Barbarians at the Gates

Chapter Seventeen

Boskone System, 4092

The display sparkled with red icons as alarms howled through the Magnificent.

“Admiral, we have recon drones transiting the Asimov Point,” the tactical officer reported. “The CSP is moving to intercept.”

“Order Mason to ready fighters and then prepare the remainder for antishipping strikes,” Marius ordered calmly. Mason could handle it. He was competent, even if he’d been demanding that a superior officer take command of Enterprise. “Bring the entire fleet to alert and prepare to engage the enemy.”

He settled back in his command chair. The Book insisted that all Asimov Point assaults had to be preceded by recon drones, just so the attacking force knew what it was about to face. It wasn’t a bad idea, even though it was predictable; there was no way to know what was waiting for the attackers until they actually went through the Asimov Point. If Admiral Justinian had had a pre-placed ship in the Boskone System, it shouldn’t have been able to pass through the Asimov Point with the latest updates.

One hundred and twenty enemy recon drones had jumped through the Asimov Point. Seventeen had interpenetrated and died in colossal explosions. The remainder were sweeping local space using active sensors, and had picked up the presence of superdreadnaughts and even a few of the Retribution Force’s jury-rigged fortresses guarding the Asimov Point. The CSP was killing those drones as fast as possible, but Marius already knew they would be too late.

As he expected, a handful of drones flickered and vanished, skipping back to Admiral Justinian with their data. Marius wondered fatalistically if Admiral Justinian would launch the attack at once, or if he would decide to suspend operations until reinforcements arrived from the Harmony Sector in order to give the Retribution Force absolutely no chance of escape.

Marius had picked the Boskone System to make his stand with malice aforethought. Boskone might have had only two Asimov Points, but it provided a place that Admiral Justinian would have to take in order to seize later nexuses in order to cut off a third of the Federation from the Core Worlds, or make another attempt on Earth. The crazed logic of the Asimov Points also made it difficult for Justinian to bypass the system using continuous displacement drive. Justinian could reach the Earth in a handful of months through the Asimov Points, but it would take him over ten years using stardrive.

No, Admiral Justinian had to take Boskone. There was no other alternative.

“We are receiving the data download from the drones now,” Caitlin said. “Drake’s forces have secured the system.”

Admiral Justinian nodded. There had been many delays while they’d been struggling to prepare for the grand offensive. Far too many of his superdreadnaughts had needed repairs before they could be sent back into action; even though the repairs hadn’t taken long, they had gobbled up time. He’d lost his chance to cut Admiral Drake off from the Core Worlds, which was why he and his forces had come to Boskone instead.

He had to defeat Admiral Drake’s force before he could achieve his overall objective: Earth.

“Launch the first assault wave,” he ordered. By now, his entire fleet should have seen the sensor recordings taken by the drones. “They are cleared to engage at will.”

“Captain, we have multiple small contacts transiting the Asimov Point,” Sultana reported. “The CSP is moving to intercept.”

Roman nodded, feeling tension rise on the bridge. He hadn’t expected to remain in command, not when Admiral Mason had made his attitude clear with every word he’d said. But by regulation, the captain was the supreme master of his own ship—and even a lowly ensign could issue orders to an admiral when he happened to be sitting in the Captain’s Chair. And yet, it would be a brave or foolish ensign who presumed to issue too many orders to an admiral. If Admiral Mason had been in the command track, he would presumably have relieved Roman a long time ago.

“Launch the ready fighters upon command,” he ordered. Enterprise was hanging well back from the Asimov Point, surrounded by a score of destroyers and the other fleet carriers. There was no point in exposing a carrier, even Enterprise, to the maelstrom that was about to envelop the Asimov Point. Besides, Enterprise wasn’t in good fighting trim and wouldn’t be until she saw a shipyard. “And then…”

“Admiral Mason is issuing orders for the fighters to withdraw,” Sultana said suddenly. “They’re pulling back from the Asimov Point…”

Standard military doctrine stated that a single starship that transited into an Asimov Point would immediately find itself under fire from the point’s defenders. The Federation Navy had learned that rule during the First Interstellar War, and then relearned it in the opening battles of the Blue Star War. Conventional doctrine, therefore, ordered the use of heavy antimatter bombardment to remove any mines and enemy starfighters covering the Asimov Point before sending the main body of the fleet through the gateway.

Marius watched as the brilliant white light of antimatter detonations started to flare out through the Asimov Point. He’d mined the point as much as possible—there had only been a small supply of mines on hand available to work with—but all of the mines were now being cleared by Justinian’s forces, along with a handful of starfighters that hadn’t swerved in time. He made a mental note to commend Admiral Mason for his quick reaction.

The bombardment was, if anything, growing in intensity. The constant barrage was wearing down his sensors and disrupting his plans, even before the battle proper began.

“Admiral, we’re picking up superdreadnaughts transiting the point,” the sensor officer reported. “I believe they’re ECM drones.”

Marius turned to look at him. “How can you be sure?”

“The sensor returns keep flickering,” the sensor officer reported. “Real superdreadnaughts don’t flicker.”

“Pass the word to the remaining mines,” Marius ordered. “Hold them back from engaging the drones unless we’re certain that they’re real superdreadnaughts.”

“Aye, sir,” the sensor officer said.

It was one of the variants they’d rehearsed during the desperate struggle to prepare a defense strong enough to give Admiral Justinian pause. Even so, it carried its own risks. They might mistake a real superdreadnaught for a drone long enough to let it get its shields up and start launching missiles. On the other hand, once the newcomer did open fire, there would no longer be any doubt about its reality.

For a long moment, the intensity of the bombardment seemed to fade, winding down to nothing. And then the first starships appeared.

“Captain, we have multiple starships transiting the Point,” Sultana reported. “They’re definitely real this time; light cruisers and destroyers, opening fire on the remaining mines.”

Roman nodded. The real battle had begun—and they were little more than helpless spectators. Enterprise was simply too far from the battle to take any meaningful role, at least as anything other than a fighter platform. The battle would be fought by others. He felt helpless…and guilty. Others were going into danger and he was safe, watching while they died.

The enemy light cruisers opened fire the moment they appeared, sweeping through the remaining mines before they could retarget themselves on the cruisers. A number died almost at once as automated weapons platforms opened fire, expending themselves frantically to kill the cruisers before they were picked off themselves. The CSP followed, flashing back into the combat zone and launching missiles towards the cruisers before the cruisers could bring up their datanets and fight as a single entity. All but three of the cruisers died in the first five minutes of the engagement, but in doing so they cleared the path for the heavier ships.

“Admiral, we have four heavy bulk freighters transiting through the Asimov Point,” the sensor officer reported. “They’re…”

Marius exchanged a puzzled glance with the tactical officer. Bulk freighters were hardly warships, although in the opening years of the Inheritance Wars they’d soaked up missile strikes from warships before the widespread use of compressed antimatter. There was no rhyme or reason to using them in the assault, which meant…what? Were they loaded with antimatter?

“Check that—they’re carriers, sir,” the sensor officer corrected himself. “They’re launching starfighters now.”

Marius scowled. Converting freighters into carriers was an old tactic, although the makeshift carriers were nowhere near as flexible as properly-designed carriers. Admiral Justinian clearly didn’t want to risk his remaining carriers in a direct assault on the Asimov Point. It reminded Marius of his other actions, where conservation of force was placed ahead of tactical considerations, even the opportunity to destroy most of the Retribution Force.

“Order the CSP to move in and destroy,” Marius ordered tightly. He studied the possibilities for a moment, then made up his mind. “The Forty-Fifth Squadron will advance and engage the enemy carriers.”

“Aye, sir,” the communications officer said.

Marius barely heard him. There was a second possible reason for using bulk freighters as starfighter carriers, to lure the superdreadnaughts forward where they could be engaged by antimatter-loaded drones or even superdreadnaughts jumping through the Asimov Point. If Marius lost his superdreadnaughts, his fleet would be defeated. There was no way around that, nor did he have the fixed defenses necessary to hold without his mobile units. The Core Worlds would only be hearing about the first defeat now—it would be weeks, at least, before they forwarded reinforcements to his fleet. If, of course, they sent any at all.

He watched coldly as the single superdreadnaught squadron moved forward and opened fire, targeting the bulk freighters before they could turn and escape through the Asimov Point. Once they were destroyed, the enemy starfighters would be trapped, unable to retreat without another carrier to carry them back through the Asimov Point. They’d have to surrender, or die once their life support ran out.

The final cruiser died as the superdreadnaughts moved closer, followed by two of the bulk freighters. A third was hit badly and heeled over, spewing out plasma before losing containment on its antimatter warheads and vaporizing into a fireball. The enemy fighters threw themselves on the superdreadnaughts, only to be engaged by the CSP and the supporting gunboats.

Marius allowed himself a brief moment of optimism. Perhaps they could hold after all.

“Sir, enemy superdreadnaughts are transiting the Asimov Point,” the sensor officer reported. “I have at least five superdreadnaughts…no, seven…”

Marius watched as at least seven superdreadnaughts emerged from the Asimov Point in a tight stream of death and destruction. Admiral Justinian wasn’t taking the chance of ordering simultaneous transits—not with ships that took two years to build—but he was funnelling them through as tightly as possible. As the earlier assaults had temporarily cleared the field, the superdreadnaughts were safe from immediate attack. The mines and automated platforms that should have engaged them were already destroyed.

“Send a signal to all ships,” he ordered. One way or the other, the battle would be decided now. “The battle line will advance and engage the enemy.”

Flight Leader Elspeth Grey cursed as her starfighter flashed towards the newcomers, already spitting deadly plasma fire into space. They couldn’t hope to hit a planet, let alone a starfighter, with random fire, but they were successfully disrupting the wave of incoming starfighters. The squadrons—hastily patched together after the Battle of Jefferson, although she called it the Fuck-Up of Jefferson—had drilled as hard as they could once the fleet had reached safe harbor, yet they weren’t as disciplined as they had been at Jefferson. Half the pilots had never worked together before. The remainder had barely graduated from various training camps when they’d been scooped up and told to crew carriers from the Naval Reserve. It was typical of the brass to throw together a few scraps of meat and try to make a sausage out of them—and it wasn’t very pleasant for the sausage.

“Form up on me,” she ordered, swallowing her anger. She hadn’t expected to be promoted to Flight Leader so quickly, but her former commander had bought the farm at Jefferson along with his second, leaving Elspeth as the most experienced pilot in the squadron. It was a sign, she told herself, of just how desperate they were to put her in command. Her experience had been limited to simulations and chasing down pirates, who often didn’t have a clue how to use the equipment they’d somehow obtained from the Federation Navy.

She designated a superdreadnaught as a target and waited for her pilots to check in before issuing a second order: “Follow me!”

The enemy superdreadnaught grew larger in her HUD as her starfighter rocketed towards it. At least it wasn’t protected by a CSP of its own, she reasoned, and the remainder of the enemy starfighters seemed to have been tied up by the Federation Navy’s superdreadnaughts.

She led her flock towards the rear of the nearest superdreadnaught. The superdreadnaught’s point defense was getting more and more accurate as they approached, picking off a handful of inexperienced pilots before they could evade. Elspeth barked orders and dire threats into the communications channel, reminding the remaining pilots that randomness was the key. A predictable flight path meant certain death.

“Hold on to your missiles,” she ordered when several inexperienced pilots brought up their targeting systems too early. She didn’t blame them—it was easy for inexperienced pilots to misjudge distances and fear a collision—but it wasn’t the right time at all. They were only making themselves bigger targets. “Stand by…now!”

Her squadron of starfighters turned and fell into attack formation, shifting as a blizzard of plasma fire burned through space towards them. Two pilots—both men she barely knew, as they’d been assigned to the Illustrious before the carrier had been blown out of space—died as they were picked off by the enemy’s point defense. The remainder did her proud, holding on to their missiles until she finally barked the order.

They fired in one great salvo. The great hulk of the superdreadnaught was pockmarked with balls of fire, which merged together into one great explosion that wiped the superdreadnaught from existence.

Elspeth laughed, picked off an unwary enemy fighter that had approached too closely, and led her flock back to the barn. They would rearm and return to the fray.

Grinning, she allowed herself the thought that perhaps the newcomers—maggots, as they were known—weren’t so bad after all.

“Fire at will,” Marius ordered.

Magnificent shuddered as she unleashed a swarm of missiles towards the remaining enemy superdreadnaughts. This time, the firepower advantage was on his side, and he used it ruthlessly. The massed fire of entire squadrons of superdreadnaughts were launched against isolated targets, forcing them to struggle to survive.

One by one, the enemy superdreadnaughts blew apart and died in the darkness of space. The remainder were fighting a losing battle.

He scowled. None of this made any sense, unless Admiral Justinian had one final trick up his sleeve.

Justinian forced himself to remain calm as the loss rates continued to mount. He hadn’t led his fleet into the Boskone System personally, something that probably hadn’t endeared him to men who were committing treason on his orders, but that had helped to save his life. He didn’t have the force to punch through the Asimov Point without bleeding his fleet white, leaving them easy meat for a counterattack from Home Fleet or one of the other loyalist forces.

“Recall the remaining ships,” he ordered. There was no point in forcing a victory that would ruin him and his cause. He had his shipyards, his newer innovations—and his backers on Earth. The game was far from over. “We’ll concede this battle.”

“Aye, sir,” Caitlin said, sounding relieved. “Do you want to fall back on the Asimov Point?”

“Negative,” Justinian said. He doubted that Admiral Drake had the firepower to punch through the Asimov Point. “If they come through, we will hold them here.”

He settled back, watching as his surviving ships retreated through the Asimov Point. The Federation had to hold Boskone—that was a given. On the other hand, Justinian could fall back and make a stand closer to Jefferson, which allowed him a degree of flexibility the Federation lacked.

And yet, he knew he was pinned, at least until he rebuilt his forces and launched a second attack. The war had effectively stalemated.

“That’s confirmed, admiral,” the sensor officer said, “Their remaining ships have pulled out of the system. We won!”

“So it would seem,” Marius agreed. There was no way to know what was going through Justinian’s mind—which meant that Drake’s forces would have to stay on the alert, knowing that a second attack could come at any time. “Admiral Mason, designate a fighter wing to serve as CSP and recall the remaining pilots. Hold them at condition-two, but let them get some rest. They deserve it.”

He allowed himself a tight smile as the fleet slowly stood down. They’d held! They’d stopped Admiral Justinian dead in his tracks. Morale, which had been rock-bottom after the disaster at Jefferson, was going to skyrocket. And it wouldn’t do his reputation any harm, either. The Senate would have problems trying to smear his reputation now.

“And pass a message on to all ships and personnel,” he added. “Well done.”