Confluence Point (34 page)

"Commander Tyron for you sir . . ." The Communications Officer looked around anxiously.

"Put him on screen."

The stern figure of the old Commander appeared, dressed in full military garb including medals. Rubik shuffled uncomfortably, he himself had dressed in a more relaxed fashion; not that he felt it.

"Rubik, congratulations to you and your crew, you know glory awaits you." The old dog smiled with a grimace.

"So we have the privilege of going in first Commander?" Rubik played the game as agreed with Ham, dearly hoping his state of mind wouldn't be apparent.

"Yes Rubik, reluctantly I have decided that the Ascendant will have the chance to ascend to glory before the Mother Lode." He laughed at his own weak attempt at warmth and humor before moving to encourage the young leader. "They are technologically deficient, Rubik, and they will be as nothing before the power of your ship. You will be remembered for this, you and your fine crew."

Rubik swallowed some bile that surged to his throat. "If they are deficient then it's a pity that they are not worthy of the challenge Commander Tyron. It seems there will be no glory here." Rubik was unintentionally dismissive and immediately regretted it, Tyron's face darkening visibly.

"That is not what I meant Rubik." He glared through the screen, continuing without further comment. "We will slow, you will move ahead. Engage their fighters with all weapons and we will observe their responses. Do you understand your role?" He barked the instructions staccato fashion looking grave, a clear warning in his tone . . .
don't let me down!

"Yes Commander, we will proceed ahead, once within range of their craft we will launch the bombers and observe. Should that fail we will engage the enemy directly and force their hand, for the glory of Cora."

Rubik gestured with his hand and the screen blanked. He then turned to his command crew. "Forget what you heard, you know what we need to do."

The young female Tech Officer gave him a wry, almost insolent look, "That would be . . . just sit sir?"

He glared at her. "Yes . . . just sit, all of you . . . just . . . sit."

And already the Ascendant was accelerating, the Mother Lode falling quickly behind.

* * *

Minjee Chow listened to the chatter between pilots as they waited on orders, their goodhearted banter covering the nervousness they all felt. Switching to Rod’s private channel she came in on Ham conferring with the flight leader.

"Rod, we'll wait until the first warship is within missile range, and then split formation, allowing the ship to pass through. We then reform on the other side. Our target is the second vessel, it must not get through."

Minjee shook her head in frustration. Ham was clearly hoping that shots would be fired and he struggled to hide the excitement in his voice. In this she knew he had a willing accomplice. Rod finally had his missiles, the latest US versions, conventional warheads only but they would still pack a punch and the plan was to harry and disable the other vessel, not destroy it. In some ways this prospect appealed to Rod all the more, lots of shots, lots of action.

"Can your alter ego join the fray with the other warship?" Rod asked.

"No chance, it would take too long to turn. All things going well it will be over before then."

"Roger that. So . . . that means all the more fun for us then?"

"You got it."

"Rod," Minjee cut in."Don't get too excited will you, stay cool and take it easy big boy."

"Just follow my lead Minjee, we've been waiting for this and we're well prepared, first one to shoot gets to go on top." He laughed.

Closing speed would be a combined one hundred kilometers per second, manageable but they would need to get it right. Ham wanted to perform the maneuver at the last possible moment to conceal their intentions. They had fifteen minutes before threading the needle and Rod used the time chatting with his team.

Minjee listened anxiously; Rod's bravado was a concern.

* * *

On the Mother Lode Tyron barked commands to Tech and Communications. They would only get the one chance to observe the enemy’s defense and if, as he expected, both the bombers and the Ascendant were lost, then he would need the visuals to determine the next step. With Beria approaching from the edge of the system running would not be an option, not that he would ever consider it.
It will be death or glory Rubik, for both of us.

"Don't let them get too far ahead; we need those visuals from the Ascendant, and don't reply to those signals."

His eyes glued to the split screen, Tyron tracked progress toward the enemy on one screen while viewing enhanced visuals of the tiny fighters on the other. They were no more than pin pricks at the moment and he idly wondered whether they would ever appear larger, they seemed so small. An eerie silence settled over the room as all followed the incoming defenders. The Ascendant visuals zoomed in so they could pick out black shapes, no more than discs from this perspective, however the zoom also revealed small bulges on the undersides that told him they were armed; missiles, he was sure of it.

"Do we have a number?" he barked.

"They're closely packed behind that first wave Commander. We think between seventy and eighty." He couldn't pick the voice, his attention devoted to the screen.

"When will the Ascendant be in launching range?"

"Sir," his number two replied. "They should have launched bombers already."

"Then why haven't they?"

"I don't know sir, perhaps Commander Rubik is leaving it until the last moment."

"Idiot, he knows his role. We need to see what they do! Signal forward, tell them to launch."

"Sir, it will be too late for the bombers now, they need to fire."

"Then tell them to fire missiles!"

Time seemed to pass slowly with nothing happening. Communications, anticipating Tyron's needs called across the control room. "We're getting no reply from the Ascendant sir, nothing, not even acknowl . . ." The words tailed away as the Com Officer could see no one was listening.

All were watching the forward visual from the Ascendant. The incoming craft were splitting into two formations with no sign of fire from the warship; no bombers launched, no missiles, nothing. The huge vessel seemed to be flashing on into what now seemed empty space.

A cold shiver passed down Tyron's back as the reality of the situation hit him. "Give me forward visuals, now!"

No explanation was necessary and the screen immediately changed to the forward visuals from Mother Lode, the fighters again appearing tiny in the distance but they could be clearly seen reforming, and heading straight for them.

"Battle Stations! Battle Stations!" He screamed the command, causing everyone to jump. "What's our situation, number two?"

"We're loaded and ready sir, maximum missile payloads. Side guns primed."

Deeply disturbed by what he had seen Tyron nevertheless smiled. "We live for this," he whispered loudly, "on my call we fire a salvo, all forward missiles."

"We're still too far out sir."

"I know that number two, I want to provoke a reaction, throw them off their plans, whatever they are, and what's happened to the Ascendant?"

"No word sir and they appear to be blocking our signals."

"Well, we're on our own then, death or glory, what's it to be?" To his disappointment no one replied. Before he could speak again a voice called out.

"The screen sir . . . they're maneuvering."

Looking up he could see that two groupings of fighters were arcing away in impossibly tight formations. One group of around twenty five continued on their direct attack path.

"They're turning to chase us from behind once we pass. Shake that centre group up, number two, fire when ready."

"Firing now sir!"

Forward visuals revealed a dozen missiles streaking away toward the approaching fighters, all primed to detonate by signal from the Mother Lode; they wouldn't need to hit a target. Tyron smiled as the bright flash of the missile drives began to dwindle.
We'll shake them up.

"Number two; I want you to be ready to detonate remotely, we're going to detonate early and all together. Let's see what they're like when flying into a particle storm."

"Yes sir."

The seconds ticked by, Tyron's eyes glued to the side screen showing the closing positions of the defenders. Surprisingly calm he chose his moment carefully, timing his call by gut feeling based simply on what he could see.
I love it!

* * *

As Ham's ADFs curled away from them in an impossibly tight turn Rod felt an incredible surge of adrenalin. It was a feeling he knew would be repeated in all the EFDFs. They were on their own.

"Ready missiles, people, let's shake up this bogey."

"Bogey Rod . . . really?"

He could hear Minjee laugh through his helmet speaker, accompanied by hoots from the team.

"Just get ready guys, we get to shoot this time and we're not packing real heat so make every shot count. Remember we probably won't catch them again until it's all over and I want to make sure we do our bit, savvy?"

A chorus of
Yo's
reverberated around the cockpit and he chuckled, settling in and following the progress of the approaching ship . . . and noting the missile launch.

"Looks like we have incoming, maybe we will have something serious to fire back at them after all. You all know the procedure. Don't, I repeat don't try to displace the incoming yourselves. Set your AI for the switch, it will detect, switch and return the missile far more accurately than you so I repeat, don't be tempted. You all have your own darts to throw later, do you hear me?"

Another chorus of
Yo's
came back quickly and Rod made his own settings. Although he couldn't see them he tracked the approaching missiles on screen, twelve of them that he could make out. Forward EFDFs would be the ones to do the switch and the AIs would determine which based on position. Rod accelerated to ensure his fighter would be one of them. This was the real test of nerves, waiting as the missiles tracked forward. They knew the AI would wait until the last possible moment to displace them.

* * *

Some internal countdown reached zero for Tyron and it felt right.

"Detonate, number two." His voice held no emotion.

The officer touched his screen. "Signal sent sir."

They watched the forward visual now, and almost immediately a flash that seemed brighter than the sun lit up not just the screen but also the control room. Tyron blinked away spots from his eyes. Even though they had triggered it, still the blast came as a shock.

Now that will shake them up!

* * *

Rod waited, and watched, and impatiently accelerated a fraction more, steeling himself for the last second switch he knew it would be . . . then was confronted by a massive supernova, or so it seemed. So sudden and so unexpected was the blast he delayed a fraction before hauling the fighter away; hoping beyond hope the AI would intervene should another fighter cross his path. Blinded by the flash he nevertheless managed to scream, "Lock missiles and fire if you can!"

The flash was followed by an enormous wrench of the fighter as the shock wave hit . . .

And then everything went black.

* * *

Regan followed the action from more than fifteen thousand kilometers away having deliberately drifted off the squadron course. Resting for now she monitored progress via Ham's feed knowing he would be quite happy with that, if he was monitoring her at all. Ham didn't want her anywhere near the shooting, ever. Ordinarily she would have insisted on playing a part, but not today.

She watched as the Ascendant flashed past cruising on toward Hillary Station. She followed the ADFs making their tight turn and registered the missile launch from the Mother Lode. In some ways a frustrated observer she watched and waited . . . until the massive, unexpected explosion in space. In that fraction of a second she grasped the opportunity, cut communication, and launched the enhanced fighter outward with grim determination. She had no intention of slowing and would keep accelerating until the little craft had nothing left to give.

I'm coming, you bitch . . .

* * *

Minjee followed the path of both fighters on screen as they tumbled away from the flight path. There was no time to think, everything happening in fractions of a second and the remaining EFDFs flashed through debris, pilots and navigators blinded momentarily but nevertheless still with the presence of mind to fire, forty six missiles locked and streaking forward to the approaching warship. The closing velocity would be huge, the target area relatively small but the massive Coran vessel had little ability to maneuver and the missiles were the best; most would make their target.

In the gap between firing and impact she desperately tried to make contact with Rod and his navigator, getting nothing as she and the flight hauled away, surrendering control to the AIs just as they had been trained to do by Rod. Trying the radio again found only static, remnants of interference from the blast no doubt and anxiously she kept scanning the screen. The two fighters were missing.

Blinking away tears, her discipline and training took over. Yapping orders quickly she had the flight bank away and accelerate, not bothering to engage the Mother Lode directly. They would turn and chase, each carrying a last resort nuclear warhead. If their conventional missiles combined with Ham's ADFs failed to do the job they would go nuclear. The warship would not make the Station . . . it was home.

* * *

On Hillary Station Regan sat with Ham and Hilary following delayed feeds of the action and nervously reviewing her own plans. As she did so she carefully screened from her friends that portion of her processors dealing with the personal challenge.