No Way to Start a War (TCOTU, Book 2) (This Corner of the Universe) (10 page)

By the
time each fleet had settled into their new course and bearings, the Hollaran
Greyhounds, slightly faster than the standard Brevic anti-ship missile, had
covered three of the five light-minutes spanning the two fleets.  The Brevic
missiles were only marginally outpaced, having covered slightly over 2.5
lm
.

Heskan
looked over to Vernay and saw her hands balled into tight fists
.  Is she
reliving Anelace
, he wondered. 
Of course she is.  I’m practically doing
it too.
  He shook his head. 
I’ve got to keep us focused on the present.
 
“Jack, bring up a squadron status graphic of the ship compositions of Task
Group Two-Two and the Hollie Main fleet.  I want it updated continuously during
the engagement.  Diane, I also want the constant plotting of us and the Carrier
and Vanguard forces in case they turn toward us.  I want to know to the second
how quickly they could get within missile range if they make the turn.”

After
his officers gave acknowledgments and dove into their tasks, Heskan leaned over
toward Vernay and said quietly, “Stacy, unclench your fists.”  She looked down
and blinked twice at the white knuckles on each hand.

“Sorry,
sir,” she whispered.

“It’s
okay, I understand how you feel,” Heskan sympathized.  “I want you to work with
Spencer to look at that attack and determine if CortRon Fifteen could stop it. 
We’re not out of the woods with the Vanguard force so close and I want to know how
we would have matched up on this attack.”

Two fleet
charts appeared on a bridge side screen, one a representation of Task Group
2.2’s eighteen ships, the other representing the seventeen-ship Hollaran Main
force.  Truesworth pointed at them as he said, “They’re up, Captain.  Also, Avenger
and Eagle are commencing recovery operations of their fighters.  They estimate
it will take twenty-two minutes.”

“We’re
essentially locked into this course until then, Captain,” Selvaggio said.  “We’ll
have to stop fighter recovery if the fleet wants to change course.”

“Be
a good time for that Vanguard force to try an’ close with us,” Brown warned.

“Yeah,”
Vernay agreed unhappily.  “Why are we only eleven light-minutes from them
again?  Isn’t that stupidly close?”

“We
had to be this close to ensure our F-3s could intercept their fighters before
they launched their missiles against Two-Two,” Heskan stated.  “Plus, we had to
stay close to the Main force because we thought we’d be launching our second strike
against them.”

“No
plan survives first contact with the enemy,” Brown said.

The twin
fleet charts were beginning to flash and grow dim as missiles leaked through
each fleet’s defensive screen.  Based on Brevic point defense formulas, Task
Group 2.2’s escort squadron could statistically intercept more missiles per wave
than the three hundred fifty it faced, if each point defense weapon operated at
one hundred percent efficiency.  Instead of perfection, the defenders achieved
a ninety-eight percent actual interception rate of the first Hollaran wave, and
all but six missiles were negated.  The Hollaran escorts scored a ninety
percent interception rate, paying for the damage to two of its escorts during
the tunnel point battle.  A full thirty-five Brevic missiles leaked through
their screen.

The opening
wave of Brevic missiles rang the death knell within the Hollaran Main force as
a heavy cruiser exploded under repeated hits and a second was heavily damaged. 
Worse still for the Hollarans, an escort destroyer had let missiles slip inside
its own perimeter while defending the doomed cruisers.  The bright flashes
picked up by
Kite’s
optical sensors announced the hits as Truesworth’s
fleet chart updated to show the ship appearing to take serious damage
.  That’s
it, battle over,
Heskan thought with a mix of elation and remorse. 
With
an escort severely damaged in the first salvo, they’ll never stop all of the
missiles in the remaining fourteen waves.
 
Everyone in that fleet has to
know they’re already dead
.

The
Brevic forces did not escape retribution.  The six Hollaran Greyhounds evading
the Brevic missile net damaged both a heavy and command cruiser.  Heskan watched
much of the command cruiser’s port side rip open to space and saw her yaw
severely from the blows.  He recoiled at the destruction
.  If she can’t
right her heading, she’ll have almost no point defenses unmasked at any
additional missiles that come at her
.

The
destruction caused by the second and third Brevic missile waves against the
Hollarans was surreal.  Reeling from the loss of the point defense capabilities
of their escorts, ninety-eight missiles broke through on the second wave,
claiming six ships and damaging four others.  Two hundred seventy-three
missiles gushed forth on the third wave, annihilating seven more ships and
wrecking the Hollaran battleship and dreadnaught.  The fourth wave obliterated
them completely and the remaining three thousand nine hundred sixty Brevic
missiles in the successive waves cruised past the Hollaran debris fields and toward
deep space.

As the
Hollaran Main fleet chart completely darkened, Heskan shifted his study to the
Brevic forces.  The four initial waves from the Hollarans had been partially
blunted although a second command cruiser had been hit and a heavy cruiser
destroyed in the third and fourth waves, respectively.  Another agonizing
minute crawled by as the missiles in each of the next three waves were stopped in
their tracks. 
My hat’s off to that CortRon commander, they’re doing well. 
Of course, they have one more destroyer than we do and their frigate is
actually a dedicated escort, unlike ours,
Heskan considered.

Heskan’s
admiration changed to a mumbled curse as sixteen missiles of the eighth wave
slipped by the Brevic escorts, avenging their Hollaran creators.  He saw Vernay
wince as several missiles bore down on the heavy cruiser damaged by the first
wave and tear apart the stricken vessel. 
Damn, that makes two heavy
cruisers gone
.  Heskan tore his eyes away from the optical display and
glanced at Task Group 2.2’s fleet status graphic. 
I see they lost a light
cruiser in that wave too… thankfully not the one leading their escort squadron.

“Captain,
the Vanguard force is turning toward us!” Truesworth exclaimed.  The tactical
plot updated to account for the eleven-minute time lag and placed the Vanguard
force approximately 8.5
lm
away.

“We
kind of expected them to do that as soon as they saw us recovering fighters,”
Heskan said, trying to sound confident but inwardly roiling with dread.

Selvaggio
finished rough calculations.  “They should reach missile range in seventeen and
a half minutes.  We’re probably not going to have all our fighters recovered by
then.”

“Yeah,”
Heskan agreed.  “But at least the second fighter strike we’re arming right now
should be away before they get into missile range.  Maybe the fighters can run
some interference.”  He did not mention that the second strike would be much
smaller because most of the fighters had launched with the first
.  Still,
it’s possible that even a smaller strike could disrupt their attack on us or
maybe even whittle down some of their missile boats
.

Heskan
saw his console flash out of the corner of his eye.  It was a private comm call
from
Aspis
.  He accepted the comm request and routed the voice-only
communication to the speakers in his shocksuit helmet. 
Aspis
and
Kite
were 10
ls
apart resulting in something less than a real-time
conversation.  “Exciting times, eh, Kelly?” Heskan greeted
Aspis’
captain as he watched the Brevic missile fleet successfully fight off the tenth
wave of missiles. 
Well done, guys.  Just five more to go; keep it together
.

“It
looks like they’ll be getting even more exciting.”  Heskan heard the concern in
Gary’s voice.  “I assume you’ve noticed our approaching guests.  If they close
to within five light-minutes of us, we’re looking at an estimated three hundred
fifty missiles per volley coming our way.”

“Our
fighters might reduce that number,” Heskan answered hopefully.

The
sobering response came ten seconds later.  “No, Garrett, they won’t,” Gary
stated flatly.  “I’ve done the math and even if our second strike does fire at
the approaching force, our missiles won’t reach the Hollies until three or four
minutes after they’ve emptied their magazines at us.”

Heskan
recalled that before elevation to ship’s captain, Kelly Gary had spent most of
her career leading the sensor sections of warships.  He knew better than to
dispute her findings but was still annoyed by the news. 
How could the
admirals let this happen?  How difficult is it to stay out of missile range in
open, infinite space?

Oblivious
to Heskan’s internal trepidations, Gary continued, “We should still be able to
stop that many missiles according to
Aspis’
defense projections but I’m
worried about our center.”

The
eleventh missile wave from the dead Hollaran Main fleet homed in.  Both
officers paused to watch Task Group 2.2’s escorts valiantly intercept every missile
before resuming their conversation. 

“I put
my first officer on strengthening our center,” Heskan said.  He punched buttons
on his console.  “Let me send you what she came up with.  Since we each have
Buckler class ships and we’re on the opposing sides of the square, there’s no
reason your ship shouldn’t be able to execute the same maneuver with minor
adjustments.”  The twelfth wave was rapidly approaching Task Group 2.2.

“You
know, Garrett, if you ever want to find a new home for your genius first
officer, I’ll gladly take—Oh!  Damn, damn, damn…”

Gary’s
ramble confused Heskan until he looked at the optical and realized she was reacting
to the missile battle.  He watched as two missiles evaded the defense net and struck
the side of one of the escort squadron’s destroyers.  Brilliant plumes of
fire-laced atmosphere gushed forth from the wide holes opening on the port side
of the ship.  Secondary explosions carved additional holes in her hull. 
Oh
no,
Heskan thought
.  That’s going to seriously reduce their defenses.  Will
the fleet now cascade into annihilation like the Hollies?

“Um,”
Gary resumed distractedly, “I’ll look at what you sent, Garrett.  Good luck.” 
She ended the conversation.

It
just struck her
,
Heskan realized. 
Here we have an enemy fleet bearing down on us and right
on our wall screens we get to watch the consequences of letting just a couple
missiles slip in.  Please let that CortRon recover before the next wave strikes.

It did
not.  Given just twenty seconds to account for its compromised point defense umbrella,
the escort squadron gallantly lashed out at the incoming missiles but fell short
by five.  Those five damaged a command cruiser and the missile-outfitted tug. 
The cruiser held up well but the tug, not designed to withstand the rigors of
combat, succumbed to a single strike.  Its drives dimmed, hinting at grave
damage deep inside the ship.

The
second to last wave heralded the group’s fate.  The escort screen, its gunners
over-taxed, was overwhelmed.  Thirty-one missiles pierced the screen.  The
escort frigate suffered major damage along with a second destroyer.  The tug
took five additional missile impacts and exploded into fragments with a heavy
cruiser following it into oblivion two seconds later. 
They’ve come so
close!  Don’t tell me that the fleet is going to be gutted on the last wave,
Heskan
pleaded.

The
remaining defenses did their best against the final wave but a further
fifty-nine missiles poured over the formation.  In the span of three seconds,
Heskan watched six ships transform into debris and the fleet flagship, the
dreadnaught,
BRS
Determined
, shed twenty-seven percent of her
mass as seven Greyhound missiles stripped armor and hull from the behemoth. 
Where eighteen proud and sturdy ships had once comprised Task Group 2.2, only six
remained and of which just two were undamaged.

Truesworth’s
sedated voice declared, “The carriers are launching the second strike force.”  It
was as if he did not want to speak too loudly out of respect for the fallen
comrades just light-minutes behind him.  “The first strike is roughly twenty-five
percent recovered but they’re quickly falling behind the original time
estimate.”

Heskan
grunted in acknowledgment and looked at the tactical symbols of the carriers. 
A
lot of good those damn fighters are doing us
, he cursed. 
What the hell
is going on with them?

Ensign
Gables shook her head violently to clear the sweat dripping into her eyes as
she turned her flight suit’s temperature control down another five degrees. 
Eagle’s
landing officer called over her headset, “Angel Twenty-nine, your approach is
red.”  The voice sounded disgusted.  “ALS has switched to auto-reject.  Go
around… again.”

Screw
you too, Eagle
,
Gables thought irritably.  She pulled back on the pressure stick to streak her
F-3 over the carrier and enter the missed approach flight pattern for the third
time. 
Calm down
, she told herself even as her heart continued to race.  She
doubted it had dipped below one hundred beats per minute since the dogfight,
which was unlike anything she had been prepared for.  In flight school, the exercise
dogfights were more like a series of relatively straight passes on the enemy
where each fighter streaked through the opposing formation, rotated one hundred
eighty degrees quickly to reverse its speed and passed through the enemy
formation again.  Instructor pilots told their pupils the notion of fighters
twisting and turning in an attempt to get behind their adversaries was archaic since
fighters now traveled at one-third the speed of light in a zero gravity environment
and were equally matched in terms of maneuverability.

This
“new reality” had turned out to be a fiction, as the Hollaran fighters were not
only fractionally faster but could also pull more G’s than the Brevic F-3.  As
the last flight to make its attack run against the Hollaran fighters, Gables’ flight
commander had executed the standard Brevic flight maneuver to set up for a
second pass.  Conversely, the Hollaran fighter pilots pulled bone-crushing lead
turns to maintain their speed and began to take unopposed high deflection shots. 
The chaos that ensued was much less the practiced evasive maneuvers taught in flight
school and much more a collection of desperate, neck-straining break turns and
skids that rendered pilots nearly unconscious while unprotected wingmen cried
for help.  Gables was sure that at least four Hollaran fighters had her zeroed
in during the fight, but she had miraculously been able to break each target
lock with a series of frantic movements that left her Pup’s over-G indicator
flashing angrily at her.

After
four terrifying minutes of pure desperation, the dogfight had ended.  Somehow, she
reflected, pilots more capable than herself had been able to eliminate the enemy
craft.  While she was unsure who had shot down whom, she was certain that in
the entire scrum she had not been in a position to fire a single shot after her
initial pass.  Even then, that singular attack had missed by a wide margin.  After
the bedlam of the dogfight, a semblance of order had returned as the strike
force egressed from the kill zone, but Gables still could not shake the terror
of those four minutes and the damage inflicted during them.

Twelve
fighters in her squadron were gone.  Of those twelve, five had come from her
own C-flight.  Additionally, another C-flight Pup, Angel-23, was damaged and
losing environmental control.  The toll had been worst among the pilots whose
wingmen had not been with them because of dud engines and missile misfires.  In
Gables’ VF-25, any pilot that entered the dogfight without a wingman failed to
leave it.  Further, when a tandem of fighters lost either the lead craft or the
wingman, the second Pup of that element usually died shortly after.  Of the
squadron’s seven pairs of Pups that had lost one of their fighters, only two elements
had avoided complete destruction. 
The lesson is simple
, Gables
thought. 
Lose your wingman; lose your life. 
She inhaled deeply and
exhaled slowly, trying to steady her sprinting heartbeat.  Feeling slightly
better, she settled her Pup into the missed approach queue and methodically progressed
through her missed approach checklist. 
Okay, Denise, you can do this. 
You’ve landed at this speed before.  Just relax and hit each approach
milestone.

Six
minutes later, she had completed the checklist but was still waiting for
clearance to leave the holding pattern to attempt another landing. 
At least
I’m not the only one having trouble.  The missed approach pattern is stacked
three layers deep.

“Is
that you ahead of me, Twenty-nine?” Gables recognized the voice of her flight
commander.

“Affirmative,
Twenty-one.  I’d have thought you would’ve landed by now,” Gables teased to try
to break some of the tension.

“Guess
I got some wind up over that tumble with the Hollies,” Walker confessed. 
“Pretty impolite of them to zoom us like they did.  I’m not even sure how they
did it.  Just goes to show you can never trust a Hollie.”

“They
were all over me right from the beginning,” Gables said as she began to switch
her heads-up display settings from missed approach to landing mode.  Symbols
appeared in view showing how her fighter should be oriented and the proper
speeds at different intervals in the approach.  “I’m afraid I wasn’t much good
out there and the ground crew is going to have to go over every inch of this bus
after all the stress I loaded on it.”

“Nonsense,”
Walker replied.  “You may not be a brilliant fighter but you’re one hell of a
survivor.  I thought your Pup was surely dead on several occasions.  Would be a
pity if you had to ditch it just because you can’t land like a proper pilot.” 
His voice was playful but tinged with concern.

“You’re
a riot, Walker,” Gables halfheartedly retorted as the landing officer granted
her clearance to enter the landing pattern.  Once positioned directly ahead of
Eagle
,
she turned her Pup in a half-circle and fired her aft thrusters to decelerate
from .2
c
.  As she reached the first milestone, the navigation system
beeped at her until she lightly accelerated to slightly under .2
c
. 
Okay,
vector-x is good, vector-y is acceptable and closure rate is… a little fast. 
She
applied light bow thrusters.  Her focus narrowed to the holographic symbols on
her heads-up display and the audio cues in her headset.  A minute that seemed
like an hour passed as she flew the tiny fighter down the approach path.

“Angel
Twenty-nine, approach is green,”
Eagle’s
landing officer said in a
hopeful tone.  “Set flight computer to accept ALS instructions.”

Gables
enabled her Pup’s flight computer to permit the ALS to take control of her
fighter.  “Flight controls to receive, Twenty-nine on final.” 
It looks
good; here’s to a happy landing
. 

Moments
later
Eagle’s
gravity snare savagely tore the F-3 from flight and
brought it to relative rest.  Inside the cockpit, Gables’ suit blasted her face
with cool air as she began to regain consciousness.  She looked around groggily
and saw she was safely on the recovery deck, the automated taxi system guiding
her Pup to a hangar elevator.  Without any anxiety, she pressed the playback
button on her comm unit and the landing officer’s evaluation of her landing
replayed over her headset.  “Speed, point oh oh two under, green.  Vector, X
minus point oh two, Y plus point oh one, green.  Well done.”

Two greens,
she thought humorlessly. 
Doesn’t
that figure, my best landing ever and nobody cares, including me
.

*  *  *

On
Kite’s
bridge, Heskan watched, nearly mesmerized by the ballet of fighters landing on
the top recovery decks and launching from the lower launch decks.  After several
minutes, the final fighter from the second strike hurtled from
Avenger
and the fifty-six craft formation set course for the Hollaran Vanguard fleet,
which was a scant 5.5
lm
from the carriers.  The chaotic fighter recovery
effort for the first strike was falling further and further behind and the
latest estimate to complete the landings was an additional fifteen minutes.  There
was little for Heskan to do except stare in frustration at the tactical plot as
Vernay had already called the ship to battle stations when the enemy had broken
the 6
lm
barrier.

The
fighters are taking far too much time.  The Hollies will be in missile range in
three minutes. 
Heskan’s
eyes dropped to Task Group 2.2’s symbols on the plot.  The surviving ships had set
an intercept course for the Vanguard fleet but had left behind their surviving destroyer
and frigate escorts, the worst damaged of their ships, in order to maintain .2
c
. 
That gives the group just a damaged dreadnaught, one damaged and one
undamaged command cruiser and a light cruiser.  Worse still, they’re all out of
missiles.  They’ll have to get within heavy laser range to fight.
  Heskan
admired the courage of the fleet but knew it was futile. 
They’re eleven light-minutes
from the Hollies so there is no chance they can stop that fleet from firing. 
At best, they’ll chase off the Hollies after they’ve emptied their missile
magazines at us.

Lieutenant
Truesworth spoke as he adjusted the main wall screen.  “Captain, incoming
message from Bulwark.  It’s being sent just to us.”

The
wall screen split in half, partly showing the tactical plot, partly showing the
image of Lieutenant Commander Durmont.  Durmont’s expression was grim.  “This
is the commander, Lieu— uh, Garrett.  That Hollaran fleet will be firing at us
soon.”

Heskan
waited for Durmont to continue speaking but after several seconds decided the
squadron commander was content with stating the obvious.  “Yes, sir.  My
weapons officer estimates we’ll face between three hundred thirty and three
hundred sixty missiles per wave with fifteen total waves.”

“Right,”
Durmont replied nervously.  “Uh, that’s what I thought too.”  He hesitated as
he leaned closer toward the screen as if it would afford him privacy.  “You’ve
been here before.  Do you have any advi—”  He cut himself off and looked around
his bridge before speaking again.  “Do you have any recommendations more useful
than a first year cadet could make?”

Heskan
bit down hard on his lip. 
He wants my advice but thinks it makes him look
weak by asking for it.  Why can’t he understand that he should be asking his
vice for options?  He must drive his first officer crazy
.  Heskan cleared
his throat.  “We’re stuck on this course while we recover the fighters, making
this our probable fighting formation.  Admiral Hayes doesn’t seem willing to
stop the recovery so we can run.  You might want to recommend to him doing just
that.”

Durmont
began shaking his head vigorously.  “No, no.  At the moment, he’s very upset
with the CAGs and our… fighter pilots,” he said, gesturing derisive air quotes
when saying the last words.  “The command channel is not a pretty place to be. 
He’s furious at how long the recovery is taking but essentially said we’re not
running away when Two-Two was chewed up like that.  He
really
wants
those fighters back and rearmed.”

Heskan
had figured as much.  If Hayes was unwilling to let the carriers run, there
were no attractive options.  Further, Task Group 2.2 would not stand a chance
against the Vanguard fleet if it faced them before the Hollarans emptied their
missile magazines. 
It’s time to do our job
, he thought grimly. “Captain
Gary and I have discussed an option to lend support to the frigates while still
maintaining our areas of responsibility.  Let me send you that information
right now.”  He rapidly forwarded Vernay’s data.  “It’s not groundbreaking
material but it might shore up our center if we end up weak there.”

Heskan
watched as Durmont’s eyes looked down and his head began to shake back and
forth. 
Does he even realize he’s doing that?
Heskan wondered.

Finally,
Durmont looked back at Heskan.  “This isn’t a prescribed formation maneuver, is
it?”

“No,
but the data is sound,” Heskan countered.

“Well…”
Durmont trailed off as he thought.  “Okay, my first instinct is to reject
this.  It’s not an official maneuver and I see me being severely chastised for
trying something that isn’t regulation in the middle of combat when it fails.”

Inwardly
Heskan groaned.  
Come on, Shane, take a chance for once in your life
.

“However,”
Durmont continued, “if we find that our center is being compromised, I’ll give
this another look.  Maybe something unconventional won’t be seen as panic but
as inspiration by the admiral.”  He shrugged.

Heskan
smiled at the tepid support, not so much because he felt like it but to give
Durmont some positive reinforcement.  “I’m glad you’re staying open to
suggestions, Commander.” 
It’s a start
, Heskan told himself as Durmont
closed the channel.

“The
Vanguard force is now in missile range, Captain,” Truesworth declared.  As the
tactical plot once again filled the entirety of the main screen, inverted “V” symbols
representing missiles were springing forth from the enemy fleet.  The symbols
were translucent, “ghost” images as they were merely predicted missile shots
that had yet to be confirmed, but Heskan knew they would be real enough.  The missiles
raced toward the task group as each carrier struggled to recover their fighters. 
The landing operation was only two-thirds complete. 
Damn, not even close
. 
At least our second fighter strike group is launching missiles at the Vanguard
force now.  Those missiles and the approach of Task Group 2.2 might give them
second thoughts about trying to close to heavy laser range on the carriers.