*
CIMMERIA SPACE, JANUARY 30TH, 1001.
The Great Admiral stood on the observation deck and stared out at the planet below. There were great clouds of smoke and dust in the atmosphere, and temperatures would be dropping over the planet for years. They had destroyed all the large settlements on the world, then worked their way down to the towns and villages, without dropping anything that would penetrate the crust and cause catastrophic damage. Then the soldiers had gone down, and been met on the ground by a ferocious enemy that did not seem to know how to give up. And whose numbers never ran out.
And then they hit us in our rear, he thought, feeling the rush of anger come over him again. Something we didn’t think possible. The news had just reached him of the attack of Massadara, on the heels of the attack on Florenza, which though hit days later than the other system, was closer. So they had received that news first. Massadara had been the worse news of the two. And those two were not all that had been hit.
All of our ships, the station. He smacked a hard fist into the wall in rage. The females.
“It was their damned wormholes,” said the Intelligence Chief. “They found a way to get one into both those systems and bring ships across. Then they ambushed the convoy at Massadara, who had no way of knowing they were even in the system.”
“And how did they get those wormholes into our space?” roared the Great Admiral, turning and pointing a pair of right index fingers at the male who was supposed to advise him on such things. “If they can open them wherever they want, we have lost this war.”
“Survivors at Florenza said they saw the wormhole open, and it didn’t look like it just appeared out of nowhere. They could see the framework being constructed in the distance, and the framework seemed to be integral to the expansion of the gate.”
“Well, that at least is good news,” said another male in the science division. “They must have one in the system to expand it.”
“And why wasn’t it hit before it could expand?” asked the Great Admiral, glaring at the science tech.
“It was too far off from the observing vessels,” said the Intelligence Chief. “The nearest ships fired at it, but before their missiles could get there, hundreds of enemy ships had come through the gate.”
“So the only defense is to scatter ships all over the systems we want to hold, then hope they try to open one within range, so we might, just might, be able to hit it and destroy it. That is unacceptable. Find me some way to locate those things,” he finished, pointing his fingers at the science tech, who was in charge of his technological division. Once a warrior, thought the Admiral. Now too old for such, so relegated to his current task. Did we make a mistake there as well. Maybe we need to have our more agile minds working on these problems.
“I do not see how that is possible,” said the tech, who as an older member of the race did not fear the authority of the Great Admiral, having lived his vital years. “We might be able to detect them at close range, if we can determine what kind of gravity emissions they are giving off.”
“And what about on the surface of a planet?”
“I don’t see any possibility of being able to do that,” said the tech. “The graviton emissions of a planet are too strong.”
“Perhaps we can capture one,” said another officer, this one a Chief Tactician. “Capture one of their ships with one on it.”
“And what good will that do?” asked the Intelligence Officer. “They can simply turn it off at the other end. And then we have nothing but the frame that held it open.”
“Perhaps we can go after their black hole station and just take away their ability to make these things,” said the Great Admiral, wondering as he said it if that was even possible at this juncture of the conquest.
“They are inside a seventy light hour gravity well, Great Admiral,” said the Chief Tactician. “And we don’t know how many links they have to other systems. They could possibly bring their entire fleet in to trap us in that gravity well.”
“That might be what we need to do to bring their fleet to a decisive battle,” said the Great Admiral, scratching a horn. “But not yet,” he hastily added, seeing the panic in the eyes of his subordinates. “Not until our strength has grown. But I do want your people to figure out a way to take out the wormhole generating station, if we can find a way onto it.”
“And meanwhile?” asked the Tactical Chief.
“Meanwhile, we continue to bleed them, until we get the force differential we need to strike at the heart of their Empire. I have the feeling that if we take out that station, this war will be all but over.”
*
THE DONUT, FEBRUARY 3RD, 1001.
Lucille Yu was always surprised to see how fast things were going up around the Donut. And inside it as well. As she watched the screen a fully loaded twenty-five million ton superfreighter was coming through the ship gate from the Home System. Two more were hanging in space being unloading of the industrial fruits of the Core Worlds. Now that they didn’t have to travel in normal space across the sixty light hour gravity well of the black hole, the buildup was increasing at a terrific pace.
She looked at the production figures for negative matter, more than doubled in the last two weeks. That was due to the new matter warp chambers placed aboard the station, taking advantage of the almost unlimited power being generated by the swirling mass of the charged black hole. That was another thing about being at war. Bureaucracy was toned down. If something was discovered the Emperor knew about it within a day, and several days later, at most, industry was constructed to build it.
The superfreighter moved away from the gate, changing its vector to boost outward to its assigned resting place. Another superfreighter came through, followed by a half dozen smaller but still large freighters in the ten million ton range.
Out from the station, starting at the twenty million kilometer range, they were building complexes in free space. There were now over two hundred of the great missile acceleration tubes, all over a thousand kilometers in length, attached to large magazines containing over three thousand missiles each. Each of the weapons was linked to a warship, and some ships were linked to two of the launchers. Inside the station were mounted other weapons, great particle accelerators that could build up a charge of protons to just under the speed of light.
A tanker went back through the gate after the strobes on it turned green, indicating that the other side of the gate was now free of transiting vessels. There was no danger actually inside the wormhole, but it would be a disaster if something came through to occupy the same space as an object coming through from the other side. Most of the shipments were inward to the station, but surplus antimatter was being sent out to the Fleet station at the Central Docks.
But much was also flowing off the station to warhead filling complexes out there in the new orbiting ring of complexes. Some of these were moved to the cargo gate complexes that led to fleet bases, where they could be loaded onto warships or missile colliers. Others to colliers that were sent through to the Central Dock. And still others to be mated with the missiles that were being stored and dispensed from the missile acceleration tubes.
Lucille got up from her desk and headed to the local cafeteria, Jimmy Wu falling in at her side as she walked from her office. All of the corridors were crowded with people, and new quarters were being installed by construction crews around the clock. There were over fifty million people on the station, with a hundred thousand more coming aboard each day. Food was being brought through the gates in great quantities, but hydroponics and protein tanks were also being installed.
“What do you think would happen if they took this station out?” she asked Jimmy as they walked to the executive dining hall, reserved for senior staff and admirals. And, of course, the chief of her security detail.
“We’d probably lose this war,” said Jimmy. “It’s pure luck this thing was online just when we needed it.” Jimmy nodded to one of his agents, on the security de
tail of another high ranking staffer. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Doc. This thing is better protected than Jewel.”
Maybe not that well, she thought, recalling that Central Docks added a lot of firepower to the Home System. But they can’t get at us without traveling at least a hundred hours through normal space, seeing as how they have to come out of hyper at point three and accelerate. Even missiles would take eighty hours, over three days, if they could launch them at a high initial velocity.
She nodded toward the Admiral in command of the station, a four star who always seemed to have a worried expression on his face. So why don’t I gain confidence from Admiral Bryant’s face. Is there something I’m overlooking? Something that they can’t see as well? If that’s true, then we won’t know we’re in trouble until we’re right in the middle of it.
*
ELYSIUM, FEBRUARY 15TH, 1001.
“I have good news, Ambassador,” said High Lord Grarakakak, walking into the meeting room in the restored government palace. The avian had a smile on his pliant beak, one which might not be recognized as such by most humans. But Horatio Alexanderopolis had been living and working around the Brakakak for over fifty years, and knew them as well as any human.
“You are ready to come to our aid?” said the Ambassador, rising from his seat.
“Not just yet, my friend. But maybe soon. The Fleet has located the Knockerman naval force in a system six hundred light years from here. I expect us to engage them in combat within the next week.”
Horatio tried not to let the disappointment show, but the avian leader had also gotten good at reading human faces. “I am sorry, my friend,” said the High Lord. “But we must secure our own Empire before we can send aid to others. I will tell you, though, that my Fleet Commander loves that wormhole you gave him to play with. He regrets that he only has the one, though.”
And that was sheer genius, thought the Ambassador. Giving them a little taste of what we can provide, though probably not as much as they hope for. And now they’ll want more.
“We could really use your help,” said Horatio, leaning forward in his seat. “You know, if these guys run us over, you’re probably next.”
“I believe you,” said the High Lord, giving a human head nod. “Unfortunately, there are still those in my government who do not, including many members of our High Command. They believe that these aliens only want to destroy you. Or, if they want to conquer the region, it is better to let them exhaust themselves taking your Empire out. And then we can strike and eject them from this region.”
“That’s pure insanity,” said the Ambassador, coming to his feet. He paced the length of the room and then back. “I thought you were our friends.”
“I am your friend,” said the High Lord, looking up at the human. “That does not mean that all of my people are. Not even all of my own species.”
“So you can’t guarantee that you will ever come in on our side,” said Horatio, plopping back in his chair with a feeling of defeat.
“I can guarantee that as long as I am in power,” said the High Lord, signaling for a servant to bring them some refreshment, “we will be your friends. Give me two months and I will have a task force to place under your command. After that, we will just have to wait and see.”
And that is not what I wanted to hear, thought the Ambassador as he accepted a drink from the radially symmetrical servant. And definitely not what they will want to hear at home.
“And how big a task force are we talking about?” asked Horatio, unable to contain his impatience.
“At this time I have no idea,” said Grarakakak, his face showing that he was growing tired of the questioning of his intentions. “We will give you what I can convince my government to give you.”
Horatio looked down, and felt the sense of failure. And after I protected you ass, he thought, looking back at the High Lord. And your family. He felt like shouting that to the leader, but knew it would do him no good, and might harm his cause beyond repair.
“I am sorry, Horatio. But I am not a dictator. I am only the first among equal Councilors that are the administrative rulers of the Empire. And we must act within the laws passed by our legislature. We have no Emperor like your nation, and no provisions to place one being in charge, even in wartime.”
Which is one reason we have always whipped your asses, thought the Ambassador, nodding his head to show that he understood what the other being was saying. “Then I will take my leave.”
“Perhaps we can meet again in a couple of days,” said the High Lord, signaling for one of his servants to come and show the Ambassador out. “Perhaps I will have better news at that time.”
The Ambassador looked out over the broken city on the way back to the temporary Embassy. He was still amazed at how modern buildings, which could stand up to any weather and most seismic events, could be so easily trashed by modern weapons. But then, that’s the point of modern weapons. To be able to destroy what we build. No matter how strong.
As soon as he landed on the Embassy he was heading inside at a run, straight for the com room. He didn’t think the Ministry of State was going to like we he told them, nor would they enjoy telling the Ministry of War. And with wormhole communications he wouldn’t even have the luxury of a four day turnaround to receive his reply.
Chapter Sixteen
In the Soviet army it takes more courage to retreat than advance. Joseph Stalin.
CONUNDRUM SURFACE, FEBRUARY 27TH, 1001.
Preacher looked through his powerful low tech glasses at the installation below. There were thousands of Ca’cadasans down there, in an underground bunker complex that was pretty much impervious to anything they had. He had three hundred Rangers low to the ground, not giving off anything in the electromagnetic spectrum. Their heat absorbing Gilley suits with cold packs were spoofing any aerial or space based heat sensors, at least for the next couple of hours.
He had fretted some over the possibility of the enemy using chemosensors, but so far there had been no indication that the Cacas used that tech. And I have to wonder at that shortcoming. Of course the Rangers did not give off pheromones. Those glands had been deactivated during the augmentation process, and any chemosensors set to pick up normal humans would not scan them.
“It would be so easy if we had something in space,” said Preacher to the company commander who was lying beside him. The man nodded but said nothing. Everyone knew that bunkers were not proof against space launched kinetic weapons. No matter how deeply buried or heavily armored, a sufficiently heavy weapon dropped at a high enough velocity could kill it. Unfortunately, there were no human platforms in this space.
He thought back to several weeks before, when a human force had come through a wormhole gate and had destroyed the Caca naval force insystem. For a week there had been no enemy presence in space, and the human force had been able to launch a counter-offensive on the surface of the planet. The enemy had been hit hard, but not eradicated, and still held the far Southern continent where Preacher and his Rangers were operating. They had multiple landing fields, fortified barracks complexes, and this bunker, which was headquarters for the enemy ground forces on this world.
And now the enemy was back, and had again circled the planet with satellites and stations, and some orbiting warships. The humans had installed hundreds of jamming stations in their absence, and it would be some weeks before the enemy destroyed enough of them to break through the interference.
And the Fleet delivered two more wormholes, thought Preacher as he continued to scan the guard posts. And we’re carrying one with us. That had made the whole plan workable. There was no way they could get a bomb into that complex by conventional means. At least not something that could destroy it. A fusion weapon would be too damned big, even the smallest ones. An antimatter bomb would have to have an active magnetic field to contain the antimatter, and there was too much risk of detection. Besides, planting and detonating devices like those left little margin for error if the assau
lt troops were to get away from the blast. Preacher had already lost two thirds of the two Ranger battalions he had brought to this continent. He wasn’t about to lead the last third on the definition of a suicide mission.
Preacher looked at the clock counting down on his implant. The plants were as deep in the skull as could be, and shielded to the max. When a special ops trooper was on a mission the plants disabled their com features, so there was no danger of picking up a transmission. Which meant the troopers had to go by hand and voice signals, and synchronized timed plans. And now the clock was ticking down.
At zero the thirty-five Rangers assigned to sniper duty took their first shots, firing their chemically propelled high power rifles at the faces of their targets, the sentries in towers or at gates that were too hard to approach. At the same moment another fifty Rangers moved from concealment with monomolecular blades in their hands. All made kills, though one was shot through his abdomen by a mag rifle before he threw his blade in the Caca’s throat. That was the only casualty of the initial strike, and Preacher knew they had to move fast to avoid more. The enemy would know something was going on, and soon, when their men stopped checking in.
So did everyone else in the reduced battalion, and all of the Rangers moved, running toward the compound, engaging every target that presented itself. One man dropped back to carry the wounded trooper in. The Rangers lacked some of the targeting toys that regular infantry deployed with their weapons. All were instead crack shots, with thousands of hours in simulators and hundreds on ranges to perfect their craft. They stormed into the compound, firing up everything that presented itself. Preacher carried a dedicated grenade launcher, a thirty millimeter weapon with a fifty round drum attached. He took out a weapon’s emplacement, then a couple of Cacas firing from cover. The Brigadier looked over for a moment, making sure the man carrying the wormhole and his two escorts were secure. If he was taken out then one of the escorts would have to grab the bag. If the bag was taken out the mission was a scratch, and they would have to bug out as best they could.
Exodus - Empires at War 04 - The Long Fall (Exodus Series #4) Page 25
