“How much radiation how we absorbing?”
“We’re still close to the ambient temperature of the local space on our skin,” said the sensor officer. “We will be heating up over the next couple of hours. If they’re sharp, they might pick us up.”
“Commodore Xin has arrived with his squadron, ma’am,” said the com officer.
So she now had three more battle cruisers and their escorting scouts of light cruisers and destroyers. Still not as much tonnage as the enemy, but it was starting to move in her favor.
“I think we’ll take this one first,” said the admiral, pointing to one of the projector ships. “Sinbad can go after this one, while Stuart takes this one.”
“Very good ma’am,” said the tactical officer, imputing the information into his board, setting up the attack profile for the squadron. He looked over at the com officer, who nodded back before sending the orders out through whisker laser.
“We should start configuring for attack in twenty-five minutes,” said the tac officer, frowning. “It means we won’t be sucking out heat for the fifteen minutes before the attack, but I don’t think it a good idea to delay any longer.”
“Very well. Then that’s what we’ll do.”
“And how do you want to attack the rest of them?”
“Let’s see how we do with the initial attack before we start planning the others.”
The tac nodded in agreement. Not only would they not know how much of a force they had to attack the remaining enemy until after the first strike, but they wouldn’t know what the enemy was going to do before then. She hoped she still had three battle capable capital ships after that strike, but there was no guarantee. There was never a guarantee in combat.
The bridge crew waited. They had nothing to do but relay information to the squadron commander, and transmit her orders to the command bridges of the three ships. The real fighting would be handled by the command teams of the warships, maneuvering and firing at the orders of their captains and the skill of helm and tactical officers.
Mei reached up and wiped the sweat from her brow. She checked the temperature, and found that the environment of the bridge was still as cool as ever. Nerves was her thought. She had thought that by now she would be used to the tension before entering combat, but it never became any easier.
“Ships are configuring their wormholes for combat,” called out the com officer, his voice cracking slightly from the tension.
And now we find out how alert they are, thought Mei. They wouldn’t start producing heat immediately, but it would come, and they would no longer be as stealthy as before.
“Wormholes are set,” said the tac officer.
“Donut is reporting that the accelerators are spun up,” said the com officer. “Reactors at full power.”
Maybe I should have gone with missiles, thought the admiral. Wormhole launched missiles would have been instant kills when they hit, but she had a never heard of anyone firing them this close to a star. She wasn’t sure why that bothered her, but her instincts told her that the particle beams would be a better option in this situation.
She took one last look at the plot, trying to time it perfectly. The sensor officer turned toward her and said the words that took that option away from her.
“We’re being painted with lidar, ma’am.”
“Now,” shouted the admiral, her excitement at finally going into action taking control of her voice.
The well drilled ships all accomplished their actions within a second of each other. Electromagnetic fields came up at full strength, cold plasma injected as soon as they were formed. Laser rings took a couple of seconds to come up to full power, but counter missiles and offensive weapons were ready in an instant. And grabbers boosted up to full power, pulling their ships onto different vectors at five hundred and thirty gravities, then a couple of more, sinking the crew back into their acceleration couches as six gravities came over them in an instant.
Eight million ton warships now moved into the attack like they were fighters. Helms took control of the particle beams, slaved to their joysticks as the holos over their stations showed the aim point. Tactical officers continued to control the lasers and missiles, concentrating on defending their vessels.
The Jean de Arc vectored around the star, using its gravitational field to swing into the same orbital path as their target. They closed at thousands of kilometers a second, twisting, turning and rolling to avoid the lasers that the enemy was now firing their way. The ship shook from a hit, the damage to the hull causing the outgassing that provided unintentional thrust. Some missiles erupted from the enemy. Mei sucked in a breath
“They’re counters, ma’am,” called out the tac officer. “Not offensive weapons.”
“Firing,” called out the helmsman from the control bridge. The ship shook again as the counter thrust of the particle beam worked against the pull of the grabbers.
The forward viewer on the flag bridge showed the enemy superbattleship, highlighted against the brilliant globe of the star, sitting a couple of million kilometers below. The particle beam struck out, hitting dead center on the enemy vessel, going off for a moment, then connecting again as the helmsman adjusted the ship and his aim.
Particle beams were red in air due to the friction cause by protons flying at relativistic speeds through the gas particles. In space they were normally invisible. But this close to the star, in space that had greater particle density than further out, the destruction of antiprotons on the outer edge of the beam, contacting star plasma, had much the same effect. The angry red of the beam made aiming easy for the helmsmen.
Where the beam hit intense fire lived. Antiprotons exploded into particles as they touched matter, while making the atoms of matter blast into similar particles. The force of the strike, antiprotons moving at just under the speed of light, sent the fire deep into the hull after blasting through the armor.
Still, the ship was tough, and the beam would not kill them quickly. What they did was erode away all the electronics and installations for a hundred meters on each side of the strike, degrading defenses.
“Firing missiles,” came another voice over the intercom, the ship’s tactical officer releasing six missiles from the forward tubes. The missiles arced out, then in, avoiding the particle beam, then striking the hull of the enemy ship. One was knocked off course on the way in, one was detonated by a second laser. Four hit, each releasing a gigaton of force into the hull of the ship.
The battle cruiser maneuvered sharply, pulling and pushing the crew into the straps of their acceleration couches. The cruiser dove and rolled, avoiding the hull of the ship they had just hit, all four laser rings blasting coherent photons into the enemy in passing. Moments later parts of the enemy ship’s hull burst out, flares of light erupted into space. A second later, when the battle cruiser was well away and moving quickly to gain more distance, the Caca ship converted into plasma, white hot matter flying in all directions. The battle cruiser shook as some of that matter struck the stern of the ship, fended off by the electromagnetic field and tough armor.
“How are we doing?” asked Mei, looking over at her com officer.
“All ships completed their attack runs successfully. Sinbad reports minor hull damage. Stuart is reporting one grabber unit and one missile tube out. No other damage.”
“All ships are to go after their second target,” said the admiral. “Let’s hit them hard while we still have the initiative.”
The enemy ships were now starting to bring their grabber units online, begining to move. This attack wouldn’t be against targets whose only movement was their orbital path around the star, predictable. This would be against ships that could maneuver.
The second attack run was not as smooth. The ships were still able to maneuver well enough to avoid most hits. The particle beams did the same job on the hulls, and the follow up missiles killed them. Stuart took more damage on this run, her missing grabber unit making it harder to maneuver smartl
y. Still, she was combat capable, and the admiral decided to send her in again.
She didn’t know how many of these ships were needed to set off the star. They were using twelve, but could less put the same process in motion, the only difference the time it took to set it off?
Jean de Arc shook more on this attack run, the enemy ship getting in many more hits. Damage schematics came up in the flag bridge, alongside those of the other ships. Most of the flag bridge crew showed more interest in their damage, understandable, since this was their mount, and anything that happened to it effected them. The particle beam did its work, and the third enemy ship they attacked exploded much like the other two had.
“Stuart is gone,” said the com officer in a hushed voice.
“Did they get their target?” asked the admiral, feeling terrible at having to ask that question while ignoring the destruction of one of her command. But the enemy was more important right now, and they needed to kill them, even at the cost of their own ships.
“Target is still there, but it’s no longer boosting.”
“Then I think we can ignore it for the time being,” said the admiral, looking at the plot. The remaining three ships were not able to fire at them, shielded as they were by the star.
“Order both ships to configure wormholes for missile launch. They are to hold positions away from the enemy until both are ready. Then we will move into firing position on one, and only one, enemy ship.”
The rest of the fight was not really a battle. It was a slaughter. The Caca ships were much more sluggish on their maneuvers than the standard battleships. Looking around the curve of the star the two battlecruisers were able to send sixty missiles into the target, blasting it out of space.
“We’re not getting great accuracy on our weapons for some reason,” said the tactical officer.
“Reason?”
“I don’t know ma’am. But almost fifty of those weapons were off track by the time they got to the enemy.”
“We’ll let R and D figure that out from our after action report,” said the admiral. “Right now I want to kill those last two ships. As long as we get one hit, I’m happy.”
In a half an hour she was as happy as she could be after having lost one of her ships. The enemy projector ships were all gone, and the star was safe. Now all she had to do was kill the rest of the enemy force in the system, without hitting the planet. Easy, compared to what she had just accomplished.
Chapter Eight
I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God who has endowed us with sense, reason, and intellect has intended us to forgo their use. Galileo Galilei
MAY 15TH, 1004. CA’CADASAN HOME SYSTEM.
“We cannot afford large gatherings,” said Over-prelate Norrasta, looking up at the throne of the Primate of the Faith. “They have the capability to smash those, and I will not be responsible for the deaths of so many.”
“We need to keep up the pressure, Over-prelate” said the Primate, standing up from the throne. “While we delay, more living worlds are at risk.” He looked over at one of the other over-prelate’s, Krrallator, the male responsible for Church Intelligence. “How many have been killed since the war started?”
“The last Emperor killed five in human space. Two were inhabited by distinctive genomes, while three were human terraformed. Several more were damaged by missile hits.”
The last brought gasps from many of the Ca’cadasans gathered in the chamber. According to the tenants of the faith, living worlds were sacred because they were of the gods. While creating a living world was usurping that privilege, and one of the greatest sins possible for a Ca’cadasan.
“Other species have terraformed,” said the Primate, looking around the room. “That is between them and their gods. We are only concerned about the souls of our own people, and the actions that put those souls at risk. Every warrior in those fleets that killed living worlds will have to answer one day before they are allowed to enter paradise, risking being thrown into the deepest depths of hell. And misses occur in warfare. They cannot be helped. I am sure the gods take that into consideration.”
The Primate walked to a small table and poured himself a drink. There were servants in the Cathedral, cooking, cleaning, maintaining the place. But not to wait on the needs of every priest. What they could do for themselves they did, even the highest.
“How many has the new Emperor killed?”
“We believe four, so far. Three to test the weapon. One to trap and destroy a human force.”
Four living worlds, thought the Primate, closing his eyes and visualizing the destruction. Of course he wasn’t imagining the actual worlds. The images going through his mind were those of worlds he was familiar with. The four that had been killed would have had different life forms. Animals, plants, maybe other kingdoms not known on most worlds. Distinctive genomes, gone for good. Maybe some forms had been saved, transplanted to zoos or labs. But not the entire biosphere. And three of those had been destroyed merely to test the weapon. An abomination.
“This madness has got to stop,” said the elder male, sitting back in his throne and looking at the multitude of faces turned his way. “We need to continue. But we need to move with intelligence, not rashness. Of course people will be killed, but we must engage in actions that kill more of them than us.”
The Church of Ca’cadasa was did not preach a message of peace. The Ca’cadasans were a violent people, death a constant companion throughout their long lives. While the species could live to almost three thousand years, very few made it that far. Most died in their first couple of centuries. The thought of an afterlife, something that existed after their lives were over, was comforting. Sin could doom one to hell, but there were very few sins that involved face to face violence.
In fact, Grubbar, one of their primary deities, was a God of War and Warriors. The Church glorified the wars and warriors that had created the empire and continued to protect it. Not the nastiness of war, the blood and gore. No, they preached the honor of the warrior, who put his life on the line for Emperor, Empire and species. Shortening what would be a long existence through their sacrifice. What they didn’t advocate was the slaughter of creatures that did not pose a threat to the species.
Some called the Ca’cadasans cannibalistic, which wasn’t technically true. They didn’t eat their own, the definition of cannibalism. They did eat other intelligent creatures. That practice had stemmed from necessity, as conquering armies had occupied overpopulated planets that barely had enough food to feed their own. The food animals on the planet were reserved for the natives, but there were plenty of natives, which became the provender for the occupiers. It had become habit, then tradition, and now the warriors ate some of the inhabitants of every world, except for the Maurids and some others. What they didn’t do was slaughter whole populations. It had occurred in human space, and the Chuch had protested, but not too loudly, as those creatures were under an Imperial edict calling for their extermination.
“Guerilla warfare?” asked Norrasta, still a warrior despite his priestly vows, a smile on his face. “I think we can organize that. But I must caution you, Primate. The Empire knows where our leadership lives. We must be prepared to evacuate the Cathedral on a moment’s notice.”
“When the time comes, we will evacuate,” agreed the elder. “But we must also remain in the view of the public as long as possible. I don’t want the Church seen by the people as a gang of cowards willing to lead others to their deaths, while not risking death themselves.”
Norrasta gave a head motion of acceptance, though the Primate could tell from his expression that the Over-prelate was not satisfied with the answer.
“I think we can start moving some of our people to the underground headquarters,” said the Primate, smiling at his subordinate. He wiped that smile away a moment later. “However, I will not leave my seat at the Cathedral. The people have a right to expect the head of the Church to maintain his position.”
“And if
the Emperor destroys the Cathedral?”
“Then he will destroy me with it, and some other male will rise to take the Seat of Primacy. As it has always been. One elder sits in the seat for a time, then passes on so another may rise to primacy. Perhaps you will be the one, Norrasta.”
“It is not a position I desire,” said the Over-prelate, giving a head motion of negation.
“Then you may be the best one for the job,” said the Primate, smiling. “I never wanted the position either. But it was the will of the gods. Or chance, as some would say. Maybe they are the same thing. I never wanted the problems that come with the seat. Especially not in these times, when no decision seems a good one. I wish I could go back to being a small regional priest, when things were simpler. At other times I would not wish this position on my worst enemy.”
Silence greeted the end of the primate’s speech. He looked around once again. “Start the guerilla war. We will show this youngster that he may control the Army and the Fleet, but he does not control the people.”
* * *
Another sunrise over the capital city, more rising columns of smoke, testimate to the violence of the night before. Jressratta stood on his balcony once again, looking out over the city through the partial distortion of the strong electromagnetic field. He wasn’t used to having his view obscured in his own capital, looking out from his own palace. An attempt to kill someone standing on this balcony the night before, a long range strike by particle beam, had spurred the Elite Guard into action. No one was allowed into the Imperial Presence without a strict body search. And the Imperial Presence was not allowed in unprotected sight of the people.
A score of armored guardsmen stood arrayed around the Emperor, anxious despite the shielding. Electromagnetic fields were not impenetrable, not even the massive shields used by heavy warships. Those fields were powerful enough to kill living creatures that ventured through them. The palace field was not near that strength, as evidence by the Guard allowing their charge this near to it. The scorch mark on the palace wall behind the Emperor was a sign that even a powerful crew served weapon could pump enough protons through it to cause damage. Fortunately for a second target that morning, the beam had been attenuated enough while being bent from its path. The servant had sustained some burns, but not enough to be life threatening. And the field had been pumped up to full power.
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 14: Rebellion. Page 11
