V
At 0700 the following day the Dreadnought approached the Star Gate, whose hexagonal frame gleamed coldly among the stars like the blue-black barrel of a gun, surrounded by the vessels of its makers.
Linear skeletons, huge anti-matter projectors lay dormant within, their task completed. A soft-glistening sheet of silver, like a fine spray of undulating mist, shrouded the multiplied blackness beyond. This protective film began to grow vague as the rounded monolith of the Carrier, here and there ribbed or jagged, continued to advance patiently, with measured speed.
This silent Gate to Cerberus, newest tool of Armageddon, like those before it showed not the slightest emotion at its use, only cold, mechanical efficiency. The curving prow of Dreadnought, insane metallic smile, pushed forward at the mark, and was wrapped in a clear sheen of brilliance.
To a suddenly humbled engineering vessel that viewed this passage from the side (though itself a work of successive human genius), it appeared indeed a magician's trick: the monstrous vessel was reduced by small fractions. Length was seduced, and did not reappear. And then the thrusting phallus was gone. The framework was all that remained.
Aboard the carrier the rush of scintillating motion had begun. Even those crews aboard ships within the great ship, their minds bent forward in preparation for combat, could feel the sudden thrill of weightless, bodiless movement, and taste the ghoulish hum that began at low, convulsive pitch, then rose through noteless octaves, whirling, then whining high and unbearable, then gone beyond the range of hearing.
Aboard the vessel only Hayes seemed unmoved by the lightless passage, like falling down a colossal well to the heart of a venomous, robotoid planet. All ship's power was lost, and in that phantom black those who did not already grip at chair and support-beam bent to their knees as if in prayer for deliverance.
But not Hayes. In his mind, he descended into Hell like the crucified
Christ, whose lanced breast had flowed blood and water of forgiveness.
Except that Hayes did not forgive. For soon he would rise again,
invincible.
True to the hollow-world metaphor, the ship, upon reaching the center of its plunge, passed through and slowed gradually, and sensation became more bearable. The witch-sound returned with its screeching whine; but soon the worst was passed. And like the short-lived fright of the daring child, who has pumped and pulled the playground swing to its highest arc and is suddenly weightless, cast loose from the normal laws of earth, feels a moment's fear, but then with the rush of downward motion again feels himself a conqueror, who has faced the darkness unafraid, so the men of the Third Fleet, once more surviving the nightmare world, felt themselves strong and hard, little boys afraid of nothing, marching boldly toward their moment of destiny and schoolyard fight.
And all at once their power returned. On the re-lighted bridge men quickly assumed martial attitudes, and those whose functions allowed it watched the screens. Another silvery sheet appeared before them.
Soon this, too, was parted. Stars returned to the sky, along with the gold-orangish hue of a nearby planet. And behind and to one side of them, though still far off, a detachment of the Coalition Fleet whirled about and began to pursue. From the orbit of the planet as well, rose a small and desperate defense.
Hayes' voice boomed on the intercom, superceding sectarian commanders. "All vessels prepare to attack. Chutes one through twelve lower and discharge. Enemy at five o'clock, bearing 3 - 4 Mark. Outward batteries key on planetary forces. Give 'em hell boys; this one's for real!"
Within minutes over two hundred fighters, cruisers and destroyers had emerged from the death-womb of the Carrier, formed into squadrons and flotillas, turned to face the enemy and begun to move forward. That number again, including the four titanic battleships, were held in reserve.
The straggle of fighters and destroyers from the planet's last line of defense the launched ships ignored altogether, these being handled easily by the multitude of blazing turrets aboard the Dreadnought. One or two handfuls managed to elude fire long enough to harry the rear of the advancing ranks; but these were little more than beetles biting at the legs of wolves. A single heavy cruiser would turn its guns in their direction, and end forever the one-sided argument.
The ships that advanced to meet them were more formidable. Suspecting a move of this kind (but needing to suspect a dozen other possibilities as well), the Coalition had detached eighty vessels, nearly a quarter of its strength, to patrol the area, and defend Friedrich Schiller, the beloved and irreplaceable East German home planet. And when the time came, though sleep had been scarce and tension high, they were ready to fight. Consisting mainly of German forces, they needed no high-sounding words to give blood in defense of their homeland.
In open Space battles of this kind, where there was no constricting lattice of energy fields to hinder movement (as at the Battle of Athena), the aggressor held the decided advantage. For here there was no barricades or tactically advantageous points, only a three dimensional sea of emptiness in all directions, here and there pricked by planet islands, themselves destructible and a hindrance to mobility. For this reason both sides had attempted to charge, and the resulting collision of forces at once split the conflagration into a dissipated struggle without borders, boundaries or points of reference.
And for the Coalition pilots and vessel commanders, this proved to be fatal. Outnumbered nearly three to one by more modern, swifter craft, needing to be watchful of every quarter at once, aware that soon the Dreadnought would add its considerable firepower to the fray, and thus needing an early knockout. . .it was impossible. They fought with courage and intensity, but so did the Americans. And though they knew it was no game (some of the Americans did also), and though they fought for home and family, this could not make them react quicker or shoot straighter than their more youthful counterparts, whose duel ambition—-to stay alive and cover themselves with glory—-combined with simply better equipment to give them the clear and early upper hand.
There would be no repeat of the Battle of Britain.
After ninety minutes of butchery, the bravest socialist pilots had had enough. Those who could, turned and fled into warp. Those who could not, were cut to pieces by the Dreadnought.
There were no prisoners taken.
*
While at the conclusion of this skirmish some faces among the ranks of the Commonwealth force beamed with confidence and victory, Hayes' was not one of them. He allowed his men roughly three minutes to exchange war hoops and congratulations, then ordered his next deployment. And he ordered his new Communications Officer, stationed on the bridge, to make contact with Schiller, which now lay exposed.
At first the planet refused to acknowledge the attempt, feigning interference. It was obvious they were trying to buy time. But when the Dreadnought, which continued to advance, began to lower its four great battleships, and Hayes, on an uncoded channel ordered them, once deployed, to take up pseudo-orbital positions around it and begin planetary destruct sequence, the East German leadership dropped its futile ploy. On the large central screen of the bridge, the erect figure of the Prime Minister appeared, seated at the head of a long table surrounded by military advisors. His face was gray and stern. Though his English was good, he chose for the moment to make it harsh and clipped.
"Yes, Mr. Secretary."
"Good morning, Schultz. I won't banter. I want your planetary shields lowered, and your orbiting Artillery Stations—-yes, I know about them—-silenced and evacuated. They will be destroyed in one hour's time. Also, I want you to relay my signal to General Itjes."
"First let me be sure I understand you. Are you offering terms for our surrender?"
"I'm doing nothing of the kind and you know it. Your planet and your people are, for the moment, my hostage. I will reestablish contact in one hour and ten minutes. At that time I will expect a patch-through to Itjes. In the meantime my ships will continue to take up positions around you. If they are fired upon, even once, I'll turn the battleships loose on the cities." He signaled his Com Officer to end the transmission.
The Third Fleet, three quarters of which was now discharged from the carrier, began to form up into fully operational task forces, each with a battleship in its center, and to move into place in a wide belt encircling the planet, then turned facing outward like a bristle of spears. Or more aptly, since the guns of the battleships faced inward as well, like a crown of thorns.
Hayes' plan was cruelly simple: to put a gun to the head of Schiller, and force General Itjes and the remainder of the Coalition fleet into a fight they couldn't win. His deepest concern was for the passage of time, which might bring enemies and forces unlooked-for. By recent intelligence the nearest significant Soviet presence was at least a week distant. But how many of the smaller nations of the Coalition might be willing to risk their own national forces, it was impossible to say. But here Hayes held to the confidence of the bully, believing that each would be more concerned with their own personal survival, and thus bring them all into peril.
The allotted time passed. The task forces stood at the ready. Itjes continued to move swiftly toward the system, and the entire planet scrambled into plans of evacuation that few had believed would ever be used.
And when they received news of the plight of fully half their space-bound population, and of their dearest home save earth, the East German forces of other Coalition patrols, near and far, with leave or without it, broke off and began to converge on Schiller. Were it not for the time factor —-the majority of these would not arrive (or even receive the message) for days—-Hayes might have had a problem.
And even in the coming duel with Itjes' divided force, the scales might have been more evenly balanced, but for the simple disparity in the weapons-systems of a wealthy superpower, and those of a group of nations which had to live, buy, and protect within their means. The four Commonwealth battleships were of a class possessed by only three Powers in the galaxy—-themselves, the Soviet Space Republics (which didn't deal them out), and the German States, who had no apparent love for their sundered countrymen. Also added to the equation:
The two remaining Coalition carriers, ten years old and of a lesser Soviet series, could fit together inside the Dreadnought, and had not one-third the long-range firepower. Neither was capable of extended warp; and needless to say, they had no star gate, and thus no surprise capability. They were built for defense, and the Coalition defenses had been breached. How Hayes (or anyone else) could take pleasure in the prospect of a battle at such clearly unequal odds, remained a mystery.
He was connected to Helmut Itjes.
"Yes, General Hayes. You have our people by the throat; what do you want?" Itjes had lived too long…..
At this point Hayes blanked out his own visual transmission. He then wrote out his replies on paper, to be read by the Communications Officer. He was going to leave the enemy no proof of the conversation about to follow. A short pause, then the young man read:
"I want you, General Itjes. If the First Combat Fleet will engage us, to the death, the civilians may go free—-afterwards."
"And if we refuse?"
"I will blanket the planet with microwaves. It would be a shame to destroy. . .such beautiful architecture."
"What kind of animal are you?" snapped Itjes. He now saw, beyond all doubt, that he was dealing with a madman. The written notes, read by a young voice without malice or understanding, had sent a chill straight through him. They reminded him strangely, uncannily, of the techniques employed by Adolph Eichmann and the Hitler S.S.
… "The one who's going to see you in Hell."
"I will attack when the Dresden detachment joins us. Then God HELP you."
"You have twelve hours, Helmut."
"My name is ITJES!"
The screen went blank.
* * *
The Coalition First Combat Fleet, both detachments, stood fast at a safe distance from the hornet's nest that surrounded Schiller, and formed into a single front to face them.
Itjes stood among his officers and technicians on the bridge of the carrier 'Smolensk', staring at the blank communications screen. Five minutes before he had told Hayes flatly that there would be no engagement without his recordable promise—-both visual and vocal—-of the free evacuation of the planet, regardless of the outcome of the battle. This helpless waiting, for a reply so paramount, and yet so utterly beyond his control, was an agony of the human spirit.
The request was perfectly reasonable, and Hayes had every intention of granting it. He merely wanted the extra time to study his opponent's weaponry and deployment. There was something to be learned even from the loser of a given confrontation, and Itjes had the reputation of being a tough and resourceful foe. So he watched, and made mental notes: two-hundred and sixty lesser craft against his three-hundred deployed, and the superior guns of the Dreadnought. This should teach his boys to fight.
The Commonwealth forces began to move forward. Hayes appeared on the screen, flanked by Admiral Frank. "You have your promise, General. Win or lose, utterly, and the population goes free."
Utterly.
Itjes bit his lip till it bled, ordered his forces to attack.
*
The main battle went much the same as the skirmish which had preceded it. The Coalition's flyers were, on the whole more experienced, more disciplined, in some ways better trained; and for a time they did fairly well. They kept their forces together, found cracks in the fences of their enemies, and were able to weed out and destroy the greener of the American combatants.
But soon the blows were raining hard and heavy upon them, and coming from every direction at once. Squadrons and formations were broken up, strategies broken down. And after a time, good and lesser soldiers alike, veterans and younger men, husbands, heroes and cowards, were killed by shots that did not discriminate. No magical God-force protected the just and perseverant; no hand of Providence reached down. Men and women died, adding their silent numbers to the ancient mass of corpses piled in an endless grave in the name of War, because men had not yet learned that name was foul.
The Coalition forces kept fighting for five hours, fighting and dying, waiting for an order to retreat that never came, fighting and dying and waiting for an order to retreat that never came, then a surrender that never came, fighting and dying and waiting for an order to retreat and then a surrender, and an end to the carnage that never came, fighting and dying and waiting for an order to retreat and then a surrender and an end to the carnage, and some kind of sanity that never came, fighting and dying and waiting for an order to retreat and then a surrender and some kind of sanity, then simple deliverance, that never came—-except in death.
The Commonwealth lost eighty ships, mostly fighters and destroyers, in annihilating the entire Coalition Fleet. Ten hours later the last evacuation vessels left the planet, though many inhabitants remained behind of their own volition. The four Battleships took up their equidistant points about the equator of the Friedrich Schiller, firing a long and continuous heat and shock laser burst into its core. The planet's surface writhed and convulsed with earthquakes and eruptions for perhaps two hours, till the outer crust was broken into crumbling islands in a molten sea, and what was left of the face fell apart. The Battleships ceased their barrage, leaving it to die its final death of fire, lava and smoke. The Secretary chose to leave it thus, rather than blow it apart, to further anger the Soviets and goad them into reprisals. That such a decision might have other consequences he knew, but at that moment his mind was driven by a single impulse only. He wanted, with all his soul, a full-scale World War.
Several hours later in prearranged rendezvous, the Third Fleet's engineering vessels followed the earlier course of the Dreadnought through the star gate. Immediately upon arrival (and finding that things had gone their way), they turned about and began to construct a second entrance, leading back the way they had come. Since the corridor itself was already in existence, needing only a return inlet, this took less than forty-eight hours. Then, all Commonwealth vessels tucked up safe inside the mother, the Third Fleet returned to the limits of the Athena system, destroying the further gate, dismantling the nearer, behind them. The Dreadnought then proceeded, at just above tracking speed, to a new and untraceable location.
Hayes had won again.