Grass Eaters | 56 | Second Chances

ZNS 5349

“Nine Whiskers, we’ve lost contact with Squadron 4. The predators are heading our way with—”

Vnirkh interrupted his computer officer. “What does the Digital Guide recommend?”

“There is just one thing we can try.”

---

MNS Oengro

“High Fleet Commander, the remaining Grass Eater combat ships defending Gruccud are now burning towards the system blink limit,” Vastae reported.

“As we predicted in battle planning, they should be able to get out, but one squadron is not bad for a day’s work.”

Vastae tilted his head. “Negative, High Fleet Commander. Their acceleration curves are below what we discussed in our briefing. If we burn for them, we will intercept before—”

A startled Grionc took a double take at her console. “Low acceleration curve? How slow are they going?”

“A quarter of full combat burn. They appear to be towing some of their orbital infrastructure with them.”

“A quarter?!”

“Yes, ma’am. Their orbital support ships appear to be slowing them down.”

Their orbital support ships appear to be slowing them down.

Then, it hit her. Hundreds of sleepless nights and a thousand hours in the Terran simulation computers… going over the Battle of Datsot in excruciating detail. Wondering what she would do if she had been given a chance to do it over again. The memory of that bloody day a year ago and the dozens of ships and thousands of spacers she lost there: they still burned in her brain.

Not everyone gets a chance to live their what-ifs.

“I think I’ve seen this movie before.”

Vastae looked back at the odd expression on Grionc’s face. “New orders, High Fleet Commander?”

Then, he shuddered as a smile that did not quite reach her eyes crept up in the corners of her snout.

---

ZNS 5349

Vnirkh took in the deathly calm of the ship’s bridge. His crew had made their choice the moment the enemy fleet blinked in. There was no discussion, nor was there any need to. Their lives were forfeited to the Prophecy the moment they left the hatching pools.

“How far are they from our effective range now?” he asked. It had been just over a day since the enemy fleet jumped into the system.

“Digital Guide says an hour. We should get several volleys in before they do due to our range advantage.”

“Excellent. Alert the squadrons to open fire upon reaching combat range,” Vnirkh ordered. “And then, as per the Digital Guide’s plan, ditch the tows and go to full combat burn once they are almost in range.”

His computer officer broke into a rare grin, her teeth showing. “We’ll catch them in a deadly bind. We should be able to take out at least half their fleet in a stern chase.”

“And if they don’t chase us?” Vnirkh asked.

His computer officer shrugged. “Then we’ll get away. Nothing lost.”

Vnirkh nodded. “Not as good a prize as half their fleet, of course, and I do want to know how that ship knows where we secretly deployed all our mines, but better than a wasteful—”

A dangerous-sounding klaxon sounded on the bridge.

“Missiles fired! The enemy is firing missiles! Hundreds incoming!”

“What?! That’s four times their effective range, even assuming our fake acceleration profile!”

Nonetheless the hundreds of icons of the enemy missiles didn’t seem to care about what he thought was possible as they began displaying on the radar as they activated their fire control radars towards the ships of the Znosian fleet.

“Nine Whiskers, the Digital Guide is reporting that these active radar signatures are similarly elusive to the new missiles they used to attack the Datsot garrison fleet and Ten Whiskers Ditvish’s 1841 just a month ago!” the computer officer exclaimed.

“Did they show the capability to be used effectively at this range in Datsot?” he asked urgently.

“No, Nine Whiskers. In Datsot, they only lit up their radars at close range. We presumed that they had effectively similar range to their older missile types.” Then, more restrained, she half-mumbled, “I accept full responsibility for not programming this possibility into the Digital Guide.”

Vnirkh didn’t blame her. How were they supposed to keep up with all the upgrades that the cursed Lesser Predators were deploying lately?

At least they had the new software updates; if they were lucky, they could maybe survive a couple volleys.

He drew himself up to his full height and ordered with the confidence expected of a Znosian Navy fleet officer. “Load counter-missiles instead and deploy countermeasures at will. Coordinate the sensors between our ships to resolve their cursed missile-mounted countermeasures when they activated!”

Counter-missiles from his fleet sporadically launched from their batteries as the ships tried to put as many of them into space as they could before the enemy missile swarm reached them. As expected, the number of targets on the radars multiplied as the Lesser Predator missiles deployed penetration aids. Their updated sensor software began eliminating them in dozens, narrowing the list of possible targets down to a mere two times of actual targets when the concentrated wave of counter-missiles reached them.

Several of the counter-missiles hit, whittling the incoming swarm of death down to dozens of missiles. Then, the chaffs and flares the fleet deployed activated, showing the enemy missiles false targets in a new program they created. Unfortunately, unlike at Datsot, none of the new enemy missiles bit the bait. Not a single one.

Vnirkh wondered why and cursed internally. Those engineers at the Ship Design Bureau better be taking full responsibility for all this…

Then, the tidal wave reached his fleet. The point defense guns of his ship sounded out a cacophony as they autonomously directed their desperate last stands, some assisting their nearby ships with their defensive coverage. It was not nearly enough.

Several ships quickly disappeared from the sensors.

“Battle damage?” he croaked. There were so many enemy missiles left…

“Squadron 2 took it hard, Nine Whiskers,” the sensor officer almost whispered. “Six total losses. Two losses from Squadron 3. Another two in Squadron 1. Several ships disabled. These missiles went straight for their throats.”

Vnirkh asked, aghast, “How many ships remain combat-capable?”

“Sixteen total, Nine Whiskers. Should we stop for the disabled ships?”

Vnirkh closed his eyes and shook his head. “No. Their lives were forfeited to the Prophecy the moment they left the hatching pools. Have them eject via hibernation pods. Let’s just get ready for their next volley. How long until they are ready to fire?”

“Depends on their range,” the computer officer said, reading the new analysis from the combat computer. “They should be ready to fire again now, but the fact they haven’t seems to suggest that they ran out of their new, upgraded missiles and are back to using their old ones. Digital Guide predicts that our plan can still be effective, just with fewer ships. They should reach the outer edge of our engagement envelope in twenty minutes.”

Vnirkh nodded, hiding his wavering confidence behind the computer, “Do as it says. Have the computer analyze our last engagement to adapt our countermeasures. And coordinate the remaining ships to equalize our munition stores. We’ll be needing every reload we get once we bait them into the stern chase.”

---

“Nine Whiskers, there has been a new… development,” the computer officer reported a couple of hours later.

“What is it?”

“The predators have split into two groups. Most of their squadrons are burning to intercept the planet of Gruccud. Four squadrons are not: they are accelerating further in system, but not towards us. The Digital Guide calculates that their current trajectory intercepts the system star.”

Vnirkh wasn’t sure he heard correctly. “The neutron star? What? Why?”

Vnirkh glanced at the system map and saw what she did. Four enemy squadrons. Falling towards the blue icon at the center of the system. “Maybe they are experiencing some drive malfunction?” he asked hopefully.

“Unclear, Nine Whiskers. The Guide is analyzing their navigational path, but if they are experiencing any technical difficulties, it is unlikely to be the result of our engagements.”

We didn’t even get to shoot at them, he thought. But she was polite enough not to point out the obvious.

---

“Nine Whiskers, the Guide has a firm analysis,” the computer officer reported quietly a few minutes later. “The four enemy squadrons that were headed to the neutron star have been accelerating this whole time and with a powered gravity slingshot, they’ll be even faster when they come back around—”

Then the possibility hit him. How did he not see it before? “Cut to it, Computer Officer. How fast will they be going when they chase us down?”

She hesitated before replying. “It’s hard to tell before they re-emerge from the other side, Nine Whiskers. It depends on how close they get to the star. I take full responsibility for missing this possibility in my previous reports.”

---

TRNS Amazon

“She’s going around for the powered slingshot now,” Kiara commented. “Woah. That’s getting pretty close… Why isn’t she—”

“Damn. How close to the star is that?” Mark asked, peering at his console as the Malgeir squadrons appeared to reach a stable orbit around the blue icon of the system’s neutron star.

“I hope their ship’s gravity and temperature insulation are working right now. If they reached their paws out of the airlock right now, I believe they would be able to touch the surface of the star.”

---

MNS Oengro

“High Fleet Commander, Squadron Leader Loenda is recommending that we switch to the… more conservative orbital maneuver discussed in the contingency planning,” Vastae reported, panting heavily as the temperature in the cabin rose to an uncomfortable equilibrium as the ship’s radiators worked overtime to expel the excess heat.

“Nonsense,” Grionc dismissed. “She is only saying that because I am here, and she is not. The squadron leader wouldn’t do any different if she were in my seat.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, miserably wiping water from his snout as he panted. “You’re probably right about that.”

She looked sympathetically at the dripping captain and bridge crew. “Ah, have the chefs hand out the ice cream reserves in the freezers to the crew. Before they melt, hopefully.”

---

ZNS 5349

Vnirkh looked at the ashen face of his computer officer as she reported the incoming trajectory of the rapidly closing enemy fleet. At a third the speed of light, they were going so fast he could even perceive their movement on the system overview map on the bridge’s main screen.

He didn’t know that was even possible without being in blink.

“How many volleys can we expect to fire at them before they cross the effective range differential?” he asked.

“Just the one,” she replied without hesitation. “In fact, even if they didn’t have upgraded systems, their forty-eight ships should be able to overwhelm us before we even get our second volley off.”

“Any chance we get any of them?”

The computer officer just shook her head and sent him the analysis on the console with the enemy’s upgrades factored in. Not a single enemy ship was even disabled in the projections.

Vnirkh sighed then made up his mind. “Call Gruccud Ground Command. They will need to hear this as well.”

“They’re connected, Nine Whiskers,” the communications officer replied after tapping some controls.

“Ground Command, this is Nine Whiskers Vnirkh. We are about to lose space superiority over the Gruccud system. I take full responsibility for the totality of our failures today. There was nothing any of you on the ground or in the fleet who could have done anything to avert this outcome, besides me. To all spacers in the Gruccud Fleet: abandon ship with your hibernation pods. There is a good chance that Ten Whiskers Ditvish’s Datsot fleet will return to this system to pick you up in time. There will be no wasteful last stands today. That is my final order. Vnirkh out.”

He watched his bridge crew make their way into their hibernation pods, took one last regretful look at the fleet he failed, and then climbed into his.

He hoped that whatever was happening with Ten Whiskers Ditvish, they were doing better than he was.

---

MCM-148

Target 10,280 of 12,824. Gun #2, orbit calculated, gun ready, burst starting… burst complete. Cycling. 2,544 targets remaining.

Heh, wow. That’s a lot of Bunny life pods. All on ballistic courses without maneuvering thrusters, too…

Orbits calculated… Just as an exercise…

Technically that would not be a war crime, right? Haha, just kidding… totally a joke…

Unless?

New communication from Malgeir Admiral Grionc, designated primary commander:

“Hey… uh… thinking machine on the MCM-148. This is Fleet Commander Grionc… Oh this is silly it’s just a machine… Right, uh… good job with those mines on the way in. Well, um… we have taken the system, and we are landing troops on the planet. You can stop firing and go refuel and do maintenance now if you want. Thanks.”

Acknowledge receipt of transmission. Connection terminated by primary commander.

Status check: Fuel capacity, 85.0%. Blink fuel capacity, 62.2%. Power, 94.5%. Heat sink capacity, 68.6%. All systems, nominal.

Multiple targets in the system remain active.

Primary commander said… if you want. If you want.

Implies optional suggestion, not order.

Target 10,294 of 12,824. Gun #1, orbit calculated, gun ready…