Alarm of War

discussion. No one objected, mostly relieved that someone was taking charge and had a plan. “Each of our destroyers can launch ten missiles at a time, with a total of thirty spares. If all ten of us load all missiles — skip the decoys and crap — and shoot at the same time, we’ll have one hundred missiles headed for him at the same time. That should overwhelm his defenses and take him out.”

Emily was scanning through the defense systems for her destroyer. It seemed to be based on short-range lasers. She wondered what the recycle time was to recharge before she could fire the lasers a second time. A frown wrinkled her forehead: How many hits could a destroyer absorb before it was killed? A lot she didn’t know yet.

Ten minutes later they were ready, their ships moving across the holograph as tiny blue specs. For several minutes, nothing, then a red triangle popped up on Emily’s sensor screen. “Got him!” she alerted the others. They had him, too. “Let’s nail the bastard,” Salazar snarled. “Tally ho!” Lord shouted, then ruined it by laughing. The ten ships wheeled towards their target, formed a ragged line and advanced to weapons range.

Moments later a hundred missiles were in the air, accelerating rapidly toward Rudd’s ship.

Emily sighed, folded her arms and sat back. Too easy, she thought to herself. Much too easy. She wondered how he’d do it. Then she frowned and wondered how she would do it if she were in Rudd’s shoes. She thought about how to sucker ten untried tactical officers on their first mission, ten trainees eager to show they could be more aggressive than the next guy. Ten trainees who would charge at the enemy at the very first opportunity… Oh, bugger me! She toggled her communicator so that she was talking only to Rudd.

“We who are about to get thoroughly screwed salute you,” she said ruefully. There was a moment of silence, then a dry chuckle sounded in her headphones. “Tuttle?” Rudd asked.

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

“Well…your file said you were bright. Figure it out yet?”

“Not all of it,” Emily admitted. “But I know that we’re about to get creamed.” She smiled. “You must be a very busy person just now, with ten ships to target.”

“Nah, Tuttle, not as busy as you might think. After all, you guys are doing all the hard work for me,” Rudd said cheerfully. “Got to go, Tuttle. Things to do, ships to kill and all that.” He switched off.

Meanwhile, the destroyers were frantically reloading missiles. “Once we are all loaded, shoot the second round on my command,’ Laura Salazar said forcefully. It was a good plan: The second wave of missiles would be in the air just as the first wave was reaching the target. If the first wave didn’t kill the target, the second surely would.

Emily stood up in order to get a better view of the holographic display. Ten blue triangles were closing in on one red ship. Then, as she watched, the red ship split into two, then into four, then into eight, each darting in different directions and maneuvering wildly. The missiles relentlessly pursued, splitting up into groups to chase after the nearest target. Three of the trainees decided on their own not to wait any longer and launched their second round of missiles. Seeing that, the others fired theirs off in a ragged volley. The screen was filled with dots of light leaping towards the hostile ships.

No, not ships, Emily thought. Decoys. Dammit, they were all decoys. So, where was Rudd? Her head swiveled to scan her sensor screens, which were filled with a confusing clutter of over a hundred missiles, other ships, Rudd’s decoys and…

Without warning, three destroyers blew up, their blue symbols suddenly flashing orange. Shouts of consternation came from their captains. Two more exploded a moment later.

Where there had been ten blue symbols representing their destroyers, there were now five orange circles and five blue triangles…and one red triangle behind them. Empty space a moment ago, but now there was Rudd’s ship. More missiles emerged from it, almost languid in their movement, boring in towards the remaining blue ships.

“Shit!” Salazar shouted frantically. “Turn, turn! Activate your short-range defenses-”

Then it was over. Two more ships were completely destroyed, three were crippled, including Emily’s. After a long moment of silence, broken only by muttered curses, Rudd’s voice came over their headphones. Emily had expected laughter, perhaps sarcasm, but instead his voice was somber and serious.

“Those of you who are Code Omega are the lucky ones. For the others, your ship is crippled. You cannot maneuver, you cannot turn, cannot stop. Maybe your life support is still working, so you still have air…for a time. Perhaps you hope to be rescued. But look at your sensors. Your ship is still moving, drifting farther and farther away into deep space.” On Emily’s screen her ship slowly cart-wheeled away into the inky blackness, growing smaller and smaller. “This is what we call the ‘Long Walk.’” Rudd continued gravely. “It is the nightmare of every officer and sailor in the Fleet: To drift in the darkness of space for days or weeks or months until your air is exhausted and you die.” He paused, letting them envision it. “Your job as Tactical Officer is to make sure this never happens to you, to your ship, to your crew.”

“Bastard,” muttered Salazar.

Later that night, after most of the ship was asleep, Emily searched the library until she found training programs containing a variety of skirmishes. She downloaded the first one. The screen flickered and the face of Captain Grey appeared. She looked full into the camera, her short, gray hair forming a small helmet. After a moment she blinked once, smiled and spoke:

“If you are using this training program, it probably means you have finished your first day of Tactical Officer training — “ Her mouth quirked in humor — “and you were not very happy with the results. Okay, there is a lot to learn, but the first lesson is this: Combat is not just about force, but about the application of force. The proper application of force depends on three things-” she held up a finger — “One, your status. What is ‘status’? It is the ships you have, their damage state, their weapons status and, importantly, the morale of your crew. Two, the status of your enemy. And three, your ability to control the initiative in the battle. It is not the navy with the most power that wins; it is the navy that controls how and when that power is used.” Grey smiled grimly. “It’s never that simple, of course, and that’s why you’ll train harder than you have ever done anything in your life. So, let’s begin…”

Chapter 16

P.D. 952

Pieces in Motion

In Dominion of Unified Citizenry Space

Through the observation bubble, Michael Hudis watched in grim satisfaction as the armada passed before him. Eight-five ships: one battleship, twenty missile cruisers, ten energy weapon cruisers (nicknamed “Beamers,” he recalled), thirty destroyers, miscellaneous frigates and support vessels…and two carriers, each carrying fifty chemical fuel fighters. Each fighter could carry three ship-killer missiles.

And best of all, the damn Vickies had no idea they existed. All of the ships had been built at the Dominion’s secret ship yard, hidden from prying eyes in a dust cloud a full thirty days’ travel from the Dominion home planet of Timor. Construction of the ship yard had begun six months after the humiliating defeat at Windsor. For fifteen long years the Vickies had strutted and crowed about Windsor. Now it was their turn. Beware the wrath of a patient man, Hudis thought. And piss on you, Admiral Skiffington.

The armada lumbered by, turning away from the Unity and gathering speed toward Sybil Head, two months distant. The armada would not pass through any of the principal wormholes, but would follow the old trade route, following a wormhole trail unused now since it was so much shorter to travel through Victorian space and its precious wormholes. They should not meet anyone, but if they did, Admiral Mello was under strict orders to destroy them so that no word could be passed, no warning given.

Once at Sybil Head, the armada would turn toward Cape Breton, where it would pick up additional support ships, make any repairs necessary, and then proceed through the Cape Breton-Victoria wormhole into Vickie space. Exactly three months from now, the armada would reach the Victorian home world of Cornwall.

“You should be proud of yourself, Michael. Everything is going exactly as you planned.”

Hudis inclined his head to the man beside him. Anthony Nasto, the Citizen Director, the most powerful man in the Dominion. Soon to be the most powerful man in the occupied universe. “Thank you, Citizen Director,” he replied.