Doom Star: Book 03 - Battle Pod

by Vaughn Heppner

  Blackstone made a sharp gesture. “The Highborn have come to step on our necks. It’s time to make them understand that we’re men. It’s time to bring them down by destroying the Doom Stars.”

  The bridge’s officers had all turned to stare. Commissar Kursk nodded belated agreement.

  The communications officer asked, “Do you think we can win, sir?”

  “Yes!” Commodore Blackstone said, although he didn’t believe that. His crisp tone, however, caused several officers to straighten. What Blackstone did believe was that he was going to hurt them now. He was done with waiting. With the help of the cyborg stealth-attacks, the Highborn were going to know that they had been in a battle.

  The communications officer turned toward her com-board. “What are your orders, sir?”

  Commodore Blackstone studied the map-module. Then he began to issue curt commands.

  -15-

  The SU warships subtlety changed their dispositions. In his command pod and linked to the Battlefleet-net, Toll Seven heard Blackstone’s orders. Soon, Toll Seven began to issue his own commands, to mesh the cyborg plan with the reinvigorated bio-forms.

  A thousand kilometers away in her stealth-capsule, LA31 opened her eyes. In other stealth-capsules scattered throughout the Mars System, other cyborgs readied themselves for the desperate battle to come.

  A wait of three hours then occurred as the Doom Stars and the SU Battlefleet maneuvered for position. The super-ships were between the orbits of ruined Deimos and Phobos, which would soon appear from around Mars and face an obviously brutal strike from the enemy. Deimos orbited 23,500 kilometers away from the center of Mars. Phobos orbited 9,400 kilometers away. The three Doom Stars had reached a 17,000-kilometer distance from Mars.

  To kill an enemy fleet that was determined to use a planet as a shield meant that the hunting ships had to come into close orbit. The reason was simple. The angles and distances were all on the side of the fleet closest to the planet. If the Doom Stars had stayed even 100,000 kilometers out, they would have had to travel a much greater distance to get onto the other side of the planet as compared to the fleet just above the planet’s atmosphere. Supreme Commander Hawthorne had understood that as he’d made his plans many months ago. His strategy had counted on it. Toll Seven and Web-Mind had concurred. For each side, this was the most dangerous phase of the battle. At these ranges, beams almost struck immediately and missiles streaked the distances in a matter of minutes.

  The commander of Phobos sprayed a prismatic-crystal field before the moon. Then every laser-port, missile battery and point-defense systems went on high alert. Behind the moon as it moved in its orbit followed the bulk of the decoy fleet. Behind the decoy-vessels flew the SU orbitals, over five hundred fighters. They had little chance against massive lasers and point-defense systems. It was a suicide run and most of the pilots knew it. But here at this hour every piece of equipment would enter the cauldron of battle to try to eke out a few more percentage points for its side. The presence of the orbitals provided one other benefit, a hopeful overloading of the Highborn targeting computers.

  The cyborg stealth-capsules waited for that time as they floated in the system like space debris.

  As Commodore Blackstone gave the orders, relayed by the Vladimir Lenin’s communications officers, the SU Battlefleet accelerated behind Phobos for its death-ride.

  ***

  Although Grand Admiral Cassius was a Highborn with a heroic ethos, and although he had personally taken command in the field for the final stroke against Social Unity, he used a medieval Mongol general’s strategy in terms of himself. He remained in the Julius Caesar, which was the last Doom Star in the three-ship fleet. He remained at the safest spot in order that his fleet would continue to have the benefit of his presence.

  Admiral Brutus in the Hannibal Barca led them, with Admiral Gaius in the Napoleon Bonaparte behind at an oblique angle, using the formation that the Theban Strategos Epaminondas had used against the Spartans in the Battle of Leuctra July, 371 B.C.

  The Grand Admiral sat before the holographic globe as the Doom Stars headed to meet Phobos. Deimos had fired more missiles and lasers than Cassius would have thought possible. Clearly, the premen were readier for him than he would have believed. The premen either had taken Deimos intact or had brought more supplies than he had counted on. Could the Planetary Union have thrown in their lot with Social Unity?

  Cassius shook his large head. The Planetary Union bosses hated Social Unity. Premen naturally and foolishly divided at the worst possible moments. It was another mark of their inferiority.

  Grand Admiral Cassius allowed himself a smirk. Whatever the case with Deimos, in the end, it hadn’t mattered. He’d heard the final broadcasts. The cowardly premen hadn’t even known how to die well. It was a portent of good fortune.

  “The moon has appeared!” a Highborn tracking-officer shouted.

  “I can see that well enough,” the Grand Admiral said, allowing just a hint of displeasure to enter his voice. That should calm any undue excitement from his command crew.

  “It has a PC-Shield,” the tracking officer said, his voice under control now.

  Grand Admiral Cassius pressed a com-button on his chair. It was a direct link to Admiral Brutus and Admiral Gaius. Beside the holographic globe of Mars now appeared two faces. Admiral Brutus had a low forehead for a Highborn, with a large nose and fiercely dark eyes. A stark, red scar like a half-moon had been burned years ago onto his right cheek. Brutus wore his admiral’s hat at a jaunty angle. On it was pinned a Galactic Spiral for extreme courage in battle.

  Cassius spoke to the two holographic faces. “As I’m sure you gentlemen are aware, the prismatic-crystal field this time is a trick.”

  “A trick, Grand Admiral?” asked Brutus.

  Sometimes Cassius wondered how Brutus had ever made it to Third. It clearly wasn’t for cleverness.

  “An elementary trick,” Cassius said. “Behind the field await their ships, ready to attack once we burn through.”

  “Have you received another burst of information from the Thutmosis III?” Admiral Brutus asked with a concentrated frown.

  “If you’ll remember, the Praetor sent us a lightguide-message saying the premen were wise enough to form an aerosol-gel cloud, blocking his view. No, gentlemen, my knowledge comes from analyzing premen tactics and personalities. Their hope now will rest on tonnage. That indicates a mass attack.”

  “We’ll slaughter them,” Admiral Brutus predicted.

  “Undoubtedly true,” Grand Admiral Cassius said. “But we must be ready for the true surprise. It must come now or it will never help them.”

  “What surprise?” Admiral Brutus asked.

  “An astute question,” Cassius said dryly. “Make sure you report any unusual activities. Happy hunting, gentlemen, Grand Admiral Cassius out.”

  The two faces wavered for a moment and then folded in on themselves and disappeared. It left the Mars holographic image hanging by itself.

  The Grand Admiral leaned back in his chair, studying the holographic globe. Then he uttered a low-toned command. “Begin emergency engine sequences,” he said.

  Several Highborn glanced down at him from their higher levels.

  Cassius smiled grimly. “In the next few hours, we’re going to need all the energy we can lay our hands on. We must wipe the Mars System clean of all enemy vessels. This is the hour when Social Unity dies, when its last hope is killed.”

  Highborn officers turned back to their boards as the needed commands were relayed.

  Grand Admiral Cassius leaned forward, with his balled fists resting on the arms of his command chair.

  -16-

  Three mighty Doom Stars bore down on Phobos as the moon swung around Mars. The Doom Stars were composed of an unbelievable tonnage of steel, titanium and asteroid particle shielding.

  Phobos was asteroid-shaped and had three axes about 27, 21 and 19 kilometers in length. Although a tiny moon in Solar System terms, it dwarfed
the three super-ships. On it bristled a mass of point-defense systems, missile launch sites and laser ports. In front of Phobos floated a prismatic-crystal field.

  Highborn heavy lasers remorselessly chewed through the field. The prismatic crystals reflected the laser-light and dissipated its strength. The power of the lasers slagged and destroyed the crystals, slowly digging deeper, deeper and deeper into the field. Then the lasers burned through and hit Phobos, burning moon-dust, melting some of it into glass. That action opened what many would come to call the third phase of the Third Battle for Mars.

  As the prismatic-crystal field disappeared under the hellish fury of the Highborn lasers, the SU Battlefleet engaged engines. Just behind Phobos was the decoy fleet, and it charged at the Doom Stars. Behind them followed the orbitals and finally came the heart of the SU Battlefleet, the eight Zhukov-class battlewagons and the seven missile-ships.

  “Launch Operation Trojan Hearse,” Grand Admiral Cassius thundered.

  In seconds, three huge missiles launched from each of the three Doom Stars. Every weapon aboard the Hannibal Barca, the Napoleon Bonaparte and the Julius Caesar was now dedicated toward destroying whatever tried to hinder the flight of these nine asteroid-busters. The spaceship-sized missiles accelerated hard for Phobos, flashing through a maelstrom of lasers, shells, anti-missiles and the final wisps of the prismatic-crystal field.

  Six of the nine giant missiles died before reaching the moon. An orbital fighter rammed one, the pilot thinking it a new Highborn spacecraft. The nuclear explosion sent X-rays and EMP blasts through the vacuum. Most of the SU vessels washed by the X-rays were hardened against that, although twenty orbital fighters perished in a wave of EMP. Then the moon’s point-defense cannons smashed through the seventh missile’s hull and made a clean kill, this time without igniting the gargantuan warhead.

  The eighth and ninth mega-missiles, however, slammed into the moon in an interesting manner. Seconds before impact, a heavy plasma cannon in the missile’s nose sent a gout of super-heated plasma ahead of itself. That plasma ate dust and moon-rock, and the missile slammed deeper and bored in an incredible distance. Everyone on Phobos felt the impact like a quake. Then only did the nova-warhead explode. It was like a miniature sun and caused a cataclysmic reaction. Gigantic cracks like the end of the world splintered through the entire moon, tearing buildings apart and destroying merculite-missile launch-sites and point-defense emplacements. Then the second asteroid-buster exploded.

  The Gotterdammerung moment came for the Martian moon. The nova-warhead lived up to its name as Phobos blew apart into fourteen large chunks and millions of tiny particles of rock and dust. Several of the larger chunks tumbled toward the Red Planet. In a matter of days, several of those would slam against the planet and create unbelievable misery for hundreds of millions of unsuspecting Martians waiting unsuspectingly below.

  ***

  From the safety of the cyborg command-pod, Toll Seven and Web-Mind observed this incredible display of military might. This was more than they had anticipated. The genetic super-soldiers had amassed fierce weaponry in the Doom Stars and its newest ordnance created on the Sun-Works Factory.

  Yet the moon’s destruction played to their secret plan. It filled space with matter, with dust, rocks and chunks. The SU Battlefleet, under the terse orders of Commodore Blackstone, roared through the debris like army ants yearning for vengeance. Missiles, lasers, sabot-rounds and orbital cannons blazed at the three super-ships in the distance.

  Like ancient gods, the Doom Stars hung in the heavens and beamed with abandon, killing the last hope of Social Unity.

  At the same time, the countless asteroid-appearing capsules scattered throughout the Mars System split open. Out of them like space-insects appeared vacc-suited humanoids. These vacc-suited cyborgs leaped from their capsules and engaged their hydrogen-thruster packs. They jetted for the Doom Stars. Each individually was an insignificant particle as compared to the orbitals, missiles and laser-beaming battleships. Time would tell if united on the skin of a Doom Star whether they could prove a battle-winning tactic or not.

  -17-

  On Mars, it was early morning as Marten Kluge and his Martian commandos skimmed fast over the red dunes. The volcanic base of Olympus Mons was before them. In the high altitudes near the peak where ice-crystal clouds drifted, several more orbitals boomed as they broke the sound barrier and screamed toward space to join the fight. Perhaps even more ominous, a heavy whine emanated from the volcano.

  “The proton beam is online,” Omi crackled over the headphones.

  “That’s the injured dynamos revving with power,” Marten said. He sat in front beside Osadar. The cyborg was the best pilot among them and the best driver, and thus she drove the skimmer.

  As if she knew Marten was thinking about her, Osadar swiveled her helmet toward him.

  “Over there!” Marten pointed. About five kilometers away, the blast doors were shut. He had studied those doors before, and for days, he’d studied the specs of Olympus Mons that Chavez had emailed him from New Tijuana.

  Marten’s stomach churned. The skimmers were frail craft. As everyone had been telling him lately, this was a matter of luck. He shook his head. It was more than luck. This was the hour of decision. Logically, eyes were on the main event in space. When your enemy was distracted, that was the time to strike.

  “Check your rifles,” he said over the com-unit. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. Marten turned back to Omi.

  Instead of saying anything, Omi patted his shoulder a second time. Then his best friend returned to his portable plasma cannon. It was a dirty job and a risky task, but Marten couldn’t trust anyone else to do it right. Omi and he had survived many battles together. Dear God, let his good friend survive this battle, too.

  -18-

  In the middle of a deadly space battle where bright beams lased, huge ships passed like mini-planets and missiles zoomed and exploded with dazzling pyrotechnics, the creature formerly know as Lisa Aster rotated her cyborg body. A Doom Star with its pitted particle-shield was her entire world. She applied thrust from her nearly empty hydrogen-pack, braking. At the last moment, she rotated back and readied her legs. The asteroid-like particle-shield rushed at her. Then she crashed against a Doom Star, smashing her head against rock.

  She awoke seconds or minutes later. She was never sure afterward. She clung tenaciously like a mechanical spider to the pitted surface. The surface shook and trembled constantly as beams, missiles and cannon-rounds struck it. It was badly chewed up and had craters and deep laser holes, although it was still intact. Dust, rocks and boulder-sized chunks floated before the immensely thick shield.

  LA31 cocked her dented helmet with its short antenna. The radio-pulse was low-key and garbled. Radiation, EMP blasts, jamming waves: the vacuum here was thick with invisibly harmful elements. LA31 felt sick and wanted to vomit. Worse, she felt weak. Programming kept her going, and enhancement drugs surged through her system like blood. She began to crawl like an insect across the pitted surface.

  If there had been an independent observer between the two fleets, between the flashing lasers and streaking missiles, they might have seen hundreds of shifting motes on the particle-shields of the Hannibal Barca. Like a broken nest of spider bantlings, the mechanical-seeming motes crawled fast and headed for the seams between the giant blocks of particle-shielding. Lasers indifferently burned many of them into blackened crisps. Missiles blew off even more along with asteroid-chunks and dust from the abused particle-shield. Yet for every three killed, one made it between the seams and crawled quickly for the hull below.

  It was a cyborg infestation. LA31 was one of the lucky ones. She no longer felt lucky, as she had already vomited a black bile. She felt sicker than ever. Drugs, Web-Mind-programming and cyborg enhancements barely kept her functioning. She wanted to curl up and die. Instead, with fifty-three other cyborgs, she used magnetic clamps and clanged along the hull and to a main heavy laser-port.

  There,
with breach bombs, the cyborgs gained entrance to the Doom Star. Like cockroaches, they scurried into the hull, behind the walls and corridors that made up the vast spacecraft. They had the super-ship’s specs imprinted in their memories. They had one goal, one destination—the giant fusion engines in the center of the unbeatable vessel.

  ***

  “Sir…” a Highborn officer said aboard the Hannibal Barca.

  “What?” Admiral Brutus shouted. On the holographic display before him, his number three particle-shield had almost crumbled into nothing. A suicidal SU missile-ship was too close, launching an unbelievable number of missiles from its tubes. Admiral Brutus had killed SU ship after SU ship, yet still these rabid premen attacked. He would kill every mother-birthing one of them.

  “Sir!” another officer shouted. “We’ve been boarded.”

  “What?” Admiral Brutus roared, his features turning crimson with rage.

  “Take a look, sir,” the Highborn tech said.

  Before Admiral Brutus appeared a holographic image of strange bionic soldiers scurrying through emergency hatches and repair corridors. Their vacc-suit emblems were nothing issued by the Highborn.

  Admiral Brutus snarled orders to his security teams. They would take care of these intruders. Then he concentrated on the SU missile-ship that still dared to rush a Doom Star.

  ***

  Blue-tattooed Neutraloid Heydrich Hansen paced endlessly in his confinement chamber. He gnashed his teeth in hatred and felt every tremor that washed through the Doom Star. He wanted out of confinement. He wanted to kill. He wanted to rend. He wanted to destroy and feel hot blood gushing over his hands.

  Then a terrific blow shook the vessel and threw Hansen to the metal floor. Lights flickered and then went out so darkness filled his world.

  With a roar of almost feline excitement, Hansen leaped to his feet and tore at the door. In the blackness, he opened it and snarled with joy. At the same moment, emergency lighting came on and the electronic locks snapped back into place. It didn’t matter for Neutraloid Heydrich Hansen. He was out of confinement. He was free. Now he needed weapons and he needed reinforcements. That meant freeing more neutraloids. He cackled with berserk laughter and floated toward the next door.