The bridge was silent. Clark lay back in his couch trying to imagine the enemy vessel…three times the tonnage of the Yorktown class battleships that were the pride of the Alliance navy. And stuffed with technology centuries more advanced than anything found on one of the Yorktowns. The implications were overwhelming. If that thing was loaded up with antimatter weapons, Third Fleet didn’t have a chance.
“Enemy fleet number two is on a course to rendezvous with the first force…” There were a few seconds of silence as James rechecked his calculations. It wasn’t easy concentrating at 20g. “…approximately ten light minutes from Farpoint.”
“Very well.” The best laid plans, Clark thought to himself. Even if he’d gotten the first enemy force to launch all its antimatter ordnance, this second group probably had enough to take out West’s ships at long range. He had to do something.
“Commander James, all ships are to prepare to cease thrusting and await a new course.”
“But admiral, our retreat vectors are carefully calculated. If we’re off by so much as a fraction of a degree we’ll miss the ECM corridor.” James didn’t add that if they missed the prepared defensive array they had very little chance of surviving the pursuing missiles.
“I’m aware of that, commander.” Clark’s voice was icy. He had fought back an instant of doubt, but he knew what he had to do. What his people had to do. “Now carry out my orders.”
“Yes, sir.” James sounded suitably chastised…and scared as well.
“Sussex Control, calculate a fleet attack vector to intercept the second enemy force.” Clark’s resolve was firm.
“How do you want the fleet to approach, admiral?” The AI’s voice was calm and professional, quite unaffected by the intense pressure of 20g thrust or the enormous danger posed by Admiral Clark’s new plan.
“Directly at them.” Clark sounded strangely calm for a man ordering his force to make a suicidal charge. “We’re going right down their throats.”
Erica West stared straight ahead with an intensity that could have bored through solid plasti-steel. After months of preparation, it was time. Finally she would give the enemy a real fight. If they wanted Farpoint, they were going to have to take it from her.
Her defense in depth strategy had paid off, delaying the enemy attack forces and forcing them to expend ordnance. She would soon find out if the enemy’s logistical problems were as severe as the high command thought.
She was trying not to think about Sam Clark and his people. She wasn’t sure they were all dead – at least she wanted to believe some of them might have survived. If they were alive, she wouldn’t know. Their only hope was to run silent and pray the enemy lost track of them.
She sighed softly. The operation had been as carefully designed as possible. West was determined that it not be a suicide mission, and she’d meticulously planned the task force’s escape route. But she hadn’t planned for the enemy to come in through both warp gates.
One thing she knew for sure…alive or dead, Sam Clark was going to get the Navy Starburst. It was the highest decoration a naval officer could be awarded, and she just wished she had something even more meaningful to honor the bravery of her second-in-command and his crews. Somehow, Clark’s ships had gotten close enough to the second enemy task force to induce at least some of the ships to launch or jettison their antimatter weapons. She had no idea how he’d done it, but from the flood of Delta-Z signals, it hadn’t come cheap. In the aftermath of her successful ambush at Cornwall, it appeared the enemy was closely following its antimatter protocols. It remained to be seen whether Clark had stripped the entire enemy fleet or just a portion of it, but West was grateful for every antimatter warhead expended in deep space instead of fired at her fleet.
Third Fleet had been reinforced, its OB strengthened by the addition of two capital ships, including one of the Yorktown class behemoths. By all rights she should have transferred her flag to Princeton, but Cambrai had served her well, and she wasn’t going to abandon the old girl now. It just didn’t seem right somehow. For better or worse, Third Fleet would be led from the most ancient battleship in the navy.
“Enemy fleet has passed previously identified launch zone for anti-matter powered missiles.” West had instructed her AI to advise her on the attacker’s progress. It was highly redundant – West herself was monitoring the enemy’s status more or less constantly.
“Thank you, Athena.” West preferred to work directly through her AI. It was quicker and more efficient, and her staff was used to being bypassed. Some officers, older ones in particular, liked a more traditional workflow, barking out orders to their tactical and comm officers, who then worked through the AIs. She thought that was hidebound and inefficient, but a lot of flag officers felt it kept their staffs sharper and more engaged.
West glanced down at her screen, which displayed a projected plot of the enemy fleet. They were decelerating hard, and her scanners were easily picking up the massive energy output. She didn’t know the detection capability of the enemy vessels – that was one piece of the puzzle the Alliance didn’t have – but her ships were putting out a lot less energy, and they would be harder to pick up.
“Athena, execute Alpha launch.”
“Executing, admiral.” Farpoint’s orbital fortresses supported several wings of fighter-bombers, and now the bay doors opened and 90 of the sleek attack craft launched.
“Prepare for Beta launch. All crews to the launch bays.” West’s three capital ships carried another 54 bombers. They were scheduled to launch when the fortress-based squadrons were two light-seconds out, giving them time to accelerate and match course and velocity. West wanted her attack craft going in as one big strike force. They all had enhanced power cells, increasing their range and allowing her to launch them before the missile volleys. They had a job to do, one a bit different than usual…but no one had ever accused Erica West of adherence to orthodoxy.
Commander Greta Hurley leaned back in her acceleration couch and double checked her ship’s status. Princeton’s strike force commander was set to lead the combined bomber wings…144 attack craft in all. Hurley was a veteran bomber pilot with years of service. She’d fought in Admiral Garret’s massive victory at Gliese 250 during the war and two dozen other engagements. She’d been in more than one battle where fewer than half the bombers that launched came back, but this one was different…she knew that much. This time she wasn’t sure any of them would make it back. And if they did, they probably wouldn’t have any place to land anyway. There weren’t too many illusions in the fleet about what they were going to face.
Third Fleet’s morale was surprisingly good - that was Admiral West’s doing. She’d shuttled around, speaking to the various ships’ crews in person and reminding them how important this fight was. She’d realized the waiting would be the hardest part, and she had resolved to do whatever was necessary to help her people stay ready. Even a jaded veteran like Greta Hurley was affected by West’s inspiring leadership.
Now Hurley lay in her couch awaiting the final launch order. After months of preparation, training, and waiting, it was almost time. Her crews were ready, she was sure of that. This mission was like none she’d ever flown. When Admiral West first suggested it, Hurley had been doubtful, but now she was completely convinced…certain that West’s plan was brilliant. It would be difficult, but if her people could pull it off it might make a big difference in the battle.
The status light on her screen switched to yellow, indicating the launch order was imminent. She switched her com to the force-wide frequency. “Alright people, let’s activate our couches and prepare for launch.” She settled back in her own couch and whispered to her AI, “Activate.”