“And once you have enough of our officers trained?”
“Then we'll form some all Maurids units. Of course, we will not interfere with you own insurgency operations, and appreciate anything you can do to help us out.”
“I am happy I could set your concerns to rest, Emperor Sean. Please contact me if there is anything else.”
Sean was about to open his mouth to ask another question when the being on the other end terminated the connection. The Emperor was about to request another connection, but thought better of it. The alien had been very cooperative, and was not a subject, so he was not under Sean's command. His people in the military might be, but the Maurid civilian government, what there was of it, was considered a sovereign nation in the alliance. He hoped that someday they would join his Empire, but that was for the future, and the complicated issue of what to do with the worlds of the Ca'cadasan Empire when the war was over. If it ever ended.
* * *
AUGUST 21ST, 1004.
“We have a situation developing in 15G5481, Supreme Lord.”
Mrastaran looked up from the report he was reading and flipped the situation holo onto the indicated system. The system, had a name of course, one given to it by the natives, if any, and one given by the Ca'cadasans. The problem with that was so many systems had the same names, so an alpha numerical designation worked better. Sector fifteen of the Empire, which the humans were currently working their way through. G class star number fifty-four eighty-one. Information came up under it. No native intelligent life, but a couple of hundred million transported aliens of several species. Along with twenty-three million Ca'cadasans both on the planet and in the space based industry. And an upgraded self defense force. Not enough to deter the humans, but definitely enough to bring a large force of them in.
The system had been set as a battlefield. This time it wouldn't be a pinprick, but a punch in the nose. Still not decisive, but much more painful. Mrastaran was well versed on the use of fists. That was the way male Ca'cadasans fought in single fights and brawls. Striking with all four fists, flailing really, with no thought of blocking or self defense. They did use some techniques when fighting with blades, but fists fights were basic violence. The Maurids fought in much the same way, though their teeth and claws made it more like a blade fight. The Emperor had been reading up on human unarmed combat techniques. They had so many of them, thousands of styles, and millions of practitioners in the more popular ones. They argued incessantly over which ones were the best, and could never come to a decision, though many of them fought with basic bashing techniques as well.
The humans would see his fleet, and have a choice of moving in to attack them, or bombarding them from a distance. Only the fleet would be in close proximity to the planet, making a long range bombardment a risk the morally motivated humans wouldn't take. And it they did, there was the planet and a couple of moderate sized moons to duck behind.
So they would forge in, sending enough of a scout force ahead to make sure there were no projection ships near the star. Mrastaran had ordered that tactic suspended, forever, but the humans would still be suspicious. So be it, they would find nothing, and eventually move their fleet in to engage his in a one sided battle.
The minefields appeared on the expanded plot. Four of them, arranged so they could take the humans under fire from the front flank. There would be nothing ahead of them for them to pick up with forward scouts. Each field had more than a hundred thousand mines, ready to launch at the humans when they were within thirty light seconds, using the velocity of the invaders to help them close quickly. The Emperor had no illusions that those launches would destroy the enemy fleet. Hurt them, yes, hopefully severely. He was willing to take what he could get, because that wasn't the primary target.
The wormhole had been released from its stealth craft and was maneuvering toward its engagement point, ten light minutes from the enemy logistics train and its escorts. Far enough that the humans would have a hard time picking it up. That would be the point of emergence for the outer strike force. After they were in space the wormhole would be turned, and a million missiles, per-accelerated in Ca'cadasan space, would come streaming through, heading for the fleet inside the system.
He was very satisfied with the plan, which was sure to cause the humans much dismay. It might only work once, or maybe multiple times. But a single success would be enough to slow them even more.
“The enemy is using a new deployment tactic,” reported the admiral in charge of that system, sitting outside in close proximity to the wormhole that was boosting by it on gas jets. “They are mixing the allied ships in with their own, instead of deploying them in their own formations.”
Mrastaran grunted. It was a very sensible precaution, and one which highlighted the ingenuity and versatility of the humans. In almost no time they had discerned his tactics and implemented counters. Which meant he now had to come with something else. He would, and they would react to it again, over an over. This was the way the humans traditionally fought each other, and went counter to the traditions of the Ca'cadasans. It was part of the culture he needed to change, until his individual commanders did the same thing. Determined what the enemy was doing, and come up with a counter on the spot.
I might as well wish for the crown of the Universe, thought the Emperor with a snort. He couldn't be everywhere, supervising everything. However, he had to do his best to make sure his people spent their lives for the greatest return, and hope for the best.
Chapter Fourteen
The best weapon against an enemy is another enemy. Friedrich Nietzsche
AUGUST 22ND, 1004.
“We've scouted close to the star, your Grace. Nothing at all. And the ships we've spotted seem to be all there are.”
Seem to be, thought Taelis Mgonda as he looked at the face of the vice admiral in charge of that battle force in the holo bubble, even while fuming over the form of address the other officer had used. Taelis was a duke, something he had done nothing to earn, having gotten it as an accident of birth. He had earned his Fleet rank, rising up through his own skills and a little luck. Nothing to do with fate. Seemed to be was also a catch phrase he was beginning to hate. Seem to be meant the assumed off of some observations. Before this bastard of an Emperor took over that might have been good enough. No more.
“Be careful, Admiral Garasra,” he told the other officer, looking at the beaked face that looked back. The admiral was a Gryphon, and as far as Mgonda knew, very good at his job. Still, it wouldn't hurt to remind the admiral that this enemy was no longer to be trusted to make the stupid move.
“I am the image of caution, your Grace. I have scouts fanning out all through the system. My logistics train is heavily guarded by a squadron of battleships, three of light cruisers and six of destroyers. And there is a bubble out to five light minutes consisting of two more destroyer squadrons. If anything gets too close they will know it, and the warp fighter squadrons will give them a warm welcome.”
It all sounded very good. The vice admiral had done everything by the book, which was as it should be. Too many officers tried to screw around with standard operating procedure when there was no need to. The time to improvise was when everything appeared to be headed into the shitter, and from he had seen of Garasra, the admiral was very capable of improvisation, but didn't do it for its own sake.
“We will crush the enemy fleet in the system, then make our landing,” said the Gryphon in a confident voice. “The transports are with the battle force, well protected in the center.”
That was another change they had made. Assault ships were warships, though not something that anyone with sense would put in the line of battle. They carried light amp and particle beam weapons that could be used for space defense as well as ground support. One might be able to take a cruiser in battle, if it was the light variety. The transports, whether commercial class of purpose built for the military, were another thing entirely. Basically, they were fast civilian vessels with some
added weapons, but no real armor. They might hold their own against a Caca scout, with a whole lot of luck. Against more than one, or anything heavier, and they were dead. The soldiers and marines they carried might be tough hombres on the ground, or in ship boarding actions. While sitting on the ships they were as helpless as babies, and just as vulnerable.
Even in their toughest armored suits, or within the heaviest of armored vehicles, they were dead if the ship went up. If they could eject before that event, their suits and vehicles would protect them from the cold and vacuum of space for a week or more, and with luck they would be picked up by other ships. Of course, if the Cacas won the fight, they might not want to picked up.
Leaving them with the logistics train until they were needed had seem the solution, until the Cacas launched attacks on those units. There was also the problem of moving them into the system with fewer escorts than they would have had with either the logistics train or the battle fleet. Better to let them move with the best defensive force in the system, the battle fleet.
“I'll leave you to it, admiral,” said Mgonda, nodding toward the officer. He terminated the connection, but kept the tactical plot up on another holo. No one wanted to think a superior was riding herd on them, especially not in a fleet that had a tradition of letting the commander on the spot make the tactical decisions. Wormholes had changed the dynamic, and every higher commander could micromanage every battle if desired. The Emperor forced himself to keep hands off in most cases. And encouraged his fleet commanders to do the same.
But they are still my ships, my people, thought the duke as he watched the icons slowly move across the plot. And things had changed so much in the last couple of months. Before then they had been able to spot everything the Cacas had in a system, since they all started moving as soon as the alliance ships entered normal space. Hell, probably way before that, since they could pick up the humans moving through hyper well before they entered normal space. And anything moving through hyper at an alliance occupied system was spotted hours before they were a threat. They were predictable, attacking like stupid animals for the most part. Not anymore. Now they were unpredictable, and had borrowed many of the tactics of the humans, finding ways to hide ships, to move them without giving them away, and striking when it was to their advantage.
Taelis was afraid that many of the people in the allied fleet, especially those who had been in it for the last couple of years, still didn't believe in the concept of intelligent Cacas. He still thought them a stupid species himself. Which didn't mean they were without outliers. And some brilliant outliers could lead the stupid to victory, as long as too many unpredictable events didn't rear their heads at the local level. But if his people still thought the enemy was only capable of bad decisions, they would grow complacent. He could teach and preach all he wanted, but human nature, and the nature of most aliens, was such that they learned best through mistakes. In war, those mistakes could lead to no further learning, since the dead could only learn how to rot.
So far, everything in the system that Admiral Garasra's force was entering, the one they called Yellow Five Thirty for lack of another name, was as quiet as could be expected. The ships within the system were maneuvering, giving themselves away at a distance, looking like they were frantic. What every commander wanted to see out of an enemy. And what the enemy knew the attackers wanted to see. That was the problem.
* * *
Vice Admiral Cawrast Garasra was sitting in his command chair on the flag bridge of his designated command battleship, Thunderer, his sharp eyes switching back and forth from the system tactical plot to the bank of holo viewers to either side. Everything was as expected, which worried him as much as it did the grand fleet commander. He had given every appropriate order for the situation. Every part of the force was moving as it should toward its objectives, or sitting in space with their protective escorts around them.
Every ship was at a high alert status, just below battle stations, allowing one third of the crew to take refreshments and rest. It would be over thirty hours before they reached the planet, and there was no reason to keep everyone at their stations the entire time. Tired crew made mistakes, which could lead to disasters as damaging as battle. The logistics train, along with his carrier force, was at middle alert status, half the crews at rest. The flight crews for the fighters, minus the couple of squadrons on actual combat patrol, were relaxing in their ready rooms, able to get to their fighters in seconds and launch in less than a minute.
Of course, the ground assault troops, a division of Marines and one of Imperial Army soldiers, were either at rest or at training. That was up to their own commanders. They had already trained relentlessly at their ground bases, and the admiral didn't think they needed further training. Since that wasn't his call, he decided not to worry about it.
The flag bridge was fully manned, of course, most of the first shift com officers and techs at their stations, ready to send out the fleet leader's commands, or inform him of his subordinates' thoughts. There were ten stations to the admiral's left, seating four humans and six Klassekians. The dozen stations to the right were occupied by sensor, tactical and analysis officers, all ready to give the admiral their information or their take on things. Not all of his first line people were on the bridge. He had enough spares to keep them semi-fresh.
Are you going to show something you haven't so far? he thought, still staring at the plot, his eyes roaming but coming back to the logistics/carrier force sitting outside the system. If he were the enemy commander that would provide a prime target. He had hoped he had done all he could to dissuade them. Hope was a fragile concept to base the safety of several tens of thousands of spacers and their valuable ships on, but it was all he had.
* * *
“Could we please turn the gravity down,” complained one of the guys on the other team, sweat running off his face as he bounced the ball on the hard court floor.
“It's only set at one point three,” said a smirking opponent.
Corporal Charles Han thought the gravity was a little tiring himself, but wasn't about to say anything that would bring kidding down on him. Han was from a light gravity planet, point seven-one to be exact, so this gravity was near twice what he had developed in. Of course, the basic and infantry courses had been on Forge, a heavy gravity planet at almost one point five. Those courses had been torture, but with the nutrition the Imperial Army had pumped into him he had put on considerable muscle. Still not enough to make him comfortable in the gravity, but more than enough to raise his comfort level on most Earth like planets.
It would be nice if I could dunk it, thought the corporal, wiping some sweat off his brow. But that was the reason the other team had challenged in high gravity. They played in this kind of field, and they could actually hit their shots. They were up fifty-four to twenty-five, and it didn't look like they were going to fall behind anytime soon.
The basketball court, one of six in the large recreation chamber, was official size, meaning they had to run back and forth in a race that tired people out. Two of the courts had been configured for volleyball, two more combined into a small soccer field. The track was up a level, overlooking the floor, while the weight and exercise machines were in transparent walled rooms to the side. It was quite the luxury arrangement, but the eight million ton assault ship had more than enough room for the thousand plus crew and the five thousand troops it carried. Han had seen better. The battleships and carriers had recreation decks even larger, or maybe more of them, depending on their internal arrangements.
“You people need to hit your racks,” called out the voice of their battalion commander. “We need to be ready and alert in fourteen hours.”
“But Colonel,” whined one of the men on the winning team. “We've got too much built up tension to sleep.”
“And you know that's bullshit, Sergeant Harrison,” growled Lt. Colonel Tarashnikov, scowling from the running track he was standing on. “Set your implant to sleep and you'll be
out like a light. Now get to it.”
Han was more than happy to get to it. He was in top shape, strong and lean. And his physical shape really didn't matter when he was riding more than a ton of battle suit into combat. That thing gave him the strength of ten men, along with the ability to run fast and jump high. The suits were the whole reason he had gotten into heavy infantry.
“I heard this landing is going to be different,” said Sergeant Harrison as they walked off the court and headed for the showers. “They're sending in the Rangers and some of those dog things to secure the LZ.”
The Corporal wasn't about to correct one of the squad leaders in his platoon, though he knew the Maurids really weren't dog things. Still, the news was good that they were sending recon down first, to make sure the Cacas didn't have a bad surprise planned for them. Too many good men and women had been getting killed lately soon after they disembarked from their landing shuttles. The Cacas, and the natives who still sided with them, were becoming adept at setting ambushes.
The scouts would insert much like the old airborne troopers of Old Earth had, then fan out and discover what was waiting down there. Staying in small units, they were more than likely to spot the enemy before any trap could be sprung. And if their luck ran out? Well, only a squad would be destroyed, and the support ships would have a target to destroy. That was a win win as far as Han was concerned.
* * *
“Take your break, Petty Officer Finn,” said the duty engineer of the port side reactor complex.
“I'd rather stay here, sir,” said Marcia Finn, shaking her head.
“Sorry, PO,” said the officer. “Second shift is coming on, and there just isn't room for unauthorized personnel.”
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 17: The Rebirth Page 15
