Back to the assessment of the enemy, thought Bednarczyk, pulling up an image of the Great Admiral. Not that he looked all that different from any other Caca she had ever seen. They all looked pretty much alike to her. Maybe a xenophobic sentiment, but true for most species. They recognized among their own readily, even though there were always noticeable differences within a species.
Mrastaran was known as an intellectual among his people, a philosopher admiral. Not the physically strongest. Not the greatest fighter. It was a miracle he had made it to his position. Which spoke volumes about his intelligence.
So, where has he been all this time? A commander like this should have won some of the battles his people had lost. Or at the very least have gotten more of their ships out of the battles they had lost. The enemy wouldn't have been in such dire straights if this male had been in charge. So, why in the hell hadn't he been a battle fleet commander, at the very least, if not the front commander.
Because he didn't play the challenge game with the other males, thought the human commander. He obviously made sure he was never without security that he trusted. If a challenge was made he would accept with a choice of weapons that he was better with than any other Caca. And if anyone just attacked him on his bridge, his security would reduce them to ash. However, he probably didn't earn the respect of his peers, and so was relegated to backwater fronts, areas of the Empire where the only task was to hold the slaves down.
Not that this front was all that important. Beata dismissed that thought was soon as it came. The Cacas hadn't committed more than twenty percent of their battle fleet to this front, versus fifty to the other, with the remainder still pulling occupation duty. That was an important percentage, which could have made things much more difficult on the main front. The Klavarta had done great service to the war effort in tying down those ships. And if this admiral defeated them, all of his ships would soon be facing the New Terran Empire and its allies on the other front.
The smart play would have been to let the Cacas destroy the one system, all of the genetic diversity that lived there. To engage them in running battles on the way to the New Earth capital, then defeat them in a final battle that brought in one of the battle fleets from the other front.
Instead, it was only her on this front, and all the political leaders demanded that she save that world. Not that it was a bad sentiment, but if it cost her the largest allied battle fleet on this front, what would it gain them? Pleisia would still die, along with tens of millions of human and alien crews.
On this front, she thought with a laugh, looking at the viewer that showed the enormous ring circling the central black hole. She wasn't technically on the other front, though it was a quick step through a wormhole gate. Those gates were not up and running yet. There were other tasks for the wormholes before she got to use them for transport. Instead, there were thousands of ships, including all of the human capital ships and most of the allied ones, waiting. Including most of her carriers, which would not be acting as fighter platforms on this mission. The warp fighters would come along, more of them than had participated in the last battle.
Hanging in near space were objects that dwarfed all of her ships. A hundred kilometers in length, massing in the trillions of tons, they were not coming through the wormholes, but they were very important to the plan. Probably the most important assets. They wouldn't be going through the holes, but what they projected would.
“All of the attack ships are in position, targets fixed,” called out the com officer.
“They are to open fire on my command,” ordered Beata, switching her attention to another holo, the one showing the plot of the system. “Make sure the captains know that they need to kill everything near the planet, as quickly and efficiently as possible. But damn sure make certain they have everything converted to plasma before they start un-shipping their wormholes.”
Not that the captains needed the order. They had been well briefed, and she trusted them to do their jobs, just like all her people. But this whole thing depended on everyone doing their job to perfection, something that seemed statistically unlikely. Still, she couldn't personally aim every missile, hit every target.
“Starting firing sequence,” spoke a voice over the com, the commander of the stealth/attack squadron, setting in the order that would have every ship launching at the same time. “Now.”
Chapter Four
Kings may be judges of the earth, but wise men are the judges of kings. Solomon Ibn Gabirol
“Now,” shouted Captain Terrance Mann, commander of the stealth/attack ship Nautilus. His command went out over the net to the other five ships in his squadron that were close to the planet Pleisia. The other half dozen vessels would not take part in this attack. They were scattered about the system, acting as intelligence gather vessels. When the time came they would join in the fight, but not for this part.
The command went through the wormhole back to the black hole system, routed through normal com channels, then out through another five wormholes. It was not instantaneous, but it was the next best thing to it.
The twelve stealth/attack had been spending the last month in the system, the only human vessels still around. They had laid low, barely moving, putting out very little heat. What heat they did generate was sent through the wormhole to a near absolute zero sink. They had taken great care to not be detected, but it had still been a nerve wracking experience that Mann had no desire to repeat. Of course, if this plan failed, he wouldn't have to worry about anything ever again.
Mann glanced over at his com officer, but most of his attention was riveted to the local plot. There was a supercruiser and four of the Caca scouts in near space. Along with about a hundred of their decoys. The other stealth/attack had similar concentrations in their areas. Some a couple of more, one a few less. If all went as planned, only the decoys would be around, and they could be destroyed with lasers at the leisure of the soon to be arriving warships.
The decoys were interesting for what they did, though they weren't a threat as far as anyone could tell. Ten thousand ton robots that moved with bursts of gravitons that mimicked much larger objects moving through space. All of their energy generation was fed into the grabber units, so there couldn't be room for weapons aboard, could there? Well, thought Mann, we'll soon find out.
The ship shuddered slightly as it released its first stream of missiles. The helmsman sat motionless at his station. All maneuvers had been programmed in, and nothing as slow as an organic mind could keep track of the maneuvers the ship would go through. The missiles were all out and on their way in less than a second. Most were heading straight for their target, though some had to engage grabbers and shift onto the proper course. The ones that had a straight shot were undetectable. Not so those that had to correct. The calculated solution had taken some double checking, and the next stream would be ready in thirty seconds. Mann didn't want to have to take that second shot.
* * *
“My Lord,” shouted the tactical officer of the Ca'cadasan supercruiser on station. “We have graviton emissions. We...”
The Ca'cadasan ship commander had a fraction of a second to look up from his meal, his last one, though he didn't know that in his last split second of awareness. He saw the flashing icon of human missiles coming in at high relativistic speed. And then his ship, his crew and himself were all part of a cloud of spreading plasma.
* * *
“Sea Slug is reporting that they are preparing a second shot,” shouted out the com officer. “Enemy ship is pulsing a message.”
And they'll have thirty seconds to let the enemy commander know that we're here, thought Mann, clenching his fists. If everything had worked a planned, the only thing the enemy would have known was that they detected some sparse graviton pulses near the planet. Maybe not even enough to catch their interest with all the other graviton sources about. They would know something was up hours later when they caught the visual of the planet's proximity at the speed of light.
“Make damned sure they get it this time. The rest of the ships are to eject their wormholes and start the process.”
It would take several minutes for the gates to form on this side, a little longer on the other as their ends of the wormholes were moved out of their launch tubes and transported to the optimal location. But from this moment on the stealth/attack ships, at least this half dozen of them, were no longer in business as stealthy killer platforms. They would be next to useless in the coming fight with their pitiful onboard missile armament and tiny laser batteries.
With luck they would be able to go through the gates back to the Empire. Unfortunately, there would be so much coming through from the other side that transfer might not be possible. They would continue to sit in orbit uselessly, until other ships decided the outcome of the battle. Not a comforting thought.
* * *
“We're receiving a grav pulse transmission from the vicinity of Pleisia, my Lord,” called out a com officer, near panic in his tone. “They are under attack by the human stealth craft.”
Mrastaran looked up from the reader, where he was perusing a philosophical text from one of the human greats. Not something that many Ca'cadasans would understand, but he found it fascinating. Not fascinating enough to ignore the entry of the enemy onto the battle field, and into his trap.
“I really didn't expect them to enter the system so close in,” he said in a soft tone.
“My Lord,” said the com officer, not hearing what the admiral had said under his breath.
“They must have a good reason for doing this,” he said, not paying attention to his officer, who continued to give the admiral a blank stare.
He had expected the humans to try and take out his projector ships, once they located them, with their stealth ships, while the rest of their fleet moved in from the outer system. But they were making another play, one he didn't yet understand.
“Orders, my Lord?”
“Give me a moment,” shouted the admiral, looking at the plot.
The only enemy on that plot were the destroyers that had dropped in a day or so before. And they only had an approximation of where they were. They could be light minutes from those positions by now, in any direction in a globe of possible vectors. Creeping along at ten gravities or less, building velocity, beaming their built up heat into interstellar space as microwaves. There was a chance that those microwaves would beams would be intercepted. Unlikely.
They can't be coming in without their wormholes, he thought as he dismissed one scenario that leapt into his mind. They couldn't have put them aboard those destroyers, could they? Their most vital resource on such fragile platforms. Or maybe they had them aboard the stealth ships all this time. Only a very daring commander would take such a risk. Or a foolhardy one. If they were coming in near the planet they would find themselves in a trap they couldn't escape. If outside the system, as he had thought, then they would find themselves in a hyperspace battle they couldn't win. Either way, he would destroy them here.
Really, he had hoped he could destroy them without killing this system. He had been wrestling with guilt ever since the order came down. While he might not be a believer in the old religion, not really, philosophically he agreed with their tenants. He tried to live his life by them, and now he was being asked to betray all of his principles.
And if I don't, my sons, under the knife blade of that maniac of an Emperor, will die.
His sons were important to him, more than just about anything, but so were his principles. It was a no win situation as far as he was concerned, and the decision point was nearing.
“Send orders for the projection ships to move into position,” he told his com officer.
“Should they start the process, my Lord?” asked the officer, looking back expectantly. “My Lord?” said the male when no reply was forthcoming.
“Not yet. But they are to be prepared to start the process as soon as they receive the command.”
He had twelve of the ships, with skeleton crews, only a hundred or so technicians and a couple of officers, all volunteers. He could detonate the star with eight, though it would take fifty percent longer to reach the critical point. Once near that point four could do the job. At moments from detonation one could send the star over the tipping point.
Of course there were the two dozen scouts that would guard the projection ships. They wouldn't do much against capital ships, or streams of missiles. From the reports he had read from the detonations the Empire had completed on other stars, the seeker heads on missile streams traveling at relativistic speeds would erode away, and it would be pure luck if they hit anything. Even the stealthy craft would absorb too much heat from close proximity to the star to remain hidden. The scouts would be sacrificed, necessary, but another part of this whole process that didn't sit well with the admiral. Add to that the one hundred and fifty warp fighters placed to stop enemy fighters, and a lot of brave males were going to die. The warp fighters might escape, able to outrun the photon wave. Or they might not. The reports were unclear, but something in the disrupted star affected the fabric of space nearby, and warp didn't always work as expected.
I'll just be glad when this whole dirty business is over with, thought Mrastaran, closing his eyes. He would be glad when this whole war was over with, and he could live on his chosen home planet and spend the rest of his life reading and contemplating. If that day ever came, and the humans didn't still overrun the Empire.
* * *
“Nautilus is reporting that all of the enemy ships have been taken care of,” reported Janssen, his forehead wrinkled in thought. “All according to plan. Almost.”
Except that now the enemy knows were are active at Pleisia, a couple of hours sooner than we wanted. “Start sending them through in the planned order.”
The ships would go through slow, with as little graviton emissions as possible. Any enemy sitting out beyond the hyper barrier would still know something was going on, but their intelligence would be limited. For the moment.
She watched as a destroyer squadron pushed through the portal, three at a time. She still felt some guilt at sending the fragile ships into harms way ahead of her ships of the line. That's what they were for, she had to remind herself. An ambush with heavy enough weapons would take out a battleship the same as a destroyer. If the tin cans could set off that ambush, and allow her larger ships to enter combat with weapons locked and firing, it was worth it. But try telling that to the parents of the dead destroyer crew.
“Report coming through from the Jason Sullivan,” said the com officer, naming the squadron leader of that destroyer group. “All clear. They are fanning out at one half gravity to cover the approaches.”
“Send us through,” ordered Beata, nodding at the screen that held the image of the ship's captain. “Slowly.”
* * *
Mann watched the lean shapes of three destroyers come out of the wormhole gate he had erected. It took them ten seconds to get through and clear, boosting slowly as per the operations order. The next trio was through, then the next, when the sight the captain was hoping for appeared.
“That's a monster,” said the helmsman, all of his attention on the forward viewer.
Yes, thought the captain as the nose of the super heavy battleship Romulus poked through the portal. The ship was over three kilometers in length, massing twenty-eight million tons, making it the largest class of warship in the war. So far at least.
He felt some relief that the flagship was finally here, in this system. They were committed now, and they would win or die in this system.
* * *
Beata prepared herself as best she could for the translation through the gate. The subjective feelings were terrible, a time distortion that made it seem as if the person transiting was stuck in limbo forever. It couldn't be forever, but it seemed to be year after year of supreme boredom, even when the real time could be measured in nanoseconds.
Unfortunately, people who had made
multiple transits started to feel the mental effects. Anxiety, severe depression, with some ever falling into a complete psychotic break. It had become such a problem that the fleet was losing a full ten percent of its personnel during each operation. Something had to be done about it. And in a society which used medical nanotech, something had been done.
The medical experts and psychologists had been treating mental disorders through brain restructuring for centuries, and it was really nothing to fix the minds of those affected with madness. However, that wasn't enough, when madness could strike any spacer or marine at any transit. When they were needed to work the ship in an emergency. So something else was done.
Beata felt herself blanking just before the ship hit the wormhole. The same subjective nightmare might have been going on, but her mind was oblivious to it. A moment after her mind and body were through the portal she was again awake. There were a couple of moments of disorientation, something no commander wanted to feel while her ship was moving into harms way. Still, with the way certified clear by the scout ships, it was not worth risking her mental well being.
“We're through, ma'am,” called out the captain over the com holo, his own eyes slightly disoriented. “Remus is coming through in six seconds.”
She would have her two most powerful units here in that time. Normally they would both take a wormhole aboard when her entire force had come through. Not this time. Those wormholes would be needed for something else entirely. If the whole crazy plan even worked.
Chapter Five
What we learn only through the ears makes less impression upon our minds than what is presented to the trustworthy eye. Horace
“We have missiles on track toward the star, my Lord,” called out the tactical officer. “From the proximity of Pleisia. ETA seven hours.”
And they might be sending streams of wormhole launched missiles from out here, thought Mrastaran, looking at the plot that was showing thousands of missiles heading toward the star, and his projector ships. They would not have clear targets until they got much closer, and when they got too close their seeker heads would erode away from the particle density around the star. There might be a couple of lucky hits, though even that was unlikely with the volume of the area they would be entering.
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 16: The Shield. Page 5
