“Captain, we have multiple starships transiting the Point,” Sultana reported. “They’re definitely real this time; light cruisers and destroyers, opening fire on the remaining mines.”
Roman nodded. The real battle had begun—and they were little more than helpless spectators. Enterprise was simply too far from the battle to take any meaningful role, at least as anything other than a fighter platform. The battle would be fought by others. He felt helpless…and guilty. Others were going into danger and he was safe, watching while they died.
The enemy light cruisers opened fire the moment they appeared, sweeping through the remaining mines before they could retarget themselves on the cruisers. A number died almost at once as automated weapons platforms opened fire, expending themselves frantically to kill the cruisers before they were picked off themselves. The CSP followed, flashing back into the combat zone and launching missiles towards the cruisers before the cruisers could bring up their datanets and fight as a single entity. All but three of the cruisers died in the first five minutes of the engagement, but in doing so they cleared the path for the heavier ships.
“Admiral, we have four heavy bulk freighters transiting through the Asimov Point,” the sensor officer reported. “They’re…”
Marius exchanged a puzzled glance with the tactical officer. Bulk freighters were hardly warships, although in the opening years of the Inheritance Wars they’d soaked up missile strikes from warships before the widespread use of compressed antimatter. There was no rhyme or reason to using them in the assault, which meant…what? Were they loaded with antimatter?
“Check that—they’re carriers, sir,” the sensor officer corrected himself. “They’re launching starfighters now.”
Marius scowled. Converting freighters into carriers was an old tactic, although the makeshift carriers were nowhere near as flexible as properly-designed carriers. Admiral Justinian clearly didn’t want to risk his remaining carriers in a direct assault on the Asimov Point. It reminded Marius of his other actions, where conservation of force was placed ahead of tactical considerations, even the opportunity to destroy most of the Retribution Force.
“Order the CSP to move in and destroy,” Marius ordered tightly. He studied the possibilities for a moment, then made up his mind. “The Forty-Fifth Squadron will advance and engage the enemy carriers.”
“Aye, sir,” the communications officer said.
Marius barely heard him. There was a second possible reason for using bulk freighters as starfighter carriers, to lure the superdreadnaughts forward where they could be engaged by antimatter-loaded drones or even superdreadnaughts jumping through the Asimov Point. If Marius lost his superdreadnaughts, his fleet would be defeated. There was no way around that, nor did he have the fixed defenses necessary to hold without his mobile units. The Core Worlds would only be hearing about the first defeat now—it would be weeks, at least, before they forwarded reinforcements to his fleet. If, of course, they sent any at all.
He watched coldly as the single superdreadnaught squadron moved forward and opened fire, targeting the bulk freighters before they could turn and escape through the Asimov Point. Once they were destroyed, the enemy starfighters would be trapped, unable to retreat without another carrier to carry them back through the Asimov Point. They’d have to surrender, or die once their life support ran out.
The final cruiser died as the superdreadnaughts moved closer, followed by two of the bulk freighters. A third was hit badly and heeled over, spewing out plasma before losing containment on its antimatter warheads and vaporizing into a fireball. The enemy fighters threw themselves on the superdreadnaughts, only to be engaged by the CSP and the supporting gunboats.
Marius allowed himself a brief moment of optimism. Perhaps they could hold after all.
“Sir, enemy superdreadnaughts are transiting the Asimov Point,” the sensor officer reported. “I have at least five superdreadnaughts…no, seven…”
Marius watched as at least seven superdreadnaughts emerged from the Asimov Point in a tight stream of death and destruction. Admiral Justinian wasn’t taking the chance of ordering simultaneous transits—not with ships that took two years to build—but he was funnelling them through as tightly as possible. As the earlier assaults had temporarily cleared the field, the superdreadnaughts were safe from immediate attack. The mines and automated platforms that should have engaged them were already destroyed.
“Send a signal to all ships,” he ordered. One way or the other, the battle would be decided now. “The battle line will advance and engage the enemy.”
Flight Leader Elspeth Grey cursed as her starfighter flashed towards the newcomers, already spitting deadly plasma fire into space. They couldn’t hope to hit a planet, let alone a starfighter, with random fire, but they were successfully disrupting the wave of incoming starfighters. The squadrons—hastily patched together after the Battle of Jefferson, although she called it the Fuck-Up of Jefferson—had drilled as hard as they could once the fleet had reached safe harbor, yet they weren’t as disciplined as they had been at Jefferson. Half the pilots had never worked together before. The remainder had barely graduated from various training camps when they’d been scooped up and told to crew carriers from the Naval Reserve. It was typical of the brass to throw together a few scraps of meat and try to make a sausage out of them—and it wasn’t very pleasant for the sausage.
“Form up on me,” she ordered, swallowing her anger. She hadn’t expected to be promoted to Flight Leader so quickly, but her former commander had bought the farm at Jefferson along with his second, leaving Elspeth as the most experienced pilot in the squadron. It was a sign, she told herself, of just how desperate they were to put her in command. Her experience had been limited to simulations and chasing down pirates, who often didn’t have a clue how to use the equipment they’d somehow obtained from the Federation Navy.
She designated a superdreadnaught as a target and waited for her pilots to check in before issuing a second order: “Follow me!”
The enemy superdreadnaught grew larger in her HUD as her starfighter rocketed towards it. At least it wasn’t protected by a CSP of its own, she reasoned, and the remainder of the enemy starfighters seemed to have been tied up by the Federation Navy’s superdreadnaughts.
She led her flock towards the rear of the nearest superdreadnaught. The superdreadnaught’s point defense was getting more and more accurate as they approached, picking off a handful of inexperienced pilots before they could evade. Elspeth barked orders and dire threats into the communications channel, reminding the remaining pilots that randomness was the key. A predictable flight path meant certain death.
“Hold on to your missiles,” she ordered when several inexperienced pilots brought up their targeting systems too early. She didn’t blame them—it was easy for inexperienced pilots to misjudge distances and fear a collision—but it wasn’t the right time at all. They were only making themselves bigger targets. “Stand by…now!”
Her squadron of starfighters turned and fell into attack formation, shifting as a blizzard of plasma fire burned through space towards them. Two pilots—both men she barely knew, as they’d been assigned to the Illustrious before the carrier had been blown out of space—died as they were picked off by the enemy’s point defense. The remainder did her proud, holding on to their missiles until she finally barked the order.
They fired in one great salvo. The great hulk of the superdreadnaught was pockmarked with balls of fire, which merged together into one great explosion that wiped the superdreadnaught from existence.