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Day 261/2540
Commander Stevens stepped over to the Command Station where Commodore Stacker was seated. Stevens would normally be sitting there as Kursk’s CO, but since the ship didn’t have accommodations for a Flag Officer, Stacker had decided that if someone had to stand, it was NOT going to be him. Stevens noticed that the Commodore was reading something on one of his station’s smaller displays.
“What is it, Commander?” asked Stacker.
“The Squadron is in position, Sir,” replied Stevens.
Stacker looked up at the tactical display’s sidebar data. “So it is. Very well then, execute Operation Retribution, Commander.”
Stevens acknowledged the order and walked over to the Weapons Station. What a pompous ass! He gives this ill-conceived mission a grandiose name and then can’t be bothered to pay attention to the tactical situation when we’re this close? No wonder the Old Man resigned in protest. He nodded to the Weapons Officer who had heard Stacker give the order. The WO touched a virtual button on his console, and all eight cruisers launched ten missiles each at Sparta from a distance of six million kilometers.
Stevens looked back at Stacker and said, “The first volley has been launched, Commodore.” Stacker didn’t acknowledge the information verbally as most officers would. He merely gave a slight wave with his right hand. At least he’s paying attention now, thought Stevens.
Stacker kept his expression neutral, but inwardly he was extremely pleased with the situation. He wasn’t as impulsive and reckless as that fool Chenko thought. Of course taking the squadron down to a low orbit was dangerous. That was why he had ordered the squadron to essentially hover over the target at this extreme range. Any anti-ship missiles launched from the surface or from craft in low orbit would have to claw their way out of Sparta’s gravity well and would run out of power long before they reached his ships. Without power to engage in last minute maneuvers, the missiles would coast in a straight line, and his ships could dodge them with ease. His missiles, on the other hand, were flying down into that gravity well, and the pull from Sparta’s gravity would enable them to reach the planet’s surface with enough power left to maneuver for accurate strikes on the surface targets.
It would take just over 21 minutes for the first missile volley to hit the planet. Stacker hadn’t decided yet how long he would wait until he ordered the second volley fired. Theoretically his ships could fire every missile they had before the first volley hit, but that would be risky as well. He wanted to see the warhead impacts using the ship’s long-range opticals, which meant holding this position. And just in case the Spartans were foolish enough to send their so-called missile boats at him, he would hold back some of his missiles to deal with them. He felt like a giant standing on top of a mountain throwing boulders down on the defenseless peasants at the bottom. The only thing more satisfying than watching the attack as it was happening, would be to show the recorded optical images and thereby demonstrate his superior tactical genius to the Federation Council upon his return. It was too bad that they would have chosen a new Navy Chief of Staff by then, but there was nothing he could do about that. However, if he pulled off a couple more brilliant victories, maybe he could get his contacts to convince the Council that HE should be the NCoS! That idea brought a smile to his face.
Janicot leaned against the plexiglass window to get a better look at the giant, two-story tactical display that filled one entire wall of the new, underground Planetary Defense Center War Room.
“They’ve opened fire, Admiral,” said Captain Obrist, the officer supervising the War Room staff, over the loudspeaker.
“I see it, Captain,” said Janicot. Being on the observation level took some getting used to. He’d rather be down there on the main level where the War Room Operations staff were working, but he had to admit that it was quieter up here, and that made it easier to concentrate on the battle without being distracted by the background noise of machines and people performing their duties.
Janicot turned his attention from the incoming missiles to the icon that was gradually getting closer to the FED squadron. When Captain Obrist had first suggested keeping one missile boat out at the very edge of the hyperzone, Janicot had resisted the idea. But when the simulations demonstrated that having seven missile boats in low orbit was only marginally better than having six, the added flexibility of having the seventh in a high guard orbit was obvious.
Janicot’s only concern was that MB107 was commanded by a recently-promoted officer, whose ability to stay cool under fire while in command was not yet established. That boat had been ordered to accelerate towards the enemy squadron’s expected position as soon as the orbiting deep space optical sensors had spotted them coming in. So far the FED cruisers hadn’t started scanning their surroundings with their own radar. That was an unforgiveable oversight on the part of the FED officer in charge, but it was also an incredibly lucky break for Janicot’s defense forces. It gave the 107 a chance to sneak in on them from behind.
“How soon before Grant opens fire, Captain?” asked Janicot. He knew that Obrist, who was standing down on the lower level, would hear him.
“We’re expecting him to commence firing any second now, Sir.”
Come on, Grant! Your missiles will reach the enemy a lot faster than your boat can. Fire those Goddamned things!
Grant was wondering if his boat should open fire now. The range had dropped below one million kilometers. The FED cruisers were only moving at two kps, while his boat’s velocity was already over 900 kps and climbing. The problem was that the position of the FED cruisers was only an approximation based on passive optical sensor data transmitted down to the War Room computers from two of the new optical sensor satellites. Their highly sensitive equipment had detected the faint reflections of sunlight off the hulls of the FED cruisers, but the accuracy of the triangulated position over that long a distance was unknown. Furthermore, his boat couldn’t see the enemy directly. He had to rely on the data transmitted to him that took into consideration where the sensor satellites thought the FEDs were AND where they thought his missile boat was. So the targeting data that was coming up from the ground and was being fed to his missiles’ guidance systems was based on observations that had a margin for error. The more data his missiles received, the smaller the margin for error, but if he waited too long, he might lose the element of surprise and the FED cruisers would start to maneuver, thereby throwing off targeting accuracy again. He couldn’t use his own radar because that would alert the enemy to his position.
Grant looked down and saw that his hands were trembling. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. When he opened them again, his hands had stopped shaking, and he felt calmer. He looked over at his Weapons Officer.
“Tubes one to eight are ready to fire, Skipper,” said the officer. Her tone was unmistakable. What she was really saying was ‘what are you waiting for?’
Grant took another deep breath and thought about how surprisingly nerve wracking being in command was compared to what he thought it would be like. It was time to make a decision.
“Commence firing,” he said.
“Commence firing!” confirmed the Weapons Officer with obvious enthusiasm. “Missiles have fired! All tubes are reloading! We’ll be ready to fire again in 13 seconds, Skipper!”
Grant smiled and nodded. “Just keep firing, Sumi, but let me know when we’re loading our last volley.”
“Understood!”
“107 has commenced firing, Admiral!” Orbits’s voice was starting to show some excitement too.
It’s about Goddamned time! Thought Janicot. He focused on the six missile boats that were in low orbit. They were frantically trying to change their vectors to get into the right positions. Unlike the 107, the other six boats would not be firing their missiles. They were too deep within Sparta’s gravity well to have any chance at all of hitting those cruisers. However, they might be able to get in front of some of the incoming missiles so that those warheads expended themselves harmlessly against the missile boats’ neutron armor. There was no way to block them all, but taking out some of the missiles would make it easier for the ground-based anti-missile batteries to stop the rest.
Stacker sat up straighter when the tactical display pinged for attention. Something had changed. He looked closely. Six small ships in low orbit were radically changing course and speed.
“What are those six ships up to, Commander?” asked Stacker.
Stevens wanted to say what he was thinking which was, How the hell should I know, but instead he said, “Well, Sir, since we know they can’t reach us with missile fire, my guess would be some kind of anti-missile maneuver. Perhaps they’re going to fire anti-missile missiles.”
“Your guess? Guessing isn’t good enough, Commander. If you don’t know the answers to my questions, then maybe you’re not qualified to command a ship!” Stacker glared at him for a couple of seconds before turning his attention back to the display. “Let’s see if you’re capable of firing the second volley,” said Stacker.
“They’ve fired—“
Janicot cut Obrist off. “Again. Yes I see it, Captain. It would have been nice if they had held off longer, but it is what it is.”
The situation was changing fast now. The FEDs first volley was now 13.4 minutes away from impact. 107’s first volley was only 4.4 minutes away from their targets. The missile boat had fired seven more times. The FED cruisers STILL hadn’t started maneuvering or actively scanning their surroundings. Janicot shook his head in disbelief. How could any officer be that careless? The display pinged again. The cruisers had just fired a third volley. Janicot was willing to bet that they’d be firing more quickly now too. At least whoever’s in command out there has got that part right.
Janicot tried to remain calm as he watched both sets of missile icons move closer to their targets. He was surprised to see the enemy missiles decelerating.
“Why are their missiles slowing down, Captain?” Janicot watched as Obrist conferred with one of his staff.
“If they hit the atmosphere too fast, the friction will vaporize the warheads before they hit the ground, Admiral.”
Yes of course. He should have thought of that himself. 107’s first volley was now just 89 seconds from impact. Those missiles would switch to internal guidance based on their own radars in another 55 seconds. If the FED commander would just continue to do the wrong thing for a little bit longer, they wouldn’t be able to dodge out of the way in time.
Stevens checked the Weapons Officer’s console to make sure that Stacker’s order to cease fire had been implemented. A total of six volleys had been fired. Stacker seemed transfixed by the tactical display. Stevens looked at it too, and once again felt that nagging feeling that something was amiss.
“Request permission to begin a 360 degree scan, Commodore.”
Stacker tore his gaze away from the display to look at Stevens with an annoyed expression. “Don’t bother me with those kinds of details, Commander, just do it.”
Stevens turned to the WO. “Begin a full 360 degree scan, Lieutenant.”
Almost immediately, he heard the triple ping alert from the display denoting an urgent threat to the ship. A series of flashing red icons appeared, and the nearest one was very close indeed. Stevens didn’t wait for Stacker to react. Kursk was his ship and it was his responsibility to take action.
“HELM, GO TO MAX EVASION NOW!” he yelled. He reached over and hit the switch that connected his headset to the open tactical com channel between all eight ships. “WE’RE UNDER MISSILE ATTACK! EXECUTE EMERGENCY MICRO-JUMP!”
That last order brought Stacker out of his disbelieving stare.
“NO! WE CAN’T LEAVE YET!” Stevens couldn’t believe his ears. Jumping away, when that was possible, from an imminent missile strike wasn’t a radical thing to do. It was standard Navy doctrine for God’s sakes! They only had seconds left before the first incoming wave hit. There wasn’t time to argue with this idiot. Stevens ran over to the Helm Station where the jumpdrive controls were. Telling the Helm Officer to initiate a micro-jump risked Stacker issuing contradictory commands and confusing the HO. Stevens would just initiate the jump himself and hope that the other ships listened to his last order over the com channel.
Stacker realized what the Commander was about to attempt and lunged at him in an attempt to stop him.
“I GAVE YOU AN ORDER, COMMANDER! IF YOU DISOBEY ME, I’LL SEE YOU COURT-MARTIALED FOR COWARDICE IN THE FACE OF THE ENEMY!”
Stevens said nothing. He was too busy trying to set up the micro-jump and fend off Stacker’s attempts to push him away from the console. Even with all that going on, some part of Stevens’s mind was aware of the fact that no one had reported any of the other ships jumping away. They should have done so by now if they were obeying his last order. While he did not have any official authority to give orders to the other seven commanders, he was the CO of Stacker’s flagship, and Flag Officers often relayed orders to other ships through their flagship’s CO. So why weren’t the other ships jumping away? A glance at Stacker’s rage-contorted face revealed the answer. There was a red light on the front of the boom microphone on Stacker’s headset. That meant that Stacker was also connected to the squadron tactical com channel. The other COs had also heard Stacker countermand Stevens’s order.
He was just about ready to activate the jump drive when Stacker head-butted him on the left side of his head. Stevens blacked out and fell down. He regained his vision just in time to feel the ship shudder. Oh God, they’d been hit!
As he tried to get up, he heard the Helm Officer say, “Accel’s down to 4.7! Jumpdrive is offline!” Stevens heard someone groan, then realized that he was the one who had made the sound. He looked at Stacker. The Commodore’s face had gone white as a sheet, and his expression was now one of anguished understanding at what he had done.
“If we survive this and get back, I won’t be the one who gets court-martialled, Commodore. You will for criminal negligence!”
Janicot watched as the icon representing Grant’s second volley merged with the icon representing the FED cruisers. The number inside the red triangle suddenly dropped from eight to six. Two ships had obviously jumped away. What in God’s Name was going on up there on that squadron’s flagship? Those ships had plenty of time to jump away once they began active scanning, but they didn’t, not even after the first volley hit. What kind of idiot would order his ships to stay and take hits that they couldn’t defend against? The fact that six ships were still there, and about to be hit by the third volley, suggested pretty strongly that they had lost the ability to jump away. None of them were moving very quickly either. That meant that they wouldn’t be able to evade the other volleys, and that meant that his other six missile boats now had a chance to strike back. However, first they had to intercept as many of the enemy’s missiles as possible, and that attempt was just about to happen.
The problem was that each incoming wave had 80 missiles in it, and they were spread out enough that six missile boats could not possibly block them all. As the red missile icon reached the green missile boat icon, the number inside the red triangle dropped from 80 to 66. The boats continued their trajectory upward to try blocking the other incoming volleys, while at the same time getting within their own missile range, but Janicot’s attention was now focused on the sidebar data relating to the ground-based anti-missile batteries. There were 22 missile batteries with 20 anti-missile missiles each. If every missile hit an incoming warhead, they might have enough, but Janicot knew that was being too optimistic. This first generation of AMMs weren’t nearly that reliable. Sparta City was going to get hurt.
“Captain Obrist! Has the Chancellor been transported to the new Command Bunker?”
“Yes, Sir, he has!”
Janicot thought fast. “Order the evacuation of all Navy and Army surface buildings, Captain! Let’s hope those missiles are aimed at military targets because there’s not enough time to evacuate the whole city!”
Electronics Technician Morgan opened the hatch of the shuttle he’d just finished repairing and heard the air raid warning siren. He suddenly remembered that he had taken his personal transceiver out of his ear earlier because the normal chatter was making it hard to concentrate on his repair task. As he fumbled to get the device out of his pocket, he heard what sounded like cloth ripping. He could tell that it was coming from the anti-missile battery that was almost a kilometer away. He shivered with fear because he knew what was causing that sound. Anti-missile missiles had an acceleration of 34Gs. That meant that they would go supersonic after travelling a mere 166 meters. The ripping sound was the sonic booms generated by missiles launched so close together that it was impossible to distinguish one boom from the next. The fact that any AMMs were firing meant that the Base was under missile attack from space. But that wasn’t what was causing his fear. His fear was caused by the knowledge that if one AMM battery was firing, then others would too, and there was another battery less than 100 meters from where he was standing. No one knew how dangerous it was to be that close when 20 sonic booms went off.
Morgan heard another sound behind him that he recognized. It was the sound that’s made when an AMM battery’s protective cover is blown clear just prior to launch. Something in the back of his mind screamed at him to hug the ground and cover his ears with his hands. He listened to that scream and covered his ears just in time. The sound of the staccato booms was deafening. The series of sonic boom compression waves knocked the wind out of him and left him struggling to take a breath.
When the battery finished launching its birds, Morgan rolled over onto his side to help his lungs pull in some air. He saw hundreds of people running away from the Navy Operations building that was roughly a kilometer away. Something streaked down so fast that it barely registered on his awareness. It hit the three-story building, which exploded with a fury that made Morgan instinctively curl up into a fetal position with his arms covering his face. His fear of being hit by debris didn’t prevent a part of his consciousness from noticing that the sound of the explosion seemed to be coming from two different directions. When the sounds and the vibrations in the ground died out, he opened his eyes and sat up. The Operations building was a blasted ruin. Looking around, he saw that the Army building was gone too. He was too stunned by the violence of the blasts to think coherently. All he could think of right now was to get up and get to his truck. As he stumbled over to the vehicle, he looked past it to the center of the city. There was a rising black cloud over what looked like the Government Quarter. My God! They’ve killed the Chancellor!
He got into the truck and turned on the two-way radio. There was nothing but static on any of the channels he tried. Then he remembered his transceiver and dug it out of his pocket. When he had it in position, he heard static from it too. The transmitters must have been destroyed. Off in the distance, he saw someone try to stand up only to fall back down again. People, who were a lot closer to the blasts than he was, were hurt. They needed help. He wasn’t a medic, but he had a truck that could carry wounded to the hospital, and since he wasn’t getting any orders over the radio, that’s exactly what he was going to do until someone told him otherwise. He floored the accelerator, and the truck leaped forward.
Remington woke to the piercing sound of the evacuation siren. She had only ever heard it in simulation exercises. She lifted her head just in time to see one of the security officers running past her cell to the exit.
“HEY! WHAT ABOUT US!” she yelled. There was no answer. Quickly getting up, she went to the plexiglass barrier that formed the front of her cell and tried to look down the corridor to where the door was. It was just closing behind the fleeing officer. Looking the other way, she saw no one but heard some of the other prisoners yelling something that was difficult to hear clearly due to the siren’s noise level. It was obvious that this wasn’t any training exercise. If the building was being evacuated, that could only mean one thing. An attack from space was in progress. She’d seen a demonstration video of an HE warhead hitting a ground target, and the thought of being in an underground level of a building about to be hit by one made her moan with fear. Looking around, she focused on the metal-framed, double bunk bed that was bolted to the wall. There was space under the lower bed for storage of personal items like books, personal grooming supplies, etc. She quickly pulled out the containers from underneath and rolled her body into the now empty space. She covered her face and ears as best she could with her arms and hands.
When the warhead hit, she felt the concussion wave right through the concrete floor she was lying on. The entire structure seemed to bounce upward a few centimeters as the force of the blast diminished. There was a loud CRACK, and something hit one of her feet. She opened her eyes, but the room was now pitch black. The lights were all out. She waited to see if the emergency lights would come on. Eventually there was a faint light from down the corridor. There was just enough light now that she could see the condition of her cell. Debris had fallen from the ceiling. She climbed out from under the bed and saw that more debris had fallen on the upper bed, and some of that had smashed right through and was now lying on the lower bed. Some of those pieces were large and heavy enough that they would have caused her serious injury if she’d only had one bed over her. She looked at the barrier and saw that it had cracked in several places, with sections missing. One of them was large enough for her to climb through.
The corridor was also filled with debris, some of which was quite large. She ran down the corridor looking into each of the other cells. Being closer to the point of impact, they were all in far worse shape than hers. None of the other prisoners were moving, and she didn’t know if they were alive or not. If they were, then they would need a lot more assistance than she could give them. She decided the best thing she could do was to try to get help.
She ran back to the exit at the other end of the corridor. The door had been partially ripped off its hinges. Once past that, she found deserted guard stations. After trying to call the elevator for what seemed like a long time, she gave up on it and headed for the stairs. The stairwell was filled with smoke, and she felt heat from somewhere higher up. She remembered passing an emergency station that contained a fire extinguisher and an oxygen tank with attached facemask. She managed to get it open and put on the oxygen mask, with the tank slung over her shoulder.
As she started up the stairs, she saw that it quickly became choked with debris, some of which was burning. Getting around it was awkward but doable. The surprise was what she found when she pushed open the door on the next level, which was the building’s ground floor. There were lots of fires and thick black smoke, but she was able to see that for all intents and purposes, the ground floor and everything above it was gone, except for some small sections of the outer walls. What was left was burning piles of rubble. She felt the heat through her facemask. By stepping carefully, she managed to get out of the wreckage and into the open. There was debris everywhere, and some of it looked like human bodies. Farther away she could see emergency vehicles approaching. She ran towards them waving her arms.
Security Commander Powell regained consciousness and groaned from the pain at the back of his head and his face. The explosion must have sent a piece of debris flying that hit his head, knocking him to the ground, and he must have hit the ground with his face. His nose felt like it was broken, and he was sure that it was bleeding. His left leg hurt like hell too. He heard someone running and opened his eyes. At first his vision was blurry, but it started to clear up. Standing about 10 meters in front of him was someone waving their arms. He blinked furiously to clear the remaining blurriness and gasped. It was that Goddamned FED lieutenant who had tried to kill the Chancellor! How the HELL had she gotten out? She was obviously trying to escape. Looking down, he saw that he still had his sidearm. He reached for it and grimaced with the pain in his wrist. He must have fallen on it the wrong way, but he could still extract his pistol and shoot that bitch. He got the gun out and raised his arm. His arm was trembling, and he had difficulty holding the gun steady. When he thought he had it aimed properly, he pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He’d forgotten to switch the safety off, dammit! He cursed out loud and tried to move the lever, but the attempt sent excruciating pain through his wrist, causing him to almost drop the gun.
Remington heard someone curse and looked around. When she saw who had uttered the curse and what he held in his hand, she lowered her arms and said, “I’m not trying to escape, Commander. Look around you. Where the hell would I go? I’m just trying to get help for the other prisoners who are still trapped in the wreckage. Some of them are still alive and may be seriously injured.”
Powell lowered his gun and looked around. She was right. There was no way that she could escape from this planet, even with all the chaos caused by the attack. He wondered if he was going into shock. He was usually a lot more level-headed than this.
“Okay, Lieutenant...I guess I won’t shoot you today. Now how about you help me up, and I’ll see what I can do about getting help for your people.”
“I can live with that,” said Remington.
“I’m so relieved to hear it!” said Powell with obvious sarcasm.
It was the middle of that night when Stevens and the rest of his crew followed Stacker out of the shuttle and onto the concrete field of the civilian spaceport. Stevens had been on Sparta before and knew the layout of both the military and civilian spaceports. He looked between the grim-looking and heavily armed SSU security people that surrounded them and over to the military spaceport where he saw two smoking ruins where the Navy and Army buildings used to be. They were now surrounded by floodlights and emergency vehicles.
“Looks like we gave the SSU a bloody nose,” said Stacker with obvious delight.
“Proud of yourselves, aren’t you?” said one of the security guards. “FED navy and army prisoners were in those buildings when you destroyed them. Congratulations, you’ve managed to kill more of your own people than you did ours.”
Stevens sensed that his laugh had the ring of truth to it. Stacker was in front of him. If his own hands hadn’t been tied together, Stevens would have tried to strangle Stacker. Stacker looked around at the rest of the crew and quickly lost his gleeful expression. He clearly didn’t believe the guard, but it was obvious the rest of the crew did.
When the ship’s crew was finished being loaded onto a bus, the bus sat there while they waited for the crews of the other crippled cruisers to be brought down. By the time all the crews were loaded onto buses, most of his people were asleep. He hoped they’d get to their destination soon. He was tired as well. He wondered if he’d ever see Earth again.
