I did not think Warshaw was correct in his assessment. We had captured three U.A. ships and destroyed three more. Until that moment, it had not occurred to me that we had captured or destroyed six of their ships. We didn’t just beat them to the punch; we had declared an all-out war.
Seeing that our self-broadcasting fleet was safe for the time being, Warshaw seemed to relax. He leaned against a desk and took a deep breath. He started to say something, then stopped. On the table, seven new anomalies appeared almost on top of our fleeing ships.
Franks barked out orders like an experienced commander, or, I realized, a man who has spent his career watching experienced commanders. He sent orders across the fleet telling his captains to power up their shields, charge weapons systems, and put all fighter pilots on red alert.
Around the bridge, the various stations hummed with activity. Displays lit up, showing shield readiness and weapons status.
Looking at the chart table, I reckoned the second wave of U.A. ships were still a million miles away. They did not chase our ships. Apparently, they were satisfied with herding them into our fold. The more distant, first wave of ships continued toward us, but they were still two million miles away. It would take them at least twenty more minutes to reach our lines.
An ensign brought a coded message over to Warshaw, whose expression went from desperation to defeat. He read the message again and handed it to Franks.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s from one of the engineers overseeing the work in the Galactic Eye. He says the Unifieds sent battleships to destroy the Mogat Fleet,” Warshaw said.
“So much for harvesting broadcast engines,” he said, planting his arms along the edges of the table to prop himself up.
Franks’s face turned pale as he looked from Warshaw to me. “Maybe we should send our ships back …”
“Three ships,” Warshaw said. “We have three self-broadcasting ships.”
“Did we get all of our men out?” Thorne asked.
“No,” answered Warshaw. He turned to me, and said, “We had eight thousand men out there.”
On the chart table, another wave of anomalies appeared. Five ships broadcasted in this time, giving the U.A. a total of twelve ships in the area. They had twelve ships, we had five hundred. They would not attack.
“Just a few more days …all we needed was a few more days.” Warshaw groaned in a soft voice, still leaning on the table for support. With his huge muscles and tired posture, he looked like a Hollywood hero resting after a long battle. “Not even another week. How the hell did they know?”
“The same way Freeman knew how to find me,” I said.
“Fahey?” Warshaw asked. “I told you you should have shot that traitor bastard. He told them everything from the prison camp, didn’t he?”
“Anything and everything he knew,” I said. “He probably wanted us to arrest him.”
“Wanted us to arrest him?” Franks asked.
“He’s a lot safer down there than he would be up here with us,” I said.
“Speck!” Warshaw slammed his fist on the chart table. Then we all went quiet as five more anomalies appeared. Now the U.A. Navy was up to seventeen ships. It didn’t really matter if they sent their whole specking fleet, we had ten times as many ships as they did. They might have taken the Galactic Central Fleet from us, but they could not touch us here.
A small herd of officers had gathered around the chart table. Not only did Warshaw and Franks have aides, but it appeared that their aides had aides as well. It takes a lot of officers to control a fleet, and the Scutum-Crux Fleet was the largest fleet in the galaxy.
Six more anomalies appeared on the table, and suddenly it looked like the U.A. Navy might really attack. With twenty-three battleships gathered along one of our flanks, it no longer looked as if they had simply come to send a message. Most of those ships were still three million miles away, too great a distance for us to exchange shots; but it suddenly looked like they’d come for a fight.
We all shared the same thought—the Unified Authority could not possibly win a fight out here. They had fewer than forty self-broadcasting ships, and there were no fighter carriers in their self-broadcasting fleet. If it came to a fight, we could win just using our carriers. They had to know that. Brocius had to know that, and that was what scared me. If he had come to fight, he knew something we didn’t know.
Ten more anomalies appeared. They had thirty-three ships in a single sector, the vast majority of their self-broadcasting fleet.
“What are they doing?” Warshaw asked. “That’s almost everything they have.”
Franks looked over at an aide, and snapped, “Get me analysis on those anomalies, now!”
Warshaw said what we all were hoping, “They’re bluffing.”
“No, they aren’t,” said Thorne.
Forgetting that he had threatened to have Thorne thrown off the bridge a few minutes earlier, Warshaw now tried to argue with him. “They’re not going to send their fleet against us; we outnumber them ten-to-one. They’d be crazy.”
But they were not trying to scare us, and they were not crazy. Fifteen more anomalies appeared on the chart table, giving them forty-eight ships, more self-broadcasting capital ships than they were supposed to have in their entire fleet.
An officer approached Franks with the first analysis of anomalies. He looked like he was choking on words, as he said, “We were not able to identify several of the anomalies, sir.”
Twelve more anomalies bloomed on the chart table.
“Sixty ships,” Franks whispered.
“They’re sending in the new fleet,” Warshaw said.
Ice-cold fingers seemed to have wrapped themselves around my vitals. Somewhere out there, in the dark clarity of space, some of those ships would have shining shields wrapped tightly around their hulls like a luminous skin. We had bested three of those ships in an ambush, but this time it would be a head-on collision.
On the chart table, the U.A. ships did not move. They seemed to have come all the way across the galaxy just to park.
“Those crazy speckers really came to fight,” Franks announced. “They’re massing a specking attack.” Far from panicking, he sounded excited. This was an empirical experience for him; he was about to put his education to the test. Using signal officers to relay his orders around the fleet, Franks began reeling off a series of commands. I did not recognize much of what he said, but I watched the results on the chart table.
Our outlying ships slid into place. The loose configuration of the fleet tightened into a fist.
“He’s circling the wagons,” Thorne whispered to me.
“Sounds like a good call,” I said.
“Not against a foe with superior firepower,” Thorne said. “You want to spread out. We have more ships than they do. We should take a more aggressive stance and hit them from every angle.”
“The way we fight this battle is not your concern, Admiral Thorne,” Warshaw warned. “As far as I am concerned, you are still an officer of the Unified Authority.”
Franks gave the order to scramble the fighters and sent them to the front of the fleet. On the table, the simulation showed our self-broadcasting battleships approaching the fleet. The curtain of fighters split, allowing the battleships in, then closed in behind them.
“We better keep those babies tucked away,” Warshaw said.
Franks looked up at Warshaw and nodded.
Fifteen more anomalies appeared. Three million miles away, the Unified Authority was preparing to attack.
“Seventy-five ships?” Franks sounded amazed. “How many ships do you have, Admiral Brocius?” he hummed. “How many are you willing to risk?”
Thorne stared down at the table, taking in every nuance and movement. He was like a blind man reading Braille. To me, the various blips and dots meant nothing. To him, they were ships with specific speeds and weapons capabilities.
Warshaw stepped between me and the chart table. I moved out from behind him; but as I stepped toward the table, he said, “Excuse me, General, this is a naval operation.”