Stand Firm, page 3
“Thank you, sir,” Fisher said quietly as to not be heard by those around them. “We all needed that.”
“Comes with the job, XO,” Levi said, flashing a small smile. “I was a qualified engineer at one point. Given the circumstances, give me an easy task that we can free up a more senior engineer on, and I’ll get to work.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll send something to your tablet momentarily.”
“I’ll take my space bag down to my cabin and get changed, in that case.”
“Already had it moved there for you, sir.”
“Well, in that case, I’ll go change into a pair of overalls,” Levi said. “Thank you, XO.”
3
Oval Office – Presidential Center
Canaan
28 September 2533
16 Hours Earlier
* * *
“How bad is it, Abdul?” Jason Nolan, President of the Terran Coalition, asked. He had gathered his top advisors in what was commonly referred to as the Oval Office. On the couch next to him was Abdul Karimi, the secretary of defense. Other members of his cabinet dotted the room, mostly standing along the walls.
“A thousand ships, taking the fastest possible path to Canaan. In other words, bad, sir,” Abdul Karimi, the secretary of defense said. He was a tall, dark-faced man who wore an impeccable business suit, even at two o’clock in the morning. “We’ve continued to break down the intelligence gathered from our one engagement so far.”
“Are we sure they’re hostile?” a woman seated across from Nolan, Secretary of State Kunto Temitope, interjected.
“Why would anyone fly a thousand warships from Earth to Canaan if they’re not hostile?” Abdul said. “That defies any kind of logic. I remind you they destroyed our patrol ship.”
Nolan cleared his throat. “There’s no doubt in my mind they’re hostile. We’re proceeding along those lines.”
Abdul lifted a tablet computing device. “I’ve got confirmation from General Irvine that the home defense fleet is activated, along with all serviceable ships in the emergency reserve.”
“Who is leading the fleet?”
“General Irvine, Mr. President.”
“Our best,” Nolan said. “I hate to belabor this point, but we’re certain this is the World Society?”
“CDF Intelligence is unanimous in its conclusion. Those ships are either the actual World Society or a successor state,” a man wearing a CDF uniform said. “The analysists are continuing to decrypt the intercepted communication traffic.”
Nolan leaned back on the couch, beads of sweat spreading across his forehead. “Kunto, work the vidlink. I want every nation-state in the Terran Coalition to confirm they’re sending the balance of all mobile military space assets they have to Canaan.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Hourly updates, ladies and gentlemen,” Nolan said.
“When do we update the population?” another man, his chief of staff, asked.
“We’ve delayed long enough. Get me time across all holochannels… say, five minutes.” Nolan wiped his forehead. “Not what I was expecting to confront in my first term, folks.” He let out a nervous laugh. “Get back to it. I’ll see you all in an hour.”
CSV Victory – Terran Coalition Flagship
Canaan Orbit
28 September 2533
12 Hours Earlier
* * *
The stack of data disk containers he was carrying made an audible thud as they fell against the deck, causing heads to turn toward him across the combat information center onboard the Victory. “Argh!” 1st Lieutenant Andrew MacIntosh said under his breath. Great way to make an impression in the CIC. Cause a commotion. I shouldn’t have tried to move all at once. He bent over to pick up the disks, which were highly classified war plans. They contained Code Word Special Compartmentalized Information and were to be guarded with his life.
“There are far better things to direct your frustration against, Lieutenant,” a stern voice said while MacIntosh was picking the mess up. He looked up to General Gabrielle Irvine standing above him, dressed in a standard khaki uniform, four stars present for rank insignia on her shoulders. She was the overall commander for the CDF fleet.
MacIntosh stiffened and braced to attention. “I apologize, General.”
“As you were, Lieutenant. The plans?”
“Yes, ma’am,” MacIntosh said as he reached down to pick up the last few disks. “I was on my way to join your briefing.” His Scottish brogue was thick and apparent.
“Walk with me,” Irvine said, then turned around and briskly strode away. MacIntosh took off after her, catching up a few strides later. “Have you studied the sensor logs we got back from the Rothchild?”
“Yes, ma’am,” MacIntosh said, squeezing by soldiers and officers as they pressed up against the passageway walls at the sight of Irvine.
“Do I have to pry it out of you, MacIntosh? What’s your opinion of them?”
“Inferior technology to ours. Less effective shielding and weapons, particularly weak point defense capabilities. Their missiles have limited tracking capability against our ECM.”
“I’ve read that report. I asked for your opinion, Lieutenant. As my aide-de-camp, I expect you to be a sounding board for my strategies. For the last time, give me your opinion of this enemy and methods of defeating them.”
General Irvine had a reputation as being a tough leader who pushed her staff to the limits. She’s also lionized as one of the smartest strategists in the Terran Coalition, which is why I wanted this assignment. “If we were engaging them with anything like equal numbers, our forces would easily win. We don’t have remotely equal numbers, so we’ll need to use every advantage we have. If I were in command, I would form a battle line with our heaviest ships out front, able to concentrate firepower, and interspace escorting destroyers and frigates around them, but not directly to the fore as we normally do.”
“That’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said to me today, MacIntosh,” Irvine said with a grin. “Now explain to me why you recommend that course of action.”
“Because with our advantage in missile defense and their weakness in offensive missiles, it wouldn’t make sense to block the lanes of fire for our heaviest cruisers and battleships. Our fighters and bombers should be highly effective as well.”
“If they get here in time. The damn Americans and their Saratoga class carriers. Sixteen of them, the pride of their fleet. Couldn’t spare a single one for the CDF.”
“Aye, General. You don’t need to talk to me about the Americans. I hail from Glasgow.”
“One of the moons around New Britain, yes?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I always wanted to go there. I understand the Royal Shipyard in orbit of Churchill is quite impressive.”
“The moon is impressive itself. Life-supporting with terraforming.”
“Well, Lieutenant. Do your job well today, and maybe you’ll get to see it again, Terran Coalition flag flying high.”
“If not, I’d rather not see it all,” MacIntosh said “The thought of living under what these people would do to us… I can’t see that day.”
“Then fight like there’s no tomorrow, Lieutenant. While we’re on the subject, you correctly guessed my battle plan.”
MacIntosh’s face lit up with a grin. “That doesn’t mean that you passed the test, MacIntosh,” Irvine said, crushing the feeling of momentary victory like a bug.
She’s one tough customer. All the better to defeat our foes.
“We’re going to brief the senior staff in a moment. That briefing will be carried to all ships and our political leaders. Not how I like to do things, especially this business of having politicians about, but…”
“These aren’t normal times,” MacIntosh said quietly.
“Exactly, Lieutenant. After you,” she said; they had stopped outside of a hatch marked “Primary A/V Conference Room.”
MacIntosh squared his shoulders and walked in through the opening and stood to one side. As Irvine came in, he announced her presence. “General on deck!” Everyone present stood quickly and brought themselves to attention, including MacIntosh.
“As you were.” Irvine made her way to the front of the room. “You may be seated.”
MacIntosh took his place next to her, setting down the data disks gently on the table.
A young lieutenant in the back of the room spoke up. “You’re live to the fleet, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” Irvine replied. “Officers and soldiers of the Coalition Defense Force and the Terran Coalition Marine Corps, I know most, if not all of you wonder what’s going on,” she began. “What you are about to hear is classified at the highest level. We have instituted a communications blackout to all ships in the fleet, all space-based installations, and all government facilities. You will not be able to communicate with your families or loved ones, and anyone who attempts to get around this blackout will be charged with treason.”
A wave of apprehension swept through the room; it was so palpable that MacIntosh swore he could actually feel it moving from person to person. Most of the brass had to know about the threat, but the more junior officers were still in the dark.
“Four hundred fifty-two years ago, our forefathers abandoned the only home the human race had known up until then: Earth. We all know the story, studied it in school and engrained the history into our minds. The sacrifices, the hardships, the eventual discovery of Canaan and the founding of our republic. Many of us, myself included, have, upon occasion, looked up at the night sky and wondered what happened to our former home. Sixteen hours ago, one of our deep space reconnaissance vessels, the Rothchild, was lost with all hands. Her CO managed to get a log dump back to command before the ship was destroyed. Lieutenant,” she said toward the back of the room. “Play it.”
A holoimage filled the front of the large conference room, projecting a three-dimensional image into a special tank that allowed the viewer to perceive depth and have limited interaction with the display. The playback focused on a single, massive ship, and more specifically on a symbol on its hull; a stylized hammer within a gear. There were gasps, and this time, fear cascaded across the room.
“What history remembers as the World Society apparently survived and prospered in some way. We’ve got plenty of intelligence intercepts that the spooks are working their way through right now. They’re calling themselves the League of Sol, and the fleet you see around what appears to be their flagship numbers over a thousand ships.”
“God help us all,” a man wearing the bird insignia of a full colonel blurted out. “We can’t fight a thousand ships with two hundred.”
Irvine turned quickly to face him, a harsh look on her face. “Yes we can. We must, and we will. The ready reserve fleet has been activated, so we won’t be going into battle with two hundred ships. President Nolan has signed an emergency declaration that places all nation-state forces under the direct command of the CDF. Reinforcements are en route and, once they arrive, will boost our forces to just over six hundred vessels.”
“That still puts us at nearly a two-to-one disadvantage,” the same colonel insisted.
“Colonel Richards, if you can’t handle the crucible of combat, get the hell out of my briefing,” Irvine said, matter-of-factly, without raising her voice. MacIntosh could almost hear her counting off five seconds before she continued. “While I wouldn’t be afraid to order a last stand, our analysts have spent the last twelve hours crunching the data we received from our one engagement from the enemy. Lieutenant MacIntosh, please present our findings.”
What? Me? She didn’t say anything about this! MacIntosh froze with an expression bordering on panic. As he forced himself to stand, there was a collective pause in the room as everyone’s gaze turned toward him. “Uh, yes, ma’am,” he stammered. Get it together, man, he heard a voice say, deep inside of him.
“After extensive analysis of the enemy weapon signatures,” MacIntosh said with many nervous looks about the room, “we believe that our, uh, shields and armor match up favorably against the directed plasma charges that appear to be their primary armaments.”
“How do we know that?” someone asked, all of it a blur.
“Computer simulations based off real-time combat data from the Rothchild. We also believe that the League’s point defense systems are approximately four generations behind our own. Our fighters should be extremely effective against their capital ships.”
“What about their fighters and bombers?” a general with two stars on his shoulders questioned.
“No information on those as of yet, sir. They weren’t deployed against the Rothchild.”
“So it’s possible that we’ll face an enemy with overwhelming superiority in small attack craft?”
“I doubt that, sir.”
“Why? You have no information on the subject.”
“With respect, sir, the rest of their technology is inferior to ours by at least two generations of our capabilities. It’s highly unlikely that they just happen to have amazing fighter technology while whiffing on ship technology. The two are intertwined.” After he finished, there was no rebuttal from the general; Irvine flashed him a look that might have had just the inkling of a smile, though he wasn’t sure if it was his imagination.
“What about the defensive stratofighter wings based on Canaan?” a female colonel asked.
“Not a bad idea, Colonel. We’ll have to engage the enemy too far out for them to be of use without carrier support, though. Continue, Lieutenant,” Irvine said, interjecting herself into the conversation.
“One final point is that our anti-ship missiles should have a leg up. Bottom line is that we have an overall strategic and technological advantage over the Leaguers,” MacIntosh said.
“Leaguers? You just came up with that one, Lieutenant?” an older general in the back of the room said, wearing a grin.
“I guess I did, sir,” MacIntosh answered, a small smile spreading across his face in a moment of levity.
“That might stick,” the man said.
“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Irvine said. “I will now present our overall battle plan. You will note our plan goes against many long-held precepts of space fleet battle doctrine. Many of you will have concerns, especially capital ship commanders. To answer those concerns up front, I came at this with an out-of-the-box strategy. This is a different enemy, and we must match our strengths to its weaknesses. Now please observe the following projection.”
At Irvine’s signal, the holoprojector came alive again, showing a view of Canaan and the surrounding space. “Our fleet will deploy here,” she said, gesturing toward a section of space roughly a tenth of an AU from the planet. “We will challenge them to do battle with us, with our backs to the planet and making use of the planetary defense grid if we can. As we all know, it’s not up to current technological standards and will be of limited use.”
“That’s boxing us in,” an officer that MacIntosh couldn’t make out interjected.
“Spartan mothers used to send their sons off to battle by handing them their shield and telling them to return with it or upon it. No different here. Now, we will array our forces with the heaviest ships in a wall formation. Departing from traditional battle group doctrine, escorts will be offset around the capital ships and not in front.”
MacIntosh saw frowns spread across many faces in the room.
“These tactics offer us the best hope for victory. As always, I would expect that our plan will not survive first contact with the enemy and will have to be adjusted on the fly. My flagship, the Victory, will be at the front of the line. Win or lose, we will all see this through to the very end. Make no mistake about it, everyone in this fleet must be prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice, something I require of myself before any of you. Study this plan. If you see something I missed, tell me. Otherwise, internalize it and be ready to fight.”
As she spoke, the frowns changed to neutral expressions at the least; MacIntosh felt confidence begin to take hold and the officers assembled nodded their heads in agreement.
“My chaplain will lead a prayer service at 0400 hours. Given the circumstances, I would encourage all of you, regardless of faith, to pray for the fleet, pray for the safety of the civilians we are charged to defend, and pray to Almighty God that He would stand with us today against this abomination from Earth.”
After waiting a good ten seconds for the full impact of her words to be felt, MacIntosh supposed, Irvine spoke once more. “Any questions?” No one said a word. “Very well. Carry on with your duties and prepare your ships for combat. Godspeed, Irvine out.”
As he was on the way out of the room with Irvine, she leaned over and whispered into MacIntosh’s ear, “Wasn’t sure how’d you do with being put on the spot, Lieutenant. Nicely done.”
A smile spread from ear to ear on his face as they walked down the passageway back to CIC.
LSS Le Terrible
Approaching Canaan Orbit
28 September 2533
8 Hours Earlier
* * *
“Colonel, do you have a moment?” The fleet commander for the League of Sol, Admiral Pierre Seville, came from a long line of League Navy officers, going back a dozen generations. Reduced to whispering on his own flag bridge on the LSS Le Terrible, he was trying to deal with the bane of any officer’s existence —the fleet’s political commissar— Colonel Bridget Lemieux.
