“Sit down, Sabrina,” said Stefan in a low voice. “Throwing around accusations will do none of us any good. We have a problem we have to deal with, now. Strife among us will only aid the Emperor.” The man who appeared to be taking over leadership of the Opposition, which had never really had any central leader, looked over at a man who appeared to be some kind of professor or scholar. “What do you say, Juan?”
The slender man nodded his head and stood up, and the voice that came from his mouth was surprisingly deep. “If history has taught us anything, it is that resistance movements do not have much success without intervention from an outside agency. The only outside agency we have in this Galaxy, who can actually do something about the New Galactic Empire, is this Confederation.”
And there haven’t been any internal revolutions that have overthrown a government?” asked Stefan.
“Oh, there have been some,” said the man, nodding. “But only with popular support. Which we do not have.”
“So you think we should do nothing until this Confederation appears in our skies?” asked Freddie, not believing that they were going to bury their heads in the sand.
“No,” said Juan most emphatically. “We need to fight.”
“But you just said that almost no one has succeeded in toppling a government without outside help,” said Sabrina. “So what good is fighting going to do us?” Voices rose around the table as people argued the point.
“Our glorious leader is the totality of our government,” said Juan, holding up his hand to quiet the table. “There is no succession. If he ends, the government ends.”
“But, he’s immortal,” cried out one of the people.
“But not unkillable,” said Juan, holding up his hand again. “I intend to fight him. I have seen enough years go by like an unending stream of misery to just allow myself to go into the long night without a struggle. So I will fight.”
“And all of you who would also fight, rally your cells,” said Stefan, looking around the table. “Get in touch with the other leaders who are not here. We will strike. Those of you who would not fight, give your position to your chief subordinate. And then you can go to hell.”
Chapter Twenty-six
There are historic situations in which refusal to defend the inheritance of a civilization, however imperfect, against tyranny and aggression may result in consequences even worse than war.
Reinhold Niebuhr
Admiral Nagara Krishnamurta stared at the tactical holo of the system he would be entering in a little under an hour. As his hyperdrives were tuned to a high standard, he would not be telegraphing his coming for several more minutes. But then they would know he was coming, and there were an awful lot of warships in that system.
Why the hell couldn’t they just get out, he thought of Watcher and Pandora Latham. They had the means to evacuate back to the Donut, instead of trying to start a land battle for the government of the Empire. We could leave and come back with such an overwhelming force that they would have to surrender. And there was the matter of the enemy task forces just behind them, the first to arrive in less than a day, which would raise the odds even further against them.
But he had been given orders by the man that all considered the titular head of the Confederation. Most of the forces were in place on the moon of Kallis. And he had no choice but to carry out his part of the plan, which called for luring the enemy fleet out to meet him. And then defeating as much of it as possible without losing my own force. And as long as I stay where I can jump back into hyper at my convenience, that shouldn’t be a problem. And if you really believe that, Nagara, you need to turn the force over to a sane commander.
“It looks like most of them are clustered around the gas giant,” said his Flag Tactical Officer. “With the rest of them in the outer system, mostly on our side.”
“Very well. We’ll go past them in hyper, translate in, and attack, using our own speed to delay the arrival of their missiles.”
“Aye, my Lord,” said the officer, turning to his board to send out the orders to the entire force, including this ship, the Confederation cruiser Ganesha, his flag. Minutes later the man turned back to his Admiral. “All weapons powered up, my Lord. Missiles tubes filled, wormhole connections ready.”
“Very good.” The Admiral looked at his Com Officer. “All ships will translate as planned,” he said, looking at the dispositions on the plot once again. “Battle plan Delta four.”
“Aye, my Lord,” said the Com Officer, turning to his board.
The plot began to generate target priorities, showing where the first swarms of missiles would be launched. Krishnamurta made a quick count of the enemy, still not liking what he saw at all. There were over fifty of the enemy battleships in the outer system, in three large groupings and four pairings. One hundred cruisers, two hundred and fifty destroyers. A force three times the size and firepower than the one they had taken on in the alien system. Galleys against men-o-war, he thought, remembering the lesson Watcher had taught him. And the secret is to put enough broadsides into one group and move on, before the next one can move in.
He looked at the plot and zoomed in on the gas giant, Odin, again counting the ships. That force was over three times the size of the one in the outer system, and they would be coming out in a unified force. They had a plan for that. There was always a plan. But the enemy would have a plan as well, as until battle was joined neither side would know who had the superior strategy.
The bridge was quiet as the clock ticked down. There were still people talking, the flag officers speaking into their coms to their sections aboard the ships of the task force. But there was none of the banter that normally went about on the flag bridge. Everyone was nervous, no one knew what the next hours would bring. There were wormholes open to the Donut, and some people would be able to get away if it came to disaster. The Admiral knew that escaping death or not was not the primary fear of these people. No, the primary concern was succeeding, so that Watcher, Pandora Latham, and all of their compatriots on the moon could succeed in their missions, and come back home.
“Translating, now,” called out the Flag Navigator, a moment before the lights dimmed and the holes opened in space before them. The task force slide into normal space at point four light, their grabbers boosting them at two thousand gravities as soon as the bright pinpoints of stars shone around them.
Krishnamurta brought in a deep breath, fighting the nausea of translation that seemed to affect him so much more than the rest of his people. Maybe I should consider staying on the Donut from now on. It will definitely be easier on my own body.
“All ships are launching missiles, now,” called out the Flag Tactical Officer, as Ganesha bucked slightly underneath, firing a spread of forty missiles. They were smaller and lighter than the missiles used by the Empire, eighty tons as compared to the two hundred of the enemy. They boosted at the closest enemy force at thirty thousand gravities, followed by another spread, then another. All of the ships launched three spreads, a total of nine hundred and sixty weapons. The enemy would know they had launched by their graviton emissions, but it would be some minutes before they knew which of their forces had been targeted. And that force, which had never faced the missiles of the Confederation, the technology of the Donut, would not realize that they were dead, though that was a fact.
“Enemy ships from forces designated Alpha one and Alpha two have both fired missiles,” called out the Tactical Officer. Icons appeared on the holo, vector arrows with four thousand gravities acceleration under them. No one needed to know what the targets of those missiles were, or the spreads that were following them. There was only one target in space for Imperial missiles, them.
* * *
“Your Majesty. Another enemy force has entered the system.”
Kitticaris linked with the palace computer, which was tied in to every government system on the moon, including the master tactical net at naval HQ. He cursed under his breath when he saw the enemy force,
tracked by their graviton emissions as they accelerated into his space. “Why wasn’t I told of their approach before they entered normal space?” he asked the officer on the other end.
The man stammered for a moment, while the Emperor read and memorized his name from the system. You and all of your shift will be punished. “I am to be informed whenever a potentially hostile force is picked up.”
“We weren’t sure what they were at first, your Majesty,” said another voice on the com. “The Commander did not want to disturb you if it turned out to be nothing.”
“Tell me when it appears, Captain, whether you have an ID on it or not.” He recorded the Captain’s name as well. While it was good to be loyal to a subordinate, doing so made the Captain responsible as well, and he would pay. Kitticaris looked over the recording of the approach, noting that the ships were resonating in the hyper VIII band most of the way in.
Something that only the ancestors could do. And a technology I want. “Try to capture one of those ships, Captain. I want that order transmitted to all space based commands. One of those ships would improve our own tech base considerably.”
The holo was blossoming with vector arrows, launched missiles also tracked by their graviton emissions in almost real time. The acceleration figures under the enemy missiles were almost not to be believed, thirty thousand gravities or more. I wish we could get one of those missiles, thought the Emperor, almost salivating with desire for the advanced weaponry. Not much chance of that, since they’ll go for proximity strikes if they miss. And I doubt any ship we capture will have any left on board.
“The order has been sent, your Majesty,” said the Captain, who seemed to have taken over the com from his subordinate. “The task force and ship commanders are not going to like the order, your Majesty. Those ships are going to be hard enough to take out, much less take out without causing catastrophic damage.”
“The task force and ship commanders don’t have to like it, Captain,” said the Emperor, making another mental note to make sure that this man was taken in for programming. He did not have the proper subservient attitude. Such happened all the time. Everyone had booster sessions, but some responded better than others. “They just have to follow my orders. I will not accept failure, and you may want to remind those people of that fact.”
Kitticaris killed the com and stared at the holo. Every ship in the outer system force was firing at the enemy, enough missiles to kill a group ten times the size of the Confederation formation. Or, at least, enough to kill ten times their amount of ships of similar tech level, which these were not. The enemy had thrown what looked like a pitiful attack at two of his battle groups. But with this tech, who knew? That might be enough to kill them and have enough left over to kill two more.
And the enemy was boosting away from his own missiles at two thousand gravities, with a velocity advantage of point four light. His missiles would be chasing them for hours, if they ever caught them. The enemy was moving on a course perpendicular to Odin, not really going all that much further into the system, which seemed to be their plan. And a good plan it is. They use their velocity to reduce the effectiveness of our missiles, while taking all of our forces under fire and not allowing anyone to get too close.
The Emperor frowned for a moment as he noted many of the ships in blockade around Odin were now changing their vectors, breaking orbit and turning onto a heading that would take them to the outer system. He considered ordering them back, then noted that only two thirds of the ships were on the move. What he had left there would surely be enough to capture or destroy the remaining enemy ship if it ventured out of the atmosphere. That has to be enough. Those ships are needed to confront the new force.
He continued to watch as the two forces’ missiles headed for their targets. His side would learn the effectiveness of the enemy missiles well before he learned what effect his own side’s would have on the enemy. Two hours, he thought, watching the enemy birds that were going to strike first. To him it was an intellectual exercise, and he didn’t spare thought for the fear the crews of those ships must be experiencing.
* * *
Beneath the clouds of Odin, Vengeance, though without a crew, was still fully functional. And she still had the four of the Universe in a Bottle modules, which could be used to extract zero point energy. It took two hours of the full generating capacity of the Donut to make each bottle, and almost that much energy could be recovered before the Universe within collapsed. Just as important, the ship carried the graviton beam projectors necessary for opening a wormhole. The range of the far portal was limited to one light hour, but anything within that range was fair game, no matter how well protected by armor or fields.
Wormholes were normally kept open by the pressure of negative matter pushing out as it repelled itself, held in place by magnetic fields. This allowed wormholes to be held open indefinitely. Unfortunately, such was not the case with holes generated outside a facility with negative matter and the frames to carry it. The ship could generate free standing wormholes, using the anti-gravitons of the projectors to hold them open, for a short period of time, normally less than an hour. And the ship could only open one at a time. If a second were opened, the first died. Still, the ship had the capability to open dozens of wormholes, one after the other, on any body within range, or open space itself.
With a burst of energy the ship, using the sensor feed from the surface of the moon Kallis, opened a short portal, one leading from the small valley that the forces were moving out of, to the outskirts of a moderate sized town thirty kilometers from the edge of the capital. As soon as it opened a company of commandos moved through, quickly, the first squad fanning out and checking the area.
As soon as the last soldier was through the wormhole closed. A moment later the ship opened another, on the outskirts of another municipality about the same distance from the capital. Again, a company deployed through it, spreading out, taking up positions where they could observe the town and the garrison that was stationed within.
This happened eight more times, until the nine companies of the commando regiment were in place. While they were deploying a second regiment was coming through the portal from the Donut. Their turn would come soon.
The recon platoons of the powered infantry brigade moved next, fanning out, flowing into the next valleys over, the inhabited ones dominated by farmlands. There were police units stationed here, as in all inhabited areas of the moon. Not that many, not heavily armed, just enough to keep the people in line and make sure that no one missed their regular reprogramming sessions, something much more likely in the rural areas. Those cops were woken in the night, to find themselves staring down particle beam rifles aimed by heavily armored soldiers. Moving quickly, the brigade took an area twenty kilometers wide by thirty deep before any alarm was raised. At this time, area was life. The more they could spread out, the less of a target they would make for nukes or kinetics.
The wormhole to the Donut now moved and reconfigured, its frame growing until it formed a gate twenty meters wide by twelve high. The snout of a cannon poked through the gate, followed by the body of a tank. Watcher stood on a hill with Pandi to oversee the arrival of the armored brigade that would be the fist of his force. The tanks were similar to what he had used to rescue Pandi in the Supersystem, only all were manned by a pair of crew. At two hundred tons, they were much more heavily armed and armored than the ones he had used. All floated on grabber units that lifted them ten centimeters above the ground, though they could go much higher if necessary, becoming flying vehicles if needed. Fifty four of the vehicles floated through the gate, followed by sixty of the lighter vehicles that would carry ten armored infantrymen, then another battalion of tanks. After those came seventy scout vehicles of various types, then fifty shore defense vehicles, huge titans in the thousand ton range, not as heavily armored as tanks, but packing many times the firepower.
“You sure you want to roll like this?” asked Pandi, watching as the last of the v
ehicles came rolling through the portal. As soon as it was through the portal lifted into the air and started disgorging a different kind of vehicle.
“We need to hit hard,” said Watcher. “Take all of his attention off the real threat. Nothing like an armored spearhead toward your capital while your navy is involved in a battle to take the focus off the palace.”
The first vehicle came through the raised portal. This time it was a sleek craft, flying from the portal and banking to the right, while the next through went to the left. They came out at the rate of one every three seconds. In a minute there were twenty multirole fighters in the air, flying low, fanning out over the tops of the advancing army. After twenty four craft had come through they were followed by twenty four more advanced fighters, these taking to the sky and looking for enemy craft that might try to interfere. Thirty troop carrying gunships came next, the last of the air cover.
“That’s it,” said Watcher, waving at the last gunship. “In another year we’ll be able to put quintuple the force on the ground.”
“And will it be enough?” asked Pandi, looking up at her man, who was now in the bulked up combat armor he preferred, modules that had been attached and bonded to his suit, making him the deadliest infantryman on the planet. There were plans to build more of the specialized armor. They hadn’t gotten around to those plans yet.
“It will have to be,” he answered, leading her off the hill and back into the woods. “Now we wait, and see how things develop.”
“And if they don’t develop the way you thought?”
“Then we rethink the problem and come up with another plan,” said the smiling man, who seemed to be in his element now that he was on the offensive. “Military plans hardly ever work out as envisioned,” he said, looking up at the canopy of Earth native trees the planet had been seeded with when terraformed. “That’s why most victories go to the most flexible minds, the one who is able to think on his feet.”
Deeper and Darker (Deep Dark Well Book 3) Page 27
