The Black Sheep (A Learning Experience Book 3) (17 page)

“Picking up a signal,” Ensign Howard said.  “They’re ordering us to hold position at the edge of the planetary defence sphere until they can get an inspection crew up to us. 
And
they want our manifest.”

“Send it to them,” Hoshiko ordered.  The freighter manifest was nothing more than a tissue of lies, but she’d composed it with malice aforethought.  If the Druavroks believed the freighter was carrying spare parts for starships, they’d be less willing to blow her out of space.  Given the speed of their advance, she’d bet money their logistics were barely superior to hers.  “And let me know what they say.”

They’ll want to seize the cargo
, she told herself.  The Galactics had some very strict rules on how freighter in distress were to be treated, but she doubted the Druavroks would honour them.  At best, they’d insist the freighter’s cargo would be forfeit in exchange for repairs and whatever other charges they could cram onto the bill; at worst, they’d simply take the cargo, the ship and enslave the crews. 
That should help them decide to keep us alive
.

She allowed herself a tight smile as the probes slipped closer to their target.  The Druavroks presumably didn’t have any better sensors than the ones their former masters had invented and passed on to them, because they didn't seem to have any inkling the probes were slowly slipping into engagement range.  Given thirty years or so, she told herself, and humanity’s warships would be able to tear through a Galactic fleet with no losses at all, unless the Galactics themselves started innovating.  And if they did, the status quo the Tokomak had created would be destroyed.

Enough data to target our attack precisely
, she thought. 
And enough to program the missiles to overwhelm their targets by sheer weight of fire.

“There doesn't seem to be anything on the planet worth having,” she muttered to herself, darkly.  “And hitting their settlements would be bad.”

Hoshiko sighed, inwardly.  She doubted many of the races that had joined up with the Grand Alliance would feel the same way. 

Ensign Howard glanced at her, very briefly.  “Captain?”

“Never mind,” Hoshiko said.  “Has there been any response?”

“None as yet,” Ensign Howard said.  “They haven’t sent anything to us ...”

He paused.  “Captain, two of their destroyers are breaking orbit and heading towards our position,” he warned.  “Estimated ETA, nineteen minutes unless they go FTL.”

“I see,” Hoshiko said.  The last thing she wanted was to abandon the freighter with two destroyers in firing range.  “Watch carefully for a Picard Manoeuvre.”

“Aye, Captain,” Ensign Howard said.

Hoshiko nodded.  It was hard to believe that Jean-Luc Picard was fictional when he’d given his name to a well-known Galactic tactic.  Jumping into FTL would allow the destroyers to reach her position before she knew they’d moved, before the emissions from their realspace drives reached her sensors.  If they did, she was in deep trouble.  She’d have to risk deploying ECM systems to confuse them while the courier boat separated from the freighter.

We're not close enough to the planet for certain success
, she thought, darkly. 
And to think it was going so well too
.

Don’t be stupid,
her own thoughts answered her.  They sounded very much like her uncle in a cranky mood. 
War is a democracy.  The enemy, that dirty dog, gets a vote too
.

“Prepare to separate from the freighter,” she ordered.  “I ...”

An alarm sounded.  “
Contact
,” Ensign Howard snapped.  “They just dropped out of FTL, right on top of us.”

Hoshiko sucked in her breath.  The enemy destroyers were closing in, far too quickly.  She mentally saluted their commanders - they’d pulled off a
perfect
Picard Manoeuvre - as she hastily re-evaluated the situation.  It was time to cut their losses and leave.

“Rotate the freighter,” she ordered.  Thankfully, the enemy hadn't tried to come in on two separate vectors.  “Make it look like we’re panicking, but kept the hulk between us and them.”

“Aye, Captain,” Ensign Howard said.  He paused.  “They’re sending us a message, Captain; they want us to prepare to be boarded.”

“Cut our ties to the freighter,” Hoshiko ordered.  There was no longer any time to waste.  “As soon as we’re free, send the scuttle code to the ship and bring the FTL drive online.”

“Aye, Captain,” Ensign Howard said.  He sounded perfectly in control, now there were only seconds between life and death.  A shudder ran through the courier boat as she broke free of the freighter and moved into open space.  “We’re free.”

The display turned red.  “Enemy ships are targeting us, Captain!”

“Evasive manoeuvres,” Hoshiko ordered, curtly.  If they were lucky, the Druavroks would still be reluctant to blow up the freighter, but she dared not count on it.  “Send the final code to the freighter, then jump us out.”

“Aye, Captain,” Ensign Howard said.  “FTL in three ... two ... one ...
now
!”

Hoshiko smirked as the Druavroks launched missiles, far too late to be any good.  It no longer mattered if they were trying to take out the courier boat or the freighter, not now the former was in FTL.  The final device she’d had loaded onto the freighter would not only explode with staggering force - it was just possible the destroyers would be crippled or destroyed if they didn’t back off quickly enough - but blind gravimetric sensors right across the system.  If she was
very
lucky, the Druavroks would have no idea the fleet was on the way until it was
far
too late.

And even if the plan fails
, she thought,
we already have the intelligence we need
.

“Take us straight back to the fleet,” she ordered.  Either the plan had worked or it hadn't; it no longer mattered.  “And drop the teleport jammers as soon as we arrive.”

“Aye, Captain,” Howard said.

Chapter Sixteen

Desertion rates in the United States Army have skyrocketed over the past two months, according to a highly-classified report, in the wake of the military coup, fighting along the borders and ethnic cleansing in a number of US cities and states.  The current military commander, however, insists that the restoration of order is only a matter of time - and that deserters will receive the death sentence when they are caught.

-Solar News Network, Year 54

If there was one lesson Druavrok history had taught the Druavroks, it was that the universe was divided into two different subsets: predators and prey.  Their evolution on a harsh world had shaped them for war, first for bare survival against the other creatures their homeworld had birthed, then against the strange aliens who’d arrived on their world with gifts and demands for submission.  The Druavroks had fought, of course, because it wasn't in their nature to submit, but they’d been crushed so badly that the survivors and their descendents were still reeling.  Resistance to the Tokomaks had moved, in their heads, from
necessary
to
inconceivable
.  The idea of lifting a clawed hand to slash at a Tokomak face was beyond them.  They had become slaves.

It hadn't taken the surviving Druavroks long to discover that the Tokomaks were masters of far more than merely the half-savage Druavroks.  Indeed, they were masters of hundreds of races of prey, each one strange and appalling to Druavrok eyes.  None of them had any right to exist, not when they had never imposed themselves on the Druavroks.  The Druavroks could not see them as anything other than prey.  And, when the Tokomaks had started turning the Druavroks into soldiers and enforcers, the Druavroks had taken to the role like ducks to water.  What better role was there, they asked themselves, than serving the only race that had defeated them decisively in battle?

And then the Tokomaks had retreated, abandoning the sector.

The Druavroks hadn't been able to understand it, not at first.  A minor defeat that had cost a bare handful of starships was hardly enough to break the Tokomaks.  And yet, the Tokomaks had simply abandoned the Martina Sector.  The Druavroks puzzled over it for months, trying to determine what their masters wanted them to do.  Eventually, one of their leaders had realised the truth.  The Tokomak had given the Druavroks the sector as a reward for good service, as a master might pet his slave on the head.  And all the prey in the sector was theirs to do with as they willed.  Why
not
build an empire of their own?

And so the Great Conquest, Warlord Junju thought, had begun.

It was a frustrating thought.  He should be out among the stars, winning glory with his clan-brothers, rather than stuck defending a worthless planet.  The Great Lords might argue that Malachi had to be defended, but Junju knew better.  There was no way the prey could or would muster the nerve to attack a world of their betters.  They were
prey
!  The forces that had shaped them hadn't given them the killer instincts his people had needed to survive their homeworld, let alone their work for the Tokomak.  No, he was trapped because the Great Lords feared what he would do, if he were given his freedom.  He would win such great victories that they would no longer be able to turn their backs on him.

“Warlord,” a voice said.  Warlord Junju turned to see a junior officer prostrating himself on the deck.  “The destroyers are intercepting the prey freighter.”

Warlord Junju hissed his amusement as he turned to examine the giant system display, his eyes flickering over his subordinates.  The prey had
no
idea how much things had changed, now the Tokomak were gone.  Their ship would be confiscated, their cargo would be put to use supporting the Great Conquest and, if the prey submitted quickly enough, they would be put to work as labourers of war.  Or, if they didn’t submit, they would be dumped into the hunting pastures for his soldiers to hunt.  They needed practice, after all; the Great Conquest needed experienced soldiers.  Maybe he’d take a few hours off and go hunting himself.  Some of the prey were almost intelligent in how they fought back against their betters.

“The destroyers ...”

The speaker broke off as the display turned into a haze of static.  Warlord Junju bared his teeth, fighting down the reflex that would have turned the CIC into a bloody combat zone, and waited until his officers calmed down.  In that, so much as anything else, they took their cue from their betters.  Warlord Junju had
earned
his post and he never let any of them forget it.

“Report,” he ordered, calmly.

“The freighter released a courier boat, which jumped into FTL seconds before the freighter exploded,” one of the officers said.  She sounded terrified, knowing her superior could execute her on the spot if he held her responsible for failure.  “The explosion released a wave of charged gravity particles.  Damage to the system’s long-range sensors has been extensive.”

Warlord Junju flexed his claws.  If it had been the officer’s fault, he would have cut her throat and drunk her blood without a second thought.  The weak and foolish died so that the strong could survive and prosper.  But there was no point in punishing her merely for giving him an accurate report.

“Get the repair crews out there,” he ordered, keeping his bloodlust under tight control.  The freighter crew must have sensed their fate and panicked, like some of the more challenging forms of prey.  But why had they been carrying a courier boat?  “I want those sensors back up within the hour!”

***

Hoshiko sucked in her breath the moment she materialised in the CIC, then keyed the intercom as she sat down in front of the big display.  “Do you have the data download from the courier boat?”

“Aye, Captain,” Wilde said.  “We’re passing it to the remainder of the fleet now.”

“Inform them we’re going with Attack Plan Alpha-Three,” Hoshiko said.  She’d composed nine separate plans, but Alpha-Three fitted the situation best.  “Order them to bring up their drives and be ready to jump within five minutes.”

She leaned back in her chair, then looked at Lieutenant Brown.  “Is the CIC ready to take over as fleet command?”

“Aye, Captain,” Brown said.  He was a competent officer, although his file claimed he was a little unimaginative for his role.  “We’re ready.”

Hoshiko sat back in her chair.  They’d practiced, endlessly, but now they were about to undergo the
real
test.  If something went wrong ...

At least we can break off and escape those battlestations
, she told herself. 
A handful of destroyers and a light cruiser won’t pose a major threat if we have to leave
.

“Then take command,” she ordered.  “Signal to all ships.  Go to condition one, then jump on my command.”

“Aye, Captain,” Brown said.  “All ships report ready.”

“Jump,” Hoshiko ordered.

She sucked in a breath.  If everything had gone according to plan ...

Stop worrying
, she told herself firmly, as the timer ticked down to zero. 
You’re about to find out the hard way
.

“Emergence in two minutes, fifteen seconds, Captain,” Brown reported.  “Fleet control systems, up and ready; fleet datanet sub-networks, up and ready.”

“Good,” Hoshiko said.  “Pass the word.  If any enemy ships are within engagement range as soon as we arrive, they are to be attacked with maximum force.”

“Aye, Captain,” Brown said.

Hoshiko sat back in her chair as the timer ticked down the final few seconds.  No one, apart from the Tokomak, had ever deployed so many ships in a single battle - and
no one
had deployed quite so many different
types
of ships.  Command and control was going to be a major headache, even if everyone cooperated perfectly; her simulations had shown her, in far too much detail, just what could go wrong.  But there was no longer any time to rehearse ...

“Emergence, Captain,” Brown reported, as the display began to fill with red lights.  “No enemy ships within engagement range; I say again, no enemy ships within engagement range.”

Pity
, Hoshiko thought.  She looked at the display towards where the freighter had been before she’d abandoned the vessel to her fate.  One enemy destroyer was nearby, clearly crippled; there was no sign of the other. 
Let us hope it was destroyed in the blast
.

She turned her attention back to Malachi itself.  “Order the fleet to shake down and advance towards the closest battlestation,” she ordered.  The enemy was already sweeping the fleet with tactical sensors, looking for targets.  They’d have to be blind to
miss
the fleet, although human-grade ECM was already making life difficult for their tactical staffs.  “Task Force 2.1 and Task Force 2.2 are to engage with missiles as soon as they enter engagement range; the remainder of the fleet is to hold back and ready itself for a successive engagement.”

“Aye, Captain,” Brown said.

“And once they have expended their missiles, they are to retreat to the RV point,” Hoshiko added.  The alien crews already knew, of course, but the desire for revenge burned strong in their breasts.  “They’ll be nothing more than targets once they’ve shot themselves dry.”

She forced herself to watch calmly as the giant fleet slowly closed in on its target.  For once, the Druavroks didn't seem inclined to launch suicide attacks, although she had a nasty feeling they suspected such attacks would be useless.  But then, if they took out a handful of genuine warships, her fleet’s ability to fight would be sharply reduced.  Thankfully, the ECM would make it harder for them to pick out the targets they should be hitting.  Instead, their handful of starships were slowly settling into a defensive formation.  If they’d been human, one or more ships would already have been dispatched to raise the alarm.

“Twenty seconds to engagement range,” Brown reported.  “Task Force 2.1’s CO requests permission to launch a wide spread of missiles.”

“Denied,” Hoshiko said, sharply.  A wide spread, under normal circumstances, would force the defenders to concentrate on preventing missiles from striking the planet’s surface, but she had a feeling the Druavroks wouldn't give a damn for their own civilians, let alone anyone else’s.  “Missiles are to be targeted on the battlestation and its remote platforms alone.”

And the battlestation mounts plenty of point defence
, she thought, grimly. 
We need such a high density of missiles to be sure of scoring a kill
.

“Ten seconds to engagement range,” Brown said.

“The missile-slingers are to open fire as soon as they enter engagement range,” Hoshiko reminded him.  “They’re not to wait for orders.”

Because the bastards will start opening fire as soon as we enter their engagement range
, she thought, grimly.  Task Force 2.1 and Task Force 2.2 carried Galactic missiles, not human.  It was a calculated risk, but Malachi was a fairly soft target.  Besides, it gave the fabbers time to produce hundreds of additional human-grade missiles. 
They’ll try to give as good as they get
.

“Five seconds,” Brown said.

“Stand by point defence,” Hoshiko ordered.

***

Warlord Junju’s first inclination had been to demand the head of whoever had started a training simulation without giving the command crew sufficient warning, as laid down in the regulations they’d copied from the Tokomak.  His second had been to refuse to believe in the invading fleet.  It couldn't exist.  It simply couldn't exist ... and yet, the more his sensors reported on its composition and steady approach, the harder it became to deny reality.  The freighter hadn't been an accident, or a panicking crew; the freighter had been the first shot in the Battle of Malachi.

“Keep the ships back,” he ordered.  Their commanders wanted to charge into the teeth of enemy fire, weapons blazing in their contempt for the prey, but these were clearly very dangerous prey indeed.  And yet, three-quarters of their giant fleet was composed of freighters, rather than warships.  “They are to hold position until I give the order to move.”