Gods Dogs, Book 3

Amateurs talk about tactics, but professionals study logistics.

Gen. Robert H. Barrow

“Quinn,” River said from her comm station, which she hadn’t left for close to twelve hours. “We’ve been fighting in the Dobal fleet. I just figured out these fleets don’t talk to each other. Only at the flag level do they talk to each other.”

Quinn, who was also way past normal limits – ten hours of intense combat, and twelve hours of intense space combat, picked up on the importance of what River was saying.

“The Dobal fleet know what we’re doing, but neither of the other fleets do.”

“That’s my guess. I’m putting together a list of ship designations we can use to pretend we’re friendly. I think we should sneak into one fleet, and Jolene can sneak into the other. We give the Dobal a break for a while.”

“Captain?” Quinn deferred the question.

“Sounds good, River,” the captain said. “It looks like four hours to get to the other fleet. I think the two of you can stand down and get some needed rest.”

The admiral was rested and back on his flag bridge studying the display in the holo-tank.

The battle A.I. was saying, “The Coyote-captured disc has accounted for two hundred enemy ships destroyed or rendered combat ineffective. While that seems a lot, we are still faced with 2,216 enemy ships.”

“It’s dropped the intensity level,” Schultz replied. “We are losing no more ships. The carriers are on the move to begin their flanking operation. And a second Coyote-controlled disc is moving to engage.”

He saw the evolution in the holo-tank. The main Congress fleet was a wall of sorts, spread out to block the A-group’s entire front. The carriers, which started off in a shallow arc behind the A-group, were now accelerating to position themselves on each flank and somewhat behind the leading edge of the A-group formation.

They needed to be in a trailing position, because the large ships and platforms didn’t turn well. Pivoting even ninety degrees to get a bead on a ship to its port or starboard was a half-hour affair. The carriers were safer in a trailing position.

For now, the pilots and crews had time to rest, repair, and rearm the bombers and fighters. If their next attack caused enough chaos, Schultz was planning to commit the remaining cutters and their SpecOps assault shuttles. Nuking the dreadnaughts and battleships, using boarding parties, was a tactic the enemy hadn’t really countered. Except for shooting the shuttles down on approach. Schultz was sure the pilots and CAGs figured out how to keep from sky-lining themselves during the next go-round.

“Comms,” he directed his attention to the communication officer. “Any attempt to hail us?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“We’ll be at knife-fighting range in another few hours. Depending on how that goes, I suspect they’ll want to talk. Don’t accept their comm request until I authorize it.”

“Aye, sir. Would you share your reasoning?”

Schultz stifled a grin. The mixed crews, which were mostly Congress officers and spacers, did want to learn. He was surprised when he was appointed admiral of the fleet. He worried it might poison those officers and spacers with resentment or envy. It didn’t. The second surprise was how willing they were to follow him.

“Lieutenant,” he answered, “they refused to make contact when this began. Why? What was their motivation?”

“I don’t know,” the young elf said. “Arrogance, perhaps.”

“And over-confidence. They saw what we brought to the fight and probably started laughing – until half their ships blew up. Now, they’re embarrassed and need to crush us without mercy to regain some sense of honor.”

“I see, sir. We are taught to avoid extremes of emotion in a fight.”

“For good reason, lieutenant. It compromises reason.”

“Yes, sir, but why refuse to speak to them?”

“To make sure they stay emotionally riled up, of course,” the admiral said with a soft smile.

The elf chuckled in return. “I should have seen that, admiral. I apologize for my ignorance.”

“None of that, lieutenant. It is a responsibility of rank to educate and train those who are entrusted to us.”

“Yes, sir,” the elf replied and sat up straighter. Then a moment later he said, “The carrier flag is reporting they are in position. Flight operations will commence in forty-five minutes.”

“Very good,” the admiral said and exited to his ready room.

Master Chin was hurrying to the carrier flag bridge. He was finished reorganizing the strike teams that survived and returned to the ships. Half of his force was dead or missing. Those dead men and women were mostly assigned to the ships that escaped the ambush.

The fighters retrieved many who might have been lost by having the boarding team survivors strap their hard suits to the empty missile hardpoints. Each fighter secured four survivors at a time that way, and the SAR flights returned many more.

The CAGs for the ten carriers consulted and worked with the astro-navigators to determine the best approaches for the next run. And the marines and Special Forces teams were ready for round two.

The Coyotes and Ravens faired better than the others in terms of survivability, except when their shuttles were shot down. No one survived a direct hit from the point defense of the mammoth ships.

Fifty-two Coyote teams were lost. Forty-five Raven teams were lost. The marine platoons, though, suffered the most. Still, half his force was combat effective. Once the bombers and fighters launched, the cutters would cycle into the launching bays and begin boarding operations again.

Chin entered the flag bridge and nodded to the Sentic admiral. “We’re ready.”

The admiral didn’t answer, but looked instead at the holo-display. “The captured discs are headed out of the middle fleet to attack the ones on the right and left. We will work toward them and try to roll up each flank.”

“Yes, sir,” the CAG said. “The squadrons have their targets and secondary targets. The bombers are ready for launch.”

“Very good,” the admiral said. “Commence the operation.”

The bridge crew came alive with their checklists of orders and requests. The flight bays loaded the bombers onto the launch platforms, and they were flung into space.

Once all the bombers were away, the fighters cycled to the launch bays and they were flung into space.

It took longer for the cutters to get ready, but they followed about an hour after the operation began. Chin noted that Admiral Schultz decided to roll the dice and commit the boarding parties. Chin couldn’t disagree, but he worried about the men and women in his command.

An hour after that, one of the carrier sensor techs reported, “I have an FTL signature. It’s squawking Congress codes.”

The comm operator spoke up, “Signal for you, admiral.”

“On screen.”

A harried looking elf appeared. “Free trader Starstream, Captain Mo-tsai. We’ve got a shit-load of those new torpedoes for you, admiral.”

“Thank you, captain. We’ll send you docking instructions. Are there any other free traders en route?”

“Yeah. I mean, yes, sir. Three more. They should be here shortly. I’ve got the fastest ship, don’t you know it.”

The Sentic admiral waved his hand to shut down the onscreen communication and directed, “Send him docking instructions and alert the gunnery department to prepare to receive munitions. Also, make sure our self-congratulatory captain and his crew are well cared for.”

When the other three long-haul freighters arrived, two were routed to the carriers on the other flank. Shuttles distributed the torpedoes to the other carriers, so that all the bombers left could be armed with two sorties of two torpedoes each.

The bombers flew two more missions before the NEFP torpedoes were loaded. By then, the alpha crews were rested, and they hauled the torpedoes to the battle.

Quinn, looking at the converging enemy cruisers, told River, “I think we are about to have visitors.”

“Yeah. The unwelcome kind.”

“Guns,” Quinn called out, “are the missiles nearly here?”

“Yes, sir. The ballistic phase is over in ten seconds.”

“Okay, helm, hold steady until we paint those cruisers, then initiate random walk.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Our missiles are going hot, sir,” the gunnery tech said. “They are coming into acquisition mode. Painting the cruisers now.”

Then the waiting began, but it wasn’t long. The enemy cruisers fired off their point defenses, but the Congress missiles had a solid lock. The six cruisers went up in brilliant flashes.

“The threat board is clear,” the sensor operator said once the radiation quieted down.

Captain Roquemon said, “Good work, Quinn. I think we need a better hunting ground.”

River observed, "We have worn out our welcome here."

Quinn tapped his tactical screen and the view widened. “The bombers are pounding the flank, and some of the ships are easing toward the center. I think those timid souls will be more vulnerable to our kind of help.”

“We’ll be near the edge of their bombing runs.”

“Yes, but not too close. When we capture a command ship here, we can direct fire further into the formation.”

The Sentic chuckled, which was a rasping sound. “Which will help roll this flank even further.”

“That’s my thinking.”

“Okay, let’s do it. Helm, set course for this location,” the captain said and marked a position near the ship that was edging away from the flank.