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Grass Eaters 2 | 63 | Ghost Fleet V
🕑 Added 2024-10-09 16:47:01 +0000 UTCZNS 2239, Saturn (12 Ls)
POV: Tvadnek, Znosian Dominion Navy (Rank: Nine Whiskers)
“Only six ships?” Tvadnek questioned.
“Yes, and they are not hiding at all. We can see them all on our sensors without issue.”
“Surely they don’t think these are sufficient to stop our six squadrons with half a squadron and a smattering of immobile batteries?”
“Perhaps they are crazy,” she replied. “Or just desperate. This is exactly what we would expect the Lesser Predators to—”
“We are not to make that mistake,” he cautioned her. “Many a Znosian Navy commander has disgraced himself in the Prophecy, underestimating the Great Predators. There is a reason that is their official State Security nomenclature: to remind us not to do exactly that. They are not Lesser Predators, nor the Slow Predators I personally engaged in battle over Grantor years ago. They are Great Predators. We will honor the threat with the overwhelming force and caution it deserves.”
“Yes, Nine Whiskers,” she said, looking properly chastised. “Should we start shelling the rocks that are scanning us with radar?”
“How many are there?”
“Almost two thousand new signals, by the combat computer’s last count, and more and more are appearing,” she reported dutifully. “It is enough to be slowing the sensor computers down noticeably.”
The fans for the ship computers grew even louder as they struggled to keep their rooms cool. The additional calculation wasn’t enough to crash them, but if many more targets appeared, they might have to start offloading their calculations between the ships. With the predators jamming their regular radios, data could be lost in transit or be too slow, and they might start to lose resolution…
“What should we do, Nine Whiskers?” his computer officer asked.
“Hm… there’s way too many of them for our guns to deal with… for now. And we will need every bit of ammunition we can hang onto to destroy their stations and colonies. Monitor the potential threats. If any start showing signs of aggression, destroy it and categorize its signal for future reference,” he ordered. “And get us in range of those mobile ships as quickly as possible. They have the range advantage; we can’t give them time to keep us in their range bubble while we remain out of theirs.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Atlas Naval Command, Luna
POV: Amelia Waters, Terran Republic Navy (Rank: Fleet Admiral)
“Admiral, the EW team has figured out why the Ghost Fleet flagship signature is so familiar,” Samantha reported quietly. “It’s not a repurposed cargo ship carrying missiles as we originally thought.”
“Not a cargo hull? Then what is that massive monstrosity?!”
“It’s one of ours.”
“One of ours?” Amelia turned around, startled.
“Yes, Admiral,” she replied in a low voice, lightly shushing the admiral. “It’s the TRNS Endurance.”
“What? Which one? There’s like ten of those over the years—”
“The ship we lost to that massive Resistance surprise attack over Ganymede in ’97. One of the four. It’s the parasite carrier.”
Amelia looked back at the main screen displaying the Resistance… fleet in a small window on the bottom-left corner. The surface of the ship was covered with layers and layers of additional metal plating and accessories adorned with Resistance symbols and obscenities, but if she squinted at it in just the right way — she began to see the contours of the autonomous parasite carrier laid down at Ceres in 2088, the last of her breed before parasite fighters went out of fashion.
The fighters were autonomous, not the carrier. The carrier itself had a crew of almost a thousand, and they were lost with all hands, previously assumed lost because she ate one in the reactor.
Apparently not. Maybe the safety measures worked. Either way…
“How did they manage to hide it from us?!”
“No idea. But there have always been rumors…”
“Alright,” Amelia said, making up her mind. “You were right to keep this quiet. Some of the people in this room lost family, close friends, and coworkers to the Resistance in that attack. We’re already asking them a lot, our— our cooperation with the terrorists. Let’s keep this under wraps for now — we’ll demand it back from the damn Resistance when they finish with the aliens. And the bodies of our crew.”
“You think… she’ll go for it?”
“I’m sure they’ll raise a big stink about it, but the amnesty deal was not open-ended, and that is Republic Navy property. They’ll probably claim some idiotic thing about legitimate salvage, but better fight them in the courts than out in vacuum. Does the presence of the Endurance change anything about our calculations?”
“Initially, we assumed she just had a cargo hold full of Pigeons she was planning to just dump at the aliens, but…” Samantha said.
“But?” Amelia asked, then tilted her head. “If I had the internal volume, I would rather have the Pigeons than the parasite fighters to be honest. Not as glamorous, but much more space efficient and—”
Samantha countered, “But the Buns have never seen our old parasites. And we never told the Puppers about them either. So… the enemy fleet might mistake them for reconnaissance drones or not have their radar profiles, and they might let the parasite missile platforms get in a lot closer than they really should. Some of them must have been modified for low observability too. Those tiny anti-ship Hummingbirds on their pylons… they might not do a lot of damage through modern armored plating, but in swarms and at close range… it’s anyone’s ball game.”
Amelia’s head snapped back at the screen, running it over in her head. “Hm… fascinating. This is like one of those silly who-would-win experiments we’d try in the simulation lab as command officers in training at the Staff College.”
Samantha nodded. “The thing is, someone over at the TRO did actually consider giving the Puppers some of these retired carriers before they decided the Pigeons were the better option.”
“Were they wrong?”
“No… almost certainly not. At least not long term. The Pigeons are a more flexible choice for the Malgeir Navy, and we can deliver them piecemeal unlike a carrier. Much lower maintenance requirements and a smaller logistics footprint. But now… we are talking about one single carrier, and for one single battle in Sol, when they don’t know—”
“I see. Dig up those simulations and transmit the updated tactical plan to the Ace. Before the parasite carrier gets in range and she commits to a strategy, preferably,” Amelia said, pointing at the ongoing action on the screen.
One of the unveiled asteroid Resistance batteries was finally beginning to open fire.
++++++++++++++++++++++++
ZNS 2239, Saturn (10 Ls)
POV: Tvadnek, Znosian Dominion Navy (Rank: Nine Whiskers)
“Squadron 2 reports twenty missiles fired from one of the rocks! Incoming from long range! The acceleration and radar profile show that these are the ones that they give the Lesser Predators!”
Nine Whiskers Tvadnek wheeled his command chair around to face her. “The Pigeons? The ones State Security says they don’t use anymore? Old ships and old missiles… interesting…”
“Yes, Nine Whiskers, Squadron 2 is defending. Counter-missiles and countermeasures out! They’re burning hard.”
Red dots appeared on the screen, tracking the incoming threats as they approached the vanguard squadron. Squadron 2 began to drop its experimental radar confuser devices and counter-missiles behind it as it urgently burned its thrusters away from the missiles to maximize its defensive zone while minimizing the enemy Pigeons’ fully powered range. One of its ships launched a salvo of deadly explosive munitions at the precise location where the missile launch was detected.
All as their crews had been trained.
After all, these ships were not crewed by mere spacers of the Dominion Navy. They were a vanguard squadron of the Grand Fleet. The elite of the elite. The best that the Dominion could muster for this predator threat. Even if they could not fight these Great Predators to a standstill on a one-to-one basis, as long as they could expend the enemies, as long as they could make them bleed — their bloodlines would be honored with many future hatchlings.
Tvadnek could almost hear the busy professionalism on their bridge as they executed the textbook defensive maneuver flawlessly, exactly as they’d done hundreds of times in the simulators.
“Eight of their twenty missiles are being redirected by our new radar confusers!” his computer officer reported, her voice triumphant.
Forty percent!
He felt a brief moment of elation.
He quashed it immediately. These were their outdated missiles. And they only launched twenty of them at once — he was not naive enough to think that was going to be the extent of the predators’ defenses in this area.
Tvadnek projected calm confidence. “Excellent. A blessing from the Prophecy. Tell Squadron 2 to not let their guard down. There may be more.”
“Yes, Nine Whiskers. Squadron 2 Leader agrees. He is assessing this may have been a simple probe. His defenses are ready to launch. They should be more than capable of absorbing this volley without losses.”
The secondary screen on his console flashed thermal white as a volley of anti-ship kinetics hit the faraway asteroid that housed the facility which launched the missile, reducing it to rubble. His sensor computers briefly hiccupped as they dealt with the flash of new signatures from the strike debris, but they resolved the issue near-instantly.
Everything according to plan.
That was the issue with static bases. Once they revealed themselves, they were at the mercy of mobile ships that could choose the time and manner of any engagement they desired. And just as importantly, they were vulnerable to kinetic projectiles, which could even be fired from well outside their powered range. It might take hours. It might take days. Might even take weeks. But those missile sites and the rocks they were on would be wiped out, sooner or later.
Which was why the Dominion did not excessively rely on static defenses. Unlike predators early in the war.
Well, the other predators. The idiot ones. These Great Predators are different.
Tvadnek reminded himself not to get over-confident again. It was difficult, given the numbers disparity, but he managed. After all, he was very well-trained too.
He cleared his throat. “Computer officer, progress?”
“Counter-missiles in Squadron 2 have been launched. Squadron 2 Leader is opting for a four-to-one ratio.”
Bold choice.
The Datsot invasion fleet might have been utterly annihilated by the predators a couple years ago, but the many lessons the Dominion had learned from them before they were fully lost were now put on display. The Ship Design Bureau had done their best to equalize the advantage predators missiles had. Beyond that, it was just math.
The effective hit rate of their new, agile counter-missile defense was estimated to be a little over 50% against one of these old-style Pigeons. Which was pretty good when the Great Predators were involved. Against most of their newer hiding missiles, the Dominion’s best counter-missile defense had close to zero percent hit rates; the standard procedures in those cases was to simply rush at the enemy with numbers and well… their lives were forfeited and all that.
But that kind of heavy sacrifice would not be needed here. At 50% hit rate and four counters per missile, Squadron 2 could lower their expected loss to the volley to just under one ship. With five, it could be under half a ship. Then again, they had other defenses, and the squadron leader might also be testing their own defenses against the enemy.
Tvadnek decided to walk the fine line between caution and defeatism. “Four-to-one is risky,” Tvadnek said after a while. “But acceptable. I will confirm the decision and cosign my responsibility for its outcome.”
“Yes, Nine Whiskers.”
The counter-missiles raced out. And as expected, they plucked the incoming threats out of vacuum in a single wave.
A record against the Great Predators, surely.
He refrained from cheering, and his decision proved wise two minutes later when the klaxons sounded again.
His computer officer announced the threats, “New incoming missiles! Another twenty.”
Tvadnek frowned at his console. “I thought we killed that base already.”
“It’s from another rock,” she explained hurriedly as the icons popped up on the screen. “Slightly further out this time.”
“Ah.”
This time, instead of preparing its counter-missile defenses, Squadron 2 simply burnt away from the new missiles.
His computer officer nodded in understanding. “The missiles were fired from far away. They’re right at the edge of their powered range; Squadron 2 should be able to simply avoid—” she suddenly stopped talking, just staring at her screen.
“What is it, Six Whiskers?” Tvadnek asked.
“Another twenty Pigeons incoming!”
“The predators mis-coordinated their volley?” Tvadnek was still studying the battlemap. “Squadron 2 will still be able to burn out of their radius, right?”
“Nine Whiskers, the second volley was from a different rock! It’s coming from behind Squadron 2!”
“What?!”
“They’re turning and burning. If they’re lucky, they should still be able to—” she stopped talking again as the klaxon sounded again.
Tvadnek looked at her expectantly, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Third volley! Another twenty incoming! That’s from another one of the rocks!”
Ah, there’s the enemy we expected.
“This must be a stronghold. Target the rocks, and get us into the fight,” he ordered. “Overlapping coverage on all our ships, all squadrons proceed to—”
Another klaxon cut off the remainder of his words.
“Fourth volley incoming!”
The number of incoming threats climbed on their sensors as he slammed his paw on the mute button. “Update our defensive plans and get us in there.”
“Yes, Nine Whiskers. We are twenty minutes out. Squadron 2 Leader is now reporting that he will likely take some casualties from this attack… He has recorded his full responsibility.”
“Accepted! Full burn, we should be able to get there before another—”
Another wave of missiles poured onto the screen. The ship’s computer alarms were going non-stop now.
“There are now active targeting radar signals beaming Squadron 2 from every rock within a hundred thousand kilometers!” his computer officer reported, her voice significantly less steady than it was half an hour ago.
“Another rock? What’s going on? How many of these batteries—” Tvadnek began to snarl.
And as he watched, the six projected enemy bases on his sensor console turned into sixty.
Then, six hundred. And the launch warnings mounted.
“It’s impossible to tell how many there are! There are so many active signals from the rocks! We’ve detected another volley launch! By the Prophecy… that’s fifteen simultaneous volleys! Over a thousand hostile targeting signals on sensors and climbing!”
The signal count climbed. He was sure many of the active radar signatures were harmless by themselves or just independent targeting sensors, but… they were essentially acting as decoys for the actual missile launch sites.
Of which there were also plenty — apparently.
Isn’t this the edge of their industrial activity with only a few dozen frontier colonies for resource extraction? Why in the Prophecy would the predators need so many radar sites and missile batteries out here?!
“Nine Whiskers, the squadron leader is requesting assistance. One of his ships has just lost telemetry, and there’s more new missiles incoming!”
“Connect me to him!”
The face of the panicking squadron leader showed up on his screen with an annoying two light second delay.
“Squadron Leader, what’s going on over there?” Tvadnek demanded.
“Nine Whiskers! The rocks! They’re speaking predator! Incoming! Brace! Brace—”
The screen disappeared into static. As the alarms and beeping stopped, he could hear how quiet the bridge was aside from the computer fans struggling to keep up as they processed the incoming data from the sensors.
“Status report?” he asked quietly.
His computer officer took a few seconds to confirm. “We’ve lost telemetry on all ships in Squadron 2,” she reported just as quietly. “Should we continue our burn to that volume? To begin search and rescue?”
Tvadnek swallowed as he examined the fallen squadron’s life pods on his battlemap. He forcibly redirected his attention to his actual objective. He shook his head. “That would be unnecessary. Their lives were forfeited to the Prophecy the day they left the hatchling pools. Take us out of this volume… And adapt our navigation course to what we have learned, thanks to the brave spacers of Squadron 2: avoid dense volumes of asteroids in this ring system.”
“Yes, Nine Whiskers. We’ve calculated an alternate course that should take us to their mobile fleet while avoiding their… rocks.”
“Good. And tell the combat computer to best determine which of those signals did actually launch on Squadron 2. One volley each should suffice.”
He considered his last order for only a heartbeat. It might not have been the most efficient targeting priority: those rail cannon munitions would surely kill far more predators if they were used against their surface colonies and noncombatant targets.
But Tvadnek was reasonably sure that nobody at State Security would penalize his bloodline for this little inefficiency. Servants of the Prophecy were allowed a little bit of fun from time to time.
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Atlas Naval Command, Luna
POV: Amelia Waters, Terran Republic Navy (Rank: Fleet Admiral)
“Yeah, yeah. Good work with that one Bun squadron,” Amelia said, rolling her eyes at the ferociously grinning Ace of Clubs. “Bravo. One of your minions took the Squadron Tactics 101 online course from the Staff College. Or the old advisor intelligence on the Endurance somehow still works.”
The Ace of Clubs obviously didn’t let Amelia color her mood. “That’s twelve fewer ships you have to deal with, Rep,” she pointed out triumphantly.
Amelia pointed at the screen. “And now, they’ve learned better. See? The other squadrons are now — correctly — avoiding every rock in the area bigger than a missile at oh— would you look at that? The exact minimum abort range of your obsolete Pigeon missiles. Textbook response. You’ve revealed your entire hand to them like an amateur poker player at a Titan casino. And that’s the difference between tactics and operations, which you would know if you took the 102 course.”
The former outlaw sighed. “You Reps are a bunch of downers, you know that? You called me this time, Admiral. What do you want?”
Amelia brought up her tablet in one hand. “My people say you are rejecting some of their recommendations for the deployment of your parasite fighters.”
“Correct.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“May I ask… why not?”
The Ace smiled again. “You may.”
She resisted the urge to throttle someone. “Why are your people not following the deployment plan?”
“It’s simple. Because my people don’t take orders from Rep jackboots.”
“They’re not orders. They’re… common sense. Your original plan is less idiotic than your usual ilk. Look, we’re even working based off it. You want to bait them all into a three-dimensional cauldron, but we’re telling you— suggesting… how to box them all in if you can stagger your flights—”
“Look, Rep,” the Ace of Clubs pointed at her. “My people know what they’re doing. We’ve even got three of your former Navy—”
Amelia waved impatiently. “Yes, yes, we know you’ve got a former transport pilot and two chefs who have broken their oaths to the Republic. But let’s get serious—”
“Stay in your lane, Rep. You keep feeding us that sensor data, we’ll take care of your alien infestation problem for you over here. And don’t you have your own fleets of doom to deal with over there?”
“Listen, Ace. I’ve been out there defending the people of the Republic from the Znosian menace for years — that includes you by the way. I know how they operate. Your people haven’t fought a real naval war in decades—”
Amelia immediately regretted her words. That was absolutely the wrong thing to say…
The Ace puffed up her chest in pride at the comment. “My people know how to fight. Especially in space. The Resistance was born in the harshness of the dark. There’s no need to tell us how to do what we do best.”
Amelia couldn’t help but roll her eyes again. “Yeah, that’s great, Ace. And if I ever need to blow up a nursery on Mimas, I’ll gladly defer to your decades of unparalleled expertise. But in a fleet—”
“Thanks, but no thanks for the advice. We’ve got this, Rep. Go eat a bag of—”
The connection cut out.
The admiral stared at the blank transmission window for a second.
Then, she shrugged.
Amelia knew who she wanted to win in a fight between the two enemies… but she wasn’t that attached to either outcome.
Besides, the Ace had a point. She had her own problems to deal with.
“How is Mars doing?”
“Final preparations are being completed. Enemy squadrons in Battlegroup Dwarf are projected to arrive in five hours.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
ZNS 2239, Saturn (6 Ls)
POV: Tvadnek, Znosian Dominion Navy (Rank: Nine Whiskers)
“Nine Whiskers…” the computer officer’s voice trailed off.
“What?” he asked irritably. Losing one squadron wasn’t the end of the world, but he’d expected to conduct this operation with far fewer losses. “Did we at least finish blowing up those rocks with the identified radar signals near our intercept point with their mobile fleet?”
“Not yet, Nine Whiskers,” she replied. “We— we’re getting a direct transmission signal.”
“From the ten whiskers? How are things going in the inner planets?”
“No, not the fleet. It’s from one of the Great Predators… near us. They’re asking to speak directly to you— to the people in charge, they say.”
Tvadnek looked at his console with mild annoyance. “What could they possibly have to say to us now?!”
The computer officer read from her console, “They say they’re not with the other Great Predators on their home planet, and… they want to negotiate independently.”
Comments
Ndreda
They did day that they have their own way of fighting and this could be a way to get them in that 3d cauldron. Ye old bait and switch!
AnAbsoluteVillain
When the buns find out were a bunch of monkeys and are too insulted by the idea to reach any agreements
M
I don't give fanatics much credit when it comes to decision making. I just hope they don't do anything too stupid.
Krzychu0304
I think the resistance thinks that the reps give a solid 0.0% that the republic will keep their word, while the buns give them a solid 0.1% chance that they will honor their agreement, so the chances are about a trillion times greater than in the case of the republic (after all, humans are the first non-carnivorous species to meet the Znos, and there is a chance that they would like some form of integration). And even if they have to die, at least they will get their revenge.
Valdis Trautmanis
It's either a clever distraction or the infinite vastness of Human stupidity
M
Sure, go ahead and try negotiating with genocidal aliens. I'm sure they'll be super honest and stick to their word! What could go wrong?
Nicolae
**** RETARDS
Krzychu0304
I basically understand how the resistance works and I can agree with them that from their perspective the Znosians are at best as bad as the Republic.
Kevin Neely
*sigh*
Spooker
Two parties who only ever negotiate in the best faith possible.
Marsharbour
They had a plum deal but nooooooo
Marsharbour
Oh ffs
