Exodus: Empires at War: Book 7: Counter Strike

by Doug Dandridge

“Good job,” said Cornelius, glancing at the other Ranger. He looked back in time to pick up a target through the billowing smoke, the horned head of the crouching Caca unmistakable. He automatically developed a sight picture through his scope and squeezed the trigger, sending a bright beam that split the smoke just before it covered the target again. The body that fell forward from the smoke to hit the floor hard, hole through the faceplate, showed that his aim had been true.

  “I’ve got us a way out of here, sir,” called out Satrusalya over the com.

  “Show me,” ordered the Lt, relieved that the Commando was still functional. The map of the local station came up on his visual centers through his implants, and he started to crawl back, firing a beam every couple of seconds down the corridor, as he looked at the route the Commando was proposing.

  That could work, he thought, flinching in mid thought as another beam came out of the now clearing smoke and was within ten centimeters of getting a hit on him. The other men were also backing up, though they were concentrating more on putting fire on the enemy. They were still very exposed, and if not for all the preventive jamming going on through this part of the station, electronic warfare that really didn’t affect their systems as they were able to adjust for what was coming, they would all have already been dead meat many times over.

  “Let’s do this, people,” he said over their implant coms, now willing to risk them since the enemy already knew they were here. “Hit them with another one, Owusu,” he told the Specialist who was carrying the small hyperv launcher. “Then you and Falstaff keep up the particle beam fire. I want them to think we’re still coming from here.”

  Cornelius linked into the com to contact Senior Agent Jimmy Chung, the leader of the other, larger element that was to be the decoy for his force. “How’s it going, Agent Chung?” he asked, knowing part of the answer as he heard the angry buzzing of particle beams in the background through the ears of the augmented Imperial Secret Service Agent.

  “We’re getting slaughtered here,” yelled the Agent into the com. “I hope you're making some progress with your part of the mission.”

  “Nothing good to report here either,” said Cornelius as he slid around the corner of a cross corridor and got back to his feet. “We’ve lost the negative matter, along with two of the men carrying it.”

  “Shit. Well, isn’t that just the best news I’ve heard all day. I’ve lost twelve agents here, and I’m not even sure we’re causing them slight anxiety. We just don’t have the weapons and equipment to go up against heavily armed soldiers. And now we don’t have the stuff we need to disarm the bomb.”

  “This Ranger isn’t about to give up on the mission, Agent Chung,” growled Walborski into the com. “We die from those things taking out the station, or we go forward, with a chance of achieving something, even if we still die. And I’m going forward. I’d appreciate it if you would support us.”

  “What do you want us to do, Lieutenant?”

  “Leave enough people there to keep up some fire on the Cacas, while keeping to the best cover that they can. Then send the rest of them around to this position.”

  “You think this is going to work, Walborski?”

  I sure hope so. Because if it doesn’t, there won’t be enough left of us to make a nanite. “I can’t guarantee that it will work, but if you have a better plan, tell me about it now.”

  “We’ll follow your lead, Ranger,” said the Agent after a moment’s hesitation. “I’ll be bringing my people around as fast as we can.”

  The link cut off, and Walborski ran around to the door that Satrusalya had opened, following the rest of his men into the chamber. The Commando had opened the hatch in the far corner that led into a ventilation duct. The station had an enormously extensive ventilation system, with state of the art security systems that were in place to prevent just what they were attempting. But, since they weren’t the enemy, those systems would not be engaged to stop them.

  “I’ll lead the way, if that’s OK, sir,” said Satrusalya, nodding toward the opening.

  “Go ahead, PO,” agreed Walborski. “You know this shipboard stuff much better than I do. Just get us behind them, and I’ll be happy.”

  * * *

  “We’ve gotten two of them, Doctor,” said Marine General in charge of trying to boot the Cacas off the station.

  “What about the other two?” asked Lucille Yu, sitting on the edge of her seat as she stared at the holo schematic that showed one of the outer lower cables cleared, as well as the bomb set to the other side of the lower central cable. Unfortunately, the bomb set up at the other outer lower cable was armed and ready, as was the other central cable bomb. Theoretically, we should be able to survive those two bombs, if they are in the predicted range. If they’re much more powerful, or our theories of how much stress this thing can take are wrong, then we’re still screwed.

  “We have Marines and other troops trying to get to that outer bomb, but they’re running into stiff resistance. As far as the other central bomb goes, I really don’t think we’re going to be able to get it before they set it off.”

  And Jimmy’s with the group trying to get to the outer one he’s talking about, she thought, her anxiety spiking at the thought of her lover in danger. And if that bomb isn’t disarmed, there’s no way he’s going to survive if it goes off, no matter what happens to the station. “Try your best, General,” was all she could think to say, as inane as it sounded. Of course they’re going to try their best, up to giving their lives.

  * * *

  Damn, but this place is cold, thought Cornelius as he crawled on his hands and knees through the duct. There was a reason for the frigid temperatures, one that he approved of, as the very cold outer skin of the duct was helping to mask their own body heat from any sensors that might try to locate them through multiple walls. He was tempted to contact Satrusalya on the com, and ask how much further they had to crawl along this hard surface. A little taller and they could have walked, but as it was they had the choice of crawling or crouching. And we’ll get there when we do. No use bothering the PO with useless questions.

  “We’re here,” whispered the PO into the com, and the group of men came to a stop behind the Fleet NCO. The Commando opened the hatch to the maintenance room just a bit and sent a small swarm of microbots out of the duct.

  The Lieutenant watched the take on the bots, relieved to see that the room was empty. Not that it was unexpected. The enemy had limited manpower, and could only cover so much. More of the bots moved up and down the duct, then into side ducts that were too small for a human to navigate, much less anything but the small repair robots that worked the ventilation system. There was one in each side duct, and the microbots landed and linked with the machines, bringing them under the control of Cornelius’ implants. The repairbots moved to the end of the ducts and inserted groups of thin fiber optics into the grills. Soon the Ranger was looking at several hundred meters of corridor, and the enemy that was set up in multiple defensive positions along that hall.

  “It’s your plan, PO,” said Cornelius, coming to the floor and walking soft footed to the side of the Commando. “Execute, and we’ll follow your lead.”

  Satrusalya nodded. Cornelius noted that the man had patches of skin missing on hands and neck, as well as holes in his clothing, the effects of the spreading cloud of negative matter he had barely outrun. He realized, seeing one hole that extended into the bicep muscle, that the man had to be in pain, but was fully engaged with the mission, just like the rest of them.

  The Commando took a grenade out of his side bag, one marked with the dragon head’s symbol for antimatter, a warning that this was not ordinary explosive. Only a small amount, less than a gram, it would still do a job on the Cacas in the hall. He handed the weapon to a Ranger, then pulled out another one. Both men armed the weapons, then looked at each other for a moment.

  Satrusalya hit the door switch, and the heavy alloy portal slid into its recess without a sound. There was no
one in the hall, something they had been sure of based on the feeds from the repairbots, but still a great relief to see with their own eyes. Satrusalya leaned out, looking to the left and throwing his grenade with all of his considerable strength, while the Ranger did the same to the right. They leaned back into the room just before shouts sounded out. Satrusalya hit the door close button, and the door slid closed as the men all backed away to the far wall of the room.

  The twin explosions came less than a second later, within a hundredth of a second of each other. The augmented men depended on the ear protection of the tactical helmets all were wearing to protect their hearing. It was barely enough, as the walls of the chamber shook from the fury of the blasts. Cornelius’s link with the repairbots was instantly severed as the blasts spread into the vents. The door shook in its frame, and a large dent appeared in the wall as something was slammed into it, hard.

  The Lieutenant counted to five, then nodded to the Commando. Satrusalya hit the door commit again, frowning as nothing happened for a moment. He hit the commit two more times, and the door finally slid open, not as smoothly as it had before.

  That was a hellofa blast to warp a door like that at that distance, even a little bit, thought Cornelius, setting his rifle to fire and moving through the door behind the first two men. As usual, his testicles wanted to crawl into his body as he went into what could be the line of fire. His adrenaline kept him on his feet, and he was sure he was addicted to that feeling, the only thing that kept him going into what seemed like certain death.

  He looked left, saw nothing moving save smoke, then right, in time to see one of his men take out what looked like the only Caca who had survived that blast. Luck is a relative term, he thought as he ran that way, Satrusalya on his heels. Lucky enough to survive a hundred ton equivalent grenade, only to die a moment later as you try to gather your senses.

  The position they had taken out, one set to sweep this corridor with fire for a kilometer of its length, was an abattoir. A dozen Caca bodies, two heavy particle beams and a trio of rocket launchers, they would have slaughtered anything coming down the hall. Most had been killed instantly, parts of their armor crushed, blood flowing from helmets that had not been strong enough to protect them from the overpressure of the blast. A pair were missing limbs, probably catching the full brunt of the blast. There was a hole through one wall that looked large enough to have been made by a Caca arm, blood smeared on the edges.

  “Fire in the hole,” yelled Satrusalya, prepping another of the grenades. All of the men got low, using the bodies and equipment of the Cacas as cover. The Commando threw the grenade down the hall like a football, the weapon swishing through the air from the strength of his arm. He ducked down just before a particle beam burned through the air where he had been standing, then more beams pierced the air, from their angles aimed at the grenade.

  Another thunderous explosion, flames reaching up the corridor and almost getting to the men.

  “Move out,” yelled Cornelius, jumping to his feet and starting up the corridor, his rifle at the ready.

  “We have movement behind,” called out Sergeant Pasco, waving them down.

  “It’s Owusu, sir,” yelled out the big Specialist, jogging down the hall with his rocket launcher, a dozen figures in police style tac op clothing running with him. “I’ve got company.”

  “Follow us,” said Cornelius, turning back and sprinting down the corridor, depending on the augmented troops and agents to keep up with him.

  Because of his speed of action he caught the next layer of Cacas off guard, just setting up to cover the corridor after losing contact with the males further down that the humans had wiped out. There were only six of them, and thirty beam and high speed projectile weapons took them out before they could react.

  “Follow me,” yelled Cornelius, continuing on, jumping the bodies, knowing that the speed of their assault could take the objective, as long as they didn’t let caution slow them down. We’re going to do this, he thought, his running speed up to fifty kilometers per hour, faster than the best unaugmented athlete. We’re going to do this.

  A particle beam speared out, hitting Sergeant Pasco dead center, while another flew past Cornelius and struck someone further back.

  “Open fire,” yelled the Lieutenant, firing his particle beam from the hip. “Give them hell.” At the end of the last word he went into a warbling call he had heard in a movie, something called a rebel yell.

  Everyone with him fired as fast as they could, sending particle beams and grenades down the hall. Hypersonic rounds cracked by Cornelius’ head, making him flinch a bit, forcing him to run straight so the firing lanes would stay open.

  Another flare of particle beam fire came down the hall, cutting down two of the Secret Service Agents. That was the last fire the enemy got off as they were overwhelmed by a charge from another era of warfare, that only worked because of its shock value.

  Cornelius hurdled the last of the Cacas who had deployed before the room. As he sailed over their bodies, he became the focus of a half dozen aliens in a fair sized storage room. They were standing around a large mechanism that could only be a bomb, and three of them were turning his direction with rifles coming to shoulders.

  “Die, you fucking assholes,” yelled Cornelius at the top of his lungs as he swung his particle beam into one of the aliens, exulting in the kill as the proton stream ate a hole through its faceplate. He was sure it would be his last kill, as two more weapons were tracking his way, and even with his advanced reflexes, he couldn’t take out both of them before a proton beam tore through him.

  Angry red lines swung by, and it took him a moment to realize that they weren’t coming from the enemy weapons, but were actually hitting the Cacas, who fell backwards as multiple beams tore through both of them.

  Cornelius landed lightly on his feet, breathing hard, still not sure that he was alive. The other people streamed into the room and fanned out, making sure the space was clear of Cacas, then securing every entrance in.

  “Good job, Lieutenant,” said a wide eyed Agent Chung, walking up and patting Cornelius on the back. “And just let me say, you are one crazy son of a bitch. I’m glad you’re on our side.”

  Cornelius nodded his head, still trying to catch his breath, the fear from what he had done finally catching up with him. His arms were shaking, and he felt like his legs were going to give out under him any moment.

  “I’d follow you into hell any day, sir,” said PO Satrusalya, walking up, a smile of relief on his own face.

  “You just did,” said Cornelius, swaying a moment.

  The Petty Officer was at his side in a moment, giving him a supporting shoulder and a look of understanding.

  “Is he going to be alright?” asked Chung.

  “He’s going to be fine,” said the Commando. “Just a bit of adrenaline rebound.”

  Cornelius took a couple of clearing breaths and straightened up, looking at the weapon.

  “So, sir,” said Satrusalya, following the officer’s gaze. “What are we going to do about that thing.”

  “I don’t have a clue,” said Walborski with a grimace. “Unless someone can come up with an idea, I guess we get to see what the center of a hundred gig explosions looks like.”

  Chapter Two

  Once we have a war there is only one thing to do. It must be won. For defeat brings worse things than any that can ever happen in war.

  Ernest Hemingway

  CONGREEVE SPACE. NOVEMBER 21, 1001.

  “We’ve received word from the Donut, your Majesty,” came the voice of Rear Admiral Kelso, the Emperor’s Flag Captain. “They’ve disarmed two of the devices the Cacas have brought aboard. The other two….”

  “Thank you, Admiral,” said Sean Ogden Lee Romanov, Sean the First, Emperor of the New Terran Empire. And those other two could still possibly destroy the station, and our hopes of winning this war.

  The Emperor paced the deck of his flag bridge, no longer needing to be e
nsconced in the holo control room that had been developed for his use as battle commander. Most of the stations on this bridge were unmanned, the crew having been dismissed for relaxation, food and sleep, recovery after the rigors of battle. Many aboard the Augustine I, the twenty-seven million ton vessel that was the first of her class, had not survived the battle. This deep into the mass of the ship there had been few casualties. Unfortunately, many of the battle stations were close to the surface of the ship, where the weapons, defensive screen projectors and the engine components responsible for normal and hyperspace travel were housed. Where the crew that manned and repaired them were needed. And that area of the ship, the outer skin, the armor, laser rings and particle beams, was a mess. Over a thousand men and women had died in the battle, to add to the numbers of over a thousand other ships that had either been destroyed or sustained major damage.

  My battle, he thought, shaking his head. It had been a good battle plan, luring the enemy fleet here for an engagement on his terms. But, like most plans, it had not survived contact with the enemy. They had still ravaged the enemy fleet. Less than one in five of the Caca ships that had entered the system had left it. But he had also lost almost half of the fleet he had brought into the battle. His Admirals were all telling him what a great victory it had been. But in his gut, his emotions, it didn’t feel like any kind of victory at all.

  Snap out of it, Sean, he told himself, walking up to the tactical holo and ordering it by link to switch to an expanded view of the half of the Empire that was involved in the war, some of it up close and personal, some more peripherally, or engaged with another enemy. We don’t have time for me to second guess everything that goes wrong. We hammered the bastards here, and, by God, we’re going to do it again in the very near future.

  He looked at the holo, studying what it showed him about his dispositions. One spot that stood out like a festering sore was the incursion into Fenri Space. That incursion had gone well at first, and they had really hurt that enemy, taking away some of their most important border worlds and causing severe damage to the Fenri fleet. But that had changed, as the Fenri had reacted with unexpected force, the Fleet had retreated, and now he had six Imperial Army divisions trapped in their space.