Exodus: Empires at War: Book 7: Counter Strike

by Doug Dandridge

  “That’s a roger,” said Dawson, pulling up the control panel that allowed him to fire the reactor capsules out at high velocity into space, in such a case as was going on at this time. He touched the panel for number six, which expanded on the board, then placed his thumb over the identification panel, which read both his print and his DNA. After that, he pushed the jettison panel, which changed color, first blinking red, then going steady. He pressed down on the panel, looking at the schematic of the reactor, waiting to see the representation move up through the top of the ship and into space. The outside hatch blew open, and Dawson waited for the ejection. And waited, as nothing happened, and the computer voice kept telling him that his death, and that of everyone else aboard, was imminent.

  * * *

  The Great Admiral stared in disbelief at the tactical holo. First, he had been hit by the impossible fighters of the enemy, which had resulted in his losing over a hundred ships. He had punished them as well, his people having learned from the Congreeve engagement what to look for, and when to throw up a blockade of fire. The fighters also gave off some kind of signal when they returned to normal space, a subspace surge that they had barely detected through all the interference. It had been noted at Congreeve, and, while it wasn’t much, it did give them just a bit of warning. They didn’t have a lock though the signal, but they did have a general direction, and a time, so they had fired everything they had, and had destroyed at least two thirds of the attacking fighters. And how many ships would I have lost to them if we hadn’t perceived that signal. He knew, of course, that the humans would learn from this, and come up with a new strategy to again give them the edge.

  Then he had been hit by the incoming missiles by the enemy task force that had gone around them to spinward, thousands of missiles seeming to come out of nowhere, not even picked up until they were less than a light minute away, and that by active radar and lidar. That also had seemed unfair. So much of modern warfare was based around being able to detect an enemy and his missiles through graviton emissions at long range, and that resource had been swept off the table for this fight. They had gotten lucky in one area. If they couldn’t track the missiles by gravitons, neither could the missiles they. His ships went into evasive maneuvers, putting out as much fire as possible, and he had only lost another hundred ships to that strike. He almost expected the enemy to start a vector change and come after him, but it appeared on visual that they were continuing into the system to attack the ships near the inhabited planet, a force the foe outmassed four to one. He had sent a signal to those ships insystem, but he wasn’t sure what good it would do, except to tell them their doom was coming. Maybe they could get away, he thought for a moment, then dismissed that notion. Of course the enemy would have the system ringed with ships, waiting for his insystem force to do just that.

  His fleet had taken a pounding from the human force that had just passed through it. He had at most four hundred ships that were combat capable. And there was sure to be another enemy force on the way in to hit him. Maybe more than one. Any way he looked at it, his force was doomed. So the next thought on his mind was what to do about it. The honor of the Race called for them to die fighting, to never surrender. But they didn’t have a situation like this in mind, he thought, imagining the almost one million Cacada that were still under his command. And what kind of treatment can we expect from the humans, he thought, sure that it wouldn’t be good.

  I might have a few more minutes to decide, he thought, staring at the holo again, wishing his thoughts could change it. But it was reality that was staring him in the face, and there was nothing he could do to change that. Even his surprise, waiting out in the dark, would not be enough to do more than hurt the enemy some more.

  * * *

  “What’s the problem with Augustine?” said Sean into the com, looking at the tactical holo zoom of the battle that had just occurred.

  His former flagship had all of his attention. He knew many of the people on board that vessel, including the Captain.

  “They’re reporting problems with one of their reactors,” said Kelso over the com. “From what I understand, they’re working on it.”

  Sean used his command override to look at the operating system of the ship in question, coughing as he saw what the problem was. They’re going to blow up, he thought with a start. A ship like the superheavy battleship might even survive one reactor breach, tough as she was, and especially if they were able to reduce the antimatter feed. But if one reactor went, it might set off others, and the stored antimatter used for all the reactors. Best case scenario, half the crew killed and the ship crippled. Worst case, everyone died. And from what he was seeing, no one was abandoning ship at this time.

  “We have missiles on approached,” called out an almost panicked voice on the com. “Estimated impact in one minute ten seconds.”

  Sean switched the holo from the part of the fight he had been watching, to see the icons of thousands of missiles heading his way. Where in the hell did they come from, he thought, his attention taken by the fact that his life, and the lives of everyone in the task groups around him, were in deadly danger.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep; I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion. Alexander the Great

  MASSADARA. JANUARY 9TH, 1002.

  Major General Samuel Baggett moved with his security detail on a tour of what had been the front lines. It had been, before the general collapse of the Caca forces. Now it was a field of death and despair, mostly for the aliens. There were bodies everywhere, most of them in the distinctive ground combat armor worn by the Ca’cadasans that, while giving decent protection, seemed to have lesser capabilities than the human version. That will probably change in the future, thought Baggett, recalling that the Cacas had surely captured many human suits, and were just as sure to reverse engineer them in the near future.

  Many of the suits had large holes burned through them, acrid smoke still rising, the victims of particle beams. A line of suits nearby were literally torn apart, obviously hit by a high velocity projectile, probably from a tank. One of the thousand ton vehicles sat on a hilltop with its gun leveled on a large cluster of Cacas who were prisoners, reminding them of the futility of their position. The prisoners were sans suits. Actually sans all clothing, standing with bowed heads under the guns of heavy infantry troops.

  An explosion sounded in the far distance, a short dull crump. There was still some resistance, the Cacas being a stubborn people. The ones they had under guard had taken enough between the artillery and infantry supported tanks, and had gone from fiercely resistant to cowed in an instant.

  Something flew over with a sonic boom. Baggett looked up into the clouds, now their natural color as the holo projectors were off line. Now it was to human advantage to have unobstructed vision of the surface, and clear communications. A pair of atmospheric fighters flew over, just off the assault ships that had inserted into orbit. There were four of the ships, with a hundred of the fighters each, as well as their ground troops, which were being shuttled down.

  There would still be scattered resistance for the next couple of days, but the humans would be the ones to call down strikes from orbit. We paid our cost in blood too, thought Baggett, looking at the line of troopers that were laying on the ground, sealed into preserving cryo containers that would keep their remains intact until interment. That interment would be here, on Massadara, the place they had fought and died for. That was the tradition of the Army, for all but nobles, who would be sent back to their home planets for burial. He knew there were several of those as well.

  “It’s always sad to see the aftermath, isn’t it?” asked Brigadier General Dagni Thorwaldsdottir, the Assistant Division Commander. She had been cleared for combat just before the start of the campaign, but had spent her time in the command bunker, as per Baggett’s orders.

  “It sure is, Dag,” said Baggett, looking into the pretty face revealed by her
retracted faceplate. “At least it wasn’t the bloodbath it was back in Fenri space.”

  “And what will happen to them?” she asked, motioning with her chin at the hundred odd prisoners gathered below.

  “They’ll be fed, interrogated, then used to get whatever information we can about their strengths and weaknesses.”

  “In violation of the Accords?” said Dagni with a tone of distaste.

  “They didn’t sign the Accords,” said Baggett, looking over the ruins of what had been a human town of ten thousand, his mind’s eye seeing the destruction of Cimmeria, and so many other densely populated systems. He spat. “And they sure didn’t follow the spirit of them. So let them suffer, I say. The bastards deserve whatever they get.”

  “We’re getting a com from Grand Fleet Admiral Mgonda,” came a call over the net. “On the general circuit.”

  “Put it through,” he told the tech. “Put it through to the whole division.”

  “To all units in the Massadara system,” came a voice over the net. “Stand by for a cast from the System Commander.”

  There was dead air for a few moments, then the deep voice of a man used to command came over the com. A voice everyone in this sector was familiar with.

  “To the valiant Spacers, Soldiers and Marines in the Massadara system. I was proud to send a message to the Emperor moments ago. That message was, ‘we have met the enemy, and he is ours’. I am happy to say that all organized resistance in the system, in space and on the ground, has ended. The commander of the Ca’cadasan forces in the system has called on his people to surrender to us, unconditionally. We are in the process of rounding up the last of the Cacas not in our custody. They have been ordered to surrender, to come out into the open without weapons, with all hands raised into the air.” There was a moment’s pause. “And if they do not come out into the open, to relinquish their persons to our custody, they are to be destroyed by whatever means necessary. I would not have any of our people killed by the dastardly actions of an enemy who had already capitulated. Mgonda, Commander Imperial Forces Massadara System, out.”

  Cheering rose all around as the soldiers of the First Heavy Infantry Division digested the message. They had survived the battle, the Cacas had been defeated, and the Empire was well on the way of throwing the murderous bastards out of its space.

  Baggett linked into the command circuit to get the rundown of the battle as told by its casualty figures. While his division had rolled over the enemy, the other two had hit much stiffer resistance. They had still won, but at a higher cost, if nothing like what Baggett had seen in his last posting. And the Fleet? They had won, with heavy casualties. They had destroyed over three billion tons of Caca warships, at the cost of three point six billion tons of their own. More importantly, they had lost over a million spacers, which made the land battle losses seem like nothing. Not nothing, he thought. Every one of those people is someone’s spouse or lover, brother or sister, son or daughter, maybe even a parent.

  He looked again on the naked Cacas, shivering under the guns of his soldiers, and wanted to give the command to shoot. But that would destroy his career, and, more important, his humanity. With a shake of his head, he turned away, walking to the sounds of a distant firefight, wanting this madness to end while he still had a soul.

  * * *

  SUPERHEAVY BATTLESHIP AUGUSTINE I.

  Dawson grabbed the laser cutter head from the tool locker, then ran into the lock leading to the reactor chamber. The outer door to the lock was set into the containment vessel that the reactor compartment sat in. The inner was set into the reactor compartment itself. Both doors were of heavy construction, barriers to the radiation within the compartment.

  Four engineers ran into the lock with the Commander, closing the door behind. Dawson activated the inner door and stepped into the compartment, hauling the heavy cutter head that the strength of his suit allowed him to carry.

  The radiation meter on his suit went off the scale, and he saw why immediately. There was a large hole in the side of the reactor, and the chamber was flooded with neutrons. That was not the only damage apparent. The chamber was a complete disaster, gashes through alloy supports and control runs, systems melted, a seemingly hopeless wreck. And I’ve got almost no time to get two systems online, and the damage cut away that’s holding this bitch in place. A wave of nausea passed through him from the radiation, which was another concern. But not more of one than the reactor that was threatening to go critical.

  “Get on that feed there and cut off the antimatter going in,” he told off one engineer, then pointed to another. “And see if you can start the hydrogen feed going.” That would take care of one problem. There was raw anti-hydrogen sitting within the fluctuating magnetic field of the reactor, and no hydrogen for it to react with. The reactor was no longer in vacuum, and some air was getting into the containment field, hence the radiation from the minor reaction. But not enough to clear it.

  Dawson took a look at the ready antimatter containers, attached to the outside of the compartment, and used to heat up the volatile substance as it was fed in from the outside stores, before feeding it into the reactor. And from what he was seeing on the schematic on his HUD, it was still feeding anti-hydrogen into the reactor through the nonfunctioning regulator valve, adding to the problem.

  If the reactor blows it’s not really that much of a problem. But if the ready antimatter goes with it, and it’s almost sure to, then we have real problems. And the feed from the ready tanks was also jammed, no, in reality, gone, so there was no way to evacuate the tanks.

  “Cut those supports through,” he told the other two engineers in his team, pointing at the two heavy structures holding the reactor to the chamber wall. They had been hit hard by the particle beam, and sections had pushed through the skin and welded to the outer compartment, holding the containment cell in place.

  As those people headed for that task, he moved to the control run that led to the ejection charges and grabbers, that were here to push the reactor out of the ship. The charges were only there to start the fifty meter tall compartment on its way, at which time the grabbers would accelerate it out into space and away from the ship.

  Dawson opened the control run and found the superconducting cable inside was gone, totally vaporized by the beam that had struck it. He continued to open more of the run, until he found the still intact end, then back the other way until he found that terminator. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out a spool of superconductor and attached it with nanite spray at the severed end closest to the internal switching. He then ran the cable to the other end and attached it.

  “You should have control of the ejection process now,” he told his Assistant Chief Engineer in Engineering Central Control.

  “I’m not getting any signal,” she said into the com, her voice controlled, but quivering on the edge of panic.

  “I’ve cut the antimatter feed,” shouted the engineering rating working that task.

  Too late, thought Chief Engineer, monitoring the buildup in the reactor.

  “The hydrogen feed is gone, sir,” said the other rating. “We need a new unit.”

  Shit. We don’t have time. “How’s it coming on those supports?”

  “We’re almost through the second one now, sir.”

  “Everyone else out of here,” he shouted into the com. “Now.”

  The other ratings ran to the lock and cycled through, while the man with the cutter continued to work. Dawson cut the run from the far end, then pushed the cable into a remote control box. He checked the unit, saw that everything was in working order, and turned his attention to the man still cutting away.

  “It’s free,” yelled the man.

  And I’m sorry, Spacer, he thought, pushing the button on the control box.

  The charges went off underfoot, and the grabbers immediately took over, accelerating the capsule up and out at over a thousand gravities. Death for Dawson and his engineer was instantaneous, as they were crush
ed within their suits by the hundreds of gravities overload.

  Two seconds later, with the capsule over twenty kilometers above the ship, the reactor breached, followed by the breach of the ready stores, a gigaton blast that turned every bit of the capsule into fast moving plasma and radiation. Augustine took her share of the heat and radiation, but the ship survived, still decelerating for her return to action, and another go into harm’s way.

  * * *

  HEAVY CRUISER MANILA.

  “Missile impact in three minutes,” called out the voice of the Tactical Officer of the Manila. Klaxons were going off all over the ship, including the control room where the Emperor stood.

  The tactical plot showed the incoming missiles, spread out in formations that would distribute their attack over several minutes. Not the best of formations for an attack, but they had the advantage of having closed before detection, making counter missile engagement short and indecisive. The plot also showed all of Manila’s escorts moving at best emergency speed to get between the missiles and the heavy cruiser. A moment later all of the escort ships for the carriers started to move away from their charges, frantically trying to join the other light cruisers and destroyers in the screen. And leaving their hyper VII fleet carriers unprotected, except for their own defensive fire.

  “We need to get you out of here, your Majesty,” said Senior Agent Catherine Mays, the head of his protection detail, putting an armored hand on Sean’s shoulder. “Please. We have to move.”

  Sean looked at her for a moment, wanting to protest, to demand that he be allowed to stay at his post. But my post is nothing in this battle. Everything has run fine without me. Sean nodded and let her lead him away, the other men and women of the detail forming up around them in the corridor. There were some Marines in the corridor as well, looking all directions to ward off any threat to their Emperor. The corridor was otherwise empty, everyone else on the ship at their battle stations.