“Then where do you think they will stop, Admiral?” Commander Inch asked quietly.

“Right around seven million klicks from the launchers,” Honor said positively. One or two other sets of eyes went blank for a moment as people worked the math, and then several heads nodded slowly.

Manticoran missiles and seekers had improved steadily since the war began, and the Peeps’ front-line weapons had followed suit, although their improvements had been less dramatic. But Cerberus was a rear-area system whose primary defense had been that no one had the least idea how to find it. Its missiles were the same ones it had been given before the war began, with standard prewar drive options and a maximum acceleration of eighty-five thousand gravities. But by dialing the birds’ acceleration down to half that, endurance could be tripled from sixty seconds to a hundred and eighty… and range from rest at burnout upped from one million five hundred thousand kilometers to approximately six million seven hundred and fifty thousand. The lower acceleration made them easier to intercept in the early stages of flight, but velocity at burnout was actually fifty percent greater. Just as importantly, it also allowed them to execute terminal attack maneuvers at much greater ranges, and Charon Control had enough launchers to fire salvos sufficiently massive to swamp anyone’s point defense.

But ships which stopped outside that range from Charon would be the next best thing to immune to missile attack. Oh, the defenders might get lucky and pop a laser head or two through their defensive fire. But once the missiles’ drives went down, they would be dead meat for the attackers’ laser clusters, and the orbital launchers, which lacked the powerful grav drivers built into a warship’s missile tubes, could impart a maximum final velocity of only a little over seventy-six thousand KPS. That was much too slow to give modern point defense fire control any real problems against a target which would no longer be protected by its own wedge or able to execute evasive maneuvers as it closed. Even worse, the attackers (unlike the orbital launchers) were mobile. They could dodge, roll ship to interpose their wedges, and otherwise make it almost impossible for birds which could no longer maneuver to register on them.

“You really think they’ll come in that close, Ma’am?” someone asked.

“Yes,” she said simply. “Either that, or they wouldn’t have come in at all. If they wanted to be really safe from our fire, they would have made translation further out, accelerated to maximum velocity, and launched from several light-minutes out. Their birds would come in at point-nine-cee or more, much too fast for our fire control, and we’d never be able to intercept them effectively.”

“Why didn’t they do that, then, Ma’am?” the same officer asked.

“Either because they’re still not positive Camp Charon is now hostile, or because they’re worried about accidentally hitting the planet,” she replied. “The inner-shell launchers are dangerously close to Hell for that kind of work. Even a slight malfunction in a proximity fuse or a targeting solution, and they could ram a bird right into it. I don’t think they’d worry unduly about killing fifty or sixty thousand prisoners, but they’ve got people of their own down there. Whoever’s in charge of this task group doesn’t want to kill her own personnel by mistake, and she probably knows all there is to know about the defenses. That means she knows we’re weak on point defense and counter-missiles, so she’ll come right to the edge of our envelope, stop, and send her missiles in at lower velocities. We’ll stop a lot of them—initially, at least—but she doesn’t need to score direct hits on us, and we do need to score them against her ships.”