“All ships are reporting in,” the tactical officer said. “All weapons systems are online and ready for activation.”
Colin nodded, leaning back in his command chair and trying to project an impression of unconcern. “Launch probes, full spread,” he ordered. It was possible that Percival had tried to hide a surprise within the system, perhaps another squadron of superdreadnaughts. Colin hadn’t been able to decide if Percival would have the nerve to ask for help from Sector 99 or not. “I want every dust mote within this system tracked and logged.”
“Aye, sir,” the tactical officer said. “I am launching probes now.”
The probes sped away from the superdreadnaughts, transmitting their findings back to the ships thought tightbeam lasers. Colin watched as they updated their results, confirming that there were no starships within the limits of detectable range. With cloaking devices, or a starship simply shutting down all of its systems and pretending to be a harmless asteroid, that wasn’t as large as he would have preferred, yet even the Geeks hadn’t been able to improve the sensor systems to the point where they could detect a powered-down starship drifting in empty space. They were still promising breakthroughs, but Colin would believe it when he saw it. He’d also like an FTL communicator, while he was wishing, or a superweapon that could take out a superdreadnaught in a single shot.
And while I’m wishing, I’d like a pony, he thought, with sudden amusement. He smiled, studying the display. Judging from the sensor probes that were sweeping up towards his fleet, the defenders of the planet had noticed their arrival and were preparing to put up a fight. Collectively, his fleet had more firepower than the two massive orbital fortresses covering Greenland, but individually… it was going to be close, or at least it would have been if Colin had intended to take the planet. The yellow icons representing orbital installations appeared below the orbital fortresses, their crews already abandoning ship in lifepods and shuttles, saving their lives. Colin had known, even though he had taken no pleasure in it, that they wouldn’t have any time to issue warnings this time. They had to take out the facilities and retreat before Percival sent in reinforcements.
“Good work,” he said. The Geeks had managed to improve the control systems for the probes. While the Imperial Navy might be only able to launch six probes at once — or risk losing control of the additional probes — his ships could launch up to fifteen, each. It gave him an unprecedented level of tactical awareness, yet he had to keep reminding himself that merely having the probes didn’t make him aware of everything within range. It was still possible for a bold or cunning ship’s captain to slip close to his ships. “Helm… take us on the planned trajectory.”
The superdreadnaught seemed to strain at the leash as she moved towards the planet, her weapons systems coming awake one by one and locking onto their targets. Colin smiled darkly as he took in the sensors emanating from the orbital fortress, wondering when her commander would choose to open fire. If Colin had been in his shoes, with as much firepower as he had at his disposal, he would have opened fire as soon as the starships came into range, even though it would have given Colin’s point defence longer to lock onto and destroy the incoming missiles. It would have distracted the attackers — and their tactical sensors — from returning fire and it might, if the defenders were very lucky, knock out an external rack and damage a superdreadnaught’s ability to fire.
Greenland was a second world that had been given an unusual level of development, thanks to the Roosevelt Family. Colin would have been delighted to have the small complex of shipyards and industrial nodes in orbit around the planet under his control. Indeed, given a few more years, Greenland would probably become the production capital of the sector — particularly after the pasting the rebels had given Piccadilly. Colin turned it over and over in his mind, but no explanation seemed plausible. The Roosevelt Family was either led by fools — which might have explained why they’d trusted the system to Stacy Roosevelt — or they had some deeper motivation for their actions. Whatever it was, Colin hoped, his war had put an end to it. And who knew what would happen to the Roosevelt Family — and the Empire — if they were unable to complete their plans?
He pushed the thought out of his mind as the small fleet crossed the invisible line in space marking weapons range. He’d planned to hold fire until they reached a closer range — the fortress had a powerful point defence system and it was surrounded by automated weapons platforms — but if the fortress had opened fire, he would have had to return it and use the external racks. The fortress seemed inclined to wait for him to get closer, which was odd, even though it was what he wanted. A chill ran down his spine as he contemplated the words of one of his old instructors at the Academy.
“If your battle is going according to plan,” the old man had said, two years before he’d been taken away for some political offence against the Empire, “you are about to lose. No battle plan has ever survived contact with the enemy and no battle plan ever will.”
Colin scowled, unable to suppress the feeling of imminent disaster. “Launch a second set of probes,” he ordered. The tactical officer gave him a surprised glance, but he didn’t argue, even though there was no overt reason to launch additional probes. “Prepare to engage the enemy.”
The fortress was finally coming alive, almost exactly when Colin had predicted, a compromise between range and speed. The shorter the range between shooter and target, the faster the missiles could travel… and the shorter time in which they could be intercepted. Colin watched the updating display for a long moment, checking that the fortress’s impressive salvo of missiles hadn’t been augmented somehow, before looking up at the tactical officer.
“Lock missiles on target,” he ordered. It was an unnecessary order, but Imperial Navy protocol demanded that it be issued. “Prepare to fire.”
“Missiles locked on target, sir,” the tactical officer said. His hands danced over the control systems, targeting the missiles on the massive fortress. Unlike the last fortress they’d destroyed, this one was fully aware of the danger and was prepared to meet it. Its point defence would take a heavy toll of Colin’s missiles, hence his willingness to spend lavishly in order to take out the fortress. “We are ready to attack.”
“Fire,” Colin ordered, calmly.
The superdreadnaught rocked sharply as she unleashed the first barrage from its external racks, just before tiny destruct charges separated the remains of the racks from the starship and pushed them into space. A moment later, the ship rumbled again as she unleashed the firepower of her internal tubes, the updated missile control systems taking control of both salvos and melding them together. The spread of ECM missiles, armed with jammers and decoys rather than standard nuclear warheads, followed afterwards, adding to the confusion. Depending on the skill of the enemy sensor techs on the receiving end — and the Roosevelt Family could hire the best, if they were so inclined — they might have problems separating out the real missiles from the decoys. Their screens would be showing over a million missiles bearing down on them.
Colin’s lips twitched, without humour. If he could have fired a million missiles in a single salvo, he wouldn’t have had to worry about Admiral Percival or the defences of Camelot. He could have waltzed into orbit, destroyed the defences with a single overpowering salvo and accepted surrender from the remains of the facilities on the planet below. Once the arsenal ships were finished, the rebels would have a throw weight far greater than anything the Imperial Navy could fire back at them, at least for the opening salvo. The real question was how long it would take the Imperial Navy to come up with a counter-measure.