“Are they holding back reserves?”
“I don’t know. Everyone we see is heading inbound at the moment. If it keeps up much longer, it will be difficult for them to reinforce from the rear. They won’t be able to catch up.”
“They might turn around.”
“I hope they do. It would let us focus on fewer ships for a while.”
“Good point. How many squadrons do we have?”
“When they all get here, 160. A lot of them are partial squadrons.”
“How are the Rebels deployed?”
“In what I’m calling ‘units’ of four squadrons. It’s a little early to say, but I’m starting to see some consolidation. One group of twelve squadrons has formed into what I’m calling a ‘wing,’ and I suspect others might do the same, but I’m not certain.”
Always trying to simplify, Trexler did the math in his head, but because of his foot, now crying out for attention, the simple math took a couple of tries. If all the attacking Rebels formed into wings, there would be roughly 40 wings. His eyes lit up at the implications. “You think the others are forming into wings?”
“Too early to say. I’ve been plotting trajectories, but it’s slow work, and I don’t have enough plots yet.”
“This is critical, Steve. If you’re right, if they all form into wings, you’ve defined a whole strategy for us. Put every resource you can spare to working on plots.”
Trexler closed his eyes while Brinson went back to work. Seeton woke him an hour later. He held out a large cup of coffee to him, which he accepted gratefully.
“How’s it going?”
Seeton pulled Brinson from his display. Brinson spoke. “I’m not a hundred percent certain, Ray, but I think they’ll all be in wings within the next week. They’re definitely not making it obvious, and no other wings have formed yet, but my predictive plots point to the possibility of wing formations for a fair number of them.”
“Why would they do that?”
“For the same reason we might: ease of management. Someone has to call the shots for them, and you can’t do it for 500 individual squadrons. It’s not a bad idea, Ray.”
“How many Terran-manned squadrons do we have?”
“Fifty-three slow squadrons from Buskin, and the 10 slow squadrons you converted to minimal crews at Orion III, though they don’t have Waverly’s gunners back aboard yet. That adds up to 63 cruisers, all without support ships. Then there are the 21 original squadrons we put together at Parsons’ World. All 21 are fast ships with full complements of frigates and fighters. So out of our 160 squadrons, 84 are manned by Terrans.”
“Have there been any engagements yet?”
“No. Chandrajuski is working with Sam Taylor. They’re putting a plan together for fast squadrons to probe individual units for Chessori. Each of our fast squadrons will be trailed by two Empire fast squadrons, at least initially. If Chessori are encountered, the Rebel units will be marked, and everyone will withdraw and head for another unit. Slow Terran squadrons will go back to engage the Chessori, and slow Empire squadrons will be sent to the purely Rebel units.”
“Slow and tedious.”
“But it will be effective. Planning time spent now, up front, will pay dividends in the long run. We have to locate the Chessori before Empire ships can go it alone. It’s a numbers game. I think the goal of the Rebels is to break through to Aldebaran I, though what they’ll do with it once they get there, I have no idea.”
“It’s political, Steve. They want to claim the sector for themselves, and whoever controls the planet controls the sector. You know all that. I know you do.”
“Well, like I said, it’s a numbers game, and it’s looking real grim.”
“Actually, if you’re right about the wing formations, I think we’ve won. And in spite of all the hard work us Terrans have done, it’s the Empire that’s going to win this battle for us. You’ve met Harry Seeton. He’s Sector Commander here, and he’s been planning this battle for a long time. Tell him, Harry.”
“The short and sweet of it is that I have 673 squadrons nearby, just waiting for my call.”
Steve Brinson’s face lost all expression as he considered, then his gaze met Seeton’s. “Oh, well done, sir.”
There was silence for a time. Brinson broke it, saying, “We still have to identify which units have Chessori. It will take a while.”
“No, it won’t,” Trexler replied. “We’re not going to identify units. We’re going to pull back and let them finish consolidating into wings. Each wing will be Chessori or pure Rebel. They can’t function together, so they won’t be mixed. If your guess is right about them consolidating into wings, they’ll have 41 wings. We have 84 Terran-manned squadrons, and 21 of them are fast.”
Brinson turned completely away from the display, imagining in his mind the picture Trexler painted. “We have won.”
“I need to get Chandrajuski, M’Coda, and Sam Taylor here for a conference. We can’t discuss this over the radio, and a little extra time taken now will pay dividends in a few days. Steve, your job is to put a tag on every Rebel unit. Every Rebel squadron if you can. We have to figure they’ll discern our strategy. When they do, they might break up the wings, and maybe the units. We need to keep track of which ones are Chessori. That will be key to the whole battle.”
“Understood, sir. Uh, wouldn’t it be more appropriate for you to go to Chandrajuski?”
“It would, if I didn’t have to go to sick bay. The meeting can’t wait, and I need some pain relief or I won’t be any good to anyone.”
He turned to Seeton. “Harry, this is Chandrajuski’s show, but getting these slow ships positioned is extremely time critical. We have to get started now. Here’s the strategy: we were fighting defensively, just trying to hold the sector, but now we’re going on the offense. Your squadrons will make all the difference. We want to force the Rebels to pull in their reserves so we can take them out along with everyone else. They won’t pull them in unless they think they can win, so we can’t show our whole hand just yet or we’ll scare them off. I’m thinking that maybe two hundred of your ships should come in now. I think that will get the Rebels thinking about those reserves. They might even commit them. When they do, we can pull in the rest of your guys. What do you think?”
“I think you were wrong when you said this battle could not be managed, sir. Where will Chandrajuski want my ships?”
Trexler turned to Brinson. “Steve?”
“Look at the display, Ray. We’re scattered, but not nearly as scattered as the Rebels.”
“I’m not ready to look at the display yet. This is nice and simple in my mind, and I don’t want to lose the big picture. This foot is a real attention-getter.”
Steve Brinson went back to his display, and Seeton joined him. They considered options for a time while Trexler sat back with his eyes closed. His foot was on fire, completely overshadowing the throbbing along his jaw. “We’ve decided, Ray,” Brinson finally said.
“Then do it. I’m calling the conference together. I hope they’ll listen.”
Seeton got up and came to him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “If he doesn’t listen to you, he’ll listen to me. We go back a long way together.”
Trexler struggled to his feet and limped to the tight beam station. “Link me to Admiral Chandrajuski, and have Admiral Taylor standing by.”
It was hard to tell when a Gamordian was stressed, but Chandrajuski looked stressed when he appeared. “Welcome back, Ray,” he said. “Can this wait?”
“No, sir. I want you to pull back all your assets for a few hours and come here for a conference. I promise you it will be worth your while.”
“Time is of the essence. Can you come here?”
“No, sir. I’m on the way to sick bay.”
“You’re sick? This is not the best of times for that, my friend.”
“Not sick. Wounded. It’s not bad, and I’m functional, but I badly need some pain relief. I can get started on that while you’re enroute.”
The great eyes blinked, and Trexler could tell Chandrajuski was on the point of refusing his request.