Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2 (37 page)

“They will be traveling
at one hundred two thousand KPS relative to the star,” said the tactical
officer.  “One hundred fifty-nine thousand KPS closing with our speed.  About
point five three c.  ETA five minutes, twenty-seven seconds.”

“Response, sir,” said
the Commander/staff officer.

“None at this time,”
said the Admiral.  “Let’s not throw away our firepower until the main effort. 
I’m sure we’ll be able to take care of this.”

“Second salvo coming
in,” called out the Subcommander.  “Total over one thousand missiles.”

“As I said,” continued
the Admiral.  “We’ll weather this attack and wait until we’re closer.  I think
this enemy is attempting an elaborate maneuver.  Let us not do what I believe
they expect.  We will wait.”

The other officers
nodded their assent.  But what else could they do, when their master had
spoken.

*     *     *

“Missiles at two
minutes out,” said the tactical officer on the flag bridge.

Admiral Gunter Heinrich
felt himself tense involuntarily even though there was really nothing for him
to do in this situation.  The ship’s captains and squadron commanders were in
place to deal with the situation, and at this point he was merely an observer. 
An observer nervously watching the tactical plot as the enemy missiles bore in
at one hundred twenty thousand KPS relative to his ships.

The destroyers and
light cruisers were arrayed in a defensive wall a million kilometers behind the
main force of capital ships.  Two thousand kilometers by two thousand
kilometers, the wall covered four million square kilometers.  Of the sixteen
light cruisers, four were dedicated fleet missile defense ships, with more countermissiles
and close in sensor arrays than most light cruisers.  There were eight
dedicated fleet defense missile escorts among the fifty four destroyers. Each
quadrant of the box was commanded by one of the special light cruisers, with
two of the special destroyers as backup.  Three light cruisers and eleven
destroyers filled in the defense of each quadrant, with the two remaining
destroyers stationed where the four corners of the quadrants met.

Their mission was
simple.  To kill enemy missiles before they got to the capital ships they were
defending.  Their secondary mission was to survive so they could attack
succeeding salvos of missiles.  And to make sure that they did not use all of
their missiles to defeat one salvo, leaving the fleet open to the next layers
of attack.

The sensory systems of
the escorts picked up the missiles on passive infrared as the weapons came
rushing in.  At three light minutes the active sensors radiated tight beams to
define the locations of the incoming swarm that was to arrive in seven
minutes.  They attempted to derive a pattern from the thousand missiles that
were starting to weave and dodge.  In some cases they might find one, but in
most the missile AI was good enough to keep the pattern as random as possible.

At two light minutes
subjective the escorts launched their first salvos of long range counters. 
These were about a quarter the size of regular offensive missiles, with little
of their stamina.  The thousands of missiles streaked out at eight thousand
gravities, attempting to fight their way through the electronic static of the
incoming birds.  Some were spoofed by the decoys the incoming missiles were now
releasing.  Others locked on, only to lose the lock and wander off into space. 
Still others bore in for a kill, only to lose the target at the last second as
it juked or swerved at thousands of gravities, leaving empty space to the
closing killer.  A couple of dozen counters achieved hard kills, slamming their
bodies into the incoming missiles in spectacular bursts of light and
radiation.  And a hundred took out missiles with proximity kills as their
warheads went off within tens of kilometers of the incoming, and destroyed them
with particles of hard radiation or debris.

The eight hundred and
fifty survivors continued in, accelerating all the while.  The second salvo of
counters had to contend with the sensor jamming radiation of their earlier
mates’ kills and misses.  They still took out over a hundred of the missiles. 
Seven hundred fifty continued on and were caught in a counter missile salvo
launched by the capital ships.  Seven hundred continued on, some pulled in by
the sensor returns from the escorts, the rest keeping to program and looking
for bigger targets.

The escorts now
launched the shorter ranged counter missiles.  The light cruisers carried
between twelve and sixteen double launchers that fired two missiles every two
seconds.  The destroyers carried between ten and twelve single missile
launchers with a similar rate of fire.  Within seconds space was filled with
thousands of missiles, accelerating at ten thousand gravities.  The only hitch
was their boost duration, which was about twenty seconds.  They still took out
over two hundred of the incoming enemy weapons.  As they approached their
targets miniature nuclear devices went off under the depleted plutonium rods in
the warhead.  A heavy vapor of depleted plutonium spewed out from the
disintegrating counters, spreading hundreds of meters in circumference and
catching the speeding missiles in kinetic traps.

Three hundred of the
missiles veered onto tracks targeting the escorts.  More of the short ranged
missiles shrieked out, while lasers and close ranged rapid firers attempted to
engage them, most failing as the missiles moved at over a light second away,
only in real time targeting in most cases for a fraction of a second.

Two of the escorts took
direct hits that shattered hulls and sent flaming plasma throughout the body of
the vessels.  A light cruiser and three destroyers were damaged to varying degrees,
while another half dozen ships took minor damage.

The hundred or so
missiles that passed through the escort wall to attack the capital ships faced
another barrage of short ranged missiles, interspersed with lasers and rapid
firing close in weapons.  Only a score of the missiles made it to attack range,
scoring a half dozen proximity hits that caused superficial damage to the huge
capital ships.  And then the wave was gone, while the ships reoriented on the
second wave that was on its way in.

It was mostly the same
story with the second wave.  Three hundred missiles made it through the fire,
and continued to plunge into the system.  Capital ships took them under fire
with long range interceptors for a minute, until the missiles had passed and
were on their way into the system under eight thousand gravities acceleration,
and out of catch up range for the interceptors.

“Send to Admiral
Gonzalez that’s she’s going to have company shortly,” said Gunter Heinrich as
he watched the missiles in his plot.  “In about forty minutes, I would think.”

“Yes sir,” said the com
officer, sending the ordered instructions.

“And after you’re
through with that tell the destroyers and cruisers to start rolling them out.”

*     *     *

At least he’s letting
me have access to the tactical plot,
thought the Prince as he watched the unfolding
drama in his mind.  They were now about eighty light seconds from the fleet,
and actually just a few light seconds closer to the enemy.  But they were
moving out on the curving track that was imparted from boosting at a ninety
degree angle from their most recent vector, which was still imparting
considerable velocity on their track.  Within an hour the enemy would be past
them, and they would open up the gap between them and the hostiles.

Damn the old man
, thought the Prince
again, his anger shaking through him. 
Who are they to pull me out of the
fight?
  He could think of no other reason to take one of the most powerful
units in the group out of the looming battle.  And he would make sure they paid
for it when the battle was over.  Or at least Captain Sebastian Ngano would
pay, since he was not sure if Admiral Gunter Heinrich would still be around.

*     *     *

“What do you think
about the enemy ship that seems to want out of the fight?” asked Hrisshammartanama
of one of his more senior officers.

“They want to protect
something really bad would be my guess,” said the older Lord.  “And they want
it out of our way.”

“No telling what it
is,” said the Low Admiral, scratching his head.  “But if they don’t want it
harmed it’s probably a good idea on our part to harm it.”

“I agree,” said the
other Lord, giving a feral smile.

“Fire a hundred missiles
their way,” ordered the Low Admiral.  “Let’s see how a pair of ships handles
that kind of a meal.  And order all the out system pickets to watch for them.”

*     *     *

“They’re firing a
spread of missiles on our vector, sir,” came the voice of the tactical officer
to the Captain.

Damn
, thought the Captain,
floating in his tube of liquid. 
They could have waited just a bit longer. 
Given us some more velocity to work with.

“ETA,” he asked over
the link.

“Twelve minutes,” came
the voice of the tac officer.

“Ship,” he said in his
mind over the link.  “Decrease acceleration to two hundred fifty gravities. 
Sound klaxon.”

The ship obediently
reduced acceleration while sounding the klaxon.  The Captain ordered that he be
linked to the ship’s company.

“Now hear this,” he
said over the circuit.  “We have been targeted by enemy missiles.  All crew out
of the tanks and to your duty stations.  Repeat.  All crew out of the tanks and
to your duty stations.”

The liquid began to
withdraw from his own acceleration tank, swiftly sucked up into the holding
tank. As soon as it was down below the opening, that door unsealed and the Captain
moved out.  He hurried to the armor cubby near his chair, which opened at his
approach, and backed into the opening shell of his armor.  The armor swung shut
on him and he moved forward, out of the cubby, reaching back for his helmet and
gloves before the small chamber closed.  His tank had lowered into the floor in
the meantime, and the floor hatch had slid shut, the nanoseals closing so that
the area looked like the solid surface it now was.

The rest of the bridge
crew was already out and at their stations by the time he got to his chair. 
They’re
all younger than me
, he thought with a grimace. 
Able to move faster.

“Projected time to
impact?” he asked as he sat in his couch and felt it attach to his armor.

“Ten minutes, sir,”
called the tactical officer.

“Load jammers in all
stern tubes,” he ordered.  “Set them to go off six minutes after firing. 
Fire.”

“Aye, sir,” called out
the weapons officer, sending the orders.

“Prepare all decoys for
launch.  I also want a spread of offensive missiles fired on intercept course,
right behind the jammers.  Let’s see what a couple of dozen five hundred meg
warheads might do.”

“
Jana Kleinman
is requesting instructions, sir,” said the com tech, looking over at the Captain
with beads of sweat on her brow.

“Send her my
intentions,” he replied.  “Ask them to fire a spread of offensive missiles to
come in and detonate right behind ours.  Full decoys, and integrate into our
fire control.  I want them close enough for real time.  Say two thousand
kilometers.”

“Aye sir,” said the
tech, turning back to her board.

“We will ride this out
people,” said the Captain, clenching his fists.  “We will make it.”

The rest of the bridge
hurried about their duties, sparing a glance every few seconds at the tactical
plot that showed a hundred red arrows on the way.

“And send some Marines
down to get that damned Prince up here,” said the Captain as an afterthought.

*     *     *

“Ring is at full
power,” called out a Petty Officer from his station in the control chamber. 
“Matrix is fully charged, and there is ninety-nine percent feed from the
couplings.”

“Check, sir,” said Gorbachev
from her station.  “All systems within parameters.”

“Are all ratings at
stations?” asked Lt. SG Romanov from his post.

“Yes sir,” called back
the chief.  “All armored and ready to go.  Repair robots ready as well.”

“Missile impact in
eight minutes,” called a voice over the link.

The Prince allowed
himself to meld into the ship for a moment, looking at the now unblocked
tactical display.  A hundred red arrows moved toward them, while dozens of
green arrows reached out to them.

“Lieutenant Romanov,”
came a voice he didn’t recognize from behind.  Turning in his couch, the Prince
found himself looking at two battle armored Marines.  One had Gunnery Sergeant’s
stripes on his helmet and armored chest.  The other had corporal stripes and
carried a shipboard assault rifle.

“What can I do for you,
Gunny?” he asked, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Captain’s orders,”
said the NCO.  “You are to accompany us to the bridge.”

The damned bridge
, he thought, looking
in disbelief at the man.  The Captain was going to save him no matter what, and
not allow him to comport himself like an officer of the Fleet.