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

by Doug Dandridge

  The plot showed Mabana on his port side, about a hundred and fifty kilometers to the east, while the Paxton was the same distance to the starboard. The other six ships of the squadron, all he had brought back from the front, stayed higher up, just at the edge of the atmosphere. They would fire down with their lasers and particle beams, while the three he brought lower would use not only the beams, but the close in projectile weapons as well.

  The ship shook a bit from atmospheric turbulence, not too bad, just enough to let them know there was something out there other than vacuum. He felt a thrill at doing something very few captains ever got to do. With grabber units a warship could actually touch down on the surface, but most officers wouldn’t even try without good reason. And basically, there were very few situations that gave one good reason. This was the only one he could think of.

  “Here they come,” shouted the acting Tactical Officer. The ship vibrated as she released particle beams and streams of close in weapons fire at the swarming enemy craft. This had been part of the plan, to give the enemy a target they could not ignore. Not while the improvised antiaircraft platforms could slaughter them at will. The close in weapons were set to accelerate up to a fraction of their capacity, a mere ten kilometers a second, the shells still set to explode on closest approach to the target.

  Rounds cracked out at what still amounted to hypersonic speed in the gaseous envelope of the atmosphere, detonating all around the enemy craft where they didn’t physically strike. In seconds they had cleared a half hundred enemy craft from the sky, while most of the remaining moved way at their best speed.

  “Keep after them, tactical,” shouted von Rittersdorf as the ship shook from a couple of missile hits. The ten megaton warheads blew through the armor and did moderate damage to the hull underneath, but it was nothing the warship couldn’t handle. And any weapons like those that hit his ship, moving fifteen kilometers above the surface in rarified atmosphere, were weapons that were not hitting just above the city.

  * * *

  “What the hell,” gasped Visserman as she looked above her to see the warship move down into the atmosphere. At first she through it might be part of the enemy attack, but very soon her sense got over the initial panic and she recognized it A query of her ship’s computer confirmed that it was a destroyer, and she could see several more on her HUD in the distance.

  What seemed like madness made a lot of sense as she noted the destroyer was firing just about everything she had at the enemy fighters over the city. Lasers, particle beams, even close in weapons systems. Most of the shots missed, but there were more than enough hits to keep the enemy busy dodging instead of attacking. Some of the misses hit within the city, those fired on a downward angle. Particle beams ripped into structures already heavily damaged, while exploding shells detonated on roadways and the wrecks of vehicles. And every second at least one enemy fighter met its end.

  Debra made damned sure that her Identification Friend or Foe was active. She didn’t want to get shot down by her own side. Next she pulled lower and away from the destroyer, not willing to test her luck. Close in weapon rounds were detonating all through the air, and in less than a minute there were at least thirty enemy aircraft turned into spreading clouds of debris, while a score or more fell to the earth trailing smoke. A few rounds exploded near her craft, going off prematurely, a sign that they had picked up her IFF, but were traveling too fast to completely avoid harming her.

  In moments she was out of the firing pattern of the destroyer that was still taking the enemy fighters under long range fire from her beam weapons. Shrapnel fell below on the city, the shells all detonating before they passed the altitude of two kilometers. That meant that some still hit the tops of the megascrapers, causing minimal damage to structures that had already been evacuated.

  It seemed to her that the Fleet had its shit together, at least here. Now, if they could only plug whatever route the enemy was using to keep pouring fighters into the twin planetary system.

  * * *

  “It seems like a certainty, your Majesty,” reported Grand Fleet Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda over the com holo. “This large force is heading directly for New Moscow, and is most likely going to bypass anything on the way.”

  “And we think they have a wormhole?” asked Sean, trying to keep his mind on the battle and not on the fight that was still going on in the capital system. There was nothing he could do about that fight, and he wasn’t about to order a superheavy battleship like Augustine I to slow down and leave formation so he could jump back to the Donut, and from there to Jewel. Though he wasn’t sure what jumping to Jewel would mean, since from last report the Hexagon was badly damaged and evacuated, and Central Docks would still leave him some fifty thousand kilometers from the capital, with no way to get there through the enemy assault.

  “That would be the smart way to bet, your Majesty,” said the man, one of the highest ranking combat commanders in the Fleet. And someone whose opinion Sean trusted completely. “They can’t have many of them, and we know where two of them are at this moment.”

  In the Supersystem, thought Sean with a grimace, nodding.

  “But a major offensive like this would call for having a wormhole, if they have any.”

  “And they have what, two thousand ships in that formation?”

  “That’s what our scouts are telling us,” agreed the Duke. “A large force, but not as big as expected.”

  The other two forces moving in, one toward the Republic, one at the Empire, were larger. And there were some moderate concentrations of up to a thousand ships in New Moscow imperial space. But if they did have a wormhole in all of the larger forces, they could reinforce any of them at need, moving forces in for an attack, then pulling them out to support another thrust. And two can play that game, thought the Emperor, sure that his side could still play it better. After all, the Cacas couldn’t have more than a score of wormholes total, versus the thousands possessed by the Empire. An example of that was the wormhole equipped scout that had tracked this force they were discussing. The enemy couldn’t have enough to equip scout ships with them, meaning that information only came as fast as ships could transit back to the fleet. Sean and his forces had not only the wormholes, but now the Klassekian com techs, equipping thousands of scouts with instantaneous com. What they knew he knew, as soon as they did.

  But our reinforcements for New Moscow are now heading elsewhere, though the Emperor, closing his eyes and clenching his fists. Ships were being rerouted all over space. What had been tasked as reinforcements for New Moscow were heading by whatever gate they could find back to the Supersystem. And the Elysium and Crakista ships they had been counting on to augment his fleet were at home, under the orders of leaders who were acting like pouting children.

  “Do you want me to order those ships rerouted, your Majesty?” asked the frowning Admiral. “We can still get more ships into the New Moscow system before those Cacas ships get there.”

  “And when will they get there?” asked the Emperor, meaning the enemy.

  “ETA is forty-one hours, your Majesty.”

  And we have no idea what else the bastards are going to bring through into the home systems. If we don’t reinforce, they are likely to defeat everything we have they, and then destroy everything at their leisure.

  “I’d hate to lose New Moscow a second time,” interjected Mgonda.

  “I would too, Admiral. But I would hate to lose the heart of the Empire even more.” Sean shook his head, hating to make another of these calls that sentenced people to death so that others could live. But it was his call. “Keep moving ships toward the Supersystem. New Moscow will just have to hold out until we can get to them.”

  “And our soldiers on the planet?” asked the Admiral. “Should we order them evacuated as well?”

  “No, Admiral. They are to defend the planet against anything that comes at them. I will not abandon New Moscow.”

  “You can’t do everything, your Majesty,”
cautioned the Duke. “Trying to do it all with not enough will just end up throwing lives away for nothing.”

  Don’t you think I know that, Admiral? thought Sean. There were political considerations here as well, something the Admiralty might not want to think about, but something he must consider. “Just follow my orders, Admiral. This is on me.”

  Just one more defensive fight, here and at home, he thought, thinking of his Fleet’s dispositions. They had been preparing for this day since the Cacas had been kicked out of the Empire, over a half year before. They had upgraded everything they could, added as many new ships as possible. If they could take out this attacking force, they could go over onto the offensive, at about the same time as new construction started rolling out. At about the same time as their Klavarta allies of the Nation of New Earth started fielding their own new units. One more defensive fight, then we’ll see how you like it when the initiative is ours.

  But even as he thought that he wondered if it was a pipe dream. If the Donut were destroyed they might not have another offensive in them. If it were destroyed while they were still in the early stages of engaging the Cacas, without their wormhole weapons, they might not win this fight. If the Fleet were hurt badly, and they lost the source of their greatest technology, it could spell the end of the human species.

  And I’ll go down in the history books of some other species as the last leader of the human race.

  * * *

  “Just hang in there, baby,” said Cornelius as he sealed his wife up in the cryo bag. She had stopped breathing some minutes before. Which meant she still had some minutes before she started to sustain damage to her brain. As soon as the bag was sealed he hit the programming pad on the center of the apparatus. In seconds the interior of the bag started to freeze its contents. In less than a minute the body of his wife would be frozen, maybe not hard, but enough to stop all metabolic processes. It was old technology, used to bring the first refugees to the Empire, and had been constantly improved through the centuries. The Ranger was very familiar with the bags, which had been used to save countless lives through the centuries on the battlefield. He had no doubt that the bag would preserve his wife until she could be treated at a medical facility with high tech nanosurgery that would make her as good as new.

  Intellectually he knew that she would be alright. Emotionally, it was a different matter altogether. Emotionally he was as stressed as he had ever been on a battlefield. This was the love of his life. He had lost one wife in the past, and didn’t want to have to lose another.

  “You’ll be just fine, honey,” he said, more for his own peace of mind than anything else. He lifted the bag, weighing almost twice what his wife weighed on her own, without problem, his augmented muscles more than up to the task. Locking he car, he leaned against the vehicle, getting himself back together, wondering how much longer it would take Rebecca to get Junior to the parking area. Just after that thought entered his mind he heard a scream and a yell, and knew that something was wrong. In an instant he was running flat out to the edge of the parking area, and the path to the camping area where they had hoped to spend a holiday weekend having a good time.

  Chapter Fourteen

  However beautiful the strategy, you should occasionally look at the results. Winston Churchill

  “Doggy,” said Junior in a happy voice.

  “What are you talking about?” replied Rebecca, turning to look back at the child who should have been walking on his short legs behind her. What she saw brought her to a complete stop, hands going to her mouth to stifle a cry.

  Jewel was a class III threat planet, the same as Old Earth. Not the most dangerous of worlds. Azure, the world she had grown up on, was a class I, the most dangerous category, while Sestius, the planet Cornelius had told her about was a II, leaning toward a I. Class IIIs still had their share of dangerous life, and the wolves were among the most dangerous of all. They were not really wolves of course, though they did have a passing resemblance to the Old Earth canines. They were long and lean, with projecting snouts full of a double row of sharp teeth. The paws actually had razor sharp retractable claws, an addition that put them more in the class of the big cats as a threat. And they hunted in packs. Normally they were kept out of the recreation areas by the use of sonic fences. Their presence here meant that those fences had gone down.

  One was about three meters from Junior, sniffing, teeth exposed. They knew what humans smelled like. They knew they were bad business altogether, but this one must have decided that a small human might be a good kill. Junior was looking at the wolf with the open expression of a child who had found a new playmate, with no idea of the danger he was in. The wolf went down on its haunches, ready for a spring that would bring its jaws to close around the throat of the small human.

  Rebecca had lost her brother, Ben, on Azure, shot down by the Cacas. She was not about to lose her step brother. The monomolecular blade swished from its sheath as she ran forward, an angry cry on her lips. The wolf turned at her cry, trying to bring its body around to face the new threat. Rebecca swung her knife before the beast could complete its turn, slicing the weapon in at the left haunch and dragging the blade through to the left shoulder, where it exploded outward in a spray of blood.

  The wolf hissed in pain, more like a cat than a canine, and tried to turn back on its attacker, who had stopped next to the toddler. Before it could complete the turn it fell over onto its left side, the damaged muscles no longer able to hold it up. It lay there, mewing in pain, then letting out a howl that was answered immediately from close by.

  Rebecca grabbed Junior by the shoulder and pushed him behind her, just before five more of the wolves, the rest of the pack, came bursting out of the brush. They stared at their wounded comrade for a moment, then up at the human with the knife guarding the smaller child. She stared at the wolves, knowing there was no chance she would be able to handle all of them. There was a tree behind her that she might be able to climb, though the claws on the paws of the beasts indicated that they might be able to climb as well. And there was no way she was going to abandon her brother.

  Two of the hissing beasts hunched down, getting ready to spring into an attack, and Rebecca was sure that this was the end of her life. She might be able to slash one with her knife, but not both of them, and the rest of the pack was maneuvering into position to rush in as a second wave.

  A loud roar sounded from the path behind the pack, and all of the creatures turned to face the new threat. Cornelius came running at them, moving faster than anything the beasts had ever seen. Rebecca stifled a cheer, not wanting to distract her father, who was moving as fast as she had ever seen him. She had forgotten how fast the augmented could move, and he was faster than most.

  One of the beasts jumped at the Ranger. Cornelius, his own knife gripped in his right hand, swung with his left and connected with the chest of the wolf, flinging the creature tens meters through the air to smack into the trunk of a tree, rebounding to lie motionless on the ground. The next beast met the knife blade, impaling itself through the heart before the Ranger flung it away as well. A third beast died a moment later, and that was enough for the pack. It recognized the superior killer, and was not willing to risk its continued existence on continuing the attack.

  “Are you all right?” asked Cornelius as he stood over the children, sheathing his blade.

  “We are now,” replied Rebecca, sheathing her own blade and picking up the now crying Junior, who had finally figured out that it hadn’t been play time.

  Cornelius looked down at the animal she had attacked, now bled out on the ground.

  “Thank you,” he said in a soft voice as he placed a hand on her head.

  “I wasn’t about to let them have Junior,” said Rebecca with a slight smile. “And how is Devera?” she asked, the smile leaving her face.

  “I got her into cryo,” he said, reaching for Junior. “She’ll be OK, I think. Let me carry him, and we’ll get back to the car.”

  �
��And then back to the city?” she asked, feeling concerned about not being there, and afraid of going back.

  “There’s nothing we can do there,” said Cornelius, shaking his head. “I think we’ll head low and slow toward the west coast, to one of the smaller towns there. It’ll have a hospital, and someplace we can shelter.”

  “And the Cacas?”

  “Again, nothing we can do about them, now. But in the future, I’ll try to make their lives as difficult as possible.”

  Rebecca nodded as she walked behind her father. She was determined that she would make life as difficult for them as she could as well when the time came.

  * * *

  “We’ve got as many people as we could spare into the forward missile control rooms,” said the Tactical Officer.

  “Very well,” said Mei, nodding. “Launch as soon as you’re able.”

  Her task group was moving toward the freighter that was thought to be the carrier of the Caca wormhole gate. Unfortunately, that freighter was not the target that lay ahead. Instead, it was the eight supercruisers that were arrayed in a defensive shield in front of that supposedly weak ship. She still outmassed them, with the six battle cruisers, fourteen light cruisers and sixteen destroys she had been able to rally to her from her command. At the moment her ships were trading beams with each other, while the Cacas were adding missiles to the mix.

  Yes, we outmass them, thought the Admiral with a frown on her face. But they were severely undercrewed. Due to lessons learned with robots, disastrous lessons, all warships were built with multiple safeguards in place that could only be circumvented by organic sentient control. Warheads could be placed on the bodies of missiles, but only when people with the proper clearances in the missile mating control rooms authorized the procedure. Missiles could be loaded into tubes, when authorized by organic sentients in the missile loading rooms. The missiles could be fired from the bridge, after the other steps had been taken. There was a reason warships carried large crews, and not just for damage control.