And now First Sister Pilot understood. One of the first tasks for the victorious Savak commandos was to herd all the prisoners into the loading bay, then open the loading bay doors and expel them into space. The bodies of the enemy dead would follow shortly. When a ship was taken there should be hundreds or thousands of corpses floating outside within a few hours.
“No bodies? Are you sure?”
Second Sister Pilot nodded. “I have a close visual of the entire area. There are no bodies.” She threw up her hands. “There should be bodies!”
First Sister Pilot cut the connection, waving to get the attention of her bridge crew. “Third Sister, call the krait commanders who attacked the Yorkshire and Kent, tell them to scan the area around each ship and report if they see any bodies. Fourth Sister, locate any kraits in the area who have not already attacked a target and vector them in to these three ships. Hurry!” She turned to the last two of her beloved sisters. “Turn on targeting radar and make ready for missile launch!”
• • • • •
“Targeting radar!” the Sensors Officer shouted. “We have been acquired by targeting radar. Source is the London.”
“That tears it,” Captain Gur said. “Ready all weapons to fire on my command! Flash message to Rutland and Kent to commence firing as soon as they are able.”
Grant was sitting just behind Benny Peled and could watch the preparations. Between them, the Yorkshire, Kent and Rutland had a missile throw weight roughly equal to that of the London, and several more lasers. But the battleship’s anti-missile defenses would be formidable, designed to fight off an enemy flotilla made up of at least one battleship and several cruisers. A lot would depend on who suffered the first damage, for that would make them more vulnerable to the next round of fire, and that could quickly cascade into annihilation.
“Fire all missiles!” Gur ordered.
Grant frowned. Why not use the lasers first?
The holo display suddenly showed several lasers from the London lance out at the Yorkshire, then several more at the Rutland. Damage alarms sounded.
“Our missiles are away. Impact in two minutes,” reported the Weapons Officer.
“Laser hits on the forward magazine and laser turrets three and five,” called the Systems Chief, his voice high-pitched with tension. Everyone on the bridge froze for a moment, collectively holding their breaths. If the forward magazine exploded, the ship would be destroyed. The Systems Chief became aware of the sudden silence and looked around, abashed. “Uh…no fire and no explosion, but the automatic loader is jammed. Missile tubes eight through sixteen can’t reload.”
Grant winced. Half their missile tubes would stay empty until it was fixed. And two of their six lasers were down.
“Get a damage team on it!” Gur snapped. “Missile status?”
“One minute to target.”
“Chaff! London is shooting chaff and its automatic defense systems have engaged. Bird shot, lasers and zone blasts!” Bird shot was the name for a gun that shot thousands of small pellets at very high velocities. They spread out like a shotgun blast; one or two pellets could disable an incoming missile. Zone blasts were war heads that spread out to form a rough globe measuring several miles across, then exploded simultaneously, destroying anything within its center.
“More laser shots from the London! The Rutland is taking a pounding!”
“Weapons, why haven’t our laser batteries fired?” Gur demanded.
“Awaiting your orders, sir,” the Weapons Officer replied.
“Well fire, dammit! You think this is a bloody church social?” Four heavy lasers fired and automatically began recharging. It would be two minutes before they could fire again.
“London’s defense system took out all but two of our missiles. Can’t get a good reading on damage inflicted.”
As Grant watched, the London fired its lasers again, raking both the Rutland and the Kent. But why wasn’t it firing missiles? The London had forty missile tubes. Where were they?
• • • • •
“First Sister! The ship’s computer will not allow access to the missile system without the proper authentication code.”
This had not been anticipated. Once the ship was taken, they did not think they would have to fight with other Victorian ships before joining the Dominion flotilla. First Sister Pilot ran through the technical specifications for the weapons system. All of the Sister Pilots were bred to be engineers, and trained from childhood to memorize prodigious amounts of technical information. She had studied the Victorian weapons’ systems for months.
“The ship’s computer controls only access to the central firing system,” she told her fellow Sister Pilots. “Missiles can be launched individually from their missile bays. The lasers can be fired directly from their turrets. Go quickly! Open fire as soon as you can!”
• • • • •
Close up, the London’s anti-missile defense was awesome to behold. The Rutland’s missiles were blotted from the sky. The Kent’s salvo, coming in on the heels of Rutland’s, fared better, but only five missiles got through and the London’s armor shook them off. More lasers shot out on all sides, a score from the London targeted the Rutland while Yorkshire and Kent returned the favor. Then two missiles salvoed from the London and struck the Kent. Grant stared at the holo in morbid fascination.
“Lost communications with Rutland and Kent, sir,” Sensors reported.
“London is getting its missile system on line, but they must be firing individually. We took out one of her laser turrets,” Weapons chimed in.
“Sensors, have Merlin do a C2C with Rutland and Kent to get a damage report,” Captain Gur ordered. The C2C was a parallel communications system used by the ships’ computers, allowing them to exchange data directly with each other. It was usually used to maintain current data on each ship’s state of readiness, but could be used to communicate if a ship’s primary communications system was knocked out.
“More missiles inbound!” warned Weapons. “They’ve got five up now.”
Yorkshire’s automatic defense system went into action, but it was not as robust as London’s. Four of the attacking missiles were quickly disabled, but the last missile stubbornly plowed ahead until bird shot detonated it less than a mile from the ship. The destroyed missile spewed hundreds of basketball sized shaped charges, a dozen of which struck the Yorkshire moments later, not far from the bridge. The ripple of explosions shook the Yorkshire and alarm sirens hooted, adding to the cacophony. The bridge crew exchanged worried glances.
The junior officer at Navigation shook her head. “It’s a blustery day, Pooh!” Grant just stared at her.
“We’ve got to take out London’s anti-missile system!” Commander Peled said.
“Can we land a boarding party of Marines on London? Give the Tilleke a taste of their own medicine?” Grant asked.
Peled shook his head. “The Tilleke have those bloody transporters, we only have shuttles. London would blow them out of the sky long before they reached her.
“Merlin reports heavy damage to Rutland. It’s lost its aft magazine and fires are reported on several decks. One anti-matter bottle is damaged, but holding. At least for now. Rutland’s Merlin estimates fifty percent chance of failure within the next three hours. Two hundred crewmen dead. Many wounded. Captain Sheffer is requesting we come along side to take off her wounded.”