Birthright: Battle for the Confederation- Reprisal Read online

  Mithus and Von had already briefed, and it was time to assemble the Senator and his troublesome sidekick (for that was all the SAR troops saw Damar as) for their exit.

  “Senator, Mr. Damar, if you would please,” Mithus said. They were gathered once again on the upper level of their hideout, the bright morning sun shining through the large, grimy windows on the roof. With a screech as it slid across the floor, Mithus slid back his rickety chair and stood up. Von did the same, though instead of sticking around for a pep talk, the other operative went downstairs to make their final preparations.

  “It’s time to go. I received my countdown signal, and in five minutes we will leave here.” He had deliberately not given the two much warning for a reason, and his thinking was now justified as they both started clamoring.

  The Senator was loudest. “But I have things I will need to take back to the Confederation!”

  “I have items I will need to extract as well,” began Damar. “We have documents, some equipment, and the items we’ve made such as the Confederation Seal and…”

  “No!” Mithus stopped them in their tracks with his simple and loud reply. “You need to understand that we will be running across a war zone, likely exchanging weapons fire with hostile forces, and if we’re very lucky, making it to a cramped dropship filled with heavily armed Marines. We have no room for souvenirs and can’t be slowed down by anything. Anything. I’m sorry , but if we take Delos back today, you’re more than welcome to come back here and raid the place for mementos.” Mithus glared at them for a count of ten, then, convinced that even if they didn’t necessarily see the light, that they at least feared angering him, stepped back and indicated they should stand.

  The two civilians stood up and made a show of arranging themselves properly, then started towards the stairs that Mithus was indicating with his outstretched hand.

  “Regardless of any specifics in your orders on how to best handle us, I do believe you should be treating us with a bit more respect, considering the position I am in and the tasks myself and Mr. Damar have ahead of us in rebuilding the government of the Confederation,” Senator Dennix started. “When I am asked about your conduct here, I will of course detail the manner in which you dealt with us.”

  The man’s pompous demeanor made Mithus want to just break him into a hundred manageable pieces and stuff him in a rucksack for transport offworld. His orders did state specifically that he was to bring the man out alive and in good health, because he would no doubt be paraded in around in front of the media heavily as Confed’s civilian government coming back to represent its’ citizens in this time of need. Luckily, his nanites would record everything, and at least his superiors would in fact know the truth about the Senator’s behavior. He had already swapped blood samples with Von so that both after action reports would make it out, even if only one of them did. Not a cheery thought, but he was paid to deal in harsh reality.

  The main fleets hovered just at long-range weapons distance from each other, neither wanting to fully commit to close-in action. The gap in between the forces was filled with fighter craft, each trying to get past the other to inflict their own damage on their opponent’s ships.

  It had been a widespread misconception that Priman fighter ships and their pilots were somehow inferior to their Confed counterparts. This had been based on engagements from the first few months of the war, where Confed forces had adapted to the Priman technique of sensor and targeting jamming. The truth was, the Priman pilots were simply used to their jammers working so well they didn’t have to concentrate as much on the individual engagements and were more focused on the battle as a whole. After the Confed pilots had learned to disable or adapt their targeting computers, the Primans had been caught off guard. Much the same way that in the beginning, Priman warships had a slight edge on Confed vessels due to their more advanced sensors and shielding, Confed forces enjoyed a brief advantage in fighter combat.

  This had proven to be short lived. Like their Confederation adversaries, the Priman pilots had adapted, and could hold their own against Confed forces, much to the Confederation’s chagrin. So the melee was evenly matched, with fighters chasing each other, blasting, destroying, always whirling about trying to cheat death while at the same time attempting to deal it out to the enemy.

  Fleet Admiral Dant watched the chaotic scene on the holographic display in the C3 of her flagship, Galaxy. While the ship’s captain had operational control of the vessel, the Admiral was directing the battle as a whole from the command center.

  She turned to bark orders at her communications officers.

  “Keep pushing that CAP screen forward. We need the room behind them. Stand by to launch reserves in a holding position on the fleet on my mark.”

  She silently urged the pilots onward, willing them to push far enough from the fleet to give her enough room to launch the reserves. That would give the fleet enough breathing room to either send some of the reserve forces out on an attack, or at the least allow her to create two layers of fighters between her forces and the Primans. Of course, the fighters would be a non-issue if the fleets closed to main battery range, but she would plan for that as a possibility and deal with what she actually had in front of her.

  The only capital ships she was keeping in reserve was a battleship division numbering four of the Starshakers. They had arrived too late from other stations to be built into the main fleet body, so she had decided to keep them as a separate force. Having the mighty ships on hand was a comforting feeling. She had to admit that Admiral Nodam Bak had been right on when he instituted his program to recommission the vessels. The Starshakers were a match for anything she could think of, in this quadrant of space or any other. Their thick hulls, redundant systems, and large number of torpedo batteries made them fearsome opponents. High crew and maintenance requirements made them a hard sell in peacetime, but Admiral Bak had managed to make it happen. Now, the few shipyards that had mothballed Starshakers in inventory were some of Confed’s most heavily defended locations. The unfortunate part was that, while the Navy was refitting the ships as fast as they could find them, more had been lost to battle than were being returned to service.

  She watched as the three battleships of the Ninth Fleet insertion force began their run on the planet’s atmosphere and the Centurion Battle Stations.

  Aboard the battleship Formidable, Captain Aduro Pencron was in command of the three ships running at flank speed towards the atmosphere of Delos. The only minor obstacle was the two Centurion class battle stations between them and the planet. He watched on his main holo display as the ships of the Ninth Fleet approached the battle stations. In just a few seconds, the other six ships of the Ninth would break off and make a run at the stations, hopefully convincing everyone aboard that they meant to attack the stations themselves. This would in theory leave much less firepower being directed at Captain Pencron as he covered the dropships. He had jokingly asked to get that with a written guarantee, but had been unable to come to any arrangements.

  Captain Pencron was a middle aged human, having started his career in the Navy working with much lighter, more versatile forces than the battleship he currently commanded. He had started off on long range reconnaissance ships, moved on to fast assault transports, and made Captain on a Confederation class cruiser. He hadn’t been sure if taking the captain slot on a Starshaker would be the right move for him, for it required a different mindset than the type of work he had been used to. He had discovered, though, that commanding a battleship suited him just fine, and he hoped he stayed with the Formidable for a long time.

  “Captain,” his navigator announced. “Fleet is separating, dropships are holding fast underneath.”

  “Excellent. Give them the countdown for the roll, and begin the maneuver as planned.”

  The Captain walked back to the rear of the bridge where the sensor stations were, so he could get a clear, specific, non-computer-filtered look at what was happening.

  The first battle
station was in fact just beginning to open up on the Ninth Fleet, their fire heavily biased towards lasers as they seemed to be hoarding their torpedoes. Most likely, they didn’t have many, and Captain Pencron doubted the Primans had many Confederation torpedoes on hand. He assumed that the crews had used up most of the torpedo complement before the Primans had boarded and taken control of the station.

  The second Centurion, however, was oddly quiet. It was definitely powered up, but there were no signs of ill intent- his ships were not even being tracked by targeting computers from the station. It could have just been a ruse to hopefully get the Confeds to no pay attention to the station, but if they weren’t firing on them yet, they weren’t Pencron’s concern.

  “Starting roll, Captain,” his navigator announced.

  The three battleships, now clearly split away from the rest of the Ninth, rolled to show their keels to the battle stations. The extremely thick armor, designed to take heavy punishment while the battleship’s laser batteries recharged and torpedoes were reloaded, afforded a stronger deterrent than simple shielding alone could provide. The battleships had entered service decades before, when laser and shield recharge times were much slower and the guns often had to have field coils replaced in mid-battle, and thus any dedicated warship had to have a defense to fall back on when its’ weapons were offline. With today’s refitted laser technology, that was no longer an issue, but the tough hides of the battleships were still welcomed with much gratitude.

  As they rolled, the dozens of dropships hiding in their shadows maintained position, letting the battleships form a barrier between them and any incoming fire.

  “Incoming fire,” announced a sensor officer.

  Captain Pencron watched as the active Centurion began directing some of its’ batteries at his three ship element. The laser batteries on the battle stations were larger than anything Confed had that was ship-mounted, and each blast hurt. So far, all they were doing was draining the shields while scorching and pitting the heavy keel armor, but Captain Pencron knew that even that armor would only last so long.

  He didn’t concern himself too greatly with the Ninth Fleet and their efforts against the Centurion; he had a particular job to do, and he would let the others do theirs.

  “Time to atmosphere?” he asked his navigator.

  “Thirty seconds, dropship separation ten more after that.”

  The laser impacts were getting louder now, as the battle station shifted more fire towards his ships now that it was clear what was going on. He could feel the dull thuds as the heavy impacts hit his ship’s hull. The fact that he could feel them all the way up on the bridge, clear across the height of his ship, was not a good sign. He anxiously stole a glance at his damage board, relieved to still see no significant hull damage.

  “There they go, we’re clear.”

  Captain Pencron looked forward at the holo display and saw the dropships headed straight down the gravity well of the planet, creating fireballs as they dove through the atmosphere at the limits of what would be considered a sane speed. Hidden among the dropships were a complement of Intruders and Talons that would accompany them to the surface.

  “Alright, time to return the favor to that battle station,” Pencron announced. “Roll us back upright, bring us nose up ninety degrees, ten to port, and set us up for a run on that station. All starboard batteries and torpedo tubes, stand ready to fire.”

  Chapter 8

  Commander Velk projected an image of calm to the subordinates in his command center, but on the inside he was nervous, in turmoil. The gathered officers and Representatives were respectfully quiet; knowing the severity of the situation, they spoke when spoken to and were ready with answers when asked. Velk took pride in the professionalism of his people, their dedication to their grand task of reclaiming this galaxy back from the chaos of those who had dragged it down into the dregs.

  The command center was a new construction on Callidor, part of a Primans-only complex that had begun construction just a month after they captured the planet. He had a wall of video screens to keep in touch with the various commanders in the fleet. There was another wall dedicated to a huge real-time display of the combat zone. And then there was seating for thirty, in comfortable chairs equipped with extensive communications equipment. If Velk needed something from a subordinate or Representative, the person in question had no reason to not produce an answer in minimum time.

  He was currently concentrating on several key players whose images appeared on his communications wall. There was Captain Visat on the Birthright, commanding the Priman fleet. On another screen was Terir, watching the battle from a destroyer holding station with the reserves on the far side of Delos. He also made sure to make time for his attendant Representatives, Dag and Tash. It was important to keep an eye on them, both for their comments and suggestions as well as for his own need to keep them under watch. He decided it was time to solicit their observations.

  “Representative Dag, what do you make of Confed’s rescue plan?”

  “Commander, it seems they have committed an inordinate amount of firepower to the rescue of the Senator. Their boldness in launching such a large offensive against the surface is commendable, but those dropships will be plotted and troops will be waiting for them when they land. They seem determined to engage us with a significant portion of their fleet, and one almost wonders if the Senator’s rescue is the only objective. It appears to me that this is an all out attack.”

  Velk agreed entirely. While the Senator’s rescue was undeniably part of the plan, he couldn’t help but think that Confed might be making an all-out effort to retake the system. He had, of course, anticipated such a move eventually, and had made no secret that he would not hold Delos if the cost was too high. This was the time to attempt to change the momentum of the battle.

  He had been waiting for the right moment to issue the next set of orders to his fleet. While Visat was technically in charge, Commander Velk retained the authority and honor of adding or changing orders. The fleets were still standing off from each other, letting their fighter craft fight it out while the capital ships traded mostly ineffectual long range shots. There were a few damaged vessels, but none from either side had been removed from the battle as of yet. He noted that the Confed strike fighters, Intruders he believed they were called, were on the edge of launch range. The cursed Marauders were also nearing attack range from another quadrant. The fleets were in an acceptable position- halfway between Delos and Confederation Naval HQ.

  Velk wanted to wait for the right moment to commit his reserve force. There were sixty Confed capital ships attacking his assault fleet, which also numbered sixty vessels. Confed had another thirty conducting their raid on Delos to retrieve the Sentator. That would have left him outnumbered, but the forty ships on the far side of the Delos system star put the odds back in his favor.

  It was time for the next phase of the attack.

  “Communications,” Velk spoke in an authoritative voice. The Communications officer sat bolt upright, waiting for his orders. “Send the order for the reserve fleet to move in and engage. Make sure to cut off the escape routes out-system. No Confederation ships are to leave the battle.”

  The officer nodded sagely as he sent the command, which he had already preloaded into the communications queue. The order went out instantly, and the reserves started to move.

  Captain Salm of the Summoner received the orders at the same time as everyone else, and as per the orders, she instructed her helmsman to follow the route assigned to her ship. The Summoner, along with the rest of the forty ship reserve fleet, began their run into the battle zone. They would come around the sun in two elements, acting as a pincer to catch the Confed fleet from its’ forward and aft port flank. It would throw them into complete disarray.

  High in the atmosphere of Delos, the dropships were taking antiaircraft fire. This was not unexpected, and was why a squadron each of Intruders and Talons had come along for the insertion. If the d
ropships had flown what was considered close to their battleship escort, the fighters had virtually attached themselves to the hulls of the dropships. Flying so close was dangerous, but masked the fighters’ signatures as they entered the atmosphere. Only as they headed down towards the surface did they break away and begin their own mission. There had been much discussion about how many fighters to add as an escort, and since the planners felt they needed every fighter for the fleet action, it was hoped that if the Primans didn’t see incoming fighters, they wouldn’t scramble too many interceptors of their own. The pilots of the dropships were not entirely enthused about the plan to rely on deception and minimal escort for fighter cover, but were hoping that the ability to lift back off and stay mobile after dropping off the troops would compensate.

  Pinpointing the locations of the antiaircraft fire, the Intruders now descended on the batteries with a vengeance. They carried atmospheric air-to-surface missiles just for this mission, and after targeting the offending batteries, let fly with volleys of missiles. They ranged ahead of the dropships, attempting to draw out any portable surface-to-air missile or laser batteries, and strafed those with their lasers and autocannons. Only one dropship was lost in the descent to enemy fire. The dropships scattered to a half dozen landing sites, only one of which was, of course, the rendezvous with Mithus and his team, with the rest being decoys. As the dropships neared the surface, the Priman interceptors finally rose to meet the attacking Confed forces; the Talons turned to do battle.

  Hidden in the shadows of a closed-up kiosk on the edge of a giant plaza, Mithus, Von, and the Senator and Ples Damar quietly waited for the Marines to arrive. They had watched the dropships descend from up high, and had watched as the Priman interceptors rose to greet them. Mithus wondered how long they would have on the surface before resistance became too great. The plan had been for the dropships to disgorge the Marines, then take back off and return after a period of ten minutes to a different pickup spot. This would lessen the chance of the Priman ground troops massing a large force at a landing site. Of course, this also greatly increased the chance of getting some of their dropships shot down, but extra ships were sent out empty as a precaution.