“Enemy ships are locking weapons on us,” Patti said. Her voice was cool, professional. “They’re preparing to fire.”
“On my command, execute beta-one,” William said. “Try to make it look like we’re panicking.”
His mind raced. Had the Theocrats seen the hulk? The captured ship wouldn’t be easy to spot, not until they got closer. But they could easily have probed the system under cloak before mounting an overt attack. His sensor crews were good, but he had no illusions. There was no way they could spot a cloaked ship that kept its distance until it was too late. Asher Dales simply could not afford anything like the vast network of scansats that protected Tyre. The planet barely had complete coverage of the high orbitals.
He wondered, coldly, what his opponent was thinking. Was he facing a cool professional or a fanatic? William wouldn’t have allowed the latter to take command of a starship, but the Theocracy had different ideas. And besides, he’d seen enough interrogation records to know that a cool professional was watched at all times. A captain who appeared to be insufficiently aggressive might end up being shot in the back by his own crew.
“Their missile sensors are going active,” Patti added. “Sir?”
“Execute beta-one,” William ordered. “Pull us back . . . now.”
He smiled as the display sparkled with red icons. The enemy missiles wouldn’t burn out before they reached his ships, but they were going to have a difficult time of it. They hadn’t expended their external racks either, he saw. The chances were good they didn’t have external racks. Perhaps the enemy had redeployed ships after the attack on Maxwell’s Haven. They might not have had time to go back to their base and replace their external racks.
Or maybe they’re just very cautious about expending their remaining missiles, William thought as his squadron kept pulling back. If they were lucky—if they were very lucky—the enemy missiles wouldn’t be able to go into sprint mode for the last few seconds. It wouldn’t make them that much less dangerous, but it would buy his ships some extra time. Let us hope they don’t decide to give up on us and start bombarding the planet.
“Deploy drones,” he ordered. “Lure as many of the enemy missiles off-target as possible.”
“Aye, sir.”
“And stand by the missile pods,” William added. “Prepare to fire on my command.”
He felt his expression darken as the engagement developed. The enemy missiles were dumb—too dumb. They didn’t seem to be falling for the decoys. It looked as though the enemy ships had given them their targeting data upon launch, instead of allowing the seeker heads to constantly update themselves. It was wasteful, but William had to admit it had paid off for them. They weren’t going to expend their missiles on harmless drones.
“Point defense is engaging now,” Patti said.
“Fire the missile pods, then run the deception program,” William ordered.
The display updated, again, as the missile pods went active and opened fire. A stream of missiles appeared on the display, blazing towards the enemy ships. The ECM went active seconds later, trying to convince the enemy ships that there were more missile pods lurking behind the real ones. An illusion, but one that would be very difficult to disprove. If the Theocrats were being genuinely sensitive to losses, they wouldn’t want to risk going into engagement range.
Of course, they could just spit ballistic projectiles at the pods from beyond engagement range, William thought. It was a classic technique, one that predated hyperspace and interstellar settlement. But they have to think that reinforcements are already on the way.
Dandelion rocked, sharply. “Direct hit, nuclear warhead,” Patti snapped. A second impact ran through the hull. “Shields failing!”
“Rotate us,” William snapped. “Keep the strongest shield towards the enemy . . .”
“Primrose is gone,” Patti said. “Lily has taken heavy damage.”
Shit, William thought. Behind him, he heard Tanya gasp. Captain Descartes was dead and, judging from the display, hadn’t had any time to order his crew to abandon ship. A quarter of William’s mobile firepower was now nothing more than free-floating atoms drifting in space. They could still win this.
He watched the enemy ships, noting sourly how their point defense systems had improved over the last year or so. Whoever was in command was no slouch. He’d drilled his crews relentlessly, probably pitting them against simulated missiles with twice the speed and hitting power of anything they were likely to encounter. The Royal Navy did the same, ensuring that real engagements were easier. They’d been lucky, he supposed, that the enemy commander hadn’t held a higher post during the war.
“We damaged one of the ships,” Patti said. “But I don’t believe the damage was serious.”
William nodded, slowly. The enemy ships hadn’t lost their shields. They certainly weren’t leaking atmosphere or superheated plasma. The only good news, as far as he could tell, was that they weren’t showing an eagerness to press matters any further. They might well be reluctant to risk exposing themselves to the remaining missile pods. But the pods were nothing more than illusions . . .
“Order Trojan One to go active in five minutes,” William ordered. “They’re to advance towards the enemy at their best possible speed.”
“Aye, sir,” Patti said. Her console bleeped an alarm. “Sir! They’re opening fire!”
“Return fire,” William ordered. The enemy were trying to swat the destroyers before
