The second mushroom cloud rose into the air, joining with the first. The ground rumbled from the explosion, and a second vibration could be felt below it from a blast in the distance, while another mushroom cloud rose in the distance sixty kilometers to the north.
* * *
“Go, go, go, go, go,” yelled the battalion Sergeant Major over the com. The gate to the front of the troops was large enough to handle a heavy main battle tank. It was wide enough to handle twenty soldiers in heavy battle armor at a time, shoulder to shoulder. The gate had just opened, dilated by the negative matter at the same time as the portal was opened on the other side. The first line of troops lifted their suits off the ground, their armor reflecting the light of the rising F class star that was just showing over the horizon.
Lt. General Samuel Baggett stood off to the side in his own heavy battle suit, watching as the combat team deployed to New Moscow through the gate. His link was showing him the scenes from all of the combat teams going through the gates simultaneously, and he could switch his view from group to group across all of the planets his troops were on, or to his own command, or to the feed from the Fleet over the planet through the wormhole com net.
The second group went through right on the tails of the first, then the third, and on until the entire company had gone through. The first of the tanks followed, the one thousand ton Tyrannosaur IV lifting on its grabbers and sliding forward, hitting the mirrored surface and disappearing from this planet. The next tank was right on its tail, then the third, fourth and fifth, until the entire platoon was through. The next company of infantry flew through, then another platoon of tanks, these also heavies, followed by the third company. The battalion HQ was through next, then a company of six medium tanks, Allosaurs, the newest armored vehicle in the Imperial armor inventory, six hundred tons of fighting machine. The engineering company was rushed through next, followed by the heavy weapons company and the fourth company of infantry. The last thing through on this attack vector was the antiair company, more vehicles.
Baggett watched those last vehicles go through, then started switching com views to monitor all of the other combat teams. All went through without a hitch, and one worry was off the corps commander’s mind. He looked around the plain where the gate had been deployed, which was set up with tents; hospitals, messing facilities, sleeping areas. Everything needed to handle a large influx of refugees for a short time. And the Phlistaran battalion that was one of his reserve units, standing a couple of hundred meters from the gate, chomping at the bit to get into the action.
“They’re all away, sir,” reported Baggett to General Arbuckle, looking over at his own Sergeant Major and nodding.
“I’m heading through in a moment, Samuel,” said the commander of the army. “See you on the other side.”
“Yes, sir,” said Baggett, waving at the gate and moving his own suit forward. The one hundred and sixty people of his headquarters unit followed behind, heading into the battle zone.
The trip through the portal was as disorienting as usual. One second the light of the rising F class star was lighting the landscape, the next the more mellowed light of a rising K class dominated the horizon. Most of the camps were in a three time zone stretch of the major continent, and it had been thought that the more hours of daylight they had the better. The light of the sun was not needed for military operations, the suits were all weather capable, night being a weather condition. But the civilians didn’t have night vision, natural or technologically enhanced.
He zoomed in on the fortress/military camp that was their target. It was five kilometers north of a camp containing up to fifteen million humans, much to close to use nukes or kinetics on. But it still needed to be taken out, before its troops could deploy and start killing the human prisoners.
“Find a good place for us to set up, Sarge Major,” he ordered his senior NCO while he squatted in his suit to get a good view of the developing action.
“Yes, sir,” replied the NCO, waving some scouts out to look over the terrain. They already had a pretty good idea of the best places, but most soldiers wanted to see the spot with their own eyes before deciding on where to set up.
Baggett watched as the tanks and infantry moved across the tree covered plain, staying low and moving fast. One company of the heavies and the medium tank company were moving forward, while the other heavy unit was rushing up to the camp with one company of infantry to take the perimeter and establish their own blocking force.
“How’s it going in the camp, Brigadier?” he asked the brigade commander who was supervising the overall operation of liberating this camp.
“We’ve taken the far perimeter and placed our people within that side of the camp, sir,” said the Brigadier in her contralto voice. “All is a go in the center of the camp as well. We’ve had some resistance there, and some casualties among the civilians, but the Cacas in the camp should be neutralized in the next couple of minutes.”
“Very good. Keep me informed.” Baggett switched to the division command circuits and checked up on the overall situation, which seemed to be going as planned, which in and of itself was worrisome.
The enemy camp was a boil of activity, as hundreds of Cacas came running out of the barracks, many in battle armor, but not all. A door slid open on one of the heavily fortified garages and a large battle mech stepped out, eight meters tall and walking on four meter long legs, its weapons moving to track on the prison camp.
The Empire had given up the use of mechs, large manned machines that looked much like big battle robots. The Cacas still used them, almost to the exclusion of tanks. The machines weighed a couple of hundred tons, and were heavily armored, but were not in the same class as a real tank.
As the first one walked to the edge of the military base, lining up its heavy beam weapons on the camp, the first of the main battle tanks broke through the last line of trees, two kilometers from the perimeter of the base. Infantry swarmed around the tank, firing their weapons at the top of the four meter tall, two meter thick wall that surrounded the base. The first of the Cacas that reached the top of that wall, many of them not in armor, were blasted off by the angry red beams of infantry carried proton weapons, or the bright flaring explosions of microgrenades launched by the dedicated grenadiers.
The Tyrannosaur fired, rocking back slightly on its grabbers as its magrail main gun accelerated a supermetal penetrator at three hundred kilometers a second. It looked to Baggett as if the round had teleported instantaneously to its target. The center portion of the mecha, where the Caca rider was housed, exploded outward, vaporized alloy mixed with the reddish steam that was what remained of the crewman. The mecha rocked on its legs for a second, then fell over backward from the force of the hit.
A pair of mecha were next, both moving toward the wall and seeming to totally ignore their murdered comrade. They met the same fate, blown apart by a pair of main battle tanks. The next up turned its attention toward the tank platoon, a different strategy with the same result, as the mecha fell to the ground with its midsection vaporized.
The infantry advanced in their heavy suits, staying low to the ground, their stealth systems making them very difficult to spot. The tanks flickered in and out of view in a similar fashion, while decoys and electronic warfare packages interfered with the exact acquisition of targets. His own side was having similar or lesser difficulties, and the fight devolved into the two sides trading fire, the Imperial soldiers getting the better of it with their superior ground combat vehicles and targetting.
They were fulfilling the mission of keeping the Cacas from firing on the camp, and the firepower differential was in the Imperial Army’s favor. Baggett looked up at the sky, wondering when their air support and reinforcements would come. The Imperials had about one hundred and twenty thousand troops, including his own reserves on the other side of the wormholes. The Cacas had over four hundred thousand ground combat troops on this world, many dug into hardened positions, many moving from base
s into dispersion points. And many of those troops would be coming for his positions in the very near future, while he was handicapped by having to keep the civilians under his care alive. The civilians who did not have the armored protection of his soldiers. And the ships up in space could not provide him fire support either while they were still engaged in their own battle.
* * *
“What the hells is going on?” growled General Jawa'therista as he ran into the command bunker control chamber, pulling on his harness. He had been spending time with the female he had been assigned to mate with, since the Emperor had decided that he was worthy of passing his genotype down to even more progeny. He did not appreciate the interruption of his pleasure.
“We are under attack, my Lord,” said the shocked looking officer, standing by the holo tank that showed the surface of the world. Separate side holos showed the scenes from many of the camps, all of them showing what looked like human combat suits battling his people. A close look at a couple showed that his people were not winning.
“Where are they attacking from?” he asked the duty officer, who held a rank of brigade commander.
“Everywhere, my lord,” answered the officer, taking a deep breath and trying to calm himself. Several of the side holos disappeared into static. One of them firmed into a blurry picture, then faded back into static. The ground shook, and another holo popped up, showing the fireball of a mushroom cloud rising off the ground. The text below the view indicated that the cloud was rising over what had been a planetary defense battery.
“They are hitting us in space as well.”
But, how? thought the General. How in the hell did they invade us without us seeing them coming? That’s impossible, isn’t it?
“We’re receiving a com from the Great Admiral, my Lord,” called out one of the com techs.
“Send it to me,” ordered the General, his mind still reeling in confusion as he tried to decide what he should do.
“General,” said H’rastarawaa as he appeared on the holo, his image scattering slightly in the static the enemy jamming was causing.
“What are my orders, my Lord?” he asked his superior.
“I want all of the humans on the planet killed.”
“We are fighting the humans now, my Lord. As soon as I can get the troops in place I will do my best to kill them.”
“I don’t mean the soldiers, General,” growled the Great Admiral. “They are here to free those prisoners, the one we have been processing. I want them dead. Use every means at your disposal to kill the human civilians that the human soldiers are attempting to free. Any that you have a good chance of reacquiring, take. We may be able to use them as hostages.”
“Yes, my Lord.” The General hesitated for a moment, then looked back at the Great Admiral. “Are we going to win, my Lord?”
“Don’t you worry about that,” said the Great Admiral in what amounted to almost a scream. “Just follow your orders, and do your part, and at least the humans won’t win.”
The holo blanked, while the ground shook again. The General thought about the Great Admiral’s use of words. The humans would lose if the people they came to save were destroyed. Which didn’t mean any of the Ca’cadasans would get out of the fire they were now in.
“Get me all brigade commanders on the com,” he ordered the duty officer. “I want all of their forces on alert and ready to move.” I may not make it out of this, but I can assure myself that the humans fail as well.
Chapter Seventeen
Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin they think of firelit homes, clean beds, and wives.
Siegfried Sassoon.
NEW MOSCOW SPACE, MID MORNING. APRIL 8TH, 1002.
“First gate is deployed,” called out the Fleet Tactical Officer.
Fleet Admiral Jerry Kelvin looked over at the holo that showed the two battleships in that pair, Hood and King Robert The Bruce, joined together by a four kilometer wide, three kilometer high frame. The frame itself was ten meters in cross section, and made of the strongest alloys known to human science. Still, if the battleships were to pull apart with even minimal force that frame would come apart like rotten wood.
The battleships themselves, older models, had been modified to become predominantly defensive platforms, structured to defend themselves and the structure in their charge. That structure now sported a mirrored surface, a wormhole, leading back to one of the Fleet bases where the rest of his ships were waiting.
“First ship coming through, sir,” said the Tactical Officer Moments later.
The nose of a ship poked through, moving at the velocity of point four light, grabbers powered down. It took the two and a half kilometer long warship an immeasurable amount of time to transit the gate. Its grabbers were powered down, its electromagnetic field off, depending on its material shielding to protect the crew, so it was basically an object smaller than most asteroids and radiating just a little more energy. Since the force was moving at point two four light, the ship shot well ahead. While from this side it seemed like a simple and straight forward maneuver, from the other side it had been a delicate and anxiety producing exercise in precision piloting.
The battleship coasted, gaining distance from the force every second. The fleet was still boosting at five hundred gravities, and would eventually catch up, while the newly come ships were unknowns, not even there as far as the enemy was concerned.
Ten seconds after it came out of the hole a second battleship flew through, and coasted away. Within five minutes there were fourteen battleships added to his order of battle. At that time the second gate was opened, and a series of cruisers, heavy and light, started coming through. Those were the ships that had been approaching the gate at the time it had opened. The battleships that had been originally first in line had to shoot past the gate on that side, decelerating so they could eventually come back and transit the gate later. The gate opening had missed the time table, and now some of those ships might miss the battle. The fleet could change its maneuvering at a later part of the mission. And it would still be another five minutes before even the closest of the far pairs would be joined.
“Headquarters is reporting they are sending capital ships over to Gate 3,” reported the Fleet Com Officer. Gate 3 was the second gate to open, the one now punching out cruisers.
Kelvin nodded, wondering if they would get enough ships through in time to weather the first missile storm. He looked at the tactical holo and thought he probably would. But the margin was getting closer every minute. And every delay, every misstep in sending the ships through, was an increase of the odds against them. And the fate of the group that was fighting for its life near the planet depended on that enemy not coming back in force.
* * *
Sevastopol shook again as a particle beam ate into her forward hull. Damage klaxons sounded throughout the ship. They had been going off for the last five minutes, since the battleship had first exchanged fire with the huge orbital fort of the Ca’cadasans. The fort that outmassed them by a factor of eight to one.
“We’re getting pounded, sir,” called out the Chief Engineer from the main reactor control room. “One of those beams just punched into one of our reserve fusion reactors.”
Captain Vladimir Schmidt looked over the damage schematic of his ship, pulled up on a side holo. It was a mass of blinking red. He paid particular attention to engineering. The matter antimatter reactors were absolutely the best protected machinery on the ship, below ten meters of composite hull armor, then sheltered behind their own armored bulkheads. That armored capsule included the storage area for the antimatter that powered the ship, which also had more redundant armor protection. There was a very good reason for having all that protection in place. Matter antimatter reactions were essentially the total conversion of material to energy, giving the ship the most efficient source of power known to the science of the time. It was also highly dangerous, and the breach of massive amounts of antimatter could reduce his ship to a fast mo
ving cloud of plasma in an instant.
“Electromagnetic projectors are at fifty percent over that section of engineering,” called out the Tactical Officer, who was balancing a score of duties at the moment, taking the information from his tactical crews and trying to allot resources to fight the ship in the most manner possible. “Suggest rolling the ship.”
“Do it,” yelled the Captain as the ship shook from another hit.
The Helmsman powered the grabbers to spin the ship around its long axis, turning a different portion of the hull toward the enemy. The ship was broadside to the enemy, allowing the use of all of its energy weapons on the same target, but also presenting more of the surface of the ship to enemy fire. It was a tradeoff, but still a better design that the laser dome energy weapons system of the Cacas. The fort was bristling with lasers and particle beams, but could only bring a little over sixty percent of its weapons to bear on any single target.
Sevastopol fired a spread of missiles, ten weapons leaving their launch tubes at almost three hundred kilometers an hour, cutting in their own boost of five thousand gravities as soon as they were free of the ship. The range to the target was seven thousand kilometers, twelve seconds flight time. Due to that flight time, the missiles were only approaching at a little over eight hundred kilometers a second, standing still as far as the targeting systems of the combatants were concerned.
The first missile was hit by defensive fire only three seconds out of the tubes, detonating with a force of a gigaton, sending more radiation and heat into the launching vessel than the target. The second was hit at four seconds, the next at six, until only two missiles got within two thousand kilometers of the enemy, where they were detonated by the station’s lasers. They still caused some hull damage from the flood of radiation and heat, but not much.
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 8: Soldiers (Exodus: Empires at War.) Page 23
