Democracy's Might

Chapter Twenty-Two

“The combat drill was a success, Commodore.”

Commodore Sahrye Yamani nodded. The battlecruiser squadron had only been hers for a month, following Admiral Wachter’s decision to remove the squadron’s former commander for gross incompetence, neglect and corruption. Sahrye hadn’t expected her promotion — she had no senior patron — but she didn’t intend to let the Admiral down. Besides, he’d told her that she would keep the squadron if she did well.

“Get me the full results,” she ordered. “And single out the gunnery crews that performed well.”

She smiled. If there was any advantage to lurking in interstellar space, three light years from the nearest inhabited world, it was the chance to drill her ships without the Admiral looking over her shoulder. The squadron had performed dreadfully in the first live-fire exercises held at Morrison, but Sahrye intended to ensure that next time would be different. They might do well enough to ensure that their crews weren’t reshuffled again by the Admiral.

The thought dampened her mood as she scanned the reports. She hadn’t been a very good Captain, she had to admit; she’d allowed her ship’s standards to decay badly. Indeed, if there had been a potential replacement, she suspected she would have joined the squadron’s former Commodore on Morrison, cooling her heels as she waited for judgement. And, without the patronage that her former CO had enjoyed, it was unlikely she would ever see command again.

But Admiral Wachter had given her a chance. She didn’t intend to waste it.

“Not too bad,” she decided, after she had finished. Targeting accuracy had improved remarkably, after two officers had been summarily demoted and a third had been escorted off the ship in chains. He’d been running a bullying ring that had forced crewmen to turn half their salaries to him… and Sahrye hadn’t even noticed. “We should be able to do better in the next fleet exercise.”

“Yes, Commodore,” her XO agreed. Sahrye was in the position of having to both command her ship and the entire squadron, if only because her former XO had been ordered to take command of another battlecruiser. Her crew weren’t quite used to it yet. “Missile reloading was only simulated, but reloading rates were improved too.”

“Let us hope they work that way in real life,” Sahrye said. She’d concentrated too much on simulations, which were never entirely exact. “In fact…”

She paused as a console chimed. “Commodore, a courier has just arrived from Parallax,” the communications officer said. “They’re under attack.”

“The Admiral called it,” Sahrye said. He’d noted that Parallax would almost certainly be targeted as the rebel juggernaut made its way towards Morrison. “Sound battlestations, then power up the flicker drive. It’s time to go to war.”

Parallax was an odd system, by anyone definition. It was a binary star system, with a small rocky planet that sat precisely at the barycentre between the two stars. According to the report Colin had scanned while planning the offensive, the corporation that owned the system had speculated that the planet had actually been moved into place by an alien race, although there was apparently no real evidence. Reading between the lines, Colin suspected that the whole story had been concocted to secure additional funding from the Empire. Rumours of advanced alien technology were sure to interest potential investors.

“I’m picking up no sign of anything larger than a gunboat,” the sensor officer said. “They’re scrambling now.”

Colin nodded, thoughtfully. Parallax was a corporate industrial node and starship repair yard, little else. There was no point in fighting for the world, not when there were more valuable targets in the Empire. He certainly didn’t intend to occupy it, not when the system couldn’t be held indefinitely. All he wanted to do was destroy the facilities and pull out.

“Transmit a demand that they evacuate their orbital facilities,” he ordered. “And tell them that we will leave their installations on the ground intact if the orbital stations are evacuated without a fight.”

“Yes, sir,” the communications officer said.

Colin watched grimly as the superdreadnaughts moved closer to their targets. The gunboats had to know they were no match for his fleet, so why were they trying to fight? Did they intend to place honour before reason — or did they think they were dead anyway? Parallax wasn’t an Earth-like world. If Colin broke his word and bombarded the facilities, anyone who survived the bombardment would suffocate when their suits ran out of air.

“Gunboats entering missile range in twenty seconds,” the tactical officer reported.

“Prepare to fire,” Colin ordered. He silently cursed the gunboat commanders under his breath. They had about as much hope against his fleet as a snowball had in hell, but they were still preparing to fight anyway. “I want them swept away with the first volley…”

“Intrusion,” the sensor officer snapped. “Multiple contacts, flickering in right on top of us!”

Colin fought down the urge to swear. They’d walked right into a trap. The enemy had guessed their target — or one of their targets — and prepared an ambush. He watched as the display solidified, revealing a squadron of Imperial Navy battlecruisers. Hardly a threat to his force, but powerful enough to do some damage before they were destroyed.

“Bring us about,” he ordered, as the battlecruisers advanced towards his fleet. They’d jumped in at high speed; their crews had to be vomiting on the decks by now. “Lock missiles on target, prepare to fire as soon as they enter range.”

Sahrye winced in pain. Her stomach hurt; she’d dry-heaved violently as soon as they’d come out of the jump. Some of her crew had been even less lucky, according to the reports; they’d been stunned by the jump and had to be transported to sickbay. Two of her bridge crew had even fainted. Silently, she blessed her foresight in having their reliefs standing by. She’d anticipated the dangers of jumping at such high speed.

“One superdreadnaught squadron, thirty-seven smaller ships,” the sensor officer said. Her voice sounded raspy, but she’d managed to stay at her post. “I can’t pick up any cloaked ships.”

Sahrye understood her puzzlement. The rebels had more than one superdreadnaught squadron under their command, so where were the others? But then, no one would have anticipated needing more than one squadron to smash the installations orbiting Parallax. Hell, one squadron was overkill. The remainder of the rebel fleet might be hitting other worlds right now…

She pushed the nagging worry aside. “Lock weapons on target,” she croaked. Her throat hurt when she tried to speak, but she forced herself to get the words out. “Prepare to fire.”

They hadn’t pulled the jump off perfectly, but no one ever did outside simulations. They’d materialised just outside missile range, on an angle that would bring them into missile range quickly without actually heading directly into the teeth of enemy fire. Sahrye loved her battlecruisers, but she had no illusions about how long they would last if it came down to a direct missile exchange with a squadron of superdreadnaughts. And if they closed to energy range they’d be atomised within seconds.

“Entering missile range now,” the tactical officer reported. He sounded perfectly fine, damn him. “Commodore?”

“Fire at will,” Sahrye ordered. “All ships, fire at will.”

The battlecruiser shuddered as she emptied her external racks, followed by a massive broadside from her port missile tubes. Moments later, the ship flipped over and fired a second broadside from her starboard tubes. Sahrye watched, grimly, as missiles roared towards their targets, the two closest enemy superdreadnaughts. They might not be enough to actually damage their targets, but they’d sure as hell know they’d been kissed.

“Enemy ships are returning fire,” the tactical officer said.

Sahrye gritted her teeth. Each superdreadnaught mounted more internal tubes than her entire squadron and they’d spat out enough missiles to wipe her ships out several times over. They weren’t happy to be ambushed, she guessed. Thankfully, the Admiral wasn’t expecting her to produce a victory, merely give the rebels a fright. And they’d definitely succeeded at that!

“Angle us away from them and launch decoys,” she ordered. They had no business being anywhere near such firepower. “And flicker us out the moment the drive has recharged. Don’t wait for orders, just do it.”

“Aye, Captain,” the tactical officer said.

“Reorder the formation,” Colin ordered. “Move the smaller ships up to block the enemy missiles.”

He watched, as dispassionately as he could, as the missile swarm bore down on his ships. By chance or careful planning, the loyalists had gotten the drop on him — and if they’d brought another superdreadnaught squadron or two along, it might well have proven disastrous. As it was, he had a chance to test his new point defence doctrine before encountering the Morrison Fleet.

The point defence network went active the moment the missiles entered engagement range, tracking each and every missile and assigning it a priority. Thankfully, this particular group of loyalists hadn’t thought of trying to strip away his smaller ships first — but then, they didn’t have the firepower to stand and fight. Instead, his smaller ships concentrated on protecting their larger cousins instead of protecting themselves. One by one, the missiles flickered and vanished from the display.

“No noticeable improvements to their seeker heads,” the tactical officer commented. There was no point in trying to control the point defence directly. No human mind could hope to handle it in time to make a difference. It required electronic reflexes to pick off all of the missiles. “Their ECM doesn’t seem to have been improved either.”

Colin nodded. The Geeks and Nerds might be the most inventive people in the galaxy, but the Empire wasn’t entirely devoid of innovative thinkers. And, if they did come up with something new for their warheads, they had the industrial facilities to put them into mass production at terrifying speed. Even now, despite all the damage the rebels had inflicted, the Empire still maintained a colossal production advantage. A long war would almost certainly be a lost war.

Unless the Geeks come up with a game-breaker, he thought. But it was hard to imagine what that might be. And manage to produce it in sufficient quantities to make a difference.

The superdreadnaught shuddered once as a missile expended itself against the ship’s shields, without inflicting any damage. Colin allowed himself a moment of relief, then watched as his missiles closed in on the enemy fleet. The enemy CO had been lucky or very good, he realised a moment later, as the ships flickered out of the system. They’d got in, launched their missiles and jumped out again without losses. Colin nodded in silent respect, then turned his attention to the gunboats. They had closed to energy range, launching a small handful of missiles towards their targets. One by one, they were picked off by the point defence.

“Repeat our demand for them to abandon the orbital facilities,” Colin ordered. “And inform them that they have five minutes to comply.”

“Aye, sir,” the communications officer said.

Colin thought rapidly as the timer started to count down. The enemy attack seemed pointless, but it would cost him a great deal of effort to recover the missiles — perhaps more, if they couldn’t recover them before enemy reinforcements arrived. By Colin’s most pessimistic calculations, it was still unlikely that the enemy commander would send superdreadnaughts away from Morrison, but the battlecruiser ambush had been a nasty shock. It suggested that the enemy CO was willing and able to gamble with his ships.

It is the only way to win, Colin told himself. They can’t win a war without fighting.

But it was out of character for any of the senior officers he’d met. They’d all preferred bludgeons to rapiers, the application of overwhelming force instead of subtle tactics. After all, losing an expensive starship could mean being blamed for the loss, even if it had been necessary. And yet… whoever had taken command at Morrison had shown himself willing to risk losses — heavy losses — if it slowed the rebels down. It was worrying.

“Sir,” the tactical officer said, “request permission to start deploying recovery teams.”

“Granted,” Colin said. He glanced at the timer. There were two minutes left before the time he’d given the enemy ran out. “And open fire on the platforms as soon as the timer reaches zero.”

The system CO had evidently had enough of heroics. Instead of trying to fight, the platforms were swiftly evacuated and left abandoned. There weren’t even any point defences to provide cover, as pitiful as it would have been. Colin’s missiles slammed into their hulls, vaporising them one by one. Debris tumbled through space and dropped into the atmosphere of the planet below. Colin wondered, absently, if any of the pieces would hit the facilities on the ground.

Billions of credits worth of investment, he thought. It was pitiful compared to the sheer size of the Empire, but every little loss would mount up. Eventually, the Empire would be literally unable to pay its defenders, let alone meet its other obligations. By then, it would just fragment, no matter what happened to the rebellion. All smashed to rubble.

“All platforms destroyed, sir,” the tactical officer reported.

Colin sat back in his command chair and watched, grimly, as the missiles were recovered and towed to ammunition ships. The enemy could have planned it that way, intending to catch his forces in the act of recovering their missiles. If they turned up with enough force, he would have to bug out, leaving some of his people behind to be killed — or taken prisoner. But, as the seconds slipped away, nothing materialised. The enemy CO didn’t seem to care enough about Parallax to send superdreadnaughts, even with the prospect of catching Colin with his pants down.

There have to be limits to his freedom of operation, Colin told himself. The Thousand Families wouldn’t have given him complete authority…

But who the hell was he facing?

“Admiral,” the tactical officer said. “The missile crews have recovered the last of the missiles.”

“Jump us out as soon as everyone is back onboard,” Colin ordered. “And then set course for the final RV point.”

He forced himself to consider his overall plan. By now, the recon ships would be probing Morrison, studying the defences. It would, he hoped, give him an idea how to tackle the Morrison Fleet. Perhaps they would even pick up something that would identify their mystery opponent.

We’ll meet up at the RV point, he thought. And then we plan our offensive.

He looked down at the console, thinking hard. Few historical battles, even during the height of the First Interstellar War, could be considered decisive. No matter the winners or losers, the wars had been fought out on such a scale that no battle had truly settled the issue. But now… if the rebels suffered major losses at Morrison it could be disastrous. Unlike the Dathi, they were in no shape to replace their losses and wouldn’t be for years to come.

Whatever happens at Morrison, he told himself, once again, will decide the fate of the war.

“All ships have checked in, Commodore,” the communications officer said. “No major damage, certainly nothing inflicted by the enemy. Fury suffered a drive node glitch that will need replacing, but her drive field remained intact.”

Lucky for her, Sahrye thought. If the battlecruiser had suffered a drive failure in the midst of combat, the results would have been disastrous. She would have been overwhelmed and blown to atoms before her flicker drive could have yanked her out of the battle. Even so, they’d given the rebels a nasty fright and confirmed — as if they hadn’t already known — that the rebels were moving towards Morrison.

“All ships preformed well,” she said. They’d had luck on their side too, as well as good judgement and intensive training. Once they realised that they’d pulled off a victory, of sorts, crew morale would skyrocket. “Set course for Morrison. More sedately, this time.”

The helmsman blinked in surprise. “Commodore?”

“Set course for Morrison,” Sahrye repeated, calmly. She wasn’t used to repeating herself, but she understood the man’s surprise. Their orders were to harass the rebels, not to make one attack and then fall back. “I want to get there before the rebels.”

She contemplated vectors in her mind. It was a week to Morrison, assuming that the flicker drives held out. Irritatingly, the drive itself provided instant transport — or as close to instant as made no difference — but recharging the drive took time, while making several jumps in a row put a strain on the system. And, if they happened to need to replace the drive motivator nodes in transit, the time it took to reach their destination would increase rather steeply.

The rebels would probably take it gently, she told herself. They couldn’t afford to lose starships, not now. Morrison was armed to the teeth and, thanks to the Admiral, the Morrison Fleet was slowly recovering from years of neglect. The rebels would have to assume that the fleet was in tip-top condition…

They’ll go after Morrison with everything they can bring to bear against the world, she told herself. We have to be there to help.

“Course set,” the helmsman said. “All ships report ready to jump.”

Sahrye rubbed her chest, feeling ghostly pains in her body. The report from sickbay stated that forty-two crewmen had been overwhelmed by flicker shock. It was rare to see so many cases on one ship, but few of them had actually taken part in a combat jump, certainly not one of such violence. But it had paid off for the squadron. They’d surprised the enemy and achieved their objective, then withdrawn without loss. Compared to the beatings the rebels had handed out, time and time again, she’d won a major victory.

“Take us back to Morrison,” she ordered, quietly.