I tested this prologue on kindle vella, which is amazon pay-by-episode system. It sucked ass. Out of 15 people who started the first scene, only 1 made it to the third. That’s why I deleted this prologue from the story when I unloaded it to kindle (not kindle vella), and just started the novel with the battle already beginning.
From all this, I learned that readers are like adolescents, you have to make them get interested. The promise of being interested is not good enough. If you don’t, they don’t continue onto the story and judge your story right there as unworthy of their time.
Before I uploaded it to kindle vella, I thought this prologue was smashing. Turned it out it failed to interest most readers.
Anyway, here’s the original prologue:
2308 AD
Star System Procyon B
“REACH” Construction Base
Admiral’s Quarters
War.
It had been five long years of war. Five, long, desperate years. As commander of REACH, humanity’s largest collection of warship production yards, Connie Eisenhower had seen thousands of ships leave her shipyards – never to be seen, again.
The war kills starships and crews. The war kills families and breaks apart homes. Vice Admiral Connie Eisenhower had seen it all before, and knew that before the week was over, it would happen once again.
Connie sighed, and stared at herself in her washroom.
The battle. The Battle of Earth – that’s what they called it. The fight that would determine all fights. It would happen soon, and with precision. Her husband, High Admiral James Eisenhower, would be there. She was proud. Proud that the war was finally coming to an end. Proud that the Gabans had finally made a mistake and attacked Earth, where the Earth Combined Fleet and Sol System Defenses could destroy them, and Proud that her husband’s network of intelligence agents had deciphered when and where the aliens’ next attack would be.
And proud of herself. She had done her work well. She had directed the construction of thousands of warships that slowly won the war of attrition against an enemy that wanted every human wiped off the face of the universe. And now, that same enemy was forced to launch a last and desperate and hopeless attack on humanity’s homeworld, where they would be defeated in glorious and systematic fashion. What more could she hope for? And when the war was over, she and James would be finally able to retire to anonymity – or, as James hinted in his last mail packet – a political career.
But she knew, in her heart, that nothing would be the same even if the war was over tomorrow, not without their son, but it was useless to hope for too much. David’s death was the cost she and her husband paid to be so motivated in their line of work – to be so driven, as if both of them were and forever was running away from the sorrow of their son’s death.
At seventy five years of age, she knew it was over. There would be no more children in her life, except the memories of David running in her mind -- his passions, his goals, intertwining with hers and James’s.
Connie washed her face in her private washroom and sighed. Staring at herself, she looked old, the lines of her face weathered her skin. The war, the struggles, the constant pressure to win for humanity, it had aged her despite her anti-aging prolong treatments. James, my love, how do you put up with me when there’s so many other women better than me?
She put her towel on the dryer, and was just about to put on her uniform when the intercom beeped. “Admiral Eisenhower??” said Lieutenant Seetch’s familiar voice, quivering.
“What is it, Seetch?” she hollered.
“You have get to command and control, ma’am! Unknown DRYDUS contact! Lots of them! We’re the ones being attacked! Not Earth!”
Connie cursed under her breath.
No, no, no, this was not supposed to happen.
“On my way,” she said.
Command and Control
When she entered the CNC, the first thing she noticed was the red-alert siren and the general raucousness of the officers manning the stations.
“Admiral on deck!” someone said.
“At ease, return to your stations.” She snapped a sharp salute to the watch officer, and asked, “How many?”
Captain Dreiven looked back, her eyes still in shock. “All of them, Admiral,” Dreiven said, finally.
Connie first instinct was to disbelief her, but then the she glanced at the central holomap and scanned the readouts herself. She cursed. “Damn, we’ve been scammed.”
“Orders, Admiral?” asked Dreiven.
“Damn, let me think.” Connie’s brain went into overdrive. What to do? What to do? Her options were very limited. The base itself had very little offensive weaponry. It mostly had defensive equipment – zero point walls.
But zero point walls were nothing when there were no weapons to destroy the enemy’s wormhole gates. She was screwed. Without the fleet, which was another star system – at Earth – awaiting the Gaba’s attack, REACH was completely defenseless. Sure, there were some offensive weaponry located in REACH in case the enemy decided to break through the picket forces – basically, anti-picket weaponry, but they were nothing compared to that which she saw in front of her.
It took several more moments for her to fully register what had happened, and what was about to happen, and then she shook her head. Everyone was going to die. Earth had been tricked. Her husband had been tricked. Everyone had been tricked into thinking the enemy was going to attack Earth, when they were aiming all along for REACH, instead – humanity’s main construction base at Procyon B, 11.5 light-years away.
We were wrong. Dead wrong, she thought.
Vice Admiral Connie Eisenhower eyed the main holomap at the center of the room with sadness and despair. She saw the enemy units on the outskirts of the system – Battlecruisers, battleships, heavy cruisers, all manners of light attack craft, and more were warping into the system from Alcubierre space. 600 and rising.
This… was not supposed to happen. Everyone on this base is going to die, and I can’t do anything about it.
“Admiral?” Dreiven asked next to her.
Connie shook her head. “Get our all our messenger packet ships ready and send them towards Earth. Update their database with what we see. Most will get picked off, but some will get away. That’s the only thing we can do.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Connie returned her gaze at the holomap. There were 1,200,000 humans living and working at Procyon B. Half of that on the construction base. They were all going to die. The Gaba didn’t take prisoners. There were even children on this base, for those with families. Connie shook her head, again. Humanity had been caught totally off guard. Humanity had been tricked.
She stood there, idle in the center of the command center, with no options whatsoever that could save all the people within the system. She was completely befuddled. She glanced at all the people surrounding her, all those officers and ratings who hurriedly worked their stations, and then closed her eyes.
James… I’ll never get to see you, again. My only regret is that I never got to say a proper good bye to you and our son.
James… this is good bye, she thought, as she watched and knew the enemy armada began to zoom inward into the system for the kill.
Four months later…
2308 AD
Interstellar-Alcubierre space
Flagship Ticonderoga
Admiral’s Quarters, Deck 5
He was young, again. Green fields. Warm sun. It was Earth. Earth before the war.
He saw his boy – little David, who ran in the field of grass. David was always so full of energy. David…
James looked to his right. He saw her. Connie Chapman, an image he hadn’t seen in years. Connie without the gray hair. Connie without the wrinkled lines. Connie was beautiful.
David ran to her. “Mommy! Mommy!”
Connie picked David up.
“Daddy, look! I can fly, Daddy!” said David.
James smiled and that smile grew into a laugh. James knew he was dreaming – it was the best dream he’d had in a long time. James ran through the field of grass towards his family – but! The surroundings changed.
David…
David was a young man, now. A boy of sixteen. No more school fights. He was tall and capable, and a ferocious machine just barely beginning to ignite into action.
“David, what do you want to do with your life?” Connie said.
“I want to be like you, mom and dad. I want to command men and women. I want to lead. I want to fly starships and I want to be captain of its crew. I want duty, responsibility, respect. I want both of you to be proud of me.”
To James’s right, Connie was crying. James stared at his wife. Now, Connie was beginning to show age weathering her. Why was she crying? James couldn’t understand it.
“They are tears of joy,” Connie announced.
More years passed. Now, Connie’s wrinkles began to show. Her personality began to age as well. No more the young Connie full of laughter. This Connie was always serious, always about her business. “I’m like you. We’re admirals. We should act like it.”
When James stared at his left – David was gone. “David!” he cried. “Where are you?”
From somewhere far away, James heard the answer. “Here!” said David.
Suddenly, everything changed. The entire viewscape changed. Now, James saw his son, in his mid-thirties, sitting in the captain’s chair of the exploration vessel Farragut, a command that James had helped him get. David… Captain David Eisenhower… was surrounded by crewmen, like any other ship. “Captain!” someone yelled on the bridge of the Farragut. “Multiple missile contacts!”
David yelled, “Deploy deflector shields!”
“There’s too many, captain!”
“No!” yelled James.
Suddenly, everyone on David’s bridge stopped moving and stared at James.
“Goodbye, father,” David said.
And then the bridge exploded in bursts of plasma and shrapnel.
James Eisenhower, Admiral of Home Fleet, burst from his bed in tears. It was another one of those dreams, where it started perfectly fine but reality and current events eventually met history. He took in sharp, shallow breaths and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Sometimes, in these dreams, he’d imagine Connie was in the bed with him, the young Connie, before she had been promoted to Captain. James shook his head. Reality… oh why could reality be what his dreams were? If only he could live forever in his dreams, and forever watch David, the young David, and Connie, the young Connie – and intermingle with them for as long as he wanted.
“Connie… David… I miss both of you,” he whispered. “It was me who our son into the Officer Academy. It was me who who got you to command REACH. I got both of you on the path you are on now. Dead. It’s all because of me.”
James took in a deep breath and sighed. It had been four months since Connie had died at REACH. It had been five years, eight months since David’s cruiser had disappeared forever in Epsilon Eridani. In the passing time, he had come to peace with it. Just like he had to come to peace with all the deaths, not just his son’s and his wife’s. He had to – he had to keep the emotions down… keep them from interfering with his duty.
But oh, why couldn’t he be allowed to mingle with his wife and son in his dreams and memories for as long as he wanted?
James signed, again. What time is it? He glanced at the alarm clock.
0600.
That’s right. July 3rd, Year 2308.
It was almost showtime.
30 minutes later…
Flagship Dreadnought-class HMS Ticonderoga
Deck 5, CIC
0630 Hours, July 3rd, Year 2308 AD.
Interstellar-Alcubierre space
“Admiral on deck!”
“At ease,” said Fleet Admiral James Eisenhower. “Status report, Captain.”
Flag Captain Mueller, commander of the flagship Ticonderoga, eased off attention. “We’re almost there, Admiral. Two more parsecs to go.”
James nodded. Almost showtime. “Status of our fleet?”
“All sixteen fleet carrier squadrons are green. Our battlecruisers and battleships are green with minimal malfunctions. All small warships are green. Our missile boats are green. As for the enemy at Antares, our probes detect no change since last week. Their entire enemy fleet remains guarding that system.”
James nodded. “Very good. Bring up the holomap of the system, will you?”
Captain Mueller pressed a button on his armpad. The central holotank displayed the system of Antares.
James gazed at the system. He saw the enemy warships guarding it, the production bases around the five inner planets – like he had every day, since the information had surfaced that Antares was a major enemy production stronghold. James had been lucky that the counterspy suspected that the enemy had their production centers orbiting that star. Further probe scans had confirmed it.
You made a flaw, Sigma Gigantes, thought Eisenhower. You knew more than you should have for a double agent. After I dissembled your brain, I learned your secrets. Now, I know where the main Gaban shipyard is.
I am going to destroy this major enemy warship production base. A fitting act of revenge for misleading me to defend Earth when your Gaban masters attacked REACH instead, isn’t it?
The moment James thought about the Gaban double agent, rage boiled in his chest. This Gaban counterspy called Sigma Gigantes had expertly manipulated human high command into trusting it and personally mislead James into believing the enemy was going to attack Earth four months ago. When the enemy didn’t, and instead had attacked REACH, and killed Connie, James had Sigma Gigantes neural disassembled. In other words, the counterspy’s brain had been broken up and scanned into a machine. All the alien’s knowledge became available to James – and the alien counterspy was dead, now, of course.
That was how James knew that the red super giant star called Antares was the location of 80% of the enemy’s starship production machinery.
James massaged his chin. He regretted deeply that REACH had been sacked. Now, humanity was forever in a bind. Without REACH’s major warship production facilities, humanity had no production capability, which meant the Gabans had a continuous production advantage as long as their Antares base remained completely operational. Thus, if James wanted to win the war, he had to sack Antares… and make the production assets of both sides equal once more.
If the destruction of REACH four months ago had began the long war’s endgame, the next couple of days would seal humanity’s fate…
James gazed at the holomap showing the enemy’s force dispositions at Antares. He had seen it all before – there was little change, and so he didn’t feel the need to change his attack plan.
He thought about his simple attack plan. He went through it in his head, once again, looking for errors.
When my fleet translates into the system, I am going to send out all my attack fighters and missiles from my carriers and missile ships. This attack force of about 40,000 attack fighters and 800,000 missiles will ravage the enemy fleet defending the system.
Since my attack fighters and missiles are fast, all of this should take less than three hours upon entering the system. Twenty hours later, my warship fleet will reach weapons range of the enemy units as well and launch its payload of beam weaponry – hopefully cleaning up any surviving enemy units still alive after the fighters and missiles had done their work… hopefully.
Then, depending on how well these two phases did, I will order my units to destroy or occupy the alien warship production facilities in the system.
Sounds pretty good, I think.
But damn, I wish I could destroy those alien production facilities first, but I can’t. Damn their zero point walls! I have to drill through these walls using wormhole gate ships! And I can’t deploy these expensive defenseless ships without clearing the system of enemy combat ships!
Better yet, I would prefer even more to commandeer the enemy’s production facilities using my marines, but it all depends on how many enemy units remained after the battle and whether I can hold the system. If I can hold the system, then taking over the enemy’s production centers might very well win the war!
But this second option depends on how well my marines could control alien technology that the alien bases had on them.
Eisenhower put his hand into his uniform’s pocket and touched a medal object. He took it out of his pocket and held it in his hand. It was a golden locket. He opened it. Inside, a picture of his wife and son smiled back at him. He smiled back.
Connie, David, wish me luck.
I HAVE to win the fleet battle, because if I don’t then I will be forced to retreat out of this system. This is defeat. The entire war will be lost. I cannot allow the enemy to keep their production assets at Antares and be able to produce new ships while I cannot. If I do, they can simply overpower my fleet at some future location in some future system, and the Earth Federation would be screwed.
I can’t plead for the enemy’s mercy, either. The Gabans have no mercy. They want all of us dead. Their sociology identifies us as demons on the sole basis that humans cannot communicate using the sixth sense — the ability to share thoughts through telepathy. Their war is a holy war.
James shook his head and sighed. How much he wished diplomacy could work! But each time, it had failed. The only answer after each attempt was death. Peace through diplomacy was impossible.
Thus, war was still the only option. It was a war of survival, and James had to win the coming battle.
The Battle of Antares.
From all this, I learned that readers are like adolescents, you have to make them get interested. The promise of being interested is not good enough. If you don’t, they don’t continue onto the story and judge your story right there as unworthy of their time.
Before I uploaded it to kindle vella, I thought this prologue was smashing. Turned it out it failed to interest most readers.
Anyway, here’s the original prologue:
2308 AD
Star System Procyon B
“REACH” Construction Base
Admiral’s Quarters
War.
It had been five long years of war. Five, long, desperate years. As commander of REACH, humanity’s largest collection of warship production yards, Connie Eisenhower had seen thousands of ships leave her shipyards – never to be seen, again.
The war kills starships and crews. The war kills families and breaks apart homes. Vice Admiral Connie Eisenhower had seen it all before, and knew that before the week was over, it would happen once again.
Connie sighed, and stared at herself in her washroom.
The battle. The Battle of Earth – that’s what they called it. The fight that would determine all fights. It would happen soon, and with precision. Her husband, High Admiral James Eisenhower, would be there. She was proud. Proud that the war was finally coming to an end. Proud that the Gabans had finally made a mistake and attacked Earth, where the Earth Combined Fleet and Sol System Defenses could destroy them, and Proud that her husband’s network of intelligence agents had deciphered when and where the aliens’ next attack would be.
And proud of herself. She had done her work well. She had directed the construction of thousands of warships that slowly won the war of attrition against an enemy that wanted every human wiped off the face of the universe. And now, that same enemy was forced to launch a last and desperate and hopeless attack on humanity’s homeworld, where they would be defeated in glorious and systematic fashion. What more could she hope for? And when the war was over, she and James would be finally able to retire to anonymity – or, as James hinted in his last mail packet – a political career.
But she knew, in her heart, that nothing would be the same even if the war was over tomorrow, not without their son, but it was useless to hope for too much. David’s death was the cost she and her husband paid to be so motivated in their line of work – to be so driven, as if both of them were and forever was running away from the sorrow of their son’s death.
At seventy five years of age, she knew it was over. There would be no more children in her life, except the memories of David running in her mind -- his passions, his goals, intertwining with hers and James’s.
Connie washed her face in her private washroom and sighed. Staring at herself, she looked old, the lines of her face weathered her skin. The war, the struggles, the constant pressure to win for humanity, it had aged her despite her anti-aging prolong treatments. James, my love, how do you put up with me when there’s so many other women better than me?
She put her towel on the dryer, and was just about to put on her uniform when the intercom beeped. “Admiral Eisenhower??” said Lieutenant Seetch’s familiar voice, quivering.
“What is it, Seetch?” she hollered.
“You have get to command and control, ma’am! Unknown DRYDUS contact! Lots of them! We’re the ones being attacked! Not Earth!”
Connie cursed under her breath.
No, no, no, this was not supposed to happen.
“On my way,” she said.
Command and Control
When she entered the CNC, the first thing she noticed was the red-alert siren and the general raucousness of the officers manning the stations.
“Admiral on deck!” someone said.
“At ease, return to your stations.” She snapped a sharp salute to the watch officer, and asked, “How many?”
Captain Dreiven looked back, her eyes still in shock. “All of them, Admiral,” Dreiven said, finally.
Connie first instinct was to disbelief her, but then the she glanced at the central holomap and scanned the readouts herself. She cursed. “Damn, we’ve been scammed.”
“Orders, Admiral?” asked Dreiven.
“Damn, let me think.” Connie’s brain went into overdrive. What to do? What to do? Her options were very limited. The base itself had very little offensive weaponry. It mostly had defensive equipment – zero point walls.
But zero point walls were nothing when there were no weapons to destroy the enemy’s wormhole gates. She was screwed. Without the fleet, which was another star system – at Earth – awaiting the Gaba’s attack, REACH was completely defenseless. Sure, there were some offensive weaponry located in REACH in case the enemy decided to break through the picket forces – basically, anti-picket weaponry, but they were nothing compared to that which she saw in front of her.
It took several more moments for her to fully register what had happened, and what was about to happen, and then she shook her head. Everyone was going to die. Earth had been tricked. Her husband had been tricked. Everyone had been tricked into thinking the enemy was going to attack Earth, when they were aiming all along for REACH, instead – humanity’s main construction base at Procyon B, 11.5 light-years away.
We were wrong. Dead wrong, she thought.
Vice Admiral Connie Eisenhower eyed the main holomap at the center of the room with sadness and despair. She saw the enemy units on the outskirts of the system – Battlecruisers, battleships, heavy cruisers, all manners of light attack craft, and more were warping into the system from Alcubierre space. 600 and rising.
This… was not supposed to happen. Everyone on this base is going to die, and I can’t do anything about it.
“Admiral?” Dreiven asked next to her.
Connie shook her head. “Get our all our messenger packet ships ready and send them towards Earth. Update their database with what we see. Most will get picked off, but some will get away. That’s the only thing we can do.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Connie returned her gaze at the holomap. There were 1,200,000 humans living and working at Procyon B. Half of that on the construction base. They were all going to die. The Gaba didn’t take prisoners. There were even children on this base, for those with families. Connie shook her head, again. Humanity had been caught totally off guard. Humanity had been tricked.
She stood there, idle in the center of the command center, with no options whatsoever that could save all the people within the system. She was completely befuddled. She glanced at all the people surrounding her, all those officers and ratings who hurriedly worked their stations, and then closed her eyes.
James… I’ll never get to see you, again. My only regret is that I never got to say a proper good bye to you and our son.
James… this is good bye, she thought, as she watched and knew the enemy armada began to zoom inward into the system for the kill.
Four months later…
2308 AD
Interstellar-Alcubierre space
Flagship Ticonderoga
Admiral’s Quarters, Deck 5
He was young, again. Green fields. Warm sun. It was Earth. Earth before the war.
He saw his boy – little David, who ran in the field of grass. David was always so full of energy. David…
James looked to his right. He saw her. Connie Chapman, an image he hadn’t seen in years. Connie without the gray hair. Connie without the wrinkled lines. Connie was beautiful.
David ran to her. “Mommy! Mommy!”
Connie picked David up.
“Daddy, look! I can fly, Daddy!” said David.
James smiled and that smile grew into a laugh. James knew he was dreaming – it was the best dream he’d had in a long time. James ran through the field of grass towards his family – but! The surroundings changed.
David…
David was a young man, now. A boy of sixteen. No more school fights. He was tall and capable, and a ferocious machine just barely beginning to ignite into action.
“David, what do you want to do with your life?” Connie said.
“I want to be like you, mom and dad. I want to command men and women. I want to lead. I want to fly starships and I want to be captain of its crew. I want duty, responsibility, respect. I want both of you to be proud of me.”
To James’s right, Connie was crying. James stared at his wife. Now, Connie was beginning to show age weathering her. Why was she crying? James couldn’t understand it.
“They are tears of joy,” Connie announced.
More years passed. Now, Connie’s wrinkles began to show. Her personality began to age as well. No more the young Connie full of laughter. This Connie was always serious, always about her business. “I’m like you. We’re admirals. We should act like it.”
When James stared at his left – David was gone. “David!” he cried. “Where are you?”
From somewhere far away, James heard the answer. “Here!” said David.
Suddenly, everything changed. The entire viewscape changed. Now, James saw his son, in his mid-thirties, sitting in the captain’s chair of the exploration vessel Farragut, a command that James had helped him get. David… Captain David Eisenhower… was surrounded by crewmen, like any other ship. “Captain!” someone yelled on the bridge of the Farragut. “Multiple missile contacts!”
David yelled, “Deploy deflector shields!”
“There’s too many, captain!”
“No!” yelled James.
Suddenly, everyone on David’s bridge stopped moving and stared at James.
“Goodbye, father,” David said.
And then the bridge exploded in bursts of plasma and shrapnel.
James Eisenhower, Admiral of Home Fleet, burst from his bed in tears. It was another one of those dreams, where it started perfectly fine but reality and current events eventually met history. He took in sharp, shallow breaths and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Sometimes, in these dreams, he’d imagine Connie was in the bed with him, the young Connie, before she had been promoted to Captain. James shook his head. Reality… oh why could reality be what his dreams were? If only he could live forever in his dreams, and forever watch David, the young David, and Connie, the young Connie – and intermingle with them for as long as he wanted.
“Connie… David… I miss both of you,” he whispered. “It was me who our son into the Officer Academy. It was me who who got you to command REACH. I got both of you on the path you are on now. Dead. It’s all because of me.”
James took in a deep breath and sighed. It had been four months since Connie had died at REACH. It had been five years, eight months since David’s cruiser had disappeared forever in Epsilon Eridani. In the passing time, he had come to peace with it. Just like he had to come to peace with all the deaths, not just his son’s and his wife’s. He had to – he had to keep the emotions down… keep them from interfering with his duty.
But oh, why couldn’t he be allowed to mingle with his wife and son in his dreams and memories for as long as he wanted?
James signed, again. What time is it? He glanced at the alarm clock.
0600.
That’s right. July 3rd, Year 2308.
It was almost showtime.
30 minutes later…
Flagship Dreadnought-class HMS Ticonderoga
Deck 5, CIC
0630 Hours, July 3rd, Year 2308 AD.
Interstellar-Alcubierre space
“Admiral on deck!”
“At ease,” said Fleet Admiral James Eisenhower. “Status report, Captain.”
Flag Captain Mueller, commander of the flagship Ticonderoga, eased off attention. “We’re almost there, Admiral. Two more parsecs to go.”
James nodded. Almost showtime. “Status of our fleet?”
“All sixteen fleet carrier squadrons are green. Our battlecruisers and battleships are green with minimal malfunctions. All small warships are green. Our missile boats are green. As for the enemy at Antares, our probes detect no change since last week. Their entire enemy fleet remains guarding that system.”
James nodded. “Very good. Bring up the holomap of the system, will you?”
Captain Mueller pressed a button on his armpad. The central holotank displayed the system of Antares.
James gazed at the system. He saw the enemy warships guarding it, the production bases around the five inner planets – like he had every day, since the information had surfaced that Antares was a major enemy production stronghold. James had been lucky that the counterspy suspected that the enemy had their production centers orbiting that star. Further probe scans had confirmed it.
You made a flaw, Sigma Gigantes, thought Eisenhower. You knew more than you should have for a double agent. After I dissembled your brain, I learned your secrets. Now, I know where the main Gaban shipyard is.
I am going to destroy this major enemy warship production base. A fitting act of revenge for misleading me to defend Earth when your Gaban masters attacked REACH instead, isn’t it?
The moment James thought about the Gaban double agent, rage boiled in his chest. This Gaban counterspy called Sigma Gigantes had expertly manipulated human high command into trusting it and personally mislead James into believing the enemy was going to attack Earth four months ago. When the enemy didn’t, and instead had attacked REACH, and killed Connie, James had Sigma Gigantes neural disassembled. In other words, the counterspy’s brain had been broken up and scanned into a machine. All the alien’s knowledge became available to James – and the alien counterspy was dead, now, of course.
That was how James knew that the red super giant star called Antares was the location of 80% of the enemy’s starship production machinery.
James massaged his chin. He regretted deeply that REACH had been sacked. Now, humanity was forever in a bind. Without REACH’s major warship production facilities, humanity had no production capability, which meant the Gabans had a continuous production advantage as long as their Antares base remained completely operational. Thus, if James wanted to win the war, he had to sack Antares… and make the production assets of both sides equal once more.
If the destruction of REACH four months ago had began the long war’s endgame, the next couple of days would seal humanity’s fate…
James gazed at the holomap showing the enemy’s force dispositions at Antares. He had seen it all before – there was little change, and so he didn’t feel the need to change his attack plan.
He thought about his simple attack plan. He went through it in his head, once again, looking for errors.
When my fleet translates into the system, I am going to send out all my attack fighters and missiles from my carriers and missile ships. This attack force of about 40,000 attack fighters and 800,000 missiles will ravage the enemy fleet defending the system.
Since my attack fighters and missiles are fast, all of this should take less than three hours upon entering the system. Twenty hours later, my warship fleet will reach weapons range of the enemy units as well and launch its payload of beam weaponry – hopefully cleaning up any surviving enemy units still alive after the fighters and missiles had done their work… hopefully.
Then, depending on how well these two phases did, I will order my units to destroy or occupy the alien warship production facilities in the system.
Sounds pretty good, I think.
But damn, I wish I could destroy those alien production facilities first, but I can’t. Damn their zero point walls! I have to drill through these walls using wormhole gate ships! And I can’t deploy these expensive defenseless ships without clearing the system of enemy combat ships!
Better yet, I would prefer even more to commandeer the enemy’s production facilities using my marines, but it all depends on how many enemy units remained after the battle and whether I can hold the system. If I can hold the system, then taking over the enemy’s production centers might very well win the war!
But this second option depends on how well my marines could control alien technology that the alien bases had on them.
Eisenhower put his hand into his uniform’s pocket and touched a medal object. He took it out of his pocket and held it in his hand. It was a golden locket. He opened it. Inside, a picture of his wife and son smiled back at him. He smiled back.
Connie, David, wish me luck.
I HAVE to win the fleet battle, because if I don’t then I will be forced to retreat out of this system. This is defeat. The entire war will be lost. I cannot allow the enemy to keep their production assets at Antares and be able to produce new ships while I cannot. If I do, they can simply overpower my fleet at some future location in some future system, and the Earth Federation would be screwed.
I can’t plead for the enemy’s mercy, either. The Gabans have no mercy. They want all of us dead. Their sociology identifies us as demons on the sole basis that humans cannot communicate using the sixth sense — the ability to share thoughts through telepathy. Their war is a holy war.
James shook his head and sighed. How much he wished diplomacy could work! But each time, it had failed. The only answer after each attempt was death. Peace through diplomacy was impossible.
Thus, war was still the only option. It was a war of survival, and James had to win the coming battle.
The Battle of Antares.