”
“Captain, we detected some type of projectile launch from the dorsal side of Charlie 4 at about the same time the Baldev’s missile hit her drive section,” Lieutenant Lee reported from the Science and Engineering console. “Based on its emissions, I’m betting it was one of her reactor’s containment units. In fact, I’d have to say that it was probably all of them at once since we’ve seen only minimal power levels from her since then.”
“Good catch, Lieutenant. It almost had to be. Otherwise, I don’t think there is any possible way she could have avoided a breach. I’d say that’s another major improvement over the earlier cruisers based on what we saw happen to Charlie 2. Really extraordinary engineering when you think about it …” Prescott said, shaking his head. “Status report, please.”
“Moderate damage to our dorsal armor plating, sir. The damage looks pretty ugly on the monitors, but it’s largely superficial from what we can tell so far. We lost two close-in weapon system turrets and one emitter from our primary dorsal energy weapons array. Otherwise, all systems are still in the green. No hull breaches reported and no injuries reported.”
“Tactical?”
“Badger 21 Flight has their hands full with the Baldev’s fighters, Captain,” Schmidt replied. “There are now four six enemy fighters in their general vicinity, so, for the moment, they’re outnumbered almost two to one.”
“What about Badger 1 Flight? Aren’t they assisting?”
“Badger 22’s twelve fighters are headed that way now, but I’m having some trouble locating all of Badger 1 Flight. I think some of them must have transitioned … stand by.” There was an uncomfortable silence as Lieutenant Commander Schmidt confirmed and reconfirmed the distressing information being displayed on his console.
“Is there a problem, Schmidt?”
“Yes, sir, there is. Badger 1 Flight is reporting a combat ineffective status.”
“What? How is that possible?”
“I’m showing only one three of their original three six fighters. It looks like they are also trying to distance themselves from Bravo 1. If we adjust our course slightly, we can intercept.”
Prescott swore silently to himself at the realization that a significant portion of the forces under his command had simply ceased to exist without his immediate knowledge. Glancing at the tactical plot, he noted that the same information Schmidt had just reported was also reflected in the order of battle summary, but it really wasn’t much of a surprise that no one on Theseus’ bridge had noticed during the heat of combat. The primary purpose of the tactical plot was to highlight the threats deemed most urgent by the ship’s AI — not to provide a strategic-level view of the battlespace. He also knew that the CIC duty staff aboard Admiral Patterson’s flagship (if not Admiral Patterson himself) were monitoring every aspect of the battle and would not hesitate to redirect his actions if they deemed it necessary. Think — focus — respond! he raged inwardly, furious that his mind was already busily convincing itself that their deaths had nothing to do with any actions he had taken … or had failed to take.
“Lieutenant Dubashi, are we detecting any emergency locator beacon transmissions?”
“No, sir.”
“Go ahead and try contacting Badger 1 — text only. See if they require immediate assistance and ask them to open a comm channel if able.”
It took only a few seconds for Captain Zhukov to reply.
“Theseus, Zhukov.”
The fact that Captain Zhukov was no longer using his flight’s “Badger 1”
call sign made the hair on the back of Prescott’s neck stand on end.
“Zhukov, Theseus-Actual. What can we do to help, Captain?”
“I have four ships in need of an exfil as soon as possible, Captain. Shortly after we transitioned in to take out the missiles targeting the Theseus, we triggered some sort of anti-access weapon system. It used a type of fragmentation warhead that overwhelmed our shields. We lost most of our fighters before we even realized that we were under attack. I had also brought along the six RPSVs you assigned to our flight with the intention of positioning them for use in much the same manner as the weapon that attacked us. Unfortunately, all six of them were destroyed as well. I was left with a total of six fully operational and seven critically damaged 373s. I sent the three damaged ships that still had operable C-Drives back to their carriers, but the remaining four are marginal at best. We have been escorting them out of the immediate area as quickly as possible, but I fear at least one of them will end up needing to eject at some point. Can Theseus accommodate four Reapers in her hangar bay?”
With everything else running through his mind at the moment, Prescott simply looked at Commander Reynolds for an answer to Zhukov’s question.
“I think so, yes,” she nodded, “but we’ll have to recover them one at a time and get their wings stowed so that we can move each one out of the way for the next. I doubt we’ll be able to also embark all twenty-four … well … eighteen of our Hunters, but they can C-Jump back to Earth on their own, if needed. Captain Zhukov, how long can your pilots survive if they have to eject?”
“Indefinitely … in theory at least. Our survival pods are equipped with a dedicated power supply and we have sufficient water and rations available to last several days at least.”
“And the status of the pods on the four damaged fighters?” Prescott asked, understanding from personal experience how unpleasant it would be for the pilots if they were forced to remain inside them for an extended period of time.
