Asteroid Belt, NAF Claim area Gamma
22 July 2148
Richard stared in disbelief at the screen. Where it had been empty, five shapes now moved across the lower half at speed, in a loose line formation, heading towards Temasek station. Their transponders were off, but that didn't matter; like any other sailor, he could recognise these sensor profiles at a glance. After all, what young cadet
wouldn't memorise the silhouette of the only things in space that might be actively trying to kill him?
Oh God, Richard thought, panic rising as he fought to control himself.
Oh God, no no no no no! The Rowdies have decided to have another go at Temasek, and I'm stuck in a glorified storage cabinet. Still, at least there's rations for a small army here, so I won't be hungry while I wait for some stray piece of debris to hit this place and blow it up.
There had been no mistake in his analysis; these were warships of the Coalition of Sovereign States, the diplomatic bloc that had aligned around Beijing when the cold war over access to the resources of space had finally turned hot. To Richard and his fellow spacers they might be the "Rest of World Club," the butt of crude jokes in every bar and mess hall where the NAFN maintained a presence. But there was nothing humorous about them now.
Normally, hostilities between the two hyperpowers were a cautious affair. Everyone wanted the richest parts of the asteroid field - that was a given – and a claim was only a claim if it could be enforced, if necessary with the destruction of the infringing ship. Just as strongly, nobody wanted to risk starting a war in space that would need to be continued on Earth. So fleets patrolled under orders to destroy any unidentified ships or industrial sites, and stations were built to supply and protect those fleets, and a very careful understanding arose that conflicts in space were self-contained affairs that had no connection to Earthbound politics. The last large engagement between the powers had been six years ago, when the Second Flotilla of the Coalition had launched a pre-emptive strike against Temasek station in the belief that its weapon systems were still under construction. Yet the strike had been based on faulty intelligence. As the Second Flotilla approached the station, Fortress Temasek had opened fire, shredding the Flotilla's defences in seconds and rendering steel, ceramic, flesh and bone into a debris cloud with a sustained and merciless barrage from heavy turrets and missile racks. Weapons that were now, Richard realised with horror, pointed
away from the rapidly closing enemy.
Four of the Coalition craft bore the sleek profiles of
Li Jian-class destroyers, fresh from the shipyards anchored in geostationary orbit over Sarawak. These were picket ships; fast, maneuverable and packed to the gills with long range and close-in point defence systems. Although they carried light mass drivers, their principal role was not to attack, but to ensure that no corvette, drone or ordinance could make it through their dense web of firepower to damage the ship they protected. For in the middle of the formation, dwarfing its escort ships like a bull in a lineup of greyhounds, was the true killing power of the attacking fleet.
The GCS
Yue Fei was a
Bawang-Class Cruiser, one of only three known to exist. In sharp contrast to the destroyers it was an ugly, blocky thing, a collection of rectangular containers bolted on to the reason for its size: a huge barrel that ran almost the whole the length of the ship. Like its escort, the turrets and missile pods that dotted the
Yue Fei's hull had only one function: to keep the giant beast intact until it reached a position from which it could fire one of the massive tungsten slugs held in its cavernous belly, delivering its terrible payload in a sledgehammer blow to whatever target couldn't get out of the way fast enough.
The Third Fleet, for its part, was far from defenceless. Sensors operators aboard Temasek Station and the
Childeric had seen the Coalition strike force appear at the same time as had Richard, and seconds later men and women were already rushing to their assigned stations. Within moments, the
Childeric and its own escort had sealed airlocks and cast off from the station, and Temasek had begun the agonisingly slow rotation required to bring its main guns to bear on the attacking fleet. Flights of missiles soared out from the station and from Third Fleet, a dense cloud streaking through space towards the Coalition ships like a spear from the heavens. In their wake a second cloud followed, this time made up of attack and defense drones and a small group of corvettes.
"How long have we got before that monster shoots at us, XO?" Admiral Justin Wilson demanded, his gaze glued to the strategic display laid out on the holographic table that dominated the
Childeric's bridge. Six pairs of eyes turned to look at a woman standing on the opposite side of the table to the tall admiral, fingers moving rapidly across her datapad. Without looking up, Lucinda Figueira, Executive Officer aboard the Childeric, replied, her measured tones belying the tension everyone on the bridge was feeling.
"Best case 261 seconds before GCS Yue Fei is in position to fire, Admiral." No need to specify the target. Destroying or crippling the Third Fleet would reduce the pressure the NAFN could exert on the Coalition's own claims, but it was Temasek that gifted the NAF control over this claim area.
"Worst case, if they decide to shoot before they are fully aligned, 230 seconds. This is not so likely, however. CSS doctrine as observed in previous conflicts has been to hold fire until the alignment is optimal."
To her left, a bearded man spoke up. "How in the name of all that is good did they get
behind the station without us seeing them?"
"We can find that out later, Emmanuel" said Wilson.
If we're still alive then. "How long before the Temasek can bring its own batteries to bear, and us ours?"
"For the main guns on Temasek, 350 seconds. The missiles will get there first but we do not expect many to make it through. The Childeric's railguns will be ready to open fire 160 seconds from now, assuming the Rowdies don't change course."
There was a silence on the bridge as each man and woman absorbed this information. A few moments later, Admiral Wilson spoke, his voice heavy.
"XO, have the helm set an intercept course for the projectile, when it comes. We may not be able to stop it, but if we time it right and use our mass to cushion the blow, we may yet save some lives and give the station a chance to get a salvo off. Make sure our guns are set to hit where the Coalition ships will need to be if they want their optimal shot at Temasek, slave our fire control and helm controls to the station, and then get everyone off this ship. I want the whole crew in lifepods or shuttles in the next three minutes, scatter pattern to minimise damage from debris. Escorts to provide covering fire and transport for any survivors who make it off Temasek - once they disable the station."
His command crew were experienced, were professional; to a man and woman they understood the strategic situation. Even so, he could sense their shock at the speed at which he had decided to abandon the fleet flagship. His dark eyes softened slightly, and he ran a hand through his tightly-curled hair, feeling sweat pool under his palm.
"I hate to do this. More than I've hated any command decision in eighteen years of service. But we know our duty here: if we have even the slightest chance to save the station, then this ship is expendable. You, however, are not, so get to the pods. And I promise you one last thing: they can push us out today, but tomorrow, we will be back. This is one of the richest claims in the whole belt; like
hell are we going to let the goddamn
Rowdies keep it. Dismissed!"
With that, they scattered to their individual tasks. And in the blackness of space, the ships of the NAF Third Fleet and the reconstituted Coalition Second Flotilla began the lethal, stately dance that would leave them placed to shatter steel and vapourise flesh.
