deowll
2010-03-13 19:00:51 UTC
* * *
"On the face of it, the possibility of locating and attacking someone else's
commerce in hyper shouldn't even exist. Maximum reliable scanner range is
barely twenty light-minutes, hyper-space is vast, and even knowing a
convoy's planned arrival and departure times shouldn't help much.
But appearances can be deceiving. To be sure, hyperspace is vast, yet
virtually all its traffic moves down the highways of its grav waves, drawing
both its power and absurdly high acceleration from its Warshawski sails.
There are only so many efficient grav wave connections from one star system
to another, and the optimum points of interchange are known to most navies.
So are the points which must be avoided because of high levels of grav
turbulence. If a raider knows a given ship's schedule, he doesn't really
need its route. He can work through the same astro tables as his target's
skipper and project its probable course closely enough to intercept it.
For those not blessed with such foreknowledge, there are still ways.
Merchant skippers, for example, vastly prefer to ride a grav wave clear
through their final hyper translation. Power costs are lower, and riding the
wave through the hyper wall reduces both the structural and physiological
stresses. Which means raiders often lurk at points where inbound grav waves
intersect a star's hyper limit, waiting for prey to amble up to them.
And, if all else fails, there is always the blind chance method. Ships are
at their most vulnerable at and shortly after they translate back into
normal space. Their base velocities are low, their sensor systems are still
sorting out the sudden influx of n-space information, and for at least ten
minutes or so, while their hyper generators recycle, they can't even dodge
back into hyper and run away if something comes at them. A translation right
on the system ecliptic is the norm, if not the inviolable rule, so a patient
raider might put his ship into a solar orbit right on the hyper limit, run
his power (and emissions) down to minimum levels, and simply wait until some
fat and unwary freighter translates within his interception envelope. With
no emissions to betray it, something as tiny as a warship is extremely
difficult to spot, and many an unfortunate merchant skipper's first
intimation of trouble has been the arrival of the leading missile salvo.
But the heavy cruiser PNS Sword and her consorts had no need for such
hit-or-miss hunting techniques, Captain Theisman thought. Thanks to Nav
Int's spies, Commodore Reichman knew her prey's exact schedule. In fact,
Theisman's tac officer had spotted the five-ship convoy and its escort hours
ago as Sword's squadron lay doggo in a handy "bubble" in the local grav
wave, letting them pass without being spotted in return before emerging in
pursuit.
Theisman didn't like his present mission, partly because he disliked both
Commodore Annette Reichman and her proposed tactics. Given his druthers, he
would have moved to catch the convoy six light-years further along, when it
would have to transition between grav waves under impeller drive. Reichman
had decided differently-and stupidly, in his opinion-yet that explained only
a part of his dislike. He was also a naval officer, with a naval officer's
innate instinct to protect merchantmen, and the fact that two of the
squadron's targets weren't really freighters at all only made it worse. But
he'd been asked to do a lot of things he didn't like in his career, and if
he had to do it, he might as well do it right . . . assuming Reichman would
let him.
He stood on Sword's command deck, studying his plot, and frowned silently
while he awaited the commodore's next order. The Manties were good, as he
could attest from painful personal experience, yet Reichman seemed
confident. Possibly more confident than the situation merited. True, the
convoy escort consisted of only two light cruisers and a trio of tin-cans,
but hyper-space combat wasn't like an n-space engagement. Much of a heavier
ship's normal defensive advantage was negated here, and Reichman's unconcern
over her squadron's increased vulnerability worried Theisman.
Still, the tactical situation was developing much as the commodore had
predicted. With so few ships, the escort commander had opted to sweep ahead
of the merchies against the greater danger of a head-on interception while
only a single escort watched their rear to cover what should have been the
vector of minimum threat. Only Reichman didn't need a head-on intercept. The
maximum safe velocity in hyper for any merchantman was barely .5 c. That
translated to an effective normal-space velocity of many hundreds of times
light-speed, but all that mattered were relative speeds, and their better
particle and radiation shielding let Reichman's ships attain a velocity
twenty percent greater than that. Which meant that she was currently
overtaking the convoy at just under thirty thousand KPS and that the
trailing destroyer ought to see them just . . . about . . . now.
* * *
Lieutenant Commander MacAllister jerked upright in his command chair as
threat sources sparkled suddenly in his plot. His destroyer's sensors should
have read them sooner, even under the conditions of hyper-space, but the
count was tentative, and the identifying data codes shifted and flowed as he
watched them. Someone back there had some pretty decent electronic warfare
capabilities, and they were using them.
His eyes darted to the vector readouts, and he swallowed a curse. They were
barely three hundred million klicks back. At their closing speed, they'd
overtake the convoy in under three hours, and there was no way in hell
merchantmen could outrun them.
Captain Helen Zilwicki's face was stone as she listened to MacAllister's
analysis of the threat thirteen and a half light-minutes behind her tiny
squadron. Six of them to her five, and all of them bigger and far more
heavily armed. Even the technical edge her ships might have exploited in
normal space would hardly matter here, for it paid its biggest dividends in
missile engagements, and missiles were useless within a grav wave. No
impeller drive could function there; the wave's powerful gravitational
forces would burn it out instantly. Which meant any missile vaporized the
second its drive kicked in-and that none of her ships had the protection of
their own impeller wedges . . . or sidewalls.
She didn't even consider the possibility of breaking free of the wave. It
would have restored her sidewalls and let her use her missiles, but her
charges were four light-hours into the wave. They'd need eight hours to get
clear, and they didn't have eight hours.
General message to all units, Com." Her voice sounded rusty and strained in
her own ears. "Message begins: From CO escort to all ships. We have detected
six warships, apparently Havenite heavy cruisers, closing from astern.
Present range one-three-point-six light-minutes, closing velocity three-zero
thousand KPS. On present course, they will overtake us in two hours and
fourteen minutes." She drew a deep breath, staring down into her display.
"In view of Admiralty warnings, I must assume their intention is to attack.
All escorts will form on me and turn to engage the enemy. The convoy will
scatter and proceed independently. "
* * *
Thomas Theisman's jaw clenched as the drive sources came back toward him in
attack formation. He folded his hands tightly behind his back and made
himself look at Commodore Reichman without expression. She'd been so sure
the Manty commander would order the entire convoy, escorts and merchantmen
alike, to scatter. After all, she'd pointed out, the grav wave would strip
them of the long-range missile advantage, which might have given them the
chance to achieve anything worthwhile. That was the whole reason for
intercepting here rather than between waves, as Theisman had suggested. No
commander would throw his ships away for nothing when scattering meant at
least four of his ten ships would survive.
Thomas Theisman had known better, but Annette Reichman had never fought
Manticorans before. And because Theisman had lost when he fought them, she'd
ignored his warnings with barely veiled patronization.
"Orders, Ma'am?" he asked now, and Reichman swallowed.
"We'll take them head-on," she said after a moment. As if she had a choice,
Theisman thought in disgust.
"Yes, Ma'am. Do you wish to change our formation?" He kept his tone as
neutral as possible, but her nostrils flared.
"No!" she snapped.
Theisman raised his eyes over her shoulder. His cold glance sent her staff
and his own bridge officers sidling out of earshot, and he leaned toward her
and spoke quietly.
"Commodore, if you fight a conventional closing engagement with your chase
armaments, they're going to turn to open their broadsides and give us
everything they've got at optimum range."
"Nonsense! That would be suicide!" Reichman snapped. "We'll tear them apart
if they come out from behind their sails!"
"Ma'am," he spoke softly, as if to a child, "we out-mass those ships seven
to one, and they have to close to energy range. They know what that means as
well as we do. So they'll do the only thing they can. They'll open their
broadsides to bring every beam they can to bear, and they'll go for our
forward alpha nodes. If they take out even one, our own foresail will go
down, and this deep into a grav wave-"
He didn't have to complete the sentence. With no forward sail to balance her
after sail, it was impossible for any starship to maneuver in a grav wave.
They would be trapped on the same vector, at the same velocity. They
couldn't even drop out of hyper, because they couldn't control their
translation attitude until and unless they could make repairs, and even the
tiniest patch of turbulence would tear them apart. Which meant the loss of a
single sail would cost Reichman at least two ships, because any ship which
lost a sail would have to be towed clear of the wave on a consort's
tractors.
"But-" She stopped and swallowed again. "What do you recommend, Captain?"
she asked after a moment.
"That we do the same thing. We'll get hurt, probably lose a few ships, but
it'll actually reduce our sails' exposure and give us far heavier broadsides
and a better chance to take them out before they gut our sails."
He met her gaze levelly, strangling the desire to scream at her that he'd
told her this would happen, and her eyes fell.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
There is a limit on how much I feel free to copy and this nearly exceeds it
but I did sort of leave out the story line and cut hunks rather than the
entire thing. If you are deep inside a gravity wave you seem to be stuck in
hyper until you can get out of the wave and if your front sail goes out you
either get help in the form of a tow or you die. Detection range is 22 light
minutes which means a sphire 44 light minutes across which doesn't seem all
that small to me especially if you put some sensor platforms out to help you
see what is going on.
It does seems to be beams or nothing in a hyper wave but missiles work
outside the waves. The radios seem to work okay though I don't have a clue
how they could. Best not go there. I think DW said something in another
later book. I'm not sure which book.
I didn't see a word that suggested the Peeps would not have accepted the
capture of ships loaded with prisoners and valuable high tech cargos.
Thomas Theisman wasn't comforable with the situation but he'd have been alot
worse than uncomfortable if the objective had been the mass murder of a
bunch of civilians and children nor do I recall any evidence that the Old
Republic actually went in for that sort of thing.
"On the face of it, the possibility of locating and attacking someone else's
commerce in hyper shouldn't even exist. Maximum reliable scanner range is
barely twenty light-minutes, hyper-space is vast, and even knowing a
convoy's planned arrival and departure times shouldn't help much.
But appearances can be deceiving. To be sure, hyperspace is vast, yet
virtually all its traffic moves down the highways of its grav waves, drawing
both its power and absurdly high acceleration from its Warshawski sails.
There are only so many efficient grav wave connections from one star system
to another, and the optimum points of interchange are known to most navies.
So are the points which must be avoided because of high levels of grav
turbulence. If a raider knows a given ship's schedule, he doesn't really
need its route. He can work through the same astro tables as his target's
skipper and project its probable course closely enough to intercept it.
For those not blessed with such foreknowledge, there are still ways.
Merchant skippers, for example, vastly prefer to ride a grav wave clear
through their final hyper translation. Power costs are lower, and riding the
wave through the hyper wall reduces both the structural and physiological
stresses. Which means raiders often lurk at points where inbound grav waves
intersect a star's hyper limit, waiting for prey to amble up to them.
And, if all else fails, there is always the blind chance method. Ships are
at their most vulnerable at and shortly after they translate back into
normal space. Their base velocities are low, their sensor systems are still
sorting out the sudden influx of n-space information, and for at least ten
minutes or so, while their hyper generators recycle, they can't even dodge
back into hyper and run away if something comes at them. A translation right
on the system ecliptic is the norm, if not the inviolable rule, so a patient
raider might put his ship into a solar orbit right on the hyper limit, run
his power (and emissions) down to minimum levels, and simply wait until some
fat and unwary freighter translates within his interception envelope. With
no emissions to betray it, something as tiny as a warship is extremely
difficult to spot, and many an unfortunate merchant skipper's first
intimation of trouble has been the arrival of the leading missile salvo.
But the heavy cruiser PNS Sword and her consorts had no need for such
hit-or-miss hunting techniques, Captain Theisman thought. Thanks to Nav
Int's spies, Commodore Reichman knew her prey's exact schedule. In fact,
Theisman's tac officer had spotted the five-ship convoy and its escort hours
ago as Sword's squadron lay doggo in a handy "bubble" in the local grav
wave, letting them pass without being spotted in return before emerging in
pursuit.
Theisman didn't like his present mission, partly because he disliked both
Commodore Annette Reichman and her proposed tactics. Given his druthers, he
would have moved to catch the convoy six light-years further along, when it
would have to transition between grav waves under impeller drive. Reichman
had decided differently-and stupidly, in his opinion-yet that explained only
a part of his dislike. He was also a naval officer, with a naval officer's
innate instinct to protect merchantmen, and the fact that two of the
squadron's targets weren't really freighters at all only made it worse. But
he'd been asked to do a lot of things he didn't like in his career, and if
he had to do it, he might as well do it right . . . assuming Reichman would
let him.
He stood on Sword's command deck, studying his plot, and frowned silently
while he awaited the commodore's next order. The Manties were good, as he
could attest from painful personal experience, yet Reichman seemed
confident. Possibly more confident than the situation merited. True, the
convoy escort consisted of only two light cruisers and a trio of tin-cans,
but hyper-space combat wasn't like an n-space engagement. Much of a heavier
ship's normal defensive advantage was negated here, and Reichman's unconcern
over her squadron's increased vulnerability worried Theisman.
Still, the tactical situation was developing much as the commodore had
predicted. With so few ships, the escort commander had opted to sweep ahead
of the merchies against the greater danger of a head-on interception while
only a single escort watched their rear to cover what should have been the
vector of minimum threat. Only Reichman didn't need a head-on intercept. The
maximum safe velocity in hyper for any merchantman was barely .5 c. That
translated to an effective normal-space velocity of many hundreds of times
light-speed, but all that mattered were relative speeds, and their better
particle and radiation shielding let Reichman's ships attain a velocity
twenty percent greater than that. Which meant that she was currently
overtaking the convoy at just under thirty thousand KPS and that the
trailing destroyer ought to see them just . . . about . . . now.
* * *
Lieutenant Commander MacAllister jerked upright in his command chair as
threat sources sparkled suddenly in his plot. His destroyer's sensors should
have read them sooner, even under the conditions of hyper-space, but the
count was tentative, and the identifying data codes shifted and flowed as he
watched them. Someone back there had some pretty decent electronic warfare
capabilities, and they were using them.
His eyes darted to the vector readouts, and he swallowed a curse. They were
barely three hundred million klicks back. At their closing speed, they'd
overtake the convoy in under three hours, and there was no way in hell
merchantmen could outrun them.
Captain Helen Zilwicki's face was stone as she listened to MacAllister's
analysis of the threat thirteen and a half light-minutes behind her tiny
squadron. Six of them to her five, and all of them bigger and far more
heavily armed. Even the technical edge her ships might have exploited in
normal space would hardly matter here, for it paid its biggest dividends in
missile engagements, and missiles were useless within a grav wave. No
impeller drive could function there; the wave's powerful gravitational
forces would burn it out instantly. Which meant any missile vaporized the
second its drive kicked in-and that none of her ships had the protection of
their own impeller wedges . . . or sidewalls.
She didn't even consider the possibility of breaking free of the wave. It
would have restored her sidewalls and let her use her missiles, but her
charges were four light-hours into the wave. They'd need eight hours to get
clear, and they didn't have eight hours.
General message to all units, Com." Her voice sounded rusty and strained in
her own ears. "Message begins: From CO escort to all ships. We have detected
six warships, apparently Havenite heavy cruisers, closing from astern.
Present range one-three-point-six light-minutes, closing velocity three-zero
thousand KPS. On present course, they will overtake us in two hours and
fourteen minutes." She drew a deep breath, staring down into her display.
"In view of Admiralty warnings, I must assume their intention is to attack.
All escorts will form on me and turn to engage the enemy. The convoy will
scatter and proceed independently. "
* * *
Thomas Theisman's jaw clenched as the drive sources came back toward him in
attack formation. He folded his hands tightly behind his back and made
himself look at Commodore Reichman without expression. She'd been so sure
the Manty commander would order the entire convoy, escorts and merchantmen
alike, to scatter. After all, she'd pointed out, the grav wave would strip
them of the long-range missile advantage, which might have given them the
chance to achieve anything worthwhile. That was the whole reason for
intercepting here rather than between waves, as Theisman had suggested. No
commander would throw his ships away for nothing when scattering meant at
least four of his ten ships would survive.
Thomas Theisman had known better, but Annette Reichman had never fought
Manticorans before. And because Theisman had lost when he fought them, she'd
ignored his warnings with barely veiled patronization.
"Orders, Ma'am?" he asked now, and Reichman swallowed.
"We'll take them head-on," she said after a moment. As if she had a choice,
Theisman thought in disgust.
"Yes, Ma'am. Do you wish to change our formation?" He kept his tone as
neutral as possible, but her nostrils flared.
"No!" she snapped.
Theisman raised his eyes over her shoulder. His cold glance sent her staff
and his own bridge officers sidling out of earshot, and he leaned toward her
and spoke quietly.
"Commodore, if you fight a conventional closing engagement with your chase
armaments, they're going to turn to open their broadsides and give us
everything they've got at optimum range."
"Nonsense! That would be suicide!" Reichman snapped. "We'll tear them apart
if they come out from behind their sails!"
"Ma'am," he spoke softly, as if to a child, "we out-mass those ships seven
to one, and they have to close to energy range. They know what that means as
well as we do. So they'll do the only thing they can. They'll open their
broadsides to bring every beam they can to bear, and they'll go for our
forward alpha nodes. If they take out even one, our own foresail will go
down, and this deep into a grav wave-"
He didn't have to complete the sentence. With no forward sail to balance her
after sail, it was impossible for any starship to maneuver in a grav wave.
They would be trapped on the same vector, at the same velocity. They
couldn't even drop out of hyper, because they couldn't control their
translation attitude until and unless they could make repairs, and even the
tiniest patch of turbulence would tear them apart. Which meant the loss of a
single sail would cost Reichman at least two ships, because any ship which
lost a sail would have to be towed clear of the wave on a consort's
tractors.
"But-" She stopped and swallowed again. "What do you recommend, Captain?"
she asked after a moment.
"That we do the same thing. We'll get hurt, probably lose a few ships, but
it'll actually reduce our sails' exposure and give us far heavier broadsides
and a better chance to take them out before they gut our sails."
He met her gaze levelly, strangling the desire to scream at her that he'd
told her this would happen, and her eyes fell.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
There is a limit on how much I feel free to copy and this nearly exceeds it
but I did sort of leave out the story line and cut hunks rather than the
entire thing. If you are deep inside a gravity wave you seem to be stuck in
hyper until you can get out of the wave and if your front sail goes out you
either get help in the form of a tow or you die. Detection range is 22 light
minutes which means a sphire 44 light minutes across which doesn't seem all
that small to me especially if you put some sensor platforms out to help you
see what is going on.
It does seems to be beams or nothing in a hyper wave but missiles work
outside the waves. The radios seem to work okay though I don't have a clue
how they could. Best not go there. I think DW said something in another
later book. I'm not sure which book.
I didn't see a word that suggested the Peeps would not have accepted the
capture of ships loaded with prisoners and valuable high tech cargos.
Thomas Theisman wasn't comforable with the situation but he'd have been alot
worse than uncomfortable if the objective had been the mass murder of a
bunch of civilians and children nor do I recall any evidence that the Old
Republic actually went in for that sort of thing.