P.D. 952
When in doubt, be bold!
Victorian Second and Third Fleets
At the Wormhole Entrance into Tilleke Space
“The scouts are back through the worm hole, Admiral. No sign of hostile ships.”
Admiral Oliver Skiffington, Commander of the Second Fleet, nodded once, then pushed the com button to be connected with every one of the one hundred and twenty ships under his command.
“Men and women of the Second Fleet. In a moment we will enter Tilleke space. Our scouts report there are no enemy ships on the other side of the worm hole, so this part of the mission will be unopposed. But stand ready. The enemy is out there, and when we find them, we will join them in battle.
“You are members of the greatest single fleet ever created in human history. We will meet the enemy and destroy them! Victory for Victoria!”
Skiffington closed the com and nodded to Commander Kerrs, the captain of the battleship, H.M.S. London. “Take us through, Captain. All ships to follow in train.”
It would take two hours or more to bring the fleet through and shake out into formation, but entering Tilleke space without opposition was a gift. The Emperor had made a mistake, perhaps a serious one. He had missed his first chance to do some damage, to try to weaken them. Not that it would matter in the end. He allowed himself a small smile. On the holo display the fleet was so large it looked like blue snow. He was commanding the largest task force in the entire history of mankind! One hundred and twenty war ships, with six battleships, thirty formidable missile cruisers, and destroyers and frigates by the dozen.
The Hammer of God, he thought. And I wield it.
The last ships came through the worm hole and shook out into formation with four battle groups on line and two in reserve. Then, on Admiral Skiffington’s signal, they moved forward, making a course for Qurna, the Tilleke home world.
And then, for the next ten hours…nothing. Just empty space. Deck crews rotated off, their seats taken by fresh replacements. The Admiral and Commander both stayed on the bridge, living on coffee and nerves. Grant Skiffington sat in a chair just behind his father, ready to do anything asked of him, but there was nothing to do. He rubbed his eyes and vainly tried to stifle a yawn. The holograph display showed the fleet, a wide arc of blue dots, with a sprinkling of blue in front representing the reconnaissance frigates. Nothing else.
“Anything yet from the frigate screen?” the Admiral asked Commander Kerrs. “Nothing yet, Admiral,” Kerrs replied, studying his holo display.
Admiral Skiffington frowned. There were only two ways for Emperor Chalabi to play this. He could either meet the Victorian fleet well away from the Tilleke home world of Qurna, or could wait until the fleet reached Qurna so that the Tilleke fleet would have the benefit of Qurna’s planetary defenses.
“So, what is the Emperor up to?” he mused out loud.
“Staying close to Qurna’s defenses, I’d wager,” replied Kerrs. “There he can take advantage of minefields, stationary platform defenses and drone weapons.”
Grant Skiffington uneasily recalled Hiram Brill’s comments about the Tilleke gift for doing the unexpected. “Sir, I’ve been told that the Emperor does nothing straightforward. Feints and double feints, trying to confuse his enemy until he does something that leaves him vulnerable.”
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?
“Ten more minutes, Lord,” his navigator said. “We pass the first line of platforms in ten minutes, the second a minute later.”
Prince RaShahid forced himself to sit down in the command chair and nonchalantly cross his legs. “Very well. Maintain course and speed. I want them to think they are going to overtake us at any moment.” He pointed to the communications officer.
“Send a drone to the kraits. Tell them we will pass through their area in approximately eleven minutes. Remind them there is to be no radio or other electronic emissions until they are ready. Obedience or death!”
The Select Freeman (Communications) bowed, then programmed the drone and launched it. It shot out of the missile tube and accelerated away.
Soon now, thought the Prince.
On board the H.M.S. London, Admiral Skiffington grunted in satisfaction as the last of the Tilleke missiles exploded harmlessly. “They can’t penetrate our defenses,’ he said, loud enough for the entire deck crew to hear. “Not enough punch.” He rubbed his hands together briskly and laughed. “They can run, but they can’t keep us from reaching Qurna. Then they’ll have to fight and we’ll have them.”
Grant Skiffington listened to his father with only one ear. Something was nagging him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He watched the holo display, a little tickle of unease in his gut. The Fleet was accelerating, but they still weren’t overtaking the Tilleke warships. The Tilleke were able to keep their distance, just on the outer edge of the Victorian’s missile range.
“Maximum military speed,” Commander Kerrs reported to his father. Five percent of the speed of light. “If we want to go faster, you will have to authorize overriding the inertial compensators.” The practical limit of the ships speed wasn’t the engines. Given enough fuel and time to accelerate, a ship could go faster and faster. The real limit was the ability of the inertial compensators to protect them. If the inertial compensator failed, the entire crew would be turned into something resembling chunky tomato paste in a matter of moments.
The Admiral shook his head. The statistics weren’t pretty. The inertial compensators failed ten percent of the time when you exceeded maximum military speed at all, and the failure rate shot up as you went faster. He wasn’t going to risk losing twelve or fifteen of his ships just to be able to swat the Tillies on the rump. “Maintain course and speed. They’ll have to turn and fight at Qurna. No need to take the extra risk now.”
Grant’s feeling of unease grew as the minutes passed. Hiram had spooked him about how clever and devious the Tilleke were. But they were running away, weren’t they? The Tillies were probably at their maximum military speed, or were desperately overriding their inertial compensators. He frowned. Unless…unless-
Hurriedly, he called the ships computer. “Mildred!”
“Yes, Lieutenant Skiffington, how are you today?”
“Mildred, what is the known maximum military speed of Tilleke war ships?”
“Unknown,” replied the computer’s motherly voice. “Tilleke war ships have never been observed in combat by Victorian forces. No information has been provided by The Light, which engaged in hostilities with Tilleke vessels one hundred and twenty five years ago in the-”
“Stop,” ordered Grant.
“Of course, dear,’ Mildred said. Grant recalled the London’s computer had been programmed by the Cornwall Software Collective on Aberdeen, which was rumored to have the highest percentage of grandmothers of any of the software combines. It gave the ship’s AI a distinctive personality.
“Analyze the sensor data of the Tilleke ships pursuing the Dominion force,” Grant ordered. “Were the Tilleke ships overtaking the DUC force?” His hands were sweating now.
“No, not during the forty three minute, fifteen second period that we were tracking both of them.”
Commander Kerrs turned to Admiral Skiffington. “Admiral, does this feel to you like it’s going a little too well?”
Skiffington gave him a cold stare. Kerrs had been with him for years, and in terms of personality was his perfect counterfoil. Oliver Skiffington was brash, boastful, arrogant and could be aggressive to fault…and he knew it. He kept Kerrs on his staff because Kerrs wasn’t afraid of him, unlike virtually all of his other subordinates. Kerrs’s function was to tell the Admiral when he was overreaching. Skiffington valued that, even when he didn’t like it.
“Don’t play games, Oscar. Spit it out.”
“Well, Admiral, if I were the Tilleke Emperor, my biggest problem would be how to defend Qurna against a larger, more powerful force. It would help a lot if I could know what path that force would take toward my home planet because if I knew, then I could lay ambushes. And if I had studied the opposing commander, and knew he was exceptionally aggressive, well, Admiral, you know what they say when you’re hunting a lion?”
“Goddammit, Oscar, just say it!”
Kerrs continued, unperturbed. “Those Tilleke ships out there are bait. We’re being suckered, Admiral. We aren’t chasing them, we are following them. They know exactly where we are going to be.”
Dangle some bloody tempting bait right in front of my nose and watch me chase it! Admiral Skiffington glowered for a long, hard moment, then let it go and turned to the problem of the enemy. They had been chasing the Tilleke force towards Qurna for close to fifteen hours now, plenty of time for the goddamn Tilleke to lay in a surprise. And if he were the Tilleke admiral, that surprise would be…
“Sensors!” he bellowed. “Check our path of advance! Out to ten minutes. Look for small objects, but lots of them!”
Two junior sensor officers glanced at each other in bewilderment, and then hastened to comply. All sensors had been focused on the retreating Tilleke strike force, some fifty minutes out, but now they recalibrated to sweep the area two seconds to ten minutes in front of the advancing Victorian Fleet. The hologram display blinked off, then flared to life with the new data. Everyone on the deck turned to study it.
“And there it is,” Oliver Skiffington said softly. Two minutes in front of them there were forty to fifty objects laid out in three long lines, directly along their line of advance. They were barely visible on the sensor display, but they were there. He turned to Kerrs.
“Missile mines.”
Kerrs nodded. “I concur, Admiral.”
Across the control room, the Chief Sensors Officer’s head jerked up from his display. “Admiral! DMB flare! The Tilleke ships are slowing down and turning to face us!”
Admiral Skiffington took a deep breath. This was going to be very close. There are no crisp turns in space, just long curving ones. “All ships, minefield to our front! Turn ninety degrees upward now! Execute!” Then he turned back to Kerrs and growled:
“Next time you’ve got something to say, Commander, say it sooner!”
“Yes, sir,” Kerrs said, without even a hint of contrition.
Oblivious to the commotion around him, Grant asked nervously. “Mildred, what was the speed of the Dominion force while they were being pursued by the Tilleke?”
“Four point two C.” Four and two tenths percent of the speed of light. At that speed, the Tilleke force had not been able to overtake the Dominion force. But now, the Fleet couldn’t catch the Tilleke force, even though the Fleet was going faster than the DUC force had been. That could only mean…
“Bugger me!” Grant bolted out of his chair. “Mildred, give me the present location of the DUC ships!”
In the Emperor’s Pride, Prince RaShahid studied the display. His force sat slightly off center of the Victorian line. The Vicky right was curling around in an arc to encircle him. In a few moments he would be surrounded.
Everything was in place.
I have three surprises for you, he thought to the Victorian fleet.
“Let us begin,” he said.
“Lord!” the Select Freeman (Sensors) shouted. “The Victorian Fleet has changed course. They are now pitching upwards. They must have seen the minefield.”
RaShahid looked at the display in consternation. The Vickies were in a long, curving skid, trying to change their forward motion by ninety degrees, but unable to turn crisply enough to keep out entirely of the missile field. The ambush wouldn’t be perfect, but with luck it would be enough.
“Order the platforms to fire!”
Whisker lasers stabbed out from the Emperor’s Pride to fifty missile platforms that had been seeded along the path of the Victorian advance. The platforms had been tracking the Victorian ships using passive sensors, but now active sensors sprang to life, reaching out hungrily to the Victorian ships.
“Targeting radar!” the Sensors Officer shouted. “Someone has locked onto us with targeting radar.”
“Full defensive array. AI control,” Admiral Skiffington barked.
“Charge the defense arrays,” Commander Kerrs ordered.
“Multiple contacts! There are at least thirty or more targeting sources out there.”
“Target with lasers and fire!” Skiffington shouted.
“Missiles! Missile launch from port and starboard. They seem to be targeting the cruisers. Must be…over one hundred missiles inbound. Impact in two minutes!”
Admiral Skiffington sat back in disgust. Through his own stupidity he had given the initiative to the enemy. Going to cry in your beer, Oliver? “Keep turning away from the minefield for fifteen minutes, then pitch back towards the Tilleke strike force,” he ordered. “All missiles are to be fired on my command.” He turned to the sensors console. “Sensors, locate who the hell is shooting at us so we can shoot them back!”
The missile platforms were the first little surprise. Distracted by the constant missile volleys of the fleeing Tilleke ships, and partially blinded by the clouds of chaff left behind, the Victorian ships had paid scant attention to the faint, smudgy returns on their sensor screens. The missile platforms were small, with heavily shielded power sources and a crew of only five Savak. The missiles they fired were small, too, but they only had to fire a short distance and each of the fifty platforms carried five missiles. Six of the platforms malfunctioned. Five refused to fire at all; the sixth blew up. But the remaining forty four worked just fine, spewing more than two hundred short range missiles in sprint mode into the Vicky war fleet.
“Mildred, where are the Dominion ships!” Grant screamed.
“The eleven ships — three energy cruisers, two missile cruisers, three energy destroyers and three missile destroyers — are now approximately three hundred miles behind the H.M.S. Sussex. They are proceeding at five per-”
“It’s a trap,” Grant said despairingly. The whole thing was a deception to lure them here. He stepped to his father’s chair. “Admiral, we have to warn the Sussex! The Duck-”
“Sit down, Lieutenant,” his father snapped. “We’re a little busy just now!”
“…five percent C,” Mildred concluded helpfully.
“Father, please!”
The DUC missile cruiser People’s Choice lined up a scant three hundred miles behind the Victorian battleship Sussex, knife fighting range in space warfare. The ten other Dominion ships were arrayed on either side of the cruiser.
“Admiral, the Tilleke have fired their missiles,” his First Officer told him. That was the signal. Admiral Quigley glanced at his Weapons Officer.
“Targets locked in,’ the WO confirmed. At three hundred miles they could hardly miss.
Quigley nodded. “Let’s not keep our friends waiting. All ships, fire!”
They weren’t taking any chances. The three E Class cruisers and two M Class cruisers were all targeted on the Sussex. The six destroyers aimed at two nearby Vicky cruisers. With luck the Vickies would never realize they were being hit from behind, but just in case, they needed to make sure the Sussex died quickly. When you take on a Vicky battleship, mused Quigley, be sure you kill it and don’t just piss it off!
Nine heavy laser beams and twenty four ship-killer missiles shot out. The laser beams struck the battleship’s engine rooms and rear defense array, spalling metal and exploding munitions. Two of the ship’s engines were immediately destroyed and the resulting uneven thrust pushed the ship into a violent tumble. In the control room, Admiral Penn just had time to glance up in question. Seven seconds later the missiles struck all along the hull. The Sussex seemed to shiver, and then simply disappeared in a ball of light and molten debris.
In less than ten seconds the flag ship of Victoria’s Third Fleet was gone.
“Good,” said Admiral Quigley. “Now let’s kill the others.”
And now the second surprise, thought Prince RaShahid. “Activate the second mine field.”
As the right wing of the Victorian Fleet continued its curving chase toward the Tilleke ships, thousands of ship-killer proximity mines arose from their electronic sleep and scanned their assigned areas for targets.
Targets were plentiful.
Daisy chain explosions chased after the Victorian ships, white blossoms of superheated gas and plasma reaching out to caress the frigates and destroyers and cruisers on the periphery of the two battle groups that comprised the Second Fleet’s right wing. Some ships were destroyed outright, others crippled. At least six ships were left intact but powerless, beginning their Long Walk that would take them and their doomed crews out of human space and into the abyss.
Of the forty ships that flew into the minefield, only twenty six flew out. Even as they emerged, battered and shaken, the Tilleke war hawks swooped down on them.
“Sir, our right flank ran into a minefield. Alpha Battle Group is badly damaged; most ships are Code Omega or not battle capable!” the Sensors Officer called out, his voice trembling. “Half of Bravo is gone; the rest are under heavy fire from Tilleke war ships. On our left flank the two battle groups from Third Fleet report heavy damage. Sussex is gone, along with Farnham, Keswick, Salisbury and Poole. Others, too, but no ID yet. Many damage reports.”
Admiral Skiffington sat in shocked disbelief. Close to half his fleet had been destroyed in a matter of minutes.
“Admiral, your orders?” asked Commander Kerrs. “Admiral?”
The Admiral pulled himself together with an act of will. Hurt or not, he still had one of the most powerful fleets in history, and by God he was going to use it!
“Commander, order all ships into globe formation, battleships at the van. All weapons to bear on those sons of bitches attacking Bravo Group! Make it happen!”
“Sir!’ Commander Kerrs replied, and snapped out orders to his crew.
Standing behind his father, bewildered and overwhelmed, Grant Skiffington desperately wanted to believe that his father could pull them out of this nightmare.
On the deck of the Emperor’s Pride, Prince RaShahid watched as the enemy fleet clumsily tried to regain some semblance of order. They were fools, but they had courage. No matter.
He motioned to the communications officer. “Release the kraits. Remember, we want the two surviving battleships!”
“At your command, Nobel Born.”
The Prince searched through the holograph display until he found the H.M.S. London, then magnified it until he actually saw the outlines of the ship itself. He pictured Admiral Skiffington on its deck, no doubt studying his own holograph.
Be bold, Admiral, he silently urged across the empty miles of space. Be bold so that I might utterly destroy you!