“They are most likely going to die, most of them, but they will help to contain the breakout until heavier forces can get there to stomp it out. Remember that when you go into combat. The faster you react, the more lives you save.”
The crowd in the room continued to watch for some minutes, until Marines in heavy armor entered the fray. It was still a hard fight, and humans, for all the protection they wore, still died. But in less than ten minutes the Machine incursion had been beaten back, and now Marines went underground, into a hell none of them wanted to be in, to find the source of the infestation and wipe it out, once and for all.
“Now you know what we face, and what your Empire wants you to do about it. So make sure your people know the danger, and the importance in what we do. Dismissed.”
There was a lot of low speaking among the officers as they filed from the room. Wittmore was sure that there would be some bitching and moaning, from the top ranks down to the lowest private. That was fine. He wished he could engage in some of it himself. Unfortunately, with the top command also came the isolation. He could complain to the Admiral, and to the Colonel General who would run the entire front, and only at infrequent intervals. Not that it did him any good, just as theirs did nothing to get them out of the shit.
* * *
“We have a go for weapons release,” came the voice of the squadron commander over the com, at the same moment that the weapons board lit up.
About time, thought Chief Warrant Officer Two Jeffry Pendergrass, looking at the target lock on the holo over the dash. A squadron of locals was in the process of breaking off their attack. The poor bastards had lost two thirds of their ships, which, while they might have been advanced enough for pre-space Earth, were not even in the same millennium as the Imperial fighters.
As far as the Warrant was concerned, the Raptor air superiority fighter was the finest atmospheric craft in the Imperial inventory, capable of orbit flight and beyond if needed as well. Some would say that the Peregrine was a better attack fighter, but the Raptor did a good enough job at that, and a much better job of splashing enemy craft. Right now they were going after Machine ground combat units, something the pilot had never thought he would have to deal with when he had joined the Army. He would almost laugh if it weren’t so serious, serious enough that they had been deployed within hours of coming down to the surface of the planet.
“Targets locked,” he said over the com as his HUD showed the Machines he was assigned by the squadron collective fire control. The same image was projected onto his occipital lobe. While he controlled the ship through the manual controls, it was also as if he were wearing the aircraft as well.
The Raptor went into a dive, decelerating on grabbers so it would have some extra loiter time over the target. At the proper moment the hypervelocity missiles left the weapons chamber on the bottom of the ship, lancing out like beams of light to explode with the combined fury of warhead and kinetic energy, blasting dozens of Machine ground combat units into the air in small pieces.
The fighter flew over at subsonic speed, its screens at full power, electronic warfare suite obscuring enemy target lock. Releasing full spreads of lasers and particle beams, as well as tubes of submunitions, the fighter completed the run and pulled back into a climb, kicking in the grabbers and going up to hypersonic in an instant. A few particle beams struck at the fighter, one glancing from the electromagnetic field, another striking over the stern hull at a spot that was heavily armored. Pendergrass checked for damage, and let out a sigh of relief as he saw that it was minimal. Not all of the squadron was so lucky, as one ship went down, the pilot ejecting at the last moment, and two more veered off to head for base to have their damage seen to.
Heavy infantry moved into the Machine formation as soon as the fighters passed. The Machines of course were not shocked or awed, but they had been hit hard, and the heavy suited Imperials cut through them, destroying the remaining Machines with almost no losses.
“Heads up,” yelled a voice over the squadron com, at the same time as icons appeared on the tactical display, shooting up from the ground, then turning in the air to move away at high speed.
“I got those two,” replied Pendergrass as he turned his ship in the air to follow two of the Machine aerial vehicles that were trying to get away from the area. Of course they didn’t come up to challenge the fighters. Their lack of supermetals assured that they wouldn’t be a technological match for Imperial aircraft. What they were trying to do was to scatter and get away, so they could come down and start an infestation.
“Well, this just isn’t your day,” said the Warrant to himself as he locked onto one of the targets and blew it out of the sky with a hyper-v, then pushed the fighter over and hit the second with a burst of particle beam, sending the molten pieces into a fall.
Three more and I’m an ace, thought the pilot after his first combat action. Now he just had to hope they didn’t take out the invasion too fast, before he could get his kills.
* * *
Commander Roberta Matthews really didn’t like the idea of heading back into Machine space. Unfortunately, Admiral Bednarczyk had not asked her opinion of the matter. She had been given an order, and the Exploration Command officer had no choice but to obey.
At least we have company, she thought, looking on the viewer to see the plot with the other two hyper VII destroyers on it. Edmund Hillary took up the middle slot of the formation, with the Thor Heyerdahl to port, and the Fleet destroyer Jacques La Salle to the starboard. La Salle had the most firepower, being a Fleet warship with a real missile magazine aboard. The two Exploration Command ships had the better sensors and a complete compliment of probes, as well as science labs and exploration lighters. The labs and lighters would really be of no use on this mission, but the sensors and probes could definitely come in handy. That they were all hyper VII was also an advantage, as well as a responsibility. The advantage was that the Machines had so far shown no ability to get out of VI. The responsibility? She had to make sure that none of her ships were captured, lest the Machines discover the secret of hyper VII, and this war suddenly become much more difficult.
Currently the small flotilla was on a course to Machine space that avoided the running battle that would be going on between Admiral Montgomery’s force and the three alien planet killers. They were up to point nine-five light in VII, covering almost ninety-five light years each day. It was thought that there was nothing the Machines could do to stop them, other than knocking them out of hyper with a graviton beam. And the only way that was going to happen was if a planet killer was lying doggo in normal space where the flotilla couldn’t pick them up, and just happened to be in the right place and time to hit them as they passed. Some people liked to say that nothing was impossible, but that would have to be the next best thing.
She didn’t like the target of the mission either. They were going back to the Machine system Hillary had scouted before heading back to Bolthole. The system that was filled with ten core worlds worth of industry, and had to have a system defense fleet like nothing ever seen. She had avoided the pickets last time. This time she and her consorts were to go in much closer and take a longer look. Not something to inspire thoughts of a long career and successful retirement.
“We’re picking up resonances in VI,” called out the sensor chief from her position in the quiet room off the bridge. “Appears to be one very large object.”
“Christ, not another one,” said Matthews under her breath. She looked at the data coming across a nearby holo hanging in the air, and shook her head. There were three of the damned planet killers heading toward Bolthole. Add in the one that was destroyed near the Klassekian homeworld, and that was four that they knew of. Now here was a fifth, and there was no telling how many others.
“Make sure you stay clear of that damned thing,” she told the Helm, then nodded at the Com Tech to send word to the other ships. There were probably other ships in that force, but they would not pick them up for some
time. The very mass of the big son of a bitch made its detection before any of the escorting vessels a certainty. And as far as she knew, none of the escorts could drop them out of hyper, so they were safe enough from them in VII.
“Send a message to base,” she told the Klassekian Com Tech, getting the bearing of the enemy over the data feed after a few moments of reading the fluctuations in the resonance. “Tell them we have another planet killer and escorting force on a heading to back into Machine space, possibly to link up with another force.” She wasn’t sure that that’s what they were doing, since it would have made more sense to have headed for Bolthole to reinforce the other battle group. But in heading back to its own space, it seemed likely the Machines weren’t willing to risk a single planet killer on its own. After what had happened to the one they had sent to Klassek, it made sense.
The Commander looked at the Klassekian Com Tech for a moment. Humans were not xenophobes on the whole, and the alien, though strange looking to human eyes, was no more so than many others. She was happy to have the alien aboard, since she gave them instantaneous communication with base. She would rather have had a wormhole aboard, since the Klassekian couldn’t move objects through space, like missiles. But it did give her some peace of mind that even if they were destroyed during this mission, their information would get back. Not much peace of mind, but some.
And after this mission I guess I can expect a promotion, thought the woman, which made survival even more important. A promotion to Captain Junior Grade would mean a light cruiser, and while she would miss her people, having a much larger ship to play with would be a dream come true.
“Do we follow this group?” asked her Exec, Lt. Commander Stepanowski, hope in his voice. She knew how he felt. Shadowing a planet killer could be dangerous, but not to the same extent as going where the mission called for them to go.
“Afraid not, Exec. Command knows they’re on the way. So we continue with the original mission unless told otherwise.” Not that she expected any such orders.
Chapter Three
That is not to say that we can relax our readiness to defend ourselves. Our armament must be adequate to the needs, but our faith is not primarily in these machines of defense but in ourselves. Chester W. Nimitz
MAY 20TH, 1002.
“They are bypassing their region of space, Fleet Leader,” said the subcommander who was the leader of the twelve million ton warship that was the flag of the force.
Fleet Leader Goran gave a tail flick of acknowledgement, his three turreted eyes locked on the plot that showed the thousand artificial life form ships they had been following from within their own space. They had been fighting the artificial life forms for over ten of their home planet years, resisting their advances for almost nine of those time measurements, then reeling in defeat for the last one. It seemed that the things had only been probing those initial nine years, picking off a Consolidation planet here and there, smaller worlds without much in the way of defenses, avoiding the more powerful systems. There had been other worlds, the single systems populated by neighboring aliens, some in the early stages of space travel, some not even that far, that the artificial life forms had wiped out in their seeming hatred for real life.
And then, almost a year ago, they had launched a major offensive. The size and fury of the offensive had caught the Consolidation off guard, and they had lost over a third of their space, almost a thousand systems and a hundred billion beings, before they had been able to stop the artificial life forms. The counter offensive had taken back half of the captured systems, populated by lifeless burned out worlds. But then the things had launched another offensive, making up their losses without a problem. And suddenly stopped their offensive, just before they had scored another major victory, and pulled out all of their ships, sending them elsewhere. It did not make sense, unless the things had something more important to do. Like take on another enemy.
And their enemy would have to number among our friends, thought the Fleet Leader. Who they could be he could not imagine. That they must be powerful was a given. Someone his people would be well served to ally with. The Fleet Leader had followed while word was sent back by dispatch boat to his master. And the Dictator had given the Fleet Leader permission to take his battle fleet, almost half of the Consolidation’s total power, in pursuit of a twofold mission. To find out what the artificial life forms were up to, and to discover if there was another power in the region that the things were more concerned with. And to make them allies if that were so.
So he was leading the strength of his people into unknown territory, fearful lest the things double back and hit an almost defenseless Consolidation. He was leading almost three thousand vessels, all capable of hyper VI, the best his people could do. Over five hundred battleships, just under a thousand cruisers and fifteen hundred escort vessels. Heading to places his people had hoped to go someday, as explorers and colonizers, possibly as conquerors.
And maybe we can rid ourselves of this nightmare, thought the Fleet Leader, who had spent a lifetime in the space force of his nation, and had never dreamed of anything so implacable and hateful as this foe. Not hateful, he thought. The things showed no emotion. But murderous nonetheless. There had been rumors of such killer machines, of species who had developed them and been wiped out. But all indications were that something, some superior species, had made sure they were wiped out. Only they seemed to have missed this batch, and like an infestation of vermin they had multiplied to the point where they were now the most powerful force in this region. Or maybe not, thought the Fleet Leader with some hope.
* * *
“Thank you for your support, Captain Ngursky,” said the Klassekian male in heavily accented Terranglo.
At first the militia commander, once an NCO in the Imperial Marine Corps, was not able to understand their speech. Now with a little training, and a translation package in her implant, she could understand them with no trouble.
“You’re welcome, Nazzrirat,” said the officer, wondering if she would have gotten the identification correct if it wasn’t for the being’s armor sending out the ID code to hers. The problem wasn’t just that they were a new alien species as far as humans were concerned, and it took time to differentiate individuals in any race. Compounding that problem was the fact that the aliens came in large sibling groups, octuplets or greater birth litters that were all connected at the quantum level through their minds. Exact duplicates of any species were hard to differentiate. “Or should I say Sergeant.”
This sibling group, along with many others, had grabbed weapons and fought against the Machines that had invaded the Bolthole asteroid. They had saved a lot of people, including an entire daycare center of infants and toddlers. That had endeared them to all of the Imperials, human and others.
Currently command was trying to move all the Klassekians who weren’t assigned to com duties out of the system, back to the Empire. Even though their home world had survived, and they had been given the opportunity to go back, the great majority had refused. They had seen Galactic civilization, and they wanted to be part of it. So most were being shipped back to the Empire through the wormhole.
Nazzrirat only had three surviving siblings after the action. That was considered too small a group to bother with training them for com positions, since the standard was to assign all of the siblings but two to ships, and that remaining pair to bases to form the com link. So they, like the other groups that had been halved or more by the action, were being trained in the militia to become defenders against direct assault. And they were issued medium armor suits based on the ship versions their species were getting with the Fleet. They were getting better with them, quickly, but it still took time to master the armor.
“I’m not sure I deserve the position, ma’am,” said Nazzrirat, his four eyes, two central vision and two peripheral motion sensors, blinked in the way they did when his species showed great emotion. “There were many others involved in the action, including my siblin
gs.”
And his siblings were part of his squad, two of them fire team leaders. All had performed admirably in fighting the Machines, but Nazzrirat had been singled out by the other Klassekians as one of the leaders who had sought weapons training before the Machines had attacked. He had showed initiative, and he had been able to pass his training to his siblings through the quantum connection. He had been instrumental in his people being able to fight when they were needed.
“The Machines are coming back?” asked the Klassekian, his species version of a troubled expression on his face.
“The Machines are coming back,” agreed Ngursky, nodding. “A lot more of them than before.”
“Then we will fight them,” said the alien, his eating orifice closed shut, his speaking orifice formed into his version of a smile. “We will beat them again.”
If they even try to invade this rock again, thought the Captain, nodding her head in agreement so that the Sergeant wouldn’t lose his belief that the Empire would always be victorious. If I were them, I would bring in those planet killers and simply blow this rock apart. She wasn’t sure how much energy that would take, but she was sure three one hundred kilometer diameter ships could get it done, even if it took some time to do so.
“It’s almost time for your squad to use the range,” she told Nazzrirat, nodding toward the hatch that led out of her office. “You might think you and your boys are the shit, but you still have a lot to learn. So get to it.” And if you’re lucky, the Machines you end of facing will be the kind you can hit with a suit carried weapon.
* * *
“You have questions, Captain?” asked Fleet Admiral Beata Benardcyk, giving the wing commander a cold stare. She was used to giving orders and having them obeyed, not in having subordinates, especially those so far down the food chain as an O-6, question them. But she was sure this woman thought she knew better how to employ her fancy new tech, and she was dying to let the old fossil in charge know that she was wrong.
Exodus: Machine War: Book 3: Death From Above Page 4
