Winds of Vengeance (18 page)

“One minute to launch, Admiral.”

“Plot final launch trajectories. I want all ships targeting that front line of Gargoyles.”

The enemy had a dozen of their heavier ships in the lead. She was deploying a lot of firepower on a limited number of targets, but if the fleet’s missiles could take out those ships, the enemy formation would be virtually split into two sections. Her fleet units could close and bracket the rest of the imperials from two sides. Then it would be a toe to toe slugging match.

“Fifteen seconds to launch. Requesting final authorization.” It was the ship’s AI this time, not Kemp.

“Admiral Frette…launch authorization approved.”

She sat, staring right ahead. Her mind tried to drift to other battles, engagements from years before…but she slammed her focus in place. She counted down silently, waiting for the series of thuds that never came. The engineering of the new racks was far superior to those the old fleet had used before. The inertial dampeners allowed the missiles to take off with vastly greater initial velocity, while absorbing most of the force from the launches. The hard shaking Frette remembered had been replaced by an almost imperceptible vibration.

“Missiles away, Admiral.” Kemp flipped a series of switches and looked back at the scope. All vessels report launches complete. Three hundred eighty-two missiles en route.”

“Very well, Commander. I want full thrust in thirty seconds. All ships are too close to energy range.”

“Yes, Admiral.” Kemp looked up from the scope. “Enemy missile launches…all ships.” Kemp returned his gaze to the scanning results. “Almost four hundred enemy warheads inbound.”

“All point defense batteries on full alert. I want intercept rockets ready to launch in ten minutes.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

She stared at the display, watching the cloud of enemy missiles approaching the fleet. They were too far out for intensive scans, and that meant she didn’t know if she was looking at fusion warheads…or far deadlier antimatter weapons. The First Imperium had used both types of missiles against the fleet…and the danger her people faced from the incoming volley was highly variable, depending on the mix they were that was heading their way.

She paused, deep in thought. She was worried about the missiles. She didn’t think the enemy volleys would be enough to defeat the task force…but if there were antimatter weapons moving toward them, she would have a lot more ships damaged and destroyed than she wanted to see…especially since she fully intended to continue with the operational plan she’d discussed with her officers. When these enemy vessels were destroyed, the task force would move on, following
Hurley’s
course. And it would keep going, until it had eradicated the threat, or at least until it had gained enough intel to determine what the republic truly faced.

“All capital ships are to prepare fighter squadrons for immediate launch. Arm all fighters for anti-missile operations.” She’d still been considering the command when it burst from her lips.

“Yes, Admiral.” There was a hint of surprise in Kemp’s voice.

Greta Hurley had pioneered the use of fighters against missile strikes, and Frette had once heard Admiral Compton say the fleet wouldn’t have survived without the innovative tactic. But in the years after the colonization of Earth Two, the sizes of fighter compliments had declined precipitously, the result of manpower shortages and increased automation. And as the number of squadrons dropped, the use of fighters as a missile defense had fallen into disuse. Twenty years of peace had completed the work, though Frette and Erika West had continued to mandate the inclusion of fighter anti-missile armaments on the fleet’s capital ships.

“Commander McDaid acknowledges, Admiral.
Starfire
and
Legatus
as well.” A few seconds later: “All capital ships have acknowledged, Admiral.”

“Very well.” Frette knew her fighters wouldn’t have the chance to get back and rearm for anti-ship operations, and that meant she wouldn’t have them in the final struggle against the enemy vessels. But she was willing to take the chance. The fleet was going to be accelerating hard toward the enemy, and that would cut the interception time to a minimum. The point defense batteries and rockets would have less time to do their work. She needed everything she could get to wear down the incoming volley.

I just hope they can manage it…

Academy training for fighter pilots spent very little time on what had come to be known as ‘Hurley tactics.’ Indeed, trainees spent less than half a dozen hours in the simulator learning the maneuvers the fleet’s great fighter commander had perfected. But she knew McDaid was a gifted pilot, and she believed in him. As the flagship’s strike force commander, he would take charge of the entire force, sixty fighter-bombers. And if he lived up to her faith in him, he and his birds would cut a swath right though the missile barrage.

And if those are antimatter warheads out there, they might save some ships too…

“All personnel prepare for full thrust in ten seconds.”

Frette tensed as she heard Kemp’s announcement. Her reflexes had been trained in the days of acceleration tanks and long stretches of enduring oppressive gee forces. She knew the younger spacers in the fleet could never appreciate the force dampeners like the Pilgrims, the men and women who knew what it felt like to endure many times the feeling of their own weight. The young crews would never know how it felt to be squashed by pressure and bloated by harsh drugs…while trying to stay sharp in battle.

But they will learn what it is like to go into combat. What it is like to endure radiation, to be crushed as sections of the ship collapse around them. They will see comrades obliterated by energy weapons and sucked out into space through great rents in the hull.

It had been many years, but all those scenes were clear in her head, as if it had been yesterday.

But it is not yesterday. It is today…

*    *    *

“What would you…my father…have done?” Terrance Compton II sat in his usual chair, feeling, as always, somehow reassured by the presence of the AI’s core in close physical proximity.

“As we have discussed many times, Terrance, while I possess much of your father’s information base, I am not able to analyze problems from the perspective he would have. The judgments I can draw and the projections I can create regarding his decisions on given matters derive from a third-party analysis of his training and memories. Not unlike the work of a skilled biographer.”

Compton nodded, but he didn’t say anything right away. The machine had been reminding him for years that, although it possessed much of the knowledge of Terrance Compton, it was not the great admiral…nor the father Terrance had never met.

“Have I upset you with my reminder that I am not your father, nor even a reasonable facsimile of his thought and emotional processes?”

“No…you made that point many years ago, my old friend…and dozens of times since. Yet, there is more to you than you let on. You are not Terrance Compton, certainly…but you are more than some biographer’s notes, I think. So, analyze the volumes of data you have from my father’s brain. Review it all, do your computations…and tell me what you believe he would have done had he stood in Max Harmon’s shoes, as he almost certainly would have if he had lived?”

“What you ask is far more difficult than you believe. I have sufficient insight into your father to understand that he used his intuition and instincts—what you humans call ‘gut feel’—very often. Obviously, his experiences and recollections informed his emotion-based decision-making, but it is quite difficult to simulate the process that was at work when he exercised his command prerogatives.”

“Then come as close as you can. You can spare me another round of disclaimers that you are not the essence of my father. Sometimes I think thou doth protest too much.”

The AI ignored the taunt. “There are further complications to providing you the answer you seek. First, your father would have different resources at his disposal. He was the commander-in-chief, the single human most regarded as savior of the fleet. Max Harmon was a relatively well-known captain when the fleet arrived at Earth Two, and he became a hero for his part in the mission to destroy the Regent. But much of that credit still went to Compton, though the admiral wasn’t involved at all in planning the expedition.

“Your people are very fixated on choosing leaders they can follow blindly…until they become discontent and abandon them. But Terrance Compton would likely have maintained more popular support than President Harmon. He would have been older, indeed, over one hundred now, and the oldest person on Earth Two. This may seem insignificant, but there is a strong correlation between age and human perception of someone’s worthiness of a leadership position.”

“Yes, I understand. As fond as I am of Max Harmon, I have little doubt my father was an even more capable leader. But what would he have done?”

“My best projection suggests that Terrance Compton would have sought to find a way to avoid the use of force, regardless of what the action the Advanced Hybrids took, short of direct offensive action by them. But you must consider that such an option may not be available to President Harmon. Simply because Admiral Compton would have chosen a course does not mean Max Harmon can successful do the same. Harmon is struggling with plunging popularity and political influence…and this limits his options.”

“But you believe my father would have held back, even if it meant allowing the Mules to stand in open rebellion?”

“Yes. In the absence of an external threat, and with no violence initiated by the Mules, I believe he would have exhibited considerable patience. But my analysis suggests that your father may well have avoided this impasse entirely. He would likely have opposed the Prohibition and, controlling greater political power, he may very well have prevented its passing, or obtained its repeal at an earlier date, something that has proven to be a practical impossibility for President Harmon.”

Compton stood up. “I know what I have to do. I have to stop this. We cannot bring our weapons to bear on each other. My father quelled a mutiny…and he turned his adversaries into loyal supporters. I must do the same.”

“Terrance…” The AI paused. “You do not have the same renown your father enjoyed.” It was clear from the change in the machine’s tone that the AI knew its words could be hurtful to Compton.

“I know that…but I am a Compton. This is my duty. I owe it to him, to my father. And to all those who looked up to me, those I disappointed so profoundly.”

“The current situation is highly fluid. Violence is a possibility at any time. I strongly counsel you to stand aside, to allow things to take their course.”

“No…I have done that all my life. Now it is time I did more. It is time for me to be my father’s son.”

Chapter Fifteen

Planet X

Far Beyond the Borders of the Imperium

The scouting force has discovered more enemy ships. There is no longer any plausible doubt. This is the group of humans responsible for the Regent’s destruction. Their capabilities have grown considerably in the intervening time period, no doubt the result of assimilating captured imperial technology. An analysis of their intelligence levels and adaptability—based on information gained primarily through the Regent’s capture and investigation/dissection of a number of specimens—suggested a somewhat slower rate of technological adoption. Clearly, some other factor has intervened, and allowed the humans to advance beyond that which their limited abilities should have been able to support.

It is of no consequence, however. The rates of acceleration exhibited by both the destroyed ship and the fleet currently engaged with our advance force, suggest no use of antimatter as a power source. This remains a tactical advantage, one I will see exploited to the greatest possible gain.

I have ordered the advance force to engage. Based on my review of previous combats with the humans, I do not expect our ships to prevail. Nevertheless, I see all the likely scenarios favoring my strategy. If the humans are victorious, they will likely continue to advance, bringing them farther from support…and closer to my true strength. Their fleet will move forward into a trap…and every ship will be destroyed. I will then wait, and see if the humans dissipate more of their strength by sending rescue or expeditionary forces. And if they do not, I will send the fleet forth to find their inhabited worlds…and destroy them utterly.

And if they do not prevail in this first battle, if the imperial task force is successful in beating them back, or in damaging them sufficiently to force them to disengage, we will follow them to their home…and the massed fleet will follow…and death shall rain down upon them all.

The Regent shall be avenged.

Flag Bridge, E2S Compton

System G-35, Eleven Transits from Earth Two

Earth Two Date 11.26.30

“Over three hundred enemy missiles destroyed, Admiral. And Commander McDaid’s fighters are still making runs.”

Frette could tell from Kemp’s voice how surprised the tactical officer was at the effectiveness of the combined anti-missile operations. She had watched as the fact sunk in for him—and the other bridge officers—that four hundred missiles were heading toward the task force. They had trained for just such situations, but she knew how much different it was facing real warheads.

The anti-missile rockets had raced forward, accelerating rapidly and splitting into multiple shorter-ranged sprint-mode drones. Their purpose was simple, to get as close as possible to enemy warheads and detonate, blasting them with massive hits of radiation in an effort to scramble their systems and render them ineffective. The weapons were vastly superior to those Frette had last seen used in a battle situation, and even she was shocked at their effectiveness. Almost half the enemy missiles were gone by the time McDaid led the fighter strike in to attack.