The battle at the Moons of Hell

orchestrated to stretch and overwhelm the defenses of their targets, did what they had been sent to do.

For a brief few seconds, the holovid was filled with brilliant white flashes as the Hammer ships’ close-in defenses reached out to destroy the early arrivals before the sheer weight of numbers allowed missile after missile to smash home, burying warheads deep into armor. Plasma jets reached inside until one by one hulls were ripped open, spilling debris and molten metal into space. The crippled New Dallas was the last to go, but eventually, for all her enormous size, the numbers were against her and she, too, succumbed.

Jaruzelska felt sick as she watched.

It had to be done, and she had no doubts about doing it. In any case, the Hammer was still trying to do to her what she had done to the unfortunate New Dallas and its task group. But it was still butchery, and she didn’t have to like it.

“All stations, command. Missile salvo inbound. Two minutes.”

And so it started again, only this time the salvos were larger, and just as the flag AI had predicted, all were targeted on just two ships. The first three salvos were aimed at Damishqui, and the last three at Al-Jahiz, though Jaruzelska and the flag AI could find no logical reason why they had been picked other than that they rode in the center of the task group. But the missile attacks were doomed to failure; the enormous defensive firepower of sixteen cruisers was simply too much to overcome.

Then the Hammer attack was spent. After more than half a million rail-gun slugs and thousands of missiles, it was all over. Jaruzelska settled down with little more to do than watch as the four task groups responsible for the rescue of the Mumtaz’s passengers and crew swept in on their targets.

As the order to relax visors came through, Jaruzelska leaned back in her suit and squirmed her body around to try to relieve a persistent itch in the small of her back. She hoped that there would be no more surprises like New Dallas.

Jaruzelska cursed the Hammer for its willingness to sacrifice good ships and spacers for no possible gain. Unbelievably, Commitment had dispatched the heavy cruiser Ascania and the heavy escort Perez. Picked up by surveillance drones in orbit around Commitment, the two ships jumped out of pinchspace directly into Jaruzelska’s missile salvos.

She had taken no pleasure in what followed. It was far too close to cold-blooded murder for her liking. The two Hammer ships never had a chance.

Still struggling to set up after the drop, the Hammers saw the missiles coming only when it was far too late to do anything effective. The space around the two ships turned into a blazing mass of defensive laser fire, with missiles and chain-gun fire clawing at the Merlins as they raced in, the sheer size of the attack overwhelming the Hammer ships’ tracking and fire control systems. The space around the two ships sparkled with the red-gold blooms of their few successes.

Ascania took the brunt of the attack. Close to a hundred Merlin antistarship missiles slipped past her defenses, hitting home in the space of only two seconds. Perez did better but not well enough, absorbing forty-two direct hits, a nearly impossible number for a cruiser to deal with, never mind a heavy escort. The two doomed ships heaved as nose cones of vanadium/tungsten-hardened steel cut deep before explosive warheads unleashed a storm of white-hot gas and shrapnel that scoured the life out of every compartment; the hapless crews were incinerated where they sat.

Sickened, Jaruzelska watched as the warheads finally found what they were looking for: the fusion plants that powered the ships’ propulsion and weapons systems. The appalling energy within them was unleashed as the magnetic bottles containing the fusion plasma gave way, successive blasts ripping huge holes in the sides of the two ships.

“Abort remaining missile salvos,” Jaruzelska said flatly. The butchery was done.

Jaruzelska rubbed her face wearily. She now had status reports from all of her subordinate commanders. Thankfully, they’d gotten what they’d come for: the 158 passengers and crew taken from the Mumtaz and 22 of the 30 hijackers. The rest were dead. And she’d had the pinchcomm from Rear Admiral Kzela confirming the successful recovery of the Mumtazers marooned on Eternity.

Could have been a hell of a lot worse, she thought, though the price paid by 387 had been far too high. But considering that the premission sims had shown a strong chance that Battle Group Delta would lose at least one major fleet unit with heavy casualties, they had been lucky. She shivered. With only a pair of heavy cruisers close to any one of the battle group’s four drop points, the losses could have been even worse. Still, the only real surprise had been the New Dallas and the ships of her task group. Thank God they’d dropped well short and, even more important, that 166 and 387 had been there to lure them into turning away for those critical few minutes as the battle group dropped.

But that didn’t help 166 and 387, which were still a good two or more hours away from being jump-capable. Jaruzelska had no intention of leaving them alone in Hammer space. A minute’s consideration and she knew what she would do. She’d keep Al-Jahiz and Sina together with Crossbow and Bombard back in support of 166 and 387 until they jumped.

For everyone else, it was time to go home.

Thursday, November 19, 2398, UD

Offices of the Supreme Council for the Preservation of the Faith, City of McNair, Commitment Planet

Merrick had been dragged from sleep by the news of the Feds’ attack on Hell, and it had taken him only a few sleep-befuddled seconds to work out precisely why they were doing what they were doing.

From that moment on, he knew he was a dead man.

Desperately, he scoured his mind to work out some way, any way, of surviving the storm that was about to break over his head, but there was none. He’d gambled, risking everything he’d had to play with, and the gamble had failed. That was it, and there was no way back, no way out.

Now the moment of judgment had come, and Merrick could do nothing but sit at the Council table and await the executioner’s ax. He would at least go with as much dignity as the circumstances allowed, fighting every step of the way as he’d done all his life.

The hastily convened meeting of the Supreme Council finally came to order as Polk and Albrecht hurried into the room. Close on their heels followed a disheveled and very anxious Councillor Kando the newly appointed councillor for intelligence. He was obviously half-panicked by the early hour and worried sick that something had happened that his department should have known about but hadn’t. Merrick managed a wry smile in spite of himself.

Let the charade begin, Merrick thought as he looked down the table. Time for one last bluff. “Good morning, everyone. We are here to decide what immediate actions we must take in response to the unprovoked attack by the Federated Worlds on the Hell planetary system. I suggest we start by asking the councillor for war and external security for an-”

Polk held a hand up, stopping him dead. “I think not, Merrick, I think not.”

Merrick couldn’t stop himself, half rising to his feet as he spoke. “How dare you, Councillor Polk,” he barked, “how dare you! I am the chief councillor, and you will address me as such or you will face the consequences.”

Polk’s voice was silky smooth, “I don’t think so, Merrick. And what consequences might those be, anyway?” He waved a hand dismissively in Merrick’s general direction. “I don’t care what you think anymore. What we should do is hear from the councillor for foreign relations about what you have been up to behind the backs of the Council.”

The assembled councillors could do nothing but stare open-mouthed. Something terrible was about to happen and they had absolutely no idea what it was. In the circumstances, all they could do was sit, their minds