Geary focused intently, trying to close out normal fear, trying to find some room to maneuver against these opponents. But there didn’t seem to be any, not when the opponent had nine hundred ships too close and coming on too fast, and he usually had a lot more time to think things through, to evaluate the situation before making plans. In this situation, he knew too little and had too little time. “Advantages,” he muttered.
“We’ve got a lot more firepower,” Desjani pointed out. “And with our ships moving away at maximum acceleration, and the aliens caught in a stern chase, that reduces the closing rate. That means we’ll be within firing range of those things for minutes instead of milliseconds, giving us a lot more time to pound them. On the other hand, one shot from a hell lance probably isn’t going to take out one of those. We’ll likely need multiple hits, and there are so many of those things that we’d have to fire repeatedly as fast as possible. The weapon systems aren’t designed for that.”
“I know all that!” Why was she telling him things he already knew when what he needed was answers? All right, maybe he hadn’t thought all of that through yet, but he would have. His reply came out sharp and abrupt, fed by an awful sense of futility, and he saw her answering frown.
Glowering at her display, Desjani sat back, pointedly ignoring him as she prepared her ship for action.
Damn. I don’t need this kind of personal distraction. Why the hell does she have to be so sensitive now, of all of times? She’s the best damned ship driver I’ve got, and if anyone could maneuver us through this, it would be her, though she’d probably prefer just charging at those—
Geary’s mind froze, trying to retrack and find the idea that had almost been lost as it had raced past at the speed of thought multiplied by irritation and dismay. Charging. “Tanya.”
“What? Sir.”
“We don’t know how maneuverable they are. But we can judge how fast they can move since they must be coming at us at their maximum sustained capability. We have a very narrow chance to control when we come into contact with these attackers, but we’ll have to time our own maneuvers just right.”
Her glower didn’t subside, but Desjani’s expression took on a calculating measure. “They could be holding their velocity down to ensure their own targeting systems are effective and preserve their fuel reserves for what might be a long chase, but more likely we’re seeing the best they can do.” Desjani’s eyes were narrowed as she looked at her display, as if she were aiming a weapon. Raising her voice, she addressed her watch-standers without taking her eyes from the display. “I want human eyes on the fleet sensor readings. The sensors are telling me they haven’t identified any weapons on the alien craft yet. Tell me what you see.”
There was a pause as the officers and senior enlisted personnel called up and focused intently on the depictions of the alien craft created by the sensors, then a lieutenant spoke slowly. “Captain, maybe they do things really differently from us, but I can’t see anything that looks like firing ports or hard points. No external weapons are visible, and there’s nothing that could blow out or open to allow internal missiles to fire. They’re just tubes.”
“Bullets,” Lieutenant Castries said. “Really big bullets.”
Desjani swung her head to look at the others, and all of them nodded; then she finally looked at Geary again. “We have to assume that those things don’t carry weapons, they are weapons. Since those craft don’t have stand-off weapons, we do have some chance to decide when we engage. That’s the bright side of it. I’m not still boring you with things you already know, am I?”
“I’m sorry. I’m under a bit of pressure right now—”
“If Dauntless is destroyed, Admiral, then you and I both die. What’s your idea?”
Geary kept his reply short. “Concentrate the fleet by reducing acceleration sequentially by unit type.”
“Produce an easier target for the aliens that they’ll catch sooner? That’s counterintuitive, at least. Concentrating the force . . . sequentially?” She paused, thinking, then Desjani’s hands were moving, tracing maneuvers on her display. “I see what you’re thinking. It won’t be pretty, but it might work, and it beats any option I’ve come up with.”
“Link me to your display so we can do this fast.” The next few minutes passed in a blur as Geary worked on his maneuvering display, planning out hundreds of ship movements in conjunction with Desjani as the maneuvering systems automatically generated orders for the necessary turns, accelerations, and decelerations for each individual ship while also figuring out how to avoid collisions as all of those ships darted through the same region of space. It was the sort of problem that would have taken humans weeks to work out, but the fleet systems produced answers instantly in response to the commands that Geary and Desjani were entering.
Of course, every system, no matter how good, still generated a few flaws, a few errors. Ideally, people would have time to discover those using the intuitive ability of the human mind to scan over a big picture and spot tiny inconsistencies. But there was no time for that now. He could only hope that those inevitable errors wouldn’t be critical ones. Two ships crossing the same point at the same moment in time would produce one cloud of debris and zero survivors.
“You’ll need to let individual ships maneuver independently when the attackers get close enough,” Desjani cautioned. “That will seriously stress the ability of the maneuvering systems to predict movements of other warships and avoid collisions.”
“I don’t have any alternative, do I?”
“Nope. But you already knew that, didn’t you?” she added.
Even with nine hundred alien attackers closing on the fleet, Geary couldn’t help wincing at Desjani’s jab. “Yes. But please keep telling me things I already know.”
“I’ll consider it. This plan looks as good as we can possibly manage in the time available.”
He nonetheless paused to look over it, dismayed by the hundreds of separate projected tracks for individual ships weaving in and out of each other in a pattern so dense it almost resembled an impossibly huge tangle of string. The time counter in one corner was scrolling down, indicating that he had only two minutes left to order these maneuvers, or else there would be too little time for the individual ships to execute them, and a whole new plan would have to be crafted. Murmuring a prayer to his ancestors to ask the living stars to keep his ships safe, Geary hit the approve command, and the plan flashed out to every warship, transport, and auxiliary in the fleet.
“This is Admiral Geary to all units. Individual ship movement orders are en route to you. Our attempts to communicate with the inhabitants of this star system have yielded no results, and the force closing on us appears intent on a fight. We will engage these alien craft and destroy every one that threatens our ships. After doing as much damage to the attackers as we can using the orders being transmitted, be prepared for follow-on orders for every warship to maneuver independently as required by the actions of the enemy.” He had a momentary impulse to add something stupid like try not to collide with other ships, but managed to block the words before actually saying them. “We will re-form following the engagement.” Assuming there are enough of us left to re-form. But I do need to say something else. We’re going into a tough fight. I have to tell everyone that I expect victory despite how bad things look. “Let’s show whoever lives in this star system that they made a serious mistake when they chose to attack the Alliance fleet. To the honor of our ancestors, Geary, out.”