Alexander Galaxus: The Complete Alexander Galaxus Trilogy

by Christopher L. Anderson

  “Understood!” Augesburcke replied. The orders were relayed to the Iron Duke and then Augesburcke turned to Captain Thomas. “Captain lay in a course by the loyalist flagship and then lead our formation along the left flank of the Chem cube! Gunners are to target their capital ships first and work their way down the ladder as we destroy them.”

  “Aye, aye sir!” Thomas answered.

  A hail came onto one of the visiplates. It was a Chem Admiral. His brows told the observers he was surprised and unhappy. “Terrans, this is no affair of yours! I advise you again to withdraw. A lack of response will be treated as hostile!”

  “Put me on,” Alexander smiled. The communications officer nodded and pressed the button.

  “This is Alexander, Overlord of the Terran Empire. Your threat is in poor taste. I find it neither amusing or honorable. In the interests of our agreement to peace I offer to allow you to surrender your ships and crew. You shall be escorted out of Terran space and turned over to Nazeera of the Assemblage and the lawful Chem government. If you refuse I shall have no choice but to destroy you. Do you refuse?”

  “Alexander himself! Glory is mine! Do I refuse? Most emphatically! Prepare to die, Alexander of Terra! I shall add your name to the everlasting glory of my house!”

  “I will take that as a no,” Alexander said dryly. “Very well, you abuse my generosity at your own risk. Let all the galaxy now learn what it is to unleash the wrath of the Terran Empire!”

  He cut the connection.

  “Alexander, Nazar is on board the Kun-Gha, the Captain informed him.

  “Thank you, Captain,” Alexander replied. Then he instructed the Communications Officer to put him on the fleet secure frequency. “Soldiers and sailors of the Terran Fleet we enter our baptism of fire. In this our initial combat for the right to exist amongst our Galactic brethren we shall write the scripture on Terrans from this day forward. We shall never have another opportunity at this first impression, and we shall never have more worthy opponents. I have boasted of your prowess, and for good reason. Let the galaxy now learn why they fear us so, and then let them leave us be. This is the primal hour where legends become reality. This is your chance to make your mark above all others. Who amongst our fellow Terrans would not wish that they were here on this day and at this moment in history? Our future is our own to write. To war—battle stations! Prepare to engage and destroy the enemy!”

  Alexander took himself off the link and looked around the bridge. The faces of Terra looked to him with anticipation. “Enough of words, let’s show the galaxy how Terran’s fight!”

  “Aye, aye sir,” Captain Thomas nodded. “Gunnery Officer target the nearest battleship. Helm, maintain optimal firing attitude on primary target while in range!”

  “Aye, aye sir!”

  “The Iowa is ready for attack run, Alexander!” Thomas informed him.

  "Proceed! You may fire at will Captain!” Alexander ordered.

  The Iowa’s cell of ships accelerated to fifteen percent the speed of light just as the Chem squadron slowed down to nearly one percent the speed of light. Nazar’s squadron slowed, following their age old practice, after a brief acceleration to close the distance.

  On the rebel Chem Bridge the senior officers were perplexed by the Terran’s acceleration.

  “What are they doing?” the Chem Captain aboard the rebel battleship, Sunkoor, wondered. Nazar’s squadron was closing in typical fashion, but the Terrans raced at them headlong. “At that closure we’ll only be in range for moments, and targeting will be only fifty percent efficient.”

  “They are going to get off a volley and run, so they can at least say they’ve fought!” The Admiral replied. “These Terran’s won’t be so difficult after all! The hardest thing about them will be the catching of them!” The bridge crew laughed aloud at the commander’s jest, but all sound died down as the Terrans closed to range. Galactic blasters had a range measured in hundreds of kilometers, but for the purposes of ship to ship fighting the range was much less. A blaster stream began to diverge shortly after leaving the projector. As the stream spread the energy concentration dropped and consequently so did the blaster’s ability to penetrate shields. The useful range for planetary bombardment was therefore less than two hundred kilometers. To effectively attack a target as small as a ship even the largest battleships wanted to close within ten kilometers, and practically speaking combat was measured in a few thousand meters. These limitations being well known the adversaries held their fire as closed. The viewers shrank the magnification step by step until only a minimal correction was necessary and every detail of the ships stood out in stark detail.

  Tempered with the inevitability of conflict, the Chem view of the Terran warships was quite different than the long distance hails of two posturing fleets. Now the asymmetrical forms of the Terran ships were more pronounced. Shadows cut razor sharp angles within the superstructures, confusing the eye and asking for explanation. There was no question of the guns. Though strangely made, the blaster projectors were blatant in their meaning. Maybe that was as intended. Unlike the Galactic projectors the Terrans refused to bury their weapons in the cradle of shadowy trenches as an unseen but well known menace. The huge Terran projectors stood out brazenly; their turrets following their target like some unreal but all seeing gathering of eyes.

  “Steady,” the Admiral urged his crews, feeling their disquiet. “It will be a distinct pleasure to rid space of such ungainly craft. Weapons Officer all boards tie into the central computer! Compute firing solution on their battleship. Forward batteries to bear, then flank, then aft if you please. Steady, fire! Standard attack sequence!”

  The rebel ship shuddered as the projector batteries discharged glowing streams of plasma. At the same moment the Terran turrets blossomed in white flame. The Chem saw flashes of their own hits on the Terran’s shields, but then their own ship rocked with the concentrated firepower of the first cell.

  “Flank batteries ready and fire!” The Admiral roared, but he could see for himself that the fire was ineffective due to the speed of the Terrans. The Terrans must have similar problems, but the Sunkoor rolled with the full broadside. It was immediately apparent that Terran ships could bring all guns to bear at any one time. The Galactic style of fighting, a technical version of the ship-to-ship duel, warranted fixed batteries at every quarter. No area was uncovered, but there was no possibility of bringing all batteries to bear on a single target.

  The aft batteries recoiled stabbed into the darkness, but her thrusts were like glowing rapiers blindly searching for their prey and then the Iowa sped out of range.

  “Here comes their second group,” the Captain reported. She checked her status display. “Shield generators three and seven damaged to starboard. They are operating at slightly reduced capacity. Admiral, Nazar is now engaging the left flank!”

  The Admiral checked his own display and said, “Charge the capacitors and prepare to fire upon the second cell. As soon as the Terrans are out of range we will begin an envelopment of Nazar. We may not get Alexander today, but we’ll have Nazar!” He watched calmly as his port flank engaged Nazar in the standard slugging match. They were fairly evenly matched at the moment, but after the Terrans left they would outnumber the loyalists three-to-one, even considering the damage the Terrans might inflict. Ah, but this was the life! This is what they were fighting for, the right of battle! Every Chem on board must feel their blood on fire now!

  A concussion shook the ship as the Iron Duke completed its run. It was a stronger shock than any they’d felt thus far. The Commander looked to the Captain who gripped her console tightly. She shook her head vehemently, “It’s our shield generators, Commander. They are absorbing direct hits. Apparently the Terrans suffer no degradation of their projectors due to their maneuvering guns. We absorbed nine full level thirty-seven hits from their first battleship and ten from their second. That is equivalent to the full broadsides of our battleships at minimum range. Our generators cannot dissi
pate that much energy over such a short period of time without damage. It is apparent that the Terran squadrons are targeting our capital ships exclusively. We took another six direct hits during the exchange from level thirty-one and,” another jarring blow cut her off. “Matter anti-matter torpedoes from their scouts and destroyers! Cutting back non-essential power,” the Captain curtly told the Admiral. “Two out of ten shield generators are overloaded and have been temporarily shut down. Repair crews are on their way. Weapons were not at full power for the second cell, they followed too closely. We’ve lost one flank battery.” An officer ran up to her, whispering something in her ear. The blood drained from the Captain’s face. “Admiral, they’re coming back! The first formation has reversed course!”

  “What?” was all the Admiral got out before the hull rang. Concussion after concussion resounded on the Chem flagship. The first cell of Terran ships had reversed course. On further examination the second cell was in the process of repeating the same maneuver. It was instantly obvious to the command officers that the Terrans had no intention of quitting the battle. “Shift power to starboard flank generators, and get repair crews on those damaged shield generators! Is there any indication of damage to the Terrans?”

  “We hit the squadron of ships with a full broadside, Commander, but the second squadron was moving out of range before we could fully recharge. Our blasters were only charged up to seventy percent and since we waited as long as possible for the charge our firing angle was bad. No damage noted in either Terran battleship. If I analyze their attack pattern correctly the Terrans will not allow us to fully recharge our capacitors between passes.”

  The Commander slumped in his seat. “We can fire at one with a full broadside or a partial at each, but not both. Damn, that is poor sport! Captain reroute the capacitors! We will use the forward and aft capacitor banks to supplement the flank batteries. That should enable us to fire the starboard flank blasters at or near a full charge.”

  “That will cut our broadside by forty percent Admiral!”

  “We have no other alternative. Do it!”

  The battle dragged on without any change in tactics. The Terrans continued to pour fire on the stationary Chem. The Chem would not, or could not, change their battle plan. The effectiveness of their aim gradually grew, but they suffered from being under constant bombardment and having fewer projectors at their disposal. Conversely the Terran cells were only under fire half of the time. During each wheel maneuver there was a precious few moments to review the damage, allocate resources, charge their projector capacitors and prepare for the next assault. The Chem had no such respite. Seven times the Terran squadron turned on itself in what was to become known throughout the galaxy as "Alexander’s wheel.” The Terran ships pounded the almost motionless Chem continuously. As the first formation returned for a eighth pass the Chem Captain took one last look over her board and approached him.

  “Admiral, the final shield generator has burned out. They’ve concentrated their fire exclusively on the capital ships, and each is heavily damaged. Within the next few passes our battleships will be gone. We’ve done minimal damage to their capital ships. We don’t have enough projectors to punch through their shields. We’ve fared better with Nazar’s squadron. Still, without our battleships our cruisers and destroyers will never stand up to the Terrans.”

  “Is there any sign that they are slowing to board?” the Admiral said grimly.

  “No my lord, they are commencing another attack run.”

  “This Alexander is coldly efficient. He will not waste his troops in boarding when he can stand off and pound us to pieces! So be it, then we shall die at the hands of a noble adversary,” the Admiral said bluntly, but the light in his eyes belied the fire in his voice. He sighed and confided to the Captain, “Is it not honorable to die beneath tread of a legend? Maybe, but at the moment it is but a hollow honor. I must admit that in hindsight I envy Nazeera’s wisdom. It is not good to have brought such an enemy onto our beloved Chem.” The visiplates flashed with another broadside from the Iowa. The Sunkoor barely trembled with the response of her remaining batteries.

  “The joy of battle is not so euphoric during defeat,” the Admiral muttered to himself. Then a rush of pain shattered his knees, knocking him to the deck. A flash of light blinded him. The air rushed suddenly out of his lungs, roaring in his ears. He sought to clasp the arm of his command chair but it wasn’t there anymore. Winds picked him up and tore his limbs this way and that. Blow after blow recoiled off his body, some hard and unyielding, metal; some soft and thrashing, others like himself. He collided with some ragged edge of metal and it cut through his arm. He was instantly aware of every sensation of his nerves and senses. Then all sound disappeared. He was blind. There were a few more soft collisions, and then nothing. There was no sensation other than his body tingling violently. Then, slowly, his sight returned. The emergency sustaining field in his suit dimmed his view with its soft enveloping glow. Unconsciously, his eyes turned from the stars and sought something concrete on which to focus; it was his hand. He could see one, burned and ragged, but he could not find the other. Then he saw the stump. Blood pumped from the limb, filling the sustaining field momentarily before being identified as an unwanted element by the field controller and filtered out. It exited the field into space where it immediately vaporized into a ruddy gas aglow with the fires of the Sunkoor. His legs felt numb, but he couldn’t force himself to look down. Desperately he sought for something besides the remains of his body. There, the smooth expanse of the Sunkoor’s hull caught him; stretching beneath like a strange horizon. He caught hold of the color of the metal, thinking of the grandeur and beauty of the ancient vessel. Yet the sight soon turned tragic. Over the majestic hull trailed the wispy filaments of escaping gas; the eruptions of flame; the pulsing clouds of plasma. Over the once proud ship the ragged weals of the lash bespoke the Sunkoor as nothing more than a dying carcass; a maimed corpse. Regret flooded his being. Then the sustaining field began to flicker, failing him even as he failed his empire. A certain peace replaced the regret. He was suddenly very, very cold, and an enormous pressure forced itself outwards against his skin.

  A titanic flash and explosion lit the Iowa’s visiplates. The death of the Sunkoor was eerily unreal. There was no sound. There was only the initial bright flash of the blaster hits on the hull, and then a roiling cloud of gas and debris ripping through the skin. Torpedoes plunged into the hull, ripping massive sections of the ship apart. The ship broke into two main sections, each trailing a billowing cloud of gas and plasma. The two sections spun lazily through the Chem formation, nudged here and there by the shields of the other ships. In the space of a moment the flagship of Grand Admiral Sen’Arman, whose keel was laid one hundred and seven thousand years before Alexander the Great was borne, was nothing more than debris on the battlefield; unrecognizable and forgotten.

  “That was their flagship, Alexander,” Augesburcke informed him. “That gives us two battleships destroyed, and two more on the way. Only three of their cruisers have been destroyed, but we should be able to concentrate our firepower on them in the next pass. It looks as though your tactic is working quite well. The way their weapon banks are arranged they are never able to bring more than a quarter of their weapons to bear on us. I am thinking that, ship-to-ship, our battleships can bring fifty percent more firepower to bear in an exchange. Add to that their relatively low accuracy due to our velocity and you have yourself a significant advantage. We’ve pummeled them, but our casualties, thus far, are relatively light.”

  “Thus far,” cautioned Alexander. “The Chem are stubborn, and they do not lack bravery, we’ll wait until the battle is over to pass final judgment. How does it look on Nazar’s flank?”

  “Thus far they’ve done well, though they are fighting in the traditional style and are taking more damage.” Augesburcke commented. “There are several boardings taking place. From the ship-to-ship communications we’ve heard they are going well.”<
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  “Now there’s something to see, Admiral, a Chem boarding!” Alexander told him. “There is no such thing as quarter in the Chem code, and they fight with swords and knives. It’s all hand-to-hand; energy weapons are considered the weapons of cowards. When the Kuntok was boarded the gravity generators were out. We have to train our troops in such fighting, with and without the aid of jet boots. Until we’re ready that is one area of fighting we shall avoid. Our advantage appears to be in formation engagements. We’ll stick to that and refine it.”

  Admiral Augesburcke answered a page and then returned. “The submarine Shark is down to one shield generator, I’ve told her Captain to withdraw out of range.”

  “Good, we don’t need any unnecessary casualties,” Alexander said. The visiplate revealed the dark torpedo of the Shark as it broke out of formation. The ship momentarily disappeared beneath a spread from one of the remaining Chem battleships. Alexander leaned forward in his seat. “Get the Shark behind us or one of the cruisers so we can provide cover!” It was too late. Another salvo caught the Shark amidships. A cascading series of detonations ripped through the Shark’s hull front to back. Shock waves rocked the Iowa

  “Matter-anti-matter torpedoes going up,” Augesburcke shouted, as if the massive lightshow should have a corresponding cacophony of sound. The turbulence lasted only a moment. The Shark was gone. There was only a glowing cloud of plasma to mark her wreck.

  “Make a note in the log and record the time. The Shark is the first Terran casualty of the Terran-Galactic War,” Alexander said grimly.

  “The Terran-Galactic war,” Augesburcke whispered.

  “Yes Admiral, before all is said and done I expect to have to fight every civilization out there,” Alexander told him. “It’s the price of joining their exclusive club.”