Twenty five minutes ten seconds later, the three Dominion destroyers cleared the chaff cloud and pushed onward in pursuit of the Bawdy Bertha, then frantically scattered sideways and up as the anti-matter bottles blew up right in front of them.
Zizka chuckled. “Take that, you little pricks. Now you know this old girl has teeth.” He smiled wolfishly to his bridge crew. “Okay, people! Shoot some more chaff and drop another anti-matter bottle. And let’s shoot off three decoys, each at ten degrees off our present course. I want them flinching every time they see chaff and scratching their heads when they see the decoys.”
They did two more repetitions of the chaff cloud, followed by anti-matter bottles and decoys. The DUC destroyers were pursuing more cautiously now, placing themselves further apart and going above and below the plane of pursuit to avoid the mines. Zizka motioned to the Sensors Officer. “Lieutenant Fletcher?”
“Three minutes to the wormhole, Captain, and the Dominion ships won’t have us in missile range for two minutes and fifty five seconds.”
Zizka beamed. “Thank you, Helen.” He spoke to the rest of the bridge crew. “Okay, people, we’ve got the lead time we need to reach the wormhole. Continuous chaff and decoys from here on in. Let’s not give their missiles anything to lock onto.”
The three Dominion destroyers fired two volleys of missiles at Bertha just as it reached the wormhole entrance. The space between Bertha and the enemy ships was so thick with chaff, decoys, ECM and exploding anti-matter bottles that none of the missiles even came close. A moment later the Bertha entered the wormhole and all of its sensors showed nothing but static. The bridge crew cheered wildly.
Zizka motioned to his XO, who leaned close to keep the conversation private.
“Francis, make sure all of the drones are ready. All of them, mind you. Even the ones in the storage. As soon as we come out of the wormhole into Gilead, fire them.”
“I’ll be ready, Captain.”
“Don’t wait for my order, Francis. Just shoot them! We must get them off, no matter what.”
“I’ve already loaded them on the racks, Captain. We’ll launch one hundred in the first volley, then one hundred more every four seconds after that.”
“They’ll be waiting for us, Francis, damn them. Don’t wait for my order, just launch!”
“Ten seconds to emergence,” Merlin announced.
The bridge crew were still celebrating their escape. Zizka didn’t interrupt. He took the cigar out of his pocket, then realized ruefully he didn’t have any way to light it. No matter. He stuck it in mouth.
“Stand tall!” Captain Zizka called out to his crew. “You’ve earned it.” Helen Fletcher looked at him, relief giving way to a timorous smile. He nodded, thinking, ‘Forgive me.’
When the Bawdy Bertha emerged from the wormhole, two Dominion missile cruisers hovered before them. The slow, fat freighter managed to launch five hundred message drones before the avalanche of missiles finished her.
The drones swarmed like fireflies around the Dominion cruisers. At first their flight seemed lazy, almost languorous, but then their chemical afterburners kicked in and they accelerated at a rate no space ship could match. Almost two hundred died in the fusillade of anti-missile fire, but the rest surged past unscathed, accelerated and headed across Gilead to the wormhole that would take them to Victoria…and home.
Chapter 33
D.U.C. Blue Heron
Victorian Space, near Space Station Atlas
The Dominion freighter Blue Heron anchored near one of the custom stations not far from the space station Atlas. They would have to wait a day or two for the custom inspection of their cargo, then they would offload it for shipment to the planet’s surface.
The Captain requested permission for his crew and passengers to take a shuttle to Atlas so they could stretch their legs and explore the shops and bars. He explained he had more than two hundred men aboard, replacement workers for a mining base in Gilead. Atlas Port Authority made a note and logged in the authorization. It was all very routine.
Chapter 34
In Victorian Space
Atlas Space Station
“Gods of Our Mothers, I thought my cabin was small,” Emily remarked. “This is positively Spartan.”
Hiram Brill shrugged, intent on pouring them both coffees. “There are four hundred thousand people on Atlas. Space is at a premium and I am but a lowly Lieutenant.” His cabin was a studio unit, a small living room/kitchen/bedroom space with a wash room off to the side. It was very neat and orderly, but cramped with bookshelves and holo displays. On one shelf there was a picture of Cookie, holding a glass of wine and smiling directly into the camera. Her lips were parted, her hair was slightly mussed and she was in a black dress with thin shoulder straps; one had fallen, accentuating her naked shoulder and graceful neck. Her face was a combination of warm adoration and raw, vibrant sexuality. It was the face of a woman who had just made love…or was just about to.
Gods of Our Mothers! Emily thought, remembering Cookie as she looked carrying a Bull Pup sonic rifle and wearing mud-caked fatigues. Who would have guessed?
“Kid cleans up good, doesn’t she?” she said dryly.
Hiram glanced at the picture and smiled wistfully. “Yeah, she certainly does.”
“Heard from her?”
Hiram shook his head. “Not since she left to board the London.” He gave Emily her mug of coffee. “Feels funny to be sitting here sipping coffee while she’s off at war.”
Emily nodded agreement. “It shouldn’t take long, though. Second Fleet is packing a lot of fire power. I can’t imagine the Tilleke wanting to get into a toe-to-toe fight with them.”
Hiram frowned. “I’ve been doing a lot of reading on the Tilleke. Far as I can tell, they never go toe-to-toe. They prefer playing the angles, coming at you when you don’t expect it. Feints, misdirection and confusion, until their opponent is off balance and vulnerable.”
“Yeah, okay,” Emily retorted, “but Second Fleet has one hundred and twenty war ships, for God’s sake. The Emperor can bob and weave all he wants, but sooner or later he’s got to have the missile throw weight or it’s all over.”
Hiram snorted. “You know better than that, Emily. You’re the bloody historian, surely you know of instances when an enemy has outsmarted a larger, stronger opponent.”
“Well…” Emily considered, sipping her coffee. “Well, okay, I guess there are lots of examples of armies using deception, but you’re talking about deception on a strategic level, not simply at a tactical level.”
Hiram waived his coffee mug in a ‘keep coming’ gesture.
Emily pursed her lips, recalling some of her military history courses. “Oddly enough, for the best examples you have to go back to Old Earth. Since mankind left Earth in the plague years, then discovered wormholes, there has been very little warfare. There just has been so much room to grow in, enough resources to keep most people happy, and on top of that the cost of building a fleet of war ships capable of projecting force across wormhole sectors is humongous.”
“I know all that,” Hiram complained mildly. “Give me a good example.”
“I know,” she said after a moment. “Old Earth, twentieth century, the Yom Kippur War. There were three warring nations in an area called the ‘Mid-East.’ Israel, Egypt and Syria. Three small countries at a time when there were two superpowers that dominated most of the politics on the planet.”