The Lost Fleet: Fearless

He waited, seeing the three destroyers and the cruiser maintaining their courses, as if the pursuit was all that mattered. Geary checked the time. Five minutes had passed. Give it one minute for the order to arrive at the speed of light, then another minute for him to finally see whatever course change the ships started. That left three minutes, which was way too slow a response in an emergency. “Anelace, Baselard, Mace, Cuirass! Alter course upward immediately, maximum turn. We’ve detected a minefield across your tracks. Acknowledge order and start turn immediately!”

Another minute. “How far away are they from those anomalies?” Geary asked, trying to keep his voice level.

“On current track,” Desjani tapped her own controls rapidly, running the calculation, “they’ll be in among them in thirty seconds.” Desjani’s voice was calm, disciplined. She had seen a lot of Alliance ships die, a lot of Alliance sailors die, in her fairly short career. Geary had only gradually learned that, and realized that now Desjani was drawing on her experience to numb herself to what seemed inevitable.

Thirty seconds. Too late to even try broadcasting another order. Geary knew some of the commanding officers in his fleet weren’t really qualified for command, knew that many others still clung to the idea of all-out glorious charges into the enemy without hesitation or thinking. It would be a long time before he could, hopefully, teach those warriors the value of fighting wisely as well as bravely. But even knowing that, Geary wondered what insanity had led those four captains to ignore his orders and his warning about the minefield. Their minds must be fixed on their chosen targets, oblivious to anything else as they tried to close to engagement range.

Maybe the ships would survive in the minefield long enough for another warning to work. Trying to keep his voice from betraying desperation, Geary called them again. “Anelace, Baselard, Mace, Cuirass, this is the fleet commander. You are entering a confirmed minefield. Alter course up immediately. Maximum turn.”

They were entering the minefield now, he knew. The light from the four ships was half a minute old, so the ships that he could see proud and intact were already in the minefield, might already have hit mines. All he could do was stare at the display, waiting for the inevitable, knowing there was nothing that could save the crews of those ships now but an actual miracle. He prayed silently, wishing for that miracle.

It didn’t happen. Exactly one minute, seven seconds after Desjani’s warning, Geary saw his display reporting multiple explosions as the three destroyers leading the charge ran into the dense minefield. The small, relatively frail destroyers simply disintegrated under the hammer blows of the mines, shattering into fragments of men, women, and ships that the smart fuses of unexploded mines simply ignored.

A few seconds after that, Geary saw the Cuirass finally trying to turn. It was far too late, though, as momentum carried the cruiser into the mines. One punched a crater amidships, then a second blew away a good part of the stern, then the optical sensors on the Dauntless momentarily lost sight of the cruiser as the debris field from it and the destroyers blocked the view of the destruction.

Geary licked lips suddenly gone dry, thinking of the sailors who’d just died to no purpose. He blocked out emotion, concentrating on the mechanics of his next task as he studied the display. “Second Destroyer Squadron, you are to make a cautious approach to the vicinity of the minefield in search of survivors. Do not enter the minefield without approval from me.” Odds were there wasn’t a single survivor. The four ships had been destroyed so quickly it seemed unlikely anyone could’ve reached a survival pod. But it was necessary to ensure no one was left behind to the tender mercies of the Syndic labor camps.

A slow minute passed. “Second Destroyer Squadron, aye. Proceeding to search for survivors.” The voice of the squadron commander was subdued.

Geary took another look at his formation, all on the new course, rising above the plane of the Sutrah System, coursing above the minefield area now prominently labeled with danger signs on the display. “All units, alter course two zero degrees down at time one five.”

Everyone was looking at him, perhaps expecting some speech about the heroism of the crews of the four ships. Geary stood up, his mouth a thin line, shook his head, and walked off the bridge, not trusting his voice. The dead shouldn’t be spoken ill of. He didn’t want to publicly lash the commanders of those ships as vainglorious fools who’d murdered their crews.

Even though that was exactly what had happened.