at hand.”
This time, Narrok did not try to conceal (wariness, misgiving). “Yes—they engage us. And they should not. They have no reason to. Indeed, they have every reason not to.”
(Annoyance.) “What do you mean, Admiral?”
Narrok swept a lesser tentacle through the shimmering silver-white circle that marked the Desai limit: the part of this arc that was closest to the Suwa warp point was also close behind the two human screens. But those screens were now advancing toward the Arduans like a pair of slightly separated but in-line disks. “Look at how close the griarfeksh were—and still are—to the Desai limit. They could run from us, and we might not catch them at all. Since they cannot hold this system, such a retreat would be the logical evolution of their battle plan.”
“So? Perhaps they reason that they must damage us as much as they can before attempting to flee.”
“Perhaps—but with our current advantage in numbers, they cannot hope to destroy many more of our ships than we can of theirs. And that is a much poorer ship-exchange ratio than they have been willing to accept to date. But this is what worries me the most.” Narrok moved his cluster over, and then extended all his tentacles into, the compacted mass of Arduan ship icons burgeoning just beyond the holo-image of Beaumont.
(Incredulousness, facetiousness.) “You are worried by our immense advantage in warships?”
“No, I am worried about what the enemy’s sudden advance upon us has caused. Yes, more of our ships are in range, but at the expense of our keeping a good formation. First, we reduced the diameter of our screen, which brought more of our hulls into range. Now we are turning into a densely packed mass. With our front slowed by direct engagement with the griarfeksh , the rearward units are catching up—but pushing into the very same volume of space.”
“Surely you cannot be worried about collisions. You know far better than I that each of those ships is separated by at least fifty thousand kilometers.”
“True. I have no fear of collisions. I fear a loss of tactical mobility and data-net optimization.”
(Annoyance, incomprehension.) “You fear what?”
“ Holodah’kri , space is indeed vast—but relative angles and headings still matter and may be compromised when units are too close to deploy a sufficiently wide field of fire. Our ships are too tightly packed here. Their defensive fire systems and their ability to maneuver would be severely limited if they were to be attacked by—”
(Impatience, fury.) “—by what?” seethed Urkhot. “Where are these new, phantom threats that can appear from nowhere and take advantage of this momentary—”
Metlak emitted (URGENCY URGENCY URGENCY). “Admiral!”
(Calm.) “Yes, Fleet Second?”
“Sir, from the planet—fighters!”
“Of course. In fact, they are overdue. We have seen this at every human planet we have approached. How many fighters, Second? A dozen, two dozen?”
“Not dozens, Admiral. Hundreds!”
The phantom threat had appeared. And, having used Beaumont to cover its approach, Nathan McCullough’s Flight Brigade had appeared directly on Narrok’s rear flank, and at a range of less than fifteen light-seconds.
RFNS Jellicoe , Task Force One, Further Rim Fleet, Beaumont System
Ossian Wethermere was hardly conscious that he had stood up and almost failed to notice the strange shuddering quake that marked his first discernible moment in combat: a near miss by a Baldy missile.
“Where did all those fighters come from?” He failed to add “sir,” because his query was not directed at any one individual: it was a general voicing of astonishment.
Yoshikuni cut a sharp glance at him. “From reserve formations and mothballs up and down both mainlines of the Bellerophon Arm. We drained every hangar and holding yard from here up to Samson and Treadway. Now sit down and strap in or you’re sure to be the first casualty. It’s likely to get a
This time, Narrok did not try to conceal (wariness, misgiving). “Yes—they engage us. And they should not. They have no reason to. Indeed, they have every reason not to.”
(Annoyance.) “What do you mean, Admiral?”
Narrok swept a lesser tentacle through the shimmering silver-white circle that marked the Desai limit: the part of this arc that was closest to the Suwa warp point was also close behind the two human screens. But those screens were now advancing toward the Arduans like a pair of slightly separated but in-line disks. “Look at how close the griarfeksh were—and still are—to the Desai limit. They could run from us, and we might not catch them at all. Since they cannot hold this system, such a retreat would be the logical evolution of their battle plan.”
“So? Perhaps they reason that they must damage us as much as they can before attempting to flee.”
“Perhaps—but with our current advantage in numbers, they cannot hope to destroy many more of our ships than we can of theirs. And that is a much poorer ship-exchange ratio than they have been willing to accept to date. But this is what worries me the most.” Narrok moved his cluster over, and then extended all his tentacles into, the compacted mass of Arduan ship icons burgeoning just beyond the holo-image of Beaumont.
(Incredulousness, facetiousness.) “You are worried by our immense advantage in warships?”
“No, I am worried about what the enemy’s sudden advance upon us has caused. Yes, more of our ships are in range, but at the expense of our keeping a good formation. First, we reduced the diameter of our screen, which brought more of our hulls into range. Now we are turning into a densely packed mass. With our front slowed by direct engagement with the griarfeksh , the rearward units are catching up—but pushing into the very same volume of space.”
“Surely you cannot be worried about collisions. You know far better than I that each of those ships is separated by at least fifty thousand kilometers.”
“True. I have no fear of collisions. I fear a loss of tactical mobility and data-net optimization.”
(Annoyance, incomprehension.) “You fear what?”
“ Holodah’kri , space is indeed vast—but relative angles and headings still matter and may be compromised when units are too close to deploy a sufficiently wide field of fire. Our ships are too tightly packed here. Their defensive fire systems and their ability to maneuver would be severely limited if they were to be attacked by—”
(Impatience, fury.) “—by what?” seethed Urkhot. “Where are these new, phantom threats that can appear from nowhere and take advantage of this momentary—”
Metlak emitted (URGENCY URGENCY URGENCY). “Admiral!”
(Calm.) “Yes, Fleet Second?”
“Sir, from the planet—fighters!”
“Of course. In fact, they are overdue. We have seen this at every human planet we have approached. How many fighters, Second? A dozen, two dozen?”
“Not dozens, Admiral. Hundreds!”
The phantom threat had appeared. And, having used Beaumont to cover its approach, Nathan McCullough’s Flight Brigade had appeared directly on Narrok’s rear flank, and at a range of less than fifteen light-seconds.
RFNS Jellicoe , Task Force One, Further Rim Fleet, Beaumont System
Ossian Wethermere was hardly conscious that he had stood up and almost failed to notice the strange shuddering quake that marked his first discernible moment in combat: a near miss by a Baldy missile.
“Where did all those fighters come from?” He failed to add “sir,” because his query was not directed at any one individual: it was a general voicing of astonishment.
Yoshikuni cut a sharp glance at him. “From reserve formations and mothballs up and down both mainlines of the Bellerophon Arm. We drained every hangar and holding yard from here up to Samson and Treadway. Now sit down and strap in or you’re sure to be the first casualty. It’s likely to get a
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