The city fighting went about as expected, and he watched every bit of it through the link. The com system, visual and audio, worked well through all the static as it was transmitted from suit to suit down the line, not allowing the signal to degrade. He watched closely as the soldiers fought from building to building, rooting out the Fenri resistance. Most of the enemy were in their version of heavy suits, though, as the fight went on, they encountered more and more in both light armor and no armor at all.
Fenri buildings were tough, just like all the modern construction of most of the space faring species of the region. Windows were made out of transparent alloys that particle beams ate through with little effort, but which were capable of stopping slow moving projectiles. Walls were a different story. Most could sustain the strikes of rifle class particle beams, and it took sustained hits by heavy weapons to blast through. At some points the buildings were particularly robust, and could only be taken and cleared after kinetic strikes from space.
The ruined city became more and more ruined through the fight, as structures were collapsed on themselves. Collateral damage was terrible, many innocent slaves killed only because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. At one point a particularly strong building held up the advance. There was nothing in position above at the moment to deliver a kinetic strike, so a pair of main battle tanks were brought up to deal with the strong point.
The thousand ton beasts were not the best choice for urban warfare. While tough enough to handle most weapons not specifically made to take them out, they were still more vulnerable in a built up area than in the open. Still, they made a powerful urban warfare weapon, perfect for when firepower needed to be brought to bear quickly.
The building was short, only about twenty Fenri stories high, about thirty-five meters, and squat, covering a four hundred meter square. Particle beams, suit launched hyper velocity missiles, even artillery, did nothing but knock small pieces from the thick plasticrete. A couple of orbital kinetics could probably do the job, but targeting was the problem, and anything powerful enough to wreck this structure would take out a lot of city, even if they hit the target. Beams reached out from firing ports, keeping the heads of the soldiers down, and preventing engineers from getting close enough to plant charges. Artillery rounds of enemy origin were also coming in, keeping the area around the building clear. Several suits were lying in the streets, killed by enemy fire.
The monstrous armored vehicles pulled up, floating on their grabbers a couple of centimeters above the hard surface of the street. They approached from the east, headed for a long park that looked into the building, which appeared to be some kind of government structure, probably built the way it was to handle any possible slave insurrection. A pair of troop carriers traveled behind them, and heavy infantry cleared each building to the side before the tanks advanced. When all were clear, they pulled into the park and moved into place next to each other. Turrets swung onto the target, the barrels of the mag rail guns extended to double their travel length, and the tanks waited for orders.
The enemy struck first, or tried to. A quartet of suit launched hyper velocity missiles came out of the building and hit the turrets of the tanks like streaks of light. The reactive armor fired at the moment the missiles were detected, sending an alloy panel out that struck the hyper-v’s, breaking them up and stealing much of their kinetic energy. What remained hit the turrets with thunderous reports. Artillery rounds came in, to be blasted out of the air by the laser crosses of the vehicles. A few heavy particle beams struck the tanks, partially deflected by their electromag fields.
The first tank fired at the building, rocking back on its grabbers from the recoil of sending a hundred kilo penetrator of supermetal through the extended barrel thirty thousand meters a second. As soon as it fired the twin heavy particle beams on the side of the mag rail barrel opened up, sending kilograms of ultrafast moving protons to strike near the shell. The round struck the building and tore through, coming out the other side in a spray of dust and plasticrete particles. The heavy particle beams ripped through as well, and several of the nearby windows exploded outward from the imparted energy. The second tank fired a moment later, its round tearing through the building like the first. Moments later the first tank fired again, putting a hole through at the same level, a couple of meters to the right. And so it went for a half a minute, each tank firing a penetrator every two seconds, along with particle beams, until a large hole was opened in the wall of the building, a corresponding hole on the other side.
“Fire in the hole,” called out the lead tank commander on the com, and all of the infantry moved to cover. The tank fired again, this time a different kind of round, that unerringly went through the large hole and into the building. A bright flash shone through the hole, then the wall exploded outwards as the antimatter round released its fury into the building. All of the remaining windows blew out, then, almost in slow motion, the building collapsed on itself.
“You should be good to go, General,” said the tech, stepping back from the suit. “Try your links if you would, sir,” continued the man as he unplugged the hardline.
“Everything seems to be working fine,” said Baggett as he pulled up the HUD and connected with the brigade command net. He checked in with Fleet up above, then sent a query about his assistant commander. “Everything is fine,” he said under his breath as the med report came back. She’s going to make it. He had thought as much, but it was always better to hear it from the medical people.
The fight for the city was over by morning, and a lot of tired soldiers took the time to eat a real meal, sometimes get out of the suits and clean up. There was too much risk of getting out of them long term in a combat situation. Baggett walked among his troops, from company to company. They had paid a price for the ruined city. Out of the three thousand two hundred and forty-four soldiers he had led into battle the day before, three hundred and seventy-nine had been killed, with only forty-two of those recoverable. He had also lost almost four hundred wounded, who would return to service when they could.
“When are we going to fight the real enemy, sir?” had asked one of his privates when Baggett had talked to the man. “I lost friends yesterday. It would have been worth it if we were fighting the Cacas. But not these bastards.”
Baggett didn’t have an answer for the young man to the question he had been asking himself. This was just a sideshow. The real battle was in Sector IV, where they all wanted to be.
* * *
CORE WORLD SPACE, SEPTEMBER 1ST, 1001.
“Incoming com, General,” said the secretary over the link.
“Who the hell is it now?” growled Major General Walther Jodel, the famed Preacher of the Imperial Army Rangers. He looked with disgust at the screen of his flat comp, where he had been doing the busy work that came with promotion. I should have turned down the damned promotion that took me out of field work. But they didn’t give me that option.
“It’s the Emperor, sir,” said the secretary. “Should I put him through?”
Jodel detected just the least bit of sarcasm in the young lady’s voice. “Of course put him through.” What else did you expect me to say?
The holo came alive over the desk, showing the image of the young man who was now the supreme leader of the Empire. He looks like he’s grown up. And the fatigue. The slump of the shoulders. Command sits heavy on him, as it should.
“How’s the new position, General?” asked the young man, a smile stretching his face.
It’s amazing how he keeps up with the people he knows, thought the General, weighing his answer, then deciding to just go with the truth. “Though I appreciate the rank, your Majesty, I really wish I were still out in the field.”
“You’re too valuable to us to be risked out there in some forest hunting Cacas, Preacher,” replied the Emperor. The young man looked down for a moment, and Preacher knew he was also thinking about his next words. “I need you to take charge of special ops in Sector IV.
How soon can you get to the new command base for the sector?”
“And you want me to take charge of the Rangers in that sector?” asked Preacher, nodding his head. “How many regiments?” Preacher knew his rank was fitted for command of between three and five brigades, ten or so regiments. He had recently been assigned to the old command planet, Conundrum, and had made things tough for the Cacas on the planet. Tough enough that they had withdrawn from the surface of the world, only remaining in their orbital positions. Which didn’t mean that the planet was secure. The Cacas were still observing the surface, and striking at everything that moved.
“There are fifteen brigades deployed to Sector IV. But you misunderstand, General. I want you to be in charge of all special ops ground operations. That includes Force Marines and Naval Commandos.”
“That, is unheard of, your Majesty,” said Preacher, wondering what was on the Emperor’s mind with such a decision. There was a lot of rivalry between the three special ops services. All thought they were the best, and in many ways all were right. All used retroactive genetic engineering to create their warriors, making them veritable supermen. They all paid the same price, lost decades of life, for that small percent who actually lived to retirement age. And the rivalry was not always a friendly one.
“I think it is time to get over Interservice rivalries, General,” said the Emperor, looking the Ranger straight in the eyes. “We need to work together as one team on this one. And the only way I can be assured that our limited ground resources are used to their best advantage is to have a centralized Specops command.”
“That’s a little bit above my pay grade, your Majesty,” said Preacher, thinking of how Marine generals and Fleet admirals would take the news that some junior Army general was taking their toys.”
“You are officially a Lt. General, as of this moment,” said the Emperor, sending the promotion orders over com link.
Preacher whistled as he saw the orders in his link. Not a brevet rank, but a permanent one, which would allow his brevetting to colonel general if necessary. And I retired a colonel, with no aspirations of flag rank. Goes to show that even a war benefits some. Though I’m not sure I would call this a benefit.
“So, when can you be ready?”
“I can take the wormhole network in an hour.” He checked the transit times through the Donut and came up with an estimate. “Say three hours to get to the command base.” And a trip that would have taken three weeks using a hyper VII ship.
“Very good. I’ll let them know you’re on the way.” The Emperor looked like he was about to terminate the transmission, then smiled. “Your boy did good. On Azure.”
Preacher knew immediately who the Emperor was talking about. Even I didn’t see that much potential of that young farmer. “And now he’s married, and in officer candidate school. And a Knight.”
“His wife and daughter live at the palace. His adopted daughter, I should say. And I see big things ahead of her as well.”
“Did you have to give him another Imperial Medal of Heroism, your Majesty?” asked Preacher after a short laugh. “Cornelius already has the big head, without winning two of the highest award possible. Now he’ll be insufferable.”
“He might have a patent of nobility in his future as well,” said Sean, his smile widening.
“If you keep giving those things out like you have, your Majesty, the entire Empire will be composed of nobles.”
“We did a genetic tree of that young man,” said Sean. “Seems that he is related to the Imperial line from about five generations back. We knew he had an unusual genome, since the augmentation process has had no effect on his potential lifespan.”
“An Imperial bastard? That is some news.”
“We haven’t told him yet. After all, winning two Imperial Medals of Heroism might be a little much to deal with right now. But the young man performed a deed that deserved such a recognition, so what was I to do?”
“Could I ask a favor, your Majesty?”
“You want him in your command, once he becomes an officer?”
“If he becomes an officer,” said Preacher.
“Oh, I have no doubt he’ll make it. That farmer doesn’t know how to quit.”
“Thank you,” said Preacher, thinking of how good it would be to have the young man in his unit. Because Cornelius Walborski was not just a hard charging Ranger with no quit in him. He had the luck of a legendary warrior, and that was what Preacher was sure he would someday be. Maybe more famous than I was, thought the General, looking down at the ribbon on his uniform that indicated the award they had been talking about. And he had only one. How many have won it twice? Twenty? In the history of the Empire. And two have won it three times. He could end up being the third.
“I’ll check in on you after you’ve settled in, General,” said the Emperor, looking at something off the holo. “And be sure to contact me if you run into any problems.”
“The chain of command wouldn’t like that, your Majesty.”
“And I really don’t care if they like it or not. I only care about results. Sean out.”
The holo faded, leaving the Preacher to think about the conversation. Lt. General, he thought, shaking his head. Who would have ever thought Mama Jodel’s little boy would have risen so high. Or that a dirt farmer from a small frontier world would become an Imperial hero. And then he was on his flat comp, cutting orders for the people he would bring with him, including his sometimes sarcastic secretary, who was good at keeping him on his toes.
Chapter Six
CONUNDRUM SPACE, SEPTEMBER 5TH – 14TH, 1001.
The battle cruisers came out of hyperspace a light week from the target. That was beyond the detection range of the system defense force for a hyper I translation. The ships drifted toward the system at point two light, well below their maximum translation speed of point two five, at the velocity called for by the mission profile. The bright point of the system primary appeared on the viewers of the ships, while tactical screens filled in the locations of the orbiting elements of Conundrum.
“The system is filled with shipping,” said the Tactical Officer of the HIMS Bayerlein.
“Just what we expected,” said the Captain, looking intently at the central holo that displayed a 3D representation of the system the enemy had made their own. “What’s the status on our pursuit?”
“Nothing yet, ma’am,” said the Sensor Officer. “Maybe they gave up.”
I doubt that, thought the Captain. It isn’t like the Cacas to give up. The two battle cruisers in her small squadron had come within tracking range of a trio of Ca’cadasan battleships en-route. Not the worst of circumstances, as the ships were traveling at high velocity on a different vector, and would have to take time to decelerate and come around on a pursuit path. That they would eventually was a given, and the Imperial ships had been lucky enough to avoid any patrols that might make them change their own mission necessary approach profile. We could have done it differently, but it would have made it riskier for our passengers.
“Missile launch in ten seconds,” called out the Tactical Officer, looking over at the Captain, then the holo.
Looking good so far, thought the Captain. And if it isn’t, there’s nothing we can do about it now.
A thousand light years away, on acceleration stations around the black hole that was the center of the Empire, missiles accelerated through thousands of kilometers of magnetic tubes, moving back to their starting point as they reached the end of the conduit. The missiles ran the course over and over, until they had built up to point nine five light, the maximum safe velocity for the weapons based on their ability to survive the particle bombardment of space. On a signal from the battle cruiser, both of which carried wormholes which had now configured to launcher openings, the last wormhole of the circuit withdrew, leaving a clear path to the last hole, and on to the launching ships.
A stream of missiles came through the launching wormhole of each battle cruiser, heading insystem at co
nstant velocity, powered down and undetectable at any kind of range. Both launched fifty missiles, each of which would coast into the system, looking for targets. With luck something would get within the striking range of the missile, and it would only have to boost for a minimal period to make a hit. In some other instances they might have to boost for a longer period, giving away their location, but retaining all the advantages of a fast moving missile. If five of the weapons took out targets it was a good payoff on the investment. If ten targets were destroyed, or heavily damaged, it would be worth the loss of both battle cruisers, in the cold hard calculations of warfare.
But we’re going to get out of here, thought the Captain, looking over at her Com Officer. “Tell our passengers it’s time for them to fly the coop.”
“Yes, ma’am,” agreed the officer, turning back to his board.
The holo of another officer sprung into existence near the Captain’s chair, the dashing looking man smiling back at her.
“Good hunting, Commodore,” said the Captain. “And good luck.”
“Thanks for the ride, Captain. But I’ll sure be happy to be in charge of my own fate again.”
“Don’t blame you.”
“I’ll buy you a drink when we get back to base, Kelley,” said the man in charge of the second part of the mission.
“I’ll gladly accept that drink, Bryce,” said the other officer to her old academy classmate.
The holo went blank, and the quartet of two hundred thousand ton stealth attack ships detached from the battle cruiser and started their slow deceleration into the system. Four more detached from the other battle cruiser, and the squadron of eight of the stealthiest craft in the Empire moved into the system.
The battle cruisers opened holes back into hyperspace, still too far from the system to be detected on a hyper I jump, as long as there were no pickets near. They disappeared into the holes between the dimensions, which closed as soon as the ships had passed.
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 06 - The Day of Battle Page 9
