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SDF Chief Larson entered the Operations Center, which was deep in the underground Headquarters on Corona, and scanned the large display’s tactical situation. The long-range orbital radars hadn’t picked up any unidentified ships yet, but the sensors had detected the burst of Cherenkov radiation. When Larson had first been notified of the detection of blue light from multiple sources, he had wondered why the CN Fleet Commander hadn’t entered the Corona system farther out to avoid detection. Maybe he just doesn’t give a damn if we detect him or not because his fleet is so big that there’s nothing we can do to stop him. He brushed that thought away. Multiple ships didn’t necessarily mean an overwhelming fleet.
“Status of boats?” he asked in no-nonsense tone.
“Two on alert status. Two more on five-minute alert, and the rest are on stand by,” answered the Duty Officer.
Larson shook his head. “We’re not going to wait until something shows up on radar. Get them all on alert status right now.”
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LIEUTENANT STONER LEAPED off the ground vehicle that had brought him and his pilot to their boat. Senior Lieutenant Mbutu was okay, but Stoner wished that Terranova was still flying this boat. It was too bad that the Commander was going to miss the action.
“Come on, Stoner! Get your dick in gear!” yelled Mbutu as he got ready to climb up into the defense boat.
“Right behind you, sir.” But hopefully not for much longer, if the rumors of promotions were true. Once inside, they both got themselves strapped in. They went through the pre-flight checklist in what Stoner considered record time. With the boat powered up, Mbutu switched on his mic.
“Double O Seven to Flight Ops. We’re powered up and ready to rock and roll.”
“Flight Ops to Zero Zero Seven. Hold your position. We expect to get the green light shortly.”
“Understood. Holding.”
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LARSON WAS CHATTING with the Duty Officer when the display pinged with a status change. Radar was now picking up ten ships, decelerating at a distance of just over one light second. Estimated time of arrival was eight point nine minutes. A quick check of the sidebar showed that all nine system defense boats were now on alert status.
“Give them the green light,” he told the Duty Officer. As the DO relayed the order to launch all boats, Larson looked back at the angry red triangle with the number 10 inside on the tactical display. He was actually surprised that the number wasn’t higher. Why the Chancellor hadn’t sent his whole fleet of frigates was a mystery to him. Could it be that the Chancellor had dismissed the danger, obvious to any military person, of having his fleet whittled away a little at a time? Fifty frigates would have given Larson a scare. Ten did not. His nine boats carried a total of 36 of the new Type 2 missiles. Unless those frigates had far better anti-missile defenses than expected, the simulations said his boats should wipe them all out. The status of the nine defense boats on the sidebar started changing from alerted to launched. The DO came over to stand beside him.
“All boats have launched. Do you have any tactical orders you want disseminated, sir?” Larson looked at him. It was time to roll the dice. His judgement told him to order a full missile barrage of all 36 missiles, but his gut was telling him that was the wrong move. That was all very well, but he didn’t know why it was the wrong move.
“Missile production is ramping up nicely, so if they fire all 36 missiles in one massive volley, we’ll be able to get them all back on alert status within 48 hours if needed. Order them to fire all missiles simultaneously, with four missiles per target, as soon as they have radar contact. That will leave one frigate that can be picked off by massed laser fire.” The DO acknowledged the order and hurried off.
Stoner let out a sigh of relief when 007 cleared the atmosphere. The onboard radar still wasn’t showing any bogies, but the more powerful orbiting radars’ data was being relayed to all defense boats. A warble tone in his helmet’s speakers notified him that the Squadron’s lead boat had transmitted the tactical orders. Stoner read the orders on his console’s small screen and whistled in surprise.
“What is it?” asked Mbutu.
“Firing orders. We fire all our birds at the same time at the same target.”
Mbutu nodded. “Makes sense if we want to overwhelm their defensive lasers.”
Stoner said nothing. It did make sense, but he had a bad feeling about it for some reason.
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LARSON PICKED UP THE com device and held it to his head. “Chief Larson here, Mister President.”
“How’s it looking, Chief?”
“Well, we have ten bogies inbound and decelerating. If this is the whole attack, then I’m surprised they only committed ten ships. Our nine boats should be able to handle them relatively easily according to the simulations, sir.”
“Have you decided on what kind of tactical response we’ll use?”
“Yes, sir. As soon as the bogies get within missile range, our boats will fire all their missiles simultaneously, with each boat having a different target. If we knock out all nine targets, then we can take care of the last one with lasers.”
“When do you expect the firing to start?”
Larson looked at the main display. The enemy triangle was approaching the white circle that delineated effective missile range.
“The computers are estimating firing range in less than a minute, Mister President.”
“Fine. In that case, I’ll let you get back to your duties. I would like to know the outcome as soon as you have the information.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Carry on, Chief.”
A click told Larson that the line was now dead. He put down the device and checked the display. Fifteen seconds remained until they’d be in firing range.
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STONER COUNTED DOWN the last five seconds. “Five...four...three...two...one...firing point! All four missiles have fired! All other boats have fired!”
“Take that, you Navy bastards,” muttered Mbutu.
Stoner watched the tactical situation on the largest display in the cockpit. They were close enough now that they didn’t need relayed radar data. Their own radar was able to track both the enemy fleet and the wave of 36 missiles that were clawing their way to them. Suddenly 10 red dots appeared on the display.
“They’ve fired missiles too,” said Stoner.
“To be expected,” said Mbutu. Our auto-cannon should be able to handle them.”
“Yeah, let’s hope so,” said Stoner in a distracted voice. He was focused on the two waves of dots approaching each other. There was almost no chance of direct collisions, because each side’s missile volley was aimed at where the targets would be by the time the missiles got there, and that meant that the opposing missile trajectories were not quite parallel. Except that they were parallel! Stoner suddenly realized that the ten enemy missiles were not aimed at any defense boat.
“My God! They’re aiming at our missiles!”
“What? What are you talking about?” asked Mbutu.
Before he had a chance to respond, both waves came together, and all ten enemy missile warheads detonated.
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LARSON FELT A PAIN in his chest as he watched the entire volley of 36 Type 2 missiles disappear. His nine boats had shot themselves dry and only had their spinal lasers to fight with now.
“DO! Order the Squadron to double up on targets. Two boats per target and fire lasers as soon as they have target lock!”
The DO confirmed that the order had been given. Larson heard one of the other personnel in the room groan. The display pinged, and the reason why was obvious. The ten frigates had just fired their second missile volley. It was too early to tell what those ten missiles were aimed at. He doubted if the officer commanding that fleet would be stupid enough to fire one missile at each defense boat. If Naval Intelligence knew that each defense boat had two point-defense auto-cannon, then one missile per boat would be a waste of effort. But even if N.I. didn’t know that, it made far more sense to test how effective the SDF boat defenses were by targeting just five or even just two boats.
At least the spinal laser in each boat was more powerful than the turreted lasers those frigates carried. One really well-aimed hit from a spinal laser would do far more damage than three hits from a frigate. The key was getting precise radar targeting by comparing radar data of the same target from multiple boats. He inhaled sharply when the display pinged again, and the single red triangle representing the enemy fleet suddenly became multiple overlapping triangles.
“What the hell is going on?” he demanded.
“We’re not sure yet, sir,” said the DO. “Return radar signals suddenly became highly erratic. They may be using some form of ECM.”
The pain in Larson’s chest was getting stronger. He didn’t think he was having a heart attack—the pain wasn’t that bad—but it was distracting to say the least. If his boats couldn’t get good targeting locks, then their lasers were useless. The key to the battle now rested with the enemy missile volley.
“Zoom in on their missiles,” he ordered. “I want to know what their targeting strategy is.” The display zoomed in so that only the 10 missile icons were visible. Was it his imagination or were the missiles bunching up in groups of two?
“Are they allocating two missiles to each target?” he asked. The DO looked up and responded after a few seconds. “It does look that way, sir.”
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STONER SWITCHED THE boat’s radar from long-range scan to short-range. “We got two missiles coming at us, Mohamed! Auto-cannon are online! They’ll be firing any second now! They’re firing! Damn! B turret is jammed!” His eyes opened wide with horror. “SHIT—”
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LARSON CLOSED HIS EYES as one of his boats’ icons disappeared. All the other boats managed to stop the missiles targeted at them.
“Which boat was that, DO?”
“Zero Zero Seven, sir,” said the DO quietly. The display pinged again and zoomed back out. “They’ve fired another volley, sir.”
Larson nodded. He was willing to bet that this next volley would target three or four boats to see if more missiles got through. The range was now so low that the enemy fleet might fly right past his boats before they could fire a fourth time. It didn’t take long to see that the missiles were bunching up again, with four missiles going after one target, and the remaining six allocated evenly at two more boats. Of the three boats targeted, two were destroyed. Both sides now were only a few thousand kilometers apart, and at their combined velocities, they would pass each other in less than five seconds. Larson held his breath. Would the enemy fire their lasers at point blank range? The answer turned out to be no.
As soon as the 10 frigates has flown past the boats, they switched back to acceleration, and it quickly became obvious that they were heading away from Corona. The battle was over.
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GAVIGLIO ACTIVATED his desk’s speakerphone. “Is it over, Chief?”
“The enemy formation is moving away from the planet and appears to be leaving the field of battle, Mister President.”
Gaviglio took note that Chief Larson’s tone was somber. That suggested that the battle was not an outright victory.
“How badly did we get hurt?”
“We lost three defense boats, sir.”
Gaviglio took a few seconds to process that bit of data “How many did the enemy lose?”
“None, I regret to say, Mister President.”
“I see. Suppose you tell me what happened.”
“I ordered our boats to launch all 36 missiles in one massive volley under the theory that the volume of missiles would overwhelm their defenses. In hindsight that was a mistake. They used their missiles to destroy ours. They then launched additional missile volleys that concentrated on a small number of our boats and did to us what we tried to do to them. We were unable to use our spinal lasers against them because they prevented our boats from getting good radar locks. My staff have put forward the theory that the enemy frigates launched clouds of metallic fragments that generated false radar echoes. We believe those same metallic clouds are what prevented the enemy from targeting their lasers on us. My overall assessment of the battle is that this was a reconnaissance in force to test how strong our defenses were. If they come with a bigger force, we’ll have trouble stopping them, Mister President. I’ve already ordered my staff to begin looking at measures we can take to improve our defensive capabilities. In the meantime, I’m prepared to offer my resignation, Mister President.”
Gaviglio was tempted to accept the offer right then and there but resisted the impulse. It was a sign of Larson’s character that he hadn’t tried to shift the blame to someone else. Aside from the issue of whether he deserved to be replaced, the bigger question was who would replace him. Gaviglio didn’t know of anyone who he considered more capable than Larson.
“I appreciate the offer, but I won’t accept it. I’m sure your staff feel badly enough as it is. Seeing their boss replaced after only one battle would only make morale worse. How much time do you need to come up with some recommendations?”
There was a pause as Larson considered his response. “Twenty-four hours?”
“Tell you what, Chief. You have forty-eight hours. If you find that you need more, let me know, and we’ll see how much more I can give you. But the more time we spend coming up with ideas, the less time we’ll have to execute those ideas before the next attack.”
“Understood, sir. I’ll light a fire under my people.”
“Good. Is there anything else you need to tell me right now?”
“No, Mister President.”
“Then I’ll let you get on with it.” Gaviglio hung up and leaned back in his chair. Knowing his Office would have to release some kind of statement to the public, he told his computer to call his Head of Public Relations.
