Something nagged at Commodore Fensha’s conscious with the persistence of a student that felt he missed answering a question on a final exam. All the Amber contacts have been confirmed as Axis, with the largest one, Amber 4, still heading for the anchorage. In that group were three heavy cruisers, three frigates, a small freighter, eight undersized corvettes and six DN-sized freighters. Those last six ships were pegged as tentative pinnace carriers, that or the Axis Fleet Command came up with something else entirely. Fensha looked at both the main flatpanel display and the now-active holoimager in the base’s command post. It was a suspicion that he needed someone else to recognize. He called the base commander to come to his side. “Nolsus, what do you make of the report the scouts sent on Amber 4?”
“The shuttle and cutter activity?” Nolsus acknowledged. “Odd, to say the least. If those six dreadnought-sized freighters are pinnace carriers then it follows they would have their own magazines. Why they would choose to transfer supplies just one hour shy of the anchorage is a mystery.”
“It’s not a total mystery. Look,” Fensha pointed to one particular icon in the holoimager. “Thanks to sensor data obtained during the liberation of the Pyrocumulus system we can say with a fair degree of certainty that the contact is a freighter-hulled, destroyer-sized troopship. I surmise they simply waited until the last moment to transfer troops so as to extend the life support of whatever shuttles, assault shuttles, and regular pinnaces they may happen to be carrying.”
“Commodore, you believe they’ll attempt a boarding action against our bases? They’re bound to take huge casualties, both in the approach and actual hand-to-hand combat.”
Fensha’s right eye blinked twice and focused on Nolsus. “They brought a troopship along in the hopes of boarding and capturing any ship, or base for that matter, they came across. We have to plan according.” He shifted both eyes onto Mokana, his Operations Officer. “Ops, inform the security detachments on all bases and ships to hand out whatever firearms and ammunition they have in their armories. The anchorage can expect boarding actions to occur once the enemy is engaged. All units will only keep critical areas pressurized for the duration. Also, engage first-stage database elimination protocols. As the Axis isn’t known to take prisoners it’s our computers and the data they contain that they’re after.”
“Aye, aye, Commodore,” acknowledged Mokana.
“Depressurizing will have everyone not in the security detachments wearing environmental suits. That will put our defenders at a disadvantage, Commodore,” said Nolsus. “Casualties will be greater.”
“The same goes for the enemy, Flag Lieutenant. We’re going to make them choke on their own oxygen-starved blood.”
********
Fanmet wanted to wipe away the sweat he felt on his palms, but knew that the material in the environment suit gloves whisked it away as soon as it was produced. He was in the shuttle operations center on the Falconer, serving as the overall strike coordinator. One didn’t need to see him to sense that he wanted to be aboard a Stiletto. He wanted to fly the craft into battle on an elemental level, but the dictates of command required him to be at where he was now. Still, his left hand gripped a portion of his work station like it was a shuttle’s launch lever. With the chronometer inexorably counting down to launch Fanmet went over the numbers in his mind one more time.
The combined flight groups from the six Falconers equaled 306 Stiletto escort shuttles, and of that number one out of six carried 100 troops each for boarding actions. As the positional drives on the bases produced a substantially weaker interdiction field, allowing the Stilettos to bulldog their way in, all that was needed was to bring down the shields. All the troop-carrying shuttles had two antimatter close attack missile with the rest each having one such missile and a laser pack. All 18 F1 Hatchets from the escort cruisers will be used, tasked to destroy the trio of small type-2 bases since they were deemed unworthy to be boarded.
An annoying buzzer filled the air, and the deck rumbled as the Falconer and her five sister ships launched their broods at the 10 light-second mark from the bases. With shuttles and fighters moving at .133c the big ships, the shuttle carriers and their CA escorts, followed at .05c. On their external racks were loaded nuke-armed SBMs to take advantage of any base or ship that used point defense against their attackers. Fanmet would rather have the big ships 9 light-seconds out, for both of the huge type-6 bases could hold as many 25 SBMs on their external racks. Prime Commander Ashton, however, had timed the movement so that when the strike was a point blank range the ships would be 8.25 light seconds out. So it would be a fish-or-cut-bait situation for the Aboms, decided whether or not to spare some point defense against a missile volley that may or not exist.
For a full 90 seconds there was no response from the Aboms, causing Fanmet to wonder if the big bases were missile instead of fighter platforms. It was inconceivable that the enemy would pass up the opportunity to destroy, if not critically damage, one shuttle carrier during the run in. As if responding to allay Fanmets fears, the bases launched their fighters and armed pinnaces. 36 of the former and 54 of the latter moved as one, the anticipated intercept just two light seconds shy of the shuttle’s primary targets.
Fanmet felt some relief that there were so few fighters, with 12 coming from the type-5 and 24 from a type-6 base. This was evidence that the Aboms was using the Twins to prep uncrated fighters for carriers to pickup. With so few fighters on hand it was clear that a transfer was conducted just days if not weeks earlier. Had those two bases been at full strength then it was conceivable that the Aboms would’ve launched a long-range strike instead of waiting at the last moment.
Transfixed on his readout screens Fanmet could only wait until the combat was played out. Being faster, the 36 Abom fighters were atop the Stilettos with the armed pinnaces just one-quarter of a light second behind. In absolute numbers the Axis had the advantage, but the odds were that for every six Stilettos shot down at least one of them would be a troop carrier. He grimaced as he watched the losses mount up, each shuttle that was destroyed had its designator on his screen briefly lighting up before during dark. Of the 74 Stilettos destroyed in the exchange, 24% of the entire force, 14 had boarding parties aboard for a total of 1,844 casualties. It was fortunate that the losses weren’t higher, given that defenses on the bases and the three ships were imponderables until the very last moment. Fanmet made himself breathe, lest that he should pass out at the moment of Axis victory.
********
“I’ve never been in a stampede before,” said Fensha as the holoimager became less saturated with icons, some of the enemy and the rest belonging to the defenders. “Now I know how wranglers must’ve felt when losing control of their herds.”
Nolsus looked away from the repeater screen at his control station so as to look at the holoimager for himself. Against such numbers the outcome was expected, thought some hope was held out that a fraction of the Whale crews were able to eject, as their flight decks and engineering spaces were also self-contained life pods. “At least herds of cattle aren’t equipped with lasers. It’s confirmed that the Axis small craft are armed with antimatter, Commodore. As for the craft themselves they have fired as individuals, and are halfway between a shuttle and pinnace in regards to mass. What they’re using as a point-defense equivalent is more potent than that found on a pinnace.”
“Commodore,” said Mokana from the master plot, located next to the holoimager tank, “the three heavy cruisers and six shuttle carriers have entered range of our externally-mounted SBMs. Enemy small craft continue to close on the anchorage and will be at point blank range presently.”
Fensha’s inner eyelids blinked as he continued to view the oncoming wave of overgrown shuttles with dread. A composite image of one such shuttle, based on visual, laser and radar readings, floated at the bottom of the holotank. It looked cartoonish in its proportions, like a pregnant roller skate with stubby wings that swept up at the tips. There was no doubt that had Crajen small craft guild masters seen such a craft they would’ve broken out in laughter. Fensha himself would’ve heaped scorn upon such a design like an overly opinionated teacher berating a classroom if the situation wasn’t so dire. “Very well. Continue with the engagement plan in regards to the small craft. As it would be a waste to fire upon a shuttle carrier that’s going to be riding empty direct all SBMs against one of the heavy cruisers.”
“Aye, aye, Commodore.”
Like a swarm of angry pipe fish the Axis shuttles and fighters enveloped the bases, but before the first Axis unit could achieve its fire-control solution a pair of bases, a type-6 and type-2, opened up first with all of their weapons. Eight Hatchet fighters and nine Stilettos were shot down, exploding like unstable fireworks against the backdrop of space. Thanks to the jamming from the fighter base the Hatchets were forced to fire as individuals, diluting their waning strength. Just one laser-tipped SBM got past the point defense of an escort cruiser to scour its armor in this first exchange.
Retribution was swift and inexorable like an avalanche. All three type-2 bases ruptured and split up into their prefab parts from the pounding they received, and joining them were the two Valhallan cruisers and the tug. Care was taken to only bring down the shields of the bigger type-5 and type-6 bases, and for that only 40 Stilettos were bagged along with 14 of the 18 Hatchets. One Axis cruiser did lose all of its armor from the SBM-LTs fired by the bases. It was a pitiful consolation prize compared to what was done to the anchorage, but one final opportunity for the bases to wipe away more shuttles presented itself.
To aid their troop-laden brethren all of the laser-armed Stilettos made it look like they were going to attach themselves to the bases’ hulls as well. Defensive fire was hellish, especially from the type-6 fighter base with its baker’s dozen of point defense mounts and four advanced launchers. Unable to engage engine modulation, the Stilettos had to take the angry torrent of point-defense laser and railgun fire in stride. Pulling away at the last moment the remainder made it past the defensive envelope of the bases at the cost of 62 of their number, including 12 that held boarding parties.
Mokana had the holoimager display representations of the three large bases. Terpla’n bases were flat discs that reminded one of stories of mythical aliens in equally ancient stories. “Reports coming in, Commodore. We have six of those large shuttles attached to our hull in a more or less circular pattern. Shark Reef-07 has five and Lagoon-02 has seven. Station security is sending teams to each impending breach site and accelerating the handing out of weapons from the armories.”
Fensha’s fingers rested on the holster for his pulsar, a handgun-size version of the weapon used by station security used to combat boarders. It fired glass beads coated in synthetic diamonds, very effective in putting down vac-suited opponents yet does minimal damage to interior structure and bulkheads. The same can’t be said of the enemy, however. “Very well, Ops. What is the estimated number of troops carried by those shuttles?”
“Approximately 100, allowing for a crew of at least five, Commodore.”
“We’re going to have a fight on our hands,” commented Nolsus as he watched the progress of station security at his command station’s screens. “That’s six companies’ worth of boarders on this base.”
Fensha blinked. “Ops, inform Lagoon-02 to go ahead and purge their astrogation databases. They have 700 boarders and far fewer defenders. The primary goal for all base security forces is to defeat the enemy and defend the shield generator compartments. The enemy can’t leave as long as one shield unit is up and operating. No prisoners will be taken until after the battle, assuming any will be alive in unpressurized compartments.”
“Aye, aye, Commodore.”
*******
The small Axis force at the Kerama Retto/Shunt warp point could only listen to the reports beamed at them from the main force while keeping vigil over the insubstantial flaw in space/time. Over an hour had gone by since the boarding actions started at the Abom anchorage though with the time delay the watch force had to wait over 30 minutes to learn the progress of the boarding parties. The delay worked the other way as well, so Prime Commander Ashton would hear what was happening at the warp point 30 minutes later as well.
The miniscule CAP, composed of three fighters, was surprised by the appearance of a battlecruiser that emerged from the warp point. Following the ship were five more: a CL, FGE, and another BC, CL and FGE. All of them went through one particular patch of the minefield at full speed, armed with the knowledge that the now-destroyed control base had deactivated those particular mines earlier. The three Hatchets weren’t surprised for long, and although were limited at half-speed their weapon systems went on-line, angling for the second battlecruiser. First to fire, however, was the CSF escort frigate Hotfoot. Despite transit-addled fire control a single Hatchet erupted into a boil of light, confirming that it had antimatter close attack missiles on its racks. The remaining two scored hits, breaking down the shields and scouring two-thirds of the armor before the second escort frigate, the Boiler, fell one of them.
Of the five Axis ships only the regular Flak Lighter initially came to action stations. The Tracker Leader scout was nine light-seconds out, safe at the moment, but the four undersized corvettes were four light seconds out with the lead battlecruiser, which happened to be the pinnace tender Curtys, only 1.5 light seconds away. Stuck at a crawl until such time their crews were at action stations the three Flak Carriers turned away as the CSF ships from the first wave consolidated while the second wave, made up of another BC, CL, and FGE, transited from Shunt. Fire control stabilized, the Curtys’ long range scanners were able to distinguish the carriers thanks to their lack of shields. Of the twelve laser-tipped capital missiles fired by the Curtys and Bayyar eight locked-on and six slipped past last-ditch point defense fire. The Curtys’ laser also hit, sealing the first Flak Carrier’s fate as the last hanger bay had a Hatchet loaded with antimatter close attack missiles. It wasn’t so much ripped apart but exploded like a balloon as the antimatter ordnance went off in the little ship’s magazine.
A CL and FGE fired at another Flak Carrier, and enough damage was scored with CM-Lts and CAMs that an occupied hanger bay was crushed with its antimatter-armed Hatchet inside. The fireball of the doomed ship was fit for a fireworks display, complete with multiple stroboscopic explosions. Knowing it was just spitting in the enemy’s eye the Flak Lighter fired its sole CAM at the Cannucut, scoring a hit that further scoured the armor. The big ship’s laser missed, and though the Boiler’s CAMs hit it wasn’t enough to reach the last Flak Carrier’s hanger bays. Due to that shortfall it was able to launch its brood. Knowing his ship was the target the Cannucut’s captain broke formation to keep its distance from the quartet and was kept company by the Boiler and Hotfoot. This maneuver, however, placed the ship in the path of the remaining Hatchet from CAP. Now unarmed, the pilot took his craft in a suicide run on the big ship but missed, becoming a target of the Hotfoot’s point defense. As for the quartet they were all splashed by the Boiler and Cannucut’s point defense.
The second wave ships fired their CM-Lts at the remaining Flak Carrier, and combined with the Curtys’ laser, made it an immobile wreck. Poking along at .05c, the Flak Lighter could only become a live target as the Curtys, Cannucut and Almandra kept up a barrage of laser fire. The ship and the last Flak Carrier were rendered into expanding patches of debris. On the Curtys’ bridge Captain Bensae turned to display his smile to one Lieutenant (sg) Davke. “Well, let us hope that will be the only time my ship is called upon to perform in the assault role.”
“I’m thankful we didn’t need to use our Whales, Captain,” said the relieved pinnace jockey, “and that the Cannucut’s hull remains unbreached, if only barely. If the number crunchers on Oyster Cove-02 have it right we might be facing almost three times our number in armed pinnaces. Those Tzelan carriers and their veteran squadrons will go a long way to level the playing field.”
“That remains to be seen. Communications,” said Bansae as he shifted his attention, “contact our observing scout. Also, send a drone to Shunt so that Simm knows it’s safe to transit.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
Bensae fished a stick of mackerel jerky from a belt pouch and bit off a quarter of it. He let it rest at the side of his mouth so as to save the taste longer. “Master Plot, where’s that no-good Axis gadfly?”
“Still hanging out 9 light seconds from the formation, Captain,” said the senior sensor tech.
“Captain, are you going to recommend to Simm to use one or two of his new Fireflies squadrons to run down that ship?” Davke asked. Due to the veteran status of its flight groups, Simm’s task element was among the first to receive the new F2 fighters. They can run down any scout, even if it detunes engines, and still carry enough ordnance to destroy it.
“While they’re capable of doing that, Davke, I’ll recommend to Simm to hold onto his Fireflies and preserve their secret for as long as practical. Plus we have some more new toys. That reminds me. Comm, inform all ships to commence reloading external racks with missiles equipped with the new model of laser warheads. The frigates will get their missiles from the light cruisers.”
“Aye, Sir. We now have a reply from our scout. It has sent a download of the situation at the anchorage as of 32 minutes ago. Sending the data to Operations for processing. It will be on the primary screen in a few moments.”
“Thank you, Comm.” Bansae and Davke waited, and were treated to a digital panorama of the anchorage and data light codes on the huge flat panel screen.
“This is going to take some overtime,” Davke finally said after digesting the update, chewing on two sticks of mackerel jerky at the side of his mouth. “There are 130 of those ugly little spots of bother remaining and 18 of those have disembarked boarding parties on the three big bases.” While unspoken, everyone on the bridge knew how Davke felt at the loss of 54 Whale crews, crews that he had trained over the past few weeks so thoroughly and thoughtfully. Only the intensified grip on the twin jerky sticks betrayed his inner emotions.
Bansae had a momentary, but involuntary glance at Davke. His pinnace commander had his share of losses before, especially in the first combat deployment of the Curtys. Despite the self-deprecating manner he maintained with his own strikegroup, and the tough image he projected for everyone else Davke actually cared for his trainees. In one unguarded moment he referred to his Valhallan charges as ‘his kids’, and readily admitted to Bansae over drinks in the ward room that he had been overly harsh in the initial dressing-down following the first training exercise debacle. Later, definitely much later, Bansae had some words to say to Davke. “At least their fighter strength is practically non-existent. I want you and Simm’s strikewing commander to mash the grey matter and figure out a way to counter this new Axis small craft. They’re faster than a Whale and have a point defense system that is demonstratively equal to that found a Phyr escort frigate.”
“Aye, Captain. We’ll find something that’ll pull the starch out of their bony faces.”
*******
Of the ongoing combat on the bases the struggle on Lagoon-02 got resolved first. Despite their determination the crew couldn’t stop the deprivations of the enemy. Shield generator compartments, or any compartment the boarding parties found themselves in was wrecked with the intense violence and thoroughness one came to expect from the Axis. The boarding parties on Lagoon-02 withdrew in disciplined order to their Stilettos, wrecking all compartments they passed in the process. With his own work cut out for him Lt. Tes, commanding his security teams and improvised groups of armed base crew from Oyster Cove-02’s auxiliary control, made the time to pass on some rather important news to Nolsus. “Sir, I’ve got confirmed reports of what the Axis boarding parties are carrying with them from the other two bases. Examples of those ‘black bricks’ have been recovered from fallen enemy troops are the same as found on Lagoon-02. They are what we suspect them of being.”
Nolsus’ voice over the commlink was terse, for combat was two compartments away from the base’s command post. “They got what they wanted then, Tes. Emphasize to all your teams that every computer interface panel is to be wrecked so as to deny their use to the enemy. We’ll be conducting a deep purge of the active and long-term cache files presently. ”
“Aye, Sir. Tes Out.” The brawny E’sani closed the link and peered at a live video feed of combat near the base’s magazines. Lt. Tinker was leading a team against a particular resilient group of boarders, one that happened to use breaching rockets like water balloons. Destroying the boarders in total was the order of the day for the fact of what each one carried. The object in question was dubbed a ‘black brick,’ a combat-cased brute-force electronic interrogator. Placed on a computer interface, or even an encased data hardline, a black brick would cajole and then suck up any electronic information like a drought-dried sponge. The allies had such devices but never used them in wholesale lots, but not for a lack of trying. Whoever on the other side thought up of the idea obviously was perfectly comfortable with the massive casualties involved just to get a few bricks loaded with captured data.
“You listening, Matau-de?” said Tinker over the audio link, the earbug Tes wore positively vibrated against his skin like an angry insect. The E’sani looked at the associated video feed, which was Tinker’s point of view. Rarely addressing his friend by his first name, by using it now meant Tinker was thinking of something drastic. “These bastards’ refusal to die is an insult I can’t abide. Unlike you, I’m not afraid to use myself. Just watch!”
Before Tes could protest he watched as the POV changed. The squad Tinker lead was composed of E’sani, and it was the one known as Husker that lifted Tinker off the deck, and, gripping him like a throwing disc, lobbed him down the corridor towards a knot of barricaded Axis boarders like he was participating at a national track and field competition. Stupefied by the sight, the bone heads failed to hit the airborne Crajen as he went over their heads and bounced off the far bulkhead, landing on his legs, facing them. Tinker had a 10mm gun in both work hands instead of the regular bead pulsars, firing rapidly while his vacuum-proof crusher claws did their gruesome work on a pair of boarders that were a bit to slow on the uptake. As that particular section of the base was in vacuum there was no sound aside from the clicking of Tinker’s mandibles over his pressure suit’s audio link, and it was the most rapid that Tes had ever heard.
A limp body of a vac-suited boarder was thrown over the barricade by Tinker. With faceplate ruptured it was clear that the Crajen had crushed the helmet and the skull underneath. He waved his claw, ushering his squad to come forward. “MC Alpha has been secured, Security Chief,” said Tinker over the link. “We’re going to make sure they didn’t trap any of the antimatter ordnance. I do request a runner be sent to my location with more pulsar ammo and a brace of grenades.”
“You got it, Lt. Tinker,” said a relieved Tes. “If it wasn’t already placed in secured storage I would send you a shot of that raisin moonshine for that successful stunt you just pulled.”
********
Fanmet, after debriefing and congratulating the Stiletto crews that returned to the Falconer, went to the bridge to observe the boarding action reports firsthand with Larpon. Thanks to this Fanmet was also able to learn first-hand of the allied entry into the Twins from the Shunt warp point. Only after a comprehensive read by the Tracker Leader scout on the Abom flotilla’s composition did the shuttle force commander made his opinion. “We should wrap the operation up now, if I was in Ashton’s shoes.”
“I’m sure she’s coming to the same conclusion,” Larpon said like a wise grandparent. “But it may take a little longer for the boarding teams on the larger pair of bases still haven’t knocked out all the shield generators.”
With anxious eyes Fanmet peered at a small readout screen below the holoimager. “As much as I don’t want to leave anything behind for the Aboms we’ll need all the Stilettos we have for defense. Ashton won’t send in the three frigates to finish the bases unless the Aboms weapons are wrecked or the magazines gutted.”
Larpon nodded like a sage. “Perceptive, Fanmet. While the frigates could stay at maximum HET laser range we don’t know how much antimatter ordnance those Abom have for their missile launchers. We only just finish reloading our external racks with laser-tipped capital missiles. Spending another hour to reload is just one more hour for the enemy to close on us. Perhaps Ashton will just settle with three heavily damaged bases for the enemy to repair and reinforce.”
“Reinforce? Why leave a nucleus for the Aboms to build upon, Captain?”
Larpon smiled. “To give the Aboms an incentive to expend resources to make the Twins more secure. As long as they’re engaged in Battlement they’ll be compelled to secure their rear lines. Plus, more importantly, any defenses they had planned for Battlement will have to be diverted to the Twins for the foreseeable future. Then, I imagine in six to nine months, the High Command will send in a fleet and seal off the Chrome warp point, letting that Valhallan Abom fleet to die on the vine.”
“I see. Make them waste treasure like the builder trying to make a foundation in sand.” Fanmet said, but kept the following thoughts to himself. If that was the case, then why wasn’t that tried first? Waiting three or four months for a proper fleet wouldn’t have been prohibitively expensive for the Battlement defenders. I suppose Operation Restoration is the reason why we’re just a raiding force.
“Ah,” Larpon said pleasantly as he read the text that appeared on a repeater screen on the console before him, “it seems our dear Ashton has made up her mind. The boarding parties have been ordered to evacuate and return presently. We will be underway once the last shuttle has returned.”
Fanmet waved in a flippant manner at the ghostly image of the pinnace base in the holoimager. “Very good. This scene no longer holds any interest for me.”
********
The damaged Tracker Leader scout at the Chrome warp point received orders to retire at full speed and rendezvous with the task group. An order easy to say but difficult to execute for the scout, already damaged and limited to .1c, ran the risk of having said damaged engine packing it in along the way. This didn’t factor in the Sloop scout, waiting and then following in the distance. As far as the Tracker Leader captain was concerned as long as that Sloop kept its distance then that was fine for him.
However, it was not fine for the Sloop captain. He followed, and once it was clear that the Axis scout was moving at maximum speed he followed suit and went to full speed as well. Being one-third faster the gap closed fairly quickly. For the Axis captain the only explanation was that the Sloop had a CAM on its external racks, and regardless of what he did that Sloop was going to be at point-blank range to fire. So the only option was to engage ECM and employ erratic maneuvering at the optimum moment, and despite that the CAM still hit. The sole shield was brought down and the patched up engine was put to rights for good. The Sloop pulled away to resume its station around the Chrome warp point, leaving the Axis scout to chug along now at .05c. It was going to be a long, lonely trip that had the crew hoping there was still going to be a task group to meet them.
