"These rustics are obviously suffering from delusions," snarled Political Officer Alexi Grushenko. Admiral Xiaopeng Chin ignored him as he examined the data relayed to his neural nanites by the bridge Combat Grid. Pinpoints of red designated the motley collection of enemy vessels hovering like a malevolent cloud over planet Nouva Roma. His flagship, NCV Independence, had just punched through spacetime to arrive 250,000 kilometers from orbit.
A new neural feed from Sensor Officer, Lieutenant John Smith-Rodriguez: "Admiral, hostile craft are powering up engines and realigning trajectories towards Independence. Estimate 6 minutes to intercept."
Pale pink lines extrapolated from enemy alignment vectors resolved into a standard Two Crossed Fists attack pattern. Chin smiled. Rustics, indeed.
"Battle group, disengage tethers and await combat orders. Shield control, charge up the projectors. Sensors, full multispherical sweeps."
As the thoughts left Chin's mind, the Assault Carrier sprang into action. Eight Dreadnaught class battle platforms detached and fired their engines to distance themselves from Independence. Each platform bristled with missile launchers, rail guns, twenty-five Capture class marine transports and one magnificent singularity cannon. A swarm of 10,000 Predator class attack drones catapulted out of their racks and into the coldness of space. Each Predator equipped with one sensor/comm satellite and nine missiles capable of traveling at maximum speeds of 0.25c. All attack space craft detached from Independence to form into the Unfolding Fan defense exactly 25 kilometers away.
"Safe distance reached," sang out Sensor Officer Smith-Rodriguez. He had the annoying habit (probably from his ancestors) of speaking aloud.
"Engage shields," neuralized Admiral Chin.
Power shunted and the shield projectors rumbled to life. As they folded energy into the 4th dimension, the projectors emitted a millimeter thick time warping bubble at a distance of 10 kilometers. The bubble could not actually stop anything moving towards them, but it would slow it down long enough for Independence's point defense rail cannons to blow it to atoms.
"Ensign, open a channel to commander of hostile fleet."
"Aye, sir. Channel open."
"Attention hostile fleet this is Naval Carrier Vessel Independence. Disengage attack vectors, power down all engines and weapons and prepare to be boarded. This is your only warning."
Static harmonics crackled as translation software massaged the reply: "Independence, this is the Voice of God. We have claimed the planet below in the name of God. Interference with our Crusade is a sin. Flee before our Holy Might."
"Joy," though Chin with a healthy note of sarcasm. "Crusading fundamentalists." He sent a search request through his neurals to gather all available data on the Voice of God religious sect.
"Sir, sensors reporting class, registry and armaments of hostile fleet," cried Smith-Rodriguez. "Total of 2,182 space craft."
Chin reviewed the list that scrolled through his neural HUD. Only the Dominant class ship posed a real threat. In less than one second he designated kill zones and assigned his combat resources accordingly. The Dominant earned its own kill zone with Dreadnaughts Wright and Sikorsky ordered to "indulge themselves."
Four seconds later, the singularity cannons on Wright and Sikorsky aligned their focal antennaes to intersect at a point in space just ahead of the Dominant. Energy cells folded power into the quantum foam at the foci to form a micro-miniature black hole in space. When the Dominant passed through it, a point-sized singularity ripped through the armor plating, first piercing the life support cabin then the engine compartment. Explosive decompression did the rest. Within seconds the enemy ship was an expanding cloud of wreckage with no survivors. After eight seconds, the singularity dissolved back into the q-foam.
The Predator drones leapt forth like birds of prey at the enemy. Hostile vessels launched missiles and fired mass cannons at the oncoming Predators. Responding swarms of smart missiles smashed into their targets and lit up the void with plasma detonations as carbo-titanium nosecones impacted at a quarter the speed of light in a cataclysmic assertion of Newtonian physics. There was no need for the explosive warheads of old; the massive release of energy was enough to destroy anything and everything in range.
"Break through sector thirty-six!" screamed Smith-Rodriguez onto the silent bridge. "Two inbounds have contacted the stasis bubble."
With a thought, Admiral Chin oriented six point defense rail guns to open fire on each inbound missile. The first missile died as a one kilo ball bearing sheared through the onboard computer rendering the weapon into another chunk of space junk. The second missile proved more persistent and required no less than six direct hits before succumbing to the damage. "Six hits! Must be some kind of record," thought out Politico Grushenko.
Sixty percent of the enemy fleet was destroyed or too damaged to fight on. Independence however had only lost eight percent Predator drones and no platforms. Marine transports departed from the platforms to seize the damaged ships and to retrieve emergency lifeboats. Enemy vessels turned to flee; if they could get far enough they would jump to safety.
"Destroy them all before they escape!" demanded Grushenko. "They must not be allowed to spread their poison."
Bols to you Grushenko, though Admiral Chin privately. Political Officers kept up with all the political wrangling within the Confederation Assembly. They were supposed to advise the senior flag officer on the political ramifications of any action, not to issue orders. Arguing with him now would lead to more trouble than the lives of the fundamentalists were worth. But it still pissed him off.
Ten minutes from when Independence first punched into Nouva Roma's solar system, it was all over. Predators chased and destroyed all the remaining fundamentalist space craft. More than 300 prisoners were captured by the marines and dropped into stasis chambers for transit to trial then penal colonies. Losses were within acceptable margins and no pilots suffered mental collapse from piloting 100 Predators each under combat conditions.
"Independence Battle Group, stand down."
The battle was over. Yet another victory credited to Admiral Xiaopeng Chin in his long and acclaimed career. Somewhere in the vastness of space, he silently prayed there was a real challenge for his brilliance; a worthy enemy that would test his skills.
Maybe one day, he thought privately.
No comments:
Post a Comment