“Sir, it would require complete saturation,” the weapons officer said. “If the Organization has hidden a satellite out there its circuitry will be hardened. The fusion explosion would have to be inside twenty kilometres to guarantee elimination. We don’t have that many bombs.”
“I see. Just an idea. Rhoecus, I’d like to keep a couple of voidhawks in orbit around Mirchusko so they can monitor starships emerging outside our own sensor range. What effect will that have on the survey?”
“Approximate increase of six hours, Admiral.”
“Damn, that’s pushing our time envelope.” He consulted the tactical situation display again, running analysis programs to calculate the most effective option.
A red dot flared into existence barely ten thousand kilometres away, surrounded by symbols: a wormhole terminus disgorging a ship. And it was nowhere near any of Tranquillity’s designated emergence zones. Another red dot appeared less than a second later. A third. A fourth. Three more.
“What the hell?”
“Not voidhawks, sir,” Lieutenant Rhoecus said. “No affinity broadcasts at all. They’re not responding to Tranquillity or squadron voidhawks, either.”
“Commander Kroeber, squadron to combat status. Rhoecus, recall the voidhawks. Can someone get me a visual identification?”
“Coming, sir,” Lieutenant Grese datavised. “Two of the intruders are close to an SD sensor satellite.”
More wormhole termini were opening.
“Got it, Admiral. Oh, Lord, definitely hostile.”
The image relayed into Meredith’s neural nanonics showed him a charcoal-grey eagle with a wingspan of nearly two hundred metres; its eyes gleamed yellow above a long chrome-silver beak. His body tensed in reflex, pushing him deeper into the acceleration couch. That was one massively evil-looking creature.
“Hellhawk, sir. Must be from Valisk.”
“Thank you, Grese. Confirm the other intruder identities, please.”
The tactical situation display showed him twenty-seven bitek starships had now emerged from their wormholes. Another fifteen termini were opening. It was only seven seconds since the first had appeared.
“All of them are hellhawks, sir; eight bird types, four bogus starships, the rest conform to standard blackhawk profile.”
“Admiral, the voidhawks have all swallowed back to Tranquillity,” Rhoecus said. “Moving out to reinforce the englobement formation.”
Meredith watched their purple vector lines slice across the tactical situation display, twisting around to reach the other squadron ships. No use, Meredith thought, no use at all. Fifty-eight hellhawks were ranged against them now, forming a loose ring around the habitat. Tactical analysis programs were giving him an extremely small probability of a successful defensive engagement, even with the squadron backed up by Tranquillity’s SD platforms. And that was reducing still further as more hellhawks continued to swallow in.
“Commander Kroeber, get those blackhawks Tranquillity was using as patrol ships out here as fast as possible.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Sir!” Grese shouted. “We’re registering more gravitonic distortions. Adamist ships, this time. Multiple emergence patterns.”
The tactical situation display showed Meredith two small constellations of red dots lighting up. The first was fifteen thousand kilometres ahead of Tranquillity, while the second trailed it by roughly the same amount. Dear God, and I thought Lalonde was bad. “Lieutenant Rhoecus.”
“Yes, Admiral?”
“The
“But, sir . . .”
“That was an order, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Grese, can you identify the new intruders?”
“I think so, sir. I think it’s the Organization fleet. Visual sensors show front-line warships; I’ve got frigates, some battle cruisers, several destroyers, and plenty of combat-capable commercial vehicles.”
Large sections of the tactical situation display dissolved into yellow and purple hash as electronic warfare pods spun away from the hellhawks, coming on line as soon as they were clear of the energistic effect. The voidhawks continued to supply information on emerging starships. There were now seventy hellhawks ringing Tranquillity; with a hundred and thirty Adamist ships holding station on either side of it.
“Sir,” Rhoecus said. “
Meredith nodded. “Good.” There wasn’t a hell of a lot more he could say. “Commander Kroeber, please signal the enemy fleet. Ask them . . . Ask them what they want.”
“Aye, sir.”
The tactical situation computer datavised an alarm.
“Combat wasp launch!” Lowie shouted. “The hellhawks have fired.”
At such close range, there was nothing the electronic warfare barrage could do to hide the burst of yellow solid rocket exhausts from Meredith’s squadron. Each of the hellhawks had launched fifteen combat wasps. Spent solid rocket casings separated as the dazzling plumes of fusion fire sprang out, and they began to accelerate in towards the habitat at twenty-five gees. Over a thousand drones forming an immense noose of light which was swiftly contracting.
Tactical programs went primary in Meredith’s neural nanonics. In theory, they had the capacity to fight off this assault, which would leave them with practically zero reserves. And he had to decide now.
It was a hopeless situation, one where instinct fought against duty. But Confederation citizens were being attacked; and to a Saldana duty was instinct.
“Full defensive salvo,” Meredith ordered. “Fire.”
Combat wasps leapt out of their launch tubes in every squadron ship. Tranquillity’s SD platforms launched simultaneously. For a short while, space around the habitat’s shell ceased to be an absolute vacuum. Hot streams of energized vapour from the exhausts of four thousand combats wasps sprayed in towards Tranquillity, creating a faint iridescent nebula beset with giddy squalls of turquoise and amber ions. Jagged petals of lightning flared out from the tip of every starscraper, ripping away into the chaotically unstable vortex.
Blackhawks were rising from Tranquillity’s docking ledges, over fifty of them sliding out under heavy acceleration to join the fight. Meredith’s tactical analysis program began revising the odds. Then he saw several swallow away. In his heart he didn’t blame them.
“Message coming in, Admiral,” the communications officer reported. “Someone called Luigi Balsmao, he claims he’s the Organization fleet’s commander. He says: Surrender and join us, or die and join us.”
“What a melodramatic arsehole,” Meredith grunted. “Please advise the Lord of Ruin, it’s as much her decision as it is mine. After all, it’s her people who will suffer.”
“Oh, fuck!
Under Luigi’s command, all one hundred and eighty Organization starships fired a salvo of twenty-five combat wasps apiece. Their antimatter drives accelerated them in towards Tranquillity at forty gees.
Chapter 14
The star wasn’t important enough to have a name. The Confederation Navy’s almanac office simply listed it
