Democracy's Right

Chapter Forty-Six

Commodore William knew that few regarded him as an adroit tactician. In his fifty-two years in the Imperial Navy, he had made few mistakes… but he had no great successes either. His advancement had been fuelled by connections — his patrons were quite happy to deal with a man of limited ambition — and considerable seniority. He’d been a Commodore for over thirteen years and knew that there would probably be no further promotions in his career. On the other hand, command of a superdreadnaught squadron was a shining mark in a career file. Who knew where it would lead after he retired?

He couldn’t disagree with Admiral Percival’s assessment of the situation. If the rebels had hijacked superdreadnaughts from another part of the Empire, he would have heard something about it, if only whispers passed down through the grapevine. The superdreadnaughts he was advancing towards couldn’t be real, even though they were the most advanced decoys he’d ever seen, which suggested that the remainder of the rebel fleet could be nothing more than drones too. If Commander Walker was actually trying to distract them while causing havoc elsewhere… well, at least he wouldn’t look bad. After Stacy Roosevelt had lost an entire squadron of superdreadnaughts to mutineers, it was hard to imagine anything that would have made him look worse.

“Commodore,” the tactical officer reported, “we are entering firing range.”

“Good,” Commodore William said. He wasn’t used to commanding sixteen superdreadnaughts instead of nine, but his officers were used to him and he had managed to add the newcomers into the datanet without causing undue disruption. Percival had ordered him to open fire as soon as he entered range, yet Commodore William intended to wait and see if he could separate the drones from the real starships. It was alarmingly possible that the original nine superdreadnaughts, the first ones to be detected, were drones and the real superdreadnaughts had been concealing themselves… or perhaps he was just driving himself mad with paranoia. There was no way to know for sure. “Prepare to engage…”

The display went mad as alarms howled through the massive ship. Thousands of missiles were spewing out of the enemy fleet, roaring towards his fleet. The superdreadnaughts were real! They had to be real. Nothing else could have produced that level of firepower, nothing else could account for it. The rebels had somehow obtained an entire fleet and were deploying it to attack Camelot. His thoughts raced round and round in circles, unable to accept what he was seeing. The rebels had done the impossible. They had assembled eighty-one superdreadnaughts with external racks and fired them in one massive volley.

He swallowed hard, cursing his own failure to order the drives powered up. He might have been able to escape, yet… that would only have meant disaster for him anyway. His career had just been destroyed, even with… it dawned on him that he wasn’t dealing with the real problem, but there was no way to deal with it, or escape so many missiles. He could pick off two-thirds of them with his point defence and the remaining third would be enough to obliterate his fleet. Sixteen superdreadnaughts were about to die and it was his fault!

“Return fire,” he ordered, hoarsely. It wasn’t the commanding voice he’d been taught to use at the Academy, but no one could have remained steady in the teeth of so many missiles. The fire of sixteen superdreadnaughts, external racks or no external racks, couldn’t hope to match the onrushing wave of destruction advancing towards him. Hell, the rebels should have had problems trying to coordinate that many missiles, yet somehow they were controlling them perfectly. “All point defence weapons are cleared to engage. I say again, all point defence weapons are clear to engage.”

Sixteen superdreadnaughts carried a great deal of point defence and they were escorted by sixty-nine smaller ships, all linked into a datanet that hadn’t been designed to handle so many incoming missiles at once. Its designers had assumed that there were limits to how many missiles could be deployed; never, in their worst nightmares, had they imagined a missile storm like the one advancing towards them. There were so many missiles that their emissions seemed to blur into one another, making it harder to even begin targeting them. Hundreds of missiles vanished as the point defence network struck them down, but thousands survived to make it through and hammer against his shields. Red icons flashed and vanished on his display as the smaller ships were vaporised — the rebels hadn’t restricted their targeting to the superdreadnaughts alone — their shields and defences unable to stand up to the onslaught. His superdreadnaughts seemed to cling together — as if they could provide mutual support by moving closer — but it was already too late. A deluge of missiles fell upon them.

“Signal the rebels,” Commodore William ordered. His career and the opinion of Admiral Percival no longer mattered. “Tell them we surrender!”

“It’s too late,” the tactical officer said. “They’re entering terminal attack phase…”

The missiles slammed home. The superdreadnaught might have shrugged off one missile or ten missiles or even a hundred missiles, but so many impacting so close together was beyond her ability to survive. As fireballs blazed out on her shields, the shield generators failed, allowing the rebels missiles to slam into the hull and start to explode within the hull. A series of tearing explosions blew the flagship into nothing more than expanding plasma. The remainder of the squadron followed it into death seconds later.

“My God,” Colin breathed, as the final superdreadnaught vanished. No one had ever seen sixteen superdreadnaughts destroyed so rapidly, not even during the First Interstellar War. Since time out of mind, the tactics of space warfare had been determined by weight of fire and, now, the Geeks had introduced a whole new variable into the equation. The arsenal ships might be a one-shot weapon, they might not have the shielding or armour of superdreadnaughts, they might have the manoeuvring capability of a wallowing pig, but they had just changed the face of warfare. Every Academy graduate knew that if the first punch was heavy enough, there would be no need to throw a second.

He watched, as if from a far distance, as Commodore William’s missiles roared into his fleet. The Commodore obviously hadn’t been able to sort the real superdreadnaughts out from the decoys — or perhaps he just hadn’t had time to update his command missiles with the new data. Of course, the sudden wave of missiles — far more than nine superdreadnaughts could launch — had been a very convincing argument. Colin rather regretted Commodore William’s death, even if he had been on the wrong side. The aging naval officer had been a good and decent — if limited — man.

“Only a relative handful of missiles tracked our real ships,” the tactical officer said. “The remainder went after the drones.”

Colin nodded. One of the other great limiting factors in space warfare was that missile drives — while overpowered to a level no manned starship could survive — burned out quickly. Once the missiles realised their mistake, if they realised their mistake, they would have no time to seek another target before it was too late. The debris of the battlefield would have to be swept carefully, in case a stray missile hadn’t been programmed to destroy itself once it lost power, but they were little threat to an alert starship.

The Empire wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice, Colin knew, but for the moment it hardly mattered. Besides, if some of the other programs the Geeks had talked about became a reality, Colin would never have to worry about running out of tricks.

“Open a channel,” he ordered. He waited for the channel to open. “Admiral Percival, as you can see, my fleet is no bluff.” And now, he knew, he was bluffing. The arsenal ships would have to withdraw, reload from the ammunition ships and return before he could launch a second massive salvo. And even then, he might not have enough to crack the defences of Camelot. “I have killed thousands of your loyalists in proving that I can destroy you.”

He took a breath. “Surrender now and you will live,” he added. He didn’t want to make any promises, yet… did he have any choice? “If you continue to resist me, I will be forced to destroy Camelot and its orbiting facilities.”

Penny had done something she knew was stupid, but she no longer gave a damn. Instead of obeying Percival’s orders and going back to her quarters — which she barely used, as Percival had been fond of ordering her to sleep on the couch in his quarters — she had gone into the smaller back-up communications room and evicted the two officers on duty. They, at least, hadn’t heard about her disgrace and relief — and if they saw the mark on her face, they said nothing. She had watched in disbelief and horror as sixteen superdreadnaughts were rapidly destroyed. The rebels hadn’t been bluffing, yet…

She thought about it, tossing possibilities over and over in her head. They couldn’t have captured so many superdreadnaughts without Percival hearing about it and she’d heard everything that Percival had heard, apart from a handful of private discussions with Stacy Roosevelt. It had to be a trick of some kind, yet the missiles had been very real. How had they done it? She listened as the rebels broadcast their demand for surrender and shook her head. Percival wouldn’t have the sense to surrender, which meant that the fortress — and the other eight in orbit around Camelot — were about to be destroyed. Penny reached down and touched the pistol at her belt. She could use it, gun down Percival and surrender to the rebels.

The hatch opened and two Blackshirts — their eyes dull with the effects of the drugs they used — stepped inside. Penny read her fate in their eyes and reached for her pistol, but it was too late. One of them threw himself at her, knocked her to the deck and tore the pistol away, before yanking her hands behind her back and securing them with a single strip of malleable metal. He hauled her to her feet, searched her roughly, and started to march her towards the hatch — and stopped. Another pair of Blackshirts was standing there, holding stunners.

Her captor blinked. “Who are you?” He asked, in a cold dead voice. “What are you doing here?”

The newcomers stunned him and his mate. Penny swayed, barely able to keep her balance, as they collapsed to the ground like sacks of potatoes. The second pair of Blackshirts — they looked more alert, as if they hadn’t been taking their drugs — looked at her. She had the uneasy feeling that they were communicating with each other in a manner she couldn’t detect, or understand. Who were they?

One of the newcomers winked at her, lifted his stunner and shot her with it. There was a blue-white flash and then she collapsed into darkness. The last thing she heard, before the darkness closed in completely, was an unfamiliar voice giving orders in a tone that suggested he knew he would be obeyed.

“Take her to the ship,” he ordered. “This fortress will not remain intact much longer.”

Commander Alan Redfield felt nothing, but numb horror. His cousin’s sister-in-law, who happened to be related to someone in the Imperial Navy Personnel Department, had promised him a nice safe posting for his time in the Imperial Navy. Camelot had been safe enough; the world might be thoroughly unpleasant, but it was improving and the recreational facilities were first-rate. He’d even spent some of his leave enjoying a VR simulation, something rare outside the Core Worlds.

And now, death had come to the Camelot System. He couldn’t understand how the rebels had obtained so much firepower, but they had… and sixteen superdreadnaughts had been wiped out, just because their commanders had been unwilling to believe that there was a real threat. Captain Quick, who had at least tried to warn her superior, had been slapped and dismissed. Alan shuddered in disgust. He had known that Captain Quick was the Admiral’s mistress — unwillingly, he guessed — yet he hadn’t realised how far Percival was prepared to go.

The Admiral himself was still in his command chair, staring at where the icons representing Commodore William’s superdreadnaughts had been. If he had heard the communication from the rebels — it had been on all channels; Alan had heard it through his earpiece — he gave no sign. He spoke no defiance nor craven surrender.

Alan took a breath. As Duty Officer, it was his job to alert the Admiral to any new developments, yet a word from Percival could wreck his career, despite his handful of well-placed family members. If the Admiral was prepared to destroy the woman who shared his bed, what would he do to a junior officer who lacked even that small contact with the Admiral? On the other hand, the sight of so many superdreadnaughts bearing down on him did tend to concentrate the mind.

“Admiral,” he said, trying to sound as business-like as possible, “the rebels are demanding a response.”

“I’ll give them a response,” Percival bellowed. His sudden shift from silence to outright rage was disorientating. “I’ll blow his ships to plasma and throw the bastard out of an airlock!”

“Admiral,” Alan said, quietly. He knew that he was taking his career in his hands, but somehow it was growing harder to care. His older brother had called him a coward and perhaps he was right. The thought of dying because his Admiral had refused to see sense and surrender was too much. “We cannot win this fight. Those superdreadnaughts have enough firepower to cut through the datanet and destroy this fortress. It may take them time to obliterate all of the fortresses, but they can do it.”

He hesitated on the next few words. “And they have offered to accept your surrender and even offered to guarantee your safe conduct,” he added. If Percival was a coward, as his behaviour seemed to suggest, it might appeal to him when more logical arguments failed. “You could return home and…”

“Be silent,” Percival snapped. He stood up and marched over to the tactical console. Nothing, not even his superbly-tailored uniform, could disguise the fear running through his body and voice. Alan could see sweat staining his uniform. “When they enter weapons range, you are ordered to open fire. Do you understand me?”

He turned to stare at Alan. “Do you understand me?”

There was only one answer to that. “Yes, sir,” Alan said. He glanced down at the console to avoid looking any further at Percival. “I understand. The enemy ships will enter firing range in twelve minutes.”

“Open fire as soon as they enter firing range and then keep firing until their ships are smashed,” Percival ordered. “Do not quit firing without my permission.”

Colin kept his expression calm and composed, but inwardly he could feel worry working its way through his system. There were nine battle stations in orbit around the planet, positioned so that at least four of them could engage his fleet at any one time. He was still advancing forward, yet if Percival didn’t see sense — or at least what Colin wanted him to see — and surrender, he would have to fall back, reload the arsenal ships and return to the system. And that would blow any lingering belief that the superdreadnaughts were real out of Percival’s mind.

He checked the display. Superdreadnaughts couldn’t go much closer to the planet without being caught in the gravity shadow, preventing escape, although the drones could continue to advance and simply be ordered to self-destruct before they could be captured. Even so, he did have his sole squadron of superdreadnaughts and if Percival didn’t surrender, he would have to flicker out. The timer was ticking down…

Alan watched as the enemy superdreadnaughts drew closer, their tactical sensors already locking onto the fortress and supplying information to their missiles. The fortresses had deployed their countermeasures, of course, but unlike starships it was very hard to hide the presence of a fortress. They were so massive that they actually generated tiny gravitational fields of their own.

An alarm pinged, seconds before the entire fortress shook. “Admiral,” he said, “a gunboat just flickered out of Shuttlebay Two!”

Percival turned his dead eyes on him. He didn’t seem to care, even though whoever was in the gunboat had not only cut through several levels of encryption that were supposed to prevent it, but risked the destruction of the entire fortress.

“Ignore it,” he said, harshly. “Prepare to engage the enemy.”

Alan made up his mind. “Admiral,” he said, carefully, “I hereby relieve you of command under Section IR-23 of Imperial Navy Regulations.”

Percival spun around to stare at him. “This is mutiny,” he snapped. Section IR-23 dealt with commanding officers who showed signs of madness. It was rarely used, not least because misusing it carried heavy penalties. “You are…”

He reached for the pistol at his belt and Alan leapt at him. Perhaps wisely, Percival had refused to allow his officers to carry weapons, but Percival was badly out of shape and in no condition for a tussle. Alan knocked him to the ground, picked up his pistol and used the butt to knock the Admiral out. No one moved to stop him, even though they knew that there were armed Blackshirts just outside the hatch. Something would have to be done about them. At the moment, Alan had no idea what. He had never considered mutiny, even as a private mental exercise.

“Contact the rebels,” he ordered. The officers moved to obey, leaving him wondering what to do next. “Tell them… tell them that we would like to surrender.”

He keyed the main command network. It demanded Percival’s identification, so he held Percival’s hand to the sensor and allowed it to read the implant concealed within his palm. The computer network opened up in front of him and he transmitted a surrender order into the datanet. He doubted that anyone would question it. They all knew the odds. Besides, he knew of no one besides Stacy Roosevelt who liked Percival.

“They’re acknowledging,” the communications officer said. “Marines are on the way.”

“Good,” Alan said. He checked the command hatch and sealed it with Percival’s authority. “And now all we have to do is hold out till then.”