Chapter 4

"Incoming!" The young man at the console nearly screamed. "Bearing two two three degrees. I say again, two, two, tharee degrees!"

Once again the chilling sounds of the General Quarters alarm sounded, and weary feet, only recently stilled after the last battle, pounded the steel decks as sailors raced for their battle stations.

Missile batteries swung smoothly toward the cruiser's port quarter, where the sun was just beginning to set, as the fire control computer automatically set their guidance systems for multi-detection mode. Within fifteen seconds of the first alarm, the missile tubes breathed tongues of fire in the direction of the hostile craft. Streaking outward from the cruiser, the missiles activated every sensor they had on board except infrared. The computers understood that firing into the sun would cause false infrared readings. Radar, lidar, magnetic resonance, and several other, newer and still classified sensor arrays went to work to find the incoming target. The ship's more sophisticated sensors fed tracking data into their computers, and even though their own detectors could not find a target, the missiles took a loose collision course toward the enemy weapons.

Twenty two missiles were fired - twice as many as the incoming targets, a tactic that had proven successful and necessary in previous attacks.

Suddenly, the incoming projectiles began an intricate evasive pattern, each executing a series of zigs, zags, loops, rolls, and crossing maneuvers. The cruiser's fire control computers plotted the separate tracks of each of the eleven incoming objects, and designated a pair of the cruiser's own missiles to intercept each. The problem was not in figuring out where the objects were headed, but in guessing how quickly they would resume their course. Ultimately, each would converge on the cruiser, and the fire control computer's job was to try to predict when they would straighten out for the final run, and what the trajectory would be. If it did its job well, at least one of the cruiser's missiles would be there to intercept each enemy missile. If it guessed wrong, the USS Kerry, would be in deep trouble.

The gunnery officer watched his plot with the outward calm he had developed to cover the seething snakepit of emotion that tore at his guts.

"Laser batteries, stand by." He said quietly. The order was relayed by a sailor wearing a sound-powered phone headset.

Suddenly, the number of targets on the plot doubled. Simultaneously, the tracking systems on board the defensive missiles found their own targets as their sensors began detecting the incoming objects, but there were too many and some of the cruiser's missiles were already beyond the point where they could turn to intercept. The sky some ten miles from the cruiser came alive with bright flashes as the interceptor missiles collided with or exploded near their targets.

"Laser batteries, free fire, five targets." The gunnery officer said, his voice still calm while inside he raged at this new twist of a devious enemy's technology. Dividing missiles! Every time they thought they had what it took to defeat these damned space aliens, they came up with something new!

"Sir!" The sailor on the sound-powered phones said to the officer. "Laser batteries report no effect from direct hits, sir! They seem to have some kind of energy shield!"

"Put the squawk on the box." The officer told the sailor, "All batteries, double up! I want at least two lasers on each missile!"

"But sir... !" The sailor, a gunner's mate third class, started to protest.

"Relay the order sailor!" The officer cut him off. "As soon as one missile is destroyed, shift fire to another."

"Aye, aye sir!" The sailor spoke into his headset.

A few seconds later, cheers burst through the speaker on the sound powered amplifier as one of the missiles detonated five miles away. Two more followed in short order, and the fourth disintegrated a hundred yards off the starboard side. The fifth missile destroyed battery four and blew the aft missile turret off its tracks.

Smoke and flame billowed from the twisted metal that had once been Laser Battery Four as damage control teams converged on the wreckage with fire hoses. The gunnery officer thought of the letters he was going to have to write to the families of the crewmen inside, and thanked Providence that he was on a newer ship that no longer carried projectile firing guns. At least he wouldn't incur any more casualties as the ammo in the magazines cooked off.

He had known the numbers wouldn't add up when he gave the order to double up the lasers, and so had the kid on the phones, but better to leave only one missile untouched than all five. At least, he thought, we won't be swimming home.

"Bridge requests a sit-rep, sir!" The petty officer on the phones interrupted his musings.

'Guns' picked up the worn handset from the bracket on the stanchion next to him and depressed the 'talk' button as he placed it to his ear.

"Gunnery Officer to bridge." He said. "Initial targets numbered eleven, that is one-one. Countermeasures deployed per procedure at a ratio of two to one. New sensors aboard defensive missiles were initially ineffective, but shipboard systems were able to provide effective guidance. At a range of approximately ten miles, number of targets doubled, reducing defensive ratio to one-to-one. Whatever mechanism was employed to split the incoming devices apparently negated their stealth measures and defensive missiles instantly acquired and tracked targets. Some enemy missiles were already within the intercept perimeter, but most performed well, reducing incoming devices to five. Laser batteries immediately opened fire, but discovered some sort of energy shield that protected the missiles from laser damage. Gunnery Officer, Lieutenant Sileski then ordered batteries to fire at targets in pairs. This tactic was effective against four of the remaining missiles. The fifth struck battery four. Damage control teams are at the scene."

The dry, factual delivery of his report belied the twisting in his guts as Lieutenant Sileski thought of the men manning that battery.

"Fire Control to bridge." He said again into the phone. "Were we able to track these back to their source?"

"That's a negative, Fire Control." Came the equally dry reply.

The MIG pilot banked sharply left, automatically checking his six as his G-suit tightened up on his body, keeping the blood up where he needed it against the centrifugal force of his turn. Sure enough, the alien craft was closing fast. He prayed that his wingman's timing was as good as when they practiced the maneuver in training, otherwise, he was going to be dead in a few seconds. His HUD showed him the plot as his wingman came around, lining up perfectly for the shot. The display blossomed with the icons of two of the new air-to-air missiles with advanced tracking technology. He continued his downward spiral as the missiles converged on the red icon of the enemy craft. The flash over his shoulder told him of at least one direct hit.