Exodus - Empires at War 04 - The Long Fall (Exodus Series #4)

by Doug Dandridge

  “So next week would be better?” asked Sean, glaring at the officer. “We will get her out of there, no matter the cost. But I have no intention of being killed by them.” He looked to the holo over the table, which now showed the face of Ekaterina Sergiov. “Just what are we dealing with here, Kat?”

  “A very professional organization,” said the head of IIA. “Professional enough to fly under our sensors.”

  “How in the hell did they get people into the hospital?” asked McCaffrey.

  “Getting into a hospital is not really a difficult insertion,” said Sergiov, looking off holo for a moment. “In fact, there is almost no way to prevent people from coming and going from a public health establishment. That was one reason it was recommended that Doctor Conway not practice in that kind of facility. If she wanted to play doctor, there are plenty of secure intelligence or military facilities for her to do so.”

  “She thought that request would be denied,” said Sean, looking down. “I tried to tell her different, but she insisted on working with what she called regular people.

  “Being a doctor is part of her identity, Kat,” said Sean, scrunching his face in emotional pain as he thought about his love in the hands of people who saw her as nothing more than a pawn. “But your point is well taken,” he said, opening his eyes and looking at the IIA chief in the holo. “When we get her out we will worry about where to let her practice.”

  “I really don’t see how we are going to be able to get her out,” said Agent Mays. “Any move we make on them, even if we knew where they were, would lead to her death. And we can’t let you go into a viper’s nest.”

  “How much do they know about our tech?” asked Sean, looking from face to face. “I mean our state of the art military tech?”

  “I think they know we have wormholes,” said Sergiov, her eyes narrowing. “And I really don’t think they would see those as a threat.”

  “Then we have to make it a threat,” said Sean, slapping the top of the table. “And maybe throw some other tech at them that they are not expecting.”

  Sean outlined his thinking, and the frowns grew as he talked.

  “Very well thought out, your Majesty,” said Director Sergiov. “But what if they just blow your head off with a particle beam as soon as they have you in their hands.”

  “I think they will try to get what they can from me,” said Sean, shaking his head. “They can get more use out of me alive. And if they decide to just kill me, well, that’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

  “And we are not willing to take that chance, your Majesty,” said Agent Mays.

  “And who is the Emperor here?” said Sean, coming to his feet and giving the woman a harsh stare. “I am in charge. Not you. Not the Chiefs of Staff. Not Lord T‘lisha or Director Sergiov. I am in charge. What I say goes. And I say we are going to take a risk, with my life on the line, to get Jennifer Conway back. So no more arguing about what you are willing to do or not do. We are going to do this, so put your heads together and come up with a way to make it work. Is that clear?”

  Heads nodded, and no one seemed willing to say anything.

  “Get in touch with them by whatever means they left. I will talk with them, and agree to their terms. While the rest of you plan and scheme. Which is what I pay you for anyway.”

  The people cleared the room and the holo faded, leaving Sean alone with his own thoughts. He could feel the tears starting to come and forced them back. Not another one, he thought, images of his parents and brothers coming to mind, then the image of his love. Not another damned one. He slammed his hand into the table again and stormed from the room. There were preparations to make, and he didn’t want to keep his future kidnappers waiting.

  *

  LASHARAN HOMEWORLD, JULY 8TH, 1001.

  The twin suns rose over a scene out of the most horrific visions of hell. Bodies as far as the eye could see. Whole bodies, eviscerated bodies, pieces of bodies. Smoke rising into the air, making the two orange globes larger than normal.

  Samuel Baggett looked over that field, his optics focusing in on whatever he wanted to expand and examine. After several minutes of searching he was not sure he wanted to see any more. Behind him was his brigade, or at least the two thirds of it that remained. They had excavated a bunker during the night, moving the badly wounded and recoverable dead into its cover. Shuttles had attempted to evacuate as many as possible. Most had made it. Some had been shot down. A few of those on the way in, filled with supplies. Others on the way out, filled with wounded who would never make it to treatment aboard the assault ships and their state of the art hospitals.

  Also behind him were scores of replenishment cylinders that had been dropped through the night, giving his troopers the replacement batteries and ammo they needed to fight. The suits could run for a week in a low or no combat environment. Unfortunately, that was not what they were engaged in. There was talk of dropping Marine heavy infantry in to replace their casualties later in the day. Right now he felt good about his position. They were occupying four hill tops arrayed in a long oval, twenty kilometers long by twelve wide. For heavy infantry it was a perfect arrangement, giving them a good perimeter with enough separation to keep them from taking heavy casualties from small yield nukes. The tanks were dug in between the hills, with a couple on the top of each one, and his indirect support weapons were emplaced inside the oval.

  Yeah, it was a great position, but where they needed to be was still twenty kilometers ahead, on the edge of the large city. The Cathedral of the Death Gods of the Lasharans. It was said to be the primary holy place on the holy planet of those dark Gods, and the aliens seemed willing to give those deities all of their lives in sacrifice to keep that holy place free of the feet of infidels. And we’re going to give your Gods a good old human fuck you, thought Baggett, calling up a map and planning his route of march toward that holy place.

  *

  “We must stop them,” yelled the Ahmadhi-ghasta to his local ground force commander. “No matter what it takes, they must not set foot in the holy of holies.”

  “I have almost nothing left,” said the cowed General in return, his motion eyes closed in the stress of the moment. “All we have are armed civilians, and they cannot stand against their heavy infantry.”

  “Throw them at the enemy anyway. It does not matter if we use up every male and neuter on the planet. The woman and children too. If they get through to the temple the Gods will turn their faces away from us.”

  “They may have already,” said the General, his motion eyes opening wide. “How else could they get their force onto the planet?”

  “The Gods help us when we struggle,” said Mallakan, glaring at the neuter. “We must show our faith, and then they will show us their power. Now, stop those humans from getting to our temple.” Like the half dozen temples they have already marched into, thought the supreme cleric of the Church of the Gods Vengeful. And what in all the hells happened to that damned cousin of mine, the Grand Admiral? Is he still fighting, or did he give up and run? If he ran I will have him skinned alive in front of the faithful. Mallakan looked at the plot that showed their best understanding of the situation on the planet. If we have any faithful left to sacrifice him in front of. Where are the Gods when we need them?

  Mallakan slapped himself in the head, angry at his lack of faith. We will stop them. And then we will crusade into their realm, and utterly destroy their culture. Maybe not me, but surely a future generation.

  “The attack is going in, Ahmadhi-ghasta” called a com tech.

  Mallakan sent an acknowledgement, then linked into the sensor platforms that were at that front. Moments later he wished that he hadn’t.

  *

  “We got movement,” called one of the forward scouts.

  Baggett tapped into the tactical net and saw what that scout was seeing through his optics. It was more than just movement. It was a swarm. A mass migration of what had to be tens of millions of Lasharans heading right fo
r his brigade. Many of them were coming out of the city, though there were some coming from open lands who had either walked there from other communities, or had been transported there by mass transit. It really didn’t matter how they got there. They were there, and he was sure they weren’t a welcoming committee from the city.

  The orbital take was even more frightening. Infrared of what looked like a tide rolling in. Radar images smudged by bursts of static, but still showing a mass of movement. Baggett looked at the take for another moment, then started to issue his battle orders. He switched back to an image from the scout, actually one from the recent past, as that soldier was moving back to the relative safety of the brigade perimeter. His breath caught in his chest as he saw the smaller figures in front of the mass. He zoomed in and was horrified to see the distinctive forms of small children leading the way, along with the females who were their caretakers.

  The bastards, he thought. The Lasharans were trying to use human psychology against them. And he had no choice but to ignore that attempt. His responsibility was to his own people, his Army, and his Empire. He would surely feel the guilt of killing children, even if they weren’t of his own species. And he would do it to the best of his ability to carry out his mission.

  The indirect fire weapons started to shoot, sending shells out that looped into the air, then plunged to the ground in a two kilometer wide zone in front of his positions. A minefield, laid out along the enemy avenue of advance. Radar showed enemy shells coming in, most blasted from the sky by the anti-air assets of the brigade, or from the ships in orbit. A few went off with nuclear fury, doing more damage to their own force than Baggett’s. A couple got through, and one megaton warheads sent mushroom clouds into the sky, rising within his perimeter. A dozen of his troopers’ icons blinked, indicating injured soldiers, while several flashed and faded out, the sign of a kill. But his men were heavy infantry, dug into the ground and encased in tough suits, and a small nuke would have to hit within a hundred meters to have an effect on such men.

  The mass of Lasharans reached the minefield. As the enemy came within the optimal profile of the weapons they fired, tossing lasers disks or explosive shells into the air. The laser disks rose to a meter and let off with a blast of coherent light that cut through everything for ten meters in every direction. The explosive shells went off and sent balls of smaller charges into the mass below. Wherever one struck it penetrated and exploded. Tens of thousands of Lasharans went down, and the rest of the mass ran over them.

  The tanks and mortars fired next. Flat trajectory rounds, accelerated to five hundred thousand meters a second out of the railguns of the armored vehicles, then tore through the mass, ripping apart every being for thirty meters in each direction to the side of the shell. The projectiles ripped through for kilometers before flying off into the air as they continued straight and the planet curved. Mortar rounds came down as they had for over two thousand years, detonating above the mass and sending razor sharp fragments on a descending trajectory that killed more thousands.

  As the mass alien wave attack came closer the tanks and infantry opened up with their anti-personnel weapons. Particle beams ripped out and vaporized bodies that got in their way by the thousands. Same with heavy lasers, while the mass of mag weapons shots out millions of hypervelocity pellets. The front of the Lasharan mass for a hundred meters wilted under the fire, bodies blasting apart, while those behind them continued to push forward. Fire was coming in, mostly from weapons that were not a long range threat to the heavy suits. There were exceptions to that, and some hypervelocity pellets and beams weapons were striking the ground around the front lines.

  Icons started to blink, showing troopers taking damage, a few even dropping off the net. And still the Lasharans kept coming, the rumbling of their screaming voices coming through the roar of weapons’ fire and explosions. And the Brigadier could see on the tactical net that they were going through ammo at an alarming rate.

  Baggett connected with the naval support net and started talking. “This is bagger one three, fire mission. Danger close. Enemy infantry in the open. I am highlighting their positions on the tactical plot. Will adjust.”

  The tactical support center aboard a heavy cruiser acknowledged the call, and a moment later what looked like a beam of light came streaking down from the heavens. A flash appeared on the ground about five kilometers away, and a mushroom cloud started its stately rise into the sky.

  “On target,” called out Baggett. “Now box them.”

  Two more kinetic rounds came down, then another pair, striking at the edges of the mass of Lasharans. “Fire for effect,” yelled Baggett. A moment later rounds started coming down en mass, the flashes coming so fast it looked like lightning bolts striking during a heavy storm. The ground shook and rumbled underneath and the view in front was totally obscured by dust, only the flashes still showing through.

  Baggett took a look at the orbital take, and recoiled at the sight of what could only be called hell, one he wouldn’t even want his worst enemy to go to. There were still living Lasharans on that view, but not in the kill zone. Those still alive were either standing in place, totally shocked, or streaming away in a panic.

  “Get ready to move out,” yelled Baggett over the brigade command circuit. He wanted to get through the kill zone and to the temple before the Lasharans regained their wits. Not that he didn’t think they couldn’t fight their way through them. He just didn’t want to lose any more of his men, and he especially was tired of slaughtering the fanatical civilians.

  Tanks rolled out of their positions, infantry formed up around them, and the brigade started forward. It took several hours to reach the temple, crunching over bodies and pieces, most burned almost beyond recognition. Baggett was happy to be breathing the recycled air of the suit, avoiding the stench that had to be horrible beyond belief. And in a day or two it will be so much worse.

  Then the temple was ahead, surrounded by real soldiers in combat armor. It was still a short vicious fight, their equipment no match for that of his people. As soon as the enemy soldiers were put down he ordered a platoon onto the temple building, wanting to finish the mission and get off the charnel house of a planet.

  The first man was just about to walk onto the steps of the temple when the weapon went off. It was not a small weapon s far as ground support warheads went, more like one in the forty megaton range. It took out the temple and much of the city for kilometers in each direction. It killed the platoon that had been detailed to occupy the temple grounds, and injured over a hundred other troopers. And Baggett stood there with tears rolling down the face he couldn’t touch, his HUD showing the damage his brigade had taken. Those fucking fanatics, he thought, staring at the cloud that was rising over the city. Just so we couldn’t step into their damned temple, they destroyed the entire city.

  Soon the casualty figures for the entire operation started coming into his data link. Baggett swore as he saw the number of humans who had died, fifty percent more than they had estimated. The Phlistaran casualties were even worse. The centaroids could carry very heavy armor and a lot of firepower. But they were not built to hug the ground like the humans, and so made much better targets.

  Baggett’s thoughts went back to the temple blowing up in his face, something he was still having trouble coming to terms with. He still didn’t believe what had happened an hour later when the shuttles started taking his men back up to the ships. He was just starting to accept it many hours later when they broke orbit, and he stood looking at the ruined planet they were leaving behind.

  *

  The Ahmadhi-ghasta Mallakan knelt before the altar of his Gods in his private shelter and thanked them for the humans not being able to desecrate the holiest place on the planet. The cost had been great, but worth it.

  There was shouting outside the chapel, the door burst in, and the figure of Grand Admiral Lissana Mallakan walked into the room.

  “Where were you?” demanded the High Bishop, coming to hi
s feet.

  “I was out leading fighting beings,” said the Admiral, looking at his cousin with cold eyes. “And where were you, while so many of our people were dying?”

  “I was here, praying to the Gods that the holy places would not be touched by the aliens.”

  “First it was that they would not enter our home system,” growled the Admiral, ticking off on a finger. “Then it was that they would not set foot on the planet. Then that they would not set foot on the holy places. And what if they had. Would the next deadline be that they would never piss on the temple floor?”

  “Watch your blasphemous mouth,” roared the High Bishop. “I could have you impaled, or skinned alive.”

  “We lost over four billion of our population today,” said the Grand Admiral, acting as if he hadn’t heard the High Bishop. “Over eighty percent of every being that lived on this planet before the humans came.”

  “It was a great sacrifice,” said Mallakan, giving a head gesture of agreement. “A necessary sacrifice.”

  “My female and neuter died in the blast that destroyed the capital city,” growled the Grand Admiral, walking up to the High Bishop. “Our children died in that blast, all to prevent the humans from putting boots on the ground at the temple.”

  “I am sorry for your loss,” said the High Bishop, bowing his head. “For all of our losses. But they were necessary.”

  “Then I guess one more sacrifice is necessary,” said the Grand Admiral, unsnapping his holster and pulling his laser pistol from it.

  “What are you doing?” asked the High Bishop, staring at the weapon.

  “Only what is necessary,” said the Admiral, aiming the pistol at the High Bishop’s head. “You will be a hero to the people, dying as you did, trying to stop the enemy from desecrating the holy places.”

  “Are you mad?” said the High Bishop. It was the last thing to ever come from his mouth, as the laser beam burned through his skull and vaporized his brain in an instant.