The Barbarian Bride (The Decline and Fall of the Galactic Empire Book 3)

by Christopher Nuttall

  If I were in command, I’d stay hidden and wait for a chance to hit the enemy supply lines, he thought. There were at least forty starships unaccounted for, but only four of them were battlecruisers — and none of them were any match for a single battle squadron. That would give me a chance to make an impact out of all proportion to my size. But would I be allowed to do that?

  The thought nagged at his mind as Valiant slowly advanced forward and transited through the Asimov Point. He braced himself, half-expecting to be greeted by a swarm of missiles, then checked the display. The minefield had been destroyed, leaving nothing but chunks of dust and debris. A handful of enemy starfighters were trying to surrender, their pilots ejecting into space to make it impossible for them to launch a sneak attack. But there was still no sign of the enemy starships.

  And they could have simply retreated back to Marble, he thought. If the Emperor left them in place...

  “Send a signal to the planet,” he ordered. The enemy fleet would show itself eventually, he was sure, either by hitting his rear or linking up with a more powerful force. “Invite them to surrender.”

  “Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.

  Roman took a moment to assess his fleet’s position. Ammunition expenditure had been lower than expected, save for the assault pods. Thankfully, the fortresses had absorbed much of the enemy’s firepower before he had to send his ships into the maelstrom. The only downside was that he would have to detail starships to guard the Asimov Point or run the risk of the enemy using it to mount a counterattack.

  And that is the problem of victory, he reproved himself, sharply. As bad as it had been, he knew very well that it could have been a great deal worse. How bad would it be if I were trying to cope with a defeat?

  “Order the damaged ships to return to Alexis,” he said. They’d done well, but the battle wasn’t over yet. There would be time to mourn the dead on both sides later. “The remainder of the fleet is to form up on the flag and prepare to advance.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The belief that planets were important, in some ways, was a millstone around the necks of naval planners. Very few planets were important unless they had formidable defenses or industrial bases.

  —The Federation Navy in Retrospect, 4199

  Alexis/Ruthven, 4101

  Commodore Theodore Ross was convinced, as he peered up at the battlecruiser Hammer’s tactical display, that he was seeing his worst nightmare unfolding in front of him. He had no illusions about his bravery — or about the simple fact that the Emperor had left him in place because everyone knew Theodore didn’t have the mindset to become a potential threat. Besides, Ruthven was a loyal planet. Theodore couldn’t have hoped to set up an empire of his own, even if his immediate superiors had somehow been removed — and he knew it. All he really wanted to do was see out the rest of his career in peace and quiet.

  Then they stripped me of half my crew for the fortresses, he thought. Now I have to command the ship as well as the squadron.

  The hell of it, he considered, was that he was in the perfect position for an ambush, if he’d had a handful of battle squadrons attached to his fleet. But the largest ship under his command was a battlecruiser and, even with external racks, he couldn’t hope to match the firepower of a single enemy battle squadron. It was frustrating: a long-range engagement would see his missiles expended for nothing, while a short-range engagement would get his ships torn to ribbons by the enemy. His precaution of taking the fleet into cloak once the enemy had started to push through the Asimov Point would have seemed a brilliant move, if he’d been able to capitalize on it.

  “Commodore,” the tactical officer said. “The rebel fleet is advancing towards the planet.”

  “Noted,” Theodore said, grimly. There were three Asimov Points in the system, but none of them were particularly important. The planet itself, on the other hand, was home to a growing industry that the rebels needed, desperately. “How badly did the fortresses hurt them?”

  “I don’t think their battle squadrons were badly hurt, sir,” the tactical officer said. “It’s impossible to be sure, but they’re making a good clip towards the planet.”

  Attacking a target they know I have to defend, Theodore thought. And they have to know I’m lurking somewhere within the system.

  He cursed under his breath as he checked the latest update from the planet. The evacuation and demolition plan had run into snags, unsurprisingly; the workers didn’t want to leave their families or destroy the industrial plant they’d built up over the last decade. Theodore knew he should force them to leave, at gunpoint if necessary, before destroying the industrial plant, but he didn’t want to do either. The former would leave him with a mob of angry and resentful workers, while the latter would leave the planet’s population open to retaliation from the rebels. Ruthven might be loyalist, but there were limits.

  “We’ll go with Plan Gamma,” he said, finally. “Send a signal to the planet, ordering them to speed up the evacuation, then take us into engagement range—” he tapped a location on the display “—here.”

  “Aye, sir,” the tactical officer said.

  “And inform the remainder of the fleet,” Theodore added. “There are to be no heroics. I want to get into missile range, land a blow or two, and then get out.”

  He kept his face expressionless as the fleet altered course, stealthily slipping into attack position. It was unlikely they’d manage to land a blow — or do anything, really, beyond giving the rebels a few nasty moments. The rebel point defense would probably be able to handle a full barrage from his ships, even if they were targeted on one or two superdreadnaughts. But at least he wouldn’t have abandoned the system without a fight. The Grand Senate had shot officers who’d surrendered star systems to warlords and, even though Emperor Marius had been a military officer himself, Theodore was unwilling to take the chance of just pulling out of the system and joining the defenses at Marble.

  Not that we will be staying there, he thought. Forty smaller ships weren’t likely to tip the balance one way or the other, but they might make a difference if they were raiding behind the lines. Possession of Ruthven would give the rebels access to two new Asimov Point chains, which might make their logistics a little easier. We can sneak out and hit the enemy where they’re weakest.

  “Entering extreme missile range, sir,” the tactical officer said. “Passive sensors are tracking the enemy ships. They’re not trying to hide.”

  “Hold us steady,” Theodore ordered. Unless the rebels had some new piece of sensor gear — in which case the war was on the verge of being lost — it was unlikely they’d pick up his ships for a few minutes longer. Besides, the shorter the range, the greater the chance of scoring a hit. “Fire on my mark.”

  He watched the display, feeling a churning unease in his gut. Rebels — Admiral Justinian as well as the Outsiders — had shown an alarming inventiveness, fueled, at least in part, by the imagination to actually rebel. The pace of change had slowed to a crawl, long before the war; military technology had practically frozen in place before Admiral Justinian had shown the Grand Senate just how many options remained for exploration. And now... he wondered, deep inside, if he had the mindset to adapt to an ever-changing universe.

  Before the war, hitting one’s enemies would have been impossible at this distance, he thought. They’re still outside the pre-war engagement range.

  “Stand by,” he ordered. The closer his ships came to the enemy, the greater the chance of detection... and the lower the odds of escaping in one piece. “Prepare to fire.”

  “Missiles locked, sir,” the tactical officer said. “Ready to fire.”

  Theodore braced himself. “Fire!”

  Hammer shuddered, violently, as she emptied her external racks, then fired a full barrage from her missile tubes. Loading the external racks with antimatter warheads had been a gamble — it would never have been tolerated before the war — but it would give her some additional punch in the
opening moves of the engagement. Theodore watched, grimly, as the other ships fired too, the smaller vessels launching a relative handful of missiles towards the enemy fleet. The rebels didn’t flinch, but it was evident they’d been caught by surprise; they weren’t in position to establish a full point defense formation. Even so, there was nothing wrong with their reactions.

  “Enemy ships have opened fire,” the tactical officer reported. “They’re trying to lock on to us now.”

  They must have improved their missile warheads, Theodore thought. But then, they wouldn’t have any difficulty tracking our missiles back to their launch tubes.

  He shook his head in grim astonishment. He’d read the reports from the earlier engagements, but he hadn’t really believed them, even when the analysts had drawn his attention to the salient points. Now, it was clear the enemy had vastly improved their seeker heads and command datanet. The never-to-be-sufficiently-damned speed of light delay wasn’t such a problem for them any longer. And if they’d had five or ten more years before the war, part of his mind yammered, it might have been a walk-over.

  “Fire the second barrage, then reverse course,” he ordered. There was no point in trying to go toe-to-toe with seven battle squadrons, not when he’d already thrown the heaviest punch he could. “Get us out of here.”

  “Aye, sir,” the helmsman said. “Reversing course now.”

  “Enemy ships are launching starfighters,” the tactical officer added. “They’re sweeping in behind the missiles.”

  “Stand by point defense,” Theodore ordered, harshly. They might just get out of missile range before that barrage arrived, but they couldn’t hope to outrun the starfighters. “Engage the missiles as soon as they enter firing range.”

  “Aye, sir,” the tactical officer said.

  Theodore felt a moment of hope, as a number of missiles started to burn out, but it flickered and faded as the remaining missiles kept coming. His point defense did what it could, burning hundreds of missiles out of space, yet hundreds more closed in on their targets and attacked. He watched, refusing to allow the pain to show on his face, as a dozen starships were blown to atoms, their point defense overloaded and their shields knocked down. A list of destroyed ships scrolled past him...

  Hammer rang like a bell as two missiles made it through the point defense and slammed into the shields. The rebels had somehow managed to increase the quantity of antimatter crammed into their warheads, part of his mind noted; they’d hit his ship significantly harder than they should have been able to do. He worried at the problem for a few minutes, then dismissed it as he realized the missile bombardment had come to an end. But the starfighters were still coming.

  “Enemy starfighters entering point defense range,” the tactical officer said. “They’re concentrating on our smaller ships.”

  Theodore’s eyes narrowed. The standard tactic was to concentrate on the larger ships, although he wouldn’t complain if Hammer’s crew were allowed a chance to repair the damage the ship had taken before the starfighters turned their attention to her. But it made no sense... or did it? Destroyers, light cruisers... even heavy cruisers... they wouldn’t make much difference in the defense of Marble, let alone Tara Prime, but they could do real damage operating behind the lines. The rebels had to want to smash as many of the smaller ships as they could before they scattered and fled into interstellar space.

  He found himself caught, suddenly, on the horns of a dilemma. If he kept the remainder of the fleet together, he could concentrate his point defense... at the risk of losing too many of his smaller ships to the rebel starfighters. But if he ordered the fleet to scatter, he’d lose a handful of ships at the risk of being unable to defend himself if the enemy warships came after him. Hell, the starfighters themselves would need to rearm, sooner or later.

  And if we present a tempting target, the enemy ships might come after us, he thought.

  He turned his attention to the display. It didn’t look as though he’d inflicted much — if any — damage on the rebel formation. Their jamming and ECM was first-rate, but they hadn’t slowed or altered course. It was possible, he supposed, that their CO had decided it wasn’t worth the effort to try to chase down his ships — his lighter units could outrace a battlecruiser, let alone a superdreadnaught — not when he needed to secure Ruthven as quickly as possible, before anyone could have any bright ideas about destroying the system’s industrial base. Or he might just be relying on the starfighters...

  But if they’re not coming after us, he thought, there’s no point in trying to present a tempting target, not if they’re not going to take the bait.

  “Send a signal to all ships,” he ordered, as the enemy starfighters pulled back. “All ships are to scatter, then proceed with contingency plan theta-one; I say again, all ships are to scatter and proceed with theta-one.”

  “Aye, sir,” the communications officer said.

  “Ramp up the drive to full power, then take us straight to the system limits,” Theodore ordered, tartly. “Launch one final set of tactical drones at the enemy formation and then link into the stealthed recon platforms. I want an up-to-date report when we leave the system.”

  “Aye, sir,” the helmsman said. The tactical officer echoed him a second later. “We’ll cross the system limits in seven hours.”

  Theodore nodded. It was risky, but better than losing his ships in a general engagement. And he, at least, needed to report to Marble. It was possible he’d be relieved of duty, even cashiered, but he’d done as much as he could. The remainder of the squadron would raid enemy shipping for as long as their supplies held out. He had no illusions about how long they’d last, even with a handful of pre-placed supply dumps, yet at least it was something.

  And anything that delays the enemy can only be welcome, he thought. The Federation had taken a beating in two successive wars, despite the Grand Senate’s attempts to rebuild and expand its industrial base. This new war may bring us to our knees, even if we win.

  He settled back in his command chair, watching the damage reports as they scrolled up in front of him. Seventeen ships destroyed outright, four more damaged so badly they’d need to be abandoned and scuttled... it was better than he’d dared hope, given the firepower on the other side. But he doubted he’d delayed the enemy long enough for it to matter. Making them expend a few thousand missiles hardly counted if there was nothing in place to take advantage of the shortfall.

  They’ll need time to gather themselves before leaping across the Void to Marble, he told himself firmly. And, if nothing else, they will need to replace the missiles they fired.

  “Continue on our present course,” he added, as the remaining enemy starfighters returned to their carriers. “And take us into stardrive as soon as we cross the system limits.”

  “Aye, sir,” the tactical officer said.

  * * *

  “The starfighters are rearming, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “Do you wish to launch another strike?”

  Roman shook his head. The enemy squadron had launched a brief attack, perhaps for the honor of the flag, then broken off. There didn’t seem to be any other motive; they’d fired thousands of missiles right into the teeth of his defenses, rather than trying to pick off one or two of his flanking units. Maybe the enemy CO hadn’t quite realized that Marius Drake was in command, rather than an ignorant lout from the Grand Senate. Emperor Marius would have no trouble recognizing that the enemy CO was badly outgunned, that he’d had no choice but to retreat instead of dying for nothing.

  But it did force us to expend some of our missiles, he thought, as he studied the reports from the long-range probes. And it may cost us if we have to take the planet.

  He cursed inwardly as his fleet advanced on the planet. Ruthven had five fortresses in high orbit, protecting dozens of industrial platforms and habitats as well as the planet itself. Someone had clearly been taking advantage of Emperor Marius’s incentives to develop new industries, he noted; in happier times, Ruthven w
ould definitely be counted as a success story. But now, she was nothing more than a target. And one he had to take largely intact.

  “Transmit the pre-recorded demand for surrender,” he ordered. He’d gone to some trouble to guarantee the lives and property of the planet’s residents, even though he had a nasty feeling there would be trouble once the Federation garrison surrendered. “And inform me the moment we receive a response.”

  “Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Thompson said.

  Roman gritted his teeth. Attacking a planet was far simpler than attacking through an Asimov Point, but there was the considerable danger of accidentally striking the planet itself with an antimatter warhead. Killing billions of humans would give Emperor Marius a propaganda victory, if only because mass slaughter was generally believed to be the pastime of uncivilized aliens. The fact that Marius himself had attempted to commit genocide would probably go unmentioned.

  And we could simply seal off the planet, if we didn’t need it, he thought. Having the ability to produce new missiles and assault pods hundreds of light years closer to their next target would be very helpful. Ruthven’s production rates were low, compared to Earth or the Outsider industrial nodes, but it hardly mattered. And they might have ships they could send out to harass us when our backs are turned.

  “Picking up a signal from the planet,” Lieutenant Thompson said. “It’s a recorded message.”

  Roman smiled. “No doubt they recorded it before we broke through the Asimov Point,” he said. With seven light minutes between the fleet and Ruthven, holding a real-time conversation would be impossible. “Put it on.”