Books One to Three Omnibus (Armada Wars)

by R. Curtis Venture

  There would be more such ships to come, no doubt. The battle for Herses was going to cost the empire many lives, regardless of whether or not the Shaeld Hratha were able to break through the lines.

  “Priority alert from Feld Bassan,” COMOP announced. “Incoming wormholes. They have dreadships and associated support vessels in orbit.”

  “Understood,” said Betombe.

  “Ramm Cirrocu now reports the same thing,” COMOP added.

  “They’re testing the softer targets first,” said Betombe. “Stand by, and keep an eye on the gate for the start of interdiction. We should have company any moment now.”

  Even as he finished speaking, the flares of multiple wormhole mouths burned brightly in the space dead ahead of them. In high orbit of Ramm Stallahad, the invasion had finally begun.

  “Sound general quarters,” said Betombe.

  The command deck came alive with activity; Laselle alerting all stations to their new situation, Tactical priming the ship’s defences and weapons, COMOP tapping away to the other commands in the battle group.

  “Gate is interdicting,” COMOP announced. “Nobody is opening any new wormholes from within the Herses system until that changes.”

  “Excellent,” said Betombe. “Count on the dreadships at Ramm Stallahad?”

  “I see twenty-six so far. They can still bring more in if they want to.”

  “Intel suggests they won’t; at least not for a while. Populate the main battle map.”

  “Admiral,” said Tactical. “Long-range orbital platforms are firing on the dreadships. Do you wish to join in?”

  “No. Stand by for new orders.”

  Betombe stared at the battle map, decreasing its scope to ignore the engagements at Ramm Cirrocu and Feld Bassan. His interest was only in the conflict which had begun at Ramm Stallahad.

  Laselle returned to his side, and as she so often did when questioning the admiral’s tactics she kept her voice low.

  “Are we waiting for any particular reason, Admiral?”

  “Of course,” said Betombe. “Have faith, Commander. All will become clear soon enough.”

  “Admiral, I have an enemy support fleet heading our way,” Tactical warned. “Some of our own, some Viskr, two other distinct designs with which I am not familiar.”

  “Can you identify them?” Betombe asked. “I don’t want any nasty surprises.”

  “Hull profiles do not appear in our database. Stand by… one type is unknown, however the other type appears in data shared with us by the Lem Bataan Confederation. They appear to be Haidukaan battleships.”

  “Assessment?”

  “Reading now… L-B database entry says they originate on the Scutum-Centaurus arm of the galaxy.”

  “That’s some serious distance,” Laselle volunteered.

  “Anything on armaments?” Said Betombe.

  “Yes; their main weapons are energy based. Some kind of excited-state particle beam. Our defence systems won’t be able to counter that sort of attack.”

  “COMOP: warn the fleets, and have both Stoic and Late Arrival concentrate their fire on the Haidukaan ships if and when we do engage them. The last thing we need is for them to shred our defence forces.”

  “Aye aye. Sending now, Sir.”

  “Admiral, main defence cordon has engaged the dreadships.”

  Betombe expanded the orbital segment of the battle map and watched the dreadships encroach on the line. Strung across the planet’s mid-orbital reach, between the upper atmosphere and a layer of Guardian Shields, the vessels of the Imperial cordon held their ground. Exactly as planned, they refused to advance on the dreadship’s positions. He noted despairingly that even with the Guardians sitting between the two lines, holes were already starting to appear where earlier there had been ships.

  “Have all the dreadships engaged?”

  “Yes Sir,” said Tactical.

  “Good. Helm, move us at best speed towards the enemy beachhead. COMOP, have the rest of the battle group do the same.”

  Helm and COMOP carried out their orders, and Betombe felt the soft nudge of the ship’s conventional drives kick in.

  “Taking hits,” said Tactical.

  Betombe closed his eyes briefly, listened to the shape of the sounds which rang through his dreadnought’s hull. They were physical impacts, he knew, and they were unfocused. The enemy support fleet was responding in surprise at his battle group’s unexpected movement, punishing them with a rash barrage which was more or less random.

  “Shall I return fire, Sir?”

  “Only if you have certain strike trajectories,” Betombe said. “They’re just a distraction right now.”

  He returned his attention to the battle map. The orbital platforms concentrated on one dreadship in particular, one which had broken its own ranks and made a run at the cordon. The Imperial ships had allowed it to pass between them, dousing it with high energy sabot rounds, and it was now wallowing in obvious distress as the platforms pummelled it with rounds of their own.

  “Admiral, we’re in range of the beachhead.”

  “Spool up our GNGs, Helm. Open a wormhole directly through the event horizon of one of the Shaeld wormholes.”

  “Yes, Admiral. But… will that work?”

  “We’re about to find out. COMOP, have our large frame escorts do the same thing. Designate targets for them.”

  “Aye Sir.”

  Betombe brought up the live view from the forward sensor palettes and watched Love Tap open her wormhole right inside the mouth of one of the Shaeld wormholes. It had worked for him before, this insanely unpredictable strategy, but who knew what differences there were in Shaeld technology?

  “Something’s happening,” Laselle said.

  Sure enough, the Shaeld wormhole collapsed in on itself. Light from the perceptual edge of the event horizon crumpled into a ball of fading embers, then died altogether.

  “All commands are reporting success,” said COMOP. “Shaeld comms are cut off from their forces outside the system.”

  “Instruct our battle group to engage the support fleet tracking us. Head on assault; wipe them out.”

  “Yes Sir,” said COMOP.

  Tactical began to plan the attack, hands flying across the holos.

  “Was that it?” Laselle asked. “The specific event?”

  “Yes,” Betombe said. “Strategically speaking, we now have the upper hand. Command believes the Shaeld Hratha are risk-averse when it comes to committing their main battle forces. Chances are they will be waiting for a report from these dreadships for some time before attempting to breach the system again.”

  “You didn’t want to explain it before, did you? In case the command crew has been compromised.”

  “Exactly,” Betombe said.

  “So what does this mean for the other planets in the system?”

  “The forces the Shaeld deployed out there are in for disappointment,” said Betombe. “They’re now isolated, and have little of any real interest to attack. Both Ramm Cirrocu and Feld Bassan were partially evacuated ahead of the invasion, and most of the heavy ships stationed there were redeployed to Ramm Stallahad.”

  “But surely those dreadships will now join the main offensive?”

  “Yes, at conventional speeds. If all goes well, they’ll arrive almost a day after the battle here has ended. By hitting all the populated planets in this system, the Shaeld have depleted their main assault.”

  Amusement joined the concern on Laselle’s face. “I like it.”

  “We can’t afford to be complacent though,” Betombe said. “Their deployed forces can still communicate amongst themselves by using the system nexus; there’s nothing we can do about that.”

  “I’m not convinced that would help them at all.”

  “Neither am I, but we cannot rule out the possibility that they might find a way to exploit it.”

  “Sir,” said Tactical. “We’re engaging the stolen fleet.”

  “Be brutal, Tactical,�
� said the admiral.

  “I’m seeing a new group of wormholes,” said COMOP. “It’s the First Fleet. They’ve jumped in from their holding position on the system periphery.”

  “Get on the Act-Con channel, send to Fearless Actual. Inform Admiral Kalabi that so far everything is going according to plan.”

  “Aye Sir. Sending.”

  “Sir,” Tactical said. “We’re taking fire from one of the Haidukaan ships. Beam weapons. C-MADS turrets are going to be ineffective.”

  “Well, this ought to be interesting. Have they scored any hits?”

  “Not yet, but they’re closing on us.”

  “Hit their sensors with as many lasers as you can, and pepper our flak barrier with explosive ordnance.”

  “Admiral,” COMOP said. “Fearless Actual acknowledges your message. She’s moving her fleet within strike range of the main dreadship assault force.”

  “Good.”

  Tactical looked up again, this time with an alarmed face. “Sir, the Haidukaan battleship is now on CBDR with our prow. Probable targets are the primary holo cores. Suggest evasive course corre—”

  The deck plates of the command deck juddered, and Betombe heard a new sound join the ringing, metallic strikes which echoed around Love Tap’s passageways. This was a hissing, roaring sound, like nothing he had heard before in battle. It could only have reached his ears by travelling through the ship.

  Laselle was the first to react. “Hull compromised on decks nine and ten; venting atmosphere. I’m isolating the affected compartments.”

  “Stoic is running interference,” Tactical said. “Drawing their fire.”

  “Forget the evasive manoeuvres,” said Betombe. “We’re too large a target. Come about and bear down on them.”

  “Sir?”

  “Let’s show them our main batteries.”

  • • •

  “There has to be something we can contribute.”

  Santani sat in her command chair on the bridge of the unfinished Hammer, watching the invasion of the Herses system unfold on the main battle map. She gripped the arm rests of her chair, leaning in towards the holographic volume. The light from it bounced off her face, casting her features in a ghoulish glow.

  “Not a thing,” said Klade. “We aren’t fit to navigate, and our C-MADS turrets aren’t hooked up to the defence network.”

  Santani zoomed in the battle map on Ramm Stallahad and watched the slow, inexorable buckling of the main defence cordon. The ships of the line were considerable in both their numbers and their capabilities, but even from her distant vantage point she could see that it was not enough.

  “Our rail guns might make some difference,” she said.

  “Optimistic at best, Captain,” said Klade. “Yes, we can target and fire from here. But by the time our slugs arrive their targets will have moved. If we did hit anything, they would be just as likely to be friendlies as hostiles.”

  “Some of the other ships at Hepira yard are flight-capable.”

  Klade sighed. “But not staffed, and probably not fully armed.”

  Santani pumped a fist in silent jubilation when she saw Fearless punch a hole clean through a Shaeld dreadship. The rift platform carried by the mighty flagship was truly of a remarkable design.

  “I don’t like sitting here spectating,” she said. “I want to be in that fight.”

  “Well here’s something,” said Klade. “Fort Herses is almost beneath us. It’ll be in range of the battle in a short while.”

  “That will be fun to watch, but it’s not the same thing at all.”

  Santani manipulated the battle map, idly skimming over the more intensive parts of the battle. She pulled out to a wider view, hoping to assess how the battle was progressing as a whole.

  “What are those ships doing?” She said.

  Klade looked at the group she pointed at, and tapped their icon. Data flicked across the ships.

  “They look like stolen ships, and they’re heading this way.”

  “Why?”

  She watched Klade think for a moment.

  “Command says that xtryllium will be one of the enemy’s targets. And we already know they take ships to use for themselves.”

  “… And Hepira shipyard is full of new frames. The unfinished ships have hundreds of components which contain xtryllium, not the least of which are their GNG coils.”

  “Looks like you will get to fire off some of your new ship’s weapons after all, Captain.”

  “Any idea what defences Hepira has of its own?”

  “Not a clue, sorry.”

  Santani flipped her chair holo across her lap and tapped up the directory for Hepira. She opened a channel to the control tower.

  “Hepira Control, this is Captain Santani on the Hammer. Are you aware that we have hostiles inbound?”

  “We see them, Captain. They’re moving under conventional drive. We anticipate support will arrive before they do.”

  “No, it won’t,” said Santani. “The whole system is under interdiction.”

  “Ah,” said the operative at control.

  “Can you move the shipyards?” Santani asked.

  “Not really. Hepira has reaction thrusters for attitude control and minor adjustments, but we’re basically sitting in a wide orbit of the planet.”

  “We really need to move the shipyard. It wouldn’t take much to place it in an orbit synchronous with Fort Herses. We could borrow their sphere of defence.”

  “But like I just told you, Captain: Hepira has no conventional drives.”

  “Yes it does,” Santani said. “You’ve fitted them in every ship in your many berths. They are, are they not, one of the first systems to be installed in a new frame?”

  There was a long, long pause at the control tower end.

  “That’s insane.”

  “Probably, but it’s the best idea we’ve got right now. Send us the schematics for Hepira, and the latest structural reports for the ships you have on the outer edge of the yards.”

  “Sending now. I’m also requesting assistance from the fleet.”

  “I suspect they will have their hands full,” said Santani.

  “True, but I really don’t think the Commodore is going to like your plan.”

  “Do you think the Commodore will like being dead?”

  The operative shrugged and killed the channel.

  “Are you sure this will work?”

  Santani looked at Klade and shook her head. “No idea. You’re the maths whizz. Start working on that data.”

  She flicked the files to Klade’s holo, and he went to work at once.

  “You realise I have no idea what I’m doing?”

  “Don’t panic,” said Santani. “If we do pull this off, it is not going to be perfect. All we need to worry about is creating an acceleration profile which will allow the station to build up momentum in the right direction.”

  “Yeah, but… that’s easy to say.” Klade narrowed his eyes, breaking the problem down. “First I have to work out what that direction is, and the final velocity we need to reach. Then the not inconsiderable calculation of the total inertia which we will have to overcome… without breaking the linkages between the yard and the ships pushing it, of course. And what about the ships without working drives? They’re dead tonnage. Should we dump them, or take them with us?”

  “Better get cracking, hadn’t you?” Said Santani.

  “Captain. I might be really, really good, but frankly this request could be beyond me.”

  “If you try and fail, we will be no more dead than if you don’t try at all. Just do your best.”

  Klade said nothing. He had already committed the better part of his faculties to the problems in front of him.

  Santani returned to the battle map, dragged a line between the shipyard and the small fleet bearing down on them. A data legend appeared on the line, showing — amongst other things — the estimated journey time.

  Twenty-seven minutes.

&n
bsp; Less than a half-hour to go before the enemy ships arrived at Hepira, to do whatever they intended to do.

  Santani gritted her teeth. Their most probable form of attack would involve sending boarding parties across to the shipyard’s main structure, capturing it by killing the staff. Then they would gain control of the ships in the construction berths; it was unlikely that the workers in those sections would be able to mount much of a resistance effort. They would likely all be killed immediately.

  She hoped to the many worlds that Klade was as good as she believed.

  • • •

  Betombe watched in silence. The last remaining fragments of the Stoic faded from their ghostly existence on the battle map, then vanished altogether.

  “Admiral?”

  “Yes, Commander. Sorry.” He wiped his brow, and focused on Laselle.

  “Haidukaan ships all destroyed. Stoic has given us our chance.”

  “Their escorts?”

  “Those Viskr and Imperial ships still capable of moving are headed away from us. Tactical thinks they intend to regroup with the third-largest stolen fleet we have on tracking.”

  “What are our losses?”

  “Other than Stoic; five destroyers, two frigates, three corvettes, one cruiser.”

  Betombe clenched his fists.

  “Our current strength?”

  “Twenty-two large frame, forty-nine medium frame, eighty support.”

  “Still formidable,” he said. “I’m seeing severe depletion of the Shaeld support fleets. Are those numbers accurate?”

  “So far as Tactical can make out,” said Laselle.

  “Good enough for me. Take us to Ramm Stallahad.”

  “Aye, Sir. Time at hard burn will be nine minutes. Helm; lay in a course.”

  Betombe widened the battle map, revealing a strategic overview of the entire system interior. The enemy ships at Ramm Cirrocu and Feld Bassan appeared to have given up, leaving behind the poorer spoils and crawling so very slowly towards the main battle.

  Ramm Stallahad; the prize jewel of the system.

  He scanned briefly over the smaller engagements which still blazed in the space around the planet; the battles between the Imperial decoys, and those Shaeld support fleets which had broken apart so co-operatively in an effort to scatter the defence forces around the planet.