Barbarians at the Gates (21 page)

But now, they could finally shoot back at their tormentors.

“Aim to disable rather than destroy,” he ordered, assigning targeting priorities. If they could knock some of the enemy fleet out of formation, it would reduce the number of starships chasing them, perhaps even forcing the enemy to fall back. “Launch attack starfighters in the wake of the missiles, then launch a spread of ECM drones.”

“Aye, sir,” the tactical officer said.

There was a pause as the officer worked at his console frantically. The overall display updated, allowing Marius to see the weight of fire bearing down on his ships. The enemy had fired over ten
thousand
missiles towards his fleet. But most of them wouldn’t get into attack range.

“Missiles armed and ready, admiral.”

Marius smiled.

“Fire.”

Magnificent
shuddered as she vented her external racks in one smooth motion, followed by launching the first spread of missiles from her external tubes. Every superdreadnaught in the Retribution Fleet fired at the same time, creating a massive salvo that merged into one coordinated entity. The controlling missiles, each carrying a command and control system rather than a warhead, angled towards their targets, utterly ignoring the spread of enemy missiles. There was little chance of collision between both spreads of missiles, Marius knew; the point defense would have to stop as many of the incoming missiles as possible. His starfighters launched from the carriers and fell into position behind the missiles. If they were lucky, the ECM drones would confuse the enemy long enough for the starfighters to sneak into attack position without being detected.

“Enemy missiles will enter point defense engagement envelope in one minute, thirty seconds,” the tactical officer informed him. “Point defense datanet is online and tracking targets.”

“Good,” Marius said. “You are cleared to engage at will.”

He watched as Justinian’s remaining forces fell back, leaving only Bogey One and Bogey Two to tackle his ships. It would have looked odd to a layman, but Marius had to admit that Admiral Justinian had no real choice. The other Bogeys could not have engaged his force, unless Drake decided to turn back and engage them himself. The battle had boiled down to one simple issue: either his Retribution Force crossed the mass limit and escaped, or they were hunted down and destroyed before they could flee the system. In the days before the continuous displacement drive, he knew, his fleet would have been doomed. Without a way to cross the interstellar desert, they would have had to punch their way through the Asimov Point, surrender—or die, once they were finally run down by the enemy.

“Enemy missiles now entering point defense range,” the tactical officer said. “The point defense is engaging...now.”

Unlike Justinian’s starfighters, the actual missile bombardment seemed more focused on Drake’s destroyers and smaller ships. Only an isolated handful of missiles were targeted on the capital ships.

Marius ground his teeth as he watched the projected trajectories and knew that Justinian was playing it smart as well as safe. The onrushing missiles would strip away the smaller—and less well-defended—point defense platforms first, ensuring that the following salvos had a greater chance of punching through to the capital ships. The blunt truth was that the destroyers and even the cruisers were expendable when compared to the remaining superdreadnaughts and fleet carriers, but in the long run the results would be fairly even. Justinian knew that he would have at least four hours to pound Drake’s fleet to wreckage before they could safely escape.

Hundreds of ECM drones spilled out of
Magnificent
, set to deception mode. The missile sensors, not the brightest of computers, would be seeing thousands of possible targets, forcing many to expend themselves on useless drones rather than real starships. Thousands more were swatted out of space by the point defense network, which was constantly updating its projections in real time.

Marius allowed himself a moment of relief once he saw how the enemy missiles reacted to the point defense —normally. His worst fear had been that Admiral Justinian had somehow developed a small FTL communications system, capable of being installed in a warhead, but it obviously hadn’t come to pass as he could tell that the missiles were on their own. The time delay made it impossible for the enemy to steer them directly.

Better yet, Justinian hadn’t even launched gunboats to give his missiles some additional support.

And then—Marius clenched his fists in rage as hundreds of missiles broke through the point defense. Many died once his ships switched to self-defense and used short-ranged pulsars to destroy the missiles, but others made it to their targets and rammed home. Antimatter warheads detonated against shields, knocking them down and allowing the tearing power of matter-antimatter annihilation to hammer away at the naked hulls. Some of the targeted ships were lucky and survived, if damaged; others were destroyed before their crews had a chance to run for the lifepods and escape. He kept his face as expressionless as possible once the damage reports started to come in. Seventeen ships had been destroyed, and over thirty were damaged. Four were on the verge of losing their drives and falling out of formation.

“Admiral,
Rose Tyler
reports that her drive is failing,” the communications officer reported. “Her commander is requesting permission to fall out of formation.”

“Denied,” Marius said.
Rose Tyler
was a light cruiser, armed and equipped as an additional point defense platform. On her own, however, she would be rapidly overwhelmed and destroyed—or worse, captured. Admiral Justinian had tried to capture the
Enterprise
and might try to board other ships, or force them to surrender. “All ships are to remain in formation as long as possible, and then attempt to surrender, following standard protocols.”

He scowled. There was no way around it. Some ships were going to be lost. The standard protocols had been drawn up when humanity had first fought the Snakes and hadn’t been revised since then, even during the Inheritance Wars. The crews would destroy the starship’s computers and drives, rendering the ship useless for anything other than scrap. The classified data in the ship’s computers would be lost, a vital consideration when fighting aliens who wouldn’t know anything about the Federation’s network of military bases and rapid reinforcement forces. Much of the data would already be known to Admiral Justinian, he knew, but there was no way to know what might help him plot his next move.

The enemy ships were already firing a second salvo of missiles, followed rapidly by a third. His own salvo was just entering attack range, forcing the enemy to concentrate on their own defense, just for a moment. He scowled as Bogey Two started to come within range as well, offering the threat of vastly increased missile salvos. At least his starfighters were having an impact, even though he knew that most of those fine young men would be lost. He quickly checked the mass limit reading, and scowled again. If they could just hold out for a few more hours, they would be able to escape. If...

“Multiple hits on Bogey One,” the tactical officer reported. “Five of their superdreadnaughts are falling out of formation.”

Marius smiled tiredly. Maybe they could pull it off after all.

“Continue firing,” he ordered. At this rate, they would shoot their magazines dry before too long, leaving his ships defenseless. The enemy would have the same problem, but standard doctrine insisted that superdreadnaughts be escorted by ammunition ships in battle. Transferring missiles from transports to superdreadnaughts at speed wasn’t easy—and sane officers blanched at the dangers—but it could be done. “Knock as many of their ships out of formation as you can.”

“Aye, sir,” the tactical officer said.

* * *

“The remaining invaders are surrendering, captain,” Elf’s voice said over the intercom. “Do you want us to secure the prisoners?”

Roman wondered absently if she knew how unlike a captain he was feeling.
Enterprise
might have linked up with the remainder of the fleet, yet they were still in battle—and still vulnerable. The carrier’s point defense had taken a battering, and her drives were dangerously unstable.

“Captain?” she asked.

“Yes, go ahead,” he ordered, even though he felt like a fool. Elf had vastly more combat experience than he did. “Confine them as best as you can and then report to the damage control master.”

He clicked off the intercom and stared down at the internal systems display.
Enterprise
had been vastly overpowered for her size, something that had saved the ship’s life. Commander Duggan had told him that certain admirals had wanted large starships to serve as their flagships, insisting that the ship be built to their personal specifications. The Federation Navy could have built four fleet carriers for the cost of one
Enterprise
, but that very overdesign had saved their lives when a standard fleet carrier would have been destroyed. The starship might look like Swiss cheese from the outside, yet she was still going strong.

Or maybe not
, he thought sourly. One of the drives had been destroyed in the attack and two more were showing alarming harmonic fluctuations, which suggested they were on the verge of burning out. Losing one wouldn’t be fatal; losing both of them would mean that
Enterprise
would have to drop out of formation, exposing her to the tender mercies of Admiral Justinian, who might not feel like taking prisoners. Roman’s trick of waiting until the enemy battlecruisers had come within point-blank range would hardly encourage the enemy to accept an offer of surrender. They’d be more likely to put a missile in the carrier’s hull instead.

He pulled up the starfighter display and shivered. There were no organized flight groups and squadrons, not any longer. Instead, pilots were flying with whatever wingmen they could find and rearming at whatever carrier could take them. The perfect organization of the Retribution Force was a thing of the past. If
Enterprise
fell out of formation...Admiral Drake hadn’t mentioned it, but Roman knew what his orders would be.
Enterprise’s
fighters would transfer to another carrier and the fleet’s former flagship would make its final stand alone.

“The CAG is reporting that they’re having trouble transferring supplies from the holding bays to the flight decks,” Sultana reported. At least she sounded calm. Maybe she really was; Roman saw nothing more than a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead. “The damage control crews are asking for permission to cut through the bulkheads and transfer the supplies directly.”

“Check with the engineer,” he ordered. It felt like an abdication of responsibility, but he didn’t know if cutting through the bulkheads risked damaging the ship. “If he agrees, tell them to go ahead with it.”

He turned back to the main display.
Enterprise
wasn’t being targeted directly—he suspected that Admiral Justinian still wanted the carrier intact—yet there was always a possibility that one missile would lose its target and lock onto
Enterprise
as a substitute. Or perhaps the admiral would change his mind and decide to end
Enterprise’s
charmed life.

“Two hours to the mass limit,” the helmsman reported. “Once we cross, we can escape.”

Sultana looked over at him. “And go where? Can we double back and find a chain of Asimov Points leading home?”

Roman said nothing, as she was right. Asimov Points were far quicker than the stardrive. It would take years to get back to Earth without re-entering the Asimov Point network, which meant that Admiral Drake would have to head for another Asimov Point. And Admiral Justinian could certainly guess where he was going, and perhaps have a fleet in place to block their retreat...

“Stow it,” he ordered sharply. “We will concentrate on getting out of here. The rest we leave to the admiral.”

* * *

Marius wanted a shower desperately as his fleet crawled towards the mass limit. It felt as if they had been fighting for days, not hours, and he was alarmingly aware of his own stink. The crew looked tired and worn, looking to him to get them out of this nightmare. He rubbed the side of his chin and felt stubble, taunting him. The only consolation was that Justinian’s fleet had to be in the same condition.

“Admiral, they are launching starfighters,” the tactical officer reported. He should have been relieved long ago, but the secondary tactical officer was needed on the secondary bridge. “They seem to be preparing a final strike.”

“Prepare our own fighters for launch,” Marius ordered slowly. The fighter jocks were exhausted. He’d given the order to have stimulants issued to the pilots, even though they knew that stimulants could impair judgement and coordination. There hadn’t been any other choice, even when one of his remaining pilots had nearly killed a second one under the impression that he’d been an enemy. “Combine our squadrons and stand by to launch them on my command...”

The enemy fighters screamed in towards his ships and his own weary pilots went forward to meet them. Both sides were clearly tired—thankfully, their mechanical servants never got tired. Many of Justinian’s fighters died as they were picked off by the point defense network, their reaction times clearly impaired. But two more of Drake’s superdreadnaughts were blown apart before Justinian’s fighters started to fall back, evading Drake’s vengeful starfighters as they retreated.