“We have missile launch,” yelled the Tactical Officer. “Twenty missiles in space. No, make that forty.”
They could launch so many more, thought the Commodore. “Is this some kind of test?”
“That’s what I would guess, ma’am,” said the Tactical Officer, looking back.
“Order all ships to send them a volley,” she ordered, staring at the tactical plot and the forty Caca missiles that were heading their way. “And fire counters when ready.”
Thirty outgoing missiles appeared on the plot, accelerating at five thousand gravities toward the enemy.
The exchange was inconclusive, to say the least, as both sides picked off the missiles of the other. Sung waited for another volley to come her way, this one with more weight behind it. Instead, the enemy darted forward and back, testing the maneuverability of the human force. After an hour they fell back to a following distance that left them out of any kind of weapons range that could realistically cause them harm.
“Two of the scouts are dropping away,” said the Sensor Officer, staring at his own holo. “They’re starting to decelerate away.”
“What the hell are they up to?” asked the Exec over the personal link.
“I think that’s pretty obvious, XO,” said Sung, staring at the plot. “The cruisers and four destroyers will continue to shadow us, while those two go and find help to take us down.” And there’s not a thing we can do about it, she thought. How long do we have before those two scouts find someone to take us down?
* * *
CAPITULUM, JEWEL.
Cornelius Walborski still found it amazing that his home address was the Imperial Palace in Capitulum. Sure, there were over a hundred thousand people living on the grounds, performing various duties, or just staying there through some entitlement or other. And I’m just a common soldier, not even assigned to any of the Imperial Protection Details.
The aircar took a slow circuit over the extensive grounds at his request. Thousands of square kilometers of gardens, riding paths, woods, even a couple of large playing fields, tennis courts, and a golf course. And over a thousand buildings besides the Palace itself, which, even though it was a mere ten stories, was one of the largest buildings the Cadet Lieutenant had ever seen. It had over twenty thousand rooms. And I bet Sean hasn’t even been to a tenth of those rooms in his lifetime.
Of course, most of the chambers were quarters, recreation rooms and kitchens for the staff that served the Imperial Family. Many others were the living quarters of noble family members and others who made up the Court. And I’m considered part of that assemblage, thought Walborski. Not bad for a commoner from New Detroit, the son of a long line of commoners.
The aircar swept over the main building and along the side of one of the extensive wings. Until he saw the area he recognized so well, the small courtyard that fronted his quarters. Nothing ostentatious, compared to those of the Dukes and Duchesses that lived here. A three bedroom, two bath apartment, a little bigger than most families would live in on New Detroit. But much more luxurious in every respect other than size.
“Cornelius,” yelled the red haired woman as the aircar settled to the ground. She waited a moment until the car had stopped, and then ran out to meet her husband. Just behind her was a slim raven haired girl who was barely a teen, running after her adoptive mom to greet her adoptive father.
Walborski was out of the aircar in an instant, leaving his bags for someone else to deal with. He caught the woman in his arms and their lips met in a fierce kiss. Another body collided gently with his, and slender arms encircled both he and his wife.
“It’s so good to have you home,” said Devera, breaking the kiss to look up into his face. “I just wish you wouldn’t be forced to save the Empire every time you moved from one place to another.”
Cornelius laughed, and reached out a hand to ruffle the hair of his adoptive daughter. “You glad to see me too, squirt?” he asked the child, who was peering around him to look at the aircar, which was being unloaded by the driver. “What are you looking for?”
“Just trying to see if you brought any more children with you,” she said with a smile.
“I’ve already gotten enough in the house,” he said, putting one arm around her shoulders, the other around the shoulders of his wife. “And how is Junior doing?”
“Teething,” said the child, making a face. “Up all hours.”
“And I’m up with him,” said Devera with a sigh.
Cornelius noticed that she was in her Warrant Officer’s uniform, and probably just off a shift at the hospital. Someday she would be a full Doc, and an officer, if she decided to stay in the service. The war will probably still be going on, if we survive that long, thought her husband. And she’ll have to take a commission.
“I know it’s not fair for you,” he said, looking into the beautiful eyes and freckled face of his wife.
“I signed up for it,” she said with a smile. “No regrets. He’s my son now too, and I will take care of him. And Rebecca is a huge help.”
That was something Cornelius still felt guilty about. He had married this woman because he loved her. And had stuck her with the care of two children that were really not her own. But she seemed to accept them with no problem, and he couldn’t think of any better parent to his children, natural and adopted.
“How long are you here for?” asked Rebecca as they walked through the French doors into the apartment, the driver following with Cornelius’ bags, which the officer motioned for the man to drop to the floor.
“I was scheduled to be back by two days hence,” said Cornelius, seeing the disappointment come immediately over the faces of the two women. “But they granted me an extension, seeing as how I inadvertently entered a combat zone.”
“And help to save the Empire, again,” said Rebecca, bouncing up and planting a kiss on his cheek.
“What’s this again?” asked Cornelius with a sad smile. The first medal I got was for taking my rage out on the Cacas in the jungle. Purely a personal mission of revenge. And the second time I took out a Caca base. Not something the fate of the Empire rested upon. Even this time, I only helped to stop one of the bombs from going off on the station. And I’ll probably have to go through another damned embarrassing medal ceremony.
“I think his Majesty will probably be able to get you an extension, dear,” said Devera with a twinkle in her eye.
“If he has a good reason,” said Cornelius. “But I can’t see him taking the time to order more leave time for a junior officer.”
“But, the wedding,” said an excited Rebecca, unable to contain herself.
“What wedding?”
“Sean and Jennifer are to be married,” said Devera with a smile. “I guess I mean his Majesty and the Duchess. And I am sure they will want you there.”
“That’s wonderful news,” exclaimed Cornelius. And about time too. “But why in the hell would they care if I was there or not. It’s not like I’m important or anything.”
“You really don’t have a clue, do you?” said Devera, patting his head. “You’re his Paladin, his knight in shining armor. And someone he expects will tell him the truth when he asks about the ground war.”
“Knight, huh. I’m just a commoner from New Detroit.”
And Devera’s smile in return told him there was trouble ahead.
* * *
“You’ve heard?” asked Countess Zhee, storming into the chamber.
“We’ve heard,” said Duke Thomason, one of her remaining loyalists.
“And?”
“Not sure what we can do. He’s the Emperor, and it’s not like we can tell him who to marry.”
“But, he should marry to improve the line,” protested the Countess, who really couldn’t care less about the Imperial line, except where it benefitted her. “He should marry to cement alliances within the nobility.”
“I hear he really loves the woman,” said Baron Nordstrom, sitting across the table from the Duke.
“Leave it alone, Zhee,” growled the Duke. “I swore my duly recorded oaths to the lad when he was crowned. As did you.”
“And we are still the opposition,” hissed the woman. “With a duty to oppose that which we think unwise in the running of this Empire.”
“That’s political, Zhee,” said the Duke, staring into her eyes. “This is a personal matter, between Sean and his lady.”
“I don’t see it that way,” said the Countess. “This is a matter of the Empire.”
“So, what do you plan to do about it?” asked the Duke, giving her a look of pity.
“I don’t know,” said the Countess. “I just don’t know.”
“Just give it up, Zhee,” said the Duke. “Don’t let your feelings about the Emperor destroy you.”
I can’t give this up, thought the Countess, shaking her head. Even if it destroys me, I will win this fight.
Chapter Ten
War can only be abolished through war, and in order to get rid of the gun it is necessary to take up the gun.
Mao Zedong
FENRI SPACE. DECEMBER 2ND, 1001.
This might be it, thought Baggett, looking at the attacking force that was heading in to try and take his last defensive positions. The information had come over the com just an hour before. The hyper signature of a large New Terran Empire force had been received by Corps HQ, which still had scanners that detected such, even from the surface of a planet. Of course, the Fenri had picked it up too, and were trying to take out the human ground forces before a rescue mission could reach the planet.
Which means they’re throwing everything at us, regardless of the cost.
Baggett could almost cry as he thought of what was left of his division, the unit he had inherited due to the death of its original commander, moving up from brigade command. Now it was only slightly larger than his original brigade had been at full strength, and over half of his soldiers were wounded. Wounded, in the case of most them, was not enough to keep them from fighting. Every suit was needed, no matter how off of optimal specs it was.
“All artillery,” he ordered over the com, preparing himself to move to the final position held by his reduced headquarters company. “Unleash final protective fires.”
He knew that command was dooming his few remaining artillery pieces. But they were all almost out of ammunition anyway, not really enough to even warrant a shoot and scoot. And they were out of the territory to move. Everything outside of his perimeter was enemy held land, Indian territory, as they used to say in the ancient writings on war.
The score or so of assorted artillery tracks put shells and missiles into the air, firing what they had left at their maximum rate of fire. The ground around the division erupted into gouts of dirt and fire, among them the battle suited bodies of hundreds of Fenri. As soon as the last round left the vehicles the crews evacuated them, moving with their light armored suits as fast as possible.
For some that was fast enough. For others, not so much, as fire rained down from the sky, kinetics targeted onto the now empty vehicles. Some of the crew in their light suits had made it far enough away to get to cover. Many didn’t, and were lifted into the air by the blast waves, to be crushed against the ground, wrecked vehicles or the rubble of the structures that had once been habitations.
The Fenri continued on, through the fire that had taken some of the spark out of their attack. And into the crossed defensive fire of the heavy infantry, particle beams cutting through their armor as easily as through flesh.
A couple of kinetics came down, striking into the human positions, some of their force going into the advancing Fenri. That barrage stopped, quickly, when as many Fenri were killed as humans.
“Close with them,” yelled Baggett over the com, almost sure that this would be the last command he would be able to give. He sighted with his own rifle, trying to get a clear sight picture through the obscuring haze, finally developing enough of a target to fire. The rest of the headquarters company crouched beside him and added their firepower to the mix, while the majority of the troopers moved close and fired into the approaching enemy point blank.
This was a knife fight, close up and personal. Men and Fenri were dying in each other’s arms, plunging monomolecular blades through armor, firing point blank into bodies that were running toward them. The humans had the advantage in this kind of fight, with their larger, stronger suits. Which didn’t mean they weren’t taking horrendous losses of their own.
“Fall back,” yelled Baggett, a command he really didn’t want to give. To fall back meant they would give up any semblance of a tactical position. Instead, they would be fighting in small groups, often as individuals, in the ruins of the city. Until they ran out of power, protons or ammo. If we can get out of this at all, he thought, looking down on the swirling melee, and seeing another wave of enemy running toward it.
* * *
Lt. Jay Cummings gritted his teeth as two of the tanks of his reduced company fell off the com. The flat screen viewer showed the turret of one spinning through the air, the glowing point of impact showing on the side through each revolution. The other vehicle still had its turret, though jets of flame were shooting through every top hatch on the tank. The rear compartment was completely smashed, from above, the sign of a kinetic strike.
“Forward,” he yelled over the com to his remaining three tanks. He could barely control his voice as he gave the command, one that would put his own precious hide in extreme danger. In fact, he doubted this was a maneuver he would come back from. But if he didn’t move, the division would get rolled up by the next wave of Fenri.
The thousand ton tank moved forward, its bottom barely ten centimeters above the ground, all weapons ready. Well, all but the left side defensive turret and half of the right side turret laser cross. But all the major weapons systems were fully operational.
The tank rose up the small slope, exposing its turret to the mass of Fenri running across the flattened ruins. Many of the aliens turned toward the tank and its two mates, trying to bring their weapons to bear, while the rest continued to run forward.
“All weapons, fire as they come to bear,” ordered the LT, taking control of the right side defensive turret himself, leaving the other weapons to the well trained crew of his vehicle. The small turret rose into position in an instant, spitting out hundreds of twelve millimeter rounds each second. The spray hit a concentration of armored Fenri, the high velocity rounds punching through the armor with most of the hits, ripping apart the little furred aliens within. A couple got off shots with particle beam weapons. One hit Cummings’ tank, to bounce from the electromag field.
The main gun barked, sending a hundred kilograms of superplatinum and steel/carbon alloys at three hundred kilometers a second into another group of Fenri. The round splattered all of the aliens in its path, the shockwave stunning those within ten meters of its passage, damaging the suits with its wall of compressed air. The twin particle beams on either side of the gun sent out bursts of red fury, tearing into those stunned and disorganized Fenri who had been to either side of the main gun trajectory. They swung with the turret, ceasing fire for a moment as the main gun spoke again.
The lasers on the side of the turret fired as well, sending out gigawatt beams of one second duration, incinerating the occupants of battle armored suits with each strike.
One of the tanks took a hit, then another, the hypervelocity missiles tearing through the side of the turret. The tanked rocked almost over before coming back upright. The only function it was now capable of, screening the side of the company command tank.
Weapons came back at Cummings’ tank, a half dozen hypervelocity missiles, four of them hitting the dirt in front of and to the side of the exposed turret. Two were hits, both to the front of the turret, where the
armor was the thickest. Both bounced away, one taking out the right side particle beam projector.
Cummings wanted to order the driver to retreat. Everything in him called for that decision. The only one that could possibly save his life, even if the odds really weren’t that good if he called it anyway. But to pull back meant letting that mass of Fenri get through to the division.
“Continue firing,” he yelled into the com, wondering if anyone would reject the order, knowing that to stay in this position meant death.
The main gun kept up its fire, a round a second, blasting them out until it no longer had penetrators, then sending out high explosive antimatter. The particle beam fired until the system melted under its self-generated heat. Both laser crosses died, and the tank started taking multiple hits to its turret and hull. But it continued fighting. The other tank died, and Cummings knew it couldn’t be long. But the tactical holo showed that the second wave of the enemy attack was broken, with heavy casualties. He allowed himself a smile at that thought.
His last smile, as five hyper velocity missiles came in on a high arc, plunging down at thousands of gravities into the thinner top armor of the tank. The heavy armored vehicle exploded with the overload of kinetic energy, followed by the explosive power of the warheads. The crew was killed instantly, their deaths not even registering on their senses. And with it, the last armored punch of the division died as well.
* * *
Baggett led the headquarters company, what was left of it, into the close assault he hoped might allow the rest of the division to extract back into the ruins. His heart swelled with pride as his men and women followed him in, no hesitation shown.
Baggett ran full speed into a cluster of Fenri, all of whom were trying to bring their weapons around to target his suit. He slammed into the first Fenri, using the mass of his suit to bowl the smaller alien over. Swinging a fist, he hit another alien in the head with enough force to crack the helmet. With a swish pairs of monomolecular blades sprang from his forearms, protruding twenty centimeters past his fists. He swung one set of blades into the helmet of the Fenri he had just hit, then speared another through the chest with the other blades.
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 7: Counter Strike Page 14
