No Way to Start a War (TCOTU, Book 2) (This Corner of the Universe) (13 page)

Ten minutes
later and 19
lm
away from their fellow pilots, the last fighters from
Avenger
and
Eagle
rushed off their launch decks.  Rearmed and refueled, the
fighters joined into ad-hoc formations and raced on an intercept course toward
the retreating Vanguard force, 10
lm
away.  Ensign Gables methodically
scanned her instrument panel, ensuring her weapons computer had fully
synchronized with her fresh load of ASMs.  The one hundred seventeen fighters
of Gables’ strike force, officially designated “A-3,” would launch their
payloads at the Hollaran Vanguard force and return immediately to the carriers
to rearm yet again.  Fleet leadership had considered sending A-3 toward the
Hollaran Carrier group instead, but Admiral Hayes had determined that the enemy
carrier would either dive out of the system or have its tunnel drive damaged by
A-2’s strafing run long before A-3 could reach it.  If it did become stranded
in-system, A-3 would have plenty of time to rearm properly for a missile
attack.  Gables had breathed a huge sigh of relief when the orders were handed
down to the pilots. 
The instructor pilots told us our attrition rate would
be the highest in the Navy but sending us to strafe that carrier with all her
escorts operational would have been just plain murder,
she reflected.  She
looked up from her instrument console and out of her canopy.  Her heads-up
display painted a faint holographic image in her field of view revealing the
Hollaran carrier’s location.  Closing steadily on it were the fifty-five blue diamonds
of the soon-to-be strafing fighters.  Gables’ flight computer accounted for the
time lag inherent in watching such distant objects and estimated those fighters
would commence their first strafing pass on the carrier 6
ls
from the
Kale tunnel point. 
Talk about cutting it close
.

Gables
returned her focus to her own impending attack.  Her Pup was still 8
lm
away from the Vanguard force and since the force was running from A-3, it would
take nearly twenty more minutes to reach launch range.  Given the slower pursuit,
Gables took her time running down her targeting checklist.

Fifteen
minutes later, her missiles armed and her targeting computer feeding data to
them, she checked in on the strafing fighter group.  They were moments from intercepting
the carrier and although her F-3 Pup’s optics were too poor to make out the craft,
the nearby SEW-5 Avocet fed her information on the fighters’ actions.  She
gasped in disbelief as nineteen blue diamonds dropped from her heads-up display
on the first pass.  New headings were updating on her display as the surviving
thirty-six fighters pivoted one hundred eighty degrees to align for a second run. 
The diamonds merged with the carrier again 2
ls
from the tunnel point.

The
pass was over in an instant.  What had once been a clutter of tactical symbols
marked with bearings and speeds became a nearly barren field of black space. 
Gables winced as she saw just seven fighter symbols exiting the merge. 
My
God
, she thought,
we lost forty-eight fighters in under a minute!

“Look
sharp, mates,” the calm voice of Lieutenant Walker sounded over her headset in
the flight command channel.  “We still have a job to do.”

Tearing
her eyes away from the Hollaran carrier group symbols, she looked straight
ahead to her own targets. 
Those bastards must be cheering right now
. 
Enjoy
that massacre while you can, you Hollie SOBs
.   “Four minutes til we launch,”
she comforted herself.

“It’s
turning!” Lieutenant Walker exclaimed in the squadron channel seconds later. 
“Their carrier is turning.”

Gables’
eyes jerked back toward the chewed up Brevic fighter squadrons and saw, behind
them, the Hollaran carrier’s heading indicator changing as cheers erupted over
her comm frequency.  Her own spirits soared as she realized the implications of
the course change.

If
they were able to generate a tunnel effect they would just keep charging toward
the tunnel point.  There’s no reason to change course unless they can’t dive
out
.  The
carrier’s heading began to settle even as it cruised beyond the Kale tunnel
point without making a dive. 
They’ve come about; they’re trying to slow
down.  Judging by how little they’re decelerating, they must have taken lots of
drive damage
.  Gables smiled cruelly. 
They’re stuck here
.

“Quiet on the net,
dammit,” VF-25’s commander berated after the adulation had run its course. 
“Missile launch in two minutes then standard egress back to the flat-tops.”

*  *  *

“They
definitely missed the tunnel point,” Lieutenant Truesworth declared with a
smile.  “No tunnel effect generated, sir.”

Heskan
pumped his fist.  The fighters had been decimated but their great sacrifice had
been worth it.  After an agonizingly slow half hour of watching the Brevic fighters
power toward their target, the fleet had been rewarded with a satisfying
conclusion.  The Hollaran carrier’s propulsion had clearly been damaged enough
to prevent its escape.  Additionally, the A-3 fighter strike force had finally
closed the distance to the Hollaran Vanguard fleet and was launching its anti-ship
missiles.  The Vanguard force was 3.5
lm
from the Kale tunnel point and,
given the long stern chase, Heskan had wondered if the ASMs would have enough
time to close the distance to the enemy group before it could dive out. 
However,
Kite’s
sensor section assured him the ASMs would intercept the
Hollaran formation with the ships a mere 10
ls
from safety. 
Is this
why we suffered that missile attack?
 
Was this all planned by the
admiral?
Heskan wondered. 
Intercepting the carrier just seconds from
the tunnel point and now our ASMs will hit the Vanguard force just before it can
dive… is Admiral Hayes this good or were we just lucky?

“So
what’s next, Captain?”  Vernay asked.

Heskan
thought for a moment.  “To be honest, I’m not too sure.  Normally, we’d be
preparing for another engagement to finish off that Vanguard force and then the
Carrier group, but with fighters…”

“Why
risk the ships,” Vernay concluded.

Heskan
nodded.  It was terrific and terrifying at the same time.  Space naval combat
was being rewritten with the introduction of combat aviation. 
Is this the
future?  Limited ship engagements with the fighters shouldering most of the
load?  If that’s the case, we need more carriers. 
“Jack, how long until
those ASMs reach the Vanguard force?”

Truesworth
hesitated a moment before responding.  “Just under seventeen minutes, sir.  One
wave of four hundred sixty-eight ASMs against ten ships.”  He shuddered.

“Yes,
although the Hollies will get multiple shots at them since it’s a stern chase,”
Vernay noted.  “However, with just five dedicated escorts, and most of them
damaged to some degree, it probably won’t be enough.”

Once
again, the vastness of space asserted itself as ship captains, Brevic and
Hollaran, were forced to patiently let events play out over the immense
distances.  Twelve minutes after A-3 launched its missiles, both fighter strike
groups arrived at the Brevic carriers and recovery operations commenced on the
landing decks.  Exhausted pilots trudged through their landing checklists as
the carrier traffic controllers shepherded the fighters into orderly approach formations. 
The last Pup from the squadrons that had strafed the Hollaran carrier landed
just as the missiles from A-3 reached their targets.

On
Kite
,
Vernay and Heskan watched the time-delayed events unfold.  The ASMs entered the
Hollaran point defense envelope and missiles began to drop rapidly off the
tactical plot.  However, even the extraordinary marksmanship of the Hollaran
gunners could not fully defeat the tsunami of missiles.  A full one hundred
fifty-six ASMs broke through the defense screen despite the ten-ship
formation’s best efforts.  After the final missile had detonated, only a
single, damaged heavy cruiser remained.

“Winner
takes all,” Heskan muttered.

“What?”
Vernay asked.

“Nothing. 
I know we’re told about the decisiveness of stellar fleet combat at the academy
but it’s a different thing entirely to witness it.”

“That
damaged cruiser has reached the tunnel point, sir,” Truesworth said.

Heskan
looked up at the optics on
Kite’s
wall screen and saw the heavy cruiser
spin to begin the deceleration process.

“No
dive.  I guess it’s going to take up station with the carrier group,” Vernay speculated.

Heskan
glanced at the tactical display.  The entire Sponde engagement had narrowed to
an 8
lm
radius around the Kale tunnel point.  “It won’t be enough.  All
they have left is that heavy cruiser, the empty carrier and her six escort
ships which range from light cruisers to frigates.”

The
remaining Hollaran ships were slowly making their way back to the Kale tunnel
point after overshooting it.  Their speed, .04
c
, was strong testament to
the severity of the propulsion damage the strafing fighters had inflicted upon
the carrier’s drives.  The four ships of Task Group 2.2 were still cruising toward
the Hollarans but fleet leadership had ordered the group to come to relative
rest 5.2
lm
from the tunnel point.  Task Group 3.1 paced 2.2’s formation slightly
behind, and both carriers delayed the recovery of their fighters until they reached
their hold position and reduced speed to 0
c
.

Kite
was at relative rest in space.  Staring
at the tactical plot on her bridge, Heskan felt static as well. 
It seems
like very poor management just to sit here, but how can we be more productive given
Durmont passed down orders to hold our position with the carriers?  We raced to
this spot in space only to sit here idly.  Just another case of “hurry up and
wait.”

“Chief,
how are the repairs going?”  Heskan asked.

“The
number thirty pulse laser an’ the shield generator are still out, Capt’n, but
we’re workin’ on ‘em.  I doubt we’ll need ‘em unless the admiral orders a
general attack, which would be pretty stupid.”

“Jack,
how goes the fighter recovery?”

Lieutenant
Truesworth gestured at the tactical plot.  “Not good.  Even at rest, Avenger
suffered what’s being called a landing mishap and they’ve closed one of their landing
decks until further notice.  They’re only eleven minutes into recovery efforts
and the CAGs estimate it will take another thirty, and then they’ll have to
rearm the last of the fighters before they can begin another launch.”

“A
landing mishap at zero-C?”  Vernay asked dubiously.

Heskan
was more sympathetic.  “Those pilots must be absolutely exhausted.  This will
be their third combat sortie of the battle.  What are the Hollies doing, Jack?”

“The
formation is still holding at the tunnel point.  We’re starting to see shuttle
activity between the carrier and the escorts though.  There’s also lots of
encoded message traffic between the carrier and that damaged heavy cruiser.”

“I
wonder what that means,” Lieutenant Spencer said from behind his weapons console.

Heskan
scanned the damage estimate on the Hollaran carrier.  It was facing the Brevic
formations, masking its stern to the optic sensors in
Kite’s
Hawkeye,
but earlier Truesworth’s section had estimated the destruction of the carrier’s
tunnel drive along with well over two-thirds of the conventional propulsion. 
“I think those shuttles are evacuating the personnel from the carrier onto the
escorts.  They must have abandoned getting the carrier out of Sponde and are
trying to save as many of the crew as possible.”

“Admiral
Hayes isn’t going to like that,” Vernay said.

Moments
later Truesworth announced, “Outgoing message from Avenger to the Hollies, sir. 
It’s on the general frequency.”  He tapped on his console and the image of Admiral
Hayes appeared on the wall screen.

The
admiral was sitting in his flag bridge.  The visor on his shocksuit helmet was
up, concealing the twin stars on the crest of the helmet but revealing his weathered
face.  “This is Rear Admiral Mitchell Hayes, commanding the Sponde defense
forces.  You will cease your shuttle activity immediately.”

The
reply came ten minutes later from the damaged heavy cruiser in the form of a
brunette woman wearing the Hollaran rank equivalent to lieutenant commander.  The
right side of her shocksuit showed obvious signs of fire damage.  The woman’s
New Roma ancestry was easily evident; her brown eyes seethed with hatred and
her olive complexion contorted in anger.

“
Traditore
,”
Selvaggio muttered with disdain.

The
Hollaran officer wiped back strands of matted, dark hair that framed her sweat-soaked
face inside the partially blackened helmet.  Contempt dripped from her words as
she spoke in accented English.  “This is Komandor Podporucznik Isabella Lombardi. 
Wiceadmiral De Luca is indisposed but will answer you shortly.  We are
evacuating our wounded from the carrier.  I would appeal to you for the
sanctity of life if I did not think such a petition would only encourage you to
fire upon our medical flights.”  She attempted a smile that turned into a determined
leer and spat out, “Instead, I beg you to close on our fleet if you dare, you
succhiasangue
.” 
The screen went blank.

Heskan
flinched.  “Wow, and I thought you had a temper, Stacy.”

Vernay
smirked at her captain.  “That is one seriously ticked off komandor.  What’s a soo-cha-san-gway,
Diane?”

Selvaggio
answered with disgust.  “A blood sucker.  She—” Selvaggio gestured rudely to
the screen that formerly held the komandor’s image, “—would know.  That
disertore
fights against New Roma, against her own ancestors.”  Selvaggio’s tone had
taken on a cruel edge that nearly matched Lombardi’s.

The
story was an all too familiar one.  When the Solarian Federation splintered in
the Secession Wars, the regions along the new borders fractured as well, with
different star systems aligning with one of the two new governments or staying
with the federation.  These divisions created deep resentments between the
peoples along the divides.  New Roma had been hit especially hard as its systems
sat inside the disputed region between the Brevic Republic and Hollaran
Commonwealth.  New Roma’s star systems had been cleaved nearly in two along
with the predominant ethnicity inhabiting those systems.  Although all three
Terran political entities were comprised of the entire spectrum of humanity, the
border regions such as New Roma had been split so evenly and bitterly that
deep, unhealed wounds still ran through them.

Selvaggio
turned toward Heskan, her anger overflowing.  “That
putan
—”  She caught
herself and struggled a moment to control her ire.  Curiously, her normally
flawless English had taken on a hint of New Roma’s accent. “She is lying, Captain. 
They have too many shuttles out for it to be simple medical evacs.”

“You’re probably
right, Lieutenant,” Heskan said, assuaging his navigator.  “I’m sure Admiral
Hayes knows this too.  The problem is Task Group Two-Two is in no shape to
charge in and stop them without taking heavy casualties and the fighters are
still—” he quickly checked the tactical plot, “—forty minutes from being ready
to launch.”

*  *  *

Ensign
Gables drained the fluid supplement that Petty Officer Rhodes handed her in one
long gulp.  Liquid dribbled down her chin and soaked the collar of her flight
suit. 
Doesn’t matter
, Gables thought. 
This flight suit is trashed
anyway
.  Dark stains marred the formerly attractive uniform. 
I must
have sweated out ten pounds.  I’ve been drinking nonstop since we landed and
I’m still thirsty
.  She gestured for another supplement.

“Your
Pup is a wreck, ma’am.  The heat sinks are black, the flight computer is
rejecting our diagnostic queries and you’ve somehow managed to tear up your
landing struts again,” the petty officer bemoaned.

“Can
it physically survive another sortie, Dave?”  She thoughtlessly threw the empty
carton over the side of the canopy toward a bin.  It missed and bounced on the
deck.  Gables watched the carton come to rest and shrugged dismissively.  The safety
officers, who would normally be aghast at such a flagrant FOD violation, were
much too busy monitoring the myriad of missiles, laser packs, and fuel cells
strewn haphazardly across the hangar as crew chiefs worked to rearm the
remaining fighters.

“You
can probably get this bus out in space but I wouldn’t suggest a combat landing,
Ensign.  In fact, I wouldn’t recommend another sortie altogether,” Rhodes
replied.

“Blah,
blah, blah, Davey-boy.  I’m going up,” Gables insisted.

Rhodes
looked down at one of his spacemen busily replacing a battery pack before
leaning in close to Gables.  “Seriously, Gabes, too hard of a landing next time
and you won’t wake up.”  He kept his stern gaze fixed on the young ensign.

Gables
nodded.  “Okay, I get it.  Thanks, Dave.  Your crew has done a great job
keeping this thing together.  I just heard Ensign Lane’s finished with a dud
engine so my Pup is just one of three in the flight making this sortie.” 
Gables smiled at the accomplishment.

Rhodes
punched the canopy close button and hopped off the F-3.  As Gables once again
sealed herself inside the fighter, she saw Rhodes snap off the customary salute
as her Pup taxied away.  She thought Rhodes held his salute a few beats longer
than usual.  Turning her attention to the squadron comm frequency, she heard
Lieutenant Walker and the other flight commanders list the F-3s that were
combat-ready.  Out of thirty starting craft, VF-25 was down to thirteen
operational Pups.  The odd number meant that one unfortunate pilot would be
without a wingman.  As the lowest-graded pilot, Gables knew who that would be.

“Don’t
worry, Twenty-nine,” Walker called over to her.  “We’ll get you a dance partner
from the other squadron.”

Gables queued up in
the launch deck and wrung her hands as she listened to the status of the other
fighter squadrons.  VF-26,
Eagle’s
sister squadron, was launching with
seventeen fighters, ensuring she would, indeed, fly with the stand-out pilot
from that squadron.  Still waiting her turn to launch, she switched over to the
command frequency and learned that VF-24, one of the squadrons that had made
the strafing runs, was scrubbed from the sortie entirely.  The other squadron
was launching but with only five fighters.  The remaining four squadrons of
Avenger
could generate an additional sixty-three fighters to bring the newly formed “A-4”
strike force to ninety-eight F-3s.  They had started the day with two hundred
forty.

*  *  *

“Another
out-going message from Admiral Hayes to the Hollies, Captain,” Truesworth said
as he put the message on the screen.

“Komandor
Lombardi, this is your final warning to cease shuttle activity.  You and all of
your ships and crew are now prisoners of war.  An attempt to dive out of Sponde
by any of your ships will result in the destruction of those that remain.”

This
time, the Hollaran response came from an older man adorned with the single
broad and twin thin gold stripes of a Hollaran admiral’s rank insignia. 
“Admiral Hayes, this is Wiceadmiral De Luca responding from the carrier,
Onesti.  We both know that I cannot allow this warship to fall into your
hands.  We are in the process of evacuating as many crewmembers as possible
before this ship’s core is set to overload.  I offer myself as a prisoner in
exchange for time to let my crew safely abandon this vessel.”  The grey-haired
man looked away and sighed before continuing.  “You have defeated this fleet, Admiral,
but I can still prevent you from any further gains today.  My escort vessels
are fully tunnel-capable and will dive out of this system regardless of your
threats.  My own hand will destroy this carrier.  Your only choice now is
whether you wish to obtain the boon of a wiceadmiral prisoner of war in
exchange for the lives of my crew or whether you wish to continue the slaughter
that began hours ago.”

The
Hollaran wiceadmiral removed his shocksuit helmet.  His close-cropped hair was
plastered to his scalp and his hazel eyes showed the deep remorse of a man who had
seen too many deaths.  He nodded purposefully as he said, “We will evacuate for
as long as you let us.  I have been told that we need another two hours to fully
abandon the ship.  After that, I will be alone on the final shuttle and will
submit myself to Brevic custody.  This battle is over, Admiral.  Is continued
killing necessary?”  The wall screen went dark briefly before being replaced
with the tactical plot.

Heskan
rocked back in his command chair
.  Damn, that was a good speech.  No wonder
the De Luca family is a well-known and powerful one in the Commonwealth.  What
would I do if I were Admiral Hayes?  Capture an admiral, and a De Luca at that,
or annihilate an entire enemy crew?
  He scratched his chin. 
When phrased
like that, I’d spare the crew and take the admiral.  It’s not like the Hollies
can’t easily replace that crew and it also feels like the right thing to do.

“The
fighters are going in, Captain,” Vernay stated, knocking Heskan from his thoughts. 
“They’ll be inside missile range in one minute.”

They
aren’t really going to launch
,
Heskan doubted
.  That Hollie admiral is right.  We’d be throwing away the
chance of a high-value prisoner just to kill several hundred more Hollarans. That
doesn’t make sense… surely this is just a ploy to force even more concessions.

“
Morire
in un incendio
,” Selvaggio said coldly.

Heskan
ignored his navigator as he leaned forward in his chair.  His apprehension grew
as the fighters approached their launch point. 
This isn’t a bluff; it can’t
be because that Hollie admiral won’t even see those fighters closing on him for
another four minutes.  We’re actually doing it
, he thought with revulsion. 
“It’s not murder,” he told himself.

Vernay
looked at Heskan, doubt clearly showing in her blue eyes.  “It’s war.  And
they’d do the same thing to us.”

Unaware
of the conversation behind him, Truesworth loudly declared, “Separation!  We
have missile separation from those fighters, Captain.” 
Kite’s
tactical
plot exploded into chaos as it quickly counted and labeled the three hundred seventy-two
missiles streaking toward the eight-ship Hollaran formation.  The plot
indicated the missiles would need ten minutes to reach their targets.

As
the missiles approached the ten-minute mark, Truesworth announced, “Incoming
message from their heavy cruiser.”