Star Crusades Nexus: The Third Trilogy

by Michael G. Thomas

  Admiral Anderson looked at the tactical screens to his right and the urgent indicators coming from ships around the Helion homeworld. A series of news and urgent reports had just arrived from Admiral Lewis. It wasn’t particularly different to the last one, but it did report that two Crusader ships had been lost in low-level combat. The ships had been crippled and then crashed into what remained of the city.

  “Helios Prime is almost gone, and with it goes the rest of the system.”

  He spoke quietly, almost too quietly even for the General. Then he stopped and moved his eyes to look at the seasoned commander. There was more than concern showing now; there was a palpable look of resolve about him.

  “We have to act, General. If others are unwilling, then we must act alone. As the senior military commanders out here, we have a duty, no, we have a responsibility to see that this is done.”

  He considered his next words carefully.

  “If it comes to it, will they follow you, like before?”

  General Rivers smiled in reply.

  “Admiral. The entire Marine Corps exist to protect the Alliance. We have thousands of marines trapped out there. You’ll be hard pressed to find a single man or woman that would refuse to help their comrades. In the Corps, we don’t leave marines behind. What are you asking of me, Admiral?”

  He knew what was being asked, but he needed to hear the words. The President and his staff looked on, with the Defense Secretary in particular arguing profusely with one of his colleagues. The return audio was still muted, but neither of the senior commanders let their faces be seen as they spoke.

  “I want you to help me prosecute Operation Citadel. Once we’re through the Rift, we will fight this until the war is over. We will need a cohesive strategy, out of their control.”

  He nodded in the direction of the virtual presence.

  “This is treason, my friend, you do know that?”

  Admiral Anderson nodded slowly in reply.

  “General, the acts of this government are treasonous. They will see everything we've built destroyed and our people left out there to burn. These outer worlds are not playthings for the President’s civilian buddies. This is war and we need to win.”

  His words were tantamount to treason as well, but he saw nothing but agreement in the eyes of his old comrade. He then turned back to the holographic representation of the President that was still effectively on hold as they waited for their reply. General Rivers had to do no more than give him the nod for him to proceed, which he did without hesitation. Both turned back to the virtual presence devices and activated the return audio mode.

  “President Harrison, Defense Secretary. Under the Uniform Code of Military Justice, I am refusing your command. Your orders are unlawful under the Constitution of the Alliance. You are willingly allowing citizens to be slaughtered in the name of expediency; something that even an authorized term of dictatorship cannot allow. This attempt to usurp the chain of command in T’Karan and our other outer colonies betrays the constitution itself. You were granted a term to help prosecute a war, to ensure victory and minimal losses, not to exploit our people for your own personal gain."

  He swallowed. The next part he knew would be his moment, the time he drew his line in the sand, a line that he could never retrace. He'd spent years in the military, had fought with honor both for the Confederacy and now the Alliance. Turning against the system he'd defended was far from easy. He spent a number of seconds composing himself, and that gave the President time to reply, something he’d intended on disallowing.

  “Admiral Anderson. You are hereby relieved of your command. General Rivers, you will take over provisional control of the station until the Governor arrives. You will then return to Terra Nova for…debriefing.”

  General Rivers looked to Admiral Anderson with a single raised eyebrow. The Admiral’s expression had already changed though, and it was one the General hadn’t seen in a very long time.

  "Until I receive lawful orders from an authority recognized by law, I will be launching Operation Citadel immediately. In less than an hour, we will have forces over Helios Prime, and we will succeed. We will assist our forces and arrangements with our allies, as agreed by the Senate.”

  He paused and then reached out to touch the slider on the side of the unit. The image of the President vanished in mid-sentence, even as the man had started to reply to the previous message sent by the two officers. The others officers in the room fell silent, waiting and wondering what was happening. Most continued their operation management, but at least three looked to Admiral Anderson for guidance. He looked at them and tried to smile.

  “It is time for leadership and hard decisions. I am sending command clearance directly to Admiral Churchill at Prometheus. He is already waiting there for this order.”

  General Rivers was a little surprised at the forward planning on display here. Admiral Anderson checked the General’s face one last time and then turned to his command team.

  “We have just received illegal orders to order our ships back and to abandon Helios and our people. There are over a hundred thousand Alliance men and women on the other side of that Rift. The planetary defense system is almost gone, and when that happens, our forces will be on their own."

  He wiped his brow and found his forehead completely dry. Even so, his hand shook like never before.

  "Until such time as Terra Nova regains our trust, we will be cutting off our ties with them.”

  He looked to his communication’s officer and gave a quick nod.

  “Even now, Admiral Churchill is fortifying Prometheus against any threat, foreign or domestic. Nobody can get through to T’Karan without bypassing Prometheus first, and his forces will not let that happen. The chain of command has been broken, and until such time as it is reestablished, General Rivers will be our Alliance representative.”

  There was a cool, hard feeling in the large command room. With little time for emotion, most of them had been busy carrying out their jobs. Now they were being told that for the foreseeable future they would be unable to return home. One man, a short science officer lifted his hand.

  “Admiral. This is treason, isn’t it?”

  Anderson knew that by ignoring the President he was in serious trouble. The crime of treason was still a capital offense.

  “No, son, it isn’t. We are under no obligation to carry out an illegal order, and I suspect our own government has other reasons for this withdrawal. While we are out here fighting this war, they are playing politics with all of our lives. When were you asked to vote on President Harrison being made dictator?”

  He looked to General Rivers who raised an eyebrow at his question. It was a good point though. The vote had been news to him, and he suspected none of the military personnel posted outside of the core planets had been given the opportunity to vote, a requirement for any kind of change in the constitution.

  He’s right. There are few orders more illegal than the ones coming from Terra Nova.

  There was no respect for the post when it turned on its own people in the middle of a crisis, and even less for the Senate that had given the approval for such measures. Admiral Anderson spotted the look of resignation and agreement on his face and tried to imagine what the future would bring when the war was over, assuming it ever ended.

  There is going to be one hell of a reckoning. That’s for tomorrow, though.

  He noticed General Rivers was smiling, an event that was quite unusual. It was the first genuine smile the man had experienced in days, perhaps even weeks. Admiral Anderson turned and headed for the door. General Rivers went with him.

  “Is that what you came for?” he asked.

  The General looked to his old friend.

  “I expected nothing less. I take it you’re coming on this operation?”

  Admiral Anderson finished the authorization procedures and then sent his prearranged communiqué directly to Prometheus. General Rivers raised an eyebrow in amusement at the fact that i
t was already written and ready to go. As soon as it was marked as sent, the Admiral took a step away from the room. He then stopped and looked back at his staff. The base commander, a young female officer with dull red hair approached him.

  “I have your orders, Admiral. We will maintain patrols and build up the reserves.”

  “Good work, Captain. Expect contact from Admiral Churchill within the hour.”

  He nodded to the General, and both men headed for the door.

  “I’m looking forward to seeing my new ship,” said Admiral Anderson as they walked through the doorway and out into the bright passageway.

  “What’s she like?”

  It was an unnecessary question because he’d been actively involved in the design and construction phase. There wasn't a ship in the Alliance inventory that he wasn't intimately familiar with. Even so, unlike the General, he’d so far spent no time on the completed ship since she'd entered service, and like all great ships, they earned their reputation through their actions and experiences, not their designs.

  “She’s big, very big,” was all General Rivers had to say on the subject.

  Admiral Anderson smiled to himself at that. There were many words to describe the monstrous flagship of the Alliance, but big was perhaps the fairest. He nodded in agreement.

  "I can't argue with that, General."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The press of Proxima Prime and Kerberos made a great deal of noise during the first years of the Emergency as it was then known. Before the Uprising began there were many attacks on Confederate installations, facilities and convoys. It was then that the press came down hard on the machines and equipment being used to combat the terrorists. As this fighting changed into an insurgency, so did the tactics. Roadside bombs and improvised devices were used to smash through the hulls of vehicles and heavy cover and defensive positions for ambushes. Early models of the Bulldog armored fighting vehicle were designed and put into production as a direct counter to this problem. Even the L48 rifle came under scrutiny, but its powerful ammunition and ability to hit targets behind cover guaranteed its future for many years to come. Following the introduction of the L52 Mark II coilgun, the L48 remained in use as a sharpshooter rifle and support weapon.

  Reports of the Proxima Emergency

  ANS New Carlos, Old Spascia City

  The ship lurched hard to port as seven missiles exploded along her flank. Even as the stabilizers kicked in, a great volley of gunfire reach up from the ground and smashed into the belly of the warship. Holes ripped open the outer plating, wrenching the lower three decks apart and exposing them in more than a dozen separate places. The ship twisted about, and three more missiles screamed overhead and exploded impotently. Two Biorays swept down to rake the Old City, but another Liberty destroyer moved into their path and fired a full broadside into the nearest before they collided. The shattered remnants of both dropped out of the sky and down to the ruins below.

  “Report!” Commodore Hampel called out.

  Thick blood ran down his forehead while he held a bandage on the wound. The pain had faded and been replaced by a dull throbbing feeling that almost put him to sleep.

  “Multiple breaches, two turrets offline. We can’t leave this place, Sir. Not now.”

  The ship moved into a spiral and then leveled off above a Bioray that was busy racing to the ground to offload a large number of ground troops. Return fire from the ship clattered against the damaged plating of ANS New Carlos, but it wasn’t enough to stop the pursuit.

  “In range, fire!” said the XO.

  In her dual role as both XO and tactical officer, she selected the confirmed weakness of the enemy ship and sent the command confirmation. All remaining gun turrets, both on the frontal section and in the weapon modules, tracked about and took aim. One by one, the quad cannons blasted small holes across the top of the ship before striking its cargo area. The ship still managed to limp down, but Lieutenant Morgan continued firing on the vessels, bringing a rain of superheated metal down upon the occupants of the craft. As its doors slip open, just a handful of warriors staggered out.

  “Good work,” said Commodore Hampel.

  As he spoke, he felt the pain returning to his forehead. The ship shuddered again, and this time it sounded as if every single alert and warning went off at the same time.

  “Cephalon command ship on our stern!” Lieutenant Morgan stated.

  She didn’t wait and issued orders directly to the helmsman, who plotted a bizarre series of twists and turns. This far down on Spascia the Liberty class destroyers had a major advantage in terms of speed and maneuverability, as the Cephalon command ships were almost impossible for a Liberty class ship to bring down.

  “Our only chance with that thing is to get down low and fast.”

  The helmsman exhibited great skill in bringing the ship down to almost three hundred meters above the city ruins. At this height, only the most experienced, and slightly deranged officer could hope to pilot such a vast warship. Streaks from the Cephalon’s few kinetic turrets rushed past and crashed into the buildings below them. Each blast vaporized building after building, killing Alliance troops, NHA soldiers, and Biomech ground forces indiscriminately.

  “Great flying, keep it up,” said the Commodore.

  The swerving about wasn’t helping his head, but it did give him an opportunity to assess the battle. The holographic display showed the fleets from both sides engaging in a bloody battle, yet from what he could see the Three Sisters and the two bridges were still under Alliance control.

  We’ve got a chance, not much, but a chance.

  He’d sacrificed what was left of the fleet on the burned world of Spascia. The best they could hope for was to continue the siege. With no Alliance fleet left to break the blockade, he’d now forced the planet to succumb to a mind-numbing siege. He just hoped that in the long run they could win it.

  “Watch out!” called out an unseen officer.

  A powerful double blast from the Cephalon managed to strike just above the engines. The energy from the weapon was incredible and embedded its projectiles a third the way inside the superstructure before detonating one of anti-ship mission modules. The explosions started off small and then rippled through the lower section of the ship. The mood in the CIC transformed in a matter of seconds, as the ship itself turned from being damaged to being no more than a lump of inert material plummeting to the ground.

  “We’re losing power. Stabilizers are gone. Engines failing. Commodore, she’s dead in the air.”

  Commodore Hampel looked to the hybrid main display and tactical projection unit, but it was already flickering and missing key data on the battle. He could see both sides were still taking a heavy punishment in the battle, but they were going down, and from what he could see, they were be coming down less than a kilometer from the Alliance frontline.

  We did our part. We can do no more.

  The display flickered again, and then two-thirds vanished from view. Half of the lights shut off, and only a handful of emergency lights returned.

  He tried to stand, but the straps held him in place, something he’d already forgotten about. He grabbed for them but his arm went limp. His eyesight began to fade, but his hearing seemed fine. He could hear the shouting from officers and the booming sounds of gunfire raking the sturdy little ship.

  “Commodore!” cried out the XO.

  Even above the din of battle, he knew her voice. She remained calm yet assertive. She continued to issue orders to the men and women aboard the ship even as they continued on their unstoppable destiny with the ground.

  “Brace, brace, brace!”

  * * *

  Jack pulled himself down as low as he could along the eastern tower. Every few seconds another heavy shell would drop down around their position, and each time it was followed by a cloud of dust and the screams of wounded soldiers. He could already hear the next one, the dull howl of a subsonic high-explosive shell falling down lazily into the defensiv
e cordon that was now the only piece of land still held east of the chasm.

  When is this going to end?

  Every barrage that struck around them shook his bones. He was sure his internal organs shuddered each time the ground trembled. The walls had been smashed and battered in a hundred places, but even after all this gunfire the towers of the Three Sisters remained. The forty-meter tall, sixteen-sided monstrosities were completely out of place in a normal city, yet alone a place like Old Spascia. They were now the only buildings still intact. Every single structure around them stood no taller than two stories, and all heavily damaged or even partially collapsed. A howl from some unspeakable monster off to the east was quickly silenced by a salvo from the roof-mounted weapons. The four twin 128mm railguns shook the ground as they fired; bright arcs of burning dust marked the paths of the shells.

  “Look,” whispered Jana.

  The shape of more than ten Eques walkers could be made out far off in the distance. They moved through the rubble, their gun turrets blasting away at anything they could find. They had already moved past the outer walls that had long been breached and made use of the broken walls and pillboxes as shields from the guns of the marines.

  “Drones!” called out an unseen marine.

  The gentle clatter of small arms fire hammered around the broken defenses. Jack looked up and considered returning fire, but he recalled what had happened three hours earlier when three of the machines landed near the northern wall. A squad of Helion volunteers had rushed out, only to be shot down by the drones’ internal weaponry. He began to inch back as another marine from fifteen meters away did just that.

  “Jack!” Jana cried out.