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Chapter Thirty-Eight


Missile packet Trzgarth One, off R’Bak


“And now you are mine,” T’Barth muttered as the missiles hit the fleeing frigate. Its acceleration dropped off noticeably, and the two missile pack swarms—his and Teseler’s—seemed to jump forward at it on the little monitor that Bowden had called “the plot.” He was still unsure about the technology involved in creating the view he had, but the tactical edge it gave him was well worth the frisson it sent down his spine when he thought about it. Not that he would ever show it, of course.

Otlethes One is requesting we slow slightly as we are getting ahead of them.”

T’Barth smiled. The engines may be the same, but I have the best mechanic on the spin. He glanced back at the plot and smiled. He was pulling slightly ahead of the Otlethes swarm and a little voice inside him urged him to redline the engines, to get there first and claim the honor of being the first to savage the frigate.

But I gave my oath to follow the procedures laid out by the Terrans. The Terrans had also explained that by making the attack run together, it made it harder for the defenders to target any specific group, and easier for all the attackers to get free again once they’d made their runs, but that was less important to him. He would have far rather braved the enemy’s missiles by himself to claim the honor of the kill.

But I gave my oath.

“Pilot, slow five percent,” T’Barth said.

Slow five percent?” The pilot’s voice mimicked the little voice inside him. “Do you not mean to take the frigate ourselves?”

“No. I mean to do this as we practiced. Slow slightly so the Otlethes swarm can catch up with us and we can attack it together. If all our missiles go in together, we overwhelm the frigate’s defense.”

“Aye. Slowing five percent.”

The Otlethes swarm caught up to his, and he stared at the plot, waiting to see if they would run past him to try to claim the honor of first launch, but they didn’t.

“We’re with you,” Teseler radioed. “We will fire on your command.”

T’Barth shook his head. Teseler ceded the honor of giving the command to fire? Maybe he isn’t the worthless idiot I thought him to be. The Otlethes swarm pulled even with his group, and then split into attack formation when the Trzgarth swarm did, giving them twelve missile packets in a line abreast.

“Stand by to fire,” T’Barth radioed. “Fire!”

The missiles rippled off the launchers down the length of the line, racing forward to claim their victim.

“Pilot, skew turn one eighty degrees,” T’Barth said. “There’s no sense getting any closer than we have to.”


Frigate Harvester One, off R’Bak


“The little ships are firing?” the weapons officer said, his surprise turning the statement into a question. “Those can’t be all real missiles, can they?”

“It appears they are,” Ebis’qupoz Barogar growled. “Flip the ship and defend it.”

The pilot turned to look at him. “But if we do that—”

“Just do it!” Barogar shouted. “There are dozens of missiles coming after us.”

“Yes, Lord.”

Barogar looked at the plot. The rest of the fleet was coming, but they wouldn’t be able to help with the mass of weapons headed toward them. And, even though he had the best crew and self-defense weapons in the fleet, he also knew it wouldn’t be enough. With the number of missiles they had coming toward them, they were going to take hits. The only thing he had a say in was where those hits occurred. Already down one engine, he couldn’t afford to lose the other. It was better to sacrifice the equipment on the bow—and the people stationed there—to protect the remaining motor and the combat center from which he commanded the ship. Positioned in the middle of the vessel, it was the best protected from damage.

If they could weather the missile storm, they still had the other motor and might be able to escape to the safety of the fleet afterward.

But we have to limit the number of hits we take. “Full power to the jammers,” Barogar ordered. “Fire all countermeasures. Use them all if you have to. Point defense weapons, fire!”

The missiles continued to track inbound, although some spun away, victims of the ship’s defenses. Not enough, he could see. This is going to hurt.


Corvette J’axon’s Revenge, off R’Bak


“The frigate is dead in space,” the tactical officer said.

“Very well,” Targ said. The fight with the frigate had gone better than it ever had in the simulator. With the loss of one of its motors in the missile packet attack, and the abuse it had taken, the frigate had lost the power to run most of its missile systems, and the corvettes had swarmed it “like a pack of piranhas” as they’d been taught. He had no idea what a piranha was, but if the creatures were as deadly to people as the corvettes had been to the frigate, he hoped to never meet a pack of them in real life.

All twenty-four corvettes had fired a single missile simultaneously, overwhelming what was left of the frigate’s defenses and pummeling it into scrap. The few missiles it had fired had all been intercepted by the groups’ Aegis-networked fires.

They’d destroyed the corvette without losing a single ship—the bait ship didn’t count, since it technically could have gotten away if it had turned sooner—which was something they’d never done in practice. Maybe there actually is something to this technology, Targ thought as he broadened out the scope to look at the incoming Kulsian fleet. Maybe computers really do have a place in society.

He shook his head at the thought. Two months ago, he never would have believed it. Funny how things change . . . when they need to.

“I can’t believe how easy that was!” the tactical officer crowed. Targ frowned. From the tone of the tactical officer’s voice, if they’d had gravity, he would probably have been jumping up and down, clapping his hands like an uncultured child.

“The first battle is over,” Targ said gravely, making eye contact with him, “but the war is only starting.” He nodded toward the plot. “The fleet is almost here, and we’re going to be outnumbered five to one . . . maybe more. We need to get the ships back into formation.” He raised an eyebrow. “That is your job. Shouldn’t you be doing it?”

“Oh!” the man exclaimed, looking at the mass of icons approaching them. “Yes, sir. Right now, sir.”

As the tactical officer began making calls and maneuvering the ships back into formation, Targ studied the plot, looking for the opportunities that Bowden and Fiezel had taught him. He didn’t have missiles to waste; he needed to find openings in the Kulsian fleet he could exploit.

He changed the range on the plot and re-centered it, then he smiled and laughed a couple times.

“What is it?” the tactical officer asked, looking back toward him.

“Two things. I can tell that the Kulsians are planet dwellers, and that—perhaps without the frigate—there is no one in charge of the fleet.”

“Why is that?”

“They do not think in three dimensions. They are moving toward us in a long line abreast of about thirty ships, with three more similar lines following the one in front of it. There are also gaps here”—he pointed—“and here, where it looks like there are different groups that are not used to working—or flying—together. We need to speed up, then I want you to maneuver our fleet this way . . . ”


Corvette Taregon’s Pride, off-R’Bak


“Interesting,” Reetan said as the clusters of Hound-Dog ships reconfigured their formations, going from a line-abreast formation to something more like a sphere. There was a front ship, then four following it in sort of an X shape, then the Aegis ship following the X at the same distance as the X followed the first ship. The second Aegis group under Targ’s command pulled in behind him in a similar formation, while the two Aegis groups under Burg Hrensku’s command shifted into a similar formation.

The maneuver was finished as they approached missile range to the Kulsian fleet, and it was performed as smoothly as only people who’d lived their entire lives piloting ships in space could have done.

“What are they doing?” Reetan’s tactical officer asked.

Reetan pointed at the plot. “They are going to drive wedges down the gaps in the Kulsian formation here and here.” He pointed and chuckled. “The Kulsians are all lined up like land armies, and they’re going to get some shots in from range, but the closer he gets, the fewer are going to be able to shoot at him without fear of hitting their allies. Then, once he’s through, the first line is in danger from the missiles of the second line, and so forth. Basically, the way the Kulsians are spread out, he can get local superiority.” He shrugged. “Assuming he survives the initial maneuver, that is.”

He tilted his head as he looked at the display. “One thing is for sure.”

“What’s that, sir?”

Reetan smiled. “It will be interesting.”


Corvette Festal’s Folly, off R’Bak


Festal Lantrax laughed as his ship moved to the lead position of their “sphere” and closed up on Targ J’axon’s ship.

“What is so funny?” his tactical officer asked. “This is the dumbest formation I’ve ever seen. We’ve never even practiced it!”

“No, we haven’t, but if it works, I’m going to buy Targ’s first drink when this is over.”

“You don’t even like him.”

“No I don’t, but this idea is brilliant . . . as long as we don’t get destroyed on our approach.”

“Why is that?”

“Once we’re joined with the enemy, only a few of them will be able to fire at us at a time; meanwhile, all our ships can fire outward at them. Like I said, it’s brilliant . . . assuming we survive to get in close.”

Festal jerked his chin toward the plot. “Look at the Kulsians. They have no idea what they’re doing.” He laughed again. “They’ve never flown together in formation; that much is obvious. Now, as they all try to figure out what Targ is doing, and they maneuver to try to counter it, they are all getting into each other’s way. They’re also all trying to be the first ones to fire on us, so they are all charging toward us, rather than turning sideways to unmask all their weapons systems.” He shrugged. “Land warriors playing at space battles.”

“There are, however, a lot of them,” the tactical officer said as the Kulsians began launching missiles.

“There are. Perhaps you could do something to thin them out some. And maybe destroy some of those incoming missiles.”


Corvette J’axon’s Revenge, off R’Bak


The tactical officer was working hard to keep everything under control and defend their formation as the missiles intensified, but Targ could see he was quickly becoming overwhelmed. Caught up in missile, railgun, and laser allocation, the officer had yet to expend any of their countermeasures. Targ fired off some chaff and flipped on the radar jammers, then he made a call to have the other ships do the same. Some of the missiles headed toward them spun off, distracted, but others continued inbound.

The only thing keeping the tactical officer up to the task was the fact that the Kulsian attack was a complete mess. Their formation alone prevented over half the front line of battle from firing, and the way some ships raced forward while others hung back probably masked another quarter of their launchers, especially since most of them seemed to only be using their chase armaments as the approached. Targ shook his head. Idiots. Still . . . the ones who could shoot at them were, and if even a small portion of the massive fleet fired at a time, that was still a lot of missiles. Especially if you were on the receiving end of them.

“Damn it!” the tactical officer exclaimed as one of the missiles he was working to destroy was hit by the group behind his as they came in range.

“Isn’t their help something to be welcomed?”

“Yes, but I had that one.”

Targ nodded. The lack of coordination between the groups was . . . inefficient, a term he would never have used for battle until recently. Working together—rather than trying to be the one with the most glory—was an interesting concept, and he could see how it was helping them, while the lack of coordination was hurting the Kulsians.

“Festal, Targ,” he called over the radio.

“Kind of busy,” the RockHound replied. “What?”

“We need to work together better. We’ll focus our efforts on the missiles to port; your group can take the ones to starboard.”

There was a long pause, and Targ could almost see Festal working it through his mind. The RockHounds had been the most reluctant to adopt the new tactics. Revenge Two, the lead corvette, took a missile, and he winced. We need to do this better.

“We will defend the starboard side,” Festal finally agreed. “Do not make me regret this, SpinDog.”

Targ laughed over the radio. “Only if you’ll do the same for me.” He nodded to the tactical officer. “The missiles to port are your responsibility.”

The tactical officer squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. “I will do my best.”


FOB “Outpost,” spinward Trojans of R’Bak


“I can’t believe that worked,” Dave Fiezel said as he watched the Hound-Dog corvette formations pass through the Kulsian force. It had cost them seven of their ships, although all seven of the Aegis corvettes were still in service.

“Whatever the Kulsians expected,” Specialist Steve Wisniewski said, standing next to him at the plot, “that wasn’t it.”

He didn’t know what to call the two double-sphere formations—dumbbells, maybe?—but the only thing that was harder than naming the formations was the Kulsians actually having to deal with them. As the two dumbbells lanced through the Kulsian lines of battle, each succeeding line fell further and further apart. By the fourth line, the Kulsian line had become a giant sphere of its own as some of the captains went high to avoid their allies, while others went low. Missiles flew everywhere, with the Aegis corvettes defeating a majority of the ones coming at them.

All the Kulsians succeeded in doing was pummeling their own ships as many of them ripple-fired all their missiles, only to have an allied ship cut in front of them and intercept them.

Some of the cargo ships obviously had been pressed into service and had a missile or two mounted on them. They were the worst of all, as they didn’t appear to have any sort of targeting system, and they fired their missiles in the general direction of the Hound-Dogs, before turning away and running. Very few of those missiles turned out to be a threat to the Hound-Dogs.

“Where’s that guy going?” Wisniewski asked, pointing at the plot. “That one, too . . . and that one.”

“I’ve got no idea,” Fiezel said, shaking his head. The three ships Wisniewski had pointed out were continuing out in the direction of . . . well, nothing that Fiezel could see. They were just cruising along, non-maneuvering, and he didn’t think that they’d been hit, as they hadn’t been very close to the Hound-Dog force. “Maybe they’re fleeing or took damage?”

“No—I watched that one,” Wisniewski said, pointing at one of the ships. “That one was on the end of the formation; it never got hit.”

It couldn’t be fleeing, either, Fiezel saw, as it wasn’t accelerating to “get away.” It was just coasting off into the black. And then it hit him. “They’re out of gas,” he said with a touch of awe.

“Gas?”

“Well, whatever they fuel their craft with. I’ll bet if you pulled ESM on them, they’d be dark and unpowered. They’ve run out of gas, just like we figured they would!”

“So they’re just going to . . . ” Wisniewski’s jaw dropped. “We’ve got to help them.”

“Didn’t take long for enemies to turn into something less . . . I don’t know. Antagonistic, maybe?” Fiezel asked with a chuckle.

“I don’t care who they are,” Wisniewski said. “No one deserves to die out in the black like that.”

“We will try to rescue them afterward,” Fiezel replied. He pointed back to the battle. “But right now, we’re still greatly outnumbered, and going to play fetch at the moment is somewhat contraindicated.”

“What are our ships doing?”

“Something that ancient mariners would have appreciated,” Fiezel noted. “They’re crossing their ‘T.’”

“They’re what?”

“Crossing the T. Also known as ‘capping the T.’” He pointed. The first ball of the two corvette formations turned away from the other group and made a line perpendicular to the Kulsians, who were turning back to engage. The second balls turned toward each other, filling in the gap between the first two formations. The result was a single line, seventeen ships long, facing the oncoming Kulsians. “They just made a line where they can all use all their weapons against the Kulsians, while the Kulsians can only use the chase armaments located in their bows.”

Fiezel laughed. “If the Kulsians had done this at the start, we wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

“But . . . ” Wisniewski’s head tilted as he thought. “But this is space. Couldn’t they get going in one direction, and then just spin their ship so they’re going through space sideways and accomplish the same thing?”

“They could,” Fiezel said with a nod. “The question is . . . will they?”


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