“You’re not going to lose him if you set him down in the retreat,” said an exasperated Sean, picking up Glenn, then handing him over to one of the newly arrived nurses. The other stood there, not sure what to do. “Let the nurse take care of him. We need to talk.”
“I will not let you take him from me,” she shouted, getting up from the couch and running from the room with the baby in her arms.
“Send for our physician,” said Sean, looking at the nurse. “The Empress is tired, and needs a rest.”
And we need to do something before she has a complete breakdown, he thought, waiting for the doctor. Losing Augustine had affected her terribly, but Sean thought she would eventually get over it. Getting him back, and the thought of losing him again, seemed to have pushed her past the brink. If only it hadn’t have happened, he thought. Then he thought again about the project to strike the Cacas before they actually took his son away from him.
* * *
FENRI SPACE. MAY 19TH, 1003.
“We’re about to enter the system, sir,” reported the liaison officer over the com.
“What’s it look like, son?” asked Colonel General Samuel Baggett of the commander. He really didn’t like deploying his army this close to the advancing Cacas. Not that he was afraid of fighting them on the surface of the worlds they would try to reconquer for their Fenri allies. No, what he didn’t like was the possibility that his troop transports might run into enemy warships and get blown out of space. While they were a mighty force when deployed to a surface, aboard ship they were helpless, their armor and weapons useless.
“Scouts are reporting the system is clear, sir. It should be smooth sailing to the planet.”
Baggett nodded. Only one of his corps was entering this system. The other four were deploying to nine other systems, all considered important to the Fenri, and therefore to their Caca allies. I wish we had wormholes on all those worlds, he thought for the hundredth time. Then they could have deployed without ships, been guaranteed supply, and would have had the possibility of evacuation if needed. As it was, they would have to hold out against an enemy that would have total control of space, with no chance of resupply, and no chance of survival of the Fleet didn’t relieve them in time.
His force was carrying a wormhole, all that could be spared, so he would have the means of getting supplies for the corps he was deploying with. Every division had some Klassekians assigned, so all of them would have com links with his headquarters, and higher. He hoped that would make a difference, but if the Fleet couldn’t fight its way back to them, he didn’t see that it would.
He knew it was necessary that they slow down the Cacas, and his army was a resource to be used to achieve that goal. Their survival, while important to himself, was not a primary concern to the Empire. The military didn’t like to throw away people, but they were more than willing to sacrifice a reasonable number of them against the chance to beat a Caca fleet.
Once through the barrier and into normal space it was a thirty-nine-hour journey to the orbit of the habitable planet. There had been some discussion as to whether to send the troops in by shuttles or to take the transports all the way. Shuttles would have taken an extra day and a half, and would not have been able to carry all of their equipment, but if the transports got caught in the system they were most likely lost. Baggett had demanded that the transports take them all the way in. He didn’t want to get caught on the planet with only his infantry, the most the shuttles could carry in one load.
So the two assault ships and nine transports went in on a least time profile to the planet, along with a dozen escorts. The rest of the group stayed out beyond the barrier, ready to come in or run as the situation called for. The transports were not as speedy as warships, only capable of a little over four hundred gravities. The assault ships could boost as fast as battleships, but couldn’t accelerate along with destroyers.
They spent the day in transit. Baggett went through a couple of meals and a sleep break. An old hand, once light infantry, then medium before making the move to the heavies, he was the consummate infantryman, and knew that he would need all the rest he could get before the Cacas got here.
“Are we ready to go?” he asked his chief of staff, Major General Hung Chee.
“Our shuttles are flight prepped,” said the small man, his head sticking out of the large suit of heavy armor. “Tanks are locked into reentry systems, aircraft all checked out.”
“Good. We should be in orbit in eight hours. I want us…”
“Alert,” came a call over the com as klaxons went off. “Alert. Caca force detected in hyper.”
“Is our covering force large enough to stop them?” asked Baggett, on the com with the liaison officer immediately.
“We’re picking up five of their battleships, sir, along with the usual mix of smaller ships,” reported the commander. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to stop that force.”
Baggett stared at the holo for a moment. The covering force had two battleships, four light cruisers and a sextet of destroyers, not nearly enough to fight off that task group. They had one heavy cruiser, two lights and nine destroyers alongside. They might have made a little bit of difference if they had been back by the main force, or they might not.
“They’ll be in normal space in four hours,” continued the liaison.
Which means we’ll still be four hours from orbit by the time they’re in the system, and they’ll looking right at us, as we were two hours before, thought the general. And they could get missiles into his ships before they got into orbit, if the enemy fired on them as soon as they were in the system, and if they entered at point three light. He would have bet on that last, since that was what the Cacas almost always did.
For a moment he was wondering if he should go ahead and launch his shuttles and aircraft. They could get to the planet from here, though they would have to coast most of the way and decel on approach. The tanks wouldn’t have a chance, and over half of his infantry would still be aboard the transports.
“We’ll wait to launch,” he said, doubting he was making the best decision as he said it. If they hit a transport or an assault ship, everyone aboard was gone. But they could also hit the slower moving shuttles and his atmospheric craft. The longer he waited, the better chance they had of getting away, being closer to the planet.
The corps command team gathered in a conference room, sweating as they watched a holo plot over the table. It seemed to take forever, not just four hours. But when the enemy entered normal space it still seemed sudden, and they were still the predicted four hours from the second planet in orbit around the K class star.
“They’re launching,” called out Major General Chee.
The icon appeared on the plot, and it only took a few seconds to see what the target was. All of the missiles were heading into the system, and his ships were the only conceivable thing they could be shooting at. Three hundred missiles were on the plot, maybe not enough to take all of them out, not with the escorts. If they were lucky none of the transports would be hit, and any hits generated would be on one or more of the escorts.
Baggett shook his head at that thought. It was cold blooded. The heavy cruiser had almost a thousand people aboard, the lights just under seven hundred. Even the destroyers had a little over three hundred crew. They weren’t his service, but they were Imperial military. The assault ships also had almost a thousand crew, the transports over four hundred. And they were carrying between four and six thousand of his people and their equipment each. Those were people he knew, people he would count on when he tried to hold the planet against a superior force. And dammit, he cared more about them than the Fleet pukes who were transporting them.
“Second volley off, sir,” said Chee, grabbing his attention back to the plot, where another swarm of icons was leaving the enemy formation. “They’re targeting the outer force this time.”
Hundreds of icons headed toward that small force, joined by hundreds more as the Caca
s cycled another launch. The Imperial force fired back, a much smaller swarm, then continued cycling weapons until they had to be all but dry. The escorts with his transports started firing as well.
“Our force is releasing their assets into the system,” said the commander over the com.
Those would be a flight of warp fighters and a single stealth/attack ship. They would move silently away in normal space, then deploy. The stealth/attack would keep tabs on the system, and hit targets of opportunity. The warp fighters would hang in space, unmoving, until something presented itself that was worth their attention. They could resupply with missiles from the stealth/attack. Of course it had been intended to release the fighters on the way out into the asteroid belt, the perfect place to hide. But things had changed, and now they needed to get them away before the enemy spotted them. The stealth ship was with the outer force, and it would hang out there.
“When will their missiles hit us?” asked Baggett, unable to take his eyes off the plot. He was not a spacer, and he wanted ground under his feet.
“Missiles will hit eighteen minutes before we make orbit, sir.”
“Release the shuttles and atmospheric craft when we are thirty minutes from orbit.”
The liaison officer looked off the holo for a moment, probably looking at some figures, then back with a tight smile on his face. “They should get to the planet ten minutes before the transports.”
That made sense to the general. They would also be decelerating, but at many fewer gravities than the spaceships. And they would use first the gravitational pull of the planet and then the atmosphere itself to slow. And whatever transports made it into orbit could be unloaded by the shuttles coming back up for them.
“We should get you on one of those shuttles, sir,” said Chee, looking into the commanding officer’s eyes.
“I will stay aboard, and take the same risks as my people.”
“Hell, General. Everyone knows you have courage. Everyone knows you care about your people. But you need to get your ass off this ship and onto a shuttle. If anyone can hold that planet, you can.”
“And we have a corps commander who…”
“Is not in the same league as you, sir. Nothing against Lt. General Hampton, but she is still new to her command, and her rank. I thought that was the reason you chose to deploy with this corps.”
He’s right, thought Baggett. He really didn’t want to admit it, and he also didn’t really want to be aboard a ship when the missiles came in. But he also wanted to share the dangers with his people. But you’re not a damned platoon leader anymore, Samuel, he thought. Chee was correct. He needed to land on the planet with whatever they got off.
“Okay. Reserve a place for me on a shuttle. And have everyone prepared for a combat drop. I want a turnaround on those shuttles in record time.”
When the time came Baggett walked to the shuttle bay of the assault ship, only his head free of this battle armor. Some of his staff was with him, others, volunteers, would remain behind. What he needed on the planet were fighters, more so than support. The shuttle was a standard assault model such as those used by the Imperial Marines. It could carry thirty-six soldiers in their heavy armor, as well as ten tons of equipment. Each assault ship had a complement of fifty shuttles, enough to carry eighteen hundred heavy troopers, a little over a third of their boarded soldiers. The transports each had thirty, able to carry a quarter of their complement. Add in the shuttles from the escorts, and the heavy lift shuttles that had been loaded with troops instead of equipment, and they would be able to land about seventeen thousand soldiers, a little less than a third of their total.
“We’re boosting now,” called out the pilot seconds after the shuttle lifted from the deck. The ship pushed ahead at a low acceleration, four hundred shuttles and two hundred and eighty-four atmospheric craft trying to move out without collisions. Safety protocols prevented collisions, though there was much cursing over the com as ships stopped in place to allow others through. In a couple of minutes it was all sorted out, and the craft started decelerating toward the planet for all they were worth.
The missiles came in when the shuttles were well away. The escorts interposed themselves between the weapons and their charges. The Fleet took pride in guarding the ships that couldn’t protect themselves. The heavy cruiser and one destroyer survived the onslaught that saw them firing everything they had at the enemy weapons. The assault ships and transports were armed, mostly with defensive weapons, and they took out most of what made it through the escorts. Two transports took hits, both of them turning into balls of expanding plasma that took their crews and passengers into the next world. Some few survived, blown out of the ships in their suits, kept alive by the safeguards within their armor.
Baggett watched in horror as the two ships disappeared off the plot projected on his HUD. He next sighed in relief as he saw that nine of his precious ships were still there. And there were no more missiles showing, unless they had a wormhole and were sending in some preaccelerated missiles. Since the Cacas were still short of sufficient wormholes, he doubted they had any with this small a force.
He zoomed the plot out to the outer system, where the survivors of that battle, one battleship and a couple of destroyers, were jumping into hyper. The Cacas had lost a supercruiser and three escorts. The battleships might have some damage, but he couldn’t tell it from this view.
The shuttle was roaring into the atmosphere, the sound clear through the hull of the craft. It banked a couple of times, then straightened out.
“We’re close to your landing zone, sir. Preparing to eject you and head back for more.”
“Go ahead,” said Baggett, the last word barely leaving his mouth before the hull opened beneath him and he was forcibly ejected into the air. Then he was looking down at the ground, his suit starting to slow him down. And waiting on the ground were a number of aliens, former slaves here to greet his troops. He would arm a couple of hundred thousand of them and use them as guerillas. Most would die, but they were volunteers, and using them might save some of his own people. Cold, but the only way he could think about it.
He looked up as shuttles pushed through the air at hypersonic speed, heading back into space. The atmospheric craft were coming in, slowing to a hover before landing. Within an hour they would have the entire corps down, less their losses. They would have a day and a half to dig in and prepare before the Cacas attained orbit. And then their battle would begin.
Chapter Seven
'Closed timelike curve' is the jargon for time travel. It means you go out, come back and meet yourself in the past. Kip Thorne
“Where is Colonel Walborski?” asked Colonel General Walther Preacher Jodle, watching the last people to come across the wormhole portal.
“We couldn’t find the colonel,” answered a senior NCO, looking down at the floor so he wouldn’t make eye contact with the general.
“The hell you say. Your one job was to watch that boy, and make sure he didn’t do something stupid.”
“I’m sorry, sir. He’s the quietest, trickiest bastard I’ve ever laid eyes on. I. There’s no excuse, sir.”
And I would make sure he was court martialed if he makes it off that planet, if he weren’t the best we had, thought Walther. At one point in his career he was thought to be the best there was. And he thought that Cornelius, at the top of his game, was much better than he had ever been. Or, depending on how he does, we could just promote him again and stick him behind a desk, thought Preacher with a smile.
Walborski was a friend of the Emperor, as well as the only three time recipient of the Imperial Medal of Heroism in the history of the Empire. The Empire needed heroes, not scapegoats. But he had disobeyed a direct order to come back from that world after he deployed the Rangers. We’ll just have to see how he does, thought the general. If he rates more medals, we’ll just make sure that he doesn’t leave Jewel until the war is well in hand. Walborski would hate that, but it was nothing less than what he deserv
ed for going off on his own.
* * *
Colonel the Count Cornelius Walborski looked once again at the bright orb of the F9 class star overhead. He wasn’t worried about being tracked, since he had no active electronics on his person, and he had deactivated his implant as soon as he had left the insertion cave. In a few more minutes he would be across the grassy area and into the dense forest.
The straps of the bulky backpack were cutting into his shoulders, despite the padding. It was packed with more than a normal man could carry, and was almost too much for his own augmented musculature to handle. He had rations for thirty days, high density nutrition bars that each packed the calories of a day’s worth of full meals. He had six thousand rounds of ammunition for the weapons he carried, as well as a score of grenades and ten kilos of explosives.
The sling over his neck carried a chemical propellant rifle that could fire standard or armor piercing rounds at from five hundred to five thousand meters per second. The holster at his side carried a chemical pistol in the same caliber as the rifle, though using much less propellant. A couple of long monomolecular blades stuck out of sheaths on calf and forearm. And attached to the pack were the ultimate man-portable Ranger weapons, two of the small nuclear missiles, each with a yield of ten megatons.
A sound from the forest caught the Ranger’s attention. He had learned all he could about this planet while he was here supervising the deployment of special ops forces in conjunction with the arming of the guerillas who would be fighting the Cacas. But he had not learned enough. Not really. Any living world had millions of organisms, tens of thousands of higher animals, many of which were dangerous. Even, as he had seen on other worlds, killer vegetation. He was sure he would recognize some of the dangerous forms, but some could look like cuddly mammals or beautiful foliage, and be no less deadly. That was why he must needs meet with some of the guerillas before too long.
Time Strike Page 9
