Exodus: Empires at War: Book 11: Day of Infamy (Exodus: Empires at War.)

by Doug Dandridge

  The minutes seemed to fly by as the beautiful mother played with her child in his carrier beside her. She was thinking that they might be the jewels of the Empire, but to her they were her and Sean’s children. She would see to it that they were raised as normally as possible, a daunting task considering their positions. The Chief of Detail across from her closed his eyes, and she knew he was linking in with the rest of the huge security apparatus that surrounded them.

  “We will be landing in one minute, your Majesty,” he told her, eyes opening again to show he was once more in the here and now. “Allow the detail to disembark first, then you and the nurse. We will wait in the secure location under the stands until it is time to move into the public eye. Once in the stands, stay in the designated area.”

  Jennifer nodded, thinking on the details for a moment. They wanted people around her to take any possible attack on themselves before it got to her or the children. She was wearing protective clothing herself, impact armor and an internal laser reflective layer that would defeat most magrail weapon shots while deflecting up to two seconds of laser fire. If she was shot in the head none of that would make any difference, of course, so security would try to prevent that. Once she was in the stands there would be an electromagnetic shield and a transparent kinetic barrier in place to protect her.

  She had asked Sean about all of the precautions, if it was something that every Emperor had to go through. He hadn’t thought they had been quite this restrictive, though he believed that history had taught that some of the more despotic Emperors had even greater security in place. But since there had been multiple attempts on the lives of the Imperial family in the last couple of years, including the successful assassination of a sitting Emperor, his wife and his heirs, as well as the latest attempt on Sean and her, it had been decided that the most stringent methods were called for. And she was willing to go along, as long as it kept her children alive.

  The aircar landed without so much as a bump, the finely tuned inertial compensators taking up any force that the pilot wasn’t able to smooth out. The hatch lifted away, forming overhead protection, and half of the security detail deployed from the vehicle. Marines in their signature heavy armor were already in view around the area the detail had deployed to, and Jennifer knew there would be more of the troopers hanging in the air, constantly on the watch. The Chief of Detail nodded to Jennifer just before he got out, and the Empress followed the nurse who was holding Glen’s carrier out into the open.

  The morning sun was bright in the sky, warm on her skin. She looked down at Glen, who was out into a deep sleep. Augustine wasn’t complaining for once, and when Jennifer looked down on the heir she was happy to see a peaceful sleeping expression on his face. Pleasant dreams, baby, she thought as she followed her Chief of Detail and the two nurses into the safe room underneath the viewing stand.

  “We go up in fifteen minutes,” said the Chief of Detail.

  They were supposed to be in place five minutes before the head of the parade reached the stands. The parade started seven kilometers from the stand, toward the harbor, though still quite some ways from the water. It ended twenty-three kilometers further on. It would take three hours for all the bands, floats and military units to pass, and then Jennifer could go back home, where she preferred to be, safe and secure with her babies.

  “It’s time,” said the Chief of Detail. The nurses had checked the babies, making sure both were still dry, waking them for a moment to give them some milk, then letting them both drift back into a deep sleep. Jennifer led the way this time, the two nurses with the babies coming up behind her.

  As soon as she appeared on the reviewing stand the crowd of people within sight of the area went wild. There were almost a hundred people on the stand already, high ranking officers, members of Parliament, city officials. Jennifer’s spot was in the center at the front of the stand, with open areas on either side of her for the babies. She looked back for a second at the large screen viewer over the stand. Her face was on the center of the screen, while two boxes to either side showed the sleeping babies in their carriers.

  The Empress waved at the crowd, now feeling every part the most important lady of the Empire. She made her way to her seat and looked over the crowd as soon as she was comfortable. Across the street were several hundred meters of seating, twenty-eight rows up, with thousands of VIPs sitting in their finery. The street was packed in both directions, some citizens in their best clothes, many others in their party casual. The crowd was about eighty percent human, but a good showing of the large alien population of the city was present as well. And everywhere she looked there were people in uniform, mostly those on liberty or leave, here for the celebration, but also a good number of soldiers and Marines in armor, adding their surveillance to that of the police.

  The sound of a band came to her ears through the noise of the crowd, bagpipes in the forefront of a Highlander unit of the Imperial Army, the lead party of the parade. They were still minutes off down the street, marching forward. I wish Sean were here, she thought, looking over at Augustine. This is really his place. She shook her head, knowing that Sean was where he needed to be, improving the morale of the troops on the front on this day of celebration. She looked again up the street, determined that she was going to enjoy herself and take in the sights.

  * * *

  Chief Warrant Officer Debra Visserman kept her F-48 Peregrine flying straight and slow as she cruised over the line of the parade. She was the wing of the group commander, toward the center of the sixty-four plane formation as it flew over the marching units at a stately one hundred kilometers an hour at two hundred meters altitude.

  This is bullshit, thought the pilot as she nursed her ship along at what she thought was an insult to the capabilities of the aircraft. The only active weapons she had on the craft were the lasers and particle beams, and all of them were powered down. Missiles had been left behind, since this was only a show formation, and she wondered what would happen if they needed to fight this day.

  Don’t be a complete ass, she thought with a laugh. What the hell is going to happen here. It took nine minutes to go from the origin of the parade to the terminus, and at the end the group pulled noses to the sky and rocketed upwards in a starburst, all craft diverging in pairs until they covered the sky. Moments later another group did the same, followed by another, the entire wing. More aircraft would fly over the crowd, Army and Fleet, but their job was done for the day.

  There’s a fight going on at the front, she thought with a scowl. And that’s where I should be, defending the airspace of a planet that might actually be attacked.

  “Return to base,” ordered the Colonel in charge of the group.

  Visserman almost asked for permission to stay in the air so she could get a good view of the festivities, but knew better than to ask for this on such a day. Air traffic over the city on a day like this was a nightmare, and the last thing they needed were some hotshot pilots mixing it up with Sunday drivers.

  “Where to now, Chief?” asked her crew chief after she had set the fighter down into its revetment. “Going into the city to enjoy the party?”

  “I don’t think so, Sergeant,” she told the man who was responsible for the performance of her ship as much as she was. “I think I’ll just hang around the base, and maybe catch a couple of vids. The party doesn’t really interest me.”

  Debra walked away from the revetment, headed for the barracks where her quarters were housed. She knew the Crew Chief was shaking his head. He couldn’t wait to get off the base and stuck into the party. But all she wanted to do was fly. Preferably in combat, though that seemed like it would be denied her.

  Chapter Ten

  Nobody ever defended anything successfully, there is only attack and attack and attack some more. George S. Patton

  H HOUR

  “Wormhole expanded to mission parameters,” came the call from the cargo compartment, where several of the human crew were making sure the gate was
fully operational.

  “Signal coming through from command,” said the Com Tech, monitoring her instruments. “Second mission ship reporting that all is ready.”

  “T minus one minute,” called out the Tactical Officer, monitoring a second com channel coming through from the mission commander on the other end of the wormhole gate.

  The aura of excitement permeated the bridge, or maybe that was fear. This was the first time the Ca’cadasan military had ever attempted such a maneuver. The humans and their Empire had been doing this for well over a year, but no one knew how many problems they might have had before they perfected the method. The Emperor had not wanted to wait for trial and error learning. He wanted a successful attack launched, and had ordered the mission to go ahead. Now it was up to his military servants to make his wishes reality. Or fail.

  There is no failure, thought Tom Jasper, looking over at his human shipmates who were busy updating targeting information to the attack groups. There weren’t many changes. A few newly arrived ships in orbit around one or other of the worlds, waiting for the go ahead to begin shipping their cargos down to the surface. They were not priority targets, but they were targets, and they would also be serviced when the time came.

  A buzzer went off, and the timer counted down to the final twenty seconds.

  “Opening cargo hatch,” said the Captain, hitting the commit switch on the control board he stood before. Down in the primary cargo hold, a mostly empty space eight hundred meters long by six hundred high and wide, the huge loading hatch moved out then swung open. Set back a hundred meters inside the hold, where it was partially shielded from observation, the five hundred by five hundred meter mirrored surface of a wormhole gate sat.

  “Fool’s Bane is starting their launch sequence,” called out the Com Tech.

  “Get our first groups through,” said Jasper to the Tactical Officer. People here were going to know something was up really fast, as soon as the warning came through from the Donut.

  “First group coming through, now,” called out the Tactical Officer. A moment later the noses of the first attack group, these fast accelerating fighters, came erupting from the mirrored surface at fifty kilometers a second, coasting along with most of their systems powered down, almost invisible in space. The fifty fighters of that first group were through in a staggered formation that took eight seconds to traverse the gate. Two seconds after the last had cleared, the first of the next group started through at the same velocity, coasting on the same heading as the fighters that preceded them. The spacecraft each cut in a couple of gravities acceleration, just enough to spread their formations out further, reducing the risk of collision.

  That was one of the greatest risks to pushing so many craft through the wormhole gate in such a short time. A collision on the other side could push one or more craft into the frame of the gate at a high enough velocity to shatter that structure, closing the portal and ending the mission for most of the fighters. Fifteen groups made it through, ten of fighters, five of attack craft, before the first mishap occurred. Not on the far side of the wormhole, but after transit, when two of the ship attack craft brushed each other before they could open up the distance. Fifty kilometers a second didn’t seem like much to spaceships that could get up to almost three hundred thousand kilometers a second. It was enough to generate the kinetic energy needed to breach the hull of one of the craft, tearing through into one of the missile holds and causing a second breach, this of a two hundred megaton warhead meant to heavily damage and potentially kill a warship.

  At that moment the warhead was one hundred and thirty-one kilometers from the Laughing Troll, far enough that they put minimal heat and radiation back into the ship, just enough to trigger the detection meters. Half of the squadron they were with didn’t fare as well, situated as they were within hundreds of meters of the detonation. There was little in the way of actual blast in the airlessness of space, consisting only of the mass of the missile and the two craft involved in the collision. Six craft detonated as well when the heat and radiation hit them. Warheads, even the antimatter kind, were encased in tough materials, and only five more of the weapons detonated, including two among the ships that had collided.

  “Well, that changes everything,” said the Captain, looking over at his Com Tech. “Send the signal through. Tell them to start accelerating on entry to this space.”

  “That will give them away,” growled the Cacada overseer.

  “I think those blasts already gave the game away, my Lord. Now it’s most important for them to get to their targets as fast as possible, or preferably to launch at range.”

  The Cacada stood there for a moment, thinking it over. Much longer than a human would have, and not for the first time did Jasper wonder how such creatures had risen to rule such a large Empire. “Go ahead,” said the Male, crossing his arms over his chest and taking on an aspect of having come up with the idea himself.

  Jasper nodded and waved for the Com Tech to send the orders, looking at the timer that showed that they had wasted a half minute due to the recalcitrance of the Overlord. Now all of the fighters and attack ships started boosting toward their targets at their maximum acceleration, appearing on every tactical monitor in the Jewel/New Terra system. Not that every sensor in the system wasn’t already turning their way, thanks to the half dozen bright flashes of antimatter warheads erupting in a place where no such were supposed to be.

  * * *

  “What the hell is going on?” yelled Admiral Hoshi Nakama, looking up from his evening meal as the warning klaxons went off across the huge primary Central Dock station. The four star flag officer was in overall charge of the facility, which included the thousands of building and repair slips, warehouses and parts assembly stations, and the fortresses set about the entire area.

  “We’re still trying to determine what is going on, sir,” said the Captain who appeared on the holo that formed over the table. “What we do know is there were some large detonations in space about twelve thousand kilometers toward Jewel. Radiation patterns are consistent with antimatter blasts. Thirty seconds after the blast a number of small spacecraft appeared on the scan boosting at high acceleration.”

  “Identification?”

  “We’re not sure, sir. But I doubt they are friendlies. We’re running an analysis on their grabber resonances, and they don’t match anything Imperial or allied.”

  “Order all forts and ships to battle stations,” ordered the Admiral. “Don’t fire until we’re sure they’re hostiles.” The Admiral had visions of blowing some experimental craft out of space while they were on a training mission. And if he was the one to order such, he could probably kiss his career goodbye. If the order came from some ship or fort commander, he could blame them.

  “We have missile launch, sir,” called out the Captain on the holo, shock showing on her face. “Missile launch from the unknowns.”

  And that tells me all I need to know, thought the Admiral, jumping up from his seat and starting for the control room. “Order all forts and stations to launch fighters. Rules of engagement are to take any unknowns under fire.”

  Nakama was still wondering who this enemy was, and where they had come from, when he entered the station control room. About half the consoles were manned, normal for a regular shift, but seconds later people starting coming in, reporting to their battle stations.

  “We think they’re Cacas, sir,” said Captain Victoria Crenshaw, the duty officer. “Resonances are a close match for their ship launched fighters.”

  “And where in the hell are they coming from?” asked the Admiral, sitting down at the station that was reserved for him.

  “We’re still trying to determine that, sir. They seem to be originating at this point, or at least this is where they are kicking in their grabbers.” The holo viewer showed a nondescript freighter at that point.

  “Could they have carried them here?” asked the Admiral as another fifty-four icons appeared just away from the freighte
r.

  “We have a lock on their missiles, ma’am,” called out one of the techs. The main holo switched to a tactical view, showing the icons of the enemy fighters, acceleration figures below them, and the even smaller markers of the missiles with higher numbers underneath. Friendly icons were also blinking, showing targets as predicted from the missile track. Including the station they were sitting on.

  * * *

  “We’re tracking over five hundred small spacecraft, ma’am,” said the Assistant Tactical Officer who was the highest ranking member of his division onboard. “About half of them have launched missiles.”

  “Only half?” asked Mei Lei as she took the captain’s seat on the bridge. “Have the firing ships flushed?”

  “I doubt it, ma’am,” said the officer, speaking loudly over the klaxons that were calling what remained of the crew to their battle stations. “We’re estimating that the ships that have fired have launched at most two missiles. I think they have launched on their prearranged targets, and are now holding back for targets of opportunity.”