The Word Is War, page 14
part #1 of Doomsday War Series
“I just hope the systems don’t crash,” Morgan said, shaking his head. “They aren’t designed to manage that much data. I wish we could have done a test shot first.”
“We’d have shown our hand if we did,” Winter replied. “It’ll work. What about those weapons modifications?”
“Same answer, skipper. I’ve done everything I can, and I guess we’ll find out whether or not they work the hard way.” He smiled, then added, “Either we’ll blow that bastard to hell, or we’ll go up in the biggest damned explosion you’ve ever seen.”
“I vote for the first option,” Bianchi said.
“Same here,” Winter replied with a smile. He looked up at the trajectory plot, watching as the ship sped towards the planet, moving towards the enemy ship ahead. They’d reacted as soon as he’d altered course, accepting the wordless invitation he’d offered for a battle to the death. If he’d been commanding the other ship, he’d have been a lot more reluctant to face battle, would have assumed that his opponent had discovered some sort of an edge, a way to beat through his defenses. Evidently the enemy, whoever he was, had arrogance to match his technological superiority.
“Engineering has a best-guess assessment of vulnerable targets,” Morgan added. “I’ve fed them into the firing computer.” A smile spread across the veteran’s face, and he continued, “We’re going to give them something to remember, no matter what happens today.”
“Weapons free, Major. You may open fire at your discretion. Helm, I want you to execute a full evasive pattern on our approach, and alter our angle to make it look as though we’re going to try another atmospheric skip. Hopefully they’ll think we haven’t come up with anything new.”
“Yes, sir,” Sabatini replied. “Executing course change. They won’t know which way to turn, Commander.”
“Seven minutes to contact, sir,” Nakamura said. “Still no change to target aspect. They’re just heading right for us.”
“As far as they’re concerned, they don’t need to be smart,” Winter said. “Let’s disabuse them of that notion. Singh, hail the enemy ship.”
“Channels open, sir,” the communications technician replied, “but I’ve got no way of knowing whether or not they’ll listen to a word we say.”
“Oh, they’re listening, Specialist,” Winter said, throwing a control. “Attention enemy vessel. This is Commander Jack Winter of the Confederate Starship Xenophon. This system is under our protection. I demand that you stand down at once, and prepare to be boarded.”
“Submit,” a dark, menacing voice replied, “or die.”
“Short and to the point,” Winter said, a smile on his face. “Interesting.”
“They’re not certain of victory,” Bianchi replied, nodding. “They think we might be able to beat them. Or they wouldn’t have said a word.”
Frowning, Singh said, “They can’t possibly think we’d simply surrender without a fight, can they?”
“Who knows what they’re thinking,” Bianchi said.
“We must, Commander, if we’re to have any chance of beating them. We’ve got to put ourselves inside their minds.” He looked at the screen, and added, “They’re overconfident. The same approach pattern as before, but look, a slight variation. Hanging back just a little to get a shot should we try and duck below them.” Shaking his head, he said, “I think we’ve found another weakness. Time to contact?”
“Five minutes, ten seconds to firing range,” Nakamura said.
“Main batteries have a firing solution, ready to open up when we get close enough,” Morgan reported. “Lieutenant Moore’s going to ride the power distribution network herself. We’re using most of the auxiliary systems in parallel with the main relays.”
“Meaning that if we have a burnout, we’ll lose all power across half the ship,” Winter replied.
Morgan frowned, and said, “There was no other way to build a charge in the maser cannons fast enough. Give me a couple of weeks in spacedock, and I’ll have something much better installed, but…”
“I know, I know, we’re making this up as we go along,” Winter said. “Any other surprises waiting for us?”
“That depends on whether or not we found all the sabotage. Or whether we still have an infiltrator on board,” Bianchi added. “All hands are alerted to watch out for anything suspicious, but we’re so short-handed that I haven’t been able to deploy two-man teams to all critical areas. All combat systems are covered, but there are too many gaps for my liking.”
“Three minutes to firing range,” Nakamura said. He looked across at one of his displays, and said, “Something odd here, Commander. I’m picking up something on the surface, a heat signature.” He turned to Winter, and added, “The shuttle. It’s launching, heading for orbit.”
“Probably hoping to rendezvous with us during our flyby,” Bianchi suggested. “It’s a marginal maneuver, but they ought to make it.”
“No, ma’am, they’re not heading for us at all. They’re on an intercept course to take them directly to the enemy ship.” Frowning, Nakamura said, “They might be able to swing around for a link-up, but it’s going to be a lot tougher, and we’re going to have to do some of the work.”
“We can’t,” Sabatini protested. “Not without compromising our attack run. They’ve got to know that.” Gesturing at the viewscreen, she added, “If we can knock them down right away, finish them off in a single shot, we might be able to do it, but I can’t see us doing it.”
“Neither do I,” Morgan added. “We’ve got a good, solid punch to deliver, Commander, but not that strong. Not unless they’re a lot weaker than we thought. It took the combined strength of two ships a lot heavier than this one to bring that ship down at Erlik.”
“They’ve come up with something,” Winter said. “Something on the surface that changes the game. Any contact, Singh?”
“Negative, sir, but at this point anything they transmitted would be picked up by the enemy ship. They won’t be able to use a message laser until they’re well clear of the atmosphere. Maybe five minutes.”
“Helm, we continue the plan for the present, but adjust your heading to give us a second pass.”
Bianchi’s mouth opened, and she said, “Commander, the odds…”
“I am aware of the odds,” Winter replied, “but I am also aware of the extreme dangers inherent in letting that ship follow us halfway across the galaxy. We’ve got to take them here and now if we possibly can, and if Lieutenant Fawcett and his team have managed to find a weak spot, now is as good a time to find out whether it works as any other.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Morgan asked
“Everyone on board updated their wills before we left Aldrin Station. Helm, make the course adjustments as instructed.”
“Aye, sir. Trajectory change is computed and laid in. We are now a hundred and seventy-one seconds from firing, and our time within combat range has increased to ninety-five seconds.”
“No change to target aspect,” Nakamura added.
“They must have seen the shuttle,” Bianchi said.
“Unless they have their own people on board,” Morgan replied, gloomily. “Maybe they captured Fawcett and his team.”
“We’d have heard something if they did. They’d have dumped all of the information they’d gathered to us, for a start,” Winter said, with considerably more confidence than he felt. “Prepare for probe deployment.”
“Ready, Commander,” Nakamura said, holding his hand over the control. Winter watched the trajectory plot, watched as the two ships drew nearer, ever nearer, waiting for the proper second to launch the probes at a time to give them the best sensor support without leaving them too long to deploy. The seconds slowly trickled away, grains of sand in an eternal hourglass, and all eyes were on him, waiting for him to give the command.
“Deploy,” Winter said, and the sensor technician threw the switch, launching the swarm of probes that nestled around Xenophon, using their limited propellant in a bid to keep pace with their mother ship that was ultimately doomed, but didn’t have to last for long. The tactical console lit up as data streamed from the new sensor net, Morgan’s hands a blur as he raced to channel it to the targeting computers, amber lights racing across the panel, the sensors warning of the danger of a data overload.
“It’s working,” Morgan said, his eyes never leaving the display. “We’re getting a great data stream. I should be able to shave at least thirty seconds off our firing time. Assuming I can keep the systems on-line for long enough.”
“Enemy is charging weapons, preparing to fire,” Nakamura reported. “Closing fast, sir.” He paused, frowned, then added, “The shuttle has accelerated. I don’t know quite how they’ve done it, but they must be running their engines way about safety limits. They won’t hold it together for long at that sort of speed.”
“They’re really in a hurry,” Bianchi said. “Singh, how long before we can make contact?”
“Any second now, ma’am,” the technician replied. “We’re flying a straighter heading than they are, so they’ll have to make the first move. That pilot has got to be some sort of madman.”
“Trust me,” Morgan said, a faint smile on his lips, “he is. Thirty seconds to firing pass. All systems appear nominal.”
“Wait a minute,” Singh said. “There’s something strange here. They’re broadcasting, but not to us. As far as I can work out, they’re sending a signal directly to the enemy ship. That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Maybe they have been captured, or suborned,” Winter replied.
“Change to target aspect!” Nakamura reported. “They’re altering course, trying to lose altitude. It’s as though they’re attempting to evade battle, sir, but at this range, they must know that’s impossible.”
“Maybe they’re having problems. Major, from where I’m sitting, the bad guys just exposed themselves to an easy shot. By all means, take maximum advantage of this opportunity.”
“Aye, sir,” Morgan said with a smile. “Closing on target. Firing range in five seconds. Helm, prepare for evasive maneuvers.”
“Coming around,” Sabatini said. “I think they’re recovering, but…”
“Firing!” Morgan yelled. “First blood!”
For the first time in years, Xenophon’s main armament opened fire, the pulse cannons spitting bolts of maser fire at the enemy, the graviton throwers pounding away, both weapons finding their mark, ripping and gouging at the unknown vessel, a smile slowly spreading across Morgan’s face as his attacks struck home.
“Energy spike! They’re not done yet!” the sensor technician warned, as the familiar balls of plasma spat from the enemy vessel’s cannons, flying through the sky towards Xenophon as Sabatini deftly danced around them, knowing that a single impact would finish them for good, that the aged ship could not possibly survive a direct hit. Warning lights burned on the damage control panel as a blast raced close by, near enough to trigger the proximity warning sensors and for the heat effect to scorch the hull, but Sabatini played her controls like the master she was, guiding the ship into position for a second volley from its maser cannons.
Crimson bolts hurtled through space as the shuttle divied ever close to the enemy ship, recklessly flying into the battlespace as though unaware of the death that danced through the heavens all around them, each maser pulse slamming into the side of the enemy vessel as it futilely attempted to return fire on Xenophon. None of its weapons found their mark.
“Energy spike, major!” Nakamura yelled, and another barrage of plasma bolts raced through the sky, far more than before, warning alarms ringing as Sabatini threw the ship into a series of wild, desperate maneuvers, frantically attempting to get away. It quickly became clear that Xenophon was not the target, though, the probes knocked out of the sky one by one, devastating overkill that set Morgan hammering the controls, desperately trying to get in just one more shot before it was too late.
“We’ve lost weapons lock!” he said, his hands still raging across the console. “Sensor resolution’s collapsed. I have no firing solution.”
“Helm, get us the hell out of here, now!” Winter ordered, as Sabatini threw all the power she could muster to the engines, Morgan hastily transferring everything he could find from the now-useless weapons systems, the ship shaking from the acceleration as it struggled away, the enemy ship recovering rapidly, shaking off whatever had affected it as it fired once more, crimson bolts raining through the air. Only the desperate exertions of Sabatini kept them clear of the enemy as they sped past the enemy ship, a single bolt getting close enough to trigger the proximity alerts once more, sending sirens blaring through the ship as damage warnings flooded the engineering displays.
“Near miss,” Bianchi reported, “but close enough to cause hull breaches on three decks! Engineering teams are on the way.”
“She’s bucking,” Sabatini warned. “I don’t know if I can hold her!”
“Ride it through,” Winter ordered.
“Twenty seconds and we’re clear,” Morgan added.
The ship rocked from side to side, the force of escaping atmosphere tossing it asunder, a paradoxical asset as the unpredictable maneuvering proved too much for the enemy targeting computers to cope with. The shuttle raced past, swinging around on a second run of its own, and finally, desperately, Xenophon joined it on the far side of the planet, out of range for a short time.
“Take damage reports,” Winter ordered, Bianchi nodding at the command. “What happened?”
“We got some good hits, but not enough,” Morgan replied. “Another couple of good salvos ought to do it.” Turning to him, he added, “That probe trick won’t work twice, Commander. They’ll shoot them out of the sky as soon as they see them. We’re going to have to think of something else.”
“We don’t have long to do it,” Bianchi warned. “We’re back in firing range in less than twelve minutes. The enemy ship is holding course and speed. The damage we inflicted doesn’t seem to have slowed it down at all.” She turned to Winter, then asked, “Orders, Commander?”
“Continue around the planet,” Winter said. “And prepare a second series of probes for deployment.”
“They’ll shoot them down,” Morgan replied.
“Maybe,” Winter said. “Unless we kill them first.”
Chapter 16
“What the hell went wrong?” Fawcett asked, his cool broken for once as Mendoza struggled at her controls. “I thought we had them!”
“We damn near did,” she replied, her eyes locked on the screen. “They managed to break contact at the last minute. While we were hooked in, their response time was doubled, their accuracy halved. We’ve got to try again.” The shuttle soared around the far side of the planet, and she turned to Ortiz, saying, “Get us closer next time.”
“Closer?” Volkov said, his eyes widening. “We almost rammed them this time! If we get any closer, they’ll shoot us out of the sky like they did those probes. A calculated risk is one thing, but you’re talking about suicide.”
“You said it yourself,” Fawcett replied. “We’re dead if we don’t, so we might as well go down fighting.”
“I don’t remember putting it quite that way, sir,” the engineer protested. “I can punch more power into the communications systems, but it’ll mean stripping away everything other than thruster control for the firing pass. Right down to life support.”
“Not a problem. We can breathe cabin air for an hour at least,” Mendoza said with a smile. “Just get me closer, and I’ll hack in again.” She reached up from the controls, flexing her fingers, and said. “Give me a warning at one minute to our next encounter.”
“I’m amazed you are able to hack into their systems at all,” Fawcett said. “Slicing into an alien network…”
“It isn’t alien,” she replied. “They’re human. Or at least, they were. All of our systems, everything we use, has its origins in coding that dates back centuries, generation upon generation of updates and modifications, sure, but the same basic, fundamental principles are always the same. They’ve got the same ones. If anything, they’re a little simpler in some ways, though their security is red-hot.”
“Simpler? That doesn’t seem to match.”
“Don’t ask me, Lieutenant, I only work here. All I know is that they’ve got vulnerabilities. If we got a good team, I mean a really crack team of hackers like we have on Colchis, then they just might be able to do a hell of a lot more than I can manage on the fly. Hack into those implants, perhaps, and make them start dancing to our tune for a change.”
“There must be some safeguards against that,” Volkov said.
“I’m sure there are,” Fawcett replied. “The cranial bombs.”
“Wonderful,” Volkov said. “The ultimate suicide troops.”
“Hey, if they want to blow themselves up, that’s fine with me,” Ortiz replied. “Makes it easier for us.”
Mendoza looked at the data stream again, at the information she had harvested during her first pass against the enemy ship. Everything had been going so well at the beginning, almost exactly as she had hoped, the confusion of data sufficient to overwhelm them, before they’d managed to block her attacks, regain control, with devastating consequences. Now Xenophon was wounded, destined to be destroyed in the second firing pass unless she could think of a way to beat them, a way to win.
She looked up at the clock, at the seconds that were rapidly fleeing away, knowing that she had only a handful of minutes to troubleshoot the problem and find a solution. There had to be an answer somewhere, buried deep in the data, and she had to find it, and quickly.
She looked over her hastily-prepared code again, a modified version of a similar piece of intrusion software she’d used before. Everything seemed as it should be. There appeared no reason why her plan shouldn’t have worked just as she had intended. There was no easy answer here.
Taking a deep breath, she sat back in her chair, looking over the readouts, hoping for inspiration to strike, running over the previous hacking attempt in her mind, going step by step. They couldn’t block her, not completely, not without isolating themselves from exterior influence. They had a weak spot, one they could not quickly repel, but this time, her rival sysop would know exactly what she was planning, would find it far simpler to counteract her moves.
