Exodus: Empires at War: Book 10: Search & Destroy

by Doug Dandridge

  “I want all of the ships on the scene to attack that Fenri ship as soon as they’re all within range.”

  “I’m not sure they can destroy that ship, your Majesty,” said McCullom, eyes narrowing.

  “I understand that, Admiral. But I will not have this raider doing more damage to the innocent. So our ships will fight.”

  McCullom stared at her Emperor for a moment, and Sean had no trouble knowing what she was thinking. It was easy to order ships to fight against unfavorable odds when the person issuing the orders was not on any of those ships. And she was wrong. If given the choice, Sean would have been on one of those ships. As the leader of the Empire, that choice was not really his. He still wasn’t sure he was the best of all possible leaders for the Empire, but he was what they had, and he had to admit that he wasn’t doing such a bad job.

  “If that is your command, your Majesty, we will transmit those orders to them.”

  “They don’t have to destroy that ship, Admiral. What they have to do is damage her, so that she won’t have the means of taking out anything else that can’t defend itself before the battle cruisers get there. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir. And will you watch this battle as well?”

  Sean could hear the disapproval in her voice, as if he would dare to watch the sacrifice of others while he sat in safety. He felt a flash of anger, and had a thought of firing her from her position on the spot. When he first ascended the throne he might have. A few years wisdom, of seeing people react under stress, held his hand.

  “I owe it to them to watch their sacrifice,” he said in a quiet voice, turning red rimmed eyes toward his senior Admiral. “And I may have a guest as well. The Empress has expressed interest in observing the process.”

  “Are you sure you want her to see this, your Majesty?” asked the CNO, her expression softening.

  “She’s a surgeon, dammit,” said Sean in a harsh tone, then softened it as he realized McCullom was only expressing real concern. “She went through Sestius as well. And I want her to know what’s involved in the command and control of the Fleet. She may need to act in my stead when I’m not in the capital.”

  “But that will not happen often, or for more than a few days at a time, will it?”

  “Admiral,” said Sean with a smile. “Since my personal courage is once again being questioned, I plan to be with the Fleet when next we meet the Cacas.”

  “Is that wise?” asked McCullom, obviously regretting what she had said before.

  “Maybe not. But it is what I will do. It is what I need to do.”

  Not all of his dreams had shown disaster. Some had shown him walking the deck of a flag bridge, leading his forces to victory. Like most of his dreams, there was no time scale to work from. Only the feeling that he had to be with the Fleet. Not on a permanent basis, but enough where the spacers and Marines could see that he was taking risks alongside them.

  “I’ll let you know before action is joined, your Majesty,” said a defeated CNO.

  “I look forward to it, Admiral,” said Sean, getting up from his seat and returning the salute of the CNO as she jumped to her feet.

  And yet another meeting, thought the Emperor as he headed for the lift, his security detail falling in around him. It surprised him how accustomed he had gotten to the presence of the security, something he had thought he would never get used to when he had first become Monarch.

  * * *

  “So those are the orders,” said Captain Francois Pasce over the com holo. “Questions?”

  Terrance Zhukov looked at the face in the holo, reading the tension, as well as some relief. He felt both emotions himself. Tension at the thought of attacking a battle cruiser that could kill his ship in a minute’s exchange. Relief that they would finally beard the beast and get in some licks.

  “If not, then I leave it to you ship commanders to fill in your crews. We will have the update and final planning an hour before action.”

  “Any idea on action time?” asked one of the other ship captains.

  “Most probably before ten in the morning, standard time,” answered Pasce. Which meant the time as calculated by shipboard computers based on Capitulum standard. The computer took into account all acceleration, deceleration and time dilation. During a several month deployment there might be a gain or loss of from a couple of minutes to weeks depending on all of the above factors, and now with wormhole equipped ships the time could be recalibrated at any time. Shipboard time was a different animal, since ships were run by people who needed regularly scheduled rest and refreshment times. Shipboard time didn’t often have a passing acquaintance with standard time. In this case, by chance, Collins’ shipboard time would be only a little over a half hour off from standard time.

  The force was travelling at point two one light in hyper VII, the velocity necessary to keep up with the enemy in hyper VI. Time dilation was one point zero two two, meaning there was very little difference in between ship time and real time. That would change in an hour, when they jumped down to VI and accelerated at their maximum rate to catch up. Then the enemy would know something was up.

  “Then get your people ready, because I’m sure we’re in for interesting times tomorrow.”

  The holo blinked off, leaving Zhukov alone with his thoughts for a moment. Fifteen hours, he thought, once again checking the time. Enough time to get everyone a rest period.

  “You heard the orders, Sophie?” he asked over the com of his Exec, Lt. Commander Drake.

  “I did. How do you want us to break up our rest time.”

  “How about you get in six hours now, then I’ll get the same after you’re up. That will give us three hours to get some food and get the ship ready, in case we need to make any last minute changes.”

  “Sounds good to me, sir,” said the XO, who was actually the same rank as the Captain, though with lesser time in grade. She would soon be ready for her own command, and Zhukov had no reservations about Sophie commanding his ship if something happened to him. “I’m already in my rack. I‘m setting my implant for six hours, now.”

  “Sleep well, Sophie.” He disconnected the com link, sure that his Exec would be sound asleep in moments. The implant that all Imperial military, and most civilians, carried in their brains allowed deep sleep on demand. It didn’t always work, especially with new people who were more likely to be stressed the night before going into action. But for most crew it was a Godsend.

  And I can run some more simulations while I have the watch, thought Zhukov. It might help the next day, though it was sure to give him more to worry about as well.

  * * *

  “We fight in the morning, standard time, Captain,” said the Com Officer.

  Francois Papillon checked the schedule that had come across the wormhole com of the heavy cruiser Vincenzo. Actually by his ship’s time, it would be late afternoon. Maybe with can get this over with before dinner, he thought with bravado, wondering how many of his crew would still be around for that meal.

  Vincenzo, and her sister ship Harbin, were both powerful units, but nowhere near the class of the battle cruiser they were to face. And they would be facing her head on, the best aspect to make their shots count, but also the prime area in which the enemy could hit them as well.

  “Private message coming over the com, sir. It’s the CNO. She wants a word with you in private.”

  “I’ll take it in my day cabin,” said Papillon, jumping to his feet and hurrying from the bridge. When a seven star flag officer wanted a word, a mere captain didn’t keep her waiting.

  As soon as he was in his day cabin, the combination office sleeping quarters that gave him quick access to the bridge, he gave the signal to his Com Officer over his link. He stood at attention while the holo came up over his desk.

  “Admiral,” said Papillon, rendering a hand salute.

  “At ease, Captain,” said McCullom with a smile. “Have a seat if you wish. This won’t take long.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” ans
wered the Captain, pulling the chair out from his desk and taking a seat, curiosity in the forefront of his thoughts.

  “I just wanted you to know that the Emperor and Empress will both be watching the battle tomorrow. The Emperor wants this Fenri ship stopped before it gets to another helpless planet, or into the proximity of a commercial ship.”

  “They’ll be watching through my wormhole?”

  “Your wormhole, and the minds of some of the Klassekian com techs aboard other ships. It will be a show like no other, especially for the Empress.”

  “And you want me to put on a good show?” asked the Captain with a sinking feeling, wondering if he was going to be ordered to take risks just to provide good theater.

  “I do not want you to put on a good show, Captain. And neither will this Emperor.”

  “Will he assume command.”

  “I don’t think so. I can’t guarantee it, but he was the one who advanced the directive of no micromanagement.”

  Papillon nodded. It had been a tradition in the Fleet that the senior officer on the spot commanded. Many had worried that the deployment of instantaneous com would allow higher headquarters to command their fighting units like puppets. Micromanagement. The Emperor had made the decision that the on the spot commander, the man or woman with their own hide at risk, would command. Higher headquarters might advise and pass intelligence, but they would not manage the fight. Only in the case where an incompetent commander was obviously in over his or her head would headquarters act, to relieve the officer and promote an on the spot subordinate.

  “So what do you want me to do, ma’am?” asked the confused Captain, who would be the senior officer on the spot when the battle joined.

  “Fight your force to the best of your abilities. Your task it to cripple the Fenri battle cruiser. If you can do the same to her consort, great. The cruiser is a secondary target. But you are not to risk your command in trying to destroy that ship. That doesn’t mean if you get the chance to put a missile into her you don’t take it. But crippling it will be enough. We have a pair of battle cruisers on the way that can kill that ship, but only if they can catch it. Understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I wanted you to know what was expected of you, and to make sure that the concern of the Monarch’s observing you did not put undue pressure on you to try to do more than your command is capable of.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I understand.”

  “You’re still expected to fight, and many of your people may die tomorrow. If the situation calls for it, you are to not hesitate to put your ships in harm’s way. We expect you to fight in the best traditions of the Fleet. But fight smart. That’s all. McCullom out.”

  The holo went blank, leaving a still confused Captain Francois Papillon to wonder what he had actually heard. He knew he would be watched by the man he swore his oaths to, him and his wife. He also knew he was not to take unnecessary risks, but to do whatever was necessary to cripple the enemy. He wasn’t sure if he had ever received such contradictory directives.

  The only thing I can do is fight my force the way I see fit, he finally decided. I’ll either win a patent of nobility, or have my name added to a casualty list. Most spacers killed in combat didn’t leave enough behind for a burial. Their families had to be satisfied with memorial services lacking remains.

  And it’s most likely that I’ll be on a casualty list, he thought as he looked over a holo simulation of the proposed battle. After all, his own battle team, the pair of cruisers, would be approaching right down the throat of the enemy. It was not an approach that made him feel good about his chances, but it was the approach he had.

  His force was sixteen hours normal space time to intercept, the imaginary time in a Universe in which nothing moved. With his vessels moving at point seven three light, the velocity that would get them to the target at the same time as the other groups, they would arrive at around eleven point foour hours ship time. Just enough for everyone aboard to catch some sleep time.

  * * *

  The Lord of Millions stared at the tactical plot, trying to make it show him something other than his own ships and the force following him. But it stubbornly refused to obey his wishes. He had no way of knowing what else was out there. All he knew for sure was that the small force of escorts was still on his tail. He also didn’t know if they were in contact with their headquarters, which would only be possible if they had some of their instantaneous communications assets aboard. He had to think that they did.

  But where are they going to come from? he pondered. His ships were cruising along at point eight-five light in hyper VI, heading for yet another world he might be able to take out. This one was also a frontier world, less than eighteen hours normal space time from his current position. Or nine point four eight hours ship time. This world had over eight million inhabitants, a system cruiser and five destroyers, none of them hyper capable, and two orbital forts. The Lord doubted he would have many more days of operation, so he planned to sweep in and use the majority of his normal space missiles, enough to overwhelm the defenses and kill the planet.

  “My Lord,” said the Assistant Master of Battle, filling in for female that normally held the post. “Enemy has just jumped down to hyper VI. Range, fifteen light minutes. Accelerating at five hundred and twenty-five gravities.”

  “Are they going to attack?”

  “They are dropping back, my Lord. Estimating that they will fall back to maximum sensor range before they match our velocity, then begin to catch back up.”

  They can’t be planning to attack on their own, thought the Lord, looking at the vector arrows. There must be more of them vectoring on to us. But from where?”

  The most likely possibility looked like from straight ahead, out of the system they were heading for. But will it be enough to stop us, he thought. If not, then his best plan would be to bull through till he could hit the system. He could kill a number of enemy warships on the way. But if they were too strong to him? Then it would be a glorious fight, and his mission would be over. That in and of itself was not a horrible thought. The Lord was tiring of this trying to sneak while killing helpless targets. It was not an honorable occupation for the predatory noble. And if he changed course, he would still be exposed to the threat of whatever the enemy could bring to bear, with no way to get back to his chosen target.

  “We stay on course,” he ordered, looking from face to face of the bridge crew, looking for signs of cowardice, and seeing none. It is no use jumping at shadows, he thought. We will take what the day gives us.

  * * *

  CAPITULUM.

  “Why are you doing this?” cried Countess Esmeralda Zhee, looking at the shadow within a shadow that was her captor. The Countess hung from her wrists by a hook in the ceiling, naked as when she was born. Sweat poured down her body, her eyes rolled in their sockets, and her breaths came ragged to her lungs.

  “You should know why I’m doing this, Countess,” said Angel Sergio Martinez, also known as the Angel of Death, or just plain Angel. The Assassin moved out of the shadows and into the bright lights that shone on the Countess’ face.

  “I’m sorry,” hissed Zhee, recoiling at the sight of the man. “But, you left me no choice. I couldn’t afford to have anyone know what I was doing. But you survived.”

  “No thanks to you, Countess. I’m alive, and I am not the forgiving kind.”

  “I can order that you be left alone. That a hundred million Imperials be deposited to your account.”

  “And I’m to trust that no one will come after me because? Because you ordered it? Because whatever you order comes to pass. Like your order to kill the Emperor and his wife.”

  “It was what was best for the Empire,” said the panicking woman, her spirit broken. “That man will lead us to ruin.”

  “No denial. Very smart.”

  Zhee stared at him for a moment, and he could see some of the resolve flow back into her. This was a strong woman. An evil woman, no doubt,
but with an indomitable will.

  “What use denying it. I‘m at your mercy, and it’s not like you’re a court appointed interrogator. You will get the confession from me no matter how much I resist. So I might as well save myself the pain and admit to it.”

  “And who do you work for?”

  “Myself,” said the Countess, an arrogant expression coming across her face. “You don’t really think I would act as the running dog of another.”

  Running dog? thought the Assassin. He had heard of that term before, but not linked to anything current. It was a historical term, used by certain totalitarian ideologies on Old Earth. And not one he would have expected an Imperial aristocrat to use.

  “Is that your final answer?”

  Zhee nodded her head, her eyes wide as she waited for what she must have known was coming. Angel sent a command over his implant to the interrogation system he had installed. Seconds later the Countess screamed out in agony, her muscles contracting, snot flying from her nose, her bowels and bladder releasing. Angel kept the pressure on for ten seconds, then ordered it to release.

  “That is a pain induction system. It stimulates the pain nerves of your body at the source, causing the most intense agony possible. And without doing any physical damage to your systems. I can keep this up indefinitely.”

  “Those things are illegal in the Empire,” protested Zhee, tears flowing down her face.

  Angel laughed, a deep roaring bellow of mirth. “I’m a criminal, Countess. Probably the most wanted man in the Empire. You think I care about legality.” He glared at her for a moment more, then roared. “Tell me who the hell pulled your strings, Countess. Unless you want the worst day of your life to go on and on.”