We have a new Emperor, he thought as the messages opened according to their priorities. He smiled as he saw who it was, relieved that it wasn’t one of the puppets that the Lords had been trying to foist on the Empire. I know the boy is young, and probably raw. But he’s Augustine’s son, and Justinian’s grandson. That gives me hope.
Then next message was not so hopeful. So they have returned, and we are in the war we hoped would never come.
*
OUTSIDE HOME SYSTEM SPACE, JUNE 30TH, 1000.
“We’re ready to jump, Admiral,” said the Fleet Navigation Officer.
Grand High Admiral Gabriel Len Lenkowski looked up from the flat comp he was using to sign orders to see the fleet on the holo, the largest single battle force to sail from the Supersystem since the Third Galactic War of two centuries before. It had been called a Galactic War because six major powers were involved, even though it had only involved this one small region of the Persius Arm.
“Jump when ready,” he said, linking into the ship’s sensory system so he could watch the fleet perform the maneuver, which would tell him much about how synchronized they were.
First to jump were the hyper VII scouting forces, forty battle cruisers, eighty light cruisers, and one hundred sixty destroyers, mostly new ships that were state of the art, if not fully worked up. Behind them jumped the screening and cruiser forces, eighteen hundred and twenty-three ships, including two hundred hyper VI battle cruisers. Then the battle line, nine superbattleships and three hundred and sixty standard battleships. Then the carrier force, thirty fleet and twenty light attack ship transports, and the two hundred ships that were their escorts. After that the transport fleet, carrying resupplies of missiles, antimatter, and six Marine divisions. His ship was last, in that position so he could observe a jump that could have been better, but also could have been much worse.
His force would double in strength by the time he reached the edge of the Core Space, and grow some more as ships from other sectors met him en route. And still he wondered if that would be enough.
The orders sound easy enough, he thought, watching as the staff on the oversized flag bridge worked their stations. Engage the enemy without losing the fleet. Considering how many ships the Sector IV fleet had lost in one engagement, that order was anything but easy.
He had chosen Valkyrie as his flag mostly because he was familiar with its captain and crew. He knew many of the higher ranking members of his fleet, the Fleet Admiral, Admirals and Vice Admirals who led his battle groups, task groups, and task forces. Most of the rest were complete strangers to the former CNO. He could call up the dossier of everyone in the fleet, from the lowliest Spacer and Marine, to the captains of any of his ships. He could peruse their records, their fitness evals, every bit of information recorded on them. And he still didn’t really know the men and women he would send into battle, many with horrible prospects of survival.
But I would rather be out here, on the spear point, than sitting a desk. Thank you for that, your Majesty. Even if I don’t make it back, thank you for that.
*
SESTIUS SPACE, JULY 1ST THROUGH 5TH, 1000.
Sestius System was all but conquered, the Ca’cadasans only having minor trouble with the Freeholder guerillas still holding out on the surface of planet IV. They had learned some hard lessons, one of which was to stay in their fortified bases, and only strike when they knew where the humans were. The humans, with their knowledge of the planet and its wildlife, were not easy to find, especially since they tended to use little in the way of traceable electronics, and only powered up their weapons when they were ready to strike.
Unknown to the enemy they had been under surveillance since the human naval force had left the system. A wormhole had been left in the system on the order of then Crown Prince Sean Ogden Lee Romanov. Since then the entire system had been watched, and information transmitted back to naval headquarters in real time. Now that was about to change.
First the wormhole ejected thousands of small probes that would continue to watch the system. Then it reconfigured, shrinking in size, then reorienting through the use of jets fired through the hole. For several weeks the hole boosted toward the fourth planet, all but undetectable by the sensor systems of the aliens, who had no reason to believe it was there. When it came time to enter the atmosphere it lowered itself slowly on grabber units built into the small ring that held the hole open. Once on the ground it started to eject the materials needed to expand the hole, building the frame and forcing negative matter into the structure, isolated by a magnetic field from the normal material of the frame, until the portal was large enough to pass a person.
And pass people it did. First several engineers who made sure the structure was stable, then some commandos to scout the area and find a good location for hiding the hole. Then more commandos, walking out of the wormhole and into a deep cavern, carrying all of their gear. More equipment soon followed.
“Someone here to see you, Grandfather,” said a young man, barely an adult, to Montano Montero, patriarch of his clan.
Some other clan asking for help, thought the old man, looking up at his grandson. We’ve already lost half of our men fighting these damned demon aliens. How much more can we take? “Send the Freeholders in then.”
“They’re not Freeholders, Grandfather,” said the boy, smiling. “In fact, they’re not from these parts at all.”
“Send them in,” ordered the Patriarch, wondering what the hell was going on.
The man who walked into the cavern office was not at all what Montero was expecting. He was a muscular man in a skinsuit containing many pockets, with web gear and pouches attached. All of the equipment was difficult to look at, unclear to the eye.
“Captain Boris Azerov, Force Marine Corps, reporting as liaison to your clan, sir,” said the man, one hand on the sling of his weapon, the other held out.
Montero, himself a retired Marine, took the hand in a firm grip, a smile on his face. “Did the Empire chase the Cacas out of the system again?”
“No sir. They still control space.”
“No need to call me sir, Captain. I retired as a Sergeant Major. But how in the hell did you get here if they still control space.”
“The Emperor left a wormhole behind when he exited the system, sir,” said the Captain. “We’re bringing in men to make the Cacas’ stay here a living hell. But we sure could use some of your people to show us the lay of the land.”
“How many men are we talking about there, son?”
Two battalions each of Force Recon and Naval Commandos to start with. Then more as needed.”
“And who thought of this crazy plan?” asked the Patriarch, not sure what else to say.
“Why, the Emperor,” said the Captain. “He wants to keep the pressure on the Cacas in any way we can. Make this planet a killing ground for their infantry. So, can I tell Captain Kelso, that’s naval captain by the way, can I tell him you’re in?”
“Hell yes, Captain,” said Montero, clapping the man on the back. “It will be good to work with some first class Marines again. And maybe I can even put up with those Spacer pukes.”
*
CONUNDRUM, JULY 15TH, 1000.
Preacher really didn’t enjoy sea going boats, but was more than willing to use the frail craft to get him into proximity of his enemy. It had taken a week to get to the launching point, where over two hundred of the sailing craft were waiting them, about half indigenous to the planet, the other half prefab catamarans that had been assembled by regular soldiers. Then two weeks of sailing across the narrowest part of the ocean to the southern part of the continent in question.
That continent had been heavily forested before the aliens had come, except for the large desert to the north. Now much of that vegetation was dying as the temperatures dropped and the plants did not receive the sunlight they needed. Still, enough foliage remained to make the forest good cover for men trained to use it.
“Goddamn aliens,” cursed
Preacher again as he looked at the dying forest around him. “If they had just stayed home, this wouldn’t have happened, and I coulda stayed in retirement.”
“You know you missed it, General,” said the Captain in charge of the company he was operating with. “Though I do wish you had stayed at your command post.”
“And why would I want to do that, Captain Cortez? I didn’t come back in and go through that wormhole just so I could sit behind a field desk and listen to reports.”
“I don’t want to lose you is all, sir,” said the Captain, who shut his mouth and raised his hand as a whisper came back down the line.
The Captain gave the hand signals to set everything I motion, and the hundred and twenty man company moved like it had a single mind. First and second platoons fanned out and made their way through the woods in squad formations, while third platoon and the company headquarters section moved ahead. No one made the slightest noise. All had been biologically enhanced to the point where any sound was like a roar to sensitive ears, and they moved their bodies accordingly. Even Preacher couldn’t tell where the other two platoons were once they got out of sight.
“We have an outpost up ahead, sir,” said the Captain, motioning to the ground and squatting, waiting for Preacher to do the same. “Estimated ninety-five Cacas.”
And since we’ve yet to strike them, they should be fat and sassy, thought Preacher, nodding his head. He had nine hundred Rangers with him on this continent, two full battalions, which tended to be smaller than line units. All six of his companies were deployed tonight, four in large formation, two as their six constituent platoons. Before the morning they would have hit twenty targets, and the Cacas would realize they were no longer safe on this continent.
More signals came back, the old fashioned way. The Rangers had a complete language of hand signals, and eschewed the use of any kind of electronics, especially when an enemy had control of air and space. This was their element, and they were very good at what they did.
“There are five aerial vehicles in the compound,” said the Captain, watching the hand signals of the next man up.
“Let’s see what we can see,” suggested Preacher, who was along as an observer, not to preempt the tactical control of the company commander. The Captain nodded and the two men made their way to the front in a crouch, going to a crawl when they got within a hundred meters of the compound. There was still the possibility of other sensors that might be able to track them. High command thought that unlikely, given how quiet this sector was. Still, everyone was moving slowly and surely, making sure of their surroundings before shifting an inch.
Ahead was the compound, really a collection of prefab buildings surrounded by an earthen berm. On one side of the berm was the flattened space where the aircars were. Two were transport craft, while three appeared to be a sort of ground attack vehicle.
The Rangers waited for another minute, making sure that the men all had their targets. There were five visible sentries, as well as another ten Cacas who seemed to be lounging around. They would be easy, even the aliens on sentry who were wearing battle armor.
When the time ticked down the men fired. The snipers had specially crafted rifles, made to fit the man who used them. Each was chemically propelled, and sent a fifty caliber shaped charge round at five thousand meters per second into the target. Normal humans couldn’t handle the recoil of the weapon, but the enhanced Rangers were not normal. Each of the targeted enemy was hit by two rounds, striking perfectly in head and center of the torso. Fifteen Ca’cadasans fell to the ground, dead on arrival. Five chemically propelled rockets took out the air cars, blasting large holes into their bodies that incapacitated them completely. Small mortars dropped their shells on the buildings. As soon as the multiple simultaneous blasts erupted the seventy men of the assault teams were leaping over the berm, their eyes scanning the burning compound for any movement.
There was some firing in the compound in a very one sided fight. When the Rangers left the area, running full out into the forest, there was nothing left alive it the compound, and no functioning equipment.
The company ran for over an hour, then went to ground and started their approach to another target. This one didn’t go quite so smoothly. Two Rangers were lost, for a gain of another sixty enemy. And then it was time to find their way to cover for the day. Preacher was determined to hit the enemy hard, while they could. Because the time would come soon when they were the hunted, and the real fun would begin.
Chapter Five
We are not retreating - we are advancing in another direction. Douglas MacArthur.
SECTOR IV SPACE, AUGUST 2ND, 1000.
Ships were getting few and far between in Sector IV. There were too many Ca’cadasan scout ships on the prowl, as well as a number of their super cruisers. Merchant ships didn’t stand a chance, especially those that travelled alone, the tramps. So when the crew of the Ca’cadasan scout picked up the emissions of a hyper V ship in their area they were ecstatic. All glory would go to the ship and crew, especially if they could take the ship intact. With that in mind, they jumped down to hyper V and accelerated toward the freighter, which seemed in a panic at the approach of the enemy ship. They had almost reached it when the freighter got down to point one c, her pitiful velocity limit for hyper translation. The freighter jumped to normal space, then made the cardinal error of trying to accelerate away from her jump point at her maximum of one hundred gravities. Within hours the Ca’cadasan scout was in normal space to pursue, with her four hundred gravity advantage sure to catch the merchie in little time.
Lt. Commander Jane Wyman sat in the command chair of that seven hundred thousand ton freighter, a position normally reserved for a Master Merchant Captain. It was her first command, her last position being that of executive officer of a destroyer. Many of her fellow officers had turned down this type of command, which was open only to volunteers. But being a student of history, she could not resist the command of a Q-ship. Especially one with the destructive power of this one, the Tramp Freighter Inixius.
“They’ll catch us in one hour, forty-nine minutes,” called out the Tactical Officer, trying to maintain his cool exterior.
“Everyone stay chilly,” said the Captain, feeling the butterflies in her own stomach. This was not their first kill. That had happened two days before. It was still nerve wracking to be sitting in a freighter being approached by a wolf. “Helm, see if you can simulate some engine problems. Nothing too obvious.”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied that officer, going to work on his board.
“Weapons’ status?” she asked, looking over at the tac station. Not what most people would consider a weapon, she thought. But it sure did the job with that last bastard. The image of that kill replayed in her mind for an instant, the Ca’cadasan scout going up in a ball of plasma, her engines blowing in a massive explosion.
“All weapons ready,” said the Tactical Officer, looking back over his shoulder.
I’m only interested in one weapon, thought Wyman, nodding toward the officer. The rest won’t do anything but delay our deaths by a few seconds. If that. The ship had been augmented, not quite up to the standards of a military vessel. Her lasers were three times the power of those normally carried by this class of vessel, and she carried short range projectile cannon, capable of sending a twenty megaton shell into a close in enemy. Grabber units would accelerate the shell into the target. The only problem was this enemy tended to stop a hundred thousand kilometers from their target, and any shells fired at them would most probably be intercepted while the foe was destroying the Q-ship. That had been the best the Empire could come up with, until someone suggested Quantum Teleportation.
“We’re receiving a com,”said the officer in charge of those systems.
“Put it on the screen.”
The face that appeared on the main viewer was like that out of a nightmare, especially to humans. A devil’s face, with snout, carnivore’s teeth, and long horns protruding from the
top of the head. Wyman could feel the fear on the bridge at the sight of that face, but could see the determination as well in the set of their expressions.
“You will stop accelerating and prepare to be boarded,” came the translation over the bridge speakers while the guttural speech came over in the background. “Failure to comply will result in the destruction of your vessel.”
“Will you guarantee the safety of my crew?” asked Wyman, already knowing the answer. And also knowing that it would be a lie.
“Your crew will not be harmed as long as you surrender without delay,” said the being on the viewer, speaking around his sharp teeth. “Any resistance will result in the immediate deaths of all aboard.”
While if we surrender we will be added to your larder for later butchering, thought the Captain. “Very well. Since I have no choice, we will surrender.” She looked at the Helmsman, who was playing his part perfectly, looking scared out of his wits, if it was an act. “Stop all acceleration. Power down the grabbers.”
“Wise choice,” said the alien on the other end of the vid. “Prepare to be boarded.” The screen went blank, then came back with a view of space.
“You ready, Walt?” she asked over the com.
“Fully armored and ready to kick it,” said the voice of the Marine Force Commander, Captain Walt Frazier.
“Only a damned Jarhead wouldn’t know enough to be scared,” said Wyman with a chuckle.
“Just try and get me some Cacas to capture,” said the Marine. “Even better, the whole ship.”
“I guess that’s up to the Universe,” said Wyman, whose only God was the reality of the Cosmos.
“They will have matched velocities in four point three minutes,” said the Navigator. “At a little over a hundred thousand kilometers.”
“Playing it safe, as always,” said Wyman, staring at the holo that showed the vessels in relation to each other. “They don’t want us to self destruct with them within range.”
Exodus - Empires at War 04 - The Long Fall (Exodus Series #4) Page 9
