“Order the platforms to fire!”
Whisker lasers stabbed out from the Emperor’s Pride to fifty missile platforms that had been seeded along the path of the Victorian advance. The platforms had been tracking the Victorian ships using passive sensors, but now active sensors sprang to life, reaching out hungrily to the Victorian ships.
“Targeting radar!” the Sensors Officer shouted. “Someone has locked onto us with targeting radar.”
“Full defensive array. AI control,” Admiral Skiffington barked.
“Charge the defense arrays,” Commander Kerrs ordered.
“Multiple contacts! There are at least thirty or more targeting sources out there.”
“Target with lasers and fire!” Skiffington shouted.
“Missiles! Missile launch from port and starboard. They seem to be targeting the cruisers. Must be…over one hundred missiles inbound. Impact in two minutes!”
Admiral Skiffington sat back in disgust. Through his own stupidity he had given the initiative to the enemy. Going to cry in your beer, Oliver? “Keep turning away from the minefield for fifteen minutes, then pitch back towards the Tilleke strike force,” he ordered. “All missiles are to be fired on my command.” He turned to the sensors console. “Sensors, locate who the hell is shooting at us so we can shoot them back!”
The missile platforms were the first little surprise. Distracted by the constant missile volleys of the fleeing Tilleke ships, and partially blinded by the clouds of chaff left behind, the Victorian ships had paid scant attention to the faint, smudgy returns on their sensor screens. The missile platforms were small, with heavily shielded power sources and a crew of only five Savak. The missiles they fired were small, too, but they only had to fire a short distance and each of the fifty platforms carried five missiles. Six of the platforms malfunctioned. Five refused to fire at all; the sixth blew up. But the remaining forty four worked just fine, spewing more than two hundred short range missiles in sprint mode into the Vicky war fleet.
“Mildred, where are the Dominion ships!” Grant screamed.
“The eleven ships — three energy cruisers, two missile cruisers, three energy destroyers and three missile destroyers — are now approximately three hundred miles behind the H.M.S. Sussex. They are proceeding at five per-”
“It’s a trap,” Grant said despairingly. The whole thing was a deception to lure them here. He stepped to his father’s chair. “Admiral, we have to warn the Sussex! The Duck-”
“Sit down, Lieutenant,” his father snapped. “We’re a little busy just now!”
“…five percent C,” Mildred concluded helpfully.
“Father, please!”
The DUC missile cruiser People’s Choice lined up a scant three hundred miles behind the Victorian battleship Sussex, knife fighting range in space warfare. The ten other Dominion ships were arrayed on either side of the cruiser.
“Admiral, the Tilleke have fired their missiles,” his First Officer told him. That was the signal. Admiral Quigley glanced at his Weapons Officer.
“Targets locked in,’ the WO confirmed. At three hundred miles they could hardly miss.
Quigley nodded. “Let’s not keep our friends waiting. All ships, fire!”
They weren’t taking any chances. The three E Class cruisers and two M Class cruisers were all targeted on the Sussex. The six destroyers aimed at two nearby Vicky cruisers. With luck the Vickies would never realize they were being hit from behind, but just in case, they needed to make sure the Sussex died quickly. When you take on a Vicky battleship, mused Quigley, be sure you kill it and don’t just piss it off!
Nine heavy laser beams and twenty four ship-killer missiles shot out. The laser beams struck the battleship’s engine rooms and rear defense array, spalling metal and exploding munitions. Two of the ship’s engines were immediately destroyed and the resulting uneven thrust pushed the ship into a violent tumble. In the control room, Admiral Penn just had time to glance up in question. Seven seconds later the missiles struck all along the hull. The Sussex seemed to shiver, and then simply disappeared in a ball of light and molten debris.
In less than ten seconds the flag ship of Victoria’s Third Fleet was gone.
“Good,” said Admiral Quigley. “Now let’s kill the others.”
And now the second surprise, thought Prince RaShahid. “Activate the second mine field.”
As the right wing of the Victorian Fleet continued its curving chase toward the Tilleke ships, thousands of ship-killer proximity mines arose from their electronic sleep and scanned their assigned areas for targets.
Targets were plentiful.
Daisy chain explosions chased after the Victorian ships, white blossoms of superheated gas and plasma reaching out to caress the frigates and destroyers and cruisers on the periphery of the two battle groups that comprised the Second Fleet’s right wing. Some ships were destroyed outright, others crippled. At least six ships were left intact but powerless, beginning their Long Walk that would take them and their doomed crews out of human space and into the abyss.
Of the forty ships that flew into the minefield, only twenty six flew out. Even as they emerged, battered and shaken, the Tilleke war hawks swooped down on them.
“Sir, our right flank ran into a minefield. Alpha Battle Group is badly damaged; most ships are Code Omega or not battle capable!” the Sensors Officer called out, his voice trembling. “Half of Bravo is gone; the rest are under heavy fire from Tilleke war ships. On our left flank the two battle groups from Third Fleet report heavy damage. Sussex is gone, along with Farnham, Keswick, Salisbury and Poole. Others, too, but no ID yet. Many damage reports.”
Admiral Skiffington sat in shocked disbelief. Close to half his fleet had been destroyed in a matter of minutes.
“Admiral, your orders?” asked Commander Kerrs. “Admiral?”
The Admiral pulled himself together with an act of will. Hurt or not, he still had one of the most powerful fleets in history, and by God he was going to use it!
“Commander, order all ships into globe formation, battleships at the van. All weapons to bear on those sons of bitches attacking Bravo Group! Make it happen!”
“Sir!’ Commander Kerrs replied, and snapped out orders to his crew.
Standing behind his father, bewildered and overwhelmed, Grant Skiffington desperately wanted to believe that his father could pull them out of this nightmare.
On the deck of the Emperor’s Pride, Prince RaShahid watched as the enemy fleet clumsily tried to regain some semblance of order. They were fools, but they had courage. No matter.
He motioned to the communications officer. “Release the kraits. Remember, we want the two surviving battleships!”
“At your command, Nobel Born.”
The Prince searched through the holograph display until he found the H.M.S. London, then magnified it until he actually saw the outlines of the ship itself. He pictured Admiral Skiffington on its deck, no doubt studying his own holograph.
Be bold, Admiral, he silently urged across the empty miles of space. Be bold so that I might utterly destroy you!
Chapter 27
The Kraits
In Tilleke Space
Krait, n, (krit) extremely venomous snake, originally from the Indian subcontinent of Earth; preferred method of attack is to spring from hiding. Bite is fatal.