I looked at Crow. He appeared far too comfortable to me with his coffee and doughnut. Chocolate sprinkles again. I wrinkled my nose.
“What’s on your overly-fertile mind now, mate?” he asked.
“You,” I said. “You are Fleet, and I think you need to take your ships out of here.”
Crow looked a trifle more pale. “You want me to fly right into their teeth, do you?”
“No, not that. I think you should pull the fleet back. If you hover over the island, you will be priority targets. Lift off and go somewhere else. Hide behind the Moon if you like. They’ll have a hard time hitting you there.”
Crow appeared thoughtful. “Not a bad idea.”
“But be ready to come back and hit the Macros in the butt when I call you. I’ve placed a platoon of battle suits on every destroyer. Remember to get them in close, then release them. With their grenades, they can do tremendous damage if you can get them in close enough.”
Crow narrowed his eyes at me. “This isn’t just a way to get me out of your hair, is it, Kyle? Maybe you don’t want me spoiling your glory, eh?”
I smiled. “Don’t worry, if any of us live to see another day, there will be plenty of glory to go around. The cavalry always comes in to save the day at the end. That’s you.”
We talked and planned for another hour. Finally, he agreed and headed for the landing pits. I’d figured he would. He didn’t want to be at ground zero with a hundred Macro ships on the way anymore than I did.
“You should go with him, Kyle,” Sandra told me. “Leave Jasmine and I here to man this command post. I don’t trust Crow to bring the fleet home at the right moment. He’ll hold back and screw us somehow.”
I looked at the two women. Major Sarin and Sandra both looked at me with dark, pretty eyes.
“Objections noted,” I said. “But I don’t think this is the end of the game yet. I’ve got a few tricks in store for the Macros.”
“I don’t see any tricks,” Sandra said, studying the map suspiciously.
“If you don’t, then they won’t either.”
She made a face at me and I pretended not to notice. Major Sarin made a snuffling noise, it was almost a laugh. I wondered if Star Force was ever going to become as professional as a real military organization. Or if maybe we’d redefined how militaries operated. I figured that in time, we’d become tightly disciplined and bureaucratic. It seemed to happen that way in fledgling militaries throughout history. General George Washington’s army had been little more than ragged band of militia. Over the course of a few centuries, they’d transformed from the minutemen of Lexington and Concord into the most powerful, professional military force on Earth. It took time to develop a military tradition.
Before I knew it, we were down to four hours. The Macros could fire missiles at us at any time, of course, but so far they’d held back. I suspected they wanted to get in close and make their salvos count. Maybe they believed they could take us out with their belly turrets alone and salvage more of the planet that way without worrying about fallout and the like. Or maybe they wanted to run their sensors over us carefully and pick the best targets.
By the time the shooting started, Crow was in position with his fleet of ninety-odd ships behind the Moon. They could return in less than an hour if need be. I’d asked him to come back out into near Earth orbit once the fighting began to shorten that time span, but still remain safely outside of laser range. If the Macros decided to attack them, they should run. If nothing else, they would be drawing off forces from the main fight back at Andros.
So far, the Macros had ignored our fleet maneuvering. They were on course for Andros and had never wavered from that trajectory. Their intent was clear. If they came here and obliterated our base of operations, our factories, command centers and troops, they could deal with the surviving fleet later. Or our fleet would have to come and commit to attacking their rear to save Andros. Either way, their move was the smart one. Andros Island couldn’t run away, so it was an easy choice as first target.
When they were about three hours out and decelerating hard, they fired a salvo of missiles. This was much more terrifying than the first sixteen they’d sent after my ship. Each cruiser had sixteen missiles according to our estimates. They sent about half their total arsenal at us—over eight hundred missiles.
It was hard not to feel sick as the red contacts swelled on the screen. Dotted lines flickered into life all over the screen. Each of them led directly to Andros, representing the computer’s estimate of every missile’s trajectory. As they accelerated toward us, they left a solid line behind them, showing their path back to the firing ship. As we watched in stunned quiet, the trails began to curve and form gentle arcs.
“It’s too many, Kyle,” Sandra said. “We couldn’t even stop sixteen before—how can we stop this? Nothing will live on the entire island.”
“Not if they get here,” I said. “But we’ve got better than a thousand automated guns aimed at the sky right now. And we’ve got some other moves to make. ETA on those missiles, Major Sarin?”
“They are still accelerating. The computer says…forty-nine minutes, Colonel.”
I glanced at Major Sarin. Sandra was biting her lip, but Sarin was still cool. I wasn’t sure if that was due to a greater trust in my abilities as a commander or a natural personality flaw that kept fear at bay.
“Major Sarin,” I said, “we need some help. Get General Kerr on the line.”
This time, there was no delay. Kerr was indeed sitting on his phone.
“Looks like you’re toast, Riggs,” he said. “Sorry to see it happen. Can’t say as I’m surprised, though.”
“Thanks for that vote of confidence, General. I need your help. You know those twenty-odd subs you have floating around Andros, hugging my shores?”
Kerr hesitated. “That is on a need-to-know basis—”
“Screw all that,” I said. “I think it is clear we both need to know. I know because we have better sensors than you might realize, and because you once invaded Andros with troops from those same submarines.”
“If you are asking me to unload marines on your doomed island, Riggs, you had better think again.”
“Not at all, sir. I want you to unload something else. According to my intel, six of those subs are Ohio-class boomers, sir.”
Kerr made a strangled sound.
“Don’t bother to deny it,” I told him. “Like I said—we have nanotech, better sensors, etc. I need those six subs to surface and fire their nuclear missiles. I need atmospheric bursts in the path of the Macro barrage. Lots of them. All at more or less the same time, with interlocking blast patterns. The concentric shockwaves will knock out the enemy missiles.”
“Riggs, I don’t have the authority—”
“You are sitting in NORAD. Get the authority. Talk to the President. Talk to God, I don’t care. Just get those missiles armed and fire them. If you don’t stop that barrage, you’ll lose the subs anyway from concussion.”
“What?”
“You heard me. We’ve plotted out every impact point. You’d better believe I’m not going to fire on anything that’s coming down over the water.”
“It’ll take time, Riggs. I don’t guarantee anything.”
“Those are Ohio-class subs. I’m not sure what mix of tridents and tomahawks they have aboard. I’m hoping for tridents so they can reach up to a sub-orbital altitude and stop the missiles, but even low-flying tomahawks should be able to put up a concussive barrier. I’ll feed you all the target coordinates and recommended timing from our brainboxes.”