by Jay Allan
He looked back at the main display, at his fleet…and the enemy’s. The forces were close, very close. But there was still room. A little.
“Fleet order…all ships are to close. I want them right on top of the enemy…and I mean right on top!” He practically growled out the command. He could feel the situation taking charge, controlling him. He knew he would die if he lost, that he would probably die even if his side won, but whatever fate awaited him, he had to find a way to defeat the enemy fleet. He wasn’t sure closing, reducing the already small range even more, would benefit his forces more than the enemy’s…but he realized time wasn’t on his side. The longer the battle lasted, the more chance he had of losing, of another force trying to break away, to head to Earth-2. He had delayed things, fought the battle with at least some caution…but now he realized there was no time for that. He had to win…or lose…and he had to do it now.
“Yes, sir.” He heard the response from his tactical officer, and he was impressed by the relative calm. It wasn’t true, of course, not by normal standards…his officer was as nervous as he was, but he didn’t hear the shaky voice he had expected. “All ships…close.” The officer waited, perhaps a few seconds, and then he added. “To point blank range…even beyond.”
Clark nodded his head, and he smiled. He couldn’t explain it, not at all. His lifespan was likely measured in mere minutes now, as were those of most of his people…maybe all of them. He had performed well, he could acknowledge that, but he still understood that the odds were severely against his people, that even if they somehow won the fight, even if a significant number of people on the planet survived…they had lost their ability to rebuild, at least in any reasonable time frame.
Still, Clark felt the smile grow. He was losing control in a manner of speaking, but still, he was focused, on target. The closer his ships got, the better his shots would be, and the enemy’s as well. The battle had already been at close range, but now it was going to finish at the tightest he had ever heard of.
He stared at the display, watched as the small circles representing his ships began to close…to really close. His guns were firing rapidly, and at a rate that exceeded safety levels. He had lost ships to that already, and he was sure he would lose more…but whatever the cost, he was going to destroy the enemy fleet, take out every ship they had.
Or he was going to lose his own fleet, every last ship of it. That was a grim thought, either way it turned out, but it was nothing more than the truth.
It was time…time to finish things, one way or another.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Inside the Regent’s Fortification
Alpha-Omega 12 III
Earth Two Date 04.12.63
Max Harmon was just behind the fighting, desperately trying to raise either of his other two commands on the comm. He’d gotten nothing but static, though of course that didn’t mean for sure that neither of the recipients got enough of his communique to react.
“Look…I’m not receiving any replies, nothing at all. I don’t know if either of you are getting any of this, but if you are, I need you to come to my location at once. I am setting the communicator to send out a pulse. Hopefully, if you’ve gotten my message, it will help lead you here. Come, at once. I believe we have found a path to the Regent, but…” He paused, just for a second, and then he said, “I don’t think we can get through, not without you. Please…if you read any of this, come. Come as quickly as possible.”
He stopped, and he flicked a switch, turning on the homing beacon. It wasn’t necessary, not really. The other forces knew where he had gone, and they could find him anyway…but if the signal saved any time, even a few minutes, it could be the difference between success and failure.
He was determined to fight to the end, to push forward with all the power he had, but he was becoming more and more convinced that he just didn’t have the manpower to push through, at least not his one-third. He didn’t know if either of the other parties would come, or if they would add enough to his strength to make the difference…but he believed they would. He believed it because he had to.
He looked up, forward to the position where his troops were deployed, still only four able to fire. He’d lost three so far, one dead and the other two wounded, but he still had more than enough forces to move up, to fill the empty spaces. He wasn’t sure how many of the enemy bots had been destroyed or damaged, but he figured it was several. Whether that was based on cold logic, or simply on his need to believe it, he didn’t know.
He thought about the situation, wondered if one or both of the other commands got his message and would return or not. He had no way to truly evaluate the enemy’s status, no method to determine whether he was facing four bots…or four thousand. One thing was certain though. His position was as strong as the enemy’s, and that meant the battle was likely to go on for a long time.
Unless the enemy had sufficient forces to attack, to pour down the hallway, into his fire. They hadn’t as of yet, and he hoped that meant they didn’t have the numbers he feared they might. But he didn’t really know, not beyond a wild guess.
He looked up again, just as another of his gunners wretched and fell forward. He hoped, for a moment, it was just a wound, perhaps a slight one. But the man lay unmoving, and a moment later, when two of his people pulled him back, the trail of blood he left behind was telling. He knew before they called it out. He had two dead now.
He felt the urge to step forward, to take the vacant place in the line, but one of his troopers got there first. Max wanted to fight, he wanted to be at the front of the effort…but he knew that was foolish. Whether his troopers liked him or not, the loss of their leader, of the entire nation’s leader, would impact their morale. He realized that, and as committed as he was, he had to try to stay alive…at least until the final battle.
Assuming his people could survive and could reach the Regent. He knew that was a big job, perhaps—probably even—too big for his small force, but he had to believe.
He just had to.
* * *
“Another hit!”
The sound of the voice was clearly upbeat. Leigh felt the same thing, the feeling that she could actually win the battle growing on her…despite the fact that she was fully aware of the strength the enemy still possessed. She had done better than her wildest hopes, destroyed two ships and seriously damaged a third. But part of her realized that, even if she destroyed the third vessel, the remaining one was a battlecruiser, the toughest ship in the system, and at least a match for the other three. If she managed to take out the third ship, she would be only halfway there, and the enemy’s fire was getting closer. Even with her stealth unit working, she knew the enemy would eventually target her vessel. If she wasn’t firing, she might stay hidden, but she realized every shot was a gamble, further evidence of her location.
And a battlecruiser could take a lot of hits, at least from the weapons she had.
“The enemy ship appears to have stopped firing!”
She had just noticed the same thing. The third vessel was still moving, retaining approximately 50% of its engine power…but it wasn’t shooting.
She knew that wasn’t definitive, that perhaps it was a minor problem, something that could be fixed quickly…if she gave it time.
“All guns are to focus on that ship…we need to take it out. Now!” She knew the order was pointless, that it just reiterated the command already in force. But it was all she could do.
She stared at the display, watching her shots…and those from the enemy. The incoming fire, from the sole remaining vessel still shooting at her, were coming closer. She realized that the longer the fight continued, the better the enemy’s targeting would get. Her vessel was still more or less undetectable, but her shots weren’t…and every one of them gave her exact position at the time it fired. And the enemy was getting better at estimating her moves, at guessing where to fire.
She watched, silently for another minute, perhaps two. Her mind rac
ed, trying to think of something, of anything she could do. But there was nothing. In truth, she realized how much lay on the gunners, on three men and one woman. She knew her navigator was vital as well, that his zigzag movement was all that kept her ship alive. She, however, had little to do…except to watch, at least for now.
If her vessel managed to win the fight, if it held out, and somehow destroyed or disabled the fourth enemy ship, then it would be back to her, to her commands on what to do. But she had done all she could to win the fight going on then, all except sit back.
And watch.
* * *
The Regent watched the fight, simultaneously looking at the input from several hundred cameras positioned on the planet, and in the two remaining ships. It was also tied into its bots, and it got a steady feed of information from the command units. The fight on the ground was going fairly well, at least against the third of the enemy that was now engaged. But its all encompassing view of its lair told it that one of the other commands had changed direction, and was heading backwards, possibly—probably—toward the battle now going on. Worse, a moment later, the third group of enemies also turned around. He couldn’t be certain either was heading toward the engaged group, not yet, but he couldn’t come up with another possibility, not one with any real percentage chance.
He evaluated the position, the strength of his units, and the estimated number of enemies he faced. He was sure, better than 98%, that the first group of humans would be defeated, that they wouldn’t get past his forces. But if one of the other groups got there before the battle was over, the chance dropped, to around 60%. Worse, if both of the enemy forces reached the position in time, the odds were actually against him, his own chances, around 44%.
He cursed himself, at least the closest to that he could come, reevaluating his emphasis on attacking the enemy. If he had it to do over again, he would have put more effort into defending himself. He had banked—too much it seemed—on his finding the enemy before they found him. He understood that thought. From the number of ships he had out there looking, compared to the enemy, to the relative ease his vessels had in scanning, and the difficulty the enemy must have endured, he had assumed at least a 99% chance that he would find the enemy before they found him.
Which, of course, he did. But only by a matter of days.
Still, there was nothing to be gained from thinking about it, from deciding what he should have done differently. After the assault was defeated, yes…he would alter his plans. Any surviving enemies would know his location, so first he would build a large force to remain, to defend him. Only after that, would he construct ships to hunt down the enemy, to destroy any survivors on Earth-2 and the humans’ other worlds. But for now, it had what it had…and no matter how it calculated the odds, it determined that it was at risk. Not likely to be destroyed, perhaps, but still in some danger.
It had already locked all the portals leading to it, shut down every access way…just in case the humans survived the battle. Won the battle. If that came to pass, it would be almost out of robots, just a few remaining. But it was very likely that even if victorious, the human forces would be badly damaged, that not many of their number would remain. A standoff of sorts was possible, one with a few human survivors, but too few to access its inner haven. It did have some defenses, besides the bots, and it figured it could hold off a small number of attackers.
It had considered sending a message to the fleet, even as it was attacking Earth-2. It had held back, caught between the reality of the time it would take for a response, and whether it was necessary. But the combination of the situation on the ground, and the loss of three of its four vessels in space, made the decision for it. It would take several weeks for the message to reach the fleet, and for ships to respond, and that could very well be too late. But the Regent calculated several situations where it could be useful, where there could be humans left but unable to penetrate its inner lair, for example.
It put together the message. The battle would be over by the time the fleet received it, at least it likely would. If it was, the fleet commander was ordered to send home half his survivors…but even if the message got there before the battle was finished, he was to send ten ships. That would be enough. Enough to finish off any humans in the system.
Enough to save itself.
Unless it was destroyed before they got there.
* * *
Cal Henderson stared at his radio man, hoping for a different answer than he’d gotten the past ten times he’d asked. But the silent response was the same, a grim face and a shaking of his head. No contact with Max Harmon or anyone in his command. Nothing at all.
His team had gotten the message from Harmon, at least enough of it to piece together what it meant…but that was all. He didn’t even know if Harmon’s feed had picked up any of his responses, if the commander even knew his own message had gotten through, that Henderson and his troops were on the way.
Which was just one more reason to move as quickly as possible.
The journey had been fairly simple so far. His troops had met a few enemy bots, but not many. The force Harmon had apparently met wasn’t a guarantee he was on the right track, but Henderson believed it nevertheless, especially when he compared it to the scattered resistance he’d run into.
Henderson had felt that way from the moment he’d received the comm, but his brief exchange with the third group only increased the strength of his position. They hadn’t encountered more that a bot or two either, and now they were heading back as well. In twenty minutes—assuming everything went well—all the forces would be in the same location, all fighting together, save only the few crew members left in each ship. Then they would push forward, drive hard, hopefully to the enemy…the real enemy. The Regent.
Assuming Harmon and the others hold out that long…
He pushed back against the dark tide, focusing on positive thoughts…or at least trying. But he found it difficult. On one hand, he was impressed with how far they had gotten, but on the other, he had to admit he had no idea what lay ahead. For all he knew, the Regent had only deployed one percent of its drones, and it was toying with all of them.
But he didn’t think so. The Regent seemed to be caught at least somewhat by surprise. The lack of significant spaceships almost confirmed that. He had come, volunteered for the mission, because he believed destroying the Regent was the only way for his people to survive, and even a one percent chance of that had to be pursued. Any chance at all had to be taken, however tiny.
Now, he speculated, even as he rushed his command, pushed his people forward, that there was, at least, some chance, perhaps not great…but definitely better than one percent. They had caught the Regent by surprise, and the timing of the thing, matched to the enemy assault on Earth-2, had proven to be very useful.
Assuming, at least, Earth-2 manages to survive. Somehow.
He looked around, his eyes moving over his retinue of troops.
And assuming we get there in time…
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Bunker Under Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)
Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two
Earth Two Date 04.12.63
“I don’t care how crowded it is. Get those people in there…now!” Achilles was sweating, something he rarely did when it wasn’t really hot. He was calm, usually, ready to do whatever he had to do to prevail. But now, even he was being pushed to his limits. He realized even his position, the deepest and most protected on the planet, was exposed. He knew he could die at any moment, that any of his people could, and worst of all, there was nothing he could do to prevent it. His weapons were all gone, all he could do was wait and see if the fleet prevailed—in time—or if he, and all the Mules, Tanks, and regular people, all of them, died.
All he could do was to manage the people, the shelters where they all clustered, hoping for the best. The bombs continued to fall, and now three of the six underground facilities were affected. T
wo of them had been hit fairly lightly, giving enough time to move most of the occupants to the adjacent shelters. But number six had been hit more directly. He was trying his best to figure out how many people had survived, and to get them out of the badly damaged shelter. But he was getting resistance from the other shelter managers. He knew some of that was anti-Mule sentiment, but he realized that most of it was coming from the intention to survive. He knew his people were strong and brave, but he also realized there was a limit, a point at which the various sections would focus on their own survival, above that of the whole. And he was close to it.
“I said, let everyone in…confirm!” His voice was edgy, his anger visible, something that was very rare. He didn’t really have any direct control over the shelters, and their commanders. He was reduced to waiting and seeing whether they obeyed him or not…and he was afraid they wouldn’t, that they would seal up and defend their own shelters…ignoring the others.
He listened carefully, and he heard no response, not for a number of seconds. He felt rage and panic and everything else, and he was about to request it for a third time, when the comm unit opened up. “We’re letting them in…but it’s crowded down here…too crowded.”
Achilles knew the statement was nothing but true. The underground facilities were barely large enough to accommodate the population, and now they were down to half their usual numbers. Worse, perhaps, it wasn’t something he had to endure. The Mule’s facility was separate from the others, and it had much more space per individual. He had told himself that was pure chance, but he knew it wasn’t. He simply didn’t value normal humans comparably to Mules, and most of his people were worse than he was. He thought, for a few seconds, about how the civilization could possibly survive, even if the enemy was defeated, how they could all live together. He didn’t often acknowledge the feats of others, especially non-Mules, but he realized just how well Harmon had truly done. He wasn’t popular, but he had managed to maintain his position, stroking the Mules along with the others.
