And the enemy will have plenty of time to prepare, he thought sourly. They’ll know what they’re facing.
“The first superdreadnaught is entering the Asimov Point,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
“Good,” Roman answered. He wanted to be on that ship; he wanted to lead his crews into the fire personally, just to make it clear that he would share the dangers. But he knew he couldn’t risk his own life any more than strictly necessary. “Ready the second battle squadron to advance as soon as the first is deployed.”
He closed his eyes for a long bitter moment. How many of his people were about to die?
* * *
“Sir,” Commander Hadfield snapped. “An enemy superdreadnaught — unknown class — has just transited the Asimov Point!”
“Release all remaining weapons,” Leon ordered. An unknown class of superdreadnaught meant Outsiders... unless Roman Garibaldi had been secretly building up his own fleet at Boston. It wasn’t completely impossible — Admiral Justinian had certainly built up his own fleet — but ONI wouldn’t miss the signs of a second secretive build-up. “Fire at will.”
The enemy starship belched missiles at the same moment, without waiting for its tactical systems to recover from the shock of transit. Leon stared in disbelief, unsure quite what he was seeing. There was no way for anyone to be precisely sure just where a ship would appear, when it popped out of an Asimov Point; it took time, sometimes as long as a minute, for a ship to orientate itself, locate its enemies and open fire... and, in that time, the enemy had already had a free shot at its hull. But the Outsiders had opened fire at once...
They must have set up a dedicated tactical net, relayed through the destroyers, he thought, as another swarm of missiles roared towards the fortresses. They took their targeting data from the destroyers, rather than the superdreadnaught.
“Missiles away, sir,” Commander Hadfield said. He cursed as another red icon popped into existence. “Sir, another superdreadnaught...”
“I have eyes,” Leon said, cutting him off. The first superdreadnaught’s point defense was good, but she was almost certainly doomed... even so, her weapons had already swept far too many of his remaining defenses out of space. “Retarget the second missile barrage on the newcomer.”
“Aye, sir,” Commander Hadfield said. “I...”
He broke off as a green icon vanished from the display. “Sir, Fortress Two is gone,” he reported. “They took her out.”
Leon winced. The fortresses were designed to soak up damage, even after their shields failed, but the enemy had simply overwhelmed Fortress Two with antimatter missiles. It was a standard tactic. And his remaining fortresses were on the verge of losing their shields too, while three more enemy superdreadnaughts had crawled out of the Asimov Point to add their fire to the assault. No matter what he did, he couldn’t hope to hold out for much longer.
Resistance has become futile, he thought, bitterly. He hated the thought of surrendering, particularly after he’d put up such a savage fight. Who knew just how badly the rebels — and the Outsiders — would react to his attempt to surrender? But what other choice do I have?
He shook his head, swallowing his pride. There was no choice. The enemy were just piling on the pressure, accepting their own losses to wear him down... and they seemed to have an unlimited supply of assault pods. No matter what he did, he knew all he could really do was scratch them before they tore his fortresses apart. And the remainder of his crews would die for nothing.
“Launch courier drones to the Ruthven Asimov Point,” he ordered, “then transmit a complete copy of our tactical records to both Ruthven and Alexis itself.”
“Aye, sir,” Commander Hadfield said.
“And then cease fire,” Leon added. He felt a sudden vindictive glee as the first superdreadnaught blew apart, bare seconds before he would have had to let her go. “Inform the enemy CO that we’d like to surrender.”
He felt the shock running through the compartment at his words. The Federation Navy rarely surrendered, certainly not to alien-lovers. But they all knew the truth. Resistance had definitely become futile.
“And prep the databases for destruction,” he ordered. “I don’t want them drawing a scrap of information from our files.”
He sat back and waited. He’d done all he could, all he could think of, but right now his part in the war was over.
Chapter Twelve
In theory, prisoners taken by the Federation Navy were supposed to be well-treated. In reality, their treatment tended to be determined by circumstance. Pirates, rebels, traitors and aliens knew better than to expect mercy from the Federation’s officers.
—The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199
Hammond/Alexis, 4101
“Admiral,” Lieutenant Thompson said from her console. “The remaining fortresses are requesting permission to surrender.”
Roman felt his eyes narrow. “Is this a trap?”
“They’ve deactivated everything but their shields and point defense,” Lieutenant Thompson assured him, calmly. “I don’t think they’re doing anything to hinder our advance.”
“Order the assault fleet to hold their fire, then inform the defenders that they are to shut down everything but emergency power,” Roman ordered. No matter what he did, it was unlikely he could completely pre-empt the prospect of treachery. “Have boarding parties assembled and launched to take possession of the fortresses. Once the control systems are secured, the prisoners are to be removed from the station and prepped for dispatch back to Boston.”
He scowled, inwardly. Emperor Marius had wanted to slaughter the Outsider prisoners, making it very clear to their comrades that they could expect no mercy. Roman knew he didn’t dare repeat that mistake, whatever else he did. He had to make it clear that surrendering to his ships wasn’t an automatic death sentence. And yet, he also had to guard against the prospect of a lone holdout condemning his comrades to death.
“Have the battlecruisers power past the fortresses and into the system,” he added. “One squadron is to approach Alexis and inspect the defenses, the other two are to be dispatched to the Asimov Points. The defenders of Asimov Point Three are to be invited to surrender; the defenders of the Ruthven Point are to be monitored from a safe distance.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “And the planet itself?”
Roman shrugged. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said. Alexis was a stage-three colony; her industries were nowhere near ready to turn out starships, but she could certainly provide food and small components for the fleet. “As long as she doesn’t have independent starships of her own, she’s a very minor problem.”
He looked back at the display as the next battle squadron slowly made its way through the Asimov Point. His squadron would be going through next, hopefully in time to see the fortresses before they surrendered. The risk was minimal, but it gnawed at him to be watching from safety as young men and women fought on his behalf. He had no idea how Emperor Marius had handled it, back when he’d sent Roman and his fellows into the storm.
“I have a preliminary damage report,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “One superdreadnaught — Death to Tyrants — was destroyed outright, although a number of her crew managed to get to the lifepods before it was too late. Another superdreadnaught, the Freedom’s Call, will require at least a month in the yards before she’s fit for duty again. Two more superdreadnaughts took mild damage and will need basic repairs.”
Roman nodded. “And the smaller ships?”
“Twelve destroyers and four frigates were lost with all hands, along with fourteen starfighter pilots,” Lieutenant Thompson reported. “Nine more small ships took varying levels of damage, sir; preliminary reports suggest two would be cheaper to scrap rather than try to repair. Their crews are currently being prepped for transfer back to the personnel pool.”
“See if they can find slots with the fleet first,” Roman ordered. They didn’t have time to send the crewmen to Bo
ston, then have them brought all the way back to the fleet. “And have the fortress personnel checked for potential allies. We may pick up some new crewmen.”
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.
* * *
Uzi couldn’t help feeling a flicker of déjà vu as the shuttle disconnected from the makeshift troopship and raced across the void of space towards the fortress. It was hardly his first assault on a Federation Navy fortress, although it was definitely the oddest assault. His worst nightmare might not have entirely come true, but it was pretty damn bad. There was almost no hope of getting a message out without risking his position...
“Prep your weapons,” he ordered, coolly. “And remember, you are not to fire unless fired upon.”
It was hard, so hard, to keep his amusement off his face. He’d been promoted in the wake of kidnapping Chang Li, an irony that made him want to forget himself and giggle insanely. They’d put him in charge of an assault squad instead of asking a number of very pointed questions! But then, he had managed to cover his tracks reasonably well. It would take a very paranoid engineer to go over the shuttle with a fine-toothed comb, then stake his reputation on the suggestion that it had failed due to sabotage, rather than a freak incident.
He looked at the armored men in the shuttle and felt an odd blend of kinship and contempt. They were Outsiders, sworn enemies of the Federation, yet they were also soldiers, preparing themselves for combat as soldiers had done since the very first days of organized warfare. He could practically read their minds and understand what was going through their heads; they were nervous, fearful of screwing up, terrified that one of their mistakes would lead to the deaths of a friend or a comrade. And to think, they had it lucky! The Federation’s officers had a habit of second-guessing their soldiers on the ground after the fighting was finally over.
“Remember, these people are to be treated with respect, provided they behave themselves,” he added. He’d given some thought to triggering an atrocity, but he hadn’t been able to think of a way of evading the blame. Besides, word would probably not be allowed to get out of the system. “Any one of you who abuses a prisoner will answer to me and my fists long before you face anyone higher up the food chain.”
He turned his attention back to the pilot as the shuttle closed in on the massive fortress, its armored hull pitted and scarred where the shields had failed, allowing the weapons fire to burn into the metal. The fortress could have survived worse, he was sure, but their position had been hopeless the moment the first superdreadnaught had joined the assault wave. He didn’t really blame them for surrendering, even though they could have taken a bite out of the assault force before they were blown to atoms. It would probably not have inflicted enough damage to make up for getting so many crewmen killed.
“Approaching the forward hatch,” the pilot said. “Docking in twenty seconds.”
Uzi checked his suit, making sure his HUD was showing the right fortress diagram. The Federation standardized everything; it was unlikely, very unlikely, that there were any major differences between the standard fortress and the one facing him. He made a mental note to check which sections had depressurized, if any, as soon as they boarded, then caught hold of the seat as the shuttle latched onto the airlock. As soon as the shuttle stabilized, he was on his feet and heading for the hatch. His men followed him, weapons in hand.
“Atmosphere match,” the pilot said, as the shuttle hatch hissed open. “No atmospheric contaminants.”
“Glad to hear it,” Uzi muttered. The fortress crew would have to be out of their minds to poison their own air — his men wore suits, making the whole exercise worse than pointless — but the prospect of fanatical resistance couldn’t be completely ignored. “Open the inner hatch.”
The hatch hissed open. Uzi stepped forward, feeling the gravity field shifting slightly as he stepped from the shuttle’s to the fortress’s, then smiled as he saw an older man wearing a commodore’s uniform waiting for him. The commodore had removed his belt completely, he noted, just to make it clear that he wasn’t carrying a sidearm. It would have been more impressive if Uzi hadn’t known a hundred different ways to carry a weapon without making it obvious.
“Welcome,” the man said, coldly. Uzi had no trouble hearing the bitter anger in the commodore’s voice. “I am Commodore Brinkman.”
“Thank you,” Uzi said. “I trust you have prepared your fortress for surrender?”
“I have ordered my crews to disarm and wait in the designated spaces, save for a number of injured and the medics, who are in sickbay,” Brinkman said. “The fortress is currently operating on emergency power and basic subroutines.”
Because you purged the databases before surrendering, Uzi thought.
He smiled to himself. It would annoy the Outsiders, but he found it hard to care. The Federation Navy would have put Brinkman in front of a court-martial if he’d allowed the fortress’s computer databases to fall into enemy hands. If nothing else, it would make it harder for them to put the fortress back into action in less than a month.
“Understood,” he said. “Once the fortress is secured, junior officers and crewmen will be transferred to Boston, where they will sit out the war. Senior officers will be held with the fleet and, if necessary, turned into couriers to carry messages back to Earth.”
Brinkman nodded, shortly.
“I am obliged to warn you that any resistance, any attempt to impede my men in the performance of their duties, will result in the application of lethal force,” Uzi added. “Please ensure that your personnel are kept under control.”
The commodore, thankfully, offered no resistance as the assault force searched the fortress from top to bottom. They’d taken quite a beating, he noted; ninety-seven crewmen had been badly injured in the fighting and a further seventy-four were either dead or lost somewhere in the ruined sections of the fortress. Once the station was secure, the prisoners were hurriedly loaded onboard a transport and sent back to Hammond, while the engineers searched the station for anything useful before shutting it down completely.
“They’ve wiped the missile warhead programming,” one of the engineers reported. “Firing the missiles will be impossible without some reprogramming.”
“Just be glad they didn’t turn off the containment chambers,” Uzi said dryly, as his squad explored the lower levels of the crew quarters. One distinct advantage of serving on a fortress was having larger cabins, even for the junior officers, although a civilian would probably have regarded them as impossibly cramped. “That would have really ruined our day.”
He smiled inwardly at the thought. Draining the antimatter into a new warhead would be tricky, but far from impossible. Or, if the engineers felt lucky, they could try reprogramming the old warheads from scratch. Hopefully, if they tried, he would be well away from the fortress.
“Picking up something interesting, sir,” one of his troopers offered. “It reads out as a low-level transmitter.”
“Odd,” Uzi said, checking the readings. It certainly looked like a transmitter, although whoever had set it up had been a little careless. The signal scatter was more than enough to lead them right to it. “Let’s go see what it is.”
He tensed as they passed through a pair of airlocks, into a small cabin on the outer hull. It was large enough to suggest it belonged to a senior officer, although Brinkman and his senior staff had all been housed near the command core. Indeed, whoever had lived in the cabin would have been thoroughly screwed if a missile had struck the hull near the transparent portal. If the blast didn’t get them, the radiation certainly would.
“This is odd,” the trooper said. “Sir, what is this?”
“Maybe it’s for senior officers they disliked,” Uzi speculated. He’d never actually served on a fortress, merely boarded them. “Or it could have been a privacy cabin. Making love can be quite romantic with the stars orbiting over your head.”
He stopped as he saw the transmitter, pulsing a laser signal through the t
ransparent canopy and out into space. There would be a stealthed recon platform nearby, he was sure, relaying the signal to the forces protecting the Ruthven Asimov Point. It was too makeshift a device to have been set up in advance, he was sure. Brinkman certainly wouldn’t have known anything about it. Hell, if whoever had set it up had made even a tiny mistake with his calculations, the entire effort would be worse than useless.
A federal undercover agent, he thought, as he looked up. The Grand Senate had been fond of covert agents, monitoring their officers and men, and Emperor Marius had learned his lessons well. Someone like me.
“Go fetch the engineers,” he said, a plan forming in his head. “I’ll stay and guard the device.”
As soon as the hatch had closed behind the trooper, Uzi opened his internal datanodes and searched for a processor. Deep-cover agents weren’t full cyborgs — it tended to raise eyebrows when implants showed up on medical exams — but they might well have a basic neural link... he smiled to himself as one popped up, linked into the transmitter. Given how little time they’d had, whoever had set up the transmitter had done an excellent job. He uploaded a compressed and encrypted message into the transmitter, watched it flicker off into the ether, then primed the self-destruct system as he stepped backwards. The engineer was in for a nasty surprise when he tried to take the transmitter apart.
The hatch opened, revealing two engineers and his trooper. Uzi watched, dispassionately, as the engineer immediately tried to shut the transmitter down, only to have it disintegrate into dust. There would be no evidence of his transmission, let alone whatever his unknown counterpart had sent... the recon platform, unless he missed his guess, would have either altered position or self-destructed itself once the signal stopped. Assuming, of course, that there was a recon platform.
The Barbarian Bride (The Decline and Fall of the Galactic Empire Book 3) Page 12
