The Shadow of Cincinnatus Read online

  “Launch drones, then hold us here,” he ordered. They were well out of engagement range, but he knew better than to take chances. Unknown starships might have unknown surprises, just waiting for the officer incompetent or foolish enough to get too close. “Continue to monitor the enemy output.”

  “They could be drones,” his XO suggested. “They might have made a breakthrough in ECM.”

  “Too much turbulence for drones, sir,” the sensor officer said. “I think most of those ships are definitely real.”

  “Then keep probing their formation,” Antony ordered. “We need to keep the commodore as informed as possible.”

  * * *

  Roman sat, stiff and cold, on his command deck as the stream of bad news swelled to a torrent. The Asimov Point was occupied, all right, by a fleet that had no business even existing. Long-range sensors and probes warned that his fleet was heavily outgunned, while the defenses around the Asimov Point appeared to have been taken out – or subverted. Roman would have bet on the latter, given how little care Governor Barany had shown for the system’s security. But there was no point in crying over an atmospheric leak now.

  The tactical problem was simple enough, but impossible. Unless the enemy was hopelessly incompetent, there was no way the fleet could break through to the Asimov Point without crippling losses. And he couldn’t afford to lose more than a handful of ships. The Federation Navy would be pushed back hundreds of light years if Fifth Fleet were lost...

  “Outsiders and aliens,” Elf muttered, in his earpiece. “Who else can they be?”

  Roman nodded. The fleet surrounding the Asimov Point included a number of ships of unknown design. Even the best intelligence analysts had found it impossible to say anything definite about them. Were they missile-heavy or did they rely more on energy weapons? The only way to find out would be to engage them – and that risked losing the fleet. He considered, briefly, conceding the system and retreating, but he needed intelligence. They had to know what those ships could do.

  “Alter course,” he ordered. Thrusting right towards the Asimov Point would guarantee their destruction, but a long-range engagement would give him the chance to see what those ships could do, while allowing him to break contact if necessary. “Take us out on a firing path, then prepare to engage.”

  A dull quiver ran through the ship as the massive superdreadnaught altered course, while the formation fanned out to allow the fleet’s full broadsides to be fired at the unknown ships. It was possible, Roman told himself, that they were actually alien ships, with alien crews, but there was no way to be sure. Would some of the Outsiders be foolish or desperate enough to teach the aliens how to build superdreadnaughts? Or had they come up with their own designs and put them into mass production?

  “Enemy fleet altering course,” Palter said. “They’re coming towards us on attack vector.”

  But they could double back to the Asimov Point if necessary, Roman thought. As long as his fleet remained on the outside, the Outsiders could ensure he couldn’t force his way through the point. They could dance the long slow stately dance of fleet movements for hours, if necessary, without sacrificing their position. They have us and they know it.

  He contemplated several possible tactics, all of which would be chancy. Unless his opponent intended to let himself be bullied into making a mistake, there was no way to avoid losing the system. Hell, given time, his opponent could cut half of his ships loose to attack the planet itself, while keeping the rest on the Asimov Point. He had the firepower to make the normal danger of dividing one’s forces immaterial.

  “Prepare to fire at maximum range,” he ordered. “And hold the starfighters for emergency launch.”

  * * *

  Commodore Garibaldi was playing it cool, Charlie noted, as the two fleets slowly converged. He’d expected more boldness from the younger man, although it was clear that Garibaldi had had to grow up quickly, after the Battle of Earth. Besides, even an idiot could calculate the odds and decide not to try to force the Asimov Point. Instead, Garibaldi seemed to be angling towards a long-range engagement.

  Charlie smiled. It was quite alright with him.

  “Long-range missiles are locked on target,” Lieutenant Juneau informed him.

  “Good,” Charlie said. “Prepare to fire.”

  His smile grew wider. He’d wondered if the Federation’s sudden determination to improve its missile systems had borne equal fruit, but it seemed, from Commodore Garibaldi’s careful manoeuvring, that it hadn’t. It didn’t seem to have occurred to the younger man that he was in Charlie’s missile range; indeed, that he’d been in range for several minutes. The only reason Charlie had held his fire was to allow Garibaldi to sink further into the trap. He would have no time to simply reverse course when he realized he was under attack.

  “Missiles ready to fire,” Lieutenant Juneau said.

  Charlie sobered. This was it, he knew; this was the moment of truth. Either they fought and beat the Federation or they lost themselves to eternal slavery. Or death. The Federation would show no mercy, even though the Grand Senate was gone. He laughed at himself inwardly a moment later. The dice had already been rolled. Even if he abandoned the battle without further ado, the Federation would know it had a more dangerous enemy lurking along the Rim.

  May God be with us, he thought, remembering ancestors who had been persecuted for daring to keep their religion. And may he defend the right.

  “Activate Attack Pattern Weber,” he ordered. “Fire.”

  “Firing,” Lieutenant Juneau said. The superdreadnaught shuddered as it flushed its giant external racks, then followed up with a broadside from her inner tubes. “Missiles away.”

  * * *

  “Missile launch,” Palter snapped. “I say again, missile launch!”

  For a moment, Roman’s mind refused to accept what he was seeing. The enemy had just wasted thousands of missiles? No, they wouldn’t have fired unless they thought they had a reasonable hope of scoring a hit. And that meant their missiles had to have greater range than he would have believed possible. Maybe they could take on the might of the Federation Navy after all.

  “Deploy countermeasures,” he snapped. There was no time to simply reverse course, even if he’d known when the enemy missiles would reach burnout and go ballistic. “Launch counter-battery missiles, then prepare to flush our tubes.”

  He took a breath. “Increase speed,” he ordered. “Take us straight into their fire.”

  Someone – one of the tactical officers, he assumed – gasped behind him. It seemed like suicide, but there was no choice. His ships were loaded with external racks too, each one carrying hundreds of antimatter-tipped warheads. One hit would be enough to destroy the magnetic chambers and blow the ships into flaming debris. He had to shoot off his missiles before the enemy attack reached his ships.

  “Lock missiles on the battlestations, as a final blow,” he ordered. The timer was ticking down rapidly. “And fire as soon as we enter engagement range.”

  “Aye, sir,” Palter said. The Outsiders seemed surprised by his actions, although it wouldn’t be long before they ducked back...if they could. Superdreadnaughts generally moved like wallowing pigs in mud. “Missiles ready.”

  Roman let out a breath. Thanks to his actions, the time to impact had shrunk sharply. “Fire,” he ordered. “Launch everything we have.”

  He watched the missiles blazing away from his ships, then forced himself to turn and study the incoming missiles. They were impressively powerful – it occurred to him that the Outsiders might have finally cracked some of the inherent limitations of missile power cells – and precisely targeted. Most of the attack had been concentrated on his superdreadnaughts, but enough malice had been reserved for his fleet carriers to blow them into atoms.

  “Signal Captain Brooks and his squadron,” he ordered. “They are to disengage from their position and head for the stardrive limit. Once they cross it, they are to split up and head for Haven, Croxley and..
.and New Tennessee. They should be able to alert the Federation Naval Bases there, then proceed deeper into the Federation to Battersea.”

  “Aye, sir,” Palter said. “What if those systems have already been overwhelmed?”

  Roman grimaced. Most systems along the Rim were effectively defenseless. It wouldn’t take more than a single destroyer to occupy them, assuming it was necessary. Most of the Rim-worlders hated the Federation with a blinding passion. The Outsiders wouldn’t need to concentrate their forces against worlds that would probably join them willingly, given a chance. And besides, if they had enough ships to attack all possible targets and still send a major fleet against Athena, the Federation was screwed.

  “They won’t be,” he said, hoping he sounded confident. Someone considering his possible options would certainly point to those three worlds as potential destinations. They all had Asimov Points, after all. “Send the orders.”

  “Enemy fleet is launching starfighters,” Palter added. “They’re readying themselves for antishipping strikes.”

  “Launch ours, configured for close-in defense,” Roman ordered. “And then send the fleet carriers to the rear.”

  On the display, a wall of red light – there were so many missile icons that they blurred together – swept down on his fleet. Roman issued orders, instructing the fleet to reverse course and extend the range, although he had a feeling it would be futile. The enemy fleet would hardly have laid such a careful trap without making sure he couldn’t escape the tidal wave of incoming missiles. But they had their own problems too now...

  We’ll need to duplicate those missiles, he thought, sourly. It had been a while since the last major advance from the Federation Navy’s researchers – and longer still since they had developed something completely new, rather than learning from their enemies. But the Grand Senate hadn’t been interested in research for the sake of research. Something might have been discovered that would have tipped the Federation’s balance of power into the rubbish heap.

  There’s no choice, he told himself. Those damn missiles give the bastards too many advantages.

  He gripped his armrests as the missiles entered point defense range. Thousands vanished, picked off by the unified point defense of the entire fleet, but hundreds more kept roaring towards his ships. Worse, they were definitely antimatter-tipped warheads. As they exploded, they released waves of electromagnetic interference that blinded sensors and made it harder for the survivors to be tracked. Thankfully, they didn’t seem to be any smarter than the average Federation Navy missile head. Quite a few hurled themselves on drones and expended themselves uselessly. Others lost their locks on their targets and were picked off before they found new ones.

  But hundreds still found their targets. Roman watched, helplessly, as damage mounted rapidly. It would have been worse, he knew, if they’d fired at the smaller ships. As it was, a dozen cruisers and destroyers were vaporized when they were targeted by accident. Others took significant damage. The superdreadnaught Thunderhead dropped out of formation, streaming plasma from a major gash in her hull, then exploded when her antimatter containment fields failed. She was followed, quickly, by the superdreadnaughts Canopus and Denver. The latter, at least, managed to launch lifepods before she followed her comrades into oblivion.

  Don’t think about the dead, he told himself. Most of them were strangers, but some he knew personally. Mourn later, when you have time.

  “Boskone has taken heavy damage,” Palter reported. There was a bitter tone in his voice as the superdreadnaught’s details flashed up in front of them. “Lieutenant Walters is asking permission to abandon ship.”

  “Granted,” Roman said. He had to check his implants to identify Walters, fifth in the chain of command. At least it wasn’t quite as bad as when he’d been thrust into command of Enterprise, he told himself, but one glance at the screen had made it clear that Boskone was doomed. “Detach SAR craft to pick up the lifepods.”

  He took one last look at the stricken vessel, then turned back to the display. The enemy fleet was launching a second salvo of missiles, thankfully a much reduced one. This time, the tactical officers knew their enemy. But the Federation ships were still going to take a pounding.

  “Alter course,” he ordered. “I want a least-time passage to the edge of the gravity limit.”

  “Aye, sir,” Palter said.

  * * *

  Charlie had worried about his ships and crew when the enemy returned fire. He had to take his hat off to Garibaldi; he’d taken a beating, but he’d made sure that the battle wasn’t a complete curbstomp. It was almost a shame he was on the wrong side, Charlie considered, as the missiles roared down on his ships. A mind like that, willing to grasp a fleeting opportunity and use it to score a blow, was worth keeping.

  He watched, grimly, as the missiles entered his point defense envelope. They’d drilled endlessly, against missiles with impossible capabilities, yet he’d always questioned how well they would do against a real opponent. Even the best possible situation would give the tactical officers and their automated servants problems that couldn’t really be simulated, not easily. And some of those simulations had ended very badly.

  “Pilgrim is gone, sir,” Lieutenant Juneau reported. “Lightning, Hawker and Robert Bruce have taken minor damage, but Kershaw has lost one of her drive chambers and has to fall out of formation. Peace, Freedom and Liberty have all taken heavy damage and will have to be abandoned. I...”

  She broke off. “Freedom has just been destroyed, sir.”

  “Order the other two to abandon ship,” Charlie snapped. “We’ll pick up the lifepods once the battle is over.”

  He watched the display, his eyes narrowing as the Federation Navy’s ships altered course. It seemed that young Garibaldi had had enough of the battle and was trying to escape. Charlie didn’t blame him. The missiles had to have been a surprise – no one would have come in so fat and happy if they’d known they were walking into a trap – and his ships had taken significant damage. It might have been worth it, if they’d been fighting on equal terms, but the Outsiders had significantly more firepower at their disposal.

  The final tally of damage appeared in front of him and he let out a sigh of relief. It was bad, but it could have been worse. He’d feared losing so many ships – or having to send them back to the repair yards – that the second or third steps of the operational plan would have to be cancelled completely. It wouldn’t have been a major hiccup, but he knew from bitter experience that delays beget more delays...and eventually they would prove fatal.

  “Detach two squadrons of cruisers and order them to escort the troopships to Athena,” he ordered, softly. “But caution the CO. They are not to attempt to land if the defenses are ready to resist them. If so, we can deal with the defenses later.”

  “Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Juneau said.

  “One squadron of superdreadnaughts is to remain on the Asimov Point,” Charlie continued. “The remainder of the fleet is to give chase. And prepare to engage the enemy once again.”

  He smiled, again, as his orders were carried out. The Federation Navy ships would probably make it to the limit and drop into FTL, but they would take one hell of a beating first. And any ship that dropped out of formation, crippled and helpless, could be obliterated later, if the crew refused to surrender. Taking Federation ships and pressing them into service would tie up engineers he didn’t want to waste, but they might need the hulls. The war had barely begun. It wouldn’t be long before things started to go wrong.

  “Fleet reconfigured, sir,” Lieutenant Juneau said.

  “Then take us in pursuit,” Charlie ordered. Irritatingly, the Federation Navy had managed to put some distance between themselves and the Outsiders, but not enough to escape contact completely. The starfighters would see to that, he knew. “Best possible speed.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Operation Retribution. The first major battle between the Federation Navy and forces loyal to Admiral Justinian. O
wing to incompetence (and false intelligence) the Federation Navy flew into a trap, forcing the fleet to withdraw into interstellar space and make a stand at Boskone.

  -The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199

  Athena, 4098

  It’s like Operation Retribution all over again, Roman thought, as the enemy fleet finally shook itself down into pursuit formation. Except I’m in command.

  He cursed under his breath as the enemy starfighters swarmed forward. They were tiny, each one individually harmless, but as a mass they were deadly. They could catch up with his fleet, fire off their missiles and then retreat back to their carriers to rearm, re-launch and do it all over again. His starfighters would do what they could to keep the pressure off, but they would be badly outnumbered. Roman knew, all too well, that his fleet was about to take a beating.

  “Deploy the starfighters in a Foster Formation,” he ordered, then cut himself off. The CAG knew what he was doing and, more importantly, he didn’t need someone from higher up trying to issue orders himself. “Order the point defense to be ready to engage the enemy starfighters.”

  “Aye, sir,” Palter said.

  Roman scowled as new reports came in from the sensor platforms. There was no StarCom in the system, thus no way of getting reports in real-time from more than a few light minutes away, but it was clear that part of the enemy fleet was turning and advancing towards Athens. He studied the vectors for a long moment, trying to determine if there was a way he could break off and intercept that subsection of the fleet, then decided it was useless. The main body of the enemy fleet would always be between him and his target.

  “Send a signal to the planet,” he ordered. It was a futile effort – the planet’s defenses were in total disarray – but they had to try. “Warn them that the enemy fleet is on the way.”

  He looked down at his console, trying to think of something – anything – he could do other than escaping the system through stardrive. But there was nothing. Keeping the remains of his fleet intact was the top priority and even the planet, as important as it was, came second. The Federation Navy couldn’t afford to lose his ships, not when it didn’t even know it was under attack. Roman considered the vectors for a long moment, trying to put himself in the enemy’s shoes. Where would they attack to make sure it took weeks, even months, for the Federation to discover a whole new war had just begun?