Chapter 22 - Sphere of Influence

Confederacy Navy Major Matt Schlemmer burst from his ready room onto the bridge of his charge, CSS Barnegat, hull number LFR-003. The meeting he'd just had with Commodore Swanson and that Payne fellow had been eye-opening, and a little scary. He'd been told what his ship's weapons could accomplish if handled in a certain way. He wasn't sure he wanted to handle his vessel's weapons in that certain way at all.

He had one other concern in addition to those planted there from this meeting he'd just had, a concern he correctly guessed that he shared with every fellow sailor on board. The brand-new ship and crew were about to enter combat for the first time, and like every warrior in history, the 105 men and women of the shore bombardment vessel were nervous. Each would find their mettle tested within the upcoming hours. Each hoped he or she would find in the core of their being that, despite the knotting of the stomach, he or she was not a coward. Nobody wanted to let his or her fellow sailors down.

Matt exhaled a breath he had been unaware he was holding, and began snapping orders to his executive officer, Commander Epstein.

“All hands to general quarters. All hands to battlesuits. That includes the concubines.”

“Aye, Sir,” Epstein responded, turning to the ship's intercom. “All hands to general quarters, all hands to battlesuits. This is no drill. This is no drill.”

Klaxons sounded as throughout the ship the lighting switched to the eerie red glow of night adaptation and the well-drilled team raced to their stations. Backup bridge crew arrived in front of Matt, each carrying their suits, which they struggled into beside each bridge station. As each finished suiting up, the duty bridge crew were relieved to don their own suits.

The yeoman on duty brought Matt's suit to him. The barely seventeen-year-old man was obviously scared, Matt saw, but had a determined set to his jaw.

As each compartment was manned by pressure-suited personnel, a green light lit up a board in front of his damage-control officer, Lieutenant Velgi. Finally the swarthy man turned to his captain. “Green board. All hands at general quarters, all compartments manned and ready.”

“Main gun charged and ready,” reported a disembodied voice. “One round in the breech.”

“All departments, report readiness,” Commander Epstein snapped.

“Primary weapons systems, go,” came a disembodied voice.

“Point defence weapons systems, go,” Sergeant Babson, the sailor manning the Defence Sub-Systems station, advised the ship's Combat Systems Engineer, Lieutenant Rodegard.

Rodegard turned to Commander Epstein. “Combat Systems Engineering Department, go.”

“Combat Department, go,” called the commander of the small contingent of sailors detailed to repel Sa'arm boarders. Lieutenant Plaskett sounded all too eager to get his hands on a dickhead.

“Deck Department, go.” They would be responsible for damage control and, if necessary, manning lifeboats and rescuing stranded sailors who had evacuated other ships destroyed during the upcoming battle.

“Engineering Department, go.” This band of brothers would keep the ship's engines and life-support equipment functional, or die trying.

“Logistics Department, go.” All equipment required by other divisions to perform their jobs would be issued and delivered by them.

The young yeoman checked his station's tell-tales, which included Sick Bay and the concubines' quarters. They too showed all green. “Admin Department, go.”

Matt nodded. The time from sounding of the klaxon to “green board” was creditable, and got his grudging approval. “Set Condition Modified Afirm.” Condition Afirm was the standard for General Quarters, and meant each compartment's door was kept latched tightly shut. When danger wasn't imminent, the ship could get away with Condition Modified Afirm, where you could go from one compartment to the next, as long as you closed the door behind you. It also meant that everyone could leave their helmet visors open. No sense having some claustrophobe lose his mind before it was absolutely necessary.

Matt added, “Expect to go to Condition Afirm in two hours. Number One, if I haven't given the order by that time, proceed in one hundred twenty minutes... mark.”

“Aye, Captain. AI, please remind me at that time.”

“Aye aye, Commander Epstein,” came the emotionless, feminine voice of the ship's artificial intelligence.

“Weapons,” Matt called.

“Sir?” queried Lieutenant Rodegard.

Instead of answering Rodegard immediately, Matt requested, “AI, access that file that Clarke just squirted over.”

“Captain Schlemmer, file 'Target Prime' is open and ready.”

“Thank you,” Matt said politely, even though he knew it was wasted verbiage. “Tactical on main screen. Show target co-ordinates from the file.”.

On the main monitor, the AI overlaid a latitude-longitude grid over the live shot of Hesperus. A series of dots pulsed red, forming two lines girdling the planet midway between the equator and the poles.

Lieutenant Rodegard puzzled at the pattern. “Are those the Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn?” he wondered aloud.

“Lieutenant Rodegard,” the calm voice of the AI responded, “the Tropics of Cancer and Capricorn are defined as the northernmost and southernmost points where the local primary star is directly overhead, and depends on the tilt of the planet in question against its orbit. These targets are aligned with the midpoints between the equator and the poles of the planet, rather than Hesperus' Tropics.”

“Ah,” the lieutenant responded, as he comprehended what the main screen's graphic had been trying to tell him. He checked the ammunition levels.

“We'll need more shells than we have,” Rodegard predicted as the numbers flashed up on his board. “We'll be out after twenty-four hours.”

“Very well,” Captain Schlemmer acknowledged. “Communications, advise Fleet. We want resupply ready within that time.”

“Aye aye, Sir,” the duty communications sergeant responded. “Orbital Control confirms receipt of message.”

“Tactical,” Matt ordered.

Obediently, the main bridge screen switched to a tactical view of the planet Hesperus and the features in orbit.

“Hide us on the trailing side of that moon, there, for now.” He pointed to an irregularly-shaped chunk of iron and nickel about a quarter the size of Earth's Moon. “Try to keep that ball of rock between us and the incoming Swarm,” he ordered his helmsman. “We'll get the feed on the Swarm fleet's movements from the other ships, as long as they continue to survive.”

The helmsman, Corporal Tomczak, gulped at the responsibility descending on her shoulders. The petite brunette had, mere months previously, been studying business administration at a community college and now had the lives of 104 sailors and their concubines in her delicate hands. It was amazing, she reflected as she set up the data links to the football-sized sensor satellites circling Hesperus, what going for a well-timed swim at the college's sports centre could do for your career prospects.

There was nothing more that the crew of the Barnegat could do except wait for the enemy to come to them. And waiting was the hardest part of any battle.

On board CSS Pendennis Castle, most of the crew had long turned their efforts into damage control and repairs of whatever systems they could. The bridge remained in vacuum, with all hands there sealed in their battlesuits. It was uncomfortable, being sealed for so long, but hopefully they'd be able to fix that soon.

Captain Wygant called out, “Damage report!”

The damage-control officer, Ensign Gaetz, answered her call calmly. “Crews are working on the hull breaches on compartments Bravo-Six and Hotel-Nine, estimate time to repair at another ninety minutes. Ship's engineer reports superluminal engines are not repairable with the equipment or crew on board. Shields have been restored to fully operational. Three point defence weapons are inoperative, due to electrical overload in Compartment Charlie-Three, estimated time to repair one hour fifteen. Primary weapons systems are also still off-line, and likely to remain so until we get back to a Navy yard. Medical reports all casualties have been through or are currently in medical tubes and are expected to survive. Concubines all uninjured. Bridge repair is being tested for airtightness.”

Captain Wygant nodded. “So we're still trapped on the bridge?”

“Yes, Sir. However, that status should change in about fifteen minutes.”

Captain Wygant reflected that Ensign Gaetz, a veteran of previous encounters that this ship had experienced with the Sa'arm, would likely be promoted off Pendennis Castle soon. It would be a definite loss for the ship, and hoped his replacement would prove at least as calm and competent.

The captain could do one more thing at the moment. “Sensors, do we have any updates we can send to Hesperus?”

“Sensor analysis will be finished in ten minutes,” Corporal Buckiewicz called.

“Very well,” Wygant called. Actually, it wasn't very well, not for her nerves, but she dared not say that with every crewman on the Bridge hanging on her every word. “As soon as sensor analysis is complete, let me know. We'll review it before sending to Hesperus Orbital Control.”

“Aye aye, Sir.”

Now, she reflected, she could concentrate on deciding where to go next. Having only sublight engines meant wherever she decided, the ship was going to take its time getting there.

“Navigation, which is the closest outpost to our position? Assume maximum sublight speed.”

“Sir, Outpost Foxtrot Zero Nine is closest. ETA seven-niner hours at best speed.”

The helmsman, Corporal Snelgrove, piped up with, “Course laid in, Captain.”

Captain Wygant's voice was clipped and commanding. “Engage course change. Best speed to Outpost Foxtrot Zero Nine. Communications, advise Orbital Control, Foxtrot Zero Nine and flagship CSS Hector that we're out of the battle and heading for repairs at Outpost Foxtrot Zero Nine, estimated arrival time three days, six hours.”

Three days, she reflected. Three days! In that time, the future of Hesperusat would likely have been decided - without her and without her ship having had much of a say in it. She eyed her crippled command with annoyance. “Blast,” the red-haired captain muttered, thumping a gloved fist on her chair's armrest in frustration.

Commander Swenson gulped as he saw the damage report that CSS Pendennis Castle had sent - the other ships being too busy destroying Swarm ships to actually tell anyone back on the only Earth-like planet in the system what was actually going on.

By merest chance, the Voluptas hive sphere had emerged from hyperspace just beyond the phalanx of intercepting Confederacy warships, and the FTL missiles hadn't found her. The regal queen of space now prepared for a short jump to the vicinity of Hesperus, abandoning her ladies-in-waiting to their fates as they put up a desperate rear-guard action at the first interception point.

The Confederacy warships battling the Voluptas' little sisters had sustained some minor wounds, but had managed to put most of their opponents out of action. Only a handful of Swarm ships remained, most bleeding air from vast rents in their hulls.

As the rotund Voluptas disappeared into the ether of hyperspace, an order rang from CSS Hector, flagship of Combat Division 12.2.1: Cruisers, chase the hive sphere. Corvettes, clean up the remaining Swarm.

The commander swivelled to his signals rating. “Copy to the Marines. Let them know they've got company coming!” To his S-3, he snapped, “We need a plan of attack in orbit. If we can disappoint the Marines and give them nothing to shoot at, I'll happily apologize later. Let's move, gentlemen!”

“Send Barnegat to the trailing side of moon M-3,” suggested the operations officer. “All others to the trailing side of Battle Station Bethe. Shut down all battle stations' exterior lighting and minimize energy signatures - try to hide as inert rock as much as possible.”

Swanson nodded. “Make it so, but keep Gamow up, shields and all. Let's give them something to shoot at as a decoy.”

“Aye, Sir.”

“The minute it enters Hesperus space, fire off all missiles,” Swanson added. “Everything we've got, all at once. Tell all ships and battle stations don't bother asking for permission - as soon as their guns bear, shoot. As soon as the missiles can get a whisper of a target, launch all tubes.” He looked again at the sensor readings. “Damn, that thing's a monster.”

In the shadow of moonlet M-3, CSS Barnegat did its best imitation of a chunk of inert space rock. Every hand was buttoned up in an armoured battlesuit, every compartment sealed, every gun ready to fire.

Every stomach was knotted up as hard as it could be.

Suddenly, the duty communications sergeant called out. “We're getting tracking from Station Bethe. Sphere emerging. M-3 between us and target.”

“Roger, comms.” Captain Schlemmer acknowledged. “Weapons, are we tracking?”

“Aye, Captain. We have targeting solution. Ready to fire in one minute thirty-two seconds MARK!” Lieutenant Rodegard's attitude was one of a coiled spring. His eyes concentrated on his board, not shifting an iota. No way did he want to miss.

“Fire when your guns bear.” Matt's mouth was dry for some reason. He took a sip from the flexible water supply pipe in his helmet.

“Aye, Sir.” Rodegard opened a small hatch on his board and grabbed the pistol grip contained therein. With his left hand he released the safety from the massive cannon. The clock that had appeared on his sensor display counted the remorseless seconds down.

Commander Epstein whispered to his captain, “Sir, no reason to keep the battle shields down. They'll be able to track and find us from the trajectory of the shells. We'll be safer with shields up than trying to pretend we're invisible”

Relieved at any excuse to put up some protection between himself and the weapons of the behemoth, Matt agreed. “Sergeant Babson, raise battle shields.”

“Aye, Sir. Battle shields coming up now.” A second later, he was able to report, “Battle shields at full strength.”

When the countdown reached zero, Rodegard was startled for half a heartbeat, then pressing the trigger with all his might, shouting, “Firing main gun!” as he did so.

The ship shuddered, the massive weapon straining the inertial compensators. The barrel glowed briefly as the shell, as big as that fired by the Imperial Japanese Navy's Yamato-class battleships' main batteries, clawed for deep space. The chunk of machined metal flew remorselessly toward its target.

The gun crew threw open the breech block to insert the next round. The breech slammed shut, and the crew disappeared back into their protective shelter. “Ready to fire,” the gun captain cried, pressing on the two safety unlock buttons, far enough apart that both hands were required.

The lights in the chamber dimmed as the next shot raced down the barrel.

The big Swarm-filled orb had its landing shields - what the human enemy referred to as “battle shields” - on full, however. The slug damaged these, but not enough to be fatal if the ship slowed its fall with a full engine burn.

“Captain, analysis of enemy's battle damage,” called the sensor operator, Corporal Klesmer.

“Report,” snapped Captain Schlemmer, unconsciously straining forward in his seat's harness.

“The Voluptas has sustained minor damage only, and only to its primary shielding. The damage has been insufficient to prevent landing. We're only impacting the shields, not the craft's other primary systems. Analysis indicates that we are unlikely to inflict sufficient damage to prevent the enemy's landing with full complement intact and uninjured.”

Matt stared at the giant hive sphere grimly. One monster orb against only one-third of a Marine brigade, and that third scattered across an entire planet not that far off the size of Earth. A third of a brigade on Earth would have one advantage: Earth was largely covered by water, whereas Hesperus was a big ball of dirt with no bodies of water anywhere. The Sa'arm hive sphere had all of the planet to choose from for a landing zone..

“Maintain fire, maximum rate.” Matt turned to his executive officer. “Might as well try to do whatever damage while she's still up here in orbit - we might get lucky.” As Matt chewed his bottom lip, he realized their only hope was for Alex Payne's insane plan to work.

As her captain continued to fret, the Barnegat continued to fire.

Sergeant Viletti paused in his labours to look up at the sky. Off to the south-east he could see a bright light in the sky, flickering brighter in a way that stars through atmosphere do not.

At the same time, his AI interface confirmed that he was, indeed, watching the approach, under fire, of the Sa'arm hive sphere. It wasn't at standard orbit yet, and he could still make it out against the backdrop of a thousand twinkling lights that was the Milky Way.

“Gentlemen,” he addressed the troopers digging defensive positions around him, “the enemy have arrived.”

The armoured company all took a break from their labours as they searched the sky. More than a few oaths were uttered.

“Let's go,” he ordered. “We don't want to get caught on our asses here.”

The troopers of the 1224^th Armoured Regiment bent to their task with a will, digging in a platoon of Rommel heavy tanks.

High above their heads, the glowing ball grew bigger and brighter as it swiftly grew closer.

Despite the bombardment, the shields held, miraculously. They wouldn't survive the descent through the atmosphere, of course, but the way the Sa'arm worked, every trip of a sphere was strictly intended as one-way.

The design of the bulky vessel meant that when it arrived at a suitable planet, it would land, exhausting its retro-thrusters' fuel as it landed. The ship would then serve as both base and source of raw materials until they could start stripping the planet of both nutrients and ores. Once either of those were consumed, the hive would build new spheres to send off to the next worlds.

They hadn't counted on two important factors: Hesperus, and the Confederacy.

Already the Confederacy had caused innumerable casualties, which meant that the Sa'arm would be slowed down in their exploitation of this planet.

The second factor was the result of an unhappy accident of fate: the civilization that had originally evolved on this planet had, in immolating themselves in fires of purest nuclear fury, managed to convert much of the organic material into inedible inorganic compounds and equally inedible skeletal material.

This planet was a deathtrap for the Sa'arm aboard the hive sphere. Only, neither the Confederacy nor the Sa'arm were yet aware of it.

And the sphere was now settling down onto a vast sea of sand - the worst possible material for the Sa'arm to create their protective tunnels. They did far better in sandstone than they did in sand - their tunnels would have to be lined to prevent collapse and to keep water from seeping in, and the only source of tunnel lining was the hive sphere.

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