by Jay Allan
“Captain Horace, do you read me?” Shultz was trying to reach the Marine commander. The com systems had been synced to facilitate communication between the multinational forces.
“Horace here.” His voice was distracted, tense. He was in the middle of a firefight.
“Captain Shultz here. I’ve got three companies of panzergrenadiers. Where do you need us?”
Horace paused. He didn’t think “everywhere” would be a productive answer. “Move onto the left and take over that section of the line. I’ll pull my people right.” There was a short pause. “And thanks, captain. You got here just in time.”
Catherine Gilson paced around her headquarters. Her boots clicked loudly on the metal floor, and the sound reverberated off the low ceiling. She wore a set of gray fatigues in the HQ, her combat suit hanging on a rack against the wall. The armor was already scarred and blackened. Gilson had been up to the surface half a dozen times, checking on her positions. The Corps didn’t breed commanders who were comfortable leading from behind, and Gilson was no exception.
Gilson sat out the rebellions, and she’d been the commander of the training program until General Holm tapped her to take charge on Garrison. It had been close to ten years since she’d had a field command, and she was hesitant to jump into such a massive role. But she understood the importance of holding the Line, and when Holm asked her to take charge on Garrison, she reluctantly agreed.
Most of her Marines were raw and unblooded. Worse, they’d been hurried through a drastically truncated training program, one she had grave doubts about despite the fact that she’d run it. The First Imperium invasion had forced the issue and compelled the Corps to rush recruits into the field. Most of the veteran formations were in General Cain’s First Army. She’d been a bit envious at first, but from the reports she’d seen, Cain had it even worse than she did. As bad as things were on Garrison, it looked like the enemy was making its biggest push on Sandoval. Cain had his hands full, even with most of the Marine veterans under his command.
The forces on Garrison were more multinational than those on Sandoval, and she faced a hard time molding the many different detachments in her 2nd Army into a cohesive force. Cain’s army wasn’t homogenous either, but it was more so than Gilson’s. Cain had Commander Farooq’s Janissaries, which could have been a trouble spot. Erik Cain was nobody’s idea of a diplomat, and he’d fought against the Janissaries his entire career. But the Caliphate officer and his troops had won Cain’s grudging respect in the closing stages of the Battle of Farpoint, and he and Farooq made their peace long before enemy forces arrived at Sandoval. Cain’s other foreign units were from the PRC and the Martian Confederation, both historical Alliance allies.
Gilson had a CEL division as well as forces from the Russian-Indian Confederation and, most problematic of all, the Central Asian Combine. The Chinese-dominated CAC was another Alliance enemy, and there was every bit as much enmity as there was with the Caliphate.
The CEL division was a crack formation by anyone’s standards, and she was grateful to have them. She had one experienced brigade of Marines too, and a few hundred Russian commandos. The rest of 2nd Army was made up of new recruits and reserve formations.
The Grand Pact was working, at least to an extent. The Powers were united against the threat, but they were also scared and looking to protect their own possessions. The Line was intended as a bulwark to defend all human-occupied space, but there was no guarantee the enemy wouldn’t find a different series of warp gates leading to another populated world. The Powers had committed troops to the combined forces, but they’d all held back some of the best formations to defend their own planets if the First Imperium opened another front somewhere. That meant there were a lot of second line units fighting in the battles on the Line.
“I need a report from the center.” She snapped out her orders abruptly. Gilson had a reputation of being an aggressive and impatient commander. It was richly deserved. “Get me Major Timmons.”
“Major Timmons is not responding. I have Captain Horace, general.” Kevin Morton was young for a major. He’d earned his chops in the fighting on Carson’s World at the end of the Third Frontier War, and he’d been on Gilson’s staff ever since.
“Captain Horace, report.” Gilson tended to a bit abrupt with her people, but they loved her anyway. The tale of how she was wounded on Carson’s World and walked out of the hospital to get back to the front had attained legendary status among the rank and file. It had become one of those stories where more people claimed to be there than were actually present. Gilson had, in fact, demanded to be released once her wounds were dressed, but she hadn’t had to argue too much. Sarah Linden and her people were swamped with casualties and low on supplies. Sarah had been thrilled to get rid of a difficult patient who could walk out on her own steam.
“Yes, general.” Horace sounded harried and a little distracted at first, but he focused quickly. When the army commander was on the com, everything else seemed less urgent. “We’ve retaken our original position. The air attack hit the enemy hard and opened the door.” His throat was dry, and his voice hoarse. “The panzergrenadiers took position on our left, and I was able to create a reserve from the troops they relieved. We’re in reasonably good shape, general, but it’s not going to last.” Horace had been trying to hide his fear, but it was starting to show anyway. “We have a column of Reapers forming up…at least a hundred. I don’t know how we’re going to hold them back. And there are more units moving up…I don’t have complete data yet. I’ve launched drones, but they’ve all been shot down.”
Horace hadn’t said it, but Gilson knew his heavy weapons had to be low on ammunition. His people had been in serious combat for hours…they had to be exhausted. She was determined to hold in the center, but now she thought, will I just be throwing troops away? The entire line would be exposed if the enemy managed a breakthrough anywhere. She hated to give ground, but realism won battles, not empty bluster.
“Major Morton…” She hesitated, as if she was having trouble forcing out the words. “…the entire line will withdraw to the secondary position.” She’d just ordered 20,000 troops to retreat over 10 kilometers. Morton didn’t turn to see, but he’d have bet her expression would have curdled milk. “Immediately, major.”
Chapter 16
Bridge – AS Hornet
Sigma 4 System
Nine Transits from Newton
“Oh my God.” Jacobs was speaking to himself, softly under his breath. The bridge was silent…not a sound except the beeping of the alarm. Jacobs and his four bridge officers were transfixed, staring in shock at the main display. The data was clear…Ensign Carp had checked it twice, but it was still hard to accept.
“Cut the reactor. Now!” Jacobs’ eyes didn’t deviate from the main screen as he fired out the command. “Full silent running protocols.” The reactor had barely been operating, producing just enough energy to power Hornet’s basic systems. But Jacobs wanted it stone cold. Immediately.
The data on the screen was divided into sections, lines of text scrolling alongside several diagrams. The picture they told was a nightmare unleashed. There were fleets, presumably First Imperium armadas, everywhere in the system. Two groups of ships were inbound from the Zeta 2 warp gate, and another was on a course that would take it just past Hornet and on to the Omicron 3 system…the one from which Jacob’s ship had just transited. And around the system’s fourth planet, dozens of ships orbited, both individually and clustered around six colossal space stations.
The orbital installations were like nothing Jacobs had ever seen. Unfathomably massive, they were ten or twenty times the size of the Alliance facilities at Earth. He could only imagine the power of those fortresses, the massive arrays of weaponry protecting this previously unknown planet. Jacobs took in a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds. His heart raced, and his stomach was clenched. A cold feeling took him, chilling his soul. There was one terrifying, inescapable conclusion. Hornet had
found a world of the First Imperium.
“Ensign Carp, I want a course projection for that approaching force.” The flotilla heading toward the warp gate was thrusting hard, executing a vector change. Jacobs figured they intended to transit, but he wanted to know how close they were going to come.
Carp leaned over his workstation for a few seconds. “I had to make some estimates, sir, but I’m projecting the likeliest course.” The main screen showed a new plot, with a line connecting the First Imperium task force with the warp gate. The line was curved at the start, showing the course change in progress, before continuing straight to the Omicron 3 gate. “If this projection is correct, the closest vessel in the enemy force will pass within 2,374,500 kilometers of Hornet.” He’d turned to face Jacobs, and his voice was soft…an instinctive reaction to the silent running. It was pointless - the enemy couldn’t detect sound through space. Carp could have blown a trumpet and it wouldn’t have mattered. But the reaction was a subconscious one…and very common among spacers in the attack ships. “Of course, I had to estimate the enemy’s velocity, so we have to allow a margin of plus or minus 1,000,000 kilometers to be safe.”
Jacobs could feel the headache forming, like a black cloud seeping into his temples. This was going to be close…2.3 million was bad enough, and they ran a big risk of detection even running silent. But if the enemy came within 1.3 million, they’d be almost certain to scan Hornet. Jacobs couldn’t imagine his ship surviving that by more than a few minutes.
But what to do? He didn’t dare fire the engines…the enemy would find his tiny ship in seconds at this range. His mind raced. “Think man, think,” he whispered to himself. Finally, he lifted his head. “Lieutenant Mink, prepare to engage the positioning thrusters. I want a plan to maximize our distance from the projected enemy course.”
“Sir?” Mink looked confused. “Without the reactor power, we’ve only got the compressed gas jets. We’re not going to get far on those, sir.”
“I’m aware of that, lieutenant. But we need every kilometer we can get. We’re at a relatively low velocity. Even a moderate nudge will change our vector measurably.” Like all spaceships, Hornet was equipped with a number of positioning thrusters located at various places on the hull. The main engines were in the rear, so when the crew wanted to conduct a burn to change their vector or velocity, they used the smaller jets to spin the ship around, positioning the engines to provide thrust along the desired angle. The jets were powered by the main reactor, but they had secondary systems utilizing compressed gas. Mostly used for docking maneuvers, the gas jets were virtually undetectable, and they would allow Hornet to exert a small amount of thrust without meaningfully increasing the chance of detection.
“Yes, sir.” She worked the controls for a few seconds. “Thrust pattern calculated, captain. We can run the compressed air system for approximately 87 seconds before exhausting the gas reserves.
Jacobs sat silently for half a minute, a minute, longer. Every eye on the bridge was on him when he finally spoke. “Divert 50% of life support reserves to the jets and recalculate.”
Mink sat unmoving, staring across the cramped bridge at Jacobs. Carp and the others were doing the same.
“Now, lieutenant,” Jacobs scolded. He wasn’t too harsh with her…he understood the implications of what he was ordering. Diverting half of Hornet’s breathing air to the jets would allow the ship to exert more thrust, but it would leave her with the bare minimum necessary to maintain the delicate equilibrium that sustained the lives of her crew. If they ran out of power, even for a short while…or if the support system took any damage, they’d suffocate…all of them. “Do it. Immediately.” His voice was soft, but he’d repeated himself three times. Mink turned slowly and looked down at her workstation.
“Diverting ship’s air to positing thrusters, captain.” She paused, counting softly as she calculated the effect. “Estimated thrust duration now 5 minutes, 42 seconds.”
Jacobs leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed directly ahead. He was staring at the screen, but he was seeing nothing. He was deep in thought, considering his plans, trying to look ahead. No room for mistakes here, he thought…none at all. “Lieutenant Mink, execute thrust plan.”
Jacobs braced for the pressure his body had come to expect from engine burns, but it didn’t come. The gas jets put out minimal thrust compared to the main engines…the crew could just barely feel it, though the small change from zero gravity to about 0.33g was more noticeable when he moved.
“Positioning jets engaged, captain.”
Jacobs sat quietly. Hopefully, this will be enough, he thought.
“I don’t think they scanned us, captain.” Mink’s voice was soft, her speech slow and tentative. Everyone on Hornet had been sitting on a knife’s edge, waiting to see if they’d gotten far enough to avoid detection. The enemy fleet had already passed by the closest point, and they were on their way to the warp gate. They were still in potential detection range, but the fact that they were on their original course was a good sign.
“They have no reason to deploy active scanners, lieutenant.” Jacobs spoke loudly, trying to shake the crew from the pointless whispering. He understood the impulse, but it got annoying after a while. It wasn’t like the enemy could hear even the loudest scream across 2,000,000 kilometers of vacuum that did not transmit sound waves. “We’re not supposed to be here.”
Jacobs had been on edge himself. He’d thought he and his crew were on a streak of good luck. They’d been low on supplies and reaction mass, but they found both on the first planet they explored. He’d been cautious when they discovered the native foodstuffs, and his tiny science team repeatedly tested the fruits and vegetables they harvested there. They found nothing harmful and, in the month since, none of the crew had shown any ill-effects. That didn’t mean there were none, but Jacobs figured so far, so good. If some miracle ever brought Hornet back home, he figured they’d all be quarantined for a long time…and poked and prodded by half the Alliance’s medical personnel. But that was tomorrow’s problem. Today’s was staying alive in the middle of what appeared to be a massive enemy base.
The military significance of this discovery was enormous. So far, the First Imperium had been some mysterious enemy, appearing from the unexplored depths of space. Now Jacobs and his people knew where the enemy forces were coming from, or at least where some of them were. He had to get this information back to HQ. But how?
“Ensign Carp, I want you to collect every scrap of data you can without violating silent running protocols.” That restricted the young officer to passive scans only, and it forbade him from launching Hornet’s two remaining probes. It was like working with one hand tied behind his back, and Jacobs knew it. But anything else risked detection…and that would mean death for all of them.
“Yes, sir.” He turned and started to scan the incoming readings. “It looks like at least 120 ships in the system, sir. I have identified what appear to be nine large battleships, much larger than any vessels we have yet encountered.” The Leviathans were new to Hornet’s crew…these were the first ones they’d seen. He projected a mockup of the larger ship on the main display.
Every eye on the bridge focused on the massive vessel on the screen. “That must be twice the size of a Yorktown class battleship.” It was Mink who spoke, but everyone was thinking it.
“Actually, it is just over 2.5 times the tonnage of a Yorktown.” Carp had run the calculations. The data was rough – they were still too far out to get a good scan. But it painted a pretty clear picture.
“Ensign Carp, how close will our present course bring us to the fourth planet?” Jacobs was trying to take everyone’s attention off the nightmare ship, but he was also trying to plan ahead. He had no idea what to do next.
“A little over 6 million kilometers, sir.” He paused, looking across the tiny bridge. “What are your orders, sir?”
Jacobs sat quietly, thinking. “We’re going to do a fly by on that planet and get all the
readings we can.” He paused again, and added, “And then we’re going to get out of this system somehow and get back to Alliance space with the data.”
Chapter 17
Marin Highlands
Northern Continent
Planet Sandoval
Delta Leonis System
“The Line”
“I want those fucking things up and firing in one minute. Do you motherfucking understand me?” Warren was pissed, really pissed. He was normally laid back and circumspect in his speech, but when he got upset enough the curses flowed. He knew most of his troops were green, but they really had their heads up their asses right now, and he wasn’t going to put up with it.
“But sir, conditions are very difficult up here. You don’t understand what we are dealing wi…”
“Silence, Captain Jones.” Warren’s voice was cold as death. “You are fired. Report to headquarters at once. And if you’re not here in ten minutes I will consider you a deserter and send the special action teams after you. Do you understand me?”
Warren didn’t wait for the flummoxed Jones to reply. He cut the line and commed Lieutenant Mackey, Jones’ number two. “Lieutenant, Captain Jones has been relieved. Effective immediately, you are in command. You have two minutes to get the HVM batteries deployed and firing. Two fucking minutes. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir!” Mackey snapped back his response. He knew better than to argue, but he wasn’t sure how he was going to manage it either. The troops were too raw; they didn’t have the training and experience. His detachment was on rough ground and under heavy fire. Enough, he thought, you’ve already wasted 15 seconds. “Sergeant Vick, get those things up and firing.” Mackey scrambled up over the rocky ground to get a closer look.
