Exodus: Empires at War: Book 7: Counter Strike

by Doug Dandridge

“All legs and tail, your Majesty,” said the smiling man, who was also the cat sitter of the expedition. “Last stages of kittenhood. And I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”

  Of course he will, thought Sean, not really sure how he thought of the imprinting that was used on the cat to bond him to his master. To Sean, who had grown up around dogs and cats all his life, it seemed like cheating, when the loyalty of a pet was supposed to be earned through pleasant interactions. But I have to admit, it’s good to have the little guy come running when I enter my quarters.

  After a short lift ride they arrived at the augmented flag bridge, with over fifty com stations arrayed around the large central holo tank. All stations were manned, and all of the crew and supervisors were on their feet when the Emperor entered.

  “At ease,” said Sean, looking around the bridge, his eyes stopping on Rear Admiral Kelso, his Flag Captain. “Tell your people to not bother with that ceremony from here on out,” he told the older man. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but they have better things to do.”

  “Yes, sir,” agreed the Admiral. “And your station is through that door to the front.

  Sean nodded and headed that way with a smile on his face. The room he entered, about twenty meters cubed, did not seem all that impressive at first. Until he linked into the computer and the room came alive, projecting the Universe around him in breathtaking detail.

  “Get me Len,” he said into the interface, asking for a com opening that was provided immediately. “Your people ready, Len.”

  “Ready and willing, your Majesty,” said the Grand Fleet Admiral. “All systems seem to be operating to specs. Including the wormholes.”

  Sean nodded, glad to hear that last. That had been a major worry with this operation, that the turmoil caused by the supernova might also have an effect on the wormholes. Either making them hazardous to traverse, or even collapsing the holes altogether. Mathematically, it had seemed safe enough. The Emperor was happy to see that it had also worked in the real world.

  “Any major problems?”

  “It seems that we can’t use hyper VII, for the moment,” said Len, his eyes narrowing. “In fact, our ships within forty light years of the blast can’t even use hyper VI.”

  “What do you mean, can’t use?”

  “We can’t open holes in the dimension of hyper VII at all,” said Len. “Any of our ships that are within hyper VII can’t leave, and nothing can enter.”

  “Are the ships in VII in any danger?”

  “Not unless they run into a hyper barrier. The ships in VII can remain there for a couple of weeks, or whenever the turmoil is reduced enough to allow translation again. All wormhole equipped ships have been warned, and told to warn whatever other ships are with them in hyper that don’t have wormhole coms.”

  “I really didn’t expect us to be denied the use of VII,” said Sean, his mood sobering.

  “Neither did anyone else, your Majesty,” agreed Len. “But it is what it is, and we have to accept what we can do. And remember, the Cacas also won’t be able to use VII, graviton communications are almost shot, and we know what we’re doing, while they don’t.”

  “Put that way, Grand Fleet Admiral Lenkoswki, I guess we have nothing to worry about. This thing ought to be a walk in the park.”

  “Except the park is still filled with carnivores, your Majesty,” said Len with a slight smile. “Always remember that.”

  “Oh, I will, Admiral. And I’m going to make sure they know it too.”

  * * *

  REPUBLIC SPACE. DECEMBER 25TH, 1001.

  President Julia Graham studied the tactical holo that showed her forces in relation to the enemy they were chasing. Technically, they weren’t exactly chasing them out of the Republic. The Cacas were retreating on their own, trying to get back to their main base in the New Terran Empire so they could reinforce their primary battle fleet, which had recently taken a pounding at the hands of the Imperials.

  Unfortunately, even as it took them out of her Republic’s territory, it also took them out of range of her own fleet and the forces of their Crakistan allies. All of the Caca ships, every single one, was a hyper VII vessel, while less than five percent of her own forces could navigate that dimension. The Cacas could cover space four times faster than her own ships, and there was no way around that. Her only hyper VII ships were battle cruisers and light cruisers.

  At least we don’t have to worry about them right now, she thought, standing on the flag bridge of the heavy cruiser that had just jumped into the New Washington System, once the home of the Republic’s capital. That was good, since her force, the cruiser and ten destroyers, really weren’t enough to stand up to any kind of Caca raiding force.

  “We killed four of the enemy supercruisers,” said the voice of the Crakistan Admiral who went by the designation of Admiral in Charge of Republic Third Battle Fleet. The reptilian beings face looked out of another holo, not showing the least inkling of emotion.

  They like for everyone to think they’re cold bastards, thought the President, looking into the eyes of a reptilian predator. And they sure act like they are. But underneath they still have feelings, even if they have suppressed them with their logical thinking.

  “Unfortunately, we were only able to get the one salvo off in passing, and they moved by too quickly for us to get a second one in.”

  And that’s the problem, thought Graham, nodding her head. All of the ships were carrying the new hyper VII capable missiles, as the prewar stockpiles of VI weapons were almost gone. The hyper VII missiles, while capable of opening a hole into the highest transport capable dimension, did so at the price of having a lower range than the VI missiles. They could be launched at oncoming targets and get in one approach, as long as the enemy was coming toward them. If the enemy was at high acceleration, there was no way the VII missiles could catch them from behind. And the only way to get a head on solution was to launch on a Caca force with perfect timing, which only happened when they had been spotted ahead of time, by a wormhole com ship that could send the signal to the ambushing force.

  Which means that nine times out of ten we don’t get an effective shot, and half the time when we do, we still don’t accomplish as much as we would wish.

  “What are your orders, Madam President?” asked the being who was the first alien to be put in charge of a Republic battle fleet.

  “What are our options, Admiral? Can you get into Imperial space in time to help Sean against the forces leaving our territory?”

  “Unlikely, Madam President. While I cannot say for sure that we would arrive before the Emperor initiates his offensive, since we have no way of knowing when the requisite supernova explosion is to take place. But, given the most recent prediction, we would not arrive in time to be of aid. The other possibility would be to marshal our forces within your Republic, and await developments.”

  And that would be the very definition of ingratitude, thought the President. The Empire had given her Republic almost immeasurable aid, including several thousand ships that, while they might have been of an obsolete design, still possessed state of the art electronics and power generation capabilities. They need us now, as we needed them before. But where can we be of use to them.

  “Madame President,” came a call over the com. “I think you need to be aware of this.”

  “Excuse me for a moment, Admiral,” she told the Crakistan female.

  Another tactical holo sprang to life beside the original. This showed a region outside her space, stretching between her borders and those of the no longer extant New Moscow. There were two lines of ships indicated on the holo, one, two hundred light years from the New Terran Empire border, made up of ships from that military. And two hundred light years further out from them was a task force made up of ships from her own fleet, one light cruiser and five destroyers.

  And a number of icons were approaching that outer picket. A number that she really couldn’t count, due to so many icons being right on top of
each other.

  “Are you seeing this, Madam President?” asked the voice of Commodore Natasha Romanov, the commander of the outer picket, on board the light cruiser Orleans.

  “Yes, yes I am, Commodore,” answered Graham. “How many of them are there?”

  “We’re counting at least five hundred of them. It looks like a major reinforcement effort. From their heading, it looks like they are on a course directly into the Empire.”

  “I need to issue some orders, Commodore,” she told the picket commander.

  “Hopefully something to discomfit this enemy,” said Romanov with a tense smile.

  “You might say that,” she told the Commodore, just before blanking the com. She looked back at the holo of the Crakistan Admiral. “You saw that, Admiral?”

  “I did indeed, Madam President. My tactical staff are plotting their location and probable future locations along a time frame.”

  “The question is Admiral, can you do something about them?”

  “I can have a battle force in their way in a day and a half, if that is what you mean, Madam President. We should be at stop before they get within detection range of our hyper. And,” the Admiral looked off holo for a moment, “I believe we can have wormhole equipped scouts well enough ahead of them to give our force targeting information.”

  “Then those are your orders, Admiral. Get in position to light them up. And good hunting.”

  The reptilian smiled, a predatory grin that showed more emotion than Julia was used to seeing on those visages. But one she had seen before. She had given the alien a hunt, one of the few things the carnivores truly enjoyed, as long as there was a logical reason for it.

  * * *

  SECTOR IV SPACE. DECEMBER 26TH, 1001.

  “The five trailing ships in our force just, blew up, my Lord.”

  “What?” gasped High Admiral Kellissaran Jarkastarin, looking up from the holo he had been studying of the system they were about to enter. “How do you know?”

  “We picked up faint graviton emissions that could only mean a catastrophic translation. Five of them, directly behind us.”

  “What about the rest of the force?”

  “All safely in VI, as far as we can tell,” said the Tactical Officer who had first spoken.

  “What do you mean, as far as you can tell?” And what did he mean by faint graviton emissions? Those ships translating catastrophically should have been the loudest things on our sensors.

  “We are having trouble tracking the other ships, my Lord.”

  “But, they’re right with us. How can you be having trouble tracking them?”

  “Right now hyperspace if full of random graviton fluctuations,” said the Tactical Officer. “I’ve never seen anything like it. It defies explanation.”

  “So you have no idea what’s causing this. Could it be some new weapon of the humans?”

  “If so, my Lord, we have already lost this war. The amount of energy that would be needed to produce this kind of distortion would be nothing short of astronomical.”

  “We’re getting ready to drop to V, my Lord,” said the Helmsman. “Orders?”

  “Drop to V, you dolt. Or did you plan on pushing us through the barrier?”

  “Yes, my Lord,” said the chastised male, looking back at his board.

  The ships dropped down through V, IV, III, II, I, and then prepared for the final jump to normal space. On each shift the crew became more and more ill. Ca’cadasans were among the hardest hit of species during jumps, which made for excruciatingly hard translations. The High Admiral sat in his command chair, clenching his fists and holding his breath, trying to get over his nausea as he waited to see how much of his command he still had with him. The hole opened, the ship made it through with the normal horrible nausea. The Admiral tried to get himself back under control, while waiting for the report of his younger Com Officer.

  “They all seem to be with us, my Lord,” said the Com Officer. “All except the five that didn’t make the transit back to VI.

  And if whatever had caused this had happened a few minutes earlier, we all would have run into the barrier, and my force would be gone.

  “What do you have on the system?” asked the High Admiral of his Tactical Officer, looking over at the male, then back at the central holo tank, which showed, nothing.

  “We are not tracking anything in this system, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, looking over his shoulder with a confused expression.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, sir. No heat signatures. No graviton emissions. Nothing.”

  “And the planet? The one we came to smash?”

  “It’s on the other side of the star, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, pulling up what they knew about the system on his over the board holo.

  “By the Gods, so we know nothing about what might be in this system.”

  “Do you want to decel back out and go into hyper, my Lord?” asked the Helm Officer. “We could get around the star much quicker that way.”

  Jarkastarin looked at the other male as if he had grown a second head, and both were now babbling nonsense. I would rather stick my head in the mouth of a Janaka, thought the Admiral, thinking of the large predator that lived in the seas of the homeworld.

  “No. Put us on a straight line course for the planet that bends us around that star. Just keep us far enough away to be safe.” He looked over at the Com Officer. “And order all ships to keep on the alert. I have a bad feeling about this place.”

  “Then maybe we should just leave, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer.

  And have these vermin think we are afraid of some unusual stellar phenomenon. Not on your life, Tactical. Or mine, or the entire force’s. “Follow my orders, Helm. You too, Tactical. I believe there is human life on that planet, and I intend for there to be none when I leave this system.”

  * * *

  MASSADARA, SECTOR IV SPACE.

  “Welcome to Massadara, General,” said the Liaison Officer to Baggett as he stomped out of the wormhole in his heavy combat armor. The armor itself massed a ton, and five hundred kilos of munitions, batteries and rations had been added. Every man and woman of the division was carrying extra gear, every vehicle was loaded down with everything they could carry. They were here to stay, and to fight, and though resupply would be coming through the hole, no one wanted to take any chances that they might get cut off and run out.

  I finally made it here, thought the General, looking around the cavern, which, he had to admit, was not a very good view of the planet. Massadara had been the original destination of his then battalion, a light infantry unit that had been upgraded to medium armor. But they had been sidetracked to Sestius, and had written their history on that planet instead.

  “Thank you, Colonel,” said Baggett to the officer. “I was told to report to the planet commander when I arrived.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the Colonel, pointing to an open area of the cavern. “You might want to ditch the suit before you go into the chamber he’s in. It can get kind of crowded in there.”

  Baggett nodded, walking to the indicated area, and ordered his suit to open through the link. Nanites first opened the seams on arms, legs and body, while his helmet retracted onto the back of his suit. Within seconds the seams existed where solid alloy had before, and the suit hinged open under its own power. As soon as it had opened completely he stepped out, his hard connections popping out of his lower spine and skull. The General walked forward in his skin suit, the ubiquitous garment that members of every service wore under their armor. His had the patches of his unit, and his rank on the breast and sleeves, so there would be no mistakes.

  “Lead the way,” ordered Baggett, glancing at the wormhole, where more of his men were coming out quickly. It would take hours for all of the infantry to come through. The heavy units would wait until they were just about to start their offensive, and the wormhole had been moved outside and expanded. He had reservations about starting operations wit
hout his armor, artillery and aviation assets, but understood the need to secrecy until the particle beam bolts started flying.

  Baggett recognized Colonel General Mich Sapatra the second he entered the room. The tough as nails officer was probably the shortest person in a room that included many women. He looked like a fireplug, all thick muscle. He had been Baggett’s first battalion commander, so many years ago. The man looked up from the map and smiled as he saw the Major General step into the room.

  “Good to see you, General Baggett,” said the man, walking away from the table and returning Baggett’s salute, then offering his hand in a fierce grip. “I always knew you would go far. Even when you were a shavetail Louie.”

  “I’m happy I could prove you the prophet, sir,” said Baggett, following the man over to the table.

  Sapatra laughed, a deep rumbling sound that surprised people coming from such a short man, until one remembered that his chest was that of a much taller body builder. “If I were a prophet, I could wish that I saw this shit coming,” said the four star General, shaking his head. He pointed to the table, which showed a large continent.

  “This is the main landmass of this world, and the one we think the Cacas will be landing on when our ships enter the system,” said Sapatra.

  “And why is that, sir?” asked Baggett, reaching out and moving the map over to see the continent across the ocean. “Since they still have some people on the ground here, wouldn’t they try to land there.”

  “And get themselves blown into space by orbital bombardment?” said Sapatra, moving the map back. “No. I think they’re going to land here, and try to close with us, wherever they can find us. They would hope they could delay our bombardment, hopefully until they could get a relief force here to kick us out. But they won’t know about you, or the other two divisions of your corps. So I want you to set up over here, on the coastal plains.”

  “Shouldn’t the Corps Commander pass this down to me, sir?”

  “Oh, he will still have operational control of the corps,” said Sapatra, pulling a cigar out of his pocket, offering one to Baggett, and, after refusal, puffing his into ignition.