There’s little more liberating to me than trying to win a battle that somebody else has already lost. So long as you don’t manage to fuck things up even worse than the other guy did, you’ll come out of the fight looking good. And if you manage to actually win, that’s even better.
Over the past three weeks, we’ve been covering a single military campaign in Professor Brennan’s Introduction to War class. Namely, the Damocles Offensive, an infamous series of engagements from the middle years of the War of Conquest. It was given that name after the war was over, owing to the fact that most of the campaign was conducted with a massive threat hanging over the heads of the Imperial commanders, who knew only that it was there, not when it was likely to drop.
The battle we’re replaying today was the battle where the sword fell. It was one of the most crushing defeats the Imperium suffered during that era of the war, something no student of military history would be unaware of, though Professor Brennan helpfully reminded us all at the beginning of class, before activating the simulation and sending us off to try and do a better job than the Founders themselves.
Like almost every significant conflict during the War of Conquest, the Damocles Campaign was largely a naval affair. Engaging the enemy on the surface of a planet was seen as a futile effort until the system itself had been secured, else the enemy could throw wave after wave of bodies at the Imperium forces, who were flatly outmatched by the savage efficiency of the Beast. So long as they could resupply biomass to print more bodies for the Beast to occupy, they would win a war of attrition ten times out of ten. So the primary objective in any campaign was to cut off their supply lines completely, effectively starving them out, so we could then engage on the ground and slaughter every last instance of the Beast we could find, until their local stores of biomass were completely exhausted.
The commander we’re all replacing for this battle is Vice-Admiral Luther Machado, a man whose hopes of promotion, and perhaps one day Founder status, were dashed by his failure in the Damocles Campaign. His charge had been to capture the Sorian System, a collection of planets with moderate strategic value. If he’d merely failed, it wouldn’t have tarnished his reputation so badly, because the practical cost of the loss would have been low. But to fail so badly, and in such a visible manner, had been a blow to Imperial morale, and a boon to our enemies, the warlords.
During the campaign, the sword hanging over Machado’s head, and now ours, was the threat of reinforcements sent from the neighboring Braach System to bolster the forces of the local warlord, Deimos. Imperium spies had been able to confirm that reinforcements were on the way, but not when or where they might be arriving. That they would be sent at all was unusual, as most warlords, though by this point united in a loose confederation against the Imperium’s efforts to conquer them, were still looking out for themselves above all else. Braach’s warlord, however, possessed more cunning than the average despot of the day, and more importantly had the surplus of resources necessary to send some additional ships to Deimos’s aid without compromising his own defenses.
Now, one would be forgiven for expecting that it would be difficult for an entire battle cruiser to simply sneak up on you in the middle of space. After all, the teleportal network has certain inherent limitations that prevent it from being used to simply drop a ship anywhere you want at any time, and certainly not in the middle of a battle. But anti-radar cloaks, though crude compared to what we have now, were still available during the War of Conquest, meaning that if one was clever and careful, they could keep an entire cruiser hidden until it was time to decloak and strike.
That was the sword hanging over the head of Vice-Admiral Machado, and the Battle of Gloriana was when it fell. The planet itself was a highly resource-rich one, where the citizens were worked to the bone in order to provide the wealth that the warlord enjoyed from his throne, far closer to the Sorian System’s star. It had been named for one of the warlord’s wives, despite the fact that she’d never visited the place, but simply as a grand gesture to win her back after some petty argument. Precisely the sort of capricious rulership the War of Conquest had been launched to rid the universe of.
The forces defending Gloriana were commanded from a stationary capital ship nestled within the planet’s icy rings, in an ingenious defensive position. It was virtually impossible to reach on one plane thanks to the rings themselves, while the rest of the ship’s defensive perimeter was maintained by a blockade of outwardly-facing fighter craft that didn’t have to worry about their flanks, because the rings provided a natural shield preventing anybody from encircling them.
At the time, the conventional wisdom had been that the Braachii reinforcements would prioritize defending the Sorian System’s capital world, where Deimos dwelled, even over a strategic resource like Gloriana. Besides, the defensive formation at Gloriana would ensure we’d be bogged down in a siege. And if Machado had attempted to lay siege conventionally, that might have been their response. But instead, he tried something clever and new- something that might earn him a promotion to Admiral. I can’t fault him for trying, of course- only failing. And even then, it wasn’t completely his fault. But I still think I can do better.
Machado’s strategy was to create a ‘corridor,’ through which his ships could attack an undefended side of the enemy’s capital ship, by covertly lining the moonlets and asteroids in a specific path with explosive charges, which would either destroy them outright, or propel them in a certain direction, creating an artificial passageway through the rings, which would have otherwise been impossible to traverse. His gamble was that he’d be able to destroy the ship and its defenders before the motion of the rings closed the corridor around him. Calculations by the Vice-Admiral’s Science Officer confirmed that it was possible, but would require extreme precision. Machado was willing to take that gamble.
It might have worked, if it weren’t for the Braachii reinforcements. Contra to what the strategos had thought at the time, they weren’t on their way, they had already arrived, weeks before- and instead of moving to shore up the defenses of the capital, or even of Gloriana, they’d tailed Machado’s ships, counting on the fact that they would be training their most sensitive scanners frontward, rather than behind themselves. And when Machado’s ships had entered the corridor, the reinforcements had decloaked and attacked from behind, trapping them within a choke point of their own creation.
At that point, Machado found himself with two bad options. Reverse course and try to flee the corridor before it closed, facing down the Braachii as he went- or continue with the original plan, hoping that losses incurred from the Braachii assault wouldn’t impede them from destroying the enemy’s capital ship in time. He chose the latter, perhaps still dreaming of glory, and it went disastrously. With a third of their forces destroyed by the Braachii, they were unable to get past the Soriana fleet’s defenses in time, and the corridor had closed around them, destroying the bulk of their ships with nothing gained in return. A humiliating defeat, and to many, an example of the Imperium’s hubris being punished.
Now it falls to myself and my classmates to prove that we can do better. Most of them, I suspect, will abandon the corridor scheme entirely, correctly reasoning that it’s madness to repeat history’s mistakes and expect a different outcome. I, however, will be doing just that. Like Machado’s original strategy, it’s a gamble, and if I fail, it’ll be an embarrassment. But if I win, well... that’s sure to turn some heads.
Humming the half-remembered tune of a song under my breath, I send my ships into the corridor, mirroring Machado’s formation almost exactly. Even though the simulation runs nearly five times faster than reality, the ships are still relatively slow, and moving through the impossibly vast expanse of space, so I’ve got some time before the reinforcements appear to pin us down.
Leaning back, I peer over the shoulders of some of my classmates, intrigued by what tactics they might be employing to solve this conundrum. Tellis, it seems, has dispersed his forces almost completely, sending individual ships to test the enemy’s defenses without ever attacking in such force that it would provoke a response from the reinforcements he knows are waiting to strike. Clever enough, but I do wonder whether it’s going to be enough to actually win the engagement, rather than simply locking him into a battle of attrition, which the enemy is better-positioned to win. Still, he’s no fool, and I suspect he has a deeper plan that isn’t yet obvious to me.
Before I get a chance to look around any further, my display freezes, as does every other. Concurrently, I receive a brainband connection request, the shape of which tells me it’s a public broadcast, rather than a private message. It’s difficult to describe the way one can sense the difference between the two, as it relies on an invisible, intangible feeling with no particular reference point within the scope of human experience. Still, I accept, as does the rest of the class- an announcement being made to such a broad audience must surely be something worth hearing.
Good morning, intones a familiar voice, albeit one I struggle to place for a moment. This is Dean Gennis.
That would explain it- I haven’t heard the Dean speak since the day I arrived.
I apologize for the interruption, but I bring to you important news. The first War Games of the year are ready to be announced. We’ll begin with the second-year pairings. Our first matchup will be... the Grizzly Unit versus the Locust Unit!
Gennis delivers the announcement the way one would if they were expecting an applause break, but naturally none comes, as it’s a one-way brainband announcement. Nor does anybody in the classroom stir, as it impacts none of us. However, there’s tension in the air, knowing our year’s pairings will be announced next.
That means, of course, that the second matchup is the Crane Unit versus the Orca Unit! The first match will be held this coming Sixthday, in the Callad Jungle, so be sure to pack some insect repellant! And the second match will be the following Seventhday, aboard the Hellion in orbit! Remember, she’s on loan to us from the Imperial Navy, so don’t bang her up too badly.
That fits with my understanding of how the War Games work. First-year Nobles have theirs in the Crucible, a controlled and preconstructed environment, whereas the second-years have their battles outside of the Citadel’s confines. In this case, the jungles of Akademos or on a naval cruiser parked in orbit above us. Those are certainly more complex environments, so I understand why they’re waiting for us to be more prepared before dropping us into them.
Now, of course, are the pairings for the first-year students. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Despite myself, I draw in a nervous breath. Anything but the Komodos. We’re just not ready for them yet.
Our first matchup... the Komodo Unit, versus... the Peregrine Unit!
Nobody cheers, but the release of tension in the room is palpable enough to mask my own sigh of relief. Except, that is, from the Peregrines themselves, who look more nervous than before. I see Anton shoot a glance towards Lucia, whose gaze is still fixed on her frozen screen, giving no indication she’s even hearing the same announcement as the rest of us. Then I turn to look at Tellis, whose eyes I can feel on me. He knows what this means.
Next, then, is the Ox Unit versus the Gazelle Unit! I’m sure we’re all excited to see those two ‘lock horns,’ as it were. The first match will be on Sixthday, at the Crucible, while the second will be in the same place, but on Eighthday, to give our Crucible staff some time to take down the previous arena and build up a new one. Please use the time until then to prepare accordingly, but be sure not to neglect your studies either!
With a jovial laugh, Gennis signs off, leaving us all slightly dumbfounded. Nobody had been expecting the announcement to come so suddenly- even, it seems, the Professor himself. Brennan is sitting behind his desk, looking rather annoyed at his class having been interrupted. He waits for the chatter to die down, then unceremoniously hits a button that unfreezes our simulations all at once.
I don’t have a moment to think about the implications of those matchups, much less start to formulate a strategy for dealing with the Oxen. What matters right now is seeing my strategy for this simulated battle through.
At my command, the explosive charges activate, opening the narrow corridor that leads directly to an opening in the enemy capital ship’s defenses. The simulation is incredibly high-fidelity, down to the exact position of each individual chunk of ice and rock in Gloriana’s rings. It also allows the player to take a wide variety of actions within the simulation, just about everything that would have been possible at the time, given the resources available. It wouldn’t be a particularly useful tool for testing Nobles if it was anything less- although there are of course commercial versions one can download to their personal devices for entertainment, if they so desire.
The Vice-Admiral didn’t bother to cloak his approach at the time, so neither do I. There wouldn’t be much point, as the purpose of the corridor would be immediately obvious to anyone with half a brain. They wouldn’t have to actually see the ships coming through it to infer their existence- which is precisely what I’m counting on. At the far end of the tunnel, the capital ship’s defenses scramble to reposition to block our approach, but doing so requires them to navigate through the rings themselves. That means they can either take it slow and ensure that they won’t have enough ships in place by the time mine arrive, or burn as fast as possible, and most likely lose a few ships to a stray chunk of rock ripping through the hull. Either way, their odds wouldn’t be great- if they didn’t have reinforcements ready to decloak at any moment.
Right on cue, that’s precisely what the Braachii do. In reality, they waited days before doing so, until Machado’s ships were right in the middle of the corridor, but with the simulation moving at accelerated speeds, I don’t have to wait long for them to show up.
Judging by a quick glance at some of the other screens around me, however, the Braachii reinforcements don’t seem to have made their appearance yet. I even think I know why. Everybody was intensely aware of the inevitable appearance of reinforcements, and made sure to detach a significant portion of their forces to the rear, in order to ensure they were well-defended for when that moment came. But they failed to consider that doing so would signal rather blatantly that they were aware of the Braachii’s presence. And though they may just be simulations of long-dead soldiers, they aren’t exactly stupid. They’re not following some pre-programmed script that will make them decloak at a certain, predetermined moment. If they think the enemy is aware of their presence, they’ll hang back and wait for a more opportune moment to strike... maybe in another battle altogether.
Using foreknowledge to your advantage might sound easy, but when you deviate from the course of events you know from the history books, that foreknowledge quickly becomes less useful. Which is precisely why I followed the Vice-Admiral’s own strategy to the letter... or at least appeared to. I wasn’t going to ignore the fact that I know how the events played out in real life, but in order for that knowledge to be useful, I had to trick the simulated enemy forces into behaving the same way they did in reality.
To that end, I had the rings seeded with explosive charges that could be triggered to create a corridor, just as Machado did. But instead of sending all my ships into that corridor, I sent a handful of shuttles and small fighter-craft, all piloted remotely- but with their transponders altered to make them look like they were my main battle cruisers. Since space is so large, nobody is looking out their window to see the enemy, they’re relying entirely on sensors to tell them what’s happening outside. Sensors which can be fooled. Not to mention the fact that having windows of any kind on a spacecraft is practically asking for death by hard vacuum.
I wouldn’t be as confident about a trick like this in reality, of course. Real people are clever and observant in a way that the enemy AI in these simulations simply aren’t, advanced as they may be. Someone would probably cotton on sooner or later- and even if they didn’t, word would spread and nobody would ever be fooled by it again. But here, I can take advantage of the AI’s blindspots, and make them think my whole fleet is moving through the corridor, rather than a handful of expendable ships without any live crew.
Meanwhile, the rest of the class is dealing with the fact that they planned their attack under the assumption that reinforcements would be striking from behind right about now, only to discover those reinforcements weren’t coming, meaning their frontal assault is underpowered, and by the time they bring those rear-guard ships around to help, the battle might already be lost. The cherry on top will, I’m sure, be when those reinforcements do arrive, but only after that rear guard has completely changed course and pointed their weapons forward.
Changing the ships’ transponders was only half of my plan, though. The second half has to wait until the Braachii reinforcements are fully inside of the corridor themselves, firing upon the unmanned shuttles. Sooner or later, they will realize what I’ve done, especially when the ordinance the shuttles are firing back doesn’t remotely match what the battle cruisers they look like should be firing. But when that happens, it’ll be too late. Bwa ha ha, and so on.
Despite knowing this is a simulation, and the fact that everything is proceeding according to plan for the time being, my heart thuds in my chest. It’s not even a bad feeling, just a minor distraction, but I do consider activating my Midnight implant for a moment, before dismissing the thought. Best not to become too reliant on the stuff, even if it’s got no addictive components in its chemical makeup. I could still become psychologically dependent on its benefits if I used it too often. And more importantly, I don’t need it. Not for this, at least.
Swiftly, the shuttles and attack-craft are being picked off, mainly owing to the fact that the enemy is hitting them with much more firepower than should be necessary, assuming they’re firing at much more powerful ships. But my plan wasn’t just to exhaust their ammunition stores. In fact, that’s about to become completely irrelevant.
Just as the Braachii ships are close enough to my own for their sensors to finally realize they’ve been duped, the asteroids and massive chunks of ice comprising the corridor slam shut, hours sooner than they should have. Originally, the debris Machado cleared out would have either been destroyed, reabsorbed into the ring elsewhere, or simply been launched off into the void, without any friction to slow them down. When the corridor closed, it would be an entirely different set of debris rushing in to fill the gap. But I didn’t just rig charges to push that rock and ice out of my way. I had my people attach wires between the rocks on either side of the corridor. Wires with incredibly high tensile strength, which would extend a great distance, and then, when fully taut- instead of simply snapping -would pull those rocks back together, closing the corridor much sooner than anybody’s predictions would have suggested.
The scant few of my decoy ships remaining are utterly destroyed, of course- but so is almost every one of the Braachii ships. Some try to flee the second they see what’s happening, but navigating rings like these is difficult at the best of times, and these are far from the best. A handful do make it out, albeit most of them damaged, and make no effort to circle back and help defend the capital ship- they just flee. Wisely, I’d say.
When the idea for this stratagem first came to me, I wasn’t certain if I’d be able to actually execute it within the confines of the simulation. To many complex, minute details that likely didn’t fit the programmer’s idea of ‘conventional strategy.’ But apparently the physics simulation is advanced enough to accommodate my most unorthodox ideas. Now there’s only one thing left to do. Finish off the capital ship.
Even though losing the decoy ships still leaves me with the bulk of my forces intact, I’d rather not get drawn into a siege if I can avoid it. At reduced capacity, our victory would be far from assured, and hunkering down to wait for reinforcements to arrive isn’t exactly the decisive victory I’m looking for. Fortunately, there’s no need to draw this out at all. After all, my main force hasn’t exactly been sitting idle all this time.
While all eyes were turned towards the corridor, my battle cruisers crept around to the other side of the capital ship under cloak, where the enemy would suddenly be vulnerable, the ships comprising their blockade having rushed to reposition near the opening created by the corridor. And before they can put together precisely what just happened and return to their posts, I decloak my ships and unleash a full bombardment.
At normal speed, they’d probably have hours to realize how many missiles were coming at them, and the fact that the capital ship’s defensive cannons wouldn’t be able to shoot all of them down before impact. But at the speed at which I’m viewing things, there’s barely thirty seconds between giving the order to fire and the capital ship shattering into a trillion shards of metal. No explosion, of course- this is all taking place in hard vacuum. But it’s still a satisfying sight.
It might seem harsh not to have offered them a chance to surrender, but even with guns trained on their exposed flank, it’s unlikely they would have. The only thing they’d really fear is truedeath, and you can’t exactly lace an entire missile with Mindkiller. That means they’d probably rather blow the capital ship up themselves than let it fall into our hands, since they’ll just be resurrected elsewhere eventually. So I saved myself the time of conducting a pointless negotiation, which they’d probably have used to stall for time while they got their defenses back in place anyway.
Moments later, when the warlord’s remaining forces disperse, realizing the battle is lost, my simulation freezes again, this time because the victory condition has been met. A soft chime sounds on the professor’s desk, and he looks at his screen, surprised to see somebody’s already finished. Then he sees the name on the screen, and chuckles.
A few students glance up at him, hearing that, then follow his gaze back to me, where I’m leaning back in my chair, paying no mind to the now-blank screen. With their own battles ongoing, and not going particularly well by the look of things, they quickly return to their screens- but not before I catch flashes of emotion from many of them. Frustration. Envy. Contempt. Once again, I’ve solved a puzzle that they had already concluded was impossible to solve.
It takes me a minute to realize why Professor Brennan might have found that so funny, though. Not just because it was me who finished first- but because, in doing so, I just painted a giant target on my back. Now just about everyone in this room, except for the people who are members of my own unit, are invested in seeing me take a fall. So if there’s any way they can help the Ox Unit make that happen at the end of the week, they’re going to take it.
At another time, I might have been worried by that. But just now, having just watched a plan of mine go off without a hitch, I couldn’t care less. Bring them all on.