WAR WORLD IV: INVASION
Created by Jerry Pournelle
With the editorial assistance of John F. Carr
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 1994 by Jerry Pournelle
A Baen Books Original
ISBN: 0-671-87616-3
Cover art by Gary Ruddell
CHRONOLOGY
2008 First successful interstellar test of the Alderson Drive.
2010 Habitable planets discovered in other star systems. Commercial exploitation begins. CoDominium Intelligence licenses all scientists and begins censorship of scientific publications. Most scientific research ceases.
2031 CoDominium Navy absorbs all other CD Armed Services.
2032 Captain Jed Byers of the CDSS Ranger discovers a planetary sized moon of a gas giant and names it Haven.
2038 Sauron is discovered by Avery Landyn, a survey pilot for 3M. World is rich in radioactive and heavy metals.
2042 Initial attempts by 3M at colonizing Sauron fail due to deadly native fauna and the difficulty of establishing viable agriculture. 3M sells Sauron to wealthy English Separatists from Quebec and former South African expatriates living in Canada and Australia.
2098 Saurons evict the CoDominium viceroy and declare their independence. They begin to build their own space navy.
2103 Great Patriotic Wars. End of the CoDominium. Exodus of the Fleet.
2111 Formation Wars of the Empire begin.
2250 Leonidas I of Sparta proclaims Empire of Man.
2350--2650 Empire of Man enforces interstellar peace.
2603 Secession Wars begin. St. Ekaterina is nearly destroyed by Sauron attack. Sauron Coalition of Secession declares its independence.
2618 Third Imperial Fleet is nearly destroyed by Sauron armada off Tabletop.
2622 Colonel Gary Cummings of the Imperial Marines arrives on Haven to coordinate the re-deployment of the 77th Imperial Marines (“Land Gators”).
2623 The 77th Imperial Marines leave Haven for Friedland. Colonel Cummings retires from the Imperial Marines and is appointed General and commander-in-chief of the Haven militia, the “Haven Volunteers.”
2624 A pirate ship, posing as a tramp freighter, attacks Castell City.
2626 The Black Hand, a small fleet of corsairs, attack Haven. The Militia destroys two of the ships by missile attacks from Fort Kursk. In retaliation, the survivors destroy most of Haven's near-earth satellites and relay stations. Only two space-worthy shuttles survive a determined attack on Castell's spaceport.
2628 David Steele crowns himself King of Haven. He controls Castell City and several satellite towns.
2636 King David Steele is deposed and new planetary government is formed. Last Imperial military ship passes through Byers' System.
2638 Piet van Reenan is exiled from Frystaat with a score of his retainers. They are sent to Haven on a chartered merchantman.
2640 Sauron First and Second Fleets destroyed at the battle of Tanith. The Home Fleet is destroyed at the Battle of Sauron. Only one Sauron ship, the Fomoria, escapes the destruction of the Home-world undetected. After a long series of Alderson Jumps, the Sauron Heavy Cruiser reaches Haven.
2644 Piet van Reenan mounts an attack on the Eden Valley. He forms an alliance with the Edenites and thus begins the HaBandari.
MAPS
INTRODUCTION, Charles E. Gannon
Mpoh Aletti closed his eyes, leaned back in his chair, and thought I’m bored bored bored. Nothing ever happened on watch duty in the “Crow’s Nest,” a 270 degree ring of old-fashioned video monitors. The screens showed the typical approach trajectories to Ayesha, the insignificant little ball of rock and ice which Aletti called home--and which boasted the only refueling station in the Byers system. Besides occasional glimpses of Ayesha’s sister moons--swinging in stately procession around the gas giant known as Cat’s Eye--the screens offered only unchanging views of space. Even the moons were featureless and dull--with the notable exception of Haven, which was the only other inhabited body in the Byers system. But Haven was nowhere near conjunction, meaning that duty in the Crow’s Nest would be typical: four hours of mind-numbing drudgery. Aletti sighed, let the chair tilt back down to a level alignment--a gradual process in Ayesha’s low gravity--and opened his eyes.
Screen four--which monitored the trailing approaches to the refueling station tethered some thirty kilometers over Ayesha’s surface--contained a small, twinkling anomaly in its lower right quadrant. Before Aletti’s jaw could fall fully open, the glistening speck burgeoned into a black, wedge-shaped atmospace vehicle: a fighter, stabilizers and wingtips glinting sharply as the shadowy arrowhead shape shot past the camera view to the right.
Aletti was just realizing that he should resume breathing when he noted a second speck, approaching along the same vector that the fighter had followed. This second speck also grew larger--but unlike the fighter, showed no signs of completing that growth. Aletti’s jaw snapped shut, his Adam’s apple pumped once; this craft was big--monstrously so--and jet black, which meant that it had to be a--
Aletti slammed his palm at the “alert” button to his right, missed it. Unable even to curse, Aletti drew back his hand, hit the button, and then hit it again. And again and again.
Long after the flashing crimson lights indicated that Ayesha’s discretionary alarm circuits had been activated, Aletti was still hammering away at the console, mesmerized by the expanding mass of blackness on his screens.
For the third time, Survey Rating Markel rotated the trackball to the right, the 2-d image panning across the tethered refueling station: fuel bladders--arrayed side-by-side like two ranks of dull white sausages--hung motionless in the cold, star-speckled skillet of space.
From behind Markel, Survey Ranker Bender called for another update; “Proximity sensor report?”
Markel executed a swift, almost machine-like turn to face his superior. Among normal humans, the abruptness and precision of Market’s movement would have looked odd; amongst Saurons, it merely indicated a characteristically efficient use of time and physical effort. “Projected data now confirmed, Fourth Rank Bender. The refueling station is connected to water cracking facilities on Ayesha by a thirty kilometer tether. Liquid deuterium is pumped from Ayesha up to the station via tubes bundled about the tether itself. As expected, there is no sign of resistance; the spaceside elements of the fuel depot appear to be fully automated.”
Bender’s light blue eyes widened marginally. “By reason of exclusion, your statement suggests that the ground facilities might not be automated. Explain.”
Markel indicated the image in the far left hand screen. “Current sensor data regarding the dirtside complex shows low heat signature, low power generation, no sign of auxiliary craft: all consistent with an automated facility. However, one feature suggests that it may be manned.” Markel’s index finger unfolded from his palm, indicated an irregular oval at the center of the screen; a partially disassembled radar array. “Typically, arrays as large as this one are situated near installations that handle a great deal of traffic--and which, therefore, tend to have resident populations.”
One of Bender’s eyebrows elevated slightly; he leaned forward to take a closer look.
Vance Trainor waited for the chirp of his pager to terminate, was annoyed when it did not. Another malfunction? wondered Trainor as he veered toward the wall of the corridor, letting the continuous stream of Ayeshan maintenance workers flow past him. He pushed aside the folds of his coveralls to get a clear view of the pager’s LCD display, but never bothered to read the data it containe
d; the pager’s red light was blinking steadily: a discretionary alert. Trainor felt the close-shaven hairs at the base of his neck struggle to rise, a sensation he had not felt since his last tour of duty with the Imperial Marines twenty-five years ago. Trainor tapped in his acknowledgment code--the one which identified him as the chief of depot security--and then turned the unit off. Remarkable to think that something as unused as Ayesha’s discretionary alert system was still functional; almost every other subsystem in the fueling station seemed to be dead or dying. Trainor congratulated himself on the calm irony of that thought, silently reviewed the old OCS checklist of what not to do in a crisis; do not run, do not shout, do not allow yourself to exhibit any behaviors suggestive of concern or panic.
A wan smile on his face, Trainor reversed his facing, headed back toward the operations center, and unsuccessfully endeavored to forget the image of this pager’s blinking red light--a light which meant that Ayesha had finally run out of borrowed time.
Bender tapped the passive sensor readouts. “The presence of the radar array cannot be taken as primary evidence of a manned facility. As you point out, Markel, the groundside power generation is quite low--too low to sustain life.”
“They could have powered-down prior to our approach, Survey Rank Bender, hoping to trick us.”
Bender shook his head. “In order to power-down before our arrival, any personnel on Ayesha would have needed advance warning of our approach. How would they receive that warning, Rating Markel? Their active sensors”-- Bender once again tapped the video image of the half-disassembled radar array--”are non-functional, there is no evidence of a passive sensor array, and we have maintained absolute radio silence since our arrival.” Bender rose. “In short, personnel on Ayesha would have had no way of knowing of our approach, and hence, no reason to reduce their power generation levels. The level we see, therefore, must be the actual level--which is insufficient to support life.”
Markel nodded, but his words were not conciliatory. “If the ground facility is unmanned, then why was it equipped with a radar array?”
Bender frowned; Markel noted the change in his superior’s expression, reflected that similar displays of extreme emotionalism had probably hindered the Survey officer’s advancement through the ranks. “Even an automated facility may require a radar array, Markel, particularly if the facility handles a great deal of traffic.”
“Logical--but if this facility does handle a great deal of traffic, then why is the array shut down--and partially disassembled?”
Bender’s blue eyes brightened and his jaw grew rigid; memories of the Sauron homeworld--last seen wreathed in a bright, evanescent mottling that bespoke a devastating saturation bombardment from orbit--threatened to intrude upon his conscious thoughts. “The array is disassembled because there is no more traffic for it to handle; the war has shattered the Imperium, the Sauron Coalition, and the commerce that they fostered. As interstellar society continues this process of implosion, outback systems-- such as this one--will tend to be the first to dismantle any machinery that facilitated contact with visiting ships.” Bender nodded--signalling an end to the debate--and went back to his console.
Markel turned to face his own instruments. The Survey Ranker’s explanations were logical, direct, sensible--but unsatisfying. Market’s eyes kept roving from screen to screen, first studying the tethered station, then the ground facility, and then the station again.
Trainor arrived in the operations center just as Ayesha’s new Administrator, Henry Dorrit, was confirming the checklist of mishaps that had allowed the Saurons to catch the depot with its proverbial pants down. “Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to get this straight: because we’re currently in the midst of a general overhaul, we’re operating on batteries only; no fusion power. Secondly, since we need fusion power to open and close the protected berthing bay, flight operations were suspended, and all our shuttles are now undergoing maintenance.”
“Actually, we still have two operational shuttles, Mr. Dorrit.” No sooner had the Chief of Flight Operations offered this cheerless clarification than he seemed to shrivel, crisped by Dorrit’s glare.
The Administrator continued his baleful litany. “And finally, since the interplanetary transmitter hasn’t been repaired yet, we have no way of warning Haven that there are Saurons sitting on our--and their--doorstep.” Dorrit--a recent émigré from Haven--seemed to put extra emphasis on this last item. He scanned the sheepish faces that ringed him. “Is that a fair description of our current situation?” Most of Dorrit’s audience responded to his scrutiny by staring at the floor; there were a few nods and murmurs of assent.
Hands on hips, Dorrit scanned the room again, noted Trainor, nodded sharply. Trainor returned the acknowledgment with a slow, shallow nod of his own. Dorrit never saw Trainor’s response; he was already stalking back and forth, hands behind his back. Like a nervous j.g. on his first assignment, thought Trainor; Just what I need--a would-be Horatio Homblower.
Dorrit’s attempt at a severe, authoritative tone was as artificial as his martial posturings. “Let’s consider our military options, people. There’s got to be some way to strike at the Saurons--or at least, some way to prevent them from docking with the station and taking on fuel. We could send a high voltage surge through the power lines leading to the station, a surge strong enough to burn out the fuel tanks’ cryogenic elements. That would cause the L-hyd to heat up, sublimate into a gas, and explode. Then, if we--”
Hazeltine, a 40-year veteran of remote operations, shook his head once. “Sorry, sir, but that won’t work. The storage tanks have individual, automated safety systems; if the temperature or pressure in any tank becomes excessive, its contents are vented to space.”
While Dorrit resumed his pacing, Vance stared at the multiple images of the Sauron heavy cruiser that were being relayed from the automated cameras on board the refueling station. “How’d you find her?” he asked.
Dorrit turned toward Trainor, an un-officerly hint of impatience in his voice. “What?”
“How did you detect the Sauron vessel?”
Dorrit, turning back to the rest of his staff, snapped, “Visuals.”
“There were no radio transmissions? No active sensors?” “Mr. Trainor, as my chief of security, I wish you’d focus on the important business at hand. We are trying--”
“I appreciate the gravity of the situation, Mr. Dorrit, but I’ll be able to offer better advice if I know exactly how the Sauron was detected.”
Dorrit gestured at the youngest of the faces which ringed him: Mpoh Aletti. Aletti licked his lips nervously. “I detected the Saurons on visual scanning only, Mr. Trainor. They were dead quiet on their approach: no radio, no sensors; nothing.”
Trainor nodded. “Describe their approach, Mpoh; how did they come in?”
“From trailing, sir, with a single fighter in the lead. The fighter made a straight run at the station; must have passed within 10 meters of the extreme starboard bladder doing better than 500 meters per second. Then the battle-wagon came in, right behind; same vector, but slower.”
Trainor frowned, set his incisors over his lower lip and moved his jaw slowly from side to side, staring at the image in the main vidscreen.
Dorrit resumed his verbal brainstorming session. “What if we open the tankage valves now, before the Saurons complete their docking procedures? We could at least dump the fuel, instead of letting them get it.”
Colette Kwan, in charge of fuel transfer engineering, coughed discreetly before disagreeing. “Mr. Dorrit, we don’t have enough time left for that tactic. The Saurons would note the fuel discharge and manually reseal the tanks; they could even use controlled, low-power laser fire to weld the valves shut, if necessary.”
Instead of responding with another gesture of annoyance, Dorrit leaned his lower lip against his index finger, a smile spreading across his face. He approached the console that controlled Ayesha’s massive fuel pumping apparatus. “Correct me if I’m wrong, Mr. Hazel
tine--or Ms. Kwan--but we have complete local control over the rate at which we pump fuel up to the station, do we not?”
Hazeltine and Kwan looked at each other, exchanged shrugs, nodded.
Dorrit reached down, toggled the automatic pumping controls into the “off-line” position, and allowed his hand to hover over the now-active manual controls. “Then, by using manual overrides, we should be able to increase the flow rate to a level that the station can’t handle--like overfilling a balloon with air. That would cause a fair amount of damage, wouldn’t it?”
Hazeltine swallowed, nodded. “Yes--relatively speaking.”
“Then unless someone else has a tactical option that we’ve overlooked--” Dorrit turned toward the pumping controls.
For the fifth time, Markel traced the length of the tether with the video image, studying the surface of the main fuel line intently. Yes, there was no doubt about it; the long vertical streak running along the center of the main line was a radio receiver: a flexible, 30-kilometer-long communications mast which was hidden--so to speak--in plain sight. The receiver was not in itself proof that Ayesha was inhabited, but on the other hand, if there was no one at the base with whom to talk, then why had such an investment been made in ensuring high quality radio reception? Markel turned to look for Bender, discovered the Survey Rank to be absent from his station. He paged his superior and then turned back to watch the video image of the fuel lines; if there were dirtside inhabitants on Ayesha, they might decide to interfere with the fuel flow--and if they did so, then Markel would be sure to see it in the altered turgidity of the fuel lines.
“Mr. Dorrit, don’t increase the fuel flow.”
Dorrit turned, his hand still poised above the manual pumping controls. “You have a better plan, Mr. Trainor?”
War World IV: Invasion Page 1
