“Ready the missiles, Mike. I want to be ready to fire in no more than ten minutes.” Then he started to plot a course out of Victoria. Captain Streather was not a man who sacrificed his life needlessly.
On Atlas Station, Hiram Brill was in the Fleet Intelligence Center catching up on the day’s reports. Admiral Teehan and most of the other senior staff were at the Palace on Cornwall, huddled together to plan the next diplomatic and military steps once the Tilleke fleet had been subdued by Admiral Skiffington and Second Fleet. Hiram was enjoying the feeling of being one of the “senior” officers in the FIC.
When the drone reports were downloaded, Hiram listened in as the technicians prepared the translations.
“Who’s it from, Maria?” he asked the tech.
“A Resupply and Maintenance Vessel attached to Second Fleet,” she answered, not looking up, but concentrating on her work. “Number 313.”
Hiram glanced at the holo display. “That’s a lot of drones from just one ship,” he commented. “What’s the message?”
“Well, sir, as soon as I can decrypt it we’ll both know, won’t we?” she said with a touch of asperity.
On board the New Zealand, Chief Gibson suddenly sat up in alarm. “Sweet Mothers! Targeting sensors! We’ve just been swept with targeting sensors!”
“What?” Bishop looked confused. “But that can’t be, the simulation is off! We’re at anchor. There are no war ships out there! Check your instruments, Chief, you’ve got an obvious error.”
Emily rubbed her nose, no longer aware of the bump that came from her accident while at Camp Gettysburg. Targeting sensors had a narrower arc than searching sensors, usually no more than thirty degrees. Targeting sensors meant that someone knew the general location of their target and was getting ready to fire, and fire damn soon.
“Merlin!” she called to the ship’s AI.
“State your order.”
“Determine origin of the tracking sensors that just swept us.”
“I cannot determine the exact location, but it emanates from a group of ships anchored three hundred miles from this location.” On the holograph, a red circle appeared and pulsed brightly.”
Emily studied the transponder icons. “But those are all freighters,” she said. Spooked from her conversation with Hiram, she had been worried that she would find a cluster of Dominion war ships, armed to the teeth and ready to fire. But there were only freighters.
“I told you this is a system malfunction,” Bishop said testily. “Chief, I want you to run a complete diagnostic-”
Emily had another thought. “Merlin, draw a line from the source of the targeting sensor through the New Zealand and extend it for one thousand miles. Are there any targets of military value within a thirty degree arc of that line?”
“There are five Home Fleet vessels at anchor within those parameters: Missile Cruiser New Zealand, Destroyers Swansea, Repulse and Cape Town and Battleship Lionheart. There are also six Atlas Port Authority buoys that could have military value under-”
“Stop.” She looked at Chief Gibson, who shrugged. “If it were me, I’d go after the Lionheart,” he said.
Emily nodded. So would she.
“This is ridiculous,” Bishop said in exasperation. “It’s a malfunction! Even if you put targeting radar in a freighter, what good would it do? Freighters don’t have missiles, for God’s sake!”
Emily’s eyes darted back to the cluster of freighters at anchor. “Merlin, focus sensors on those freighters. Are they doing anything unusual?”
A pause, then: “Still detecting a single S-band targeting sensor, but source is intermittent and cannot be precisely located. Other than that, only normal freighter activity is observed.”
“The Dominion uses S-band emissions,” Chief Gibson said.
Something urgent and ugly crowded into Emily’s thoughts. What if -
“Merlin, what normal freighter activity did you see?”
“The D.U.C. Blue Swan is unloading cargo.”
Emily quickly scanned the list of ships in the area within the circle. Eight freighters, but no tug boats or cargo ferries. No barges. Nothing that a freighter could unload its cargo onto. So, if they weren’t unloading cargo, what were they unloading?
A cold hand grabbed Emily by the heart. “Chief, sound battle stations!”
“What!” Bishop scowled. “Nonsense, belay that or-”
The klaxon sounded.
On the Blue Swan, the air hummed with tension. “How much longer?” the Captain demanded.
“Ready to launch in three minutes!” the Weapons Officer said, his eyes glued to his console screen. The two missile pods were almost clear of the cargo area, floating straight up over the ship. Each pod held four missiles.
“Any sign of activity from our target?”
“Not yet, Captain,” the Sensors Officer replied.
“Do you have a solid fix?” No time for half measures, the Captain thought. He had no illusions that they would escape from this little adventure, so he wanted to make sure the battleship was dead.
The Weapons Officer shook his head. “I need a few more seconds of the targeting sensors to lock her in.”
“Okay, as soon as the pods are clear of the hold, paint her again. But for God’s sake make sure you get a solid lock! We won’t get a second chance.”
“Aye, aye, Captain. Two more minutes!”
Hiram leaned forward as the Omega Drone’s message was finally decrypted. The holo display showed a middle-aged man slumped forward, staring intently at the camera.
“This is Captain Michael Zizka of the H.M.S. Bawdy Bertha, attached to the Second Fleet for the action in the Tilleke Sector. Twenty three hours ago, the Second Fleet was destroyed in an ambush by Tilleke and Dominion forces.”
Everyone in the FIC stopped what they were doing and looked at one another in horror.
“No fuckin’ way!” someone exclaimed. Someone else started to talk, but Hiram shushed them.
“-repeat, Second Fleet was ambushed by forces from Tilleke acting in concert with Dominion of Unified Citizenry war ships. Omega logs from several of our ships are attached to this recording. As far as we can tell, more than 70 of our ships were destroyed outright, and a large number seem to be disabled and just sitting in space.” On the screen, Captain Zizka wiped a weary hand across his face. “We can’t tell what happened to the rest. We’re being chased by three Dominion destroyers. We’re approaching the worm hole into Gilead. Once we’re through, I intend to launch as many courier drones as I can.”
Gods of Our Mothers, thought Hiram. He tried to imagine the mood on the clumsy, slow freighter as it ran hell-for-leather from three sleek Dominion war ships.
“I hope this message makes it to you, Victoria,” Captain Zizka was saying. “They’re coming. Get ready to fight. As God is my witness, they’re coming.” He paused, then looked steadily into the camera.
“Remember us,” he said softly.
The transmission ended.
“Fire in one minute!” the Captain of the Blue Swan ordered.
“Warheads armed!” the Star Born’s Weapons Officer shouted. The outer doors of the Star Born were open and the two missiles were poised in their launchers.
“No need to shout, Lieutenant, I can hear you perfectly well,” Captain Streather said calmly. “Release the missiles, but make sure the transponders are working properly.”
A small vibration ran through the ship as tractor beams pushed the missiles away. Small thrusters aligned them properly, then nudged them downward. They each confirmed their target’s coordinates, then began to fall into the thin upper atmosphere of Cornwall, the home planet of the Victorian Sector. Home of Queen Beatrice.
Transponders came to life, telling anyone who cared to ask that the missiles were two cargo ferries in route to the Biscay Cargo Port located on the outskirts of the capital city.