Authors: Kennedy Hudner
His father cast him a sideways glance, then shared a smirk with Commander Kerrs. “Yes, I’m sure you have heard that, Lieutenant, but if he is going to try anything clever, he’ll have to spring it soon, because in nineteen hours we’ll be in missile range of Qurna, and an hour after that we’ll be in orbit.” His voice took on a sarcastic edge. “Tend to your duties, Lieutenant; I believe Commander Kerrs and I have things under control.” Grant felt a flush creep up his cheeks, but said nothing. He wondered what Brill would see if
he
were looking at the sensors. But he looked again at this father, sitting there calmly, confident, and with good reason. After all, he commanded the most powerful armada in history. What could stop him now?
Thirty minutes later the
London’s
Sensors Officer looked up in alarm. “Admiral! One of the frigates reports multiple contacts! Eight…no, twelve unknowns coming directly on course from Qurna. High acceleration. ETA forty minutes.”
“Well, launch a recon drone, dammit,” Admiral Skiffington said impatiently. “I want to know if they’re hostile!”
Three minutes ticked by in a tense silence, then the sensor displays blossomed. “Positively identified as Dominion ships, five cruiser size vessels and seven vessels shown as probable heavy destroyers or light cruisers.” The Sensor Officer leaned forward, studying the display intently. “Wait, more coming in. There are a large number of ships behind the Ducks…signs of energy beams.” He straightened. “It looks like the Ducks are being pursued by Tilleke ships, Sir, a lot of them. Thirty or more at first guess, firing lasers at the Ducks.” On the holo display, the incoming Dominion ships were marked as green, while the ships appearing behind them were scarlet red.
Admiral Skiffington sat back, crossed his legs and studied the displays, carefully concealing the sense of relief washing over him. The Tilleke were coming straight in, but he out-numbered them four to one. He nodded in satisfaction.
“Commander Kerrs, message to all units: Prepare for missile launch on hostile forces on my command. Friendly Dominion units are inbound and need to clear the firing zone. End message.
“And order the frigates to return, Commander. They’ll just get chewed up out there. No sense in wasting them.” The Admiral crossed his legs and sat back in his chair.
The sensor display was at odds with the Admiral’s calm demeanor. The Dominion ships were running for their lives, firing missiles and copious amounts of chaff in a desperate attempt to confuse the Tilleke sensors. The green and red dots grew closer.
London’s
sensors collected enough data to label the DUC ships by type: three energy cruisers, two missile cruisers, four energy destroyers and three missile destroyers. The display showed missiles crisscrossing back and forth, and long lines of light intended to represent laser shots.
The Sensor Officer called out. “One of the destroyers is really getting hammered, Sir. He’s losing propulsion and falling behind the others. He’s not firing any chaff.” The others could see it on the holo display. The other green dots were managing to keep their distance from the red pursuers, but one was slowly losing way, falling further and further behind. The oncoming tide of red lights closed in. A dozen laser beams shot out. The green dot flared briefly, then vanished.
“Must have cracked her bottle, Sir. She’s gone.” The magnetic containment system, or “bottle,” kept the anti-matter isolated and safe. Once the bottle ruptured, the anti-matter would collide with matter and start a chain reaction of explosions, instantly fatal to the ship.
Admiral Skiffington frowned. “Are we in com range yet of the Dominions?”
“Any moment now, Sir.”
A minute later the screen blinked to life, showing a tall, gaunt man on the bridge of a ship, blood dripping down his forehead. He wore the uniform of a Dominion of Unified Citizenry Rear Admiral. Smoke filled the bridge, and in the background men were frantically trying to put out a fire. The lights flickered weakly, casting dark shadows.
“This is Admiral Skiffington of the Victorian Royal Fleet,” Skiffington said brusquely. “To whom am I speaking?”
The Dominion Admiral coughed a long hacking cough that shook his entire frame. Finally he caught his breath. “I am Admiral Oscar Quigley of the Dominion Ship
People’s Pride.
I am leader of the expeditionary force to assist the Arcadians while transiting Tilleke space. I am very glad to see you, Admiral.” Even as he spoke there was a loud noise and his deck rocked. He threw out a hand to steady himself.
“We can see you are under attack, Admiral,” Skiffington replied. “Can you tell me the status of your forces?”
The Dominion officer nodded. “Three days ago the Tilleke attacked us in force. The Arcadian freighters we were escorting were destroyed, along with several of my destroyers and at least two cruisers. My fleet was forced to scatter. We’ve been trying to withdraw to the wormhole since then.” A look of pain contorted his face. “I don’t…I don’t know where my other ships are, or how many survived.”
“Very well, Admiral,” Skiffington said matter-of-factly. “I’m sure you’ve done your best. I think Victoria can take it from here. Why don’t you have your ships fall in behind us? Once you’ve cleared our firing lanes, we will take care of the Tilleke ships that are chasing you. As soon as we run them off, we’ll provide you with whatever assistance you need.”
Admiral Quigley bowed his head. “Thank you, Admiral.” The com screen went dark.
Admiral Skiffington turned to Captain Kerrs. “Well, I think we got here just in time, don’t you? The bloody Tillies would have made mincemeat out of them long before they reached the wormhole.” He clapped his hands together briskly. “Right! Have Admiral Penn bring her two battle groups to our left flank. I want all six battle groups on line abreast. Maximum coverage! We’re going to throw out a big net and catch them no matter which way they turn.”
“Yes, Admiral,” Kerrs replied, and forwarded the orders.
Admiral Skiffington turned to his son and spoke in a low voice. “Grant, I want you to make sure the recording equipment is working properly. We are about to engage the biggest space battle ever fought. You understand?”
Grant Skiffington nodded. He did understand. This battle was going to make his father the most famous man in the galaxy.
Meanwhile, aboard the
People’s Pride,
Admiral Quigley accepted a towel from his aide and wiped his face. Around him on the deck were a dozen men and women, all smiling broadly. Quigley nodded to them. “Okay, my little group of amateur thespians, clean up this mess. We’ve got a lot to do in a very short time. Janice, turn on the ventilators and let’s clear this dammed smoke out of here.” In minutes the fires that had been blazing were turned off, the smudge pots capped, the bridge area tidied up, the “blood” and soot wiped up.
“Do you think they bought it, Sir?” Janice asked softly as the crew finished the clean-up.
Quigley folded his long frame into the command chair. “Oh, I would think so.” He grinned, flashing very white teeth. “If they hadn’t, we’d have two hundred missiles chasing us by now. No, I think they saw exactly what they wanted to see. They think the Dominion navy is second rate, a bumbling bunch of fools, so that’s what we gave them. Of course, sacrificing one of our destroyers added a certain element of credibility to this little
maskirovka.”
He hadn’t been very happy about losing that much firepower, but it had worked. They’d removed the crew, of course, and then flew the ship through remote commands. The Tillies had been amused when Quigley had suggested the melodrama, but had been willing to play along. As Quigley was beginning to appreciate, the Tilleke had more than a little flair for theater themselves.
“So now,” he said, “let’s accept the Vickies’ kind offer and get in position behind them.”
The Victorian Fleet drew itself into position, six battle groups abreast, each forming a “tile” in a wall that stretched almost five hundred miles wide. Each battle group centered around a battleship, with five cruisers in close support and ten destroyers and a handful of frigates.
“The Duck ships have cleared, Sir, and are taking up positions behind Admiral Penn’s two battle groups.”
The master holo display showed the green ships of the Dominion just finishing their turn to slide in behind the Victorian’s left flank. The display was magnified so that the Victorian line extended from one end of the display to the other. Across the display a blinking orange line showed the outer limits of the Victorian’s missile range. The red symbols of the Tilleke force were just crossing it. Admiral Skiffington thumbed the communications channel to the entire Task Force.
“All ships in range fire one salvo and reload! We will close to optimum range for the second salvo. Skiffington out.” He rubbed his hands together briskly. “Let’s teach the Tillies a lesson!”
Aboard the Battleship
Sussex,
Admiral Penn frowned in disbelief. “Fire now? If we fire now, at the edge of our range, most of them will get away. If we wait fifteen bloody minutes they’ll be too deep in the kill zone to get out! What is he doing?”
“Do you want me to launch missiles, Sir?” the Tactical Officer asked.
Penn forced herself to sit back in her chair. “Fire ten missiles, but save the other thirty, Mike. But be ready to fire the second salvo on my command.” The order was carried out and she watched sourly as her ten missiles sped out toward the enemy ships on the far other end of the holo display. Maybe the Tillies were in far enough in. Maybe.
And maybe cows can fly,
she thought bitterly.
An avalanche of blue arrow heads poured from the Victorian line in pursuit of the Tilleke ships. Grant wanted to laugh. There must have been fifty, no
sixty
missiles for every Tilleke ship. Total overkill. Even at the outer edge of the missiles range, this one salvo should still completely obliterate the Tilly force.
Aboard the
Emperor’s Pride,
Prince RaShahid suddenly realized that he had cut it too close. He had let himself get too deep into the enemy’s missile range. “Hard turn! Chaff and decoys. Activate ECM. Full acceleration!” His force of thirty four ships wheeled about nimbly, racing back toward the “outer range” line of the Vicky missiles.
“Enemy ships are turning, Sir!” the Sensors Chief called out. The red ships were turning in a sharp curve to their own right, sweeping the Tilleke ships back across the blinking orange range line. They spewed chaff and decoys in their wake, but the avalanche of Victorian missiles thundered after them. Two Tilleke destroyers were slower to turn than the rest and the Victorian missiles fell upon them. The Tilly ships flared, then blinked out of the display.
“Two hits!” cried the Tactical Officer. But the rest of the Victorian missiles had spent their fuel and gone ballistic, losing their radar lock and drifting away.
Grant Skiffington blinked in surprise. All those hundreds of missiles and they had killed only
two
ships. It didn’t seem possible.
Admiral Skiffington frowned in annoyance. “Order the Fleet: Increase speed and pursue!”
The red dots of the Tilleke force pulled further away, arcing in a slight left curve that took them across the Vicky left flank and further away from the Vicky center and right.
“Tell Admirals Pinney and Daniells to come to the left. Quickly now!” Admiral Skiffington sat back in his chair. “They may have squeaked out of this one, but we’re not through with them yet, not by a long shot!”
Aboard the
Emperor’s Pride,
Prince RaShahid struggled to calm himself. With a momentary loss of concentration, he had almost destroyed the only force available to lead the Victorians into the trap. Then he noticed the sensor display. They were beginning to outpace the Victorian battle fleet! He cursed himself for a fool. “All ships, reduce speed. We must not outpace the enemy ships!” He turned to the helmsman. “Thrusters, only, Pilot!”
“Yes, Noble Born.”
“Keep them just on the edge of their missile range,” Prince RaShahid ordered.
“Majesty! The
Falcon!”
cried the Tactical Officer.
Prince RaShahid spun to the sensor display, and to his horror saw the bright blossoming signature of a Dark Matter Brake. He punched the communications stud. “
Falcon
, you fool! Use thrusters, not the DMB!” If the Vickies saw the DMB signature, they would know that the Tilleke ships were not trying to run away.
On the
H.M.S. London,
Specialist First Class Spenser frowned at his sensor display. That couldn’t be right, could it? Through the clutter of chaff clouds and distracting decoys, he thought he saw the light blossom signature of a Dark Matter Brake. Just a second or two, but it certainly looked like a DMB. He turned hesitantly to the Chief Sensors Officer. “Sir, I may have just picked up a DMB signature.”
The Chief Sensors Officer strode to him and stood by his shoulder. “Where?”
Spenser pointed to a point at the far reach of the sensor display, which was fuzzed and spotted with jamming and chaff. “Right about there, Chief. Just for a second. Doesn’t make sense, they should be trying to get
away
from us, not slow down.”
The Chief stroked his chin. Spenser wasn’t his best operator, that was for sure, but still… “Okay, take a minute and review the display. Magnify that section and send it to my-”
“Incoming!” another Specialist screamed. “Forty missiles!” A pause. “Ah, Christ, they’re all aimed for us!”
“All defense arrays, fire at will!” Commander Kerrs barked. The Chief Sensors Officer sprinted to his station, the report from Specialist Spenser already forgotten.
Prince RaShahid cursed the ineptness of the
Falcon’s
commander. He would have his head on a pike as soon as they returned. If they returned. Had the Vickies seen the DMB? Did they understand?
He needed something to distract them. Now. “Have you marked the command and control battleship?” he demanded of his Select Freeman (Sensors), an experienced Freeman who had been on the Prince’s staff for years.
“Yes, Lord.”
“Good, send it out to all ships. Hurry!” He wheeled on the Select Freeman (Weapons). “Fire all missiles at the designated target!” In a moment the holo display showed thin blue lines streaking out to the Vicky battleship. Would that distract them? Or had the
Falcon’s
foolish captain condemned them all?