by Yakov Merkin
As the order was carried out, he entered a command into the battle network, ordering all ships to launch fighters. The planetary batteries would have a hard time hitting such small craft, and they would be able to close with the Legion Navy ships quicker. Many would be lost, but that was preferable to losing any more capital ships.
On the tactical display, hundreds of tiny dots representing Tyrannodon fighters appeared, along with several dozen others from the Legion Navy vessels, which had just begun to scatter. If these ships were carrying hyperspace-capable fighters, then stopping them all would likely be impossible. But for now, this operation could potentially be salvaged.
With nothing more he personally could do about the Legion Navy for the moment, Darkclaw turned most of his attention back to the more pressing problem of the planet’s defenses. The fighters more than likely could destroy them, but there might be a more practical solution. If captured, these defensive batteries could be used to his advantage, to defend the system should the Galactic Alliance attempt to reclaim it. This would free up a great number of his warships, of which he would need as many as possible, particularly if a warning reached the enemy.
“Sensors detect thirty-six batteries spread throughout the planet, Executor,” the Tyrannodon monitoring sensors said.
With a quick motion from Darkclaw, the holographic display in front of him changed to focus on the planet alone, locations of the batteries marked in red. He could, perhaps, send soldiers to the planet to capture the batteries, but he had no way of knowing how heavily they were defended, and even though drop ships were not so large, a great many would likely be destroyed before reaching the planet if he attempted a major landing. No, a smaller operation was needed here. Darkclaw immediately knew which of his new army’s specialized combat units would best serve this purpose. The High Lord had designated the unit to be called Wraith. They were one of the smaller special units, numbering less than a thousand members in total, due in part to the significantly longer training time they required. They were trained for covert operations, to act as quick strike teams, and also were utilized as bodyguards for Darkclaw and his two Praetors, Keeneye and Shadowpath. The entire command crew of the Hudecar were Wraith soldiers as well, all able to protect Darkclaw should the need arise. The ship commander, in particular, had performed particularly well thus far; obedient and unquestioning, while showing initiative and thinking on his own.
Darkclaw motioned for him to approach. “Commander, I am placing you in command of a Wraith operation on Reath. Organize thirty-six Wraith units and have them prepared to travel to the surface. I will provide you with the details of the operation by the time the teams are ready. Time is limited; the teams are to depart as soon as they are prepared and have received their orders.”
“Understood, Executor.” The ship commander saluted and exited the command deck.
Darkclaw turned back to the display and brought up the battle once more as he used the console on his arm to relay the relevant information to the Wraith units. The Legion Navy forces were falling before the fighter onslaught, intent on escaping rather than fighting, but they were not falling fast enough. At this pace, Darkclaw’s forces would not catch them, and they would get far enough from the interdictors to escape despite the interdictors moving outward to keep the enemy within range. Darkclaw quickly began to select groups of fighters, forming them into new squadrons; the current squadrons were completely separated at the moment, and began directing them to targets. Whole squadrons were sent to focus on the larger ships, with orders to ram if there was no other way to stop them from escaping. Not the most practical method, but there was little choice now. The rest he directed to trap and destroy the enemy fighters at all costs.
On the tactical display, the dots representing the Tyrannodon fighters began to separate as they moved to fulfill their new orders. They had taken few losses so far due to the nature of the pursuit, but the Reathan batteries were becoming bolder, firing at the fighters even though the Legion Navy fighters were in the same area. Slowly, the number of enemies dwindled, the last of the capital ships winking out of existence as a fighter made a suicide run at its engines. The enemy fighters were still separating and fleeing, however, with the Tyrannodons pursuing them now to near the edge of the planet-based batteries’ range. Unfortunately, the Tyrannodon fleet had not been able to completely encircle the planet. They had not failed yet, however, he noted as the Wraith units were deployed.
Enough of the Legion Navy fighters had been destroyed for Darkclaw to rapidly count the remainder: three dozen, each now being pursued by as many as one hundred Tyrannodon fighters. But they were clearly nearing the point at which they could escape, and his fighters were not gaining quickly enough. Another few disappeared from the display as the drop ships bearing the Wraith units relayed that their occupants had disembarked and were moving toward their targets. As expected, the defensive batteries had not been able to accurately fire at them. On the tactical display, the number of enemy fighters continued to slowly dwindle, and Darkclaw decided to turn to the display screen; there were no more orders he could give that would alter the outcome now.
“Magnify,” he commanded, and the screen focused closely on the few remaining enemy fighters and the swarms of Tyrannodon ships pursuing them, still unable to close enough to eliminate them. Another few enemy craft made course errors and were immediately disintegrated as their pursuers caught up, but even as that happened the rest, a mere nine, had moved far enough from the planet to jump to hyperspace, leaving the Tyrannodon fighters alone. Many of them could pursue through hyperspace, but they would never catch the Legion Navy fighters before a message was relayed.
Darkclaw stared at the empty space where the Alliance ships had been. Even though the planet would not hold out once the defense batteries were taken, this was a failure, and highlighted the dangers that their lack of knowledge could cause. There had been no way of knowing of the planet’s defenses, and now the Galactic Alliance would know of the Tyrannodons' existence far earlier than planned. His plans would have to be altered.
“Revert to standard operations,” he ordered. The tactical display shut down, the center of the command deck lowered, and the lights brightened slightly. Darkclaw remained connected to the battle network, however, to receive updates from the commanders of the Wraith units.
With the fighters escaping to broadcast a warning, Darkclaw needed to accomplish two things to rectify the failure. The first, and most obvious, was that he had to find a new source of intelligence, one which would have the tactical information that station had not had. The second was allies. The High Lord would not want to ally with any other species, but if there was to be any chance of the invasion proceeding as quickly as planned, it would be necessary.
Darkclaw returned to his seat, accessed the captured information, and began to examine everything they had that discussed the races and organizations within the Alliance. After some searching he found one that looked very promising, a race called the Felinaris. In addition to having a long-running feud dating back to their first extra-system travel with their interstellar neighbors the Darvians—who were currently a central part of the Alliance—they had been expelled from the Galactic Alliance and then, more recently, attacked by Alliance members. They possessed a significant military force, and would likely have had active intelligence networks that could provide Darkclaw with what he needed. And there was reason for them to side with him. Of course, eventually they would have to be subjugated like every other inferior race, but until the Galactic Alliance was destroyed, their knowledge of the enemy would be needed. It made logical sense to use the Felinaris as a tool; it did not leave them on equal standing with the Tyrannodons, and Darkclaw could engineer their battle plans so that they sustained heavy losses, making their eventual conquest all the easier.
Securing their allegiance should not prove difficult. Traveling to the system to speak with them, however, was not quite so simple. There was a great deal of enemy space
between Reath and the Felinar. Taking the entire fleet was out of the question; there would be no way to avoid detection. Perhaps a small number of ships, a single battlegroup perhaps, could make it unnoticed.
Darkclaw brought up a map of Alliance space as he began to receive updates from the landing parties and began to plot a course to Felinar. The course was complex and far from direct, but it would avoid all inhabited areas, as well as all known stations of Alliance listening posts.
Nearly half an hour later, Darkclaw received a communication from the surface, though not from the Hudecar’s ship commander.
“All planet-based defensive batteries have been taken, Executor,” said the officer, designated Wraith Unit Commander 73, according to his transponder.
“Why am I receiving this report from you?” Darkclaw replied.
“Ship Commander Menan was killed in the attack, Executor, along with three others. He took a direct hit from an enemy heavy weapon for three others.”
“Menan?” Darkclaw asked. The clone Tyrannodons had not been given names; the Hudecar’s ship commander had been called Ship Commander 00001. Menan was the Felinaris word for loyal. A fascinating coincidence.
“The name the ship commander chose for himself,” the Tyrannodon officer explained.
Darkclaw was silent for a moment. He was genuinely unsure whether this sort of independent action by the clones should be encouraged. But that was a problem for another time.
The ship commander’s death was an unfortunate waste. He had been a competent officer, though had died a worthy death, in the service of his superiors. Still, unfortunate. Darkclaw would need a new ship commander; he should never have risked his deputy officer aboard the Hudecar. Personnel changes would not make the ship run any more efficiently. He decided then that his new ship commander would not be a clone, if only to ensure that he did not send the officer on any dangerous assignments.
A moment later, Darkclaw realized he was still dwelling on the commander’s death, and quickly returned to focusing on the issues at hand.
“Good work, commander,” he finally replied. “See to it that the dead are returned to the fleet. Praetor Keeneye will see to the bodies. Continue to hold your positions. Additional forces will join you shortly.” Darkclaw ended the transmission just as a message was received from Reath’s government, submitting itself to the Tyrannodons.
At least they know when they are beaten. In a strange way, the Reathans were the most competent race conquered so far, though their own people had hardly fought back: They attempted a defense, and when it was defeated they immediately offered to surrender, unlike the foolish Zarians and Cytans. He would not be forced to do anything more to gain their submission.
Before ordering troops to the surface, Darkclaw sent a brief transmission to Commander Erenag, the Tyrannodon in command of the operations of Selixan Station, requesting a replacement ship commander to be transferred to the Hudecar. Erenag was not among those appointed by the High Lord to high positions, and thus had no gift, but Darkclaw had seen fit to appoint one of the original thousand to that position.
The unfortunate task done, Darkclaw set about the process of taking possession of Reath; sending his demands to its government, dispatching forces to the surface, and designating an officer to take command, given his imminent departure. The process took longer than he would have preferred, but it was over soon enough.
Darkclaw then contacted Praetor Keeneye. “Praetor, I leave you in command of our forces in the occupied systems, along with Praetor Shadowpath, for the time being.” Darkclaw paused. “For now, I intend to depart for the Felinar system, where I will secure an alliance with its inhabitants; the alliance will prevent debacles such as this from occurring in the future. I will have need of you again once the next phase of the invasion begins.”
“Of course, Executor. If you deem it necessary,” Keeneye replied. “Will you take an escort?”
“Battlegroup three will provide the Hudecar with an escort. Any more and there is too great a risk of being detected.” Fifty warships would be plenty.
“As you will, Executor,” Keeneye replied. “I will keep our holdings secure, and defend it against any attempts by the enemy to reclaim them.”
“I expect nothing less.” Darkclaw ended the transmission.
Darkclaw sat back in his chair, sent the new course to the flight controller, then spoke to the communications officer. “Contact Battlegroup Three. Inform them that they will serve as escort for the Hudecar, and transmit our new course to them. They will be prepared to depart upon my return.” He rose and exited the command deck.
A few minutes later, Darkclaw reached the room at the center of the Hudecar that had been the High Lord’s throne room when he had resided on the ship. Darkclaw did not wait to enter. Instead, he walked to the center of the cold, arid room, and stopped a few feet in front of the throne. Just in front of him there was a small control panel, accompanied by a holographic projector array. Darkclaw pressed the only key on the console, knelt, and waited. Moments later an image of the High Lord appeared, as large as he was in life, taking on the appearance of a massive, shadowy, Tyrannodon-shaped figure. Where a physical Tyrannodon’s teeth were concealed inside its mouth, however, his seemed longer, protruding almost like fangs, and his eyes were proportionally smaller, and narrower, setting him somewhat apart from Darkclaw and the others. The familiar feel of the High Lord’s presence in his mind appeared as the energy being addressed him.
“I see you have done well, Executor, though you are displeased with your latest victory.” The High Lord paused, which indicated that he wanted Darkclaw to speak, though he doubtless already knew what he would say.
“My lord,” Darkclaw began, “while we have been victorious in all of our conquests, there was a significant failing at this last engagement, which cannot be allowed to happen again. The information which was captured at the library station has been found to be severely lacking any relevant tactical data. That lack of knowledge led to us being unprepared for the Reath’s defenses, and as such, the fleet was unable to completely destroy a Galactic Alliance detachment. A number of them escaped, and have surely warned of our presence, which will negatively affect your invasion timetable. I have determined that it is in our best interests to forge an alliance with the race known as the Felinaris, who will be able to provide us with the information we are lacking, as well as additional forces which will hopefully mitigate any advantage we have lost in allowing a warning to be spread.”
“You truly believe that this is necessary. I do not like tying our fate to others, but your reasoning is sound. You may reach out to these Felinaris. But remember, their fate will be no different from that of every other inferior race. We alone can be supreme. I alone can rule.”
“Of course, my lord. I understand completely. They will serve as a tool; when they are no longer useful, they will be discarded.”
The High Lord nodded. “I have trained you well, Executor. Now go. Report to me once the conquest resumes.”
“As you command,” Darkclaw replied, and remained on his knee until the High Lord ended the transmission. The High Lord had not mentioned anything regarding the commander’s death and impending replacement; he must have felt that Darkclaw had dealt with the matter adequately.
Darkclaw rose and returned to the command deck. “Battlegroup Three is prepared?” he asked.
“All ships report ready, Executor.”
“Inform them that we will depart at once.”
Once the Hudecar and its escorts had cleared the system and jumped to hyperspace, Darkclaw began to prepare for the coming meeting, further researching the Felinaris, and formulating what he would say to them. Another failure was not an option.
CHAPTER 3
Nayasar leaned against the railing of the observation tower, taking in the refreshing breeze coming in through the open window as she watched the war game taking place in the field below. While she had unfortunately failed to devise a workable plan, she
had stepped up training exercises for both the army and the navy. Watching the army—her army—perform excellently served to partially alleviate the disappointment that she had not made more progress.
The unit that had been given the high ground—in this particular exercise, a fabrication of a bombed out building—was doing a superb job at repelling the advance of the three units whose goal was to take the building. They had positioned themselves at the point where it would be easiest to defend against an opponent with a numerical advantage, and had placed snipers effectively. When the offensive finally began to overwhelm them, the unit had reacted accordingly, withdrawing as a group methodically, making the attackers pay for each floor.
The last few minutes of the exercise flew by. The defending unit had been pushed to the top floor, when suddenly a bright flash of light appeared on the floor below, simulation an explosion. Nayasar looked at one of the screens observing the game, which reported that nearly all of the remaining attackers had been eliminated; the exercise over. When had they found time to plant such a devastating trap? She would have to rewatch the footage later.
“Get me the name of the officer in command of the defending unit,” she said to one of the training officers who had set up the exercise. Whoever it was would be someone worth keeping note of.
A moment later, Nayasar’s communicator began to beep.
“Srei Felitzvah, long range scanners have detected ships of unknown configuration approaching the system,” an officer informed her once she had activated the device.
Nayasar felt her breath catch in her throat. A few moments later, when she could speak again, she said, “Inform the fleet. Any ships entering the system without authorization are to be intercepted. If they do not respond to communication attempts, they are to be destroyed.”
“Understood,” the officer replied, then ended the transmission.
“I’m done watching exercises for the day,” Nayasar said to the other officers. Without another word, she began to rapidly climb down the ladder on the side of the observation tower. She had to get to the command center, to deal with the trespassers. She would not be caught off-guard again. She leapt off the ladder when she was still twenty feet above the ground, landed in a crouch, and darted toward the fleet operations command center. We’re ready for you this time, you clawless cowards.
