But Rear Admiral Maitland wasn’t going to try to accomplish anything that preposterous. He intended to allow the range to drop to thirteen million kilometers, then start pumping missiles out of the pods on tow behind all of his capital ships and cruisers. Given his range advantage, he’d elected to tow maximum loads, which reduced his acceleration to a crawl but would allow him to throw at least a half-dozen heavy salvos from outside any range at which the enemy could reply. Accuracy wouldn’t be anything to write home about, but at least some of them would get through. And if he timed things properly, they would come in in conjunction with his LACs. The combined attack would put a considerable strain on the Peeps’ defensive systems, which should increase the effectiveness of LACs and missiles alike.

And if it all hits the crapper anyway, Stevens thought, we’ll be far enough away that at least we can break off and run for it. Which the LAC jockeys can’t—not from three-quarters of the way down the kodiak max’s throat! So we can at least bleed them and run if we—

“Missile launch! Multiple missile launches!”

Stevens’ head snapped around at the sound of PO Landow’s voice. The veteran noncom was a key member of Stevens’ own tac team, yet for a moment the lieutenant was convinced Landow must have lost her mind.

But only for a moment. Only until he looked back at his own plot and realized that Sir Ronald’s battle plan had just come apart.

· · • · ·

“God, I almost feel sorry for them,” Janina Auderska said so quietly no one but her admiral could possibly hear.

“Don’t,” Kirkegard said, his eyes glued to the display showing the storm front of his missiles as they scorched towards the Manticoran system picket. The chief of staff glanced at him, surprised by the almost savage edge of harshness in the admiral’s usually pleasant voice, and Kirkegard glanced sideways at her.

“This is exactly what they did to us in their damned ‘Operation Buttercup,’ ” he reminded her coldly. “Exactly. I read an interview with their Admiral White Haven. NavInt clipped it from one of their newsfaxes. He said he felt almost guilty—that it was too much ‘like pushing baby chicks into a pond.’ ” Kirkegard gave a harsh crow caw of a chuckle. “He was right, too. Well, now it’s our turn. Let’s see how they like it.”

· · • · ·

Sir Ronald Maitland watched the hurricane of missiles thundering towards him.

“How good are our targeting setups?” he asked his staff ops officer flatly.

“Uh, they’re—” The ops officer shook himself physically. “I mean, they’re about as good as we could hope for at this range, Sir,” he said more crisply.

“Well, in that case I suppose we’d better use them before we lose them,” Maitland replied. “Reprioritize the firing sequence. Flush them all—now.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

· · • · ·

“Here they come,” Auderska murmured.