St. Legier

by Blaze Ward

  In past days, the cruisers would have gone after the escorts, each trying to overload the power absorbers so that they could score a kill. Jessica Keller had taught them better, finally.

  Kill the biggest beast by hitting it from every direction at the same time. It can’t shift power around or fill the batteries fast enough, and then it becomes vulnerable.

  Tom was just mad he didn’t have the Heavy Dreadnaught Valiant or some of the new Expeditionary Cruisers. Type-4 beams or Bubble Guns would have been a lovely tactical addition right now. And the better range would have let him hit some of those scramjet missiles that were getting through the gaps in coverage.

  Already, two had gotten low enough to explode, with massive, orange mushroom-shaped clouds that had hopefully been deflected by the planetary shields below. Communications with the ground had gone to hell as a result. Contact with the other squadrons defending low orbit wasn’t much better.

  Tom looked at the tactical plot projected between him and d’Noir.

  “How many bombers are we dealing with?” he yelled over the din of raised voices.

  “At least four, sir,” someone volleyed back. “They’ve turned off all IFF signals so we’re having to track vessels by engine signatures alone. Makes it messy.”

  “Affirmative,” Tom called. It made sense, damn them. “Someone let the Grand Admiral know. He’s up on the station instead of the ground, so maybe he can do something. Meanwhile, shift the squadron farther away from the station. We need to be able to shoot better at those missiles. Change targeting priority to go after any Roughshark we can get first, and then the big boys later. Alert the other squadrons as well.”

  “Roger that, Admiral.”

  Provst took a deep breath and leaned back. Already, the rank smell of adrenaline and sweat had made the flag bridge’s air go sour. Bad locker-room smell. Shitty day getting worse.

  Red dots appeared and vanished. White dots ran like hell for deep space and jumped as soon as they could, just to get away from the chaos below and the risk of an overshot blowing starlight through them.

  That left more green dots than red, but the green were all bunched up in a few places, rather than smoothly spread out. It helped them protect one another, but left too many gaps where bombers were able to appear, fire three missiles downward, and then vanish.

  None of this made any sense, but Tom wasn’t about to stop fighting for a reason as silly as that.

  Those bastards had come all this distance for some reason. He just had to figure it out and stop them.

  Chapter V

  Imperial Founding: 179/11/10. Fleet Headquarters, Above St. Legier

  Em entered the station’s bridge and signaled to Admiral of the Blue Frankenheimer that the man should continue what he had been doing, even as the station commander rose and started to say something.

  “Keep at it, Ralf,” Em called, finding an unoccupied station to one side. “I wanted a better view than I could get in my office. Have you launched all the flight wings?”

  “We have, Em,” Frankenheimer replied. The man was tall and getting paunchy, but his voice was as firm as his eyes. “Only a few had missiles, but everyone with a gun is out there.”

  “Good,” Em ordered, sitting. “You stay tactical. I’m going Big Picture.”

  Rather than reply, Frankenheimer went back to issuing orders and updates. Em powered up the monitor and began typing furiously.

  “What are we looking for, sir?” Tifft said from the next station.

  Em paused and thought about it for a moment.

  “A mining marker playing music to eternity,” Em replied cryptically. “Something that doesn’t fit the pattern.”

  Tifft’s eyes got a far-away look in them, and then he got to work as well.

  What did Buran hope to gain from a raid of this scale?

  Tom Provst had possibly crippled one of the capital ships on their first pass, having learned how to face a charging shark from Bedrov & Keller. They would learn eventually not to fly right through the middle of a squadron of escorts. Hopefully not too soon.

  Em made a note to himself to ask Bedrov what it would do to tactics when Buran swapped the Mag-Shear device for some Type-4 beams instead. Jump to a corner, fire the heavy guns, and jump away, rather than risk stepping on a rattlesnake.

  Another, damned arms race, but at least he was winning this round, as near as he could tell. With fire discipline, the fleet was inflicting better than it got, and Buran still had to make it home.

  But what the hell were they up to?

  Chapter VI

  Imperial Founding: 179/11/10. Army Training Depot “King Olaf,” St. Legier

  “Confirm that?” Vo asked as he took two steps up into the back of the command skiff. Decanus Borel and his team were at their stations, dinner already forgotten in the moment when the first alert sirens sounded.

  “Raiding fleet overhead, General,” one of the man called. “Buran vessels. Bunch of them. Nuclear-tipped, scramjet missiles already in flight, dropping on various places all over the planet. None coming this way at present.”

  “Get all the air defense teams in a ready stance,” Vo ordered. “Unlock all batteries that have beam weapons and get someone on the scanners, identifying everything above our horizon. Nobody should be overflying this base, but warn anybody who is that this is a live-fire exercise starting now.”

  Decanus Borel gulped and nodded.

  “Rules of engagement, General?” he asked in a steady voice, if a little loud.

  Vo nodded. Reese was a damned good non-comm, but he had never been at the sharp end of something like this. Never had incoming orbital fire demanding the right of way. Very few men and women had.

  “If they’re flying horizontal, take a second look before engaging,” Vo ordered. “Anything moving in a dive is to be killed by any and all guns with bearing immediately. On my authority. We don’t have planetary shields overhead, but I’d rather answer to the Grand Marshal about how I shot down a civilian than to lose the legion today.”

  “And the rest of the command?” Borel asked.

  “Get everybody mounted up and secured,” Vo said. “I want armor around people if something happens. Everyone else move into secured shelters until the all clear sounds.”

  “Sir, we have some rough-enough terrain just south of the laager,” one of the men in the far corner called. Curator Stolz. A man who often looked like he wasn’t sure which end of the gun the bang came out of, until he started talking. “Tanks could park on the slopes and provide adequate secondary fire support for the air batteries. The hills will make up for the low elevation on the guns.”

  “Send the orders to Bleushan, Stolz,” Vo nodded gratefully.

  He didn’t have to do it all. Just surround himself with competent men and let them find answers.

  It was almost like being home with Fourth Saxon, except he missed that big, stupid, brute of a horse, Shevi. Maybe he would name the command skiff after his first mount. A few of the men here would appreciate the joke, and share it with everyone else.

  “What else do we know?” Vo asked the room.

  Heads were down on monitors. Headphones were on as the men listened to feeds from all directions.

  Reese looked up.

  “It’s a firestorm up there, General,” he said grimly. “Fleet unlocked the minefields and launched everything they had. Four capital ships. Over a dozen cruisers. Another dozen Hammerheads. Bloodbath on all sides.”

  “Makes no sense,” Vo agreed. “Doesn’t have to. Our job is to hold our airspace. If this is a strike putting commando forces on the surface, we have to be able to intercept or engage. Otherwise, help the good guys any way we can. What’s on the command net?”

  “Mostly static,” Borel called. “First bombs went off just above the shields, but didn’t crack anything. EMPs are rippling out like waves on a pond right now, but the bombs look clean enough.”

  “Order everyone to prepare for fallout, just the same,” Vo o
rdered. “And put that up on the civilian emergency network as well. All people shelter in place indoors as much as possible.”

  “On it, sir.”

  Vo decided to keep his belt on for now. He wasn’t wearing the big sword, having stowed it in an overhead bin, but he still had the pistol. Hopefully, he wouldn’t need it any time soon.

  What was Buran’s game this time?

  Chapter VII

  Day: 312 of the Common Era Year: 13,449. Vessel – QJ: 91R4V77 – “Glory in Duty” . System: St. Legier. Status: Active Combat

  “Order all but one of your escorts to continue the battle while you retire to the rendezvous point and begin repairs with the other,” Director Ul Turin Dyana Vor tasked the other man from the bridge of the Angustidens-class vessel Glory in Duty. The Nightmaster. “We are within range of the outcomes predicted by The Eldest at this point. Yours was the bad luck to draw a competent foe.”

  “I obey,” Director Au nodded, cutting the circuit from Defend the Homeland.

  Director Ul looked at his own bridge with a smug feeling. Glory in Duty was as yet undamaged, even though he had led the first charge, raking Fribourg’s orbital command station at a very high speed, escaping on the Capriole drive before the barbarians could respond effectively. Two of the Makos accompanying him, however, Called to Battle and Hope in Morning had trailed on the run and caught the full fury of the defender’s guns. Both were out of the fight now, with Called to Battle effectively crippled and already withdrawing.

  Director Au’s Carcharias, Defend the Homeland, had simply encountered a competent force commander when they attacked. All of that squadron’s ships had fired on the biggest enemy, rather than engaging the closest, as had always been Fribourg’s preference. Au looked like someone had graffiti-ed his vessel with black paint and a sledgehammer, from all the damage lacing his hull.

  If Fribourg’s new vessels were as capable as they appeared, it would be necessary to inform The Eldest. Changes would be necessary, as it appeared that the barbarians were finally learning how to fight a civilized foe.

  Still, the overall battle was proceeding according to plans as transmitted by the Four Mandarins. Damage was inevitable when titanic forces engaged on a scale such as this, something only commanders who had served at Samara had previously experienced.

  “War Advocate Ko,” Director Ul called. “Begin drawing the defenders away from our target area. Proceed with Phase Five of the plan.”

  “Phase Five initiated, Director,” the man replied, barely looking up. “Maneuver Advocate, inform the fleet.”

  “I obey,” the other man said, already pressing keys to route the signals to all vessels, in addition to the four cruisers Glory in Duty normally carried.

  Glory in Duty was the flagship of the entire squadron today.

  Director Ul studied his next target. It was a manufacturing facility located just over the horizon from the main enemy base, forward as the planet orbited. Far enough away that vessels would have to shift their coverage to keep his hungry sharks from pounding it to orbital scrap.

  Not that he would be staying long enough to actually do that, but it was necessary to redirect the barbarians away from the target zone.

  And it would be nice to inflict some surprise on Fribourg today, in recompense. The extensive minefields had proven to be a most unwelcome development, and he could not decide which version he hated more. One apparently contained what the Imperials called a Type-2 beam as well as a generator, allowing it to fire repeatedly at any available target close enough, while the other was simply one of their Primary beams that would fire once, and then be done.

  A constant surge of damage that must be absorbed and controlled, or an icepick that might lance right through and damage the hull before the crew noticed?

  At least they were developing a detailed map of the minefields. That would be critical when it came time for Phase Nine.

  Chapter VIII

  Imperial Founding: 179/11/10. Fleet Headquarters, Above St. Legier

  “Still not making sense, Admiral,” Em heard his assistant grouse under his breath.

  Em had to agree.

  First Buran had attacked the station. The last time, that had worked because traitors had disabled the defensive systems on the platform, allowing one Mako free reign to make a slow pass with their mauler. The results had been horrendous.

  At least the station had better armor and insulation now, thanks to Bedrov.

  And two of the Makos on that first pass had gotten their snouts kicked in when the Type-4s came on line in time.

  Then suddenly, they backed off and went after the defending squadrons around the planet, damning the minefield to go full steam ahead.

  But Firehawk had proven the new tactics sound, even in an old Amsel-class battleship, hammering on one of the two attacking Great Whites and blowing holes in the vessel before it could escape. Firehawk was hurting, but she was an old design, not even one of the Paladin-class vessels that were supposed to be able to engage Buran vessels more evenly, to say nothing of monsters like Valiant, where Tom would be raising his flag in a few months.

  One Great White knocked out of the battle. One battleship seriously afflicted. A frightening number of vessels damaged on both sides, but Fribourg had the advantage in tonnage and home pitch. There wasn’t much Em could do about the missiles detonating in mid-atmosphere, except make sure that all the defending squadrons paid attention and tried sniping when they could.

  Tom Provst had even managed to kill one. Someone else had gotten another. But with four or five Roughsharks out there, that was at least seventy bombs that could be dropped on the planet. Possibly ninety.

  Even with planetary shields in place around important facilities, the damage would likely be nightmarish.

  “New signals, Admiral,” Tifft broke in on Em’s concentration. “Several sharks are making a run at the Petrograd Heights Station.”

  One of the Empire’s key orbital manufacturing facilities. And a playground for the rich and powerful. It had shields and some guns, but not enough to hold off a concerted rush.

  “Ralf,” Em called Admiral Frankenheimer. “Who do we have that could shift around to protect Petrograd?”

  The man checked his boards with a fierce scowl.

  “Tom Provst and his team have been sitting on our flank,” Frankenheimer yelled. “They’re in the best position right now.”

  “Move them,” Em ordered. “Hopefully, Buran will see that as an opening to attack us here again.”

  “I would enjoy that, Em,” Ralf beamed. “Not everyone got a chance to fire last time. Next time, we could crush a few of them.”

  Em nodded and went back to his boards.

  Something was still missing. Granted, he was dancing to someone else’s tune, something Jessica had forced him to do time and again, but this was more mechanical. It was like Buran was working their way down a checklist that involved damaging a wide range of targets, but not staying anywhere long enough to destroy anything.

  And the costs they were incurring in the process could not bear the outcomes.

  Somewhere, somebody was up to something.

  Chapter IX

  Imperial Founding: 179/11/10. Army Training Depot “King Olaf,” St. Legier

  “Anything?” Vo asked his men.

  More than an hour had passed. None of the dropping missiles had come close enough to be engaged from the ground, but Vo’s legion was literally in the middle of nowhere, a huge training base several hours flight south of Werder, designed to let large ground formations practice war without neighbors even noticing.

  “Negative, sir,” Stolz replied, keeping a wary eye on his boards. “Still several vessels engaging in a game of tag around Petrograd, but the only missiles even remotely in our region have all been fired at Werder proper. Those shields have held, but some of the outlying areas have gotten splashed.”

  “Make sure all the medical teams are packed up,” Vo ordered. “As soon as all this is done,
we’re likely going to need to move close to Werder to support. Hospitals and medics will be a priority, followed by transport.”

  “Acknowledged, General,” Decanus Borel chimed in.

  Vo closed his mouth at that point. There was no reason for the men to see his frustration. They felt the same.

  It went back to conversations with the Fleet Centurion first, and the Grand Admiral and the Grand Marshal later. You could invade the surface of a planet, but everything important would happen in orbit. And from orbital space, there wasn’t much a fleet couldn’t do to someone on the ground, up to and including dropping large rocks at high velocity until you nailed him, like the galaxy’s most patient sniper chasing a fly.

  Hitting the edges of the shield instead of the center made a crude sort of sense. Even thermonuclear-tipped scramjets moving at several thousand kilometers per hour weren’t getting through those shields, but they could scorch the distant suburbs.

  Vo could almost taste the waves of anger that would come bubbling up from the natives of this planet, to be orbitally bombarded a second time.

  “Confirm that we have a good link to the planetary emergency network, Borel,” Vo finally commanded. “We’ll need to move quickly when we get the orders from Werder.”

  “Yes sir, General.”

  Vo lapsed into silence.

  Nothing so maddening as to simply sit down here and wait to see when it might be his turn to do something.

  Chapter X

  Day: 312 of the Common Era Year: 13,449. Vessel – QJ: 91R4V77 – “Glory in Duty” . System: St. Legier. Status: Active Combat