Hawthorne glanced at Captain Mune. The bulky, bionic soldier watched the staff, not the screens. Mune was more interested in the personnel than the battle. His hand was on the butt of his gyroc pistol. If anyone thought to assassinate the Supreme Commander, that potential assassin would die.
Hawthorne took a deep breath and then another. His insides seethed. He could not accept a seventy percent destruction of the supply convoy. There was only one way they might be able to defeat the Doom Star that was sure to join the battle. The risks, however, were terrible. It was not a present risk, but a future one. This was a dreadful moment. Hawthorne’s shoulders slumped. A trickle of sweat ran down his back. He waited, unwilling to give the order. He risked billions of lives. He risked his position as Supreme Commander. He risked even his life giving the order. Did he believe his own rhetoric? Had it all been a sham? He desperately wanted to ask someone else his or her opinion. His stomach seethed. He realized that no one else on Earth could help him. The terrible command decision was his alone. He would never be able to shift the blame onto someone else. How would history regard this decision?
No. He couldn’t worry about that. The Great Captains in the past had taken awful risks. Hannibal had lost the war against Rome because he’d been afraid to risk his splendid cavalry on a hell-ride to the gates of Rome after the annihilating Battle of Cannae.
Seventy percent of the convoy destroyed.
Supreme Commander Hawthorne lifted a trembling hand. He willed it still. Then he put his hand on the captain’s shoulder at the vidscreen. The woman looked up at him in alarm. “Issue Code Valkyrie.” Hawthorne was grateful his voice remained firm.
“Sir?” she whispered.
“Now, Captain.”
The woman leaned toward her microphone. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. She cleared her throat and spoke harshly. “Initiate Code Valkyrie,” she said, and then she added a string of numbers and letters to verify the command.
The Space Command Center grew deathly quiet as others realized the dreaded order had been given.
The order went out via radio beams. The seconds ticked by. Then select personnel on gigantic farm habitats at far-Earth orbit began to initiate desperate code sequences. Over a period of many months, they had emplaced heavy lasers onto the habitats. Social Unity had been able to achieve this feat because of the open farm habitat policy of both sides. That policy would no doubt change very soon because of Hawthorne’s order. The lasers were only supposed to be used if Earth was in imminent danger of being overrun.
There would be starvation in parts of Earth if the Highborn destroyed or captured the many habitats. Many would question the order. Hawthorne knew that. Some would believe him mad, but the full impact of his decision would not occur until months from now.
Maybe by that time, he could give Earth the news of a stunning victory at Mars. This entire campaign was a terrible gamble. Hawthorne had recognized that from the start and it had only weighed more heavily on him as the days passed. One thought gave him the strength to continue. Social Unity was losing. If they couldn’t turn the tide of the war soon, nothing would help.
Showing on countless vidscreens deep in the Space Command Center in the Joho Mountains, lasers from many farm habitats began to chew into the thick hull of the Hannibal Barca. The vast warship had massive particle shields composed of asteroid rock. Lasers chewed into that rock so dust, stones and even boulder-sized pieces began to slag off.
“Enemy lasers have changed targeting,” the captain said at her console.
The minutes ticked by as the Orion ships accelerated hard. The needed bombs dribbled one after another under the metal blast pans. The gigantic boosters gained velocity and freedom from the fierce gravity well that was the Earth.
Then, “Taping Habitat is under attack.”
Several minutes later: “Chicago Seven Habitat has taken a direct hit to its fusion core.”
“Caesar Chavez Habitat is breaking up!” someone else shouted.
Supreme Commander James Hawthorne closed his eyes. He was consigning millions to their deaths. Millions more on Earth might come to curse his name.
“There is a burn-through in Taping Hab.”
“Sir, Tel Aviv Hab has fifty percent greater firepower. They hotshotted their lasers, sir.”
Supreme Commander Hawthorne opened his eyes. He should have thought of that. Someone else should have thought of that. Next time—
Hawthorne swallowed. There would be no next time with these habitats. He stared at the vidscreen, at the lasers pouring from the many habitats and at the nearly impregnable Doom Star. He had ordered this. He would watch the grim consequences and remember. He deserved nightmares in his sleep for the rest of his life. Why did he feel so dreadfully alone?
-11-
For a brief time, the orbiting farm habitats poured laser fire into the Hannibal Barca’s heavy particle shields. Normally, the Doom Star would never have gotten close enough to have any laser hit so hard, but the habs had the element of surprise on their side. The Hannibal Barca was close indeed. Those lasers were hot and on target.
More than the massive merculite launch, more than the six proton beams, even more than the gigantic Orion ships, the heavy lasers on the farm habitats took the Highborn by surprise.
Grand Admiral Cassius roared for more speed. He sat in his command chair aboard the Julius Caesar at Lunar orbit. The clever premen had timed their attack well. Luna was presently on the opposite side of the Earth as compared to the launching Orion ships. Many of the farm habitats also used the Earth as a shield against the Julius Caesar’s lasers.
“Faster!” Cassius shouted.
Highborn could take greater G-forces than premen could, about twice as many before blacking out. The Doom Star already accelerated at six gravities. The super-ship surged through far-orbital space, moving to gain a clear line-of-fire.
“Sir, it is Commander Scipio.”
Cassius could see the holoimage of Scipio before him, a Highborn with a jutting nose.
“Destroy the farm habitats!” Cassius shouted. “Above all, keep your Doom Star intact and unharmed.”
The holoimage nodded curtly before fading out.
Cassius studied the other hologram image before him. It showed the massive Orion ships. Most of them had made it off Earth and into space. They headed for Mars. First, he would save the Hannibal Barca. Then the premen would see what long-range heavy lasers could do to the fleet heading for the Red Planet.
Three days after the battle, Grand Admiral Cassius hardened himself to demote Commander Scipio of the Hannibal Barca. It was a painful decision, as Scipio was one of his most ardent supporters. This humiliation might well cause Scipio to commit suicide.
Cassius piloted a shuttle to the Doom Star, using the quiet of the ship to think.
Scipio had targeted the Orion ships for too long before engaging the farm habitats. The Hannibal Barca had taken more damage than the Genghis Khan had on 10 May 2350. Better that Scipio had let more of the Orion ships survive than allow his ship to be damaged.
Cassius was going to need the Hannibal Barca soon and thus he could not send it to the Sun-Works Factory for repair. They would have to repair it here in the little time left them.
After a brief glance at the Earth above, Cassius studied reports. Long-range laser fire had destroyed forty-five percent of the Orion ships and the spaceships they carried. The surviving boosters spread prismatic crystals, shielding the SU spaceships headed for Mars from the long-range lasers of the two Doom Stars.