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Grass Eaters | 24 | Inevitable II
🕑 Added 2024-03-13 16:47:00 +0000 UTCAtlas, Luna
Both Speinfoent and Grionc stared at the holographic star map floating in front of them foretelling disaster, their eyes wide with disbelief.
Grionc recovered first. Shaking off the initial shock, she found her voice. “What is the meaning of this? With Terran help, surely, we will do better.”
Amelia met her gaze, her eyes serious. “Absolutely. But let me flip the question: what do you expect us to bring to the table?”
Taking a steadying breath, Grionc tried to regain her composure. She’d been rattled by the Terrans’ grim projections of their impending downfall. For a moment, she’d almost forgotten her carefully rehearsed pitch. “We need your radar invisibility technology, your countermeasures, and your counter-missiles I’ve seen on your ships. Then, whatever missiles you can spare, as I’m sure yours work better than ours.”
“That’s what I thought,” Amelia shook her head. She turned to the control console and commanded, “Display the results of Simulation Echo-4, where we transfer most of our tech to the Malgeir Federation.”
Grionc’s eyes darted to the holographic display once more. At first glance, it looked identical to the first map. But then she noticed some faint glimmers of hope: a star system held here, another reclaimed there. Still… Sixth Fleet was still conspicuously absent, and most of the frontline remained eerily similar. Her mouth suddenly dry, she blurted, “Is your machine malfunctioning?”
Amelia shook her head. “No. This is the full technology transfer scenario. In this scenario, we also run a deep strike on the Znosian home world to try to cripple their command and control. We did manage tactical success and blow up a quarter of their leadership, which is the kind of thing they’re vulnerable to. Unfortunately, that didn’t work. The Federation kept on losing systems.”
“But how? I’ve seen your ships in action!” Grionc exclaimed.
Exhaling a tired sigh, Amelia explained, “Our low observable ships are designed from the ground up to be hard to see on radar. This technology is more commonly called stealth. There are some retrofits you can make to your existing ships to reduce detection range, but they are expensive, and you don’t have the resources to spin those lines up quickly. It would take months before your production lines for new ships can come online, and as you can see, your production facilities don’t have months. We don’t believe in an uber-weapon solution; we’ve seen how that movie ends, trust me.”
Amelia pointed at the map again. She jabbed her finger at the holographic star map floating above the table, highlighting a couple of key sectors.
“Countermeasures might give us the upper hand in the opening salvos, sure. But the Znosians are quick learners. They’ll adapt, and they’ll begin using what they learned against both your and our ships. Our counter-missiles are only much more effective than yours because we have reliable sensors and computers to guide them towards their targets. Those we can more easily retrofit and get onto your ships than the stealth features, but like everything else, the Buns will simply adapt. They will strategize better, and you will start losing again. Then, they will become better at fighting our ships. Eventually, they will beat you and come for us, and we will lose too.”
Switching gears, she continued. “As for our offensive arsenal, your intuition is right; they’re plug-and-play for the most part. We’re still working on a transfer plan for those, but we can massively enhance the lethality of your ships for a relatively low production cost. But, as you well know, Fleet Commander, weapons don’t win wars on their own.”
Amelia stared unflinchingly at the visibly uneasy pair of Malgeir and concluded, “This is why the Navy ordered me to bring you two here, instead of socializing with the embassy staff. Because your leaders need to wake up, smell the plasma, and realize that what they have planned in the near and medium term are going to fail. And they will fail badly. You need to go back and convince them to scrap everything —and I mean everything — and do exactly what we tell you. No matter how abhorrent and counter-intuitive some of it may seem.”
Punching up a new set of coordinates on the star map, she drove her final point home. “To start with, as we speak, the Znosians are planning a second full-scale invasion of Datsot. They will be successful in taking its orbits. You must evacuate as much of the space infrastructure, prioritizing any space combat capabilities, even over ground assets. And under no circumstances should your Navy reinforce the system, especially not with Sixth Fleet. If you fail to convince them of that, the course of this war becomes irreversible. You will lose. And we will all lose.”
Grionc shook her head, as if trying to dispel a bad dream. She reached out for the comfort of denialism. “No. I don’t believe you. I can’t. The Malgeir have always come through. These computer simulations are just that — simulations. We have some computer algorithms too, and they turn out wrong all the time.”
Amelia shook her head. “Not like this.”
Grionc looked at Speinfoent for support, and he gave it… with some reluctance. “Yeah… predicting the future with computer simulators is a fool’s errand. In battle, anything can happen.”
Amelia sighed and commanded the console again, “Computer, pull up the scenario labeled Last Stand.”
This time, the holographic star map zoomed in to display a lone solar system, its shimmering white dwarf star instantly recognizable. Both Grionc and Speinfoent knew it instantly. “Datsot,” they said in unison.
“Exactly,” Amelia confirmed, her eyes not leaving the display. “As I mentioned earlier, the Bunnies are gearing up for a massive assault on Datsot as we speak. Sixth Fleet is being deployed there, reinforced with fresh units.” She gestured to the fleet of Malgeir ships, over a hundred in number, hovering near the planet like a swarm of metallic hornets. “Now, let me show you a simulation of what could happen.”
Two dozen enemy ships, their avatars marked in ominous red, materialized at the outer edge of the system, just shy of the blink limit. It was a small force compared to the formidable Malgeir fleet. With a predatory zeal, the blue icons representing the Malgeir ships surged forward, launching a storm of missiles that drew arcs of light across the simulated battlefield.
For a moment, the red ships seemed almost hesitant, their movements slow and indecisive as they drifted back towards the blink limit. It looked as though they were retreating. Eager for the kill, the Sixth Fleet icons accelerated, as if to chase them out of the system entirely.
Then the map shifted dramatically. Another wave of red avatars, two dozen of them, blinked into existence, this time appearing on the flank of the unsuspecting Malgeir fleet. The previously retreating Znosians pivoted, their avatars turning to face the enemy with renewed vigor.
Caught off guard, the Malgeir fleet hesitated. Some ships stayed focused on the enemies they’d been pursuing, while others scrambled to address this unexpected second wave. Their responses were disorganized, almost chaotic.
In stark contrast, the Znosian fleet executed a ballet of devastation. Their missile barrages were flawlessly timed to converge, hitting their targets in quick succession. When a Malgeir ship was destroyed, it left gaps in the fleet’s defensive grid… gaps that the Znosians exploited ruthlessly. And if a Znosian ship did fall, others moved seamlessly into formation, covering any vulnerabilities with practiced precision.
At first, it seemed like the Malgeir had a fighting chance. They had the numbers, after all. But their firepower was scattered, their tactics disjointed. The tide turned, slowly at first, then all at once. What started as a trickle of losses bled into a deluge of reactor explosions as the mass of Znosian missiles began to overwhelm them. They tore apart the Malgeir defense, ship-by-ship, and a perfectly aimed salvo finally snapped the backbone of the Malgeir flagship in two.
Any semblance of Malgeir coordination vanished in a blink. In moments, it was all over. The entire Sixth Fleet formation disintegrated. The holographic icons representing the entire Sixth Fleet winked out one by one, until none remained.
Not a single ship survived, just as the Terrans predicted.
The scenario did not end there.
The ground invasion began. Dozens more ships streamed into the system. With full control of the orbitals, they landed ships and pounded the defensive positions on the ground. Fast-forward a few months, and all major population centers of Datsot fell to the hands of the enemy.
A heavy silence hung in the air as the simulation came to its sober conclusion and counted up the losses on both sides. A staggering number for the Malgeir, for both its space fleet and ground troops. Many units apparently fought to the end, and it showed in the devastating tally.
“That’s just a computer simulation,” Grionc said, confidently. “Sure, we toyed around with basic sims when the war first broke out. But let’s be honest, those virtual mock-ups can’t predict who’s going to come out on top in a real, live-fire engagement.”
Amelia raised an eyebrow, her voice tinged with curiosity. “So, you’re saying our high-res battle simulators don’t meet your standards?”
Grionc shook her head. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. The visuals? Spot-on. The ships? Exactly to spec. Even the fleet formations maneuvered just like they should. Your program is impressive and an achievement by itself, like your ship technologies. But the tactics used by our people in the simulator clearly lack the creativity that only a real, experienced Malgeir commander can show.”
Amelia leaned in, locking eyes with Grionc. “Ok. Show us.”
“What?”
Amelia simply said, “Like you insist, only an experienced Malgeir commander can win this battle. Computer, restart Last Stand scenario in first person view of the flag admiral.”
The map disappeared, and the holographic room was re-decorated by an eerily realistic depiction of a familiar bridge… of the Oengro.
Several Malgeir avatars sat at the various consoles scattered around the bridge, occasionally turning to make status reports.
Amelia gestured grandly to the recreated environment. “Those agents aren’t real, but we find that they’re a pretty good approximation of the performance of Malgeir spacers. You, on the other hand, High Fleet Commander, are very much real. You’re an experienced tactician, one of the best the Malgeir Navy has to offer. And right next to you, you have one of its best space warfare officers. So now, command your fleet, and let’s see if this battle is winnable for Sixth Fleet.”
---
Datsot (Simulated)
“Fleet Admiral,” the simulator avatar for the sensor officer twirled around and reported, “We’ve just detected a little more than two squadrons of Bunny Forager-class missile destroyers at the system blink limit.”
Huh, that’s a confusing nomenclature, Grionc thought.
Before Grionc could voice her complaint, Amelia preempted her. “Sorry, wrong lingo setting. Some analysts were in here earlier doing their thing. Computer, exclusively use Malgeir terminology and units. Restart the battle.”
---
“High Fleet Commander, we’ve just detected twenty-eight Grass Eater Delta-class ships at the edge of the system.”
Ah, that’s more like it, she thought, time to show the computer what she thought of its little ambush. “Prepare for battle, but don’t overreact. Keep our ships between them and the planet. If they flee, do not under any circumstances chase them outside the blink limit.”
“Yes, High Fleet Commander.”
She glanced sideways smugly at the Terrans now that she’d seen through their ambush trick. The two of them were now watching her with unreadable expressions.
The next few minutes (sped up real-time) were filled with routine reports that buzzed like white noise, until the sensor officer’s voice sliced through the chatter. “High Fleet Commander, the Grass Eaters have started their in-system approach.”
“Interesting. What’s their destination?”
“It looks like they’re angling towards Datsot-7, the third gas giant in the outer belt.”
Grionc smirked at the computer display. “Actually, we call that Flonce. It’s a rich fuel site we use for topping up blink fuel in the Datsot system.”
The sensor officer’s avatar bowed. She wasn’t sure if the subtle wobble in his step in the simulation was inaccurate or sarcastic. “My apologies, Fleet Commander. The enemy fleet is now confirmed moving towards Flonce.”
“Hm… Speinfoent, if we burn for it now, can we get there before they do?”
Speinfoent’s paws danced across the holographic keys of his ultra-realistic simulated console. “No. And when they get there, if we burn straight for them, they can get to the system blink limit before we can get to them too.”
“Pity. Would have been a good chance to engage them first. That’s fine. We’ll wait around and see what they do.”
“Understood, High Fleet Commander.”
A short while later, the sensor officer avatar announced, “They’ve reached Flonce. Looks like they’re just holding there.”
Then the avatar officer actually frowned and tilted his head. It was an imperfect and exaggerated imitation of the actual Malgeir facial expression. If this wasn’t a battle simulation to determine the future of the Malgeir species, Grionc would have found it comical. “Hold on, I’m picking up some extra signatures. Looks like there are a few bulky transport ships tagging along with their main fleet.”
Grionc raised an eyebrow. “Could those be the rest of their fleet in disguise?”
Speinfoent shook his ears. “No way, the Znosians don’t have that kind of advanced disguise capability.” He glanced over at the Terran observers in the room, “Do they?”
Amelia didn’t say anything, but Carla gave him a slight, sympathetic head shake.
Grionc nodded. “In any case, the nature of the situation is still unchanged, we can wait for them to come to us.”
And sure enough, they did… just half an hour later.
“They’re coming in system towards us at full acceleration!”
“Will we intercept?” Grionc asked.
Speinfoent did the math on his console. “Yes. They are vectoring for a perfect intercept.”
Grionc couldn’t help but marvel at the jaw-dropping realism of the computer simulator. The ambient sounds were perfectly reproduced. The inertial compensators changed their whine as the ship maneuvered to face the enemies.
“They’re firing! One wave inbound!” Speinfoent announced a few minutes later as the bridge sirens began.
And let’s not forget those obnoxiously high-pitched alert sirens that blared whenever incoming missiles locked onto her ship. Grionc rolled her eyes. Yep, they got that annoying detail right too. With a flick of her finger, she muted the warning sounds on her console, just like she always did. The software obeyed without a hitch.
“Notify me when those missiles are to the midpoint, Speinfoent.”
“Of course, High Fleet Commander,” Speinfoent replied, his voice tinged with professional focus. “But, uh, they’ll likely unleash a second volley before we come into range.”
And sure enough, they did.
In fact, the enemy ships were almost prepping a third missile barrage by the time Grionc barked, “Deploy countermeasures, now!”
A few moments later, she asked tersely, “Are they in our range now?”
“Almost there, Fleet Commander.”
Grionc leaned back in her simulated command chair, locking eyes with her tactical officer on the screen. “Just signal to fire when you’re ready Speinfoent. I trust you to judge the right moment.”
Speinfoent hoped the Terrans didn’t see him blush in the dark. “Firing now!”
