Rumors of Glory (The System States Rebellion Book 1) (12 page)

“Third missile volley has fired,” said the WO in a much
calmer voice. Drake shook his head. He must have missed the announcement about
the second volley. He was about to say so when the Weapons Officer said, “We’ve
hit Sierra1. Her accel has dropped to zero.”

“Good shooting, WO,” said Drake. At least he could get a
small amount of satisfaction from that. The freighter crew would still be okay.
Two missiles would not have been enough to endanger her crew. He returned his
focus to how to minimize the damage to Valley Forge.

After thinking about that for a while, he said, “Helm,
after their first volley hits us, I want you to roll the ship about 45 degrees
around her axis, but keep the bow pointed in the same direction. Do the same
thing again after each missile strike so that they’re not hitting the same
section of hull twice.”

“Understood, Sir.” Drake saw the Helm Officer smile.
He
gets it,
thought Drake.
Undamaged hull, even if it is less than one
centimeter thick, is better protection than hull that’s been blasted or ripped
open. We have to put some anti-missile defenses on these ships. Cannon with a
high rate of fire would probably be the easiest, but lasers would work better.
We’ve known how to build anti-missile lasers for over five centuries, but no
one expected Federation Navy cruisers to be fighting ships that could fire the
same missiles back at them, and therefore they didn’t bother with anti-missile
defenses.

The last six minutes seemed to take forever. With seconds
left to go, Drake ordered the crew to put on their helmets and grab hold of
something. After fumbling with his own helmet, he got it on just in time. All
ten FED missiles hit at virtually the same time. They must have been armed with
high explosive warheads because Drake felt the ship shudder. Half a dozen
system status lights shifted from green to yellow or red. No reports of
casualties, thank God.

“Sierra2’s been hit! She’s venting atmosphere!” The
Weapons Officer’s voice was getting loud and high-pitched again.
We’re
venting atmosphere too!
thought Drake. It was entirely possible that both
cruisers would be good for nothing more than scrap metal by the time this was
all over. At least the tactical display was still working. Drake counted the
incoming missile volleys. God, there were eight more waves of ten missiles each
on their way. Sierra2 might run out of missile before all their tubes were
damaged.

The next incoming wave would hit in less than 60 seconds.
More terror. He checked the ship’s orientation. The Helm Officer had remembered
to roll the ship 45 degrees. Valley Forge’s second volley hit. It was too early
to tell if Sierra2’s ability to fire missiles was compromised. When the second
incoming wave hit, the ship shuddered again. More systems became damaged, but
they still had power and full maneuvering, and the hyperdrive was still
undamaged.

“We’ve just fired our last volley, Skipper! One HE left
in storage,” said the WO.

Drake nodded. Hopefully Sierra2 was running out as well.

The terror continued for three more incoming waves. By
then it was obvious that Sierra2 either couldn’t fire or had run out of
missiles too. When that third wave hit, a lot of systems went down. Main power
was off-line, which meant no tactical display and no way to maneuver.
Artificial gravity was off-line too. Emergency power was enough for lights and
life support. The Valley Forge was blind and paralyzed. There was no point in
staying on the Bridge any longer. Drake used the intercom to tell the crew to
rendezvous at the missile storage compartment, and then led the Bridge crew
there. It didn’t take long to re-learn how to get around without gravity.

When everyone had found a handhold near the missile
storage compartment (to hold on to), Drake told them what he wanted them to do.

“Here’s the situation. Valley Forge is crippled. I’ve
ordered our backup transmitter to send out a Mayday call. I doubt that the FED
cruiser is in much better shape than we are, so we won’t be getting any help
from them, but Dresden may send out a rescue ship. The problem is that there
are still at least four—“ The ship shuddered again. “—at least three more waves
of incoming missiles that can’t possibly miss now that we’re coasting. What
we’re going to do is detach the warhead on our remaining missile and move it to
the hyperdrive chamber. We’ll set the warhead to explode, and then we move
everyone to the side of the ship that’s least likely to be hit by missiles.
Detonating the warhead will make sure that the FEDs aren’t going to be able to
get Valley Forge back in action for a long time, if ever. When we’ve
accomplished that, we then wait for rescue. Since moving the warhead doesn’t
require all of us, I’ll ask for eight volunteers. The rest of you will
accompany the XO to the safe side of the ship. 

After picking eight men from the volunteers, Drake led
them into the missile storage compartment. Detaching the warhead in zero
gravity proved to be more difficult than he expected, but they finally had it
off and were able to maneuver the warhead carefully down the corridor to the
stairs and down to the level where the hyperdrive unit was located. By this
time, three more waves of missiles had hit the ship. All hits were HE type, for
which Drake was grateful. With the outer hull blasted open, any incoming
kinetic energy warheads would have penetrated deeper into the ship and almost
certainly would have made their task far more difficult, if not impossible.

By the time the warhead was secured and wired for a timed
detonation, Drake was surprised to discover that almost an hour had gone by
since he had left the Bridge. With the timer set, he led his men to where the
rest of the crew was waiting. That part of the ship still had atmosphere,
although life support had stopped working at some point. The air would soon get
toxic with CO2 and get a lot colder too, but everyone still had their pressure
suits on. Those pressure suits were able to recycle air by removing CO2 and
separating the oxygen from the carbon. In terms of air, Drake and the crew
could survive indefinitely. What would kill them eventually was running out of
food and/or freezing to death.

A few minutes after rejoining the rest of the crew, Drake
felt/heard the ship shudder again. He checked his chronometer. The warhead had
gone off on schedule. Eventually the emergency power supply ran out, and the
lights died. Each pressure suit had its own battery-powered light, but those
wouldn’t last forever, so Drake ordered that only one suit’s light would be on
at any one time. That gave them just enough light to prevent total darkness.

Now if only he could….

Drake woke up to find the XO shaking his arm.

“Skipper, we’re hearing what sounds like someone trying
to dock with us.”

Drake was momentarily disoriented by the dim light.
“Okay, where’s the nearest docking hatch?”

The XO pointed. “This way, Skipper.” Drake followed him
into the next compartment. Just as they floated over to the outer hatch, they
heard someone hitting the other side of the hatch door with a metal object.
Without power, the only way to open the hatch was with muscle power from the
inside.

“Okay men, let’s get this hatch open so that we can
surrender and be rescued,” said Drake. He heard a ragged chorus of agreement.
When the hatch was unlocked and was ready to be pulled open, Drake said,
“They’re probably armed, so stay calm and don’t do or say anything that might
be considered threatening. Okay, XO, open her up.”

When the hatch opened, Drake saw the barrel of an assault
rifle pointed at them.

“DON’T ANYBODY MOVE! WHO’S IN COMMAND HERE?” The voice had
the ring of someone scared but high on adrenaline.

Drake resisted the impulse to raise his hand. “I am.
Commander Roland Drake, System States Union Navy. We’re not armed. We
surrender.”

The barrel of the weapon lowered as a man wearing combat
armor over a pressure suit stepped into the compartment.

“SSU navy, eh? If it was up to me, all of you’d be
condemned as pirates and flushed out the airlock WITHOUT your pressure suits,
but this is your lucky day! How many of you are there, Drake?”

“Thirty-four,” said Drake.

“Well, I guess we can squeeze you all in, but don’t even
think of trying anything like taking over the rescue shuttle. I’m not taking
any chances with you people. One false move and all of you will get it,
understand?” He waved his weapon just to make sure everyone knew what he was
taking about.

“We understand. We’re just glad you came to get us. You
won’t have any trouble from us,” said Drake.

“Damn right I won’t! Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m
going to back into the shuttle and move down to the left. You people start
boarding the shuttle one at a time, and when you’re inside, you move to the
right as far as you can. The last man in closes the shuttle hatch from the
inside, and we can then undock. Got it?” He looked at Drake.

“We got it.”

The transfer went off without a hitch. The trip back took
almost four hours due to the shuttle’s low acceleration. By the time it landed
and Valley Forge’s crew were able to disembark, everyone was sore from cramped
muscles and exhausted from adrenaline fatigue. To make matters worse, it was
nighttime when they landed. The shuttle was bathed in bright light from
multiple spotlights and ringed by FED troops. The attitude of the troops and
their officers was decidedly hostile, which didn’t surprise Drake at all. He
and his crew had resigned themselves to it. He imagined that Lorelei Remington
had probably been met with similar attitudes when she was taken prisoner.

As they stood there trying not to let themselves be
blinded by the glaring spotlights, Drake saw a groundcar pull up and a FED Army
officer get out. He waved his arm and the troops lowered their weapons. Someone
must have pointed Drake out to him as the CO because he walked directly over to
Drake.

“Commander Drake?”

Drake nodded. “That’s correct.”

“I’m Captain Korigan, I’m taking charge of you people.
We’re going to load all of you on a couple of buses, which will be here
shortly. You’ll all be taken to a secure facility where you’ll have to submit
to searches and change clothes. Tomorrow you and I, Commander, will have a
little chat. How much you cooperate is up to you. I’m not expecting to get much
from you, but it doesn’t matter. For you and your men...” he paused and then
said, “this war is over.”

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.