Standing Alone (Cast Adrift Book 2), page 20
They may not intend to do anything, he thought. They may want us to do something stupid instead.
It was possible, he thought. He wasn’t blind to the looming diplomatic disaster. Technically, he could order the Pashtali to leave; practically, the Galactics would see it as damned cheek. If they did nothing ... it was just possible he wouldn’t be able to get them to leave without force, yet using force would be disastrous. Ideally, the Pashtali would open fire first ... his expression darkened as he studied the display. He’d wondered if they were luring him into a minefield, or if they’d emplaced free-floating missiles to give their first punch some extra heft, but there was nothing. He understood, now, why Admiral Chung hadn’t argued when he’d been relieved. The risk of causing a disaster by doing the wrong thing was nerve-wracking.
“Admiral,” Commander Graves said. “We will be within optimal engagement range in five minutes.”
“Understood,” Morris said. “Repeat the transmission.”
“Aye, Admiral.”
Morris shook his head, grimly. They couldn’t get much closer without opening fire. The enemy ships might mount short-ranged energy weapons that would tear his ships apart, if they fired at point-blank range. Ideally, he’d begin the engagement close enough to close the range - if necessary - while ensuring he could beat a hasty retreat if the enemy fleet was stronger than he’d thought. His orders demanded he didn’t get too close. He had to preserve his own command.
“No response,” Graves reported.
“Send an ultimatum,” Morris ordered. They no longer had the time to be polite. “And activate our targeting sensors.”
“Aye, Admiral.”
Morris waited, hoping the Pashtali would do something - anything. Lighting the ships up with targeting sensors was a very clear warning. Even the Galactics would understand if he opened fire now ... wouldn’t they? He didn’t know. They cared little for the law, as long as it supported them. It was only the weaker races that had to follow the law to the letter ...
There’s no more time, he told himself. If they don’t react, we’ll have to open fire.
***
Belmarsh was an odd system, Ashleigh decided as Magellan lurked behind the warships and carried out her survey. The three crossroads didn’t seem to be linked together, the vagaries of multispace making it easier to pop out of one and make the crossing to the next in normal space instead of trying to work their way around the crossroads in multispace. The crossroads themselves were slightly off-centre, as if they’d shifted over the years since the last formal survey. She hoped they’d have time to carry out a survey themselves when the diplomats sorted out the growing crisis. The math was hard to follow - very few people truly understood multispace - yet it was clear distant changes in multispace were having an effect on the local system. What would that mean for independent freighters and their crews?
She frowned as the console chimed. What was that? A gravimetric distortion, well clear of the crossroads? It was crude and unformed, so low power it was unlikely the warships had even noticed. Only survey ships carried sensors capable of detecting crossroads from a considerable distance. They were just too expensive, even for the Alphans. She was all too aware that her ship couldn’t be replaced in a hurry, if at all. Earth didn’t have the funds to purchase the sensors and ...
Another gravity distortion flashed across the display. It almost reminded her of ... her hand was halfway to the console, slamming the emergency alert before her conscious mind caught up with her and told her what she saw. A crossroads! It was an artificial crossroads! No, it was someone opening a crossroads from multispace right behind their position. The fleet had flown right into a trap!
“Raise the flag,” she snapped, as the crossroads blossomed into life. The warships wouldn’t miss it now. “Inform them we’re under attack!”
She stared at the display in shock. The Alphans were the only known race that could drop out of multispace at will. No, they’d been the only known race. She kicked herself for not realising the Pashtali had a trick up their sleeve. Every spacefaring race had a program to duplicate the Alphan achievement. Earth had a program ... she was sure, sooner or later, that someone would succeed. And yet, she’d never realised it might be the Pashtali and she should have done. They’d cracked the secret of the crossroads and multispace independently. They presumably knew more about the mechanics than races that had learnt from the Alphans ...
Crude work, part of her mind noted. The power curves were strikingly high. She suspected the system was relatively new ... probably barely tested. It looked as if only a handful of the emerging starships carried the crossroads generators, opening the way for the rest of the fleet. It was almost a relief. They hadn’t cracked the Alphan power cores yet. The system was definitely crude. It wasn’t reassuring. Crude, but effective.
The fleet command network echoed with commands as the fleet started to alter course, too late. The enemy fleet was coming out behind them, blocking the way back to the crossroads. The ships on station doomed ... Ashleigh knew, without false modesty, she was no tactician and yet she understood what the Pashtali had done. They’d lured the entire fleet into a trap, cutting it off from Earth and Theta Sigma with almost contemptuous ease.
A moment later, the Pashtali opened fire.
Chapter Twenty
ESS Implacable, Belmarsh System
For a moment, Admiral Morris refused to accept what he saw.
He’d seen ambushes before, some successful and some not. They tended to work, when they did, because the victim didn’t realise what they saw before it was too late. It was easy to let a fleeing enemy lead you right into an ambush because you wanted to believe that the enemy were fleeing, because you were so determined to chase them down and eradicate them you didn’t bother to watch for cloaked ships. Morris had taken every precaution - he’d done everything right - and he’d still let the enemy slip a fleet into attack range. But who would have expected the enemy to know how to drop out of multispace without a crossroads?
We should have considered the possibility, he told himself. But we were so sure the Alphans were the only ones who could do it we never thought someone else might have cracked the secret.
He shook his head. There’d be time for self-recriminations later. The first enemy force was bringing its drives online, ready to bring their weapons to bear. He thought fast, briefly considering trying to close the range and destroy one enemy fleet before the other could catch him, but it was too late. They were just too close. He’d be overwhelmed before he could punch his way through the first force and escape ... escape where? The new arrivals were sitting between his fleet and their only way home.
“Alter course, open the range,” he ordered. Enemy missiles were already streaking into his fleet’s rear. He told himself he was lucky the enemy hadn’t dropped out any closer. The gravity waves would have devastated his fleet and the energy weapons would have finished the job. He sketched out a line on the display, hoping they’d have time to get out before the jaws slammed closed. “All ships ... return fire.”
He cursed under his breath as his ships opened fire. It was all too clear their missiles weren’t anything like as fast as the enemy missiles. He hoped the enemy hadn’t thought to train their point defence crews properly, although he feared it was wishful thinking. His crews were trained to face missiles that flew faster than any known design ... there was no reason to think the Pashtali hadn’t done the same. They didn’t have an unbroken record of victory that stretched back thousands of years. They’d presumably prepared for the worst.
His fleet altered course slowly. Morris assessed the situation, watching grimly as the first enemy missiles streaked into his point defence envelope. Their seeker heads were good, although that was no surprise; their point defence countermeasures were little better than humanity’s own. That was a surprise. He puzzled over it for a moment, then decided to worry about it later. Perhaps they’d planned on the assumption they’d be facing warcruisers. It was hard to get missiles into attack range when they could be swept out of space as easily as a man might swat a fly. The Lupines had soaked up horrific casualties just closing the range to the point they could hit their targets with primitive weapons.
We might have to do the same, he thought, grimly. Their point defence is far too good.
Alerts flashed up in front of him. The enemy fleet was spreading its fire wide, trying to cripple rather than destroy its targets. He frowned, unsure of what they were doing. Did they want prisoners? They hadn’t bothered to demand surrender before opening fire. They hadn’t even informed the fleet that the system was now theirs ... he smiled, despite everything, at the thought. Firing on an incoming fleet was also a way to send a message. He just wished he could reply to it in a far louder voice.
“Signal Carotene,” he ordered. “She and her squadron mates are to deploy sensor decoys to convince the enemy our reinforcements have arrived, then detach themselves from the fleet and head straight to the nearest FTL relay stations. They are to alert Earth, then fly to Theta Sigma and await orders.”
“Aye, sir.”
Morris nodded, curtly. It was unlikely the Pashtali would be fooled for more than a few seconds, if that, but it would buy a little time for him to think. They’d gambled everything on a quick and decisive victory. They couldn’t afford heavy losses ... right? He wondered, not for the first time, what the spooks had missed. The Pashtali had gone to a great deal of trouble to create a pretext to intervene, and they’d taken full advantage of faster communications to ensure Earth was always on the back foot, but matters had suddenly become a great deal simpler. They had to win and win quickly, before someone else started thinking about what they could do while the Pashtali were fighting Earth. Did they plan to destroy his fleet and then sue for peace? Or did they have something else in mind?
“Carotene’s squadron has departed, sir,” his aide informed him. “They’ll reach the nearest FTL relay station in two days.”
Unless the Pashtali have already knocked them out, Morris thought. Only an idiot would rely on a plan that depended on everything following a precise and predetermined schedule, but with their superior communications the Pashtali might have thought it was worth trying. It wouldn’t be that hard to capture or destroy the relay stations, if one decided galactic opinion was no longer important. They’re playing for keeps here.
He watched, grimly, as his missiles lanced into the enemy formation. The Pashtali point defence was alarmingly good, too good. Only a handful of missiles made it to their targets and only a couple did any real damage. The range was too long for energy weapons and too short for escape. The Pashtali ships didn’t seem deterred, or impressed by the sensor drones advancing behind them. Morris figured they’d assumed the human fleet would remain in a body and decided, logically, that the ships behind them were nothing more than sensor ghosts. They were right, too.
The battle continued, the fleet altering course in a bid to escape before it was too late. The Pashtali formations seemed content to keep the range open, without trying to close on his ships or let them run. Morris studied their formation, looking for weaknesses as the damage continued to mount. As long as they stayed between the human ships and the crossroads, there was little hope of escape. He snapped orders, trying to lure them into a stern chase that could end with the human fleet making it to the crossroads, but the Pashtali refused to take the bait. It looked as if they were mining the crossroads. Once that was done, they could pull out and leave his fleet stranded - or worse. They really had stopped caring about galactic opinion.
If they win quickly, no one will be able to say boo to them, he thought. We have to prolong the war long enough for someone else to realise the danger and intervene.
His mind raced as the damage continued to mount. A cruiser fell out of formation ... she had to be abandoned, even though it went against the grain. Lifepods blinked up on the display, an instant before the damaged ship was blown into an expanding cloud of superheated plasma. There was no time to recover the lifepods. Galactic Law insisted that lifepods had to be recovered by the victors, and that POWs were to be treated well, but the Alphans had largely withdrawn from galactic affairs and there was no one else with both the power and the will to enforce the law. Morris could only hope the Pashtali would honour their obligations. It wasn’t as if anyone could make them, not now.
Morris put the thought out of his mind. There were two other crossroads within the system. One led straight into enemy territory ... he briefly considered launching a raid deep into enemy space before checking the records and noting the fortresses waiting for anyone stupid enough to try ... the other was a dead end. Or was it? The sector wasn’t that well surveyed. The Pashtali might assume there was a way out, on the grounds no one would be stupid enough to run into a dead end if it could be avoided. And ... if they could take up positions on the far side of the crossroads, they could face the enemy on even terms. If ...
He quickly weighed the odds. They were doomed if they stayed where they were. There was no way to get back to the first crossroads and going into enemy territory would end badly. The risk of being trapped was high, but ... they were already trapped. It was time to roll the dice and hope the enemy took the bait. If they thought the fleet had a way out, they might just cross the crossroads and walk straight into his fire. It wasn’t much, but it was all he had.
“Signal the fleet,” he ordered. A dull shiver ran through the ship as a missile slammed into the hull. Damage reports blinked up in front of him, a handful flickering and vanishing as the datanet assessed the situation. “On my mark, all units are to alter course for Crossroads Three.”
“Aye, sir.”
Morris heard the doubt in the aide’s voice, but said nothing. It was one hell of a gamble, one he would never have countenanced if he’d had any other choice. There was a very real risk they’d be doing the enemy’s work for them. His thoughts ran in circles. They needed time, time to make repairs and consider their next move. If nothing else, they’d have to make sure they couldn’t be jumped a second time. He doubted his fleet could take it.
The enemy fleets converged, united, and continued the pursuit. Morris studied them thoughtfully, his eye flickering over the updates from the tactical analysts. The Pashtali tactical sensors were good, very good. They were taking advantage of his weaknesses to cripple his ships, perhaps intent on taking prisoners rather than slaughtering the entire fleet. They didn’t seem to have any starfighters - Morris had deployed his own to enhance the point defence - but perhaps it made a certain kind of sense. The Pashtali weren’t humanoid. They might find it hard to fly anything smaller than a cutter ...
And they could hire mercenaries very easily, he reminded himself. Or simply put Vultek flyers in the cockpits.
He frowned. Starfighters were effective, particularly against advanced ships capable of burning missiles out of space with effortless ease. The Alphans had recruited and trained entire wings of human pilots to fly their starfighters. Why hadn’t the Pashtali done the same? It wasn’t as if starfighters were a new concept. They’d proven their value in interstellar combat well before humanity took its first lumbering steps into the air. The Pashtali could have easily produced thousands of cheap starfighters ...
If they’re not here, his thoughts whispered, perhaps they’ve been deployed somewhere else.
He eyed the starchart as another missile slipped through the defences. The vast majority of worlds in the sector were effectively defenceless. The Pashtali could take them easily. But Theta Sigma ... he shook his head. The sector capital’s defences largely rested in the human fleet and he’d taken nearly everything to Belmarsh. The Pashtali would overwhelm the handful of patrol ships without any real difficulty ... he wondered, suddenly, if the Pashtali were lashing out in all directions. If they crippled all their enemies in a single blow ...
Right now, there’s nothing you can do about it, he told himself. Worry about it later.
“Sir,” his aide said. “The enemy fleet is picking up speed.”
Morris nodded, too aware of the firepower disparity to consider it a good sign. The enemy were closing the range gradually, increasing their changes of scoring hits without bringing their ships into energy range. It suggested they thought Morris was up to something ... it also suggested, he hoped, that they didn’t have a third fleet lurking in multispace. He wondered, suddenly, just how easy it was to pick one’s egress point. The Alphans had never talked about it. Given how warped multispace could be near a star, it was quite possible the Pashtali had more limitations than he dared believe. If they weren’t using the threadlines ...
Another missile shook the hull. Morris cursed as red lights flared on the display. This time, they refused to fade. He tapped his console, realising that parts of the datanet were dropping out. The navy’s engineers had done a good job of forging connections and links between seemingly incompatible pieces of technology, bridging gaps that had never meant to be closed, but the network wasn’t designed to take sustained disruption. The old battleship’s original network was long gone. More lights flared, spelling doom. The battlewagon had lost two drive compartments and now ...
