2954-07-01 – Tales from the Service: Scouts in the Trap 

While up to this point, the properties, strengths, and limitations of the ubiquitous Incarnation “Tyrant-Type” heavy cruiser are well known both in Naval circles and in this audience, this account is interesting because it shows an enounter with a variant of the type. Though its gravitic drive is of the same variety and power output, making initial detection of any differences challenging, what I am told Seventh Fleet is calling a “Type B” Tyrant sacrifices some of its firepower for extreme durability, perhaps using some sort of sophisticated multi-layered shear-screen defense system. 

This variant seems to still possess the hyperbolic shear-screen projectors of the normal “Type A” Tyrant, so it can still operate in the four-hull mutually supporting defense formations our enemies rely on extensively, and of course the main battery of heavy phasebeams these ships use in mid-range gunnery duels is, while possibly reduced, still present.  

Captain Van Daal’s encounter with a group of these Type B ships is, I am told, one of several nearly simultaneous rude surprises which scouting and raiding forces encountered around the same time. Evidently some number of these hulls were held back and deployed simultaneously, putting Confederated forces at an unexpected disadvantage in encounters that would have been rather formulaic had they been facing a uniform enemy cruiser force. 

Within seconds, as sensor and telescope data flowed in, it was clear that the devastating missile volley had failed to seriously harm the enemy cruiser. Its acceleration on a course outward toward the edge of the system’s jump shadow hadn’t reduced, and while there was lots of particulate reflection suggestive of debris clouds, nothing indicated critical damage. 

Most commanders would have asked why, and tried to get more information, but Captain Adele Von Daal knew better. Her command was dangling out on a forward patrol; if this lone ship wasn’t the target of opportunity it seemed to be, then it was time to leave. “All units, break pursuit.” She traced a course in the display that most directly took her ships toward a place from which to activate their star drives. “Emergency acceleration. Retain formation.” 

Just as the squadron began to maneuver to obey her instructions, warning klaxons began to blare. New pips – first gray, then orange, then red, as the vessels they represented lit star drives and powered weapons – appeared quite close by. 

“More Tyrants.” Lieutenant Rio called out, entirely unnecessarily.  

“This is new.” Adele scowled, a chill running down her spine. Incarnation forces were known to employed sensor-trickery to conceal small craft, of course, but hiding a force of a half-dozen large cruisers so perfectly was supposed to be impossible. It was hard enough for a Confederated Navy cutter to keep off enemy sensors at several times these ranges. “Hold formation. We’re going right past target number four, so focus fire on it. Most of the others won’t have time to do much.” 

Her squadron could break and scatter, of course, but with large enemy warships in multiple directions, that was likely to result in the loss of several ships. Since scattering and running was standard scouting-force doctrine when confronted by superior forces, this was probably what the enemy had planned on her doing. 

It was always safer, in Adele’s experience, to not do what was expected. Hopefully, if her squadron stayed in formation, their mutually supporting point defense and sensors could keep most ships from taking any serious hits while they blitzed past the only hostile on their course out, saturating it with concentrated fire in the process. She had a terrible feeling the cruiser in their way would prove as impossibly resilient as the bait ship. She had to hope, though, that the warship’s combat performance would degrade when surrounded by an ordinance fireworks show, ineffectual or otherwise. 

“Taking fire from multiple angles.” Commander Firth announced. “Screen strikes. Helm, evasive action.” 

Even a tight formation of spacecraft, fortunately, spanned many hundreds of kilometers of open space, so every ship in the formation had plenty of room to juke and weave within its formation slot. There was no way to detect or depict phasebeams and other directed energy weapons slashing through the formation from several angles, but Adele’s imagination supplied more than enough of an image to replace it, based on the brief pinging and blinking indicating her ships’ shear-screens absorbing the occasional hit. 

“I want a missile volley on four timed to strike just as we’re making our closest pass.” Adele clenched her fist. “Mix in some scramblers. Fire when optimal.” 

“Aye.” Commander Vishin still didn’t seem rattled. “Computing targeting solution.” 

Scramblers, a form of thermonuclear warhead intended to maximize the burst of electromagnetic radiation produced by the detonation, could fry strike-launches and the exterior sensors of even the largest warship, if they got through the shear-screens, at the cost of being omnidirectional blasts, not shaped-charge warheads which could focus their blast to bore through thick hull plating. 

“We’re hit!” Commander Pakulski of the frigate Kamilla Horak barked. 

Adele had just long enough to relive the loss of Macready a few months before, and then Pakulski continued his report. “Propulsion and screens unaffected. Missile launch system degraded. Remaining in formation.” 

Adele tried not to visibly breathe a sigh of relief. They weren’t out of this yet – and there were very likely casualties aboard Horak – but all her ships were still moving. They just had to break the cordon, and then it would be a stern chase that favored them. 

Just then, Krisbeak shuddered. The lights flickered, and more alarms began to wail. “Hit aft of hab section, hull frame 33, deck four.” Firth shouted into his comms pickup. “Damage control, assess.” 

“Rerouting power through circuit K.” A technician called out on another channel. “Recyclers four and five offline. Rail battery nineteen offline.” 

“Final ramp-up on the Himura capacitors.” The officer at Krisbeak’s helm called out. “Precomputed fallback point locked in.” 

Adele nodded. “Time to initiation?” 

“We’re out of the shadow in six minutes, thirty-two seconds. Star drive will be ready immediately.” 

“All ships, jump when ready. Proceed to rendezvous if separated.” Adele took a deep breath. The noose was tightening, but it looked like it would be just too late. Had she not ordered the change of course when she had – had her ships chased the bait ship just a little further –  

“Targeting systems locked in. Firing in three. Two. One.” Vishin didn’t actually say “launch” but he hardly needed to – another bloom of yellow tracery appeared in the display, as another volley of missiles erupted forth to converge on target number four. The range was slightly longer this time, but the closing rate of the engagement was very high, so the missiles had far less travel time. 

“Impact in five seconds.” Vishin called out, as the range shrunk, both for the missiles and for the formation. “Two. One.” 

Again, a red pip in the plot disappeared into a maelstrom of white and blue flashes. This time, though, while it was hidden, Krisbeak and her attendants roared past, still firing every weapon they had at the target at a range so small that it was rather hard for most of it to miss. 

This time, too, Adele was neither surprised nor particularly dismayed when the flashes faded, and that red indicator remained, the ship it represented turning smoothly to pursue as if it had not just been plastered by more than a hundred missile warheads. 

“All weapons, keep fire on number four as long as you can.” Adele sighed. They were outside the net, now. “Divert power to aft screens. Maintain evasive.”