Christopher Nuttall - Democracy's Might

All right, smartass , he told himself, recalling what Percival had once called him. Time to see if you really are the tactical genius you’re supposed to be.

“Fall into Attack Pattern Charlie-Omega,” he ordered, reluctantly. There was no hope of a quick and bloodless victory. They’d just have to hope that the enemy commander didn’t have any other surprises up his sleeve. “As soon as the formation is assumed, take us towards the planet.”

“Aye, sir,” the tactical officer said.

“They’re not raiding the system?”

“I don’t think they have anything to gain,” Wachter commented, as the enemy fleet picked up speed, heading towards the planet. “If they win, they get the rest of the system without further ado; if they lose, the system doesn’t matter anyway.”

Penny nodded. If she’d been in command of the rebel fleet, she would have wreaked havoc in the system anyway, purely out of spite. Morrison might have belonged to the Imperial Navy, but it was still a massive investment and there were quite a few corporate outposts on the other worlds. Losing them, when added to everything else the rebels had destroyed in the last few months, would hurt. Not for the first time, she asked herself just how long the Empire could sustain the war. She knew enough about the Empire’s dented economy to know that it might not be very long.

“They’re launching additional drones,” she noted. “Do you think they suspect something?”

“Probably,” Wachter said. He grinned at her, mischievously. “The only question is what do they suspect? The truth… or something else?”

He clapped his hands together, then addressed the coordinators. “On my command,” he ordered, “the fleet is to advance towards the enemy.”

Penny swallowed. The plan struck her as too much cleverness, particularly if the timing went wrong. But the rebels could hardly refuse the bait Wachter intended to dangle in front of them. They wanted the Morrison Fleet? They’d have their shot at taking it out. But it would also line them up for an ambush…

“Yes, sir,” the coordinator said.

The display changed as the enemy fleet finished its reconfiguration, pushing out additional smaller ships as it angled towards the planet. Penny watched, admiring the crisp professionalism the rebels showed. Even after five months of constant exercises, endless drills and summery reliefs for gross incompetence and corruption, the Morrison Fleet could barely dream of completing such a manoeuvre so quickly. Maybe in a few more months, she told herself, if Wachter stayed in command. It was quite likely that the Thousand Families wouldn’t allow him to continue to hold the fleet. They’d be more likely to insist he retire again before he got ideas.

“The command is given,” Wachter said. “The fleet is to advance towards the enemy.”

“Admiral,” the tactical officer said, “the enemy fleet is leaving orbit.”

Colin blinked in surprise. Was the enemy fleet trying to escape, although it was too late to do that without a running battle? But no — the display showed the enemy fleet coming right at them, without a care in the world. It made no sense, Colin knew; someone smart enough to do the right thing wouldn’t simply throw it away, would he?

He ran through the vectors in his head. There was no way the enemy fleet could escape engaging missiles with his formation, not now. And, trapped in the gravity shadow, there would be no way they could escape the arsenal ships. Even if they had improved their point defence — and his drones suggested there had been some improvement — it wouldn’t save them from a hammering. His forces would take a beating too, but it would be survivable.

There had to be a trick. But what?

He briefly contemplated possible alternatives. The enemy could be trying to bluff him, to force him to retreat… or they could have a nasty surprise waiting for him. He examined the sensor records, wondering if the Imperial Navy had finally deployed its own version of the arsenal ship. But there were no non-standard ships included in the enemy fleet. They could have added extra external racks, even bolted missile pods to their hulls… and it wouldn’t give them a significant advantage. No, something was odd.

“We will hold position at the edge of the gravity shadow,” he said, finally. The enemy seemed to be doing precisely what he wanted them to do. But they had to know it too. “And lock weapons on the enemy superdreadnaughts. Prepare to fire.”

“Aye, sir,” the tactical officer said.

Penny felt oddly exposed as the two fleets converged. There was no way for the enemy to identify the command ship — Wachter had set up an encrypted signalling system, just to make it impossible for anyone to locate him — but she still felt vulnerable. They would be trapped in the gravity shadow when the enemy fleet closed to missile range. If they managed to fire a colossal missile swarm, she knew the Imperial Navy would be badly damaged.

“Send the signal,” Wachter ordered, his voice as calm as if he were addressing a class at the academy. “Tell Yamani I want her ships in position two minutes from now.”

Penny looked over at him. If the timing was skewed…

“Our formation is starting to slip,” Wachter commented. “Tell the lead starships to hold their horses. We don’t want to tip our hand too soon.”

Colin frowned down at the display, puzzled. Something was wrong about the enemy formation, something that was becoming clearer and clearer as the seconds ticked by. The Imperial Navy, having evolved its tactics over hundreds of years, had long since concluded that superdreadnaughts were best handled as a single solid core. There was no point in spreading them out when a solid mass of superdreadnaughts couldn’t be threatened, let alone destroyed, by anything possessing less firepower.

But the enemy formation was starting to drift. Some superdreadnaughts were keeping up with the rest of the fleet, others were falling behind. Were they trying to tempt him with the prospect of bringing all of his strength to bear against a small fragment of their force… or did they have something else in mind? Or…

“Enemy fleet will enter missile range in two minutes,” the tactical officer said. “They’re probing our formation heavily.”

Of course they are , Colin thought. They want to know where to aim for best effect .

But their formation still made no sense. A shiver ran down his spine as he studied the display, trying to understand what he was seeing. Could the rear superdreadnaughts be having drive problems? Had they lost a node or two? Or…

“Shit,” he said, out loud. The enemy plan was cunning… and he’d almost fallen completely for it. “Alter course; bearing…”

“ Contacts ,” the sensor officer snapped. New red icons appeared on the display. “Multiple contacts, including at least two superdreadnaught squadrons!”

Gutsy bastard , Colin thought. He’d sent a third of his force away, using drones to mask their absence. No wonder some of the superdreadnaughts had seemed to fall back. Drones simply couldn’t keep up their speed for long. And crafty too .

“Designate the newcomers as Enemy-Two,” he ordered, as the display stabilised. They’d need at least five minutes to recharge their flicker drives, five minutes he had no intention of giving them. But the enemy commander had caught him very neatly between two fires. If he swung his ships around to engage Enemy-Two, Enemy-One would have a clean shot at his hulls. But there was no alternative. Enemy-Two would be in missile range in seconds. “Lock missiles on Enemy-Two, then fire at will. I say again, fire at will.”