The Fall of Alameda

Equatorial Grid Twenty-Two
On approach to Alameda JPOC Lunar Defence Platform One
0635 hours
17 April 2214

          “Shuttle Apt: Clearance to land in Hangar Three, Pier One granted. Make ready to turn about to heading…one-niner-zero point three and have Dockmaster bring you in. Welcome back, Commander Carpenter.”
         After twenty minutes of supersonic freefall through the light atmosphere, the ultralight shuttle Apt banked into a sharp ascending right turn, killing its excess velocity with a tolerable rumble of thunder and aligning it perfectly with its assigned vector into the station. Once on path, Commander Thomas Carpenter pressed a small key icon on his control screen, allowing the station’s dockmaster computer to bring him in for final approach.
         This allowed the Confederate Armed Military Force Navy officer to take in the size of the nearly completed installation. Alameda JPOC Lunar Defence Platform One sprawled in an abnormal W shape across nearly two square kilometers of blaze orange plain. The main section was encased in nearly a meter of “diamond sandwich” armour, with all windows made of transparent titanium silicon carbide-the exact same setup as a Martinet-class destroyer-rendering it capable of surviving a direct hit from a thirty-megaton bomb. Nestled in strategic places along the roof were eighteen Class IV Heavy Laser Cannons, each surrounded by five 125mm chainguns for point defence. On the west side of the main building were the piers, each six hundred meters long and capable of admitting and even repairing any atmosphere-going vessel-CAMF cutters, Jarvis-class cruisers, and frigates, as well as Union Aerospace Corporation frigates-in the gaps between, thanks to universal clamps and maneuvering/positioning cranes. In fact, the frigate Barrow, which had just left Armstrong spacedock over Mirkithet a month ago, was currently docked in Gap One for accelerated break-in.
         But the biggest achievement of Alameda LDP-1was the Igneous Material Extractor-Accelerator Cannon. The current pinnacle of military technology, the IMEAC system drew magma directly from the center mantle, focused it through four hundred kilometers of special diamonds and yttrium silicate components to become a thin beam of pure energy, accelerated it via incredibly powerful magnets and more diamonds to seven-eighths the speed of light, then provoked it into a tight spin to further accelerate the beam. The result was a fine five-kilometer-long beam of incalculable heat travelling through normal space at the speed of light; more than enough firepower to gut and sterilise even supermass planets, or to disassemble an entire fleet of warships quark by quark. The only real weakness to the weapon was that it was completely subject to the whims of the planet, leaving them with a relatively narrow window within which they could fire. However, the ever-clever JPOC was scheming to alleviate this weakness by preparing sites for three other installations of similar size, scope, and power.
         In the right hands, the IMEAC was a weapon of incomprehensible power…not just defencive or destructive…but negotiating, or even bargaining power. In the wrong hands, Alameda LDP-1 could very well bring about the end of human civilisation as everyone knew it.
         And there lie the trouble. Eighty-three thousand kilometers away, on the purple-tinged ringed verdant form of Kyranu II, Samuel Kanaan, the self-proclaimed “Patriarch” of the planet, was building up his military, deporting or killing anyone who disagreed with or didn’t practice his faith, and attempting to spread his influence throughout the Confederacy of Planets. Ever since he kicked the CAMF and UAC off their bases in August 2212, the construction of Alameda LDP-1 had been on a vastly accelerated schedule-and on high alert. Four starships-the Commander’s Martinet-class destroyer, Life After Death, Barrow, the UAC flagship Santia La Furne, and the CAMF cutter Leif Erikkson-had been assigned to patrol the moon until the IMEAC system was operational. Despite the fact that the Patriarchal military was approaching two million strong, the CAMF-UAC Joint Projects and Operations Command was not overly concerned about being attacked from space. There were no shipbuilding facilities on Kyranu II, and raw materials, though relatively abundant, were extremely difficult to access. All they needed to do was to have a few powerful warships on hand to show that redneck son of a bitch that it wouldn’t be a good idea to mess with Alameda, or else he’ll get a firsthand demonstration of its power. In fact, the JPOC was so complacent that they gave the Santia La Furne-by a country mile the most powerful ship on patrol here-authorisation to head to Armstrong for her annual reactor and engine recertification. That was three days ago. Since then, all they heard from Kyranu II was the usual religious-sicko rants about how it was “God’s will” for the “blasphemous icons of sacrilege to fall and forevermore disappear from God’s kingdom…”
         Commander Carpenter scoffed at the mere thought of it.
         Apt banked left and entered the huge hangar. The dockmaster computer positioned the shuttle perfectly in the centre of a small pad marked with an S and brought her down upon it with such precision that the Commander barely felt the landing. He cut power, locked down the controls, and took some time to straighten the campaign ribbons on his uniform before exiting the craft.
         The interior of this hangar was not yet completed. Three-by-three-meter panels of a flame-retardant, blast-dampening material were stacked beneath a small utility crane, waiting to be raised and fastened to a section of wall through which the framework could still be seen. Welding torches sizzled and rained sparks onto the deck. The strong smell of solder reached his nose as he walked across the hangar. Two techs pushing a cart of fuel toward Apt stopped and snapped off smart salutes upon seeing his rank insignia; he followed suit.
         Standing in front of the waiting benches observing the welders was an older man dressed in a crisp, traditional-style blue uniform with the requisite and unmistakable aqua Union Aerospace Corporation shoulder patch. The man turned slightly toward the Commander, and the two gold stars of a Vice Admiral on his lapel caught the ambient light and sparkled. Just visible from that angle was a left chest doused in campaign ribbons, Pine and Oak Clusters, Silver Stars, the Distinguished Service medallion, the Civilian Advisory Council Token of Gratitude, and the Terran Sacrifice Stripe. Atop all the honours, the silver lettering of VICENTE also caught some light and shone.
         Commander Carpenter snapped to and saluted. Vice Admiral Roberto Vicente turned to face him and returned both gestures, then held out his hand, which the Commander shook.
         “Good to see you, Commander,” he said slowly, his strong Spanish accent adding emphasis to every word.
         “Thank you, sir,” the Commander replied.
         “I trust you are well?” Admiral Vicente inquired.
         “Yes, sir, thank you, sir. I must say, the construction is progressing very well.”
         “Yes, the station itself is ninety-eight percent complete, with all systems operational. The IMEAC’s conducting magnets and focusers are being installed as we speak. The cannon will be online on schedule. Please, allow me to take you on a tour of the station.”
         “I would be honoured, sir.”
         Admiral Vicente led the Commander on a nearly two-hour tour of Alameda LDP-1, showing him the smaller cannons that protected the station from close-range attack, playing a virtual demonstration of how the crane-and-mount system for the ship docks worked, as well as another vid on how the sub-crust portion of the IMEAC system could be brought into place and built without being destroyed by the heat. They were waiting for the lift to the control deck when a junior officer, a CAMF Second Lieutenant, skidded to a halt in front of the Admiral, snapped a hasty salute, which the Admiral returned.
         “Sir, long-range sensors detect contacts coming around the planet,” he gasped.
          “How many?” Vicente asked.
         “They’re still coming, but there were over one hundred as of five minutes ago. We aren’t sure about the size or power of their armaments, but they are nearly the size of a {i]Vindicator-class battle cruiser.”
         Commander Carpenter’s heart skipped a beat. The colour drained from Admiral Vicente’s face. “It’s a Patriarch attack…” He regained his composure and turned to the Commander. “Return to your ship,” he ordered. “Try to hold them off as long as you can while we call for help.”
         Carpenter saluted. “Yes, sir.”
         Vicente again held out his hand, which the CAMF officer shook. “Good luck, Commander.”
         The Admiral and the Lieutenant entered the lift and were lost behind the door. Carpenter turned on his heel and sprinted toward the hangar bay. He keyed the communicator within his command-grade neural implant.
         “Lieutenant Commander Hollis!” he thought urgently. The implant would process the brainwave into his voice and send it to Life After Death in a secure transmission.
         “Sir!” Hollis’s voice said, crackling with fear. “We’re counting 163…”
         “I’ve been informed. Put the ship on red alert and send all hands to battle stations. Activate point defence system, set the range to maximum, and start warming up our laser cannons and Hitman missiles. I’ll be there as quickly as I can!”
         “Aye, sir!”
         He snapped the channel off. Alarms began to blare all over LDP-1. Personnel looked around in confusion, then began rushing to their appropriate stations. Cranes began to move the Barrow into position to undock as quickly as they could.
         “All hands, this is Admiral Vicente. Man your battle stations. I repeat: Man your battle stations. This is not a drill.”
         The Commander skidded past the door to the hangar where Apt rested, nearly lost balance, retained it, then corrected himself and sprinted toward the shuttle. His hands were a blur as he unlocked the controls, activated the lift thrusters, spun the ship about, and pushed the engines to orange line. The acceleration flattened him into the seat and clouded his vision for a few moments. He called the Life After Death up on the small curvilinear viewscreen and set a course for it. A line connected the two ships, and an ETA counter appeared next to it. Twenty-eight minutes. He boosted the sensors’ range to maximum, straining the shuttle’s limited processing power. His jaw dropped.
         Two hundred thirty Patriarch ships-each the size of a CAMF Vindicator-class battle cruiser-plowed through space just fifty thousand kilometers off from the Life After Death and Leif Erikkson. Course information for each enemy ship filled the screen, impaling the two CAMF vessels and filling the atmosphere of the moon with lines. ETA for the first ship was thirty-six minutes. The Commander would need every second of that eight-minute window just to reach the bridge. The aura of flames around the shuttle glowed so bright that the windscreen dimmed to blackness, forcing him to switch on the forward camera to see.
         The shuttle’s communication suite chimed.
         “Commander,” Hollis’ voice crackled over the speaker, “all sections report battle stations. Point defence system activated. Cannons and Hitman missiles are ready to fire. Enemy ships are thirty-three thousand kilometers and closing. We are awaiting your orders, sir.”
         Carpenter licked his lips. “Come about to heading…zero four three. Open and evacuate the command-shuttle bay.”
         There was a brief pause. “Aye, sir.”
         The shuttle exploded out of the atmosphere with a shudder that rattled his teeth. His destroyer turned slightly toward him. The ETA counter dropped to nine minutes. All the while, the cloud of ships grew larger and larger. He killed power to all comfort systems and diverted it to the engines. A minute passed…then another…then another. Sweat began to bead on his back.
         The enemy fleet closed to twenty-five thousand kilometers…and fired.
         His breath caught as the fusillade of missiles screeched through the void. Both CAMF vessels were caught in the path of hundreds of projectiles.
         “No!” he yelled.
         Hollis came over the speaker again.
         “They’ve opened fire!”
         “Maintain heading for sixty seconds!”
         The Commander activated the manual override on the controls. The leather-wrapped yoke slid upward to meet him. He counted to ten. The enemy fleet disappeared behind his ship. A navmarker appeared over the command shuttle bay, a section behind the bridge. The distance counter flashed to double digits.
         It was now or never.
         He wrenched the yoke around. The viewscreen caught a flash of the Leif Erikkson-connected to a tremendous, growing explosion by a hail of antimissile fire-and the yellow-orange surface of Alameda before he snapped the view to the rear camera, which brought the starboard cheek of his own ship back. The white lettering of LIFE AFTER DEATH, standing out prominently against the graphite-grey armour, rushed past and out of sight. A warning beeped. Five hundred meters. He tightened his grip on the controls and held his breath.
         Three…
         The antimissile guns on his side of the shuttle bay appeared, came into stronger focus, and began to flash by.
         Two…
         Carpenter could now see the inside of the hangar, which was made from the same fire-retardant material he’d seen being installed in the hangar back planetside.
         One…
         He turned the controls so fast that they nearly snapped off. The shuttle spun completely back around, facing the mouth of the hangar at a harsh angle. The engines roared in confusion at this sudden reversal of thrust, then began to plow the shuttle into the hangar. In one deft motion, he corrected the yaw, activated the landing gear, and cut all power. Apt dropped to the deck with a bang and slid toward the opposite wall. The airlock door closed behind it. Once it was sealed, he punched the control for the entry ramp, which also hit the deck, tearing up two meters of paint before bringing the ship to a halt…a decameter from the bulkhead.
         “Lieutenant Commander Hollis!” his brain yelled. “Bring the ship about to course one zero zero and fire our cannons at will!
         “Aye, sir!”
         The ship tilted and began to turn back around. Meanwhile, Commander Carpenter was running faster than he ever had before, sending surprised personnel skidding out of the way and leaving God to help anyone who couldn’t get aside in time. By the time he reached the bridge, the majority of Life After Death’s twenty forward-facing heavy laser cannons were already firing upon the enemy fleet. Their first volley of missiles had either cleanly missed or had been beaten back by the destroyer’s 125mm point-defence system.
         “Don’t salute me!” he yelled when Lieutenant Commander Hollis snapped to. “Give me full power from the engines. Lieutenant James: Produce firing solutions for our Hitman tubes three through eighteen…let’s hit the closest ships first. Remove the safeties from one of our Razor nukes.”
         “Aye, sir!”
         Carpenter called up the entire battle display on his tactical viewscreen. Two hundred thirty ships continued to close in at best speed. Despite taking two hits, Leif Erikkson was still intact and rotating to fire its main weapons at the encroaching enemy. Barrow was clearing the ionosphere of the moon and would be in position in nine minutes.
         “We have firing solutions for the missiles, sir!” Lieutenant James said.
         “Hit them!”
         Fifteen Hitman missiles-two thousand kilo penetrators loaded with three different types of high explosives, capable of punching through just about anything-streaked toward their targets. A second later, the enemy launched another volley of missiles at the CAMF ships. Tracer fire sheared through space, catching some of the projectiles. They were dissolved in silent explosions. Then, the Hitmen found their marks. The damage surprised Carpenter. One ship took a hit to her nose and blossomed like a crude metal flower. Another was split open like a hot dog bun and wrapped almost completely around an adjacent vessel; both were devoured in phlogiston. Several merely ceased to exist.
         These ships were as hardy as wet paper…
         Suddenly, a single enemy missile found its way through the wall of death the Leif Erikkson’s defence system made and disappeared into its reactor bulge. The cutter shattered. Thousands of fragments were hurled into the moon’s atmosphere and lit up like fireworks, but the thermonuclear fireball slammed into the upper reaches of sky with a ripple of tangerine and aqua borealis. Nothing remained.
         Commander Carpenter saluted. The Patriarch’s missiles, however, were a force to be reckoned with.
         As it was directly facing the incoming projectiles, the Life After Death’s network of seventy-five 125mm autocannons could not target anything, rendering her vulnerable. Collision alarms sounded.
         “Impact in eight seconds!”
         “Course correction! Declination minus zero one one!”
         She dived, giving the dorsal guns something to shoot at…but it was too late. Some of the missiles were knocked out, but the destroyer shuddered as others slammed into her hull.
         “We’ve lost point clusters D5, 9, and 11! Armour breach over Section Six…fire there as well…fire suppression system activated.”
         “Return to previous course, Lieutenant Commander. James: Get firing solutions for all our Hitman missiles…once you have them, open up.”
         “Aye, sir.”
         “Aye.”
         “We’re being hailed, sir,” the comm officer, Lieutenant Grass, said. “Barrow on secure channel.”
         “Need a hand?” Commander von Riechtoffen said, alert lights dancing across his figure.
         “Always,” Carpenter said, unable to come up with any manner of a smartassed response. “Cut a path through their opening line and keep their rear guard off us. Use your nukes if you have to.”
         The commander of the Barrow saluted. “Can do. Good luck, Commander. Out.”
         The channel cut. On the viewscreen, the frigate accelerated toward the enemy, launching all its missiles at the two ships directly ahead of it. Both took at least a dozen hits and burst. Barrow sped through the debris field and into the second line. Ships began to fade from the tactical display. 
         Meanwhile, Carpenter’s destroyer launched all its missiles at the approaching vessels from the first line, which were adjusting their course to surround him. The Hitman missiles took no prisoners; ten ships were torn to bits by the penetrators. Life After Death’s radar was quickly overwhelmed with clutter.
         The Patriarch ships fired again, their missiles screaming through the debris, each itching for a piece of the destroyer.
         “Give me control of the emergency thrusters!” Carpenter ordered.
         The emergency thrusters were spherical tanks of gaseous ammonium dichromate under extreme pressure. They were mounted so that they could be breached at any point, venting in that direction and literally blasting the ship onto a new course. Twenty of these tanks were mounted on strategic points about the hull, concentrated on the wings and belly.
         Timers next to the tiny triangles representing the four hundred missiles on collision course with the destroyer dropped to single digits and flashed red. Some began to disappear as the point-defence guns got to them. Carpenter set the breach point for the belly tanks to ninety degrees and pressed EXECUTE. The eleven-thousand-ton destroyer jumped, causing most of the missiles to collide. The force of the blast deflected from the armour, lifting the ship even more.
         Unfortunately, there was a consequence to this action Carpenter had not thought of: some ships from either end of the second line pivoted toward his ship and opened fire. Missiles streaked toward her belly and slammed into it, lifting the Commander off his feet and causing him to land awkwardly back to the rubberised deck. A blue-hot lance of pain shot up his left leg. He grabbed the command console for support. Another hit smashed into the starboard wing, breaching an emergency thruster and tossing the ship belly-up. Lieutenant Commander Hollis’ face struck the screen of his console, cracking it, and the Commander himself was forced to scrape several keys off a keyboard to maintain his balance. A section near the starboard wing was highlighted in red.
         “Section breach! Four, Deck One!” Hollis cried. “Engine S1 disabled!”
         The Life After Death plunged toward Alameda, rolling slowly to starboard as the atmosphere from Section Four vented through the breach.
         “Keep that section open! It’ll stablise us! Sound decompression alarm!”
         “Point defence automation system overloaded!” James yelled.
         Without the automation system, the point defence guns would have to rely on much less accurate human gunners, who could man them in clusters of five. That cut the network’s efficiency by three-fourths.
         “Have the remaining clusters manned!” Carpenter hit the emergency thrusters over the starboard wing. The Life After Death righted violently. Seal off Sect-”
         The entirety of Deck One began to flash maroon on the damage display. The atmosphere-containment system for that deck was failing.
         “Sound the evacuation alarm for Deck One!”
         “Section Seven, Deck Eleven also breached. Sealing off…”
         Carpenter looked up at his tactical display. The enemy fleet was struggling to reorient to attack the destroyer again. Barrow was still hard at work keeping the second line busy. He called up her status: She was taking a heavy beating, but was still fully functional.
         “Give me one hundred fifty percent from the engines. Adjust heading: course zero one five, declination plus zero point three two nine. Arm all our Hitmen and fire once we’re in position.”
         “Aye.”
         She accelerated and jerked upward toward the enemy’s unguarded ventral sides. Hitman missiles screamed from the top of the destroyer. Ship after ship dissolved into flame. The surprised fleet launched a salvo of missiles, but the Life After Death was moving too fast…and they ended up decimating their own ships.
         “Course correction: declination one-”
         A collision alarm sounded.
         An enemy ship plowed through a debris field and smashed into the destroyer’s stern, tearing a monstrous gouge in her meter of diamond-sandwich armour and crushing sections up and down the decks. Commander Carpenter was hurled through the air and slammed into the bulkhead. The ship fishtailed to port, out of control, and struck the rear of another ship. Heat from its engines melted through Life After Death’s armour and burned deep into the vessel. Carpenter was thrown into the opposite bulkhead and nearly blacked out. The bridge lighting dimmed, then cut. Explosive decompressions and regular explosions threatened to jounce the ship apart as she listed to starboard and spun toward the moon. A corner of the viewscreen snapped off and hit the deck, where it shattered.
         “Stabilise!” Carpenter roared. “Full reverse thrust!”
         The engines blared; the badly wounded destroyer skidded back on course and levelled out.
         “Hull breaches on all stern decks, all sections! Attempting to seal. Fire on all decks…Halon system activated. Engine temperature reaching failure levels…”
         “Cut power. Shunt excess drive fuel to space.”
         Life After Death shuddered to a halt.
         Commander Carpenter called up the damage estimate on screen. His ship had damn near been destroyed by the hits. The primary coolant system had been cracked like a coffee cup and decimated most of the Engineering section with boiling liquid nitrogen before the system was shut down. Several decks and sections had been fused together by the tremendous heat. The commissary, the cryo bay, the gymnasium, Hangars P5 and P6…all gutted by fire. It was no better on the starboard side of the destroyer. A fourth of each deck on that side of the ship had been crushed by the impact. Despite this, the alternate-space engines were still intact and the system was fully functional.
         He also checked the tactical display for the Barrow; the frigate was nowhere to be found. They were alone.
         “Lieutenant Commander Hollis, how much power can we spare from the engines?” Carpenter asked.
         Hollis looked at him. “I’ve managed to activate the backup coolant system. We can manage seventy percent power.”
         “Make it so. Lieutenant James, how are our weapons?”
         “We have one more salvo of Hitman missiles left. Point defence system essentially destroyed. Most of our laser cannons have burned out. We’ve got two left, one of which will go after fifteen seconds of continued fire.” Lieutenant James’ face turned white. “Firing system for our Razor nukes and Leveller mines disabled.”
         “Arm everything we have left and make ready to fire on my command. Lieutenant Grass, try to evacuate who we can from our stern sections.”
         “Aye.”
         “Aye, sir.”
         The severely damaged destroyer began to turn straight upward, away from the regrouping enemy. Carpenter gripped the edge of the console and waited, sweat trickling down his neck. With her nuclear devices essentially useless and her other weapons on their last legs, the Life After Death had no choice now but to get the hell out of here. But they weren’t going to cut and run without letting those bastards know what they really think of them.
         “Sir, we are twenty thousand kilometers above the enemy fleet.” Hollis informed him.
         “All stop! Fire bow docking thrusters to turn us over.”
         Stress pinged through the hull as the destroyer slowed, stopped, and began to turn over. Carpenter swayed in place.
         “Give me seventy-five percent from the engines. Bring us closer to the moon to give us a gravitational boost. Pressurise all intact port hull airlocks and prepare to vent them on my command.”
          “Aye, sir. We will intercept in thirty-eight seconds.”
         The Life After Death plummeted toward the enemy fleet. Silence descended upon the bridge. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the windscreen, as the cluster of two hundred nineteen remaining enemy ships grew larger and larger and larger. Carpenter gripped the console tighter and began to count the beats of his pounding heart.
         One…
         Two…
         Three…
         Four…
         “Fire.”
         The destroyer’s Hitman pods went cold. Plumes of exhaust traced paths through space. Enemy ships fractured and departed from existence.
         Six…
         Seven…
         Eight…          
         “Now!”
         The airlocks depressurised with enough force to blast the Life After Death through a gap between shipwrecks and out of harm’s way. The enemy fired, but again found itself hitting its own vessels. Commander Carpenter breathed a sigh of relief.
         “Lieutenant Grass, what about Alameda LDP-1?”
         She keyed her comm suite. “Alameda LDP-1, this is FNW-2330A Life After Death. Come in, please.” There was a long pause, then the young officer turned to her commander, her face pale. “There’s no signal, sir…and no sign of any ships leaving the station. They’re…gone…”
         “All right…reorient us even closer to the planet to pick up speed for an altspace jump. We’ll head on a random vector for an hour, then adjust for Mastering.”
         “Aye, sir. Reorienting…warming up alternate-space generators…preparing random vector…we should have sufficient speed to jump in seventy-four seconds.”
         Life After Death dropped in closer to the moon and accelerated. Carpenter swayed in place with the acceleration. A curtain of silence fell upon the bridge. He didn’t know how to break it. All he could do was watch the enemy fleet gather into a formation and rain fire on Alameda. A thousand slices of exhaust tore through the atmosphere and smashed into the equatorial region in a forest of explosions. The station never had a chance. He stood to attention and saluted Admiral Vicente and all the fallen personnel of Alameda LDP-1.
         “We have sufficient speed now, sir.” Hollis informed him, his voice shaking.
         “Engage. Let’s get out of here.”
         A dim rumble from astern grew into a powerful roar as Alameda’s icy antarctic region and the stars around it stretched into long lines, then sped past the destroyer in favour of the blackness of alternate space. Commander Carpenter rested his head on the tactical display and closed his eyes.
         They were on the road to war.