Troy Rising 2 - Citadel (45 page)

“And you combine it to one beam,” Gorku said, rippling his fur. “One beam.”

“As I said, not a patch on SAPL,” Tyler said. “But nice enough.”

“The work on the main door?” Gorku asked.

“A rapid closing system,” Tyler said. “We're going to use an explosive system to close it. Thus the . . .”

“Springs,” Gorku said. “You're going to have to use a lot of explosives.”

“Explosives are cheap,” Tyler said. “Bit cold in here, care to take a walk?”

“Since we got the second missile fabber installed we've been able to refill from what we used in the last battle,” Tyler shouted. The room was noisy with clattering missiles jostling each other for space. That was mostly taking place at the top of the stacks, two hundred meters up. The lower portions were solidly packed. But since they were looking down from the upper observation deck, that was barely a hundred meters away. “And more.”

“How many?” Gorku asked.

“Hundred and eighty thousand,” Tyler said. "We're shooting for the full two twenty-five by the end of the month. Probably won't make it, we're having to use the fabbers for fiddly bits for the other construction.

“An Assault Vector carries nine thousand,” Gorku said, amazed. “The Muikot battlestation carried thirty-six thousand. Two hundred thousand?”

“And twenty-five,” Tyler said. “When it's full up. All stabilized so they can't chain react. You'd have to put a nuke in here to get them all. We haven't done any of the installations for Sector Two yet. So we only have firing ability over about one tenth of the surface.”

“Where . . . is this exactly?” Gorku asked.

“Ah, well, sorry,” Tyler said. “Classified. It's not the exact place as on the plans I'll tell you that. Same with the laser room. And the command center. And cause of the grav walks, it's pretty hard to figure out.”

“Still don't trust us?” Gorku said.

“I trust you utterly, Niazgol,” Tyler said. “But classified is classified. Sorry.”

“You have been busy,” the Glatun said.

“Rather,” Tyler replied, opening the hatch so they could leave. “That's better,” he said, taking out his earplugs. “It's been an interesting ride. Couldn't have done it without your help.”

“Understood,” Gorku said. “But also not what . . . Not what anyone would have done!”

“Humans weren't at a low tech level when we were contacted,” Tyler said. “Most galactic tech was transferred from one group to another. Very few groups were at the tech point of humans when encountered. Our problem was getting out of the well not things like, oh, computer tech and basic space engineering. Had all that. And since we didn't have grav tech, we had to find work-arounds. Some of which work even better with grav tech. We'd been putting a lot of thought into space for a very long time. None of this is new thought. Just things we couldn't do without grav tech. Low tech, really. Simple stuff.”

“And the Thermopylae?” Gorku asked.

“Still another month or two to get it operational,” Tyler said. “We had to divert a lot of SAPL power and personnel to completing some stuff on the Troy. Right now it's not even at the same level as Troy was in the first Horvath attack it stood off. Be glad when its done. Mass has a quality of its own.”

“Speaking of mass . . .” Gorku said, pensively. “Your . . . Alliance countries have started conscription. How many people do you intend to put under arms?”

“Alliance population is currently about half of the remaining five billion population,” Tyler said. “World War II, the maximum sustainable percentage was considered to be twelve percent. We've upped our productivity and a lot of things are done automatically in industry for example. Also, overall health is better so lower rate of four-F. We think we can go as high as fifteen percent.”

“Three hundred seventy-five million,” Gorku said. “That is a bare third of Rangora forces.”

“Defending a system is easier than taking it,” Tyler pointed out. “And a Troy class battlestation takes less people to run it than an Assault Vector. Also a lot less to build. A Troy class that is fully functional, all five sectors complete, can take on about ten AVs. At least, if we fully finish it. That's going to take some time.”

“Define fully finished,” Gorku said.

“One hundred meters of ablative armor,” Tyler said, leading the way back to the personnel area. “Ten meters of surface steel hardening. Planetary class shield generators. Five full battle sectors, including fuel pods, independent power generators, one hundred petawatts of laser output, full missile load, two hundred laser ports per sector, one hundred missile ports and a large vessel port system. Oh, and a ship fabber, five missile fabbers and a central power plant in the main bay.”

“Good Kol!” Gorku said. “That is . . .”

“Insane?” Tyler asked. “Consider local galactic history, Gorku. The Glatun did most of the early advances on species in the region. Which meant peaceful contact. Humans, because the Glatun had gotten . . . had decided to study war no more, were almost immediately conquered by the Horvath. Since then, almost continuously, we have been fighting one enemy or another. It's killed a quarter of our population, changed our society and culture and more or less given us a mad on at the rest of the galaxy not to mention a really amazing degree of paranoia and we're a very paranoid bunch to start with. You think it's insane?”

Tyler stopped and looked the Benefactor in his red eyes.

“Gorku, it would be mad to do anything else.”

“General Magamaj will have the honor of leading the assault in the Star Vengeance,” High Marshall Gi'Bucosof said. “Under the command of Star Marshall Lhi'Kasishaj, of course.”

Let him, Lhi'Kasishaj thought. This is going to be a disaster.

Assault Vectors were only used when heavy defenses were anticipated. Given that the Terrans had destroyed a fleet of Aggressors, apparently without great trouble, heavy defenses were anticipated.

But even AVs could not normally take down heavy system defenses on one pass. So each AV squadron, three ships, traveled with a support squadron. The support squadron consisted of an AV support ship, essentially an unarmored, stripped out AV packed with fuel, spares, replacement armor plates and, notably, personnel, and a mobile repair dock.

The Rangora had AV repair down to an artform. By the time the AV emerged from the gate, the mobile dock had all the information it needed to begin repairs. The support ship attached directly to the dock. As the AV emerged from the gate again, generally bleeding air and bodies, they would run through the dock. Well prepared docks had taken AVs that were barely functional and returned them to battle in a mere three hours. Each segment would be refilled with replacement personnel, parts would pour in, often through the gaping battle-wounds, portions would be cut off, pre-fabricated replacements would be slapped in place and, last, armor, shield generators and defensive laser clusters, always the main parts damaged, would be ladled on.

Battle repair was possibly the highest form of mass production known to the Rangora.

The only way to totally lose an AV was for weapons to dig so far through the refractory warships that they penetrated to the highly defended core. There they could take out drive systems, power systems, critical personnel and core support beams. At that point, the AV was pretty much toast. The support squadron could still repair one, but it would take days or weeks.

Lhi'Kasishaj looked again at the three reports prepared by To'Jopeviq's team, best, worst and medium, and wondered if any of the AVs would be coming back.

Ifs. There were so many ifs. Could the humans have created another battlestation such as the Troy? High Command dismissed the very possibility. The attack on the human, especially the American, command structure would have been crippling. And Lhi'Kasishaj had to admit that was true. At least half the American upper command structure should have been gutted. No warrior culture, as the Americans appeared to be, could survive that. The survivors would still be battling for supremacy.

The battlestation had been drifting out of position. Getting it into position had been bad enough. But then it had been closed, the door holding the circular structure. Just blowing nukes against the exterior was out of the question. Anything powerful enough to overcome the inertia of its orbit would crack it from the impact. It should be out of good position to attack the AVs.

The AVs should do it. He wished he could believe that. But even if they did not, if they were thoroughly shredded, the Troy would be as seriously mauled. Its missiles would be depleted. It's laser ports and, more important, the “receptor ports” for the SAPL would be destroyed. The final targeting systems for the massive laser trashed.

The damage would be heavy enough for the twenty-four Aggressors and two carriers of assault troops to finish off the battlestation. Then the system would be defenseless.

And he personally intended to make sure the Terrans were never a threat again. High Command agreed. The Terrans were, potentially, a very good satrap. But the Rangora were not going to make the mistake the Glatun made. Any species this dangerous needed to be eliminated.

“The assault will be in two waves,” Gi'Bucosof continued. “The Star Vengeance, Star Battle and Star Mauler in the first wave, the Mira Destroyer, Neutron Star and Singularity in the second thirty minutes later. By then the first wave will be returning for repairs or to report victory. The Star Death will remain in this system as a reserve force.”

Reserve force my tail, Lhi'Kasishaj thought. Gi'Bucosof wasn't going to enter the system until it was thoroughly conquered and he wasn't going to expose himself to any danger, either. Which meant he was remaining behind in the Star Death.

Which was all well and good because that was where Lhi'Kasishaj intended to stay, too.

“When the resistance of the battlestation has been eliminated, the fleet will enter the system and reduce it, utterly,” Gi'bucosof said. “Tomorrow, we sail to victory!”

“I'm sorry the President still hasn't made time for you,” Tyler said. “Really really sorry.”

“It is fine, Tyler,” Niazgol said. “Your security people are very paranoid. I did not previously find them so. I suppose it is experiential.”

“Well,” Tyler said, moving a chess piece. “What with the Rangora attacks on political targets and problems at home, they've gotten that way. Besides, Troy's way safer. Check.”

“This is an interesting game,” Niazgol said. “And one I need to learn more thoroughly. But I think that is . . .” he moved a piece. “Checkmate.”

“So it is,” Tyler said. “You are very good. I'm not so good at this sort of th . . .”

SET CONDITION ONE! SET CONDITION ONE!

“Always when you're having fun,” Tyler said.

“Bloody hell,” Dana said, pushing Rammer away. “You need to go.”

“No, duh,” the corporal said, then stopped. “Uh . . .”

“Rammer, just go play jarhead,” Dana said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I'll see you at the pool when the battle's over. Now UP.”

“The second battlestation is not operational,” General Magamaj said. “Concentrate all fire on the Troy.”

“All fire on Troy, aye,” Captain Shoeguh said. “Open fire!”

✺ ✺ ✺

“They're uglier than I thought,” Admiral Kinyon said.

The Assault Vectors were hexagonal along their length. The edges were lined with defensive laser clusters and shield generators. The main offensive power were deeply embedded gamma ray laser emitters and missile tubes.

The hexagonal system meant that as they took damage they could rotate to bring new systems into line. And they were already starting to rotate as the heavy lasers of the Troy opened fire on the nearest AV.

“Missiles inbound,” Captain Sharp said.

“Well, let's return the favor,” Kinyon said. “Open fire quarter power on all missile tubes. Give me Commodore Clemons.”

“Sir,” the commander of the Thermopylae said. “Can I open up, yet?”

“If you please, Commodore,” Kinyon said. “You have full SAPL authority.”

“Open fire, SAPL,” Commodore Clemons said. “Engage the enemy more closely!”

“He has a point, Kurt,” Kinyon said. “From this range they can intercept our missiles all day. Let's engage the enemy more closely.”

“Aye, sir,” Commodore Pounders said. “Firing control, engage the Orion.”

“Engage Orion, aye!”

“General,” Captain Shoeguh said. “The fire we are taking from the Troy is rather . . . weak. Also coherent light, not pumped sunlight.”

“Your point, Captain?” Maganah asked. The AVs had successfully entered the system and while the point defense of the Troy was better than anticipated, they were breaking through with missiles. And the grasers were shredding its unshielded surface.

“They are using a very powerful laser, sir,” Shoeguh said. “Not the SAPL system.”

“Our intelligence indicates that sometimes it takes it some time to come online,” Maganah said. “So it's no surprise . . .”

“SAPL impact, port beam,” Damage Control commed. “Shields down in sectors 14 and 16. Heavy damage.”

“Port?” Maganah said. “The only thing to port is . . .”

“Fire is coming from second battlestation,” tactical reported. “Troy has launched missiles from two hundred missile tubes. One th . . . two th . . . six . . . ten . . . fourteen . . . Sixteen thousand missiles inbound! Troy is moving!”

“What do you mean, moving?” Maganah asked.

“It has some sort of fusion drive!” tactical said. “It's under acceleration. It is closing our position!”

“All AVs!” Maganah said. “Concentrate fire on the Troy!”

“What the hell was that?” Dana said.

She'd felt lots of gravitational effects during her time at Troy. Centripetal, centrifugal, bad inertics. But this felt more like an earthquake. Then another. And another. Each involved a very weird, slight, lurch. Barely perceptible.

“That would be Orion,” Hartwell said. “It seems the admiral wishes to adjust our position.”

“Let me guess,” Dana said as the ringing of missiles and lasers hitting the surface increased. “We're not running away.”

“We really need some shields,” Sharp said.

Missiles were rather easy for any defensive system to destroy. Solid as space missiles were, they were eggshells compared to even the lightest defensive laser. And defensive lasers could retarget and fire rapidly, destroying dozens, hundreds, of missiles.