The Defender Prime of Ulant gave the order. The Climbers left
their mother ships. Pursuit destroyers moved to positions in
reserve-and-chase, ready to pounce on any courier or fugitive
fleeing the battle. The Empires and Conquerors and their Ulantonid,
Toke, Khar’mehl, and aChyfNth equivalents began to move. The
cruisers, frigates, and bombards formed their holding screen. A
gnatlike swarm of singleships put on inherent velocity preparatory
to a lightning pass through the enemy, spewing energy and torpedoes
and collecting to-the-minute intelligence for the Defender’s
master battle computers.
The centerward people were unsuspecting. Even the folk they were
attacking had no idea that help had come.
Years of Ulantonid staff planning had gone into this action. It
was their game. For the first time ever Confederation personnel
were accepting orders from outside commanders. Even the Warriors of
Toke set aside their pride and accepted direction from leaders more
knowledgeable than they.
Twelve sovereign governments of five races were represented in
the Allied fleet.
The Climbers materialized amid the enemy force. They expended
their munitions stocks before their foes could react. They returned
to their mothers to rearm.
Seconds later the singleships dropped hyper.
It took a special breed to fight the one-man scout ships.
Egoists, solipsists, men convinced of their own invulnerability.
Men who could not be intimidated by the knowledge that they had
virtually no defense but speed and violent maneuverability.
The singleships streaked through the centerward war-fleet,
spewing their hunter missiles and flailing with their lone
nose-mounted energy beams. For some speed proved a liability. There
were so many enemy vessels, shifting in confusion, that there were
collisions.
Data flowed to the computers of the Allied fleet. The size,
disposition, orientation, vectors, and velocities of enemy units
began to appear in the huge displays of the Defender’s
command and back-up command vessels. Ships and installations
belonging to the race under attack were identified and tagged
friendly. Enemy command ships were identified and targeted for
special attention by the next Climber sortie.
The General Staff of Ulant had planned thoroughly and well.
There were no unpleasant surprises.
The heavies closed and began pounding a technologically inferior
enemy.
The advantages were all to the Allies. All but one.
They were outnumbered a hundred to one.
They were a single-minded folk, those centerward creatures. When
unable to fight a ship any longer, they took to their shuttlecraft
and tried to land on the planet. The handful who reached the
surface looked for something to kill, and kept at it till something
killed them. Aboard ship and on the ground they had only a limited
concept of tactics.
Tactics were unnecessary when the only strategy needed was the
application of overwhelming numbers.
They seemed unacquainted with fear, and constitutionally unable
to retreat. They simply fought and died and let someone else take
their place.
The only ships to leave the battle were couriers departing at
ten-hour intervals.
The pursuit destroyers handled them, as well as couriers coming
in.
One by one, Allied warships were destroyed or injured beyond any
capacity to continue fighting.
At hour forty of an action originally projected to endure about
one hundred hours the Defender Prime instelled Ulant. She expressed
her fear that her command was insufficient to fulfill its mission.
Effective losses: twenty-four percent of commitment. Current
estimated active ratios: 70-1 in the enemy’s favor.
Her figures did not take into account displacements. Her ships
were concentrating on the more important and dangerous enemy
vessels. A significant percentage of the remaining ships were
lightly armed troop transports.
The centerward people stubbornly insisted on devoting strength
to their assault on the planet.
The Defender’s pessimism was not unwarranted. Her
one-hundred-hour report showed the Allied fleet over fifty percent
neutralized. All missile stores had been expended. Breakdowns were
claiming the energy weapons. She had lost the use of the last of
her Climbers. Her crews were drained by exhaustion.
She disengaged.
The enemy ignored her departure. They closed ranks and continued
their disrupted planetary assault.
The Defender received instructions to stand off and observe.
Confederation was sending reinforcements. Convoys bearing munitions
and repair spares were in space.
In the end, after a month of brutal fighting, the last
centerward warship was annihilated. The Allied fleet returned home,
to lick its wounds and reflect on the savagery of the encounter.
The Defender departed without contacting the planets she had saved.
She wanted no replacement enemy fleet finding any information on
the mysterious rescuers.
A great victory, by numbers. A huge slaughter. But a Pyrrhic
affair. The carefully husbanded and prepared strength of the Allies
had been decimated.
At least four more warfleets were moving out The Arm. Nothing,
really, had been won, except the knowledge that such a monster
force could be overcome. The victory did not fill the several high
commands with joy.
It simply unleashed an even more grim foreboding of things to
come.
The Defender Prime of Ulant gave the order. The Climbers left
their mother ships. Pursuit destroyers moved to positions in
reserve-and-chase, ready to pounce on any courier or fugitive
fleeing the battle. The Empires and Conquerors and their Ulantonid,
Toke, Khar’mehl, and aChyfNth equivalents began to move. The
cruisers, frigates, and bombards formed their holding screen. A
gnatlike swarm of singleships put on inherent velocity preparatory
to a lightning pass through the enemy, spewing energy and torpedoes
and collecting to-the-minute intelligence for the Defender’s
master battle computers.
The centerward people were unsuspecting. Even the folk they were
attacking had no idea that help had come.
Years of Ulantonid staff planning had gone into this action. It
was their game. For the first time ever Confederation personnel
were accepting orders from outside commanders. Even the Warriors of
Toke set aside their pride and accepted direction from leaders more
knowledgeable than they.
Twelve sovereign governments of five races were represented in
the Allied fleet.
The Climbers materialized amid the enemy force. They expended
their munitions stocks before their foes could react. They returned
to their mothers to rearm.
Seconds later the singleships dropped hyper.
It took a special breed to fight the one-man scout ships.
Egoists, solipsists, men convinced of their own invulnerability.
Men who could not be intimidated by the knowledge that they had
virtually no defense but speed and violent maneuverability.
The singleships streaked through the centerward war-fleet,
spewing their hunter missiles and flailing with their lone
nose-mounted energy beams. For some speed proved a liability. There
were so many enemy vessels, shifting in confusion, that there were
collisions.
Data flowed to the computers of the Allied fleet. The size,
disposition, orientation, vectors, and velocities of enemy units
began to appear in the huge displays of the Defender’s
command and back-up command vessels. Ships and installations
belonging to the race under attack were identified and tagged
friendly. Enemy command ships were identified and targeted for
special attention by the next Climber sortie.
The General Staff of Ulant had planned thoroughly and well.
There were no unpleasant surprises.
The heavies closed and began pounding a technologically inferior
enemy.
The advantages were all to the Allies. All but one.
They were outnumbered a hundred to one.
They were a single-minded folk, those centerward creatures. When
unable to fight a ship any longer, they took to their shuttlecraft
and tried to land on the planet. The handful who reached the
surface looked for something to kill, and kept at it till something
killed them. Aboard ship and on the ground they had only a limited
concept of tactics.
Tactics were unnecessary when the only strategy needed was the
application of overwhelming numbers.
They seemed unacquainted with fear, and constitutionally unable
to retreat. They simply fought and died and let someone else take
their place.
The only ships to leave the battle were couriers departing at
ten-hour intervals.
The pursuit destroyers handled them, as well as couriers coming
in.
One by one, Allied warships were destroyed or injured beyond any
capacity to continue fighting.
At hour forty of an action originally projected to endure about
one hundred hours the Defender Prime instelled Ulant. She expressed
her fear that her command was insufficient to fulfill its mission.
Effective losses: twenty-four percent of commitment. Current
estimated active ratios: 70-1 in the enemy’s favor.
Her figures did not take into account displacements. Her ships
were concentrating on the more important and dangerous enemy
vessels. A significant percentage of the remaining ships were
lightly armed troop transports.
The centerward people stubbornly insisted on devoting strength
to their assault on the planet.
The Defender’s pessimism was not unwarranted. Her
one-hundred-hour report showed the Allied fleet over fifty percent
neutralized. All missile stores had been expended. Breakdowns were
claiming the energy weapons. She had lost the use of the last of
her Climbers. Her crews were drained by exhaustion.
She disengaged.
The enemy ignored her departure. They closed ranks and continued
their disrupted planetary assault.
The Defender received instructions to stand off and observe.
Confederation was sending reinforcements. Convoys bearing munitions
and repair spares were in space.
In the end, after a month of brutal fighting, the last
centerward warship was annihilated. The Allied fleet returned home,
to lick its wounds and reflect on the savagery of the encounter.
The Defender departed without contacting the planets she had saved.
She wanted no replacement enemy fleet finding any information on
the mysterious rescuers.
A great victory, by numbers. A huge slaughter. But a Pyrrhic
affair. The carefully husbanded and prepared strength of the Allies
had been decimated.
At least four more warfleets were moving out The Arm. Nothing,
really, had been won, except the knowledge that such a monster
force could be overcome. The victory did not fill the several high
commands with joy.
It simply unleashed an even more grim foreboding of things to
come.