EMPIRE: Conqueror (EMPIRE SERIES Book 6)

by Richard F. Weyand

  It was a vain attempt. Svenson’s hundred and ninety thousand missiles swept Getty’s eighty-thousand-missile launch from space. The hundred thousand surviving Sintaran missiles now bore down on Getty’s formation. These were ECM Mark 2 missiles, and they could only be successfully targeted within Getty’s inner point-defense envelope. Fifty thousand of them survived the point-defense gauntlet to target Getty’s ships. A wave of nuclear destruction washed over the DP formation.

  None of the DP warships survived.

  Dunham and Peters were enjoying the evening in their private living room. The kids were in bed, and it was their special time together before they went to bed themselves and then the whole crazy cycle of ‘a day in the life’ started over.

  “I have to say it’s nice Sean and Dee are getting more civilized,” Peters said. “No fight about bedtime tonight.”

  “They were pretty wore out. It looked like it was all Dee could do to keep her eyes open.”

  Peters laughed.

  “I think she fell asleep walking into the bedroom,” she said.

  “Yeah. Sean had to tuck her in.”

  “It’s nice how protective he is of her. Not protective, really. Considerate, I guess is the better word.”

  “They’re both good kids.”

  They were quiet for a while before Peters broke the silence again.

  “I read about the Second Battle of Cache 32. I didn’t even know you could fire missiles out of a static container just sitting there.”

  “Neither did the general staff. That’s something Admiral Svenson came up with on his own. He’s been experimenting with it since the last battle there.”

  “Well, it was effective,” Peters said. “Was that another sixty-five million DP casualties.”

  Dunham sighed.

  “Yes. I wish they would stop doing stupid stuff. At this rate, we’re going to have to kill them all.”

  “That would be bad. The early ideas for peace coming out of the Zoo all presume we can put an end to this without slaughtering billions.”

  “I know, Amanda. I’m working on it.”

  “Sorry, Bobby. I didn’t mean to add to the pressure.”

  He ran a hand through his hair.

  “It’s OK. We need something to break the pattern. I’m just not sure what that is.”

  War Crime

  Four DP formations were traveling in hyperspace to the provincial capitals of Morgan and Denovan in Estvia and Balmoral and Nordstrom in Pannia. There was no effort made by the Sintaran Empire to evacuate the two million spacers in the deployment buildings on the fleet base in each capital. Rather, the fleet bases and the provincial governors were both ordered to surrender to the incoming DP formations.

  The proper care of prisoners of war and occupied planets was the duty of the Democracy of Planets.

  DPN Petty Officer Second Class Nathan Holmes had another night of restless sleep and nightmares. His brother Brendan had been crew on one of the recon destroyers destroyed in Sintar’s attacks on the DP formations two weeks ago. As luck would have it, the DPN Berthold, Brendan’s ship, had been in the same system with the DPN Essen District, Nathan’s ship, when the attack came in. The big battleship had not been targeted, but Nathan had effectively watched his brother die when the recon destroyers were targeted.

  His nightmares were about their childhood together, happy times, playing ball or hiking in the woods, or camping. And they all ended with his younger brother, in the middle of one of their happy activities, suddenly exploding into flames and shrieking as he died.

  Worse, it seemed the DP would never strike back at those murdering Sintaran bastards. It was all about rules. You can’t target this, you can’t target that. Nathan was a missileer aboard the Essen District, and he had had his fill of watching Sintar target and kill DP spacers, while being unable to strike back.

  Holmes went down to the missile feed queue to the breeches of the big impellers. The massive compartment in the middle of the big ship was the breech end of the elevator that moved missiles from the cargo containers on the front of the ship down to the breeches. The compartment contained the four loaders for the forward-firing impellers, in the cradle of each of which the next missile in queue was clamped. The impeller tubes themselves were empty now, so these were the next four missiles to launch.

  Holmes opened the access panel in the side of one of the missiles, the panel that gave access to the abort system and charge. This independent system allowed the ship that fired the missile to explode it without setting off the warhead. To abort the shot. He disconnected the wire to the explosive charge and replaced the panel.

  Holmes was moving to the next loader when a maintenance crew came into the compartment.

  “We’re doing scheduled periodic lubrication of the loaders, Petty Officer Holmes,” said Petty Officer Third Class Chad Booker, head of the work party.

  “I’m just doing a walk-through inspection,” Holmes said. “Carry on, Mr. Booker. I’ll get out of your way.”

  Holmes had only disabled the abort system of one missile, but that was OK. One was all he needed. He would take a bite out of those Sintaran bastards at last.

  Brendan would be avenged.

  A pair of DP projector ships down-transitioned into the Morgan system, one above and one below the ecliptic. They scanned the system and reported back to Admiral Cheng’s force, standing by in normal space one light-year distant.

  “All right. Looks like our company is almost here. Let’s not do anything stupid,” said Admiral Kenneth Martin, the commanding officer of Imperial Fleet Base Morgan.

  Twenty thousand DP warships down-transitioned into the Morgan system and made for the planet at one gravity.

  “Sir, we have a communication from an Admiral Kenneth Martin. He’s the local commander, commanding Imperial Fleet Base Morgan. He’s surrendering, Sir.”

  Cheng grunted. Well, that was the same as always. The local commander this time, though, not the planetary governor.

  “Can you put him through to me?” Cheng asked.

  “Yes, Sir. You’re live now, Sir.”

  “Hello, Admiral Martin. Admiral Cheng here.”

  “Hello, Admiral Cheng.”

  “Admiral, how many Imperial Navy personnel do you have on base?”

  “Just over three million, Sir.”

  “Three million?”

  “Yes, Sir. We have two million crewmen here. We just don’t have enough ships that need crews.”

  That was an interesting problem to have. The Democracy of Planets Navy had huge problems filling out its crew rosters.

  “All right, Admiral Martin. Well, you’re all prisoners of war now. All your personnel are confined to quarters until further notice, with the exception of absolute necessities like food delivery to everyone and garbage detail and the like. I hope we won’t have any problems with that.”

  “Oh, no, Sir. We’re more than happy to sit back and watch, Sir.”

  “Very well. We’ll send down a company of Marines to maintain perimeter and gate security. Otherwise you’re on your parole. I’ll send along a colonel as your contact point on those matters. We have a lot more Marines here if we have to, but I would rather just do things all easy.”

  “I as well, Sir. You won’t have any trouble here.”

  “On to other matters, then, Admiral. What stores do you have in terms of reaction mass, missiles, and space-packed food supplies?”

  “Nothing at all, Sir. I know that sounds weird for a fleet base, but you’re welcome to come down here and look. The fleet pulled everything out with them when they left.”

  Again, the same as always. The Imperial Navy had done a marvelous job of leaving nothing behind for them to forage from. Now what was he supposed to do?

  “All right, Admiral. I’ll be back in touch later. And I’ll warn you once more about no misbehavior.”

  “Understood, Admiral.”

  “So what’s our status?” Martin’s chief of staff asked him.

>   “We’ve all been confined to quarters,” Martin said drily.

  His chief of staff started, then exploded into laughter.

  “None of those people have left their deployment buildings in months, Sir.”

  “And we’re going to keep it that way. Admiral’s orders.”

  “Yes, Sir,” his chief of staff tried to say with a straight face, and then dissolved once more into laughter.

  Twenty thousand DP warships down-transitioned into the Denovan system and made for the planet at one gravity. Once again, the local commander surrendered immediately. He regretted to inform DP Admiral Floyd Baxter they had no available supplies, as the fleet had pulled out with everything.

  He and his command, as well, were ordered confined to quarters except for necessary duties like delivery of food to the prisoners and garbage detail.

  Twenty thousand DP warships down-transitioned into the Balmoral system in Pannia and made for the planet at one gravity. Admiral Rolf Beckert was in command. One of the ships in Beckert’s formation was the DPN Essen District, DPN Captain Frank Wojcik commanding.

  Aboard his flagship, Rolf Beckert was considering the tactical display as his ships approached the planet.

  “Sir, we have a communication from the planet. Admiral Carl Barry is commanding officer, Imperial Fleet Base Balmoral. Admiral Barry surrenders, Sir.”

  Just like all the other planets so far. Well, Beckert supposed that was to be expected.

  “Connect him through, Comm.”

  “Yes, Sir. You’re live now.”

  Surrender, my ass, Nathan Holmes thought. You Sintaran bastards can all go straight to hell.

  He pushed the button on his VR console.

  On the VR bridge of the Essen District, Captain Wojcik’s weapons officer broke into his conversation with his XO.

  “Sir, the forward impeller tubes are loading.”

  “What? Override,” Wojcik ordered.

  “I’m trying, Sir, but I’m locked out.”

  “Keep trying. Find out where the lockout is.”

  “Launch sequence is initiating, Sir. I can’t stop it.”

  Wojcik felt the Essen District shudder as all four forward tubes fired.

  “Abort those missiles!”

  “Yes, Sir. Abort command sent.”

  Wojcik watched the tactical display and saw three of the missiles explode, not with a nuclear explosion, but with the chemical explosion of its fuel, ignited by the aborting charge. His heart skipped a beat, however, as one missile continued on.

  “One abort failed, Sir. The status shows abort system failure.”

  “Where is it going?” Wojcik asked.

  “It’s targeting the planet, Sir. It’s heading for the Sintaran fleet base.”

  “Retarget it! Send it into the ocean.”

  “I’m trying, Sir, but it’s been re-keyed. It’s rejecting my commands.”

  “Try to break the key. See if we get lucky.”

  The odds of breaking the new key in time were low, Wojcik knew, but at this point it was all they had.

  Admiral Beckert was speaking with the Sintaran admiral, Admiral Barry, when they were both interrupted by their staffs.

  “Sir, the Essen district has fired on the planet.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, Sir. Four missiles. They aborted three, but the fourth is targeting the Sintaran fleet base. They can’t abort it, and they can’t re-target it. Someone rekeyed it, Sir.”

  Beckert looked back to Admiral Barry.

  “It’s an unauthorized launch, Admiral. Somebody knew what they were doing, though. They’ve rekeyed it, and we can’t stop it.”

  “I understand, Admiral,” Barry said. “And there’s nothing we can do to stop it. We’re completely unarmed.”

  “I’m sorry, Admiral Barry.”

  “So am I, Admiral Beckert. May God have mercy on your souls.”

  And then the connection was lost.

  The ten-megaton nuclear warhead detonated at five thousand feet above the surface, dead center of Imperial Fleet Base Balmoral. It incinerated the entire base, as well as the city of retail shops and services that grew up around any military base, and all the associated housing.

  Every building within ten miles of the blast was destroyed. The shock wave continued out from the explosion for miles, and licked at the suburbs of Edinburgh, the provincial capital, thirty-five miles away, blowing out windows and collapsing weaker structures. Then the suction pulled that initial air blast back and the air rushed back into the center as the mushroom cloud expanded overhead.

  Including those on Imperial Fleet Base Balmoral, over five million people died in the initial blast. There were millions more injured, some of whom would die later, and many blinded, at least temporarily, by the flash.

  Admiral Beckert watched the detonation and mushroom cloud on the tactical display with horror. He knew exactly what Admiral Barry had meant by his last remark. Sintar’s response to this was as predictable as the sunrise.

  “Get us out of here. Maximum acceleration away from the planet. Stand by projector ships as soon as we reach the transition limit.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  DPN Fleet Admiral Floyd Baxter’s force had taken the Denovan system.

  “Sir, One of Admiral Beckert’s ships fired on the Sintaran fleet base at Balmoral. Ten-megaton detonation, right on the fleet base.”

  “What?” Admiral Baxter asked.

  “Admiral Beckert says it was an unauthorized firing, Sir. They couldn’t stop it. Someone jiggered the key and the abort.”

  The reaction of Sintar to that was easy to predict.

  “All ships. General quarters. We’re leaving. Make ready for a departure soonest.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  It was two in the morning when Dunham was awakened by an emergency call. He went into VR channel 22, the simulation of his office. Admiral Leicester was waiting.

  “Be seated, Admiral. What is it?”

  “Yes, Sire. The DP force in Balmoral bombed the planet. One ten-megaton warhead, dead center on Imperial Fleet Base Balmoral. The commanding officer of the DP formation was speaking with our commander on Balmoral at the time, and said it was an unauthorized launch. That the missile had been re-keyed, and the abort system failed. They couldn’t stop it.”

  “Your opinion, Admiral Leicester?”

  “It could be, Sire. It was one ship, one launch of four missiles, three aborted. One person could have pulled that off, if he knew what he was doing.”

  “Casualties, Admiral Leicester?”

  “We’re estimating at least five million dead, Sire, and millions more injured. Oh, and this happened after the base had surrendered.”

  “Are we in position, Admiral Leicester?”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “Very well. Destroy all DP forces in Balmoral. Demand the surrender of DP forces in the other three provincial capitals.”

  “And if they don’t surrender, Sire?”

  “In that case, destroy them as well.”

  “Yes, Sire.”

  The DP forces that spaced to the provincial capitals had all been followed by Sintaran formations at twelve hours’ distance or so. The Sintaran forces were only a light-year away when the orders came in.

  The crews of the Sintaran formation down-transitioning into Balmoral had blood in their eyes. The thirty-two thousand Sintaran ships found the twenty thousand DP ships hightailing it for the transition limit. Fleet Admiral Natalia Shvets eyed her tactical display.

  “Formation orders. Maximum acceleration, twenty minus ten. Stand by box launchers.”

  “Orders transmitted. Missile range in thirty minutes.”

  “Will they be able to make transition before we get there?”

  “No, Ma’am.”

  The DP formation was making almost 1.7 gravities, but the Sintaran formation was making almost 6.5 gravities as its motivated engineers tweaked and tuned their engines. No way they were getting away after committing that
war crime, the mass murder of millions of spacers and civilians after a surrender had been offered and accepted.

  “We’re in missile range now, Ma’am.”

  “Of their whole formation?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Very well. Fire box launchers.”

  Shvets’s formation had not had time to reload box launchers after the prior confrontation, but her ships had one box launch left and that’s all they needed. Two million four hundred thousand missiles streaked out from her formation, targeted on the twenty thousand DP warships. Their own box launchers shot out, they could fire only eighty thousand missiles in response. They got off three volleys, which Shvets’s missiles casually brushed aside, before Shvets’s missiles were inside the DP’s minimum missile range.

  While these were ECM Mark 1 missiles, over two million of them entered the DP warships’ point-defense envelope. Almost a million died under the frantic fire of point-defense lasers, but that still left over a million missiles spread over a mere twenty thousand targets. Any missile that couldn’t target a warship targeted the larger debris.

  When it was done, there wasn’t anything left of Admiral Beckert’s formation bigger than a school bus.

  Thirty-two thousand Sintaran warships down-transitioned into the Denovan system to find the twenty thousand ships of the DP formation accelerating towards them. Fleet Admiral Dexter McGee considered his tactical display and then commed for the Democracy of Planets commander.

  “Admiral Baxter here, Admiral McGee.”

  “Admiral Baxter, I require your surrender. You have ten minutes to surrender, or I will destroy your formation.”

  Baxter had seen what happened to Admiral Beckert’s command less than an hour before. He didn’t need ten minutes.

  “We surrender, Admiral McGee. What are your instructions?”

  “You are to flip ship and make for a high orbit of the planet, three times missile range from the surface. If any missile launches, or if any projector ship projects a hypergate, your entire force will be destroyed. Do you understand?”