Captain Mary Sue Tigner turned to her helmsman. “Mr. Vinh.”
“Ma’am?”
“Release magnetic grapples and give us five meters clearance from the wreck.”
“Grapples released, and that’s a half turn of the fans. Ready, ma’am.”
“Rise to maximum launch depth. ETA?”
“Estimating nine minutes, Captain.”
“Very good. Mr. Alvarez.”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Confirm that Minsk received signal that she is cleared to begin her ascent.”
“Captain Poliakhov has just contacted us to confirm our receipt of signal, and requests reconfirmation of his launch depth instructions, ma’am.”
As he should. “Tell Alexei he is to rise to fifty meters, as indicated in his sealed orders. And wish him good luck.” He’ll need it, playing canary in a coal mine. But how else are we going to learn how far down and how quickly the Arat Kur can see and hit us in the ocean?
The alert lights began flashing and the general quarters klaxon kicked into life. Tigner gave a quick pat to the side of the Ohio’s periscope as she folded out the handles. Here we go, old girl. It’s show time.
Tuxae saw the thermal blooms first on his own system, then a moment later, the active sensor verifications started pouring in from the various hulls in orbit. He considered the data carefully, then studied H’toor Qooiiz’s console with equal care.
“Tuxae, why do you not act?”
“I will. Reopen a channel to Jakarta.”
“But it is insolence to bypass Fleetmaster R’sudkaat—”
“It is necessary that everyone who must hear this dirge hears it directly.”
H’toor Qooiiz looked at him, then complied.
The Fleetmaster was already on the way over. “You have seen it?”
“Yes.” Tuxae was very calm. “I offer my report and recommendation.”
“Very good.” But that response was not from the Fleetmaster. It was Hu’urs Khraam’s voice, emerging from H’toor Qooiiz’s communications console. Fleetmaster R’sudkaat’s mandibles crunched once and were then silent. Tuxae realized that his future was less promising after going above his direct superior in issuing the report, but then again, that presumed any of them were going to have a future—
“Report,” urged Hu’urs Khraam’s voice.
Tuxae took a deep breath. “Orbital sensors are reading multiple ballistic missile launches from around the globe. These are almost all ground sites: silos, in the case of the farther continents, or fixed ramp or mobile launches of smaller rocket and cruise missiles throughout the Pacific Rim.”
“How many targets do you count?”
“At least seven hundred and the number is climbing. But the margin of error is still unacceptably high. Our sensor reliability is not yet absolute. We are only now destroying the humans’ electronic warfare drones in appreciable numbers. Those which remain make it impossible to trust our active arrays. We are still compelled to rely upon imprecise thermal and optical detection.”
“Then you must quickly finish destroying the drones.”
Now came the hard part, the part that no one was going to enjoy hearing, and about which H’toor Qooiiz was likely to write a very sad song. “If we shift enough of our orbital intercept fire to swiftly eliminate the remaining drones, then we will not be able to intercept all of these new rockets. Some are moving very fast. And I must remind you that the general launch of manned air vehicles continues from Sumatra, Bali, Christmas Island and the near Celebes.”
“And all the new threats, the rockets, are converging on Java?”
“Most,” Tuxae corrected. “The rocket launches from North America and Europe are on—uncertain vectors.”
“Uncertain? In what way?”
“We cannot tell from their current trajectories whether they will ultimately insert to orbit or strike Indonesia.”
“To orbit?” R’sudkaat broke in. “Are they attacking my ships?”
“No, Esteemed Fleetmaster. That does not seem to be their intent, nor do the rockets being used have sufficient thrust or endurance to be intended as intercept vehicles.”
“Then what is their purpose?”
“The humans might be simply testing our continued ability to interdict ground targets in Europe and North America. Or they might be launching drones to hunt our ships here in orbit. Or they might be sending nuclear weapons over Java to detonate in a high airburst mode.”
“That would generate a far stronger EM pulse than any we have used thus far,” supplied Fleetmaster R’sudkaat.
“Just so. And if the statistics on these dated rockets and their warheads are correct, we will experience considerable degradation of our groundside electronics. Most notably, many more of our PDF arrays will be destroyed, unless they are powered down during the strikes.”
Hu’urs Khraam’s voice buzzed with anxiety. “But if we power down the PDFs—”
“Then our ground assets are completely undefended against any nuclear-armed rockets that might be targeting them.”
Hu’urs Khraam’s voice was firm. “We will power down the arrays. The humans would not attack their own cities with nuclear devices.”
“I must counsel caution regarding such swift assumptions, Esteemed Hu’urs Khraam. Today, the humans are showing a propensity for cunning and ruthlessness that matches the old stories.”
“I agree with Hu’urs Khraam,” argued Fleetmaster R’sudkaat. “The humans are simply trying to overwhelm us with many targets at the same time. There is less cunning in this than you perceive, Tuxae Skhaas.”
“With respect, Fleetmaster: do you remember their first general attack, the one made by their interceptors on the first day?”
“Yes, where they lost more than one hundred fifty aircraft? Pure folly.”
“It was not folly. It was not ignorance. It was to learn our capabilities.”
H’toor Qooiiz forgot his place as Tuxae’s usually silent partner. “What?”
“Reason from the partially heard harmonies, rock-sibling. The humans had groundside active arrays, as well as visual observation capabilities. They knew how many hulls we had, in which orbits, and they watched how we responded to the futile threat they flung against us. They gathered this information not to aid their interceptors, but to determine each ship’s orbital interdiction capabilities. They no doubt identified each hull visually, and have since tracked where they are at all times, noted any changes, and have maintained a constantly evolving estimate of our maximum interdiction capability.”
Fleetmaster R’sudkaat sent the words out through grinding mandibles. “Then why did they not use this information before today?”
“Because until today, the humans did not have a war fleet approaching Earth. Had the humans used their knowledge before now, we would have understood that they had learned what it would take to overwhelm our systems. We would have increased our capabilities and would have realized how duplicitous, patient, and resourceful they are. Besides, what would they have gained by lofting a dozen drones, or a dozen rockets at Java, before this day? Maybe they would have managed to disable a ship or two, destroy a few hundred of our troops. But now—”
Hu’urs Khraam saw it clearly. “Now we must choose: do we allow the human missiles to attack our ground forces, or do we allow them to place a large force of drones in orbit? For we cannot prevent both.”
Tuxae hung his claws. “The humans have an expression: to be caught between a hammer”—he pointed to the red motes of the human fleet—“and an anvil.” He pointed to the white ballistic trajectories rising up from around the globe. “If they are launching drones into orbit, this is precisely the situation in which our counterattacking fleet will find itself. But if the drones turn instead to attack us here in orbit, and we remain committed to defending our ground forces instead of ourselves, we will surely lose many of our hulls, and with them, much of our orbital interdiction ability.”