“We just got a whistle from the Big Blue Marble on that. Groundside observation indicates no new enemy transfers out of orbit and no decrease in orbital interdiction.”
Ira nodded. “So they’re digging in to save their beachhead and letting their screening force take its lumps from us.”
“Seems so. Big Blue has also managed to launch a handy little fleet of drones to help us exterminate these damn Roaches, so I’m activating contingency Delta and taking First Echelon to flank speed for a high energy half-orbit and then all the way out the other side.”
“A gravity-assisted slingshot toward Vesta?”
“’Fraid so, Ira. The muddy-side brain trust seems to think we’re a bit too mobbed up here in cislunar. It’s possible we have more force than we need to do the job. So after my first echelon boxes the Arat Kurs’ nonexistent ears during our approach, we’re going to boost again and run the gauntlet—right through them.”
A cheery, confident tone, but if the drones didn’t get close enough to the rear of the Arat Kur to divert some of their firepower, Halifax’s maneuver could be a messy—and grim—business. “Orders, sir?” Ira asked.
“The enemy orbital flotilla has launched drones to intercept ours. We’ll need to employ the Mousetrap contingency to keep that from happening. But after you’ve sprung the Mousetraps, do what you think best, Ira. I hope to be in touch again, but frankly, we can’t know what happens next—other than this: once my echelon is engaged, the battle for cislunar space is in your hands and the laps of the gods. Despite all the scenarios we’ve run, there’s no knowing what happens next. So if you don’t hear anything more from me, you’ll have to play it as it lies, old boy. When you’re done trouncing them, do catch up if you can. I expect those of us in the first echelon will be stepping lively with their inbound belt fleet in a day or so.”
“I’ll try to be there, Lord Halifax.”
“I know you will, Ira. Keep us apprised. We’ll be looking over our shoulders for you, and happy to see you coming on. Cheers.”
Ira turned to Ruth Altasso. “Commander.”
“Sir?”
“Have the commo officer signal all conns in second echelon: adjust vectors to assume assault cone Echo. Double our deployment of antimissile drones. I want our leading defensive edge fixed at point four five light-seconds from our main van. When that evolution is completed, deploy all but twenty percent of our X-ray laser missiles. They are to be kept in a tight aft formation, well within the edges of our echelon’s sensor shadow.”
“That’s a lot of X-ray missiles, sir.”
“That’s the idea, Ex. Once that’s done, signal Rear Admiral Vasarsky to reconfigure her third echelon for heterogeneous operations. She’s to make ready for orbital interdiction after probable fleet engagement. And send the Mousetrap signal. I want to make sure the drones launched by Big Blue reach the rear of the Arat Kur fleet.”
“I assume we’re going to have the Mousetraps target the Arat Kur chaser drones?”
“Yep. That’s how we trump their trump. Don’t save any ’traps; use ’em all.”
“Aye, sir.” Altasso turned away, smiled. For some reason, Silverstein always thought of her as a bride when she wore that expression. “Sounds like we’re going to have our hands full today, Admiral.”
“It does indeed, Ex, it does indeed. Activate the Mousetraps on my mark… and, mark!”
Seven hundred twenty kilometers above the earth, the CellStar IV satellite continued in the same lonely orbit it had been following since its deployment in 2068. In its time, it had been a miracle of miniaturization and communication efficiency, fusing another link in a tightly interconnected world of wireless communications.
But time and technologies march on. The adjectives with which CellStar IV was embellished faded from “prodigy,” to “workhorse,” to “old standby,” to “outdated,” and ultimately to “defunct.” Several relays shorted out in 2095, seven years after the end of its projected operational lifetime, and the little satellite that could became the little satellite that couldn’t.
But in 2113, it had a visitor. An orbital maneuver vehicle, or OMV, supposedly on a routine maintenance mission to a much larger, newer, and better communications satellite, detoured and rendezvoused with the big, dark box that had been CellStar IV. A single robotic ROV emerged from the OMV’s payload bay and set to work on the inert satellite. It removed most of its internal and core components, replaced them with a large black box—maneuvered with some difficulty out of the OMV’s payload bay—and left, taking along the original innards of CellStar IV.
Which continued in its dull orbit for seven more years.
But then, on January 12, 2120, Lieutenant Commander Ruth Altasso, turning away from Admiral Ira Silverstein, entered the Mousetrap code into the command computer on board the battle cruiser USS Lincoln. The Lincoln’s tightbeam commo array sent a single phased laser pulse to another derelict satellite in a fast polar orbit. Inside that dead object, new innards, also emplaced in 2113, fully awakened after their seven-year doze and performed their one function. A high-power omnidirectional broadcast of a set of routinely updated target parameters and a single command that, as understood by CellStar IV and its many derelict cousins, was simply “awaken.”
The new machinery in CellStar IV illuminated and sought to fulfill its purpose. It scanned the recently updated targeting parameters that had been sent by the triggering satellite, activated its sensors, and looked for a match. Sure enough, a new high-priority target—an enemy drone—was in very close range. It polled the secure frequencies for any priority overrides indicating that some other Mousetrap had sprung upon this as its target and, finding none, launched.
The missile that ripped out of CellStar IV’s frame, and thereby discorporated it, was almost all fuel and guidance. It aimed itself at the Arat Kur drone, which crowded gees to elude it.
But the little human missile was built for sprinting, and although the drone could have ultimately outpaced and left it far behind, it did not have enough of a thrust-spike to break away from the speedy, stern-chasing missile.
Which died doing what it had been created to do: destroy an enemy craft. As did the dozens of other Mousetrap missiles in the course of the next five minutes.
Darzhee Kut felt the wiggling sensation in his abdomen subside. “You are sure the first of the two submarine missiles went south of us?”
“Quite sure,” confirmed Urzueth Ragh. “It is following a very shallow arc and will hit soon. At least we were able to destroy the launching submarine with orbital munitions.”
“And the other launch?”
“Possibly converging on the same general target area. However, we could not intercept that submarine. It was too deep.”
“How deep?”
“It must have launched from almost two hundred meters and then dove immediately.”
Darzhee Kut looked at Yaargraukh, who had just returned to report that his logistical tasks were completed. “I am no expert in military technology, but—”
Yaargraukh bob-nodded. “Your conjecture is quite right. We will not be able to reliably interdict submarines that can fire from that depth. Lasers are essentially useless against submerged targets. And a kinetic warhead is insufficient: the projectile expends its kill-decisive energy in the first one hundred meters of immersion. Besides, the rail-gun response time is much longer. After target acquisition, the warheads must be fired and make their descent. During which time the human submarine is diving, and probably leaving behind decoys which it can remotely activate if we send down a smart munition.”