And it was, on the surface of it, an extraordinary hodgepodge of craft. The unit was top-heavy with capital ships, all carrying five times the normal combat loads of nuke-pumped X-ray drones and two-hundred-kiloton close-kill missiles. Arrayed in front of the escorting destroyers and frigates, the control sloops and their attendant flocks of drones were so dense that it made navigation a genuine hazard. It was the first time Ira had seen that kind of free-space crowding in his thirty-five-year career. Spec ops corvettes, the only hulls really designed for fast atmospheric entry, were still attached to the shift carriers, as were the troop transports. All the millions of metric tons of ordnance, vehicles, and cold-slept elite planetary forces that had been siphoned out from Earth over the past two years rested there, inert, waiting for the summons to return home—with a vengeance.
“Skipper?”
“Sorry, Commander. Breaking my own rule, I’m afraid.”
“Which rule, Skipper? You’ve got a lot of them.”
“‘When you bring your hab mods in close, bring your thoughts in with ’em.’ No time for daydreaming now, not right before a drive-by shooting.”
“Thought so. How’s it going to go down?”
“I don’t know, Ruth. We’ll wait for Lord Halifax to call the ball. My guess is he’s waiting for a sitrep from the Big Blue Marble. At this point, it’s all about the drones.”
“Ours?”
“No, at least not the ones we have with us.”
Altasso frowned. “I’m not following you, Skipper.”
Poor gal, how could she? “Secrecy was an operational necessity, Ex. Part of the op plan from day one was that if and when threat forces showed up around Big Blue, neither the Earth nor the Moon was going to deploy more than a token force of their drones. And only old ones, at that.”
“Why?”
Ira smiled. “So that the rest of the drones would be ready and waiting to join us today. Twice our current striking force is waiting here, at home in the garage.”
Ruth’s frown went away, came back more furrowed than before. “Well, that’s nice—except how will the dirtside folks manage to get them past the Arat Kur orbital interdiction?”
Ira ran his upper teeth along the side of his index finger. “I imagine they’re working on the answer to that right now…”
“Tuxae, the Fleetmaster is not ready to hear another problem. You can see it. Watch his mandibles.” H’toor Qooiiz’s normally jocular buzz was gone from his voice.
Tuxae did not speak until he could be sure of a patient tone. “I harmonize, rock-sibling, but shall I tell the humans to stop what they’re doing, to give him more time? The Fleetmaster must be told, and he must act.” He turned away from H’toor Qooiiz and toward R’sudkaat. “Fleetmaster, I must trouble you again.”
Judging from the slow, patience-labored turn of the Fleetmaster, Qooiiz certainly seemed to be right about his rapidly waning equanimity. “What is it now, Tuxae Skhaas?”
“The humans have deployed a wave of diverse air vehicles from around the Pacific Rim. Between the rocket-carrying freighters, and this new mass launch, we are unable to achieve better than fifty percent orbital interdiction.”
“What kinds of air vehicles have been launched? Which are the most numerous?”
“Almost a thousand are medium-range free rockets.”
“How are they armed?”
“They are not weapons, Esteemed R’sudkaat. They are deploying chaff, drones, or small sensors between ten and eighty kilometers from the Javanese coast. Well out of the range of our ground-based PDF batteries.”
R’sudkaat’s antennae twitched anxiously. “What kind of small sensors?”
“First reports indicate they are small, automated quadcopters. They are quite primitive. They are equipped with passive sensors only, but they are arriving over Java and tightbeaming data back into Bali, the near Celebes, Sumatra, and Christmas Island.”
“We must deny the humans intelligence regarding the combat on Java. Eliminate these sensors with a full-regional EMP strike.”
“Sir, such a strike will wash over our strongholds, as well.”
“You sing that note uncertainly.”
“Such an extensive set of EMP bursts are likely to disable some of our own, more fragile systems.”
“Nonsense. Our vehicles and arrays are quite—”
“With respect, I was referring to unshielded infantry systems, such as thermal imaging and laser targeting scopes, even some of the smaller computing and communication devices. The Hkh’Rkh equipment is particularly vulnerable.”
The Fleetmaster’s mandibles ground sharply, stopped, ground again. “It is unfortunate, but we cannot target the human sensors individually, and they must be eliminated. Order the EMP strike. Now, you said there were other vehicles?”
“Yes, R’sudkaat. Mostly high-speed VTOLs, inbound from Sumatra, Christmas Island, Lombok Island, and from the decks of ships beyond the fifty-kilometer limit.”
“Sink all ships that have launched any vehicles. Interdict the VTOLs.”
“Sir, we are trying, but it is taking longer than anticipated.”
Fleetmaster R’sudkaat was very quiet, the same way, according to suntimers, that the worst storms on the surface of a world are preceded by great, almost eerie, periods of great stillness. “Why is the interdiction taking longer than anticipated?”
“The VTOLs are not conventional attack craft. They are electronic warfare platforms, managing the hundreds of rocket-deployed drones that are now creating false images electronically.”
“Well, overcome their computing with ours and erase them from the walls of existence.”
“We are trying to do just that, Esteemed R’sudkaat, but their programming is—challenging.”
The Fleetmaster’s retort was a sudden, shrill, warble-shriek that was loud in the silent bridge. “Then engage them visually! Use our look-down optical arrays and eliminate them. These VTOLs are the most important target. Belay all other orbital fire missions until they are eliminated.”
“Including the rockets?”
“Including the rockets.”
H’toor Qooiiz rose up, alarmed. “But if we allow their rockets to reach Java in even greater numbers—?”
“We have no choice,” Tuxae mouthed at his friend in a low, warning hum. “The VTOLs are making so many false images, it is impossible to tell which are the real VTOLs, the real drones, the real rockets, and Rockmother knows what else.” Louder, to the quivering Fleetmaster, “It shall be as you say, Esteemed R’sudkaat.”
“See that it is. If we are to act effectively, we must have a clear picture of what is happening.”
Tuxae turned to his console. As if we ever had one.
Thandla saw a flash, more like a single pulse of a strobe light than any beam or lightning. The closest portside VTOL underwent a hallucinatorily rapid set of transmogrifications. First it was tilting, listing down toward the water; then it was suddenly discorporated, as though it had been magically transformed from an intact hull to a forward-tumbling cloud of debris; and then it was an angry orange-yellow ball of fire that, along with a dull, faint blast, was behind them so quickly that, for a split second, Sanjay Thandla wondered if he had imagined the whole thing.