The ships of the Alliance fleet began throwing out many more projectiles, a rain of solid metal falling inward upon the Syndic defenses, a rain no shield would repel. Syndic command authorities, which in a few hours would be reeling from news of the Alliance fleet’s arrival, would very soon afterward also see that bombardment on its way. In one sense it was unfortunate that the weapons would take a lot longer to reach their targets than the light advertising their approach, but since their targets couldn’t avoid or block the projectiles, the sight of the incoming wave of devastation would have plenty of time to add to the panic.
Combat systems helpfully advised that Witch, Jinn, Goblin, and Titan should be told to prioritize fabrication of replacement kinetic bombardment projectiles. Geary tapped the control to pass that to Captain Tyrosian on Witch. It all felt so very smooth and simple, out here on the edge of the system. As the fleet raced inward, getting in among the Syndics where reaction times were measured in seconds and minutes instead of hours, it would start feeling a lot less smooth, he knew. And as those kinetic projectiles reached their targets, a wave of destruction would ripple across the worlds and human artifacts orbiting the star Sancere. Remembering the many Alliance ships the Syndics had destroyed in the ambush at their home system before he’d assumed command, Geary felt a grim satisfaction at the thought of how the Syndic leaders would react when news of the attack on Sancere finally reached them. You thought we were scared, running so hard for our lives that we couldn’t hit back. Now you’re finding out just how wrong you were.
One more thing had to be done. Geary straightened in his chair, adopting his best professional pose, then began broadcasting to the entire star system. “People in the Sancere star system, this is Captain John Geary, commanding officer of the Alliance fleet. We are engaging all military targets in this system. All other personnel, ships, citizens, colonies, off-planet facilities, and planets are directed to surrender immediately. Those who surrender will be treated humanely in accordance with the laws of war. Failure to surrender risks being targeted for elimination of military-related facilities and resources. Any attacks or attempts against ships of the Alliance fleet will be met with the full force at our disposal.”
“To the honor of our ancestors, this is Captain John Geary, commanding officer of the Alliance fleet.”
He ended the transmission, taking a deep, calming breath. “I’m not cut out to be an actor,” he remarked to Captain Desjani.
“It sounded impressive from here,” she replied. Desjani’s attitude toward slaughtering Syndics had been moderated by association with Geary, but she’d still obviously been pleased by the threats of mass destruction that Geary had just broadcast.
About an hour and a half later the fleet swept by the outermost gas giant, the cruisers and destroyers on the wing nearest to the huge planet swooping over to slaughter the big, slow-moving mining ships. On the visual spectrum display, Geary could see dark shapes moving against the bright, pale green globe of the gas giant as his warships tore past, the charged particle “spears” of their hell-lance batteries ripping apart the unarmed mining ships. By bringing up more information, Geary could see representations of the survival pods fleeing from the mining ships, tiny objects scattering in all directions like seeds from bursting cases. Geary called up yet another set of data, and space was threaded with fine lines arcing in graceful curves, marking the projected paths of both his warships and the civilian ships.
From a distance, war could look remarkably beautiful. Having seen it close up, Geary had no trouble seeing past the attractiveness distance rendered, remembering instead torn ships and desperate crews, lifetimes of labor shattered in an instant’s fire from a warship. Even a great victory didn’t look pleasant from the deck plates of the ships involved.
Blossoming clouds of fragments marked the remains of orbital installations that had already caught the force of kinetic rounds hurled their way. “Light’s coming in from our bombardment of the Syndic military base on the big moon of the eighth planet,” Desjani remarked.
Geary switched to that. The optics of the Dauntless’s sensors provided remarkably clear pictures across vast distances, but in this case the clouds of dust and debris rising above what had once been a Syndic military installation were blocking much of the view. Having monitored the early impacts before the views were obscured, the ship’s combat system had damage assessments posted next to every targeted location. All offensive weapons destroyed. All defensive systems eliminated. All communications and control facilities smashed by the impacts of unstoppable heavy chunks of metal traveling at a decent fraction of the speed of light. If something couldn’t dodge the attack, destruction was certain. “This isn’t war. It’s murder.”
Desjani gave Geary a surprised look.
“I know,” he told her. “It’s necessary. But the Syndics at those bases in fixed orbits don’t stand a chance. I can’t cheer the fact that those poor devils are dying.”
Desjani seemed to be thinking, then nodded. “You prefer an honest fight. Certainly. There’s honor to that.”
“Yeah.” One thing in which he and the minds of modern sailors could find agreement. Geary checked the display again. His light units had wiped out the Syndic shipping near the gas giant and were returning to formation. It would be hours yet before the Syndic command authorities saw the Alliance fleet. Like uncounted human military forces before them, the Alliance fleet had to endure the ancient ritual of hurry up and wait.
Geary studied the Syndic flotilla, its almost six hours time-late position meaning little now. If the flotilla had maintained the same trajectory through the Sancere Star System, it would now be where the display predicted. Otherwise, it could have traveled a fair distance even loafing along at well under.1 light. He would have to be sure to handle that flotilla carefully. If I get too confident about how easy destroying it will be, they might surprise me and inflict losses out of proportion to their numbers.
Still, there’s not enough there to threaten us. If Cresida’s formation manages to capture their attention long enough, those Syndic warships won’t be able to get to the hypernet gate before we do. This is looking very good.
Red symbols flashed into existence near the hypernet gate. Geary’s eyes flew to that point, watching as the symbols multiplied, willing them to stop. I spoke too soon. Did the Syndics figure out what we were up to after all? Did they hear from survivors of one of the ships that followed Falco? There shouldn’t have been enough time for them to react to that and get reinforcements here.
Not too many warships. Not too strong a force. Please ancestors make it small enough for us to handle. We can’t run from this system without looting more supplies first.