Exodus: Empires at War: Book 3: The Rising Storm

by Doug Dandridge

  “How many missiles has the following force sent our way?” was the next question.

  “About a thousand, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, eliciting another frown from the Admiral.

  They have four of their large scout capital ships in that force, plus the other vessels. So why do they hold back on their fire? Unless that’s all they have. “Speculation on why they have not thrown more missiles,” said the Admiral.

  “Perhaps they are holding some in reserve,” said the Helm Officer.

  “But why would they do that?” asked the Sensor Officer. “They have to know that we are the only force they need to fight in this system. It would make more sense to let us have every long range weapon they have aboard those ships. To do less is to risk not accomplishing what they want.”

  “I have an idea, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, looking at the other males on the bridge, then back at the Admiral. “These ships are much faster than the standard warships of their fleet. I believe they must carry more of their propulsion tech, both normal space and hyperdrive, than the other ships, and so have less room for missiles.”

  “That is a good point, Tactical Officer,” said the Admiral, giving a head move of affirmation.

  “Then maybe their lasers and other weapons are weaker as well,” said the Helm Officer.

  “I would not think so,” said the Tactical Office, giving a head gesture of negation. “They would need to generate more energy than one of their standard warships, so it would make sense to actually increase the power of those weapons as well.” The officer looked down at his board, then back up at the Admiral. “Our missiles will make contact in twenty-three minutes.”

  “And they have slowed their velocity,” said the Sensory Officer.

  “Why would they do that?” asked the Helm Officer, making a hand gesture of confusion.

  “They wish to gain time,” growled the Low Admiral, glaring at the plot. “The more time it takes to reach them, to better chance their compatriots will also be in the game.”

  “And those compatriots have increased their acceleration thirty more gravities, my Lord,” said the Sensory Officer, crinkling his snout in annoyance.

  “How can they go so fast?” asked the Helm Officer. He looked around at the Admiral. “Acceleration tanks.”

  “But, that’s primitive technology,” said the Sensory Officer.

  “And it still works,” said the Low Admiral. “Primitive or not.” And something we haven’t used in millennia, thanks to our superior tech. And an inferior species continues to find utility in it. “This is all speculation, something we will not be able to settle until we have the wreckage of their ships to examine. So we concentrate on the force ahead, shatter them, and get out of the system. And maybe they will still be here when we come back with company.”

  * * *

  “ETA enemy missiles, forty-six minutes,” said the Sensory Officer.

  “Destroyers and cruisers deploying into umbrella,” said the Com Officer.

  The tactical holo showed the destroyers reducing their decel and pulling ahead of the battle cruisers, forming a small fan about a couple of light seconds distant. The light cruisers closed in around the battle cruisers in the two hundred thousand kilometer range. Sir Galahad set the pattern for defensive fire, making sure that all ships were covered by other ships, and that every approach lane had the best possible coverage. The overall plan gave the best protection to the battle cruisers, the most important of the ships due to their offensive firepower. And Galahad because of her passenger.

  “Order all ships to start launching missiles,” said the Admiral, looking at her com officer. “Set them all for low accel until the programed time to boost full power.” She looked over at the Emperor. “I would have preferred to have waited and launched them with all the power of the launching tubes. But I have to get them out there before I lose them.”

  “I understand,” said the young man, looking nervously at the tactical plot.

  So he’s a little scared, thought Montgomery, seeing the sweat on the man’s face. Good. Maybe after this he’ll have the sense to stay in the capital, and let the professionals run the war.

  “How does the new armor feel, your Majesty?” she asked, more to get his mind off his mortality than anything else.

  “Like I am a knight, about to charge into battle,” said Sean with a smile.

  Everyone aboard the ship was armored, by the book before going into battle. Not that it would save them from a devastating hit, but a puncture that let out atmosphere and sent killing particles flying through the ship would be survivable.

  “That’s about to happen to us all, your Majesty,” said Montgomery, feeling a little maternal toward the young man. “In our eight million ton steed.”

  “And we attacking an elephant,” said the young Emperor with a smile

  “There is that,” said the Admiral with a nod. “There is that.”

  * * *

  “The force ahead is firing missiles,” called out the Tactical Officer.

  “ETA?”

  “It is difficult to calculate, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, looking back at the Low Admiral. “Visual shows them ejecting the missiles into space without acceleration. The missiles then slowly move into formation. And, of course, this was forty-five minutes ago, so they could be doing anything by now.”

  “Calculate the best profile for those missiles to arrive here at the same time as the following missiles,” said the Low Admiral, pointing both right index fingers at the officer for emphasis.

  The Tactical officer acknowledged and went to work on his board, turning back a moment later. “The missiles from the forward force will be coming at us at point zero five light, with a closing speed of point five one light. Missiles from the following force will be overtaking us at point nine two light, for a closing speed of point four six light.”

  So the relative velocity will all be around or less than point five light, thought the Low Admiral, playing with his personal holo and seeing the projected attack profile. Still fast enough to be dangerous, but not as much as they could be.

  “Our missiles should be arriving at the enemy force about now,” said the Tactical Officer, his snout wrinkled back in a feral snarl.

  “And we will see what we will see in forty-five minutes,” said the Admiral in a low voice. “If only there were a way to see the information in real time. But of course there isn’t.”

  * * *

  “Enemy missiles at point nine two light closing speed,” yelled out the Sensory Officer. “Range ninety nine point three six million kilometers. ETA six minutes.”

  “Execute optimal counter missile firing plan,” ordered the Admiral.

  A second later the ship bucked slightly as the missile tubes started cycling long range counters. The small missiles, about a tenth the size of the offensive weapons, accelerated at ten thousand gravities toward the projectiles that were coming to kill their launch platforms. The ships may have been deficient on offensive missiles, but carried the full complement of defensive weapons for the class, it being considered important for the scout vessels to be able to fight themselves clear of any situation and bring their information back.

  Within a minute there were six thousand of the long range interceptors in space, flying toward their targets, with more being launched every second. The launching vessels scanned toward the incoming missiles, radar and ladar on full power, attempting to break through the jamming being put out by the enemy weapons. In some cases they were successful, in most not. Three hundred missiles dropped off the plot as pinpoints of bright light appeared in space. Then the enemy weapons were past the counter missiles, and starting to acquire their own targets through the jamming put out by the warships. Said warships were starting to put short range counter missiles into space, fired in their thousands by cells on the skins of the warships.

  The enemy missiles were two minutes ETA when the short range counters began to strike, twenty thousand o
f them trying to hit just over two thousand missiles. Again there was some success, and a thousand missiles dropped off the plot, the rest coming in.

  Sean could feel the cold sweat running down his spine under the armor. He had been in battle in the recent past, in the Massadara system. At the time he was subsumed by anger and grief, and really hadn’t had his full attention on the life or death situation. Still, it had been more frightening than anything he had ever gone through. This seemed an order of magnitude greater. His guts were roiling, his fear that his life was going to end here and now, something his young mind couldn’t imagine, almost taking over his every thought. He wanted to get up and run to the lifepods, now. Hell of an Emperor I will be, he thought, ashamed at his own cowardice. Like I will ever get the chance, his thoughts continued as he looked at the plot.

  “Initiate close in firing plan,” ordered the Admiral, her own eyes wide, a grimace on her face. She looked over at the Emperor. “By the Goddess, this is scary as Hell, isn’t it?”

  “You are frightened?” said Sean through a quivering voice.

  “I am not insane, your Majesty,” said the Admiral. “Like everyone aboard this ship, I don’t want to die. And we all have something to keep our minds occupied, unlike you.” She turned back to the tactical plot, which showed all the vessels in her task group turning side on to the missiles, allowing all the laser rings a clear shot at the incoming weapons.

  At one minute ETA the lasers began to fire in their patterns, pulsing microsecond shots from the mains, each of which was able to obliterate an incoming missile, if they hit. The secondaries, built for this purpose joined in, as did every particle beam that could be brought to bear. Another four hundred missiles were taken out, and at thirty seconds ETA the short range projectile weapons filled space with millions of small but dense particles. It always seemed as if the mass of fire would keep anything from coming through. It never quite worked that way, and three hundred missiles made it through on final approach.

  All of the ships whipped around to point their bows at the incoming missiles, while weapons continued to put out as much fire as possible. At five seconds out the ships started to release their last ditch weapons. Balls of superheated plasma exited the single bow tube of each ship. Two seconds after release the magnetic field generated by the follower capsule cut off, and the plasma expanded within a second to a hundred times its original size. A hundred missiles plowed into the plasma. Forty-one were destroyed outright, twenty-seven were damaged, still driving on but totally blind, their sensors burned out. Thirty two came on, along with the two hundred that were missed by the plasma.

  Now it was each ship for itself in the final second of approach for over a hundred of the missiles, the others not far behind. Every ship went into evasive maneuvers, jammers hot, active sensors throwing out signals that tried to spoof the enemy missiles’ seeker heads. One destroyer was able to knock down two missiles targeted on it, but the third came through untouched and slammed into the small warship. The kinetic energy that transferred into the destroyer shattered the ship, the afterthought of the warhead turning what hadn’t been converted into atoms into a hot plasma. A light cruiser got eight of the missiles, then was flooded by the radiation and heat of the three closest explosions. The ninth missile targeting smashed into the eight hundred thousand ton warship. It was converted to plasma when a tenth missile came through, detonating in the intense heat.

  Destroyers and light cruisers died like flies in a hot flame, performing their heartbreaking function of saving the bigger ships. That had always been their function on the battle line. Sean looked at the plot while ships dropped off, and wondered if it had to always be that way.

  The King Yussef concentrated on keeping missiles away from the Flagship, to her own detriment, as five near misses saturated the ship and knocked out her electromag, holo and laser systems. Seven missiles homed in on the now easiest target in their space, and turned the battle cruiser into vapor.

  Sir Galahad shuddered a few times from very near misses that still were not close enough to cause much blast effect. Her port side was irradiated enough to shut down many of her systems, including a pair of grabbers.

  “That was too damn close,” said the Admiral, looking over the plot which was now free of missiles. A smile touched her lips.

  Sean knew from his time on the battleship Sergiov that the commander was not happy, and was probably feeling intense grief. What she was showing was relief at still being among the living, something he had learned from Captain Ngano on his old battleship, when he had thought the man heartless and insensitive to the deaths of the crew of a destroyer that had saved the battleship.

  Sean looked at the plot, showing three battle cruisers, three light cruisers and two destroyers remaining in the force. One of the light cruisers and both destroyers blinked the orange of damage, as did the flagship.

  “Now we just have to wait to see what damage our missiles did to their force,” said the Admiral, her brow furrowed in worry.

  If they all come through, we’re doomed, thought the Emperor, looking at the plot that now showed the enemy force. Or at least the enemy force as they were about forty-four minutes ago. And we should be hitting them right about, now.

  Chapter Seventeen

  By three methods we may learn wisdom. First, by reflection, which is noblest. Second, by imitation, which is easiest, and third by experience, which is the bitterest. Confucius.

  SESTIUS SPACE, MARCH 29TH, 1000.

  The Low Admiral cursed as he looked at the plot. All of them, he thought, cringing internally. He had lost all three of his super cruisers, and only had one battered scout left of his force besides his battleship.

  Curse the luck, he thought. It had looked so good at first, with his counter missiles taking out three quarters of the enemy birds, then his close in defenses had destroyed all but fifty of the weapons. Only one of his cruisers had been hit, by four missiles, enough to turn it into vapor. There had been many near misses, enough to cause damage to all of his ships.

  And then had come the following wave, and his counter missiles had to actually decelerate to get to those weapons. The interception had not gone as planned, and the five hundred missiles that made it through had saturated his defenses.

  He looked at the plot that showed the remainder of the forward enemy force. They actually outmassed him now, but those were all much more lightly armed ships that were facing him. If the following ships could join in the battle he would not have a hope, but they would still be twenty light minutes back when he contacted the forward force and blew past them.

  “My Lord,” called out the Tactical Officer, looking back at the Admiral. “We are receiving light amp fire from behind.”

  “Effect?”

  “Minor, my Lord Admiral,” said the officer. “They are widespread beams, spread further by the distance. They are dispersing on the plasma field.”

  “Then we will not worry about those who chase us,” said the Admiral.

  “I have calculated their velocity and acceleration, my Lord,” said the Navigator. “They will catch us just before we get to the hyper I barrier. Even if we get into hyper before them, if they wish to continue the chase in Hyper they will catch us.”

  “We will still outgun them, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, standing up from his seat and giving a two handed fist pump in the air.

  “That may not be strictly true, my Lord,” said the Navigator, earning a glare from the other officer. “We do not know the laser power of these ships, though we have speculated that they may carry a greater weight of fire for their mass than their slower vessels. And we do not know how we will fare in the battle against the force ahead. Though I think we will win, we are sure to suffer damage which will reduce our own firepower.”

  “But we have no choice to but to join them in battle,” said the Low Admiral, growling. “The laws of physics cannot be circumvented. So we must do what we can, and pray the Gods for the best.”

 
“The Gods must be on our side,” said the Helm Officer, bowing his head. “How can it be otherwise. We must pray that they deliver us, and then they will.”

  The Low Admiral bowed his head with the rest, for appearances sake. He had lost his faith ages ago, with the death of his sons on campaign. He hoped the Navigator was right, but his personal feeling was that whatever deity existed, or not, he didn’t care for the petty disputes of the tiny biological units that thought they ruled the Universe.

  * * *

  “Couldn’t we just get out of the way?” asked Lt. Commander Samantha Ogden Lee, standing up, looking at her Admiral and pointing at Sean. “I mean, his butt is more important than this mission. Shouldn’t we get him out of here?”

  Sean stood up from his seat and glared at his cousin. “I will not be protected.”

  “You’re protected all the time, my Imperial cousin,” said the woman, looking at the Emperor, then at her Admiral. “It is our job to protect him, whether he wants it or not. That is what we are sworn to do.”

  “As you were, Commander,” said the Admiral, standing and pointing a finger at the officer.

  Samantha looked at the Admiral defiantly for a moment. And why not, thought Sean, looking into the angry face of his cousin. The most that can be done to her is to be relieved of duty, and then dismissed from the service. Her family ties prevent any kind of the repercussions that might await another officer. Sean still breathed a sigh of relief when she turned and went back to her seat.