Warborg - Star Panther (24 page)

Smyth nodded for Martin to continue.

“Their armada is going to be here any time, but they’ll hold waiting for the killer to dispose of the platforms. They simply don’t want to give our ships that support capability. Face it, for all our success against the killer ship, they’re still all just delaying tactics. Eventually it will destroy all the platforms in the sector, just how long it’s going to take is the question. So for them it’s a trade off at the moment, the time spent by the killer ship knocking out the platforms weighed against how long the existence of the platforms will extend their assault.”

Everyone was quiet as Martin spoke and the intelligence Commander kept nodding in agreement.

“I expect the Koth to make a run at Omega five then pull back. Then killer will start attacking all four platforms left in the Omega sector, causing all of them to go on the defensive. They are only a couple minutes apart for him so he can make passes at each, limiting his exposure to the barrages, but forcing them to continuously maintain the ion clouds.”

Chelle sighed. “So in about an hour we are back to square one.”

“Admiral,” Martin sympathized, “we knew this was only a delaying tactic when we started it. Start the barrages, so the four platforms can save their missiles for their own final individual defenses. Those should delay the Koth for about another hour.”

Chelle sagged. “Do it.” The command wasn’t much more than a whisper.

Martin leaned forward. “Admiral, and gentlemen. This has been ugly, but you have done what needed to be done. In an hour I’ll be in position, and the Star Panther will be able to intercept the Koth killer ship when it comes out of the dead zone between the Omega sector and Central defense. I strongly anticipate shortly after the Killer has engaged the Central defense platforms their armada will commence its attack.”

“I concur.” The intelligence Commander stated nodding wearily.

Everyone went back to watching the Omega Six attack.

. . .

The Commander from intelligence leaned back in his chair. “Gentlemen . . . We have a FTL trace tickler from a surveillance ship just about where we expect the Koth armada to hold up.” He hesitated. “I have confirmation on the Koth armada.”

An ominous large red dot appeared in the holotank. Chelle and Smyth stood side by side as they stared into the tank, each buried in thought.

“Dammit, Chelle. Is this the end of mankind?” Smyth muttered in mental exhaustion. “This just can’t be happening.”

Chelle pointed to the amber dot where Omega six once was. “Those magnificent men held out for thirty five minutes . . . and most of them managed to survive.” He gently turned Smyth by the shoulders to face him. “Joe, that kind of spirit won’t fade quietly into the night.” He waved toward the four embattled Omega platforms. “We’ve learned, by God they’ve been expensive lessons, but we’ve learned. I think we, us lowly humans, might be able to hold them off on our own until our fleet can get here. It would be ugly and our losses would be mind boggling, but we
would
survive.” He pointed at the single green dot racing in system against time. “We already owe him so much. He showed us how to fight them, now he’s a gladiator striding calmly into the arena knowing the odds are pitted against him. He is us, and we are him. He may fail, but he will fail because he was beaten, not because he gave up. Can we do any less?”

Smyth stared Chelle in the eye and straightened. His eyes conveyed a silent, profound thank you. “Damn straight!” He muttered turning to the table. “Where the hell are those damn drones?” He hissed, showing his own defiance with a hard smile.

The officers looked up in stunned silence. A major turned and hesitated, then returned Smyth’s smile. “I got three hundred and twenty of the damn things right here . . . where in the hell do you want’em?”

For the first time in hours laughter rolled from the war room.

Martin sat alone in silence, basking in the emptiness of space contemplating the void around him and the far off stars, waiting.

. . .

Admiral Smyth sat, straddling a chair he moved in front of the holotank. His arms were crossed on the chair back with his resting chin on his arms. He stared dully into the tank considering the splash of dots. A half hour from Earth a thousand human fighters and over two hundred light missile cruisers aligned against almost twice that many Koth, and over half the Koth were heavies.
A handful of sand thrown in the face of a raging bull.
He sighed and closed his eyes.
And if one lone man is wrong, the bull won’t even bother to acknowledge the sand and just step around it.
He watched a single red dot approach with a loathing that cramped his stomach.
Ten minutes from hell.

. . .

Admiral Chelle listened to the quiet conversations around him as he sat at the table in the war room. He glanced at Admiral Smyth hunched in a chair by the holotank, not knowing what to say to a man who felt he personally let down the entire race.
Rest easy old friend, it’s my fight now.

“The FTL curve for the Koth light missile frigate has been redesignated as friendly in the fire control system, per request.” An officer reported quietly.

“The Mark eleven’s?” Chelle asked in general.

“Re-programmed and in position around the Koth armada as directed.” Another officer replied.

Chelle looked at the wall display where the yacht bridge had been. Now there was just the figure of a tailless cat in a dull gray background looking alertly around and occasionally grooming.
I can’t believe this entire defense is supposed to be controlled by an AI cat. I don’t care how smart it’s supposed to be.
He slouched in weary tension.

A few minutes later the Commander from intelligence looked at Chelle and shrugged. “At least it gives us something to look at,” he sighed shaking his head. “The killer should drop into normal space any time now . . .” he glanced at the cat, “so be ready to do your thing, pussy gato.” He crossed his fingers and shook them at the display, he smiled when several other mimicked his actions. They started to laugh then froze when the cat spun around, laid back its ears and screamed. Time locked for a heartbeat.

“
HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!
” Admiral Smyth jumped up, sending his chair spinning. “Go! Go! GO!” He bellowed, waving his arms in the air. He tore his eyes away from the holotank to the stunned officers. “I can’t believe it, that crazy son-of-a-bitch did it! The killer ship is dead and we own the Koth armada, baby,” he howled.

Even before the others could react, automated battle reports started scrolling down the wall displays.

. . .

              Martin’s reverie was shattered by Prowler’s scream. “Take’em out, fella.” Even to Martin’s heightened senses and knowing what Prowler was going to do, the attack was too quick to follow.

. . .

Prowler fired the type three missile, and the missile was actually moving in the launcher when the Star Panther jumped. The missile was leaving the launcher, but still inside the FTL field when the Star Panther dropped into normal space less than twenty meters from the Koth killer ship. An infinitesimal tick of time later when the missile hit the edge of the FTL field Prowler initiated the jump to leave, knowing exactly how much lag there would be between the command to jump and the ship FTL system actually responding. The Koth defensive systems never reacted to an unexpected, but friendly ship that the damaged sensors detected for a split second. Five milliseconds after the Star Panther jumped the missile hit the killer amidship. The one kiloton pseudo nuke vaporized the center of the killer sending the ends spinning into space.

. . .

Even to Martin’s enhanced senses the Koth killer just seemed to explode. Prowler was finished with the killer ship before he could fire the interceptor pulse from his canister floating loose in the Omega sector. It was almost surreal when the thousands of Koth FTL field signatures surrounding him echoed back. The interceptor pulse microjumped him just clear of the Koth armada.
My god.
The thought had barely started to form when the three hundred plus Mark eleven reconnaissance drones dropped into normal space and self destructed. Another microjump and he was clear of the battle zone and headed toward the Star Panther.

. . .

With Martin’s interceptor pulse Prowler sensed the location of every ship in the Koth armada and initiated the next phase of the attack. But this wasn’t the Prowler aboard the Star Panther, this Prowler was a clone of the AI running in the EDC’s huge, ultra fast computer network. In less than a millisecond it had a comprehensive map of the Koth ship locations, downloaded jump coordinates to the drones to maximize their effect and commanded them to jump. Meanwhile another part of Prowler analyzed the Koth FTL signatures and identified each ship type. Using this information Prowler determined the optimum deployment of the human warcraft. He was finished downloading individual jump coordinates to each individual ship and targeting data to the missile cruisers before the drones self destructed. Less than a tenth of a second passed from the time of the interceptor pulse to Prowler dropping back into alert status.

. . .

The Echo two strike fighter squadron leader waited patiently for something to happen.
Waiting is always the hardest part.
He looked at a ship floating next to him.
Poor kid, first time out and it’s into this insanity.
“How you hang’in kid?”

“I’m ok, Sir.” The voice showed a slight unevenness. “Is it always like this, I mean the waiting?”

The leader smiled. “No son, usually it’s boring as hell.”

“Is there really anything out there, Sir?” The voice was getting more even. “I don’t see a thing.”

How do I tell the kid there’s a huge fleet out there and we’re probably going to get waxed.
“Command seems to think so.” He laughed. “You had the same briefing that I did.”

“All ships this is EDC Central.” A smooth voice rolled from the command channel. “Stand by for attack. We expect bogey one to drop into normal space in the next sixty seconds. And good hunting people. EDC Central out.”

Good hunting?
The squad leader shook his head.
This just gets weirder and weirder.
“Okay guys, lock and load. They said we may get split up, if we do watch your backs. Remember the briefing, go after the big guys, inflict as much damage to as many ships as you can, concentrate on their FTL field generators. Don’t get bogged down, once a ship is crippled move on and let the missile cruisers finish the job. Evade their fighters if possible and let the lights handle them.” He paused. “Good luck.”

There was a murmur of acknowledgment, then silence as they waited.

The squad leader was startled when his instrumentation went crazy. A second later the sector was full of Koth ships and a jump coordinate appeared in the FTL display. He did a double take on his sensor monitor. There wasn’t a live FTL field anywhere in the Koth. “Oh my God, they’re trapped in normal space. Lieutenant, just keep jumping and firing. Go guys, hit’em before they can recover.” He jumped laughing almost hysterically tore into the hapless Koth heavy missile cruiser that appeared right in front of him.

. . .

The war room hung in stunned silence as the battle wound down just minutes after the killer ship triggered the attack. The officers gawked at the scrolling displays, not believing what they were seeing. The displays stuttered to a stop.

A major cleared his throat. “I guess I can understand the Commander Cobb’s of the world a little better.” He smiled. “All this because of a single warborg?” He shook his head in disbelief.

Admiral Smyth frowned and spoke softly. “Warborgs are ferocious, deadly fighters, but they live, fight and die just like normal men. And like their non-cyborg soldier brethren they do as they are told, just trying to survive, to live and fight another day. Except this one it seems, he’s a soldier scholar from the old school, who studies his opponent, treating them with respect even as he fights them. We could all learn from this Major Morgan, in fact we already have. What we’ve seen is the marvel of medical and computer technologies change a fine soldier into the epitome of a warrior.” The frown shifted to a sly grin. “No gentlemen, the Koth weren’t facing a warborg . . . they were facing THE WARBORG!” The room echoed with the force of Smyth’s statement and faded to an introspective silence.

“Well said.” Admiral Chelle nodded. There was a murmur of agreement from the assembled officers as they started to examine the data from the battle.

One of the wall displays beeped and started scrolling. “What the heck?” Chelle muttered. “Who’s fighting, where?” His eyes opened wide. “Oh Jesus, Major Morgan’s in a fight.”

Admiral Smyth stepped over to the holotank. “I don’t believe it, he’s in a fight . . . in his bucket?” His voice rising at the incredibleness of the concept. “What’s our closest asset?”

“Five minutes.” A major spat.

Smyth’s mouth fell open as Martin’s bucket continued on its way leaving behind a dead ship of some sort. “Well, whatever happened he’s leaving the area.”

Admiral Chelle shook his head in wonder. He looked over at a major. “Have someone check out what he shot up and escort him . . .” His voice tapered off as he realized they had no idea where Major Morgan was planning to go, or what he was going to do. It had never come up in the briefings.

“We have a squadron of strikes en route, Sir. Should I contact Major Morgan directly?”

Chelle thought about it for a second, he glanced at Admiral Smyth who gave him a slight shake of his head. “No Major, I think Major Morgan would contact us if he needed to. Just send the fighters.”

The major smiled at the decision. “Very well, Sir.”

A few minutes later one of the wall displays switched to the cat, it looked into the room with huge yellow eyes.

The intelligence Commander turned to the cat and after a second smiled. “Hey, look who came to visit.” He paused in thought. “Well done, pussy gato . . . and thank you.” He bowed slightly to the screen.

“Here, here.” Admiral Chelle smiled and he too gave a nod.

Each officer at the table offered their thanks to the AI in their own fashion, one even giving a soft “meow”. Last was Admiral Smyth, he was too choked up to speak and simply gave a tight, solid thumbs-up followed by a crisp salute.

The cat answered them with a happy chirrup and with a wink faded from the screen.

“The AI has exited the system.” A major reported looking at his display.

“No,” the intelligence Commander corrected quietly, feeling an irrational tear form. “Prowler went home.” He was answered with a sanguine silence.