Michael Thomas: Gates of Cilicia

Here we go again.

A low rumble came from the bowels of the ship. It was the main thrusters powering down. They were less violent than the FTL engines but still sent a shudder through the small ship. They shut down, leaving the ship to coast through space until they reached the designated location. With no other ships in the area, the small group of frigates pushed out on a wide search vector. Each of the ships left a small multi-coloured wake in the cloud of gas and dust. They were spaced out at one hundred kilometres apart; a gap that was a mere hair width in space. At a length of one hundred and fifty metres, and with a crew of one hundred and ninety five, the vessels were the smallest self-sufficient ships in the Alliance Armada. The destroyers had the look of large predatory fish from Ancient Earth, with large frontal sections and long tails that carried a multitude of antenna and sensors. The lead ship in the formation carried three white stripes that ran down the sides in a regular pattern. The rest carried their simple dull red blue finish as used on the rest of the fleet.

“This is the Captain. We have just received word from our sentry drones. A force of Laconian ships has been detected in quadrant alpha twelve. Check your systems, we jump in thirty seconds.”

Thirty seconds and enemy ships detected. Is this it?

Xenophon gulped at the realisation he was finally going into action. His mouth dried at the mere thought of the dreaded Laconian fleet. His training kicked in, and he ran his eyes along the lines of data, checking the power levels, plasma generators and targeting grid.

As the craft moved from the protection of the vast Armada, each one flashed and then vanished. The faster than light (FTL) engines of each frigate propelled them away at unimaginable speed to their patrol area. Inside the ship, Xenophon did his best to not retch. No other members of the vessel seemed to be adversely affected by the journey. He was certainly the most recent addition to the crew, but even so he would have expected other members to experience at least mild discomfort during the trip.

“Three minutes until arrival, charging up primary weapon generators. All stations report in,” said the Captain.

Xenophon scanned from left to right, looking at scores of numbers and diagrams that showed him everything from the temperature of the barrels to the heart rates of his two assistants.

“ Everything looks good,” he said, partially to confirm, but also to reassure himself that he had made no mistakes. The trigger locks were still active and could only be withdrawn by the tactical officer or commander of the gundeck.

“News coming in from Headquarters, a Strike force has been tracked by our primary fleet, and they are in pursuit. Arrival in sixty seconds,” said the Captain.

Xenophon’s pulse was now pounding. He could see his own life signs on the monitor suite next to him. The increase in heart rate simply made him more anxious. One alert message popped up. There was a slight anomaly in the targeting system. It wasn’t serious, but it did throw him into a minor panic. The change in pressure inside the ship hit inside his skull, and the feeling of sickness feel quickly returned.

We must be there, he thought.

“Battlestations!” called out the Captain through the embedded communication nodes fitted to every crewman. The small device was fitted behind the ear and several millimetres under the skin. Xenophon reached out and touched the spot where it had been inserted. The doctors said he would feel its presence, but he felt it anyway. The ship FTL engine cut out, and his view of the stars shifted from streaks to a still, almost beautiful starscape.

“Enemy ships detected at mark three point five. Ready the guns. It’s a scouting party.”

Xenophon looked around to the rest of the gundeck and then up to the command centre. Dozens of crew moved about, and each carried out their duties as quickly as they could. He had two crew under his control, and they worked furiously to carry out their work of preparing the individual guns, monitoring their power levels and anything else needed to get the ship ready for battle. There were two other gundeck sections, and just like this one, arrayed in a crescent shape around the command centre of the ship. It meant the Captain, command crew and the gunners, were all in sight of each other. Each gundeck, and its weapons, had an arc of fire that covered a full third of the ship. His particular gundeck on the starboard side was tiny compared to the similar parts of the much larger capital ships. He imagined himself commanding a gun crew on one of the Titans stationed around the supply base. That was just a dream though.

Xenophon was a young midshipman of just twenty-five years of age, and this operation was already making him feel sick. This was his first assignment in the fleet of the Alliance Armada, and his nerves were already frayed. He was hardly one of the gruff infantrymen that swaggered through the ship, and each waiting for their chance to engage the enemy in some close ranged brawl. Xenophon was lean, almost slender in build. His fair skin was in stark contrast with the sunburned faces of the more seasoned crew who had fought on land, and in space, during their many years of service in the war. He spotted the nearest midshipman, a red faced man called Maxentius. He was sat waiting with his system ready and his guns online. Xenophon was captivated by the calm on the gundeck until he realised his was the only station not yet ready. He brought up the targeting matrix and focused on the Laconian cruiser that sat ninety kilometres away. The display showed the power levels rising in the gun battery’s power cells.

The communication node whispered to him, and once more distracted him from his work.

“ Damned thing,” he muttered.

“Gunners, hold your fire.”

He checked the enemy ship again. It looked similar to their destroyers. The greatest different, as far as he could tell, was one of aesthetics. Whereas the Alliance ships were smooth and almost pretty to look at, the Laconian League ships were rough and angular, almost suggesting they were unfinished. They operated far fewer ships, but what they lacked in numbers, they made up for in ferocity. The Laconians might not be a great space faring colony, but they had won several devastating land battles, and their fleet had so far eluded the more experienced Alliance ships. Even more important was that the Laconians had sacrificed speed and living space for more weapons and armour. In a one on one fight they had the advantage unless the Alliance captains made use of their speed and longer ranged guns.

“Sir, guns are ready, power levels are correct and the targeting matrix is active,” said Private Loraine, a stern looking young woman in her early twenties.

Xenophon had tried to make friends with her and the other enlisted men and women in the crew. For some reason, he had never been able to break the ice. There was something about him they had issues with, and he wished he knew what it was. Private Loraine, for example, gave the impression she hated him and had done so from the first moment they met.

“Good, chain them for linked fire. We won’t have long to hit them. It is a small window of opportunity.”

The guns could be fired individually or in groups, one of the many benefits of this kind of energy weapon. No ships in the Alliance Fleet were allowed to make use of computer control systems for anything other than communications and navigation. All engineering and weapons control was under the strict control of its human operators. It seemed archaic, and even a little stupid, to require so many people to operate vessels in space. But as powerful as computers were, they were also vulnerable to all kinds of hacking. The reliance upon these professionals made the Alliance ships more powerful and flexible than the ships in any of the known empires in the Galaxy, but also far less numerous.