Planetary Assault (Star Force Series)

by B. V. Larson

  “Remember, that thing is much bigger than Conquest,” Absen reassured them. “It will be able to take a lot of punishment. This is just the long-range jabbing. Stick to the plan.”

  Ford whooped unexpectedly, and an icon in the ring of enemy frigates flashed yellow. “Got one, sir! It’s damaged, falling back.”

  “Good shooting. Keep it up, we want them to stay back as far as possible.” Absen observed the main enemy formation range closing. “Looks like they’re drifting toward us. Once we’re within a million klicks, start the focused beam barrage.”

  “Aye, sir –”

  Ford broke off in mid-response as Scoggins overrode him. “Missile launch! I have oh shit massive missile launch, one, two thousand, three thousand, five –”

  The bridge crew sat there stunned for a full second, all except Master Helmsman Okuda who, linked to the computers as he was, initiated all emergency protocols in the Admiral’s name. Through the babble that followed he closed his eyes and, as fast as thought, seized control of the fleet with a flash priority override.

  Absen watched as his missile frigates and Conquest vomited forth their entire ready loads of guided weapons, contingency-programmed for just such an extreme eventuality. They’ve never done anything like this before went through the admiral’s mind, and then, oh, this is really going to hurt.

  The defensive missiles already in place shot forward like lancers to meet the enemy hypers – a mixture of classes ranging in size from a hundred kilos upward, all powered by those incredible living fusion engines. In such a target-rich environment they could not fail to pick off hundreds, but that still left thousands.

  “Helm, fleet acceleration full!” This counterintuitive move was actually beneficial, as the enemy missiles gained energy faster than the EarthFleet ships – thus, a closer engagement was less lethal, like a shorter boxer stepping inside the reach of a longer-limbed opponent.

  Preprogrammed, the rear missile wave spread out to the sides and rear to engage the frigates now falling back after their missile launch. Another rolled forward behind the original defensive spread. Both of these groups were offensive missiles, armed with seekers and nuclear warheads designed to kill ships. Nevertheless they could be made into a blunt, field-expedient shield.

  Commander Ford overrode their usual control by missile officers aboard the launching ships, and triggered a computer protocol that sent the nukes into a barrage pattern to interdict as many of the incoming hypers as possible, based on their spatial density. No matter how fast they went, the enemy missiles could not outrun waves of enhanced neutron radiation sleeting through space, along with the accompanying EMP and their bomb-pumped gamma-ray laser modules.

  By this tactic EarthFleet gave up the offensive entirely, but if ever there was a time to do so, this was it. They’ve fired their entire load, Absen thought, and now, they have to run. Clever bastard, he saluted his opponent commander. I might have done it in his place. The enemy had sent his best weapons all in at once, to overload and do as much damage as possible, then withdraw to replenish, maintaining his “fleet in being” and daring Conquest to assault the planet with the threat still out there.

  This is always our difficulty: they are so much faster than we are.

  Incoming thousands of hypers became hundreds as fire raged across the heavens, every human weapon operating at full capacity. EarthFleet’s four broad-shouldered battleships threw themselves in front of the largest clusters, daring the missiles to strike them like jousting armored knights of space – and so they did. Hyper after hyper slammed at incredible velocity into the massive ships, whose sole purpose was to dish out and absorb as much punishment as possible.

  Final defensive fire – miniature nuclear weapons detonated like reactive armor – blazed along their lengths, scouring their own skin clean of irreplaceable fittings, installations and equipment – but better that than the death of ships. Even so, dozens of heavy hypers bore in at velocities approaching half the speed of light, and even hundreds of meters of ferrocrystal laminate must at some point yield to physics.

  Battleship Nanjing shuddered and bucked, spewing wreckage but cresting the wave of death like a broaching whale, losing half her railguns. Flensburg, by some twist of fate or expertise, accepted her pounding with stately grace and very few casualties. York absorbed a beating equal to her sisters before an unlucky strike reached deep inside to wipe out her command bridge, leaving her in the hands of auxiliary control, still fightable.

  Hypervelocity missiles hammered brave Bukavu as bullets butcher a bull. She staggered, every weapon blazing, every system streaming frantic energies as she sought to avoid her fate. Yet as a light bulb burns brightest before its demise, so the great battleship fell under an impossible storm of predatory alien weapons.

  A collective groan and many curses echoed across Conquest’s bridge. Absen felt like he’d been punched in the gut, grinding his teeth. It’s far from over.

  The incoming wave, though much diminished, swept with still-terrifying speed down on the beam cruisers, and two of those eight willingly embraced their fate, soon to spin broken and useless though the void. Hundreds of escape pods drifted, beacons flashing, for the busy grabships and tugs to retrieve.

  Missile frigates, bereft of ammunition, did as before, releasing their weapon boxes, becoming slippery spindles among the many possible enemy targets. Only three perished as confused Meme sharks ate dozens of empty missile cubes.

  Now came Conquest’s turn to suffer. As a mother hen gathers her chicks in the hailstorm, spreading her feathers to accept the impacts for her brood’s sake, so the dreadnought brought the assault carriers in beneath her great teardrop shape. She kept them so close the ships could have reattached themselves had they time and inclination. Instead, she uncomplainingly bore the brunt of alien indignity for their sake.

  One after another hypers tore into the dreadnought as she twisted and turned. Master Helmsman Okuda performed a virtual ballet, the great ship responding to his every thought and touch. With a born pilot’s instinct he pirouetted to present a new and pristine piece of armor to every incoming insult, in case it should win through the blast of final-fire nukes, electromagnetic shotguns, lasers and masers and grasers and charged particle beams by the dozen. On Conquest’s surface plasma clouds dervish-danced, vapors of nuclear explosions and the remnants of weapons.

  Vango and Helen in their Crow, mere tens of kilometers distant as they threw themselves at the incoming evils, yet marveled as they witnessed unseeable colors through virtual eyes. From their perspective Conquest endured at the center of a tornado, within a cyclone of the energies of bursting alien fusion engines, ravening thermonuclear weapons and lancing beams.

  Ranks of StormCrows surrounded their own ships, packed tightly as could be – only hundreds of meters from each other in some cases – forming a phalanx, a gauntlet to preserve their meager military homes and their steadfast maintenance crews aboard the assault carriers.

  Nineteen fighters died to the enemy, thirty-eight courageous jocks who would never see Afrana or the new colony. Yet they saved many lives, and in the brutal calculus of war, preserved more fighting ability of the fleet than their murder of Crows had sacrificed.

  Shock-mounted and gimbaled, still the bridge of Conquest shook and rang with vibrations, rolling gongs of sonics transmitted through her skeleton under the ball-peen strikes of hypervelocity missiles. Though nothing penetrated her mountainous slabs of armor, some died simply from transmissional rupture as metal and carbon-fiber flexed to take the strain. Mere human flesh, no matter how bolstered, was simply not made to take such pounding.

  When the storm cleared, those who survived sailed proud.

  There’s nothing so melancholy as a battle won, Absen recited to himself as he witnessed the aftermath, unless it’s a battle lost. He took a deep breath in concert with those throughout his wounded task force, amazed that the entire engagement had taken mere minutes. “Can we catch them?” he asked into the air, and Okud
a answered him as expected.

  “No, sir. They fired their missiles and lightened their loads. Now they’re running as fast as they can.”

  “The Guardian too?”

  “Yes, sir. It and the cruiser screen are withdrawing toward the planet.”

  “Did we get those orbitals?”

  “No, sir,” Scoggins answered. “Looks like they are continually maneuvering to avoid just such a strike.

  Absen hissed though his teeth in frustration, then barked orders. “We just took a pounding with very little to show. Make sure we get all the escape pods and lifeboats recovered. Try to put rescued crews onto like ships so they have deeper rosters. Bring those with wounds too severe for Eden Plague capacity to Conquest’s infirmary. Get the missile frigates re-boxed. Hop to it, people, we have maybe half an hour before we’re in range of those orbitals and whatever’s on the back side of the moon, not to mention the planet. Those won’t be able to run, but neither will we.”

  Murmurs of acknowledgement from the various stations filled the bridge as the officers passed words, coordinating the damage control as best they could.

  The admiral stroked his chin and spoke into the air, as he found airing his thoughts helped him think, and maintained his people’s confidence. “On the other hand, they just expended their long-range firepower. If their fleet wants to defend the planet they will have to come in close and slug it out with their fusion beams, and we’ll win that fight.” EarthFleet weapons ruled the middle ranges and were even more effective at the short. “Pass my respects to all ships and tell them ‘Well done, that was the worst of it’.”

  Absen did not mean to lie.

  Chapter 9

  SystemLord relaxed somewhat as he observed the Underlings lack of active rebellion. When he had destroyed the Humans, he would punish the devolved Blends for their crimes. Until then merely ignoring them would have to be sufficient.

  Tasting reports from Monitor’s many analytical sub-brains, he concluded that the enemy had lost several ships to his hypervelocity missiles, and had used a great deal of ordnance. Without the ability to gestate new weapons, he knew that every expenditure the Humans made brought them closer to destruction. As long as the Empire’s fleet did not take excessive losses, steady pressure and threat remained the most efficient course.

  I will force them to react to me, entice them to chase me, lure them after me, he thought with almost-poetic flavors of communication. Then I will strike with the Weapon.

  Monitor calmed with its master’s good cheer. Communicator, on the other hand, remained skeptical.

  ***

  “What? Are they insane?” Veins stood out on Sergeant Major Repeth’s forehead as her blood pressure rose. She shook the printout at Bull ben Tauros in frustration, then spun it onto his tiny desk. “How can they pull me off my assignment now? I’m this company’s senior NCO, I’m mama ass-kicker and name-taker. We just went through a hell of waiting and I’ve lost people before we even fought. We may be hours from a ground assault.”

  Her company commander straightened the flimsy and sighed. “This comes all the way from the top. Signed by the Admiral.”

  “Screw the Admiral. This has to be personal. I turned the key that launched the missiles that killed his family ninety years ago and he’s never forgiven me for it. So now he’s cutting my legs out from under me the only way he knows how.”

  “Come on, Smaj, think straight. If that were true he’d never have woken you up. And from his reputation he’s too much of a professional to screw over the line troops. Replacing you will measurably hurt combat effectiveness. Do you really think he’d do it if it wasn’t really important?”

  Repeth kicked the inside of the door in frustration, her cyber-enhanced strength leaving a distinct dent. “Maybe not.” She mused for a moment. “I smell a rat, a Vietnamese rat. That’s the only way this makes sense.”

  “What?” Bull ran his hand over his fat bald pate. “What does that mean?”

  “You ever hear of Spooky Nguyen?”

  “Yeah,” he replied. “He’s a phantom to scare recruits and children. ‘Eat your vegetables and do your pushups or Spooky will get you’. What about it?”

  “He’s here. I saw him in the wardroom.”

  “What, he’s real? You know him?” Bull looked at Repeth in awe. “And he’s here on this ship?”

  “Probably not on Temasek, no, I saw him on Conquest before the breakup. Now I wish I never had. He’s the only one with enough pull to do this, the only one who could convince Absen to change things around at the last minute. Damn!” She cursed in frustration.

  “Look, it says you have to report in sixty-five minutes with full kit. Swede Gunderson will take over as First Spear. We’ll be fine. You’ve got to do it, there’s no point in raging. We’ll keep your place warm for you.” Bull stood up, held out his hand. “It’s been an honor. Now get your ass in gear and drive on.”

  “Bollocks.” Then she relented, slamming her sinewy palm into his callused paw with a sigh. “All right. Semper Fi, brother. God bless you, and I’ll see you on the other side.”

  “You too, sister,” Bull echoed under his breath as he watched her march resolutely down the passageway. “Adonai, 'tatzilenu mi-kaf kol oyev v'orev v'listim v'hayot ra'ot ba-derekh, u-mi-kol minei pur'aniyot ha-mitrag'shot la-vo la-olam.” Lord rescue us from the hand of every foe and ambush along the way, and from all evils that gather to come to Earth.

  ***

  The Marine assault sled doubled as a shuttle when needed, and the familiar interior calmed Repeth somewhat as she looked over Flight Warrant Sunner Lockerbie’s shoulder. The Aerospace Force pilot eased the twelve-man personnel carrier into Conquest’s docking clamps and then unplugged her link as the computer took over the sequence. She stood up and hugged her sister in arms one more time. “Been a while, Jill. So good to see you.”

  “Just lucky, I guess. I didn’t even know you were here, Sunny.” Jill released the other woman and shouldered her combat pack. She was already clad in full armor, and heavily armed. With combat only hours away she felt better with everything on. Assuming I get to go.

  “Somebody’s gotta drive for you lunatic jarheads. You don’t think they’d trust a Marine with a pilot’s link, do you?”

  Jill laughed, knowing full well there were plenty of Marines with wings. “You’re still the best stick and rudder I know, Lock.”

  “Comes from starting in ground vehicles. Remember Fredericksburg?” She laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of Bravo Company. Airlock’s open.” Lockerbie pointed.

  “Damn. All right. Good hunting.” Jill threw her arms around her friend once more and then turned to enter Conquest, then stopped once more. “Can you wait for me? I might need to come back.”

  “Sure. With that priority code you got, I can do anything.” Lockerbie waved goodbye again.

  Five minutes later Repeth stomped into the designated conference room and slung her combat pack hard at Spooky. “What the hell kind of stunt is this, Spooks? You pulled me off a combat assignment on the eve of battle? It better be good or I’m marching right back to my company, orders or no orders.”

  The small man caught the object and set it down on the deck. “Very dramatic, Jill, but I don’t need this you.”

  “Don’t need what you? What me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Spooky’s dark eyes narrowed. “I don’t need Jill here. I don’t even need Sergeant Major Repeth. I need Reaper.”

  “Fine, here she is.” She snapped a frustrated punch at his shoulder, throwing her full strength into it. Spooky could have avoided it easily, she knew, but instead just stood there and took it. Her fist could have broken a railroad tie, ferrocrystal laminate bones powered by cybernetics and nano; in this case it split his uniform and skin, leaving a baseball-sized bleeding purple knot with four distinct oozing lines where her knuckles had struck.

  Rocking back on one leg, he looked down impassively at the wound, then back to he
r. “Good. Save some of that for the enemy.”

  She blinked and lowered her eyes, cooling slightly. “Oh, I will, just not in your company. I’m done with all the covert crap. I did it because I had to and I was good at it, but it is not me. I volunteered for TF Conquest to get away from it. And frankly, from you.” She paced up and down the deck in the small room, breathing deeply. “And here you are again.”

  “Just hear me out,” Spooky replied, ignoring the swollen wound as his Eden Plague and nano began to heal it. “We have a mission. It could be critical to humanity. I need a special operator, not a compassionate woman or a tough leader of troops. I need that focus you had when you hunted down the Professor all those years ago, when you were looking for Rick.” He leaned on his hands on the tabletop. “I need Reaper.”

  “Not convinced. Why didn’t you tell me this days ago? I know you’re a calculating son of a bitch and you know this is not how spec ops is done. This last-minute stuff gets people killed.”

  “Because I only just got information I needed. I had to make a choice: take a standard combat team that would probably fail, or assemble one that might succeed.”

  “Succeed at what?” Repeth turned again to confront her old teacher.

  “You can’t just trust me?” Spooky raised an eyebrow.

  “I haven’t seen you in ten waking years plus forty sleeping and now you just want me to take you on faith?”

  “Yes, just like you told Bull. Have faith, you said. So have faith in me. If not, have faith in that God you say you believe in.” He stared at her as she stared back, and she slowly allowed herself to smile.

  “I do trust you. You’ve never let me down. Along with my husband Rick and a handful of brothers and sisters in arms, you’re one of the few. But you just ripped me away from my people, my brothers and sisters in arms. You know what that means to me. So trusting you isn’t enough. I need to know what the mission is, and why you need me, of all the choices you have.”