Setosha - the Beating Heart
Copyright© 2010 by Prince von Vlox
Chapter 21
Setosha
Fighters from the two Families’ carriers spun off their rails and dropped toward Setosha. The carriers, their escorts, and an additional cruiser squadron broke sharply upwards from the ecliptic, accelerating at 190 Gs. The Imperial 2nd and 3rd Battle Squadrons, four battleships each, accompanied by the Imperial 2nd Carrier Squadron of four carriers, and their attendant squadrons of cruisers and destroyers, boosted at their maximum, 165 Gs, to intercept.
At ten light seconds, the Imperial fighters began launching and forming up. At six light seconds, the first missiles accelerated away from Imperial battleships. At four light seconds, the Families’ ships began launching their own missiles. The Imperial commander attempted to close. The Families’ ships, with their higher initial velocity and greater acceleration, countered, maintaining roughly parallel courses and quickly extending the range ahead of the Imperial squadrons.
As always, the Bitches’ missiles proved immune to jamming. Looking up disgustedly from his repeater of the Tac Display, a senior lieutenant of the 3rd Battle Squadron’s staff made a note of this for transmission to Imperial Intelligence. The incoming missiles didn’t maneuver during their final approach, allowing barrages of antimissiles to thin their numbers. Those that got through the antimissiles had to survive the hail of fire from interlocked laser point defenses.
Two proximity-fused antimatter warheads sensed targets close enough to excite the barracuda cortex. Synapses fired, and tiny bioelectric signals fed into hair-thin gold wires, passed through amplifiers, and into the bomb trigger mechanisms. Reactors converted hydrogen into anti-hydrogen and then intimately combined the two ultimately contrary materials. The two explosions were not close enough to consume any Imperial ships within their annihilation spheres. Energetic positrons, electrons, and gamma rays spent their fury on Imperial armor. Intense electromagnetic pulses fried the circuits of hardened electronic devices. Fail-safes engaged, and redundant circuits automatically redistributed critical processes.
Scan and Fire Control momentarily blinded, Imperial heavy cruiser Meheme failed to engage a second wave of missiles and was staggered by a half-dozen hits from bomb-pumped lasers. Energy beams slashed deep into its hull, slicing through compartments, burning through men and equipment. There was a brief moment of microgravity before fail-safes kicked in. Damage control crews rerouted circuits around smoking patch panels, and medical teams charged into damaged compartments to rescue the injured. Fires flared in the wake of the hits, scorching equipment and crew for several minutes before they were extinguished. Meheme struggled to stay within the protective anti-missile formation, trailing an erratic stream of atmosphere and water vapor.
Imperial observers saw hits from their own missiles on several Families warships. No targets were destroyed, but analysis from Tac Displays showed that several vessels were out-gassing. A squadron of Imperial destroyers attempted to close with the Families cruisers from another angle. The Families commander changed course to meet them. Intense and accurate missile fire from the Families cruisers savaged the destroyers.
Shocked by the unexpected ferocity of this attack, the destroyers’ commander aborted his own strike and retired behind a cloud of decoys and jammers. Although unable to obtain even a minimal launch solution, his destroyers did perform a detailed scan of the Families squadrons. The destroyer commander reported that most of the missiles launched by Imperial cruisers and battleships were being neutralized well short of their targets. He was unable to perform a proper analysis of the Families’ missile defenses, though he stated his ships detected no Families electronic jamming.
The Families squadrons drew steadily ahead, and the exchanges of missiles slackened. During this lull, Imperial fighters attempted to close with the Families ships. Results were mixed. Imperial losses were heavy, and the damage inflicted upon the targets they engaged appeared to be minimal. Surviving pilots reported murderous point defense fire that forced them to abort their attack runs. Others described receiving damage from what they described as sensor probes. Post-battle analysis would show that some fighters had indeed suffered damage that could not be assigned to any observed enemy action. Their pilots’ obviously confused reports were eventually tagged as unexplained. An immediate refresher course on accurate identification and reporting was scheduled for all fighter squadrons, and support ships were ordered to improve the equipment fighters carried that could do this.
The Families commander decided to test the Imperial heavies one more time. Her ships slipped back into missile range. Again, ships exchanged volleys as fast as they could load and launch. During this action, two of the Families cruisers were observed slowly falling behind the others, losing their point defense interlock with the rest of the formation. Another Imperial destroyer squadron commander spotted this and attempted to close, hoping to pick off the laggards. He was able to launch a few salvos of missiles before his squadron was battered by a tightly coordinated attack from several Families cruisers. An Imperial destroyer exploded, then another. A third lost power and drifted out of control. The survivor retired at its best acceleration, out-gassing heavily.
The commander of the Families battle group then changed her ships’ headings to a departure angle, and the Imperial ships’ favorable intercept parameters were greatly reduced. The Imperial Admiral commanding both Battle Squadrons saw the predictions of the Families commander’s latest vector change and shook his head in frustration. Shortly thereafter, he broke off his direct pursuit as he no longer had any acceptable intercept solutions.
During all of this, the Families fighters had engaged several Imperial ships on duty around Setosha. The fighters used rocks and debris from Setosha’s ring to cover their approach. A confused knife fight raged for several minutes as Families fighters virtually attached themselves to their opponents, firing into the Imperial ships from inside their missiles’ minimum range. Damage was severe on both sides. A single mistake or a moment of bad luck was all it took to remove one or more fighters. Conversely, at that range, it was impossible for the Families pilots to miss. Missile and weapon strikes from the fighters caved in entire sections of the ship’s hull. Imperial commanders cursed viciously and diverted energy from drives to gunnery, desperately striving to vaporize their diminutive attackers.
When the surviving Families fighters broke off and shaped orbit to rendezvous with their retreating carriers, sweating Imperial commanders breathed a sigh of relief. It was obvious that the damned Bitch fighters had an endurance much less than that of Imperial fighters.
Aside from two destroyers lost near the ring, the only fatal blow in this action was an older Imperial cruiser that was wrecked by consecutive missile and beam hits. Immediately after the raid, this ship was designated as “expended in combat” by the senior surviving officer, the Gunnery Officer. Added to that loss, one squadron of Imperial fighters that had joined the fight near the ring failed to report back after combat ended. Their destruction was so quick and complete that it was several hours before their absence was noticed. Only a handful of the Families fighters that had entered the engagement were seen to rendezvous with their carriers.
“That’s the third of their useless pinprick attacks this week,” Main Force Admiral Bruxell said disgustedly as the Families carriers and their screening ships crossed the hyperjump limit and vanished. “What do they think they’re gaining by this? We repulse them every time, and they still attack us with these light forces.”
“I’m not sure,” his aide said thoughtfully, studying the Tac Display. He studied the Comm screen, checking Imperial ships’ damage reported so far. “Meheme was hammered,” he said. “Captain Izman requests permission to form up with other ships heading home for repair. We have a cruiser and four destroyers gone for certain and three more that should be written off. Most of the survivors in Delgato’s squadron will be on their way home for repairs. The Low Orbit Squadron is still sorting through what happened. It looks like our destroyers removed nearly a dozen of the enemy fighters. That’s something, sir.”
Admiral Bruxell nodded absently. The enemy was hurting him more than he was hurting them, but that was because their lighter, faster ships were not staying around to fight his heavier ships. None of that was new. He had seen it during the first few hours of the invasion. He knew that all he needed to do was to slip some light cruisers or destroyers in behind the enemy he really wanted to kill. A few hits on those carriers’ engines would drop their acceleration enough for his battleships and heavy cruisers to cut them to pieces.
The Bitch Admiral clearly knew that, too. Why did she continue these raids? Was she waiting for reinforcements? That didn’t make sense, not after this long. Her navy only had three systems to draw from. They must have everything they had available here by now. What else could she be waiting for? PSK heavy ships? If so, she was going to be disappointed. The Empire’s people in the PSK Navy’s Personnel Department had put in many years staffing the PSK Strategy Board with Admirals who would cower at their own shadows, and others who were in the pay of Imperial Intelligence. Those men would never send ships into this thrice-damned Nebula. No, there had to be some other critical piece of information he was missing.
Admiral Bruxell stared blankly at the Tac Display, sorting through the possibilities. He knew the key had to be in the Tac Display record somewhere, he just couldn’t put his finger on it. Patiently he reviewed the two parts of the action carefully, looking both from the viewpoint of his own flagships and also from the presumed viewpoint of the Families commander on one of her carriers. Nothing. He shook his head, frustrated. Part of the trouble was that this Bitch Admiral was so damned unpredictable. One time she’d go for the planet, another time she wouldn’t come within 30 light minutes of it. A third time she jumped in with one carrier and a host of cruisers, later it was several carriers with almost no cruisers. The only pattern was that there was no pattern.
He replayed each engagement from the last month in his Tac Display, trying to see a common thread. He could remember his analysis of each fight as it had developed in front of him. He’d sat back, letting his squadron commanders deal with the Bitch ships; it was good for them and it showed him which officers had promise. The results were generally good. They had better be; this was the cream of the Imperial Navy. Against a PSK Admiral, they would already be packing up to go home, mission completed. But this Bitch Admiral and her ships didn’t stand and fight; they kept dancing around, jabbing at him, never really hurting him. He couldn’t see what she was accomplishing with all of this.
“It’s probably an inexperienced commander on the other side,” he said to himself. “She’s new to this kind of situation, and she’s feeling her way into capital ship engagements.” That made sense. He’d seen the students at the Imperial Naval Academy do exactly the same thing. She was acting just like a plebe toying with simulators for the first time. Of course, how could you have a capital ship engagement of any kind with carriers? He’d have to think about that later.
He reviewed the previous Families raids using that assumption, and then sat back, nodding, satisfied. “I’m glad those carriers got away,” he told his aide.
“Glad, sir?” His aide was confused.
“Pay close attention to the vectors, Staine.” The Admiral traced the trajectories of the squadrons from each of the recent fights. “See? With each attack, they bring their carriers a little closer. One of these times, they’ll be too far in, and we’ll slam the trap shut. Their acceleration won’t get them out of that. Then we’ll gut them.”
His aide didn’t see it. “If you say so, sir.” The aide muttered something uncomplimentary as he turned back to his own screen.
“Louder, please, Lieutenant.” Admiral Bruxell said, ice touching his voice.
“It’s not ... it’s not natural, sir,” the man complained. “A woman commanding warships, sir, there’s something wrong with that.”
“Male, female, whatever.” Admiral Bruxell shrugged. “They all die the same when their air runs out.” The Admiral relaxed slightly, considering his next move. “This was a successful engagement, Staine. Our losses were light. Unfortunately, theirs were also, but we can afford the casualties. They can’t keep this up forever. Draft a message to all participating ships. Congratulate them on their parts in the actions.”
The aide saluted and sat down at the Flag Comm console. Admiral Bruxell gazed at the bulkhead, replaying the engagement in his mind. Yes, he said to himself, this was a successful operation. You thought you had me fooled. You thought I didn’t notice you were getting closer and closer to the planet. You thought I would react the same way every time. He smiled. Next time you’ll be even closer, maybe close enough for me to trap your precious carriers. Without them, you’re powerless. Next time, we might see a different result.
“Sadowa reporting, ma’am,” Third Officer Kozakova announced from her console on Oldendorf. The raiders had emerged from jump 20 minutes before, and the ships were beginning to queue up to get their damage repaired and take on reloads of missiles. “Mission accomplished, details following. Damage to Cantacuzino and Dolgikh, light damage to Tannenberg and two escorts, Tempest and Demon. Sadowa will send technical details and scan records over in a few minutes.”
Admiral Bridges nodded. “No worse than we expected,” she said. “Thank them for their actions today.” She turned to her Operations Officer. “It worked.”
With an effort, Corey distanced herself from her shunt. “Aye, ma’am. I think we have him seeing patterns and reading things into them. Did you notice how he didn’t even try an intercept with his Fast Attacks or other squadrons this time? They’re learning to avoid our fighters. And except for one squadron of heavies, his cruisers stayed in position. He’s been rotating the ships on intercept duty.” Her smile looked weak on her thin and pale face. “I see no evidence that they have spotted our fighters landing on Setosha.”
“Or the mechanicals that stayed in the Ring. We’ll confirm as best we can with our contacts on the ground. Are you all right?” Her Operations Officer was critical to the success of this campaign, and she appeared more than a little haggard.
Admiral Bridges had come out of retirement as a personal favor to Volyn Carter. She knew she wasn’t a combat officer anymore, not at this level. Oh, she’d hunted and fought the Idenux successfully back when the current escorts and light carriers were the best warships the Families could put in space, and fleet carriers were only a wish. Nobody had even dreamed of Strike carriers when Leah Bridges had scored her first victory against the kin-stealers. Only once had she ever commanded an armada even approaching the size of what was gathering here in the darkness between the stars. K-303 had been an entirely different experience than retaking Setosha would be. At K-303, chasing the enemy away was a victory. At Setosha, nothing short of annihilation of the entire Imperial fleet would be acceptable.
“I’m just tired, that’s all, ma’am,” Corey assured her, stifling a yawn.
“Go get some sleep,” Admiral Bridges ordered. She smiled. “I’ll make that official if I have to, Corey.”
Admiral Carter wanted Corey Andersen in charge of the operations around Setosha. Oh, she hadn’t made it an official order; legally, she couldn’t. By law and by custom, Corey couldn’t be an Admiral, not yet. There were reasons for both the law and custom, reasons both Admirals and the Captain understood and supported. Nevertheless, Volyn Carter was an Eldest, and she knew there was always some way to get the job done.
Her carefully orchestrated fleet reorganization culminated with the appointment of Leah Bridges to overall command at Setosha and Corey Andersen to the position of Fleet Operations Officer, something new to the Families Fleet. Both Admirals knew there were officers who, despite Corey’s growing reputation and obvious skills, would refuse to follow her orders because of any number of reasons. The Families Navy encouraged independent thinking by all ranks, especially those commanding ships. Sometimes that tradition could be expensive. Admiral Carter would have preferred simply to keep any suspect officers out of the fight at Setosha, but too much hung on a single moment or a single decision. There was no room for personal or professional conflicts. Her original idea was to send the most independent-minded officers off to raid the Empire where they would be quite effective, but she knew that wouldn’t work. If she sent all of the commanders who were too independent to follow Corey’s orders off on a raid, there simply wouldn’t be enough ships at Setosha to smash the Empire’s fleet and liberate the system.
The solution to that dilemma had come from a PSK Navy practice. In the Families’ Navy, the Staff had always consisted of officers in charge of Coordination, Supply, Astrogation, and Communications, along with a Chief of Staff. Admiral Carter had created the post of Operations and Planning Officer and assigned Corey to that position with responsibilities similar to what she had already performed when serving with Captain Pagadan’s PSK cruiser squadron.
Then she personally recalled Admiral Bridges from retirement to take charge of the operations around Setosha. Leah was a friend and completely trustworthy. She would make certain Corey’s orders were presented in a fashion that guaranteed they would be obeyed. Well, obeyed most of the time.
Leah Bridges’ years of service were legendary. Hers was the Fleet’s earliest success story. She had been the senior surviving officer in the Fleet’s first space victory. Taking charge of the armed cutter Warder when its bridge had been wrecked and every other officer on board was dead or wounded, she had destroyed one Idenux raider and forced another to crash during a wild pursuit through Weon’s rings. The third raider had escaped, but only after being pummeled by Warder.
After that success, Leah had moved from strength to strength. She had commanded the Families’ first real warship, Defender, and the first carrier, United Families. After a tour at the newly founded Command & Staff School where she taught tactics to such promising officers as Adana Korina and Louise Alexander, she had spent a decade smashing Idenux raiders from the Flag Bridge of a Frontier Fleet Task Group. She had then capped her career with the decisive victory over the kin-stealers at K-303.
The most stubborn captain of any Families ship, and Admiral Carter knew there were more than a few of those, would not even think of disputing Leah Bridges’ orders. Admiral Bridges, who had planned on spending whatever years remained to her after K-303 surrounded by her granddaughters and great-granddaughters, was under specific orders to listen carefully to a young woman a third her age, evaluate what she said, and use her well-honed judgment in applying the results.
Any doubts Admiral Bridges may have had about her Operations Officer vanished during the first action she’d seen Corey Andersen fight at Setosha. The Imperials had been running transports out of the system, and she’d given Corey three escorts and a cruiser to intercept them.
In a violent little scrap, Corey had taken apart four Imperial cruisers that had out-massed her ships, rounded up the convoy, and rescued two hundred gals being shipped back to the Empire.
Six hours later, at the end of a grueling after-action analysis, the Admiral had completely satisfied herself that this result was no accident. Volyn was right. The Families Fleet would win at Setosha, but only if Corey Andersen was the one giving the orders.
Of course, this wasn’t the moment to admit to Corey that she had earned her Admiral’s trust and respect. Eldest Leah shared that information only with Eldest Volyn, and then only by sealed security pouch. To everyone else, she appeared determined to work Corey into the deck. It was her way of making young Corey even better than she had been. Leah did that primarily by reviewing each engagement with the young officer and seeing what could have been done more effectively, more quickly, with less risk, and fewer casualties. She didn’t tell the young woman that these sessions were more grueling for her than actual fights.
Now, Admiral Bridges waited until Corey had left the Flag Bridge before notifying her Flag Captain, Leesa Lacey, that she was heading for her own cabin. She steered a decidedly wavering course to her bed. “I’m too old for this,” she thought as she settled down to rest. “Volyn can’t ask for more. This has to be my last operational cruise.”
Corey stumbled to the cabin she shared with two other officers and fell across her bed. When the crew of Oldendorf stood down from duty several hours later, her roommates found her there, sound asleep. They quietly slipped back out, letting her rest. They only came back shortly before dinner. Corey, awakened this time by their arrival, rolled over and stared blearily at them.
“Some people have all the luck,” Second Officer Tanya York observed, teasing. “She got out of duty early.”
“Yeah,” Third Officer Colleen Mathies agreed. “Sleeping through her watch, too. I guess we’ll have to report her to the nearest senior officer.”
Tanya drew herself to attention, saluting. “Ma’am,” she declared solemnly. “It pains me to report that our roommate was found sleeping while we were at battle stations.”
Corey weakly threw her pillow at them and collapsed on her bed, laughing. “I--I’ll take it up with the offender,” she promised. “I’ll probably have to assign her extra duty,” she added, yawning hugely.
“You could always throw yourself on your own mercy,” Colleen suggested helpfully.
“Careful about that,” Tanya said. “If that last throw of hers is any example, she’ll miss and wind up face down on the deck.”
Colleen laughed. “Girl, with a throw like that, she couldn’t even hit the deck if she tried.” She drew herself to attention next to Tanya and saluted Corey. “Ma’am? I regret to report that our roommate has probably been neglecting her physical conditioning sessions as well.”
“I’ll have a word with her,” Corey sighed. “From what I hear of the miscreant, I’m not sure it’ll do much good.”
“Seriously, Corey,” Tanya said, “Captain Lacy told us to get more food in you and make sure you take some time to exercise. You’re still nothing but skin and bones. If you want my opinion, I don’t think you’re over whatever happened to you on Home.”
“I’m not going to appear in front of the Old Lady and report that we couldn’t get you to do something as simple as eat,” Colleen shook her head. “Not to the Old Lady. Nobody talks about the last girl who had to report something like that.”
“Yeah,” Tanya shook her head, too. “I hear she’s still walking home from K-303.”
Corey smiled once more, then remembered the raid and instantly sobered. “How many did we lose?” She swung her legs off the bed. “I know we lost some people. Talk to me.”
“Two dead on Tempest,” Colleen said quietly. She knew Corey wouldn’t rest until she had accepted whatever new price her strategies had cost the Families. Colleen’s duty station was backing up the Fleet Coordination Officer, and she had seen the reports as they came in. “Cantacuzino had six injured, nobody killed. Dolgikh lost three dead and has five injured. Tannenberg lost four pilots killed, but the rest made it to wherever they were going.”
“I hate the price we pay.” Corey stared gloomily at the deck for a long moment before looking up at her two dark-haired roommates. “I wish there was some other way to do this.”
“Whatever it is you and the Admiral are doing.” Tanya shrugged. “You’re saving lives, Corey. You know what would happen if we just grabbed everything and smashed our way in to Setosha, gunning for those Impie battleships with no plan or preparation. I was in the first fight here at Setosha. Bloody mess, that’s what that was. If we tried that again, it would be even worse. Take the time and spend what it takes to do the job right, that’s what my Mam always told me. Everybody knows you two are up to something, but nobody knows what it is. There’s all sorts of gossip and speculation flying around.”
“Can you keep a secret?” Corey asked. Both officers nodded eagerly. “Well, so can I.” Their faces fell. Corey smiled apologetically. “Sorry, old joke. A general back on Old Earth used to pull that one on his staff all of the time. But if you haven’t figured it out, then it’s possible the Imperial Admiral hasn’t, either.”
“Hmmph.” Tanya eyed her accusingly. “Keeping secrets from your own roommates, sleeping on duty, fresh food almost every other day, what is this girls’ Navy coming to?”
“Speaking of which,” Colleen reminded Tanya, “it’s dinner time and we’re supposed to stuff some food into this miscreant. I heard that the latest supply ships brought something other than NavRats for everybody.”
“They’re all NavRats,” Tanya said. “My sib works in Supply on Weon. She says they spend a lot of hours removing all taste and texture from anything that appears on our plates.” She sniffed. “She trained as a chef, just like I did, and you have no idea how it pains her.”
“One of the war’s success stories,” Colleen nodded. “You’ll be pleased to learn somebody slipped some real food past your sib. There’s plenty for today and for the next few days as well.”
“Bad food is supposed to put an edge on the troops,” Corey said. “It says so in the history books. Makes the gals want to take out their frustration on someone, and the only ones available are the enemy.”
“Then we must be headed for a stand down,” Tanya said. She looked hopefully at Corey.
Corey smiled. “If we’re headed for a stand down, why are the Yi Sung Sin, Kolin, Breitenfeld, a cruiser squadron, and an escort squadron joining us in the next few hours? And if we’re not headed for a stand down, why did they deliver fresh food to the fleet? And if we are headed for a stand down, why am I down here sleeping? And if--”
“Oh, that last one’s simple,” Tanya interrupted. “You’re here because Admiral Bridges ordered you here and threatened to send a squad of Marines along to make sure you did. I don’t know about the rest of the gibberish; it’s probably just Crazy Corey razzle-dazzle. If you don’t know, you’re not telling, and if you do know, you’re not telling.”
“Basically,” Colleen summarized, “you’re not telling.”
Corey nodded, grinning. “That’s pretty much it. Of course, it’s possible I don’t know because nobody’s made a decision yet.”
“You’d be in the best position to know that,” Colleen said.
“Let’s go get something to eat before it’s all gone.” Corey pulled on her boots. “I can’t answer your questions because, quite frankly, nobody has made a decision yet. We’re still evaluating what this last attack accomplished.”
“You guys are always evaluating,” Colleen said as she followed Corey through the hatch. “I’d like to be doing something, not hanging around out here evaluating.”
“You’ll get your chance,” Corey said. “Everybody will get their chance, soon enough.” She thought of their losses to date, and the ships that were arriving. “And it’ll happen sooner than you think.”
The food was fresh and different from the meals harvested from the ships’ hydroponics tanks. After dinner, Corey headed back to the Flag Bridge. Admiral Bridges was in her quarters, so instead of talking through the last engagement again, Corey went over the Scan recordings Sadowa had made. She wasn’t quite sure if she was looking for something in particular or trying to confirm something she might have noticed but hadn’t realized yet. At this point, she was after any information that got her inside the mind of the Imperial Admiral and the programming of his simulators. Afterward, as she took her mandatory exercise period, she thought through everything they’d seen or done.
She’d been here a month. In that time, they’d fought seven actions with the Imperials. Four of them had been raids like today, designed to stash fighters on the planet, hide dormant mines, missiles, and Mechanicals in the ring, and beat up the ships that were killing the Families on the ground. Those were the public goals of the four raids.