And someone with a handful of dated warships could set up his own kingdom, William thought. Whoever is coming at us now might be trying to beat the rush.
“Lily and Primrose are moving into backstop position,” the communications officer reported, calmly. “And the planet-side defenses are requesting orders.”
“Tell them to go dark,” William said. “They’re not to reveal themselves until the planet comes under attack.”
He had to smile at how efficient his crews had become. The raw material had been there right from the start, of course, as many of his crewmen had fought during the war, but they hadn’t gelled properly until they’d won their first victory. Soon they would start absorbing new recruits from Asher Dales, recruits who would learn from men and women who’d actually been on the front lines. And they’d absorb a tradition of victory . . . His lips twitched at the thought. They’d have to be careful not to become overconfident.
The enemy ships came closer, angling straight towards the planet. William wasn’t too surprised. His ships could outrun the light cruisers if they reversed course and fled, ensuring that the enemy would never be able to bring them down. The enemy had countered by forcing him to either stand and fight in defense of Asher Dales or run away and surrender the high orbitals to a bunch of pirates. It was a fairly standard military tactic. He couldn’t help wondering if some of the pirates had been in the Theocratic Navy before deserting.
And they might just have enough firepower to smother all four destroyers with missiles, he thought. Two light cruisers certainly carried enough missiles to give his ships a very hard time. Even if the missiles were as outdated as the ships that carried them, they would make his life difficult indeed. Time to take a third option.
“On my mark, order the squadron to execute maneuver alpha-three,” he said. “The ships in stealth are to remain in stealth.”
He smiled. They were lucky the enemy had given them plenty of room to maneuver. Perhaps they hadn’t been able to decide if they’d wanted to force an engagement or . . . encourage . . . his ships to turn tail and run. Their attack vector could easily have been a compromise between the two objectives, a compromise that tried to be both and managed to be neither. Yet another piece of proof, he supposed, that he wasn’t facing Theocrats. They would have sought to pin his ships against the planet and blow them away.
“The squadron has acknowledged,” Patti said, checking her console. “Lily and Primrose are still in cloak.”
“Tell them to remain under cloak until I give the order or they are specifically targeted,” William ordered. Even if the pirates knew the cloaked ships were there, they probably didn’t know their exact positions. His officers would have plenty of time to drop their cloaks and raise shields. “Petunia is to stick close to us.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Then mark,” William ordered.
He watched the display, wondering precisely what the enemy would make of his ships suddenly sliding back towards the planet. Would they see it as incompetence, the sort of maneuver that might be pulled by captains and crews who didn’t know what they were doing and hadn’t had the time to learn better? Or would they suspect a trap? They had to know that Asher Dales’s defense force was so young they didn’t even have ship prefixes or proper uniforms, let alone time to learn the ropes. But they might also know that the crews had been recruited from the Commonwealth . . .
They’ll see what they want to see, William thought. Us blundering ass-backwards into a killing zone. But will they believe what they see?
The enemy ships slowly picked up speed, angling for an interception just short of the high orbitals. William grimaced as the missile spheres—the lines on the display showing presumed missile ranges for the enemy ships—moved closer to the defenders. There was no way to know what they might be carrying, let alone their effective range. William was fairly certain they wouldn’t have any of the enhanced range missiles—they’d barely been rushed into production in time to take part in the Battle of Hebrides—but would they have modern missiles? Or would they have dug up pieces of crap from the UN era, missiles so old and cumbersome that the Theocracy would have sniffed at them? William wouldn’t know until they opened fire.
“Establish a laser link to platforms alpha through gamma,” William ordered as the missile spheres came closer. His ships were starting to run out of room to maneuver. “Order them to prepare to fire.”
“Aye, Captain,” Patti said. “They’re bringing their active sensors online now.”
“Understood,” William said. There was a good chance that the enemy ships would spot the lurking platforms, but . . . they were already too close for their own good. They’d have to break off in the next few seconds if they wished to avoid disaster. “I . . .”
The display sparkled with red light. “Missile separation,” Patti snapped. “They’ve opened fire!”
“Get me a tactical assessment,” William said. God, he’d kill for a proper analysis deck. He hadn’t realized how lucky he’d been until he’d lost it. “And prepare to activate the platforms!”
“The missiles are about thirty years out of date,” Patti said. “They’re not showing any signs of being revamped over the years.”
William allowed himself a moment of relief. The enemy missiles would have been hot stuff when they’d first been produced, but now they were just targets. They lacked the speed and penetrative power of the Theocracy’s missiles, let alone some of the
