Exodus: Empires at War: Book 8: Soldiers (Exodus: Empires at War.)

by Doug Dandridge

  The enemy ship faired much worse as thirty-three missiles came through the defensive fire. Twenty eight of those were proximity detonations that sent heat and radiation into the hull of the supercruiser. Three were very near misses that blotted surface installations from the hull and sent raging energies deeper into the vessel. Two were hits, or close enough to not matter. The missiles were not travelling at a high enough velocity to impart a killing level of kinetic energy. The inertial compensators were able to take up much of the load, though enough got through to disrupt most of the electrical systems aboard. The two hundred megaton unitary warheads did the most damage, and when the bright flares of the blasts faded the enemy ship was seen to tumble end over end, a derelict.

  “Order deceleration of the second wave,” ordered the Captain, looking to save the weapons while he could. There was really no use in wasting the weapons on a ship that was obviously no longer in shape to resist. That still left the second enemy wave coming in, and Komorov appeared to be one of the targets this time.

  The destroyer went into a maximum evasive pattern, the Helmsman punching in the programmed semi-random series of maneuvers that moved her from side to side, up and down, adjusting her acceleration and changing her velocity, using her full capacity of over five hundred gravities to make herself the most difficult possible target to track. After ten seconds or so the Helmsman switched to another program, not allowing the pattern to become predictable. The Sensor Officer monitored the jamming suite that was masking the destroyer’s own electronic signature, while sending out signals that mimicked other sources. She launched decoys that sent out signals that appeared to be a destroyer, setting them into maneuvers that were similar to those the Helmsman was monitoring. The decoys also deployed holographs that looked from a distance like the ship they were mimicking.

  The Tactical Officer monitored the defensive programs that were prioritizing the incoming targets, switching off targeting with the other ships to assign the best interception through that portion of the approach envelope. As they closed the targets were handed off to the target vessel, with made the last ditch attempt to stop the enemy missile.

  Half the enemy wave was stopped at counter missile range, a few direct hits, most struck by the shrapnel or radiation burst, converting to bright pinpoints over a light minute distant. Another fifteen died under hits from lasers, the combined fire from all of the destroyers. The five that made it through weathered the fire of close in weapons, two more going down in explosions that filled near space with radiation. Three continued in on final approach, two tracking onto the James Komorov.

  The Captain watched those incoming weapons on a trio of holos that hung in the air in front of his chair, repeats of other projectors. One showed the overall tactical situation, the two red arrows of missiles almost touching his ship, one other on top of the second target. The second holo showed a close in view of Komorov, with the two arrows a couple of light seconds away, closing at point three light, seven seconds from impact. The third showed a view from the ship, the forward view of one of the approaching missiles shown as an incoming streak, resolution impossible at its velocity.

  He could feel the tension on the bridge, everyone doing their jobs despite the terror that lived within them. Everything they and their ship could do was being done, and they still could die within seconds. Despite all their skill, all the technology of their ship, they would have been hit, or at least sustained major damage from a very near miss, except for blind luck.

  One missile juked to port, just as the other came in from the other direction and was hit by a close in defense beam. The explosion of the missile caught the first one, which had been on course to get through the defenses of the Komorov. It tumbled as it came apart, the antimatter in the warhead breaching contain an instant later. Komorov shook as some of the plasma kicked into the bow, warning klaxons going off from several hull breaches.

  The Captain looked over the damage figures as they came through, breathing out a sigh of relief. The damage was superficial, and there were only two injuries. They had gotten off light. The other ship had escaped with even less in the way of harm. Shaking his head, saying a calming mantra to steady his nerves, he looked over at the Com Officer.

  “I want Marine boarding parties readied as soon as possible,” said von Rittersdorf, looking at the enemy ship on the holo. “Send a couple of scouts to look her over closely, and if it looks safe enough, we’ll board and see if there are any survivors.”

  Of course, there would be no way to make sure the enemy ship was safe, and any Marines he sent aboard could be going to their deaths. They needed intelligence though, and if he could he would have gone with them. He couldn’t of course. His duty station was on the bridge, so all he could do was sit and worry about his people while they went about their tasks.

  “We’ve got some,” came the call over the com a couple of hours later.

  “As soon as we get them aboard, we’re heading in,” he told the Helmsman, looking back at the holo of the planet. He was pretty sure he would find what he was afraid of. But his orders stated that he had to be sure.

  “Time to orbit, thirty-one hours,” stated the Helmsman.

  And Battle Fleet would be starting the offensive in fifty-three hours. Not that this mission would have any bearing on that operation. Or at least he hoped.

  Chapter Eight

  The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.

  William Shakespeare.

  CAPITULUM, JEWEL, MARCH 30TH, 1002.

  Sean looked over at the love of his life, as she sat in the comfortable chair on the porch. The stars were out in profusion tonight, back dropped by the glowing nebulae, the ones that came from supernovas that the astrophysicist say couldn’t have possibly happened. The stars hadn’t been massive enough, and they hadn’t left behind the characteristic neutron stars or black holes. There were rumors that the Ancients, the space faring civilization that had once ruled this space, had done something that the Universe didn’t approve of.

  Jennifer was pregnant with his heir, a boy, according to the physicians. She glowed the way that pregnant women did, the health of hormones. For some reason the artificial wombs that the people in the past thought would free them from the drudgery of pregnancy had not worked out. Children could be born in them, but there was something wrong with them. Not quite as bad as clones, but not anything that sane people would want to chance.

  He noticed the pensive look on her face, and was sure that she was thinking about Glen again. She had been engaged to the Marine captain before he had met her. The man had died a hero, leading an attack that allowed other soldiers and Marines, as well as a large group of civilians, to escape. He had been decorated, posthumously, but the woman had never forgotten about him. It aggravated him that he was still on her mind, while it made him feel guilty to recognize that aggravation.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, really just to break her out of her depression, not really wanting to know.

  Jennifer sighed, looking up at the stars. Sean followed her gaze, picking up the slight shimmer of the electromagnetic shield out of the corner of his eye. There were two strobing vehicles up there on a patrol pattern, and he knew there were more further up. There were also decoys, other verandas attached to the massive palace, in case of an attack.

  “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t in this position,” she said, looking down for a moment, then over and into his eyes. “Empress, I mean. Not that I regret being your wife, or the mother of your child. But I sometimes wish I could have a normal life.”

  “Me too,” admitted Sean, nodding, then getting up and walking over to her chair, setting down on the end and putting a hand on her knee. “I really never expected to be in this position either. I thought I would serve out my time in the Fleet, maybe get to a low flag rank, then go on to be an ambassador, while one of my brothers assumed the throne.”

  “And then we never would have met,” said Jennifer, looking back
down at the floor of the veranda.

  “And both of us would most probably be dead,” he finished, scooting up in the chair and laying down beside her, putting his arms around her. “I know that this invasion is a terrible price to pay for the happiness of two people.”

  “The invasion was coming no matter what,” she said, putting her finger on his lips to quiet him. “That doesn’t make it wrong that we met and fell in love.”

  Jennifer sat there for a moment, just looking at the star field. She wiped a tear from her eye, then looked back at Sean. “What are we going to do about the machines?”

  Sean felt his chest tense up, at the mention of the newest threat to the Empire, which was also a very old threat indeed. The news had come from Exploration Command base outside of the Empire that the Machines, the murderous constructs that had revolted against humanity four centuries before, thought to have been destroyed, were still around. And they had grown powerful enough to cause serious problems.

  “I guess we will have to take care of our garbage,” he said after a moment. “I’m going to send some ships out there to reinforce the Command.” And with that he forgot about that problem, for the moment. Sondra had already been informed of his wishes were that new theater was concerned, and it was up to her to put the force in place to prosecute that war.

  “Your guests are here, your Majesty,” announced the Major Domo, the man in charge of all the other servants in the palace, who also fulfilled the duty of the Emperor’s prime servant.

  “What guests?” said Jennifer, sitting up, an ambivalent expression on her face. Normally, guests meant someone political. Not that she hated them all, and in fact found some of them admirable and likeable people. But the evenings always seemed to devolve into strategy sessions, where she was welcome, but still felt excluded by her lack of knowledge.

  “Your Majesties,” said the teenage girl who came charging onto the veranda, stopping in her tracks ten meters away and bowing. Her long brown hair swirled around her head as her wide brown eyes twinkled at the royals.

  “Rebecca,” called out Jennifer in delight, moving a little so she could get up from the chair.

  “Thought you might like these guests,” said Sean, rising with her.

  “Your Majesties,” said Devera Walborski, walking up behind her adopted daughter, holding her adopted son in her arms. Devera had married Cornelius Walborski, one of Sean’s favorite soldiers, a man who had helped save the most precious station in the Empire, the Donut, as well as engaging in other acts of heroism. And she had taken the child of Cornelius’ late wife as her own, as well as adopting Rebecca, a child Cornelius had rescued on the planet Azure after the Ca’cadasan invasion of that planet.

  “He’s getting so big,” said Jennifer, holding out her hands to take Cornelius Junior from Devera.

  Food was brought out to the veranda, and the party sat down at the glass table to enjoy the common food of steaks and potatoes, with a salad on the side. The fresh baked bread had an aroma that brought water to the mouths of everyone, even Junior, who was given a specially prepared meal intended for his young eating habits.

  “Are you worried about Cornelius?” asked Jennifer after the plates had been taken away and the after dinner wine and dessert was served.

  “Of course,” said Devera, closing her eyes for a moment while an expression of pain played across her face. She opened her eyes and looked into those of the Empress. “But he’s good at his job, and he wants to do it, though I wish he would get some of the hate out of his heart.”

  “Maybe when it’s over,” said Jennifer, frowning as the other woman shook her head.

  “I don’t think it will ever be over,” said Devera, a tear coming to her eye. “This war is going to go on for decades, if we lose. Probably a century if we win, if not longer.”

  Jennifer looked over at Sean, who felt his heart sink. He had really not wanted to go here tonight. But it looked like he was not going to get his wish.

  “She’s right,” he said, looking at Devera for a moment, then into Jennifer’s eyes. “We have a decade of fighting ahead just to turn back their invasion. They have too much, and they will keep throwing it at us until they don’t have any more to throw.”

  “And then they’ll have to give up, right?”

  “No, my dear. I don’t think they will. They will rebuild, and renew operations against us as soon as they can. And we will be forced to go on the offensive against them and destroy their industrial base, which means invading and conquering their huge empire.”

  “And if we don’t invade them?” asked Jennifer, her eyes widening. Sean had never really talked to her about this. Like many people in the Empire, she thought if they defeated this enemy once they would go away, at least for a century or two, before they reinitiated hostilities. That they would act like other powers acted, no matter how vicious the war, and return to a long state of tense peace.

  “If we don’t invade them, if we allow them to rebuild their fleet, they will keep coming at us until one of us no longer exists. The only outcome that leaves both of our species extant is for us to win.”

  “And we won’t totally destroy them?” asked Jennifer, doubt on her face. “We won’t hate them so much that we totally destroy them when we have the chance.”

  “I don’t know,” said Sean, shaking his head. “I really don’t know. If I have anything to say about it, we won’t. You have my sacred word on that.”

  “You promise? I don’t want us to get a reputation for genocide. We should be better than that.”

  “They want to kill all of us,” said Rachel, her child’s face twisting in anger. “They killed my mom and dad, and my little brother. Why shouldn’t we kill all of them. Every single one of them.”

  “You shouldn’t hate like that, Rebecca,” said Devera, putting a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

  “I know I shouldn’t,” said the child. “But I do.” The little girl looked at Sean. “I want the war to go on long enough for me to get in it. I want to have my finger on the firing button of a warship, sending missiles into their ships, spilling them into space.”

  The table was silent after that outburst, even Rebecca seeming to realize she had said something that offended the adults. Sean looked at the child, that sinking feeling returning. This was a generation of children that was going to grow up with war, a conflict unlike any other generation had faced. They would grow up hating another sentient species. And when the day came that the war ended, if by chance it ended in their favor, whoever ruled at that time might give the order. The Ca’cadasans would go into the long night, and humans would have to live with the guilt of being the cause of their extinction.

  * * *

  ASSAULT SHIP HIMS KHARKOV, IN TRANSIT TO FLEET RALLY POINT. APRIL 1ST, 1002.

  Captain Nora Kevista pulled her joystick to the side, sending her F310 Pteranadon orbit to atmosphere fighter into a spin, its grabber units pulling the maximum acceleration its inertial compensators could handle. Still, twelve gravities of that acceleration made it through, reddening the vision of the pilot and causing her back seater, Warrant Three Joey Jasper, to grunt his discomfort.

  The hyper velocity missile coming their way missed, barely, though the second missile hit her wingman, blasting his aircraft into pieces that would burn up when they hit the atmosphere. Nora cursed at the loss of the other aircraft. Now she was on her own with this insertion, the atmosphere coming up almost too quickly.

  “Putting on the brakes, Joey,” she yelled over the intercom as the Pteranadon deceled, then pushed into a belly first profile that used the outer atmosphere to kill even more velocity. This is real flying, she thought, as the responsive fighter obeyed her wishes. There was still a lot of computer control involved, the fighter itself helping her to control what human reflexes couldn’t. Still, it was more of a test of skill than the space fighters the Fleet flew. Exercising that skill was the primary reason she had gone into Imperial Army Aviation.

  “Somethin
g’s locking on,” called out the back seater as the alarms sounded in the cockpit. Nora put the craft into a dive before it was optimal, then pulled back and looped in the thin air. I’m going to make it, she thought, just before the cockpit lit up with bright light and all of the controls went dead.

  “The exercise is over,” said Colonel Wingate Smithers, the wing commander of the air group aboard the assault ship HIMS Kharkov.

  “Shit,” cursed the Captain as the cockpit rose on the simulator, and the ground crew swarmed up to help her out of her chair. Now we get to go through another reaming out, she thought with a grimace. Of course, when they were flying into the atmosphere of New Moscow there would be no more reaming outs for the kind of mistake she had just made, only the oblivion of death.

  * * *

  PLANET NEW MOSCOW.

  “It’s clear, sir,” said the scout, coming back through the wormhole to report back.

  “And the cave?” asked the Ranger Captain, glancing back at the rest of his company, standing in their battle armor with their equipment strapped all over the suits. This part of the mission called for those suits, both to bring them onto the world and to carry the equipment which even the strongly augmented men would have trouble carrying.

  “Clear. The excavating robots did a good job. Hard to believe there was only a squad of engineers involved.”

  “OK,” said Captain The Baron Cornelius Walborski. “First squad, move through, and make sure the entrance is secured. Second squad follows. Lieutenant Jemmison, you follow through with your platoon HQ, and I’ll bring the company HQ in after.”

  The acknowledgements were shouted out by the highly trained, highly motivated men. All Rangers were elite, but these men were scouting specialist, the best of the best, and Walborski was proud to command them. It had taken them a little time to retrain to the suits, and after making planet fall they would handle the first part of the mission without the armored strength enhancing battle panoply.