Battle Over Europa

Low Orbit, Europa, 1300 Hours, Year: 2195

Space, dark, and filled with nothingness. The hesitant beeps of orbiting man-made constructs would have been deafening if not for the empty vacuum. It was in a word, immobile, with nothing of particular note for any observer. Dark space wrapped around spheres of matter. The planetoid of Europa was in the distance.

As sudden as a bolt of lighting, a massive shape emerged out of the nothingness. Large and shaped like an arrowhead, dull red covering the mighty hull. The vessel shuddered as soon as it appeared with running lights filling up the starry night. Rockets thundered across the mighty bow, rotating the beast, pointing towards the blue and confused maelstrom far away on the third planet from the sun.

Space Defense Force Command, Omega Station, High Earth Orbit, 1400 Hours

Lieutenant Commander Donaldson ran through Omega Stations’ open steel corridors, a data disk in his right hand, and his heart beating in his throat. Everyone got out of the way of his imposing bulk, minding their own business in the nerve center of Earth’s defenses. Sweat ran down the officer’s face and back. This was urgent.

Although a veteran of two wars, he had never felt this much urgency. Dueling with rebels in asteroid belts could not compare. The news he was carrying didn’t just relate to the Earth but to all of humanity. He found the door he was looking for and bounded inside.

Admiral Francis Hunter, Commanding Officer of Omega, looked up from his console. Some battle plan took up the projection screen. As soon as the flag officer saw the harried expression on Donaldson’s face, he turned the projector off. He somehow understood the dire situation. Without a salute or any formalities he took the data disk from the junior officer and thrust it into his console.

In a second the holographic display activated and flashed the disk’s contents onto the projection screen. It showed a standard static-ridden video feed from one of the many SDF satellites. The admiral noted the complete blankness of the background save for the impressive blue vista of Europa, one of Jupiter’s moons and site of a colony of a couple hundred thousand people. Pretty far off, a good target for rebels to strike.

But in an instant something happened. Instead of a fleet of raiding vessels, an object the admiral had never seen appeared. An ominous red bulk of proportions that easily triple that of a SDF Marathon-classcruiser emerged out of the night. Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t good.

“I ran every check in the book,” Donaldson began. “I even reset the satellite processing routine. It all checks out, sir.” He was talking faster and faster, but stopped and took a deep breath. His excitement was extremely palpable.

The admiral nodded simply to the younger man’s remarks. He reached into his pocket searching for his pipe, but knew it wasn’t there anymore. His wife was being a little strict on their non-smoking “agreement.” Admiral Hunter smiled at the thought, despite being in charge of Earth’s defenses, at home he had to follow orders from his wife.

Stepping out of his reverie, Hunter asked, “Any audio contact with the garrison on Europa?” He was referring to the Marine battalion stationed there.

“Negative, we’ve totally lost contact with the colony,” Donaldson said, removing his navy cap to run a hand through his sweat-sodden hair. “The Illustrious is currently patrolling the sector. We could send it in to check this disturbance out.”

Admiral Hunter grinned at the Commander’s use of words, “No, I want the area around Europa quarantined for the time being.” He spun his high-backed chair to look out the “window” behind him. It was in reality the hardest in transparent titanium, strong enough to survive a direct hit from a missile. Somehow the career naval officer knew that it wouldn’t survive a beating by the cannons he had spied on alien vessel. “Get back to your station Commander and don’t mention this to anyone. I’m calling the President.”

Vice President’s Office, Presidential Skyhook, Over Atlantic Ocean, 1700 Hours

Vice President Michael Jacobs sat back in his high backed chair, made of the finest leather, behind the heavy oak of his desk. He reached out and felt its contours, assured that it was the finest in synthetic wood. Opening his eyes, he pulled open a drawer and took out a cigar.

Sticking it between his lips, he blew into it. The tiny receptors built along the cigar felt his breath and ignited the tip automatically. The strong aroma of as his daughter called it “Old people” wafted from it. Drawing a pull he closed his eyes to relax.

It was the culmination of a lifetime’s work, smoking a cigar a mile above Earth. He had started out as a local representative of New York some thirty years ago. As a member of an influential African-American political family he had some advantages rising up. He had served a couple of years in the Navy, on the board of an exploration corporation, and a negotiator during disputes. An untold number of arguments and conflicts had led to this office, not to mention the power that came from it. Michael Jacobs II couldn’t have been any happier.

“God, Helen would kill me if she saw me now,” Michael thought to himself. Old habits die hard as the mantra went. He thought about his wife, how she was enjoying her vacation in the Argentine with the family, his family. Michael shook his head, duty, what a bitch.

But deep down he’d known that this day would come sooner or later. Like the acid rains of Venus, it was inevitable.

The console blared bringing him back to the real world. “General Villiers is on the line,” the disembodied feminine voice of his secretary whispered softly like the morning breeze into his ear.

Exhaling Michael automatically shut down the cigar and deposited it back into the drawer. Pleasures and family would have to wait for another day. Action was staring at him in the face. “On screen,” Michael said, in an instance turning both diplomatic and jovial. Something he had learned when solving the Martian titanium-mining dispute of ’74.

Suddenly emerging from the console was a quarter-sized hologram of Major General Villiers, Space Marine Force, and a high ranking member of the Naval Intelligence Unit. The general was the living image of a bullet. He was short but stout, muscles filing his green uniform that was festooned with dozens of medals and campaign ribbons, a bristles of gray on his head.

“Good afternoon General,” Michael started the conversation. “Or whatever time zone you are in.”

“Ah, its afternoon here too sir,” General Villiers responded unsure of how to respond to offhand remarks. “Is the President going to be joining us?”

“Well he is enjoying his usual weekend round of golf today. He’ll be on the skyhook soon enough. You know how traffic between Earth and Luna can get sometimes.”

“Ah yes, sir.”

Internally shaking his head for trying to flap the unflappable Villiers, it was as pointless as trying to push a battleship single-handedly. “What’s the situation with this unknown contact?”

“The sensory eavesdropping of Europa is being continued with nothing of particular note other than high energy levels in the approximate center of mass of the vessel,” Villiers began, happy that the Vice President was shifting back to matters he had more familiarity with. Something he actually knew about. “The contact is maintaining the position it held since it arrived.”

“Question.”

“Yes sir?”

“What exactly is this thing?” Michael put heavy emphasis on the last word.

The general looked as if he was searching for words, but he couldn’t find any. “I don’t know sir. It doesn’t match the configuration of any space-faring vessel in the database. Advanced sensors say it’s a mile in length with heavy central mass. As I mentioned earlier we have detected occasional high energy spikes but we have no idea what they signify.”

“Well obviously. Where are we getting our Intel from?”

“Navy has aForager-class intelligence gatherer on Jupiter’s event horizon. It’s the closest ship we have to the unknown contact. Its stealth features have allowed it to avoid being detected.”

“Good,” was all Michael could think of saying. He spun his chair to face the August sky outside the transparent metal windows. As per security, no aircraft was allowed within a considerable of the Presidential Skyhook currently positioned over the North Atlantic, between North America and Europe. From this perch a mile up in the sky tethered by strong cables to sea-based facilities, Blake could see much of Western Europe. Born himself in America he had traveled to Europe many times in his fifty-five years and knew what it had to offer. All this, he realized including Earth’s more than a dozen colonies could be destroyed by that thing. He had to act.

Fate, she was the ultimate ruler.

“How many other people know about the existence of this vessel?” he asked.

“Other than me and my staff, the crew of the spy ship, a few other high-ranking officers on Omega, no one sir. There could also be citizens throughout the system looking through telescopic devices.”

“We can deal with those with some press releases, but do your best to keep this under wraps. Thanks for the situation report General, get back to me when there’s a development.” As Villiers’ image saluted and disappeared, Michael contemplated for a minute as to a proper course of action.

“I can’t let any more people know about what happened,” the Vice President thought to himself. His lip curled into a knowing smile, he knew just the man, someone who would not tell a secret even if his life depended on it, a man who knew the implications of this bizarre phenomenon. He told his secretary to send out a request for an immediate communiqué with the person he had in mind.

After a few minutes the holographic projector came to life. The image was that of Vice Admiral Nikolai Gorshkov, second-in-command of Expeditionary Space Operations. Unlike the general this man had an intellectual streak about him. With a set of wire-frame glasses perched on the bridge of his nose he didn’t look like much of a warrior, rather more professorial. It was a good cover for his talents. His steely gray eyes held a certain sharpness to them, honed from over thirty years of experience as a commander of men. And deep down he was much more of a warrior than most of the other people in the Navy were. The blood of a Cossack ran through his veins.

”Nikolai,” Michael was on a first name basis with the Admiral. In fact that had both known each other since their days in the Academy on Luna. “You’ve been briefed of the situation at Europa?”

“Of course,” his light Russian accent boomed over the speakers. “We should have known that this day would come.”

“Well it’s too late to wish for things. The President has put me in Executive Command until he gets back so my word is as good as his. Do you know the meaning behind the energy spikes that have been detected coming off of that thing?”

“If my memory serves me right then they are probably sensor sweeps. It is possibly analyzing our defenses. Fortunately for us it will have to move out of Jupiter’s magnetic field to be able to transmit this data out of this system.” Nikolai the looked straight at him, “Michael, you are not one for preamble. If you wish me to eliminate the threat currently orbiting Europa, then I shall.”

The Vice President grinned, “Always to the point, eh, Nick.”

“It serves everyone to be exact at these moments.”

“Of course,” Michael replied with a glint in his eye, you couldn’t get this much directness from Villiers. “Nikolai, I want you to assemble a task force, anything you need up to Delta classification. In fact I am authorizing the use of nuclear weapons,” Michael paused for a few seconds, measuring the importance of his words. “I want that thing destroyed. No, actually I want it completely annihilated. Do you understand?”

“Yes of course,” Gorshkov seemed unshaken, he never was.

“Good, luck be with you Admiral.”

Task Force Staging Area, Mars Orbit, 1800 Hours

Mars was one of Earth’s largest colonies with almost two and half billion people on the red planet. Its dirt held vast resources that allowed the expansion of the human race across the stars, thus solidifying Mars’ importance. A massive shipyard a thousand miles up didn’t exactly hurt either. The Epsilon shipyards were the largest built by mankind. They constructed the numerous explorer probes sent into the wilderness of the galaxy, as well as the warships of the Space Defense Force. Currently under construction were the colony ships destined to carry millions to Alpha Centauri. Dozens of smaller vessels crowded the area surrounding the orbiting construct, shuttling their way from work to home.

Away from all the commotion a force assembled. Under Code 7B of the Ninth Annex, otherwise known as a Delta classification, four ships were being requisitioned to form the Europa Task Force commanded by Vice Admiral Nikolai Gorshkov.

The centerpiece of the force was the five hundred meter long Marathon-class cruiser Akula, Gorshkov’s flagship. Shaped like the blade of a dagger, it was one of the dozen ships of its type in the Fleet. Towards the aft, on its port and starboard sides was a pair of stub wings placed to allow the execution of precise maneuvers. Taking up a solid quarter of ship space was the massive engine block containing the powerful thrusters and the primary reactor core. In the center but towards the back was the bridge, raised to allow the commander a wider view of space.

But what made it a warship were the banks of Lancer missiles along its sides. More deadly were the half dozen Zeus nuclear missiles in silos in the hull. But what made it standout, as a weapon was the Magnetic Projectile Weapon.

The MPW’s cannon ran along the centerline of the Akula. It ran all the way from the reactor to the tip of the dagger’s blade from which the projectiles would be launched. The projectiles used were made out of a strong Titanium-carbide alloy round shaped like a bullet. As the round ran along the length of the cannon, it would grow more and more magnetized, gaining speed. This was the ultimate manifestation of the rail gun. When it left the cannon it would continue to gather speed until it slammed into the enemy hull, ripping it apart, sometimes even disintegrating it.

Two other ships of the Task Force were frigates of the Orion-class, each one hundred meters long and armed simply with Lancer missiles. The last ship was a three hundred meter long Allegiance-class Destroyer, armed with Lancers and two Zeus nuclear missiles as well as the ability to carry eight Warrior starfighters.

The flotilla was now being supplied and loaded for the coming battle, a battle that would end in the deaths of many.