Fallon voiced the obvious objection.
“Sir,” he said slowly, “the Senate isn’t likely to forgive this attack.”
“No,” Marius agreed. “But if the enemy thinks they’ve been tricked, they might be wondering where the Senate actually is, or what is really going on with Home Fleet…and then they might start thinking about contingency plans for what they need to do if they lose this battle.”
He sat back in the command chair, thinking hard. The tactical section still hadn’t been able to ID the superdreadnaughts, but Marius was mortally certain that he was facing a rogue Federation Navy admiral. And that meant…what? There were a dozen possible candidates for the rogue officer, all of whom were smart enough to know that he or she had crossed the Rubicon. Failure in the environs of Earth would mean certain death once the remainder of the Federation Navy, having mobilized their reserves, came for them. He frowned as another flight of enemy starfighters left their carriers and rocketed down towards the network of orbital battlestations surrounding Earth. The enemy commander had moved from launching a very bold stroke to playing it carefully, but Marius still had no idea who he was facing.
Who among the admirals would be so brazen on the one hand and so overcautious on the other?
Absently, he tapped the command display and checked on Home Fleet. It had been centuries since there had been more than minor piracy in the Sol System, but Home Fleet was responding about as well as could be expected. If Earth held out for another hour, perhaps less, the enemy would find themselves caught between a rock and a very hard place.
“They’re retargeting their fire, sir,” the tactical officer observed.
“Thank you,” Marius said.
He nodded to himself. The enemy force had enough superdreadnaughts to produce mass fire against a number of different targets at once. The real mystery was why they had waited so long to do it. It suggested a certain inclination to conserve force and weaponry. After all, he reasoned, if they were caught by Home Fleet—having used up all their missiles in the Battle of Earth—the result would be disastrous.
For them, Marius thought. For him, it would be very satisfactory.
“They’re focusing on this station,” the tactical officer added unnecessarily.
“Move our automated platforms to provide additional coverage,” Marius ordered calmly. A steady voice, he’d been told at the Academy, could prevent a commander’s subordinates from panicking. Besides, it wasn’t as if there was anywhere to run. They would either stop enough of the missiles to save EDS3, or die once the missiles knocked down the shields and blew through the heavily-armored hull. “Start updating EDS13 with our datanet coordination systems. Prepare them to take over from us if we lose the communications section.”
“Aye, sir,” the systems operator said.
“Enemy units opening fire,” the tactical officer reported. All of the enemy superdreadnaughts were belching missiles, so many that Marius found himself wondering how they intended to control them all. Even a superdreadnaught only mounted so many fire control links, and they were firing more than any standard superdreadnaught could hope to coordinate at once. He understood a moment later when new emissions signatures appeared among the incoming swarm of missiles: gunboats, each one doubtless carrying fire control software, followed the missiles towards their targets.
“Order the CSP to take out the gunboats,” Marius ordered, keeping his voice calm. “Redirect everything else to cover both us and the planet.”
Inwardly, he was seething. The enemy commander hadn’t just targeted his station; instead, the enemy commander ran a very dangerous risk of accidentally bombarding Earth in the process. Even without antimatter warheads, a single missile impacting on the surface at a significant percentage of the speed of light would do colossal damage. And, in a very real sense, the rogue admiral was holding the planet hostage.
Marius knew that taking out the gunboats meant more uncontrolled missiles flying through space, yet there was no other choice. He had to stop this rogue admiral, and stop him right now.
Space became a maelstrom of weapons’ fire and destroyed missiles as the incoming attack came within range. All of the surviving battlestations launched counter-missiles, opening fire with massive primary beams, weapons designed to target enemy superdreadnaughts. Smaller point defense weapons were targeted on the missiles that broke through that line of defense, picking off hundreds more missiles before they had any chance of reaching their targets. Rail guns and pulsars added the final line of defense, detonating missiles just before they reached the station. At such ranges, the antimatter warheads were still dangerous, overloading the sensors and blinding the defenders.
And, inevitably, some got through.
“Brace for impact,” the tactical officer shouted. His voice was automatically relayed through the entire station. “All hands, brace for impact…”
The entire station shuddered as four missiles slammed into the shields. Compressed antimatter was the most dangerous substance known to man. Huge explosions flared against the shields, burning out several shield generators and allowing the fires to rend the fortress’s hull. Marius hung on for dear life as red icons flared on the display, warning of terrible damage. One red icon caught his eye—the containment systems had failed—and by all rights everyone on the station should be dead right now. Marius wasn’t sure how they’d survived such a terrible hit, to be honest; if they’d been carrying antimatter warheads, the entire station would have been vaporized when the containment systems failed. Unlike a nuclear warhead, antimatter didn’t need a complex triggering mechanism. Simply lowering the containment field sufficed.
“Report,” he barked. Apart from the shockwave, there shouldn’t be any damage to the station’s armoured core. “How badly are we hurt?”
“Major damage to outer sections,” the sensor officer reported. Blood streamed from a cut on his forehead. “We’ve lost most of our weapons, sir, but structural integrity is reasonably stable.”
Marius glanced at the report flashing up in front of him and shook his head. “And the enemy?”
“Shifting their fire to EDS6,” the tactical officer reported. “They must think we’re dead.”
“Or not worth bothering about,” Marius said. Even if the enemy destroyed the station’s weapons, her inner core would survive and would be worth rebuilding, even if they had to reconstruct the remainder of the station later. “Send a general signal to all stations. I want a focus barrage; every station in range is to launch a mass strike against the enemy. We have to show them that we’re not dead yet.”
He scowled as the system display flickered back into existence. The sensors were faithfully reporting the presence of Home Fleet’s drones at the edge of the mass limit; the enemy, of course, would be tracking them already. If they were fooled, they’d either push their advantage against Earth, or break off the engagement. If not…they’d probably break off the engagement. Only a fool would accept battle against a superior force if there was an alternative.
And we have to keep them focused on us, he added, in the privacy of his own thoughts. If they’re focused on us, they’re not thinking about other threats.
“Sir, the enemy ships are adjusting their position,” the sensor officer reported. Marius nodded. It was too soon to tell what they were doing, apart from altering their formation, perhaps to provide additional point defense from the undamaged smaller ships. Or perhaps…
“They’re breaking off,” the tactical officer said in disbelief. Marius ran through the tactical situation in his head and knew the truth. The enemy commander had seen Home Fleet approaching, despite the cloaking devices, and decided to cut and run before he found himself trapped against Earth. “Sir…?”