Barbarians at the Gates (6 page)

“The fighters didn’t fire, sir,” Fallon said. He sounded as if he was expecting to be blamed for bringing bad news. “The ships just blew up as soon as the fighters came within engagement range.”

“We have a ruthless enemy,” Marius agreed gravely. “Recall one half of the duty fighters”—he trusted the fighter controllers to issue the correct orders—”and give their pilots a chance to rest and rearm.”

The enemy commander
was
ruthless
, he noted in the privacy of his own thoughts. The enemy starfighters were doomed, unless they reached a cloaked carrier. He watched the shell of recon drones spreading outwards and asked himself again,
where
would
he put a force advancing on Earth? How would he position his ships for best advantage?

He keyed his console and linked into the Marine channel.

“Toby, I need a report on the silent fortresses as soon as possible.”

“They’re crippled by chaos software,” Vaughn said. His old friend sounded reassuringly competent, as always. “My engineers don’t think there’s anything fundamentally wrong with the hardware, but the main codes have to be purged and then rebooted—and if the chaos software remains in place, we’ll have to strip out the cores and replace them.”

“Purge the systems,” Marius ordered tightly. They needed those fortresses. If the purge failed, they wouldn’t be any worse off. “I’ll assemble a scratch crew and have them sent over to replace the prior crewmen. Once the crew is aboard, you can start shipping the old crew down to Earth. We can’t trust them, not until we find out who uploaded the chaos software in the first place.”

“Understood,” Vaughn replied. Marius knew that he would carry out his orders, or die trying. “Good luck, sir.”

The connection broke. Marius leaned back in his command chair and made a show of looking up at the overhead bulkhead, trying to suggest a sense of unconcern about the whole situation.

“Have coffee and snack packs brought in for the duty staff,” he ordered absently. They would have warning of the enemy’s approach, unless the enemy’s cloaking technology was far superior to the Federation’s—and in that case, the war was lost anyway. “The remainder can get some sleep.”

“Yes, sir,” Fallon said. “Sir...shouldn’t you get some rest, too?”

“Not at the moment,” Marius said. It hadn’t been
that
long since he’d served on the command deck of a battleship, hunting down pirates. And besides, he didn’t know who he could trust to leave on watch. “It will all be over by the time I need rest.”

He grinned while looking down at the communications display. It was surprising that there were only a handful of demands for information from the Senate, but procedures for dealing with such requests dated all the way back to the First Interstellar War—a time when a direct attack on the Solar System seemed alarmingly likely. The Senate would have to sit in a bunker under Federation City, waiting for news of victory or defeat, while the military fought its battle. His lips twisted into a droll sneer. The Senators were probably cowering, wondering which of their sins had returned to haunt them. After all, what
else
had the Inheritance Wars been about?

Time ticked by slowly as duty officers were replaced, given short breaks to rest and use the head. Others were assigned to emergency deployments and sent to the three damaged stations, two of which were back in the fight once their computers had been purged. Marius wasn’t inclined to take chances, so he ordered additional security on the datanet—if the chaos software broke into the main computer network, the defense of Earth would fall apart—but he was too grateful for the additional firepower to be too paranoid. After the fighting was over, they’d have to pull the chips and go through the network with a fine-toothed comb. Someone with that level of access almost certainly had had the time to set up a few additional surprises for the defenders...

“
Contact
,” the sensor officer snapped. New red icons blinked into existence on the display. “Sir, I have multiple contacts, bearing...they’re heading towards Earth!”

“Understood, son,” Drake said with a smile. The sensor officer was so young that Marius wondered if he’d even begun to shave. “Give me a list of contacts, calmly if possible.”

The sensor officer flushed darkly. “At least forty contacts, sir, some definitely superdreadnaught-sized,” he said. “They’re cloaked, so it is impossible to get a proper reading without launching additional probes...”

“And giving away that we’ve seen them,” Marius concluded thoughtfully. He juggled the tactical situation in his head for a long moment. The enemy wasn’t trying to be particularly subtle. He had aimed himself directly at Earth, with the clear intention of breaking through the remaining defenses and taking the planet. “Commander Fallon?”

“Yes, sir,” Fallon said. He’d managed to get a bite to eat and some coffee before returning to the command center. Marius had thought about relieving him, but there was no one to take Fallon’s place. It wasn’t like serving out on the Rim, where Drake had been able to count on multiple trained and experienced officers to fill holes. The most experienced men in the system—apart from himself—were with Home Fleet. “They’re here, sir.”

“Yes,” Marius said. “You are to contact Home Fleet and order them to follow this vector to Earth.” He keyed his console, bringing up one of the contingency plans he’d considered while waiting for the enemy to show his face. It only required a slight adjustment to fit the actual situation, much to his relief. “They are to remain under cloak until they advance upon the enemy.”

He studied the console for another long moment. “I also want Titan Base to prepare to launch a set of decoy drones heading on
this
course.” The second course was a direct path to Earth, the kind of course a desperate or inexperienced commanding officer might attempt if he believed there was no other option. “They are to launch the drones at the exact time specified unless I countermand the orders personally. Do you understand?”

“Ah...yes, sir,” Fallon said. “I just...why do you want the drones? They’ll see them...”

Marius grinned at him. “Of course they will,” he said. “They know that Home Fleet is somewhere within the system; they must know that, or else they’re incompetents—and nothing they’ve done so far suggests that. And they think they’ve taken out the StarCom, which means we can’t whistle up Home Fleet to reinforce the defenses...”

“But we
have
a StarCom,” Fallon objected.

“Precisely,” Marius said. “Without a StarCom, we will have to rely on lasers to warn Titan Base. Home Fleet—or, rather, the drones
posing
as Home Fleet—will make its appearance right where it would be if we truly were dependent on lasers or radio waves. And that will stop them looking for Home Fleet elsewhere...”

He leaned back in his command chair and smiled. “Send the signal, commander,” he ordered. “And then we will see whose battle plan survives contact with the enemy.”

The cluster of red icons representing the enemy starships moved closer, still trying to hide under cloak. Plotting and analysis specialists studied what returns could be gleaned from the recon drones, and concluded that the enemy fleet was actually larger than it had first appeared, with upwards of one hundred and fifty starships approaching Earth.

Marius ignored the whispered speculation in the background as to who was attacking Earth, but it was becoming an increasingly alarming mystery. Only the Federation Navy, by law, could possess superdreadnaughts, a measure instigated to prevent a system defense force from declaring independence and standing off the massed force of the Navy. That left only three possibilities: Outsiders, an unknown alien species…or a rebellious Federation Navy admiral.

He scowled. The Outsiders weren’t organized, which suggested that they couldn’t build superdreadnaughts, or crew them even if they did. An unknown alien race...that was possible, but they would have to be insane to attack Earth. The entire Federation would go berserk. The Brotherhood wouldn’t need to drum up anti-alien hysteria after an attack on Earth, even one that had been beaten off by the Federation Navy. And how could aliens have obtained the sort of access required to take out EDS1 and Navy HQ? Along the Rim, the joke was that anything could be had on Earth for a large bribe, but somehow he doubted that anyone on Earth would sell out the entire planet, whatever the size of the bribe.

That left a rebellious admiral...

“They’re decloaking,” the sensor officer snapped. The red icons rapidly took on shape and form. Marius counted seventy-nine superdreadnaughts, nineteen carriers and one hundred and seventeen smaller ships, including one that persistently refused to be identified. The superdreadnaughts were all
Splendid
-class, which proved—beyond a doubt—that aliens were
not
involved. No alien race would have built an exact duplicate of a Federation Navy superdreadnaught. “Sir, I can’t pull any IFF signals off them...”

“Unsurprising,” Marius commented. Now they’d shed their cover, the enemy starships were picking up speed, boring directly towards Earth. “Hail them, Lieutenant Nicholls.”

“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Nicholls said. There was a long pause. “They’re not responding...”

On the display, new red icons—starfighters—began to appear.

“I think they just have,” Marius said. If nothing else, the wait was over. “Commander Fallon?”

“Yes, sir?” Fallon leaned forward.

“Launch half of the ready starfighters to enhance the Combat Space Patrol,” Marius ordered calmly. “Reload the other half of the ready starfighters for antishipping strikes and prepare to launch as a formation.”

He studied the display again. “If they’re smart, they’ll come boring in and soak up the damage while getting to energy range. If not...well, it will say interesting things about their ultimate aims, won’t it?”

“Admiral, we’re picking up a signal from the enemy fleet,” Lieutenant Nicholls said. “They’re ordering us to surrender, or die.”

“Melodramatic asshole,” Marius said. He grinned as the blue starfighters moved out and into formation. “Send back:
Go to hell
.”

He keyed his console. “All units, you are authorized to fire at will. I say again, fire at will.”

Federation Naval doctrine is based around the use of overwhelming force. When the Federation goes to war, it brings the biggest stick of all to the party
.

-
An Irreverent Guide to the Federation,
4000 A.D.

Near-Earth Orbit, Sol System, 4092

Lieutenant Jack Peregrine braced himself as his FASF-45 Hawk starfighter rocketed towards the incoming enemy ships—and the wave of starfighters spreading out to intercept the incoming strike. Every fighter jock knew the mantra; blow through the defending pilots, put the missiles on the target, then turn to engage the CSP, covering the second strike as it was launched from the battlestations. His thumb came down on the firing key as his ship entered engagement range and his craft began to spit plasma fire towards the enemy starfighters. Without careful manoeuvring, at this range there was little chance of a hit, but the incoming blasts would make the enemy take evasive action and be unable to coordinate their countermeasures.

At least, that was what The Book said.

He smiled tightly. Of course, the enemy would probably have read the same handbook, and should know what he and the others in his squadron were trying to do. It would be interesting to see what they did in response.

“They’re returning fire, skipper,” he said, as new icons flashed into existence on his display. The enemy fighters weren’t just evading, they were returning fire with enthusiasm. A lucky hit took out one of his comrades and another scorched a second starfighter, sending the craft tumbling out of control and the pilot bailing out of her vessel. If she was lucky, a SAR team would recover her after the battle ended; if she were unlucky, she would run out of life support and die far from home. “Here they come...”

A civilian would have seen a disorganized mob of pilots and wondered if the fighter jocks were drunk, mad, or both. Experienced military men knew better. Flying a predictable pattern was asking for disaster, especially considering the enemy had computers that worked just as well as his own, and could plot a craft’s course with ease if it stayed predictable and safe. That was the way to have a plasma bolt or antifighter missile pick the starfighter off before the pilot even knew he was under attack.

The starfighters ducked and weaved as they passed through the enemy’s swarm of fighters—the odds of an accidental collision were extremely low, although it had been known to happen—then the enemy swarm turned and gave chase. Jack grinned as the enemy fleet came into view, wondering if the enemy would screw up their Identify Friend or Foe beacons. Even with the most advanced technology and the best-trained pilots in the galaxy, it wasn’t unknown for friendly point defense to accidentally engage friendly starfighters.

“Form up on me,” he ordered as the strike commander designated targets. An enemy superdreadnaught blinked red in his display; that was his target. The other enemy ships would be ignored for now, although eventually they, too, would have to be dealt with. Jack knew they couldn’t allow the enemy to keep their command datanets, which linked their point defense into a seemingly seamless whole. He noted absently that the enemy’s point defense systems were putting out a staggering amount of firepower.