The surviving drones picked up the signal from Space Buoy #27, corrected course slightly and sped on. Soon now, very soon, they would detect the radio beacon from Space Station Atlas and fulfill the single duty they had been created for.
Chapter 39
On the HMS New Zealand, near Space Station Atlas
“It was all so confusing.” — Tale of a soldier’s first battle.
It was the third day of combat simulations and Emily was growing tired of it. No, not tired, bored. Captain Grey and Lieutenant Rudd were at Atlas for meetings, so the “Op Force” was headed by the Tactical Officer, Senior Lieutenant Michael Bishop. His problem was that he had no imagination…and when he didn’t win, he changed the rules.
The first day he had made a straight frontal attack, so Emily had pulled back her center and left her flanking forces in stealth mode. When she attacked him from the flanks, Bishop suspended the battle and scolded her for “dispersing her forces too thinly.”
In the next simulation, she used a number of decoys. Bishop launched a frontal attack and obliterated them. Emily noticed that he used a very large number of missiles in his attack. She created another line of decoys. Again he obliterated them with an avalanche of missiles. This time Emily sent a raid around to Bishop’s rear and destroyed his supply collier. Now he could not replenish his missile stores. She made a third line of decoys and Bishop launched a third massive attack. When Bishop approached the fourth line, he did not fire, finally realizing that she was using her decoys to exhaust his dwindling missile supply. But this time they weren’t decoys. When he was on top of her, Emily’s destroyers opened up with everything they had. Bishop once again suspended the battle and scolded her for allowing his cruisers to get so close to her destroyers, saying that in a real battle he would have had two colliers and a fresh supply of missiles.
And so it went. She set traps and he blundered into them, then stopped the battle and in a condescending voice explained to her how she had screwed up. Even the ever-stoic Marine guard by the door had rolled his eyes in disbelief.
This time was no different. Emily had feinted attacks at both of his flanks, causing him to disperse his forces more and more. He finally anchored his left flank with his single, precious battleship, and while she drew off its consorts with a display of force from his right flank, she mobbed the battleship with the ten destroyers she had sitting in stealth mode. One hundred missiles arched towards the enemy battleship, moving closer and closer. No ship defenses came to intercept and her mouth quirked in a half-smile, half-snarl. She had caught him flatfooted.
Then the holo display blinked and the missiles froze in mid-flight.
Emily gritted her teeth.
As she knew he would, Michael Bishop came through the hatchway from the auxiliary CIC, his face dark and frowning. “Tuttle! How many times have I told you that doctrine prohibits you from dividing your forces?”
“Sir,” Emily replied matter of factly. “My understanding is that doctrine is there for our guidance, not to be followed slavishly under all circumstances.
“It’s for your guidance when you are an admiral with years of experience under your belt,” he said, “which you most certainly are not. You are a green lieutenant with notions of grandeur well above your station. You put your entire force at risk for a cheap stunt, Lieutenant Tuttle. I am forced to mark this as a defeat and your record will be so noted.”
Emily had had enough.
“Then, I formally protest,” she said, struggling to keep her tone civil. “I want the entire record of this battle attached to your report and I will appeal to the Captain.” She took a breath. “I would also like to see what would happen to your battleship if you allowed this simulation to continue because, with all respect, sir, I think I had you skunked.”
Bishop’s face went mottled red, but before he could reply, Chief Gibson called from the Sensors’ Station: “Hey, there are drones coming in! Lots of them!”
Everyone in the CIC did a mental “Huh?”
“But the simulation is suspended. My battleship never got hit,” Bishop said in confusion.
Gibson was a twenty year veteran who had seen countless incompetent officers; Bishop was just the latest. “They are not in the simulation, Lieutenant Bishop,” he said slowly. “These are real drones. From the looks of it, they came from the Gilead Sector.” The room fell quiet. Tilleke was on the other side of the Gilead Sector, and the Second Fleet was in Tilleke.
“Are they broadcasting, Chief?” Emily asked.
“Yeah, but they’re encrypted and I don’t have the code. It must have been issued to First Fleet just before they left and hasn’t made it to us yet.” It was hard to remember that Second Fleet had gone to war only five days earlier.
Emily stepped to the large holo display. On the western edge of the display, a cascade of star dust was moving toward them.
The Captain of the Blue Swan had no doubt what the drones meant: disaster. Somehow, one of the Vicky ships had managed to launch its Omega drones, and now his attack plans were in shambles. Blue Swan was in position, and Blue Heron and Blue Loon should be, but there were two more of the “special” freighters that had not yet arrived. What’s more, there were only a couple of dozen commandoes on Atlas Station, not nearly enough.
Nothing for it, he thought grimly. “Signal the Heron and the Loon!” he ordered. “Start the attack now!” He turned to his Weapons Officer. “We can’t wait. Get a lock on Lionheart. Open the holds and bring out the missile pods. Now! Do it!”
The klaxon sounded Battle Stations and the ship erupted into activity. They had practiced this many, many times. The missile pods could be pushed from the ship’s hold and ready to fire in twelve minutes. The pods held eight nuclear tipped missiles. If even two of them got through, the battleship H.M.S. Lionheart would be destroyed. In the meantime, Heron would target H.M.S. Isle of Man and Loon would hit the H.M.S. Invincible.
The other two freighters would have given them more punch, but so be it. With luck, all three of the Victorian Home Fleet battleships would be destroyed within fifteen minutes.
Not far away the captain of a small tramp freighter noted the activity and heard the signal from the Blue Heron to its sister ships. This freighter was not registered with the Dominion, nor did its name include the word “blue.” No one knew of its mission except for Michael Hudis and Citizen Director Nasto. The freighter was called the “Star Born” and it was registered under the flag of Sybil Head. Its Captain was a young Lieutenant Colonel in the Dominion Intelligence Directorate named Tony Streather.
“Are you sure, Mike?” the Captain asked his Sensors’ Officer.
“Yes, Captain. The Heron and the Swan are both opening their outer doors. They’ll have the missile pods out in just a few more minutes. Can’t see the Loon from here, but if the first two are getting ready, it’s a safe bet Loon is as well.”
Captain Streather shrugged. So be it. His ship carried two nuclear tipped missiles, but he was not hunting Victorian battleships. His target was more important than that.