Desperate Fire (Angel in the Whirlwind Book 4)

by Christopher Nuttall

  He settled back in his command chair. He’d have to go for a rest himself, once the fleet was firmly underway. The cleric might try to interfere, despite Zaskar’s warnings. The Inquisitor genuinely believed that four years studying various holy writings and then serving as a fleet cleric gave him the understanding he needed to issue orders. And yet, he was wrong. No one knew for sure, but rumors claimed that clerics had gotten thousands of men killed because they’d issued bad orders at the worst possible times.

  And no one will dare say no, he thought. Even I take my life in my hands every time I oppose him.

  The cleric turned away, his beady eyes scanning the operators at their consoles. Zaskar wanted to glare at the cleric’s back, but he didn’t quite dare. Who knew who was watching, even in the Combat Information Centre? A show of disrespect would not go unnoticed. He felt another flash of envy for his Commonwealth counterparts. They didn’t have interfering busybodies telling them what to do, did they? A Commonwealth captain was in sole command of his ship; a Commonwealth admiral was in sole command of his fleet. And while he knew that system hadn’t always worked out for the Commonwealth, he knew it worked better than the Theocracy’s.

  Honestly, he thought. The war would have gone much better if the clerics had stuck to merely tending souls and encouraging the crews.

  He glanced at the time, silently weighing up the distances. Thirty-seven hours to Ahura Mazda, unless they were detected first. And then, an engagement designed to hammer the enemy long enough for the speakers to flee Ahura Mazda. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, not after the clerics had promised the crew a final decisive battle. Cold logic told him that the war was lost and Ahura Mazda was doomed, yet emotion told him that the fleet and the speakers should die in defense of their homeworld.

  But we might survive, he told himself. We were kicked off Earth and still survived.

  “Is this serious?”

  “I’m afraid so,” General Winters said. “There’s a bomb on the planet that could destroy everything.”

  Pat stared at the map, unable to quite process what he was hearing. Enough antimatter to wreck an entire planet? He felt cold ice running down his spine, the same pure terror he felt when he knew he was inching his way through a minefield. The slightest misstep could easily set off a mine. A number of wounded soldiers in the stasis pods had stood on IEDs and had their legs blown off.

  But they can have their legs regenerated, he thought. There’s no way we can regenerate an entire planet.

  He shook his head slowly as the full impact of the news sank in. There was no way the landing force could be evacuated before the enemy realized they were leaving and triggered the bomb. Unless they thought the threat was enough to convince the Commonwealth to leave. No, if that was the case, the Theocrats would have made the threat public. They couldn’t have counted on someone sneaking out of the Tabernacle and making it through the front lines to safety.

  And there was definitely no way the entire planet could be evacuated.

  “We have to stop them,” he breathed. “If we take out the Tabernacle first, they won’t be able to send the detonation command.”

  “Precisely my thought,” General Winters said.

  He keyed the display, throwing up a map of the Tabernacle and the surrounding city. Pat scowled as more and more tactical icons blinked up, warning of everything from emplaced guns to heavy armor held in reserve. Protected by the PDC’s force shield, the defenders would have to be cleared man by man, giving the enemy plenty of time to trigger the bomb. Pat would have hated to throw himself into the teeth of enemy defenses even without the threat of planetary annihilation, but there was no choice. There was, quite simply, no room to maneuver.

  “Getting a force to the Tabernacle and then down into the bunker before they hit the switch will be tricky,” General Winters said. “We have, however, identified a secret escape tunnel leading directly to the bunker. The bastards clearly figured they’d need a way to get out someday before their own people tore them apart.”

  Pat wasn’t surprised. He’d seen Cadiz and a dozen other worlds that were either poor or ravaged by war, but nothing had prepared him for the sheer level of horror on Ahura Mazda. The population was so degraded that only a relative handful seemed willing to either join or oppose the Commonwealth. He’d seen grown men flinch from marines and Civil Affairs officers. And the women seemed to truly believe that they were nothing more than property.

  General Winters keyed the map. “We’ll be launching a major armored thrust here, at Town #46. Logically, the speakers will be unwilling to detonate the bomb unless they feel themselves to be in direct danger. Town #46 is an excellent choice for biting off a chunk of their defenses without opening a throughway to the Tabernacle.”

  “And as long as they still think they can escape,” Pat said, “they won’t detonate the bomb.”

  “Precisely,” General Winters said. “The spacers have the high orbitals securely blockaded. I don’t think the bastards have a hope in hell of making it out unless their fleet covers their escape. But they won’t see themselves to be in direct danger.”

  He looked up at Pat. “The attack is a diversion,” he added. “You’ll be taking your company and securing the outer tunnel, then striking directly into the Tabernacle. You are not to hesitate, whatever the cost. Kill everyone in the bunker, if necessary. But that signal is not to be sent.”

  Pat swallowed hard as the general’s words sank in. Sneaking through the tunnels and attacking . . . hundreds of things could go wrong, each convincing the enemy that their time was up. His troops wouldn’t be able to stop for anything. They’d need to take suicide nukes of their own, as a very last resort. He couldn’t think of an alternative. The Theocrats couldn’t be talked into surrendering while their fleet might already be on the way. They had to be stopped.

  “It’ll take us four hours to reach the tunnel entrance, sir,” he said, studying the map. Orbital observation showed a small farmhouse, surrounded by miles upon miles of forest. The maps they’d obtained from the enemy defenses stated that the entire area was reserved for Theocratic leadership. “We could make a jump onto the target, but that would be too revealing.”

  “Your call,” General Winters said. He smiled humorlessly. “But for what it’s worth, I agree with you.”

  Pat nodded. No one had paid much attention to the entire region, save for a pair of recon flights during the early stages of the invasion. The enemy hadn’t mounted any defenses in the area, although intelligence suggested that a number of surviving enemy soldiers had established base camps within the forest. Pat wasn’t too surprised. A skilled team of soldiers would have no trouble harvesting enough to eat, either by trapping small animals or gathering roots and other edible flora.

  And rooting them out will be an absolute nightmare, he thought. But right now it isn’t a real concern.

  “I’ll gather the team,” he said.

  He considered the problems for a long moment. The operation was not going to be easy. Marines were used to jumping into situations without proper preparation, but such missions were always risky. And this was the worst of all. They might well be detected as they made their way down the tunnel. Admiral Junayd and his fellows had plotted out the interior of the bunker as best as they could, but they knew nothing about its internal security systems. Pat would be astonished if there weren’t any. A regime as paranoid as the Theocracy would fear coups more than a populist uprising.

  And a single mistake could get them to trigger the bomb, he thought. Even if we jam the enemy radio networks, they might use a landline.

  He looked up. “When do you intend to launch the diversionary assault?”

  “When your team is in position,” General Winters said. “Give them a few moments to realize they’re under attack before you move.”

  “Aye, sir,” Pat said.

  The largest attack might seem the most dangerous, he knew, but it was often the unseen threat that was truly lethal. If the mari
nes were lucky, if everything went according to plan, the Theocracy would be paying more attention to the attack on Town #46 than to their own defenses. But if they were wrong . . .

  He shook his head. There was no choice. They’d been committed from the moment they’d learned about the bomb. It had to be disabled.

  “I’ll gather the team, sir,” he said. “We’ll leave as soon as possible.”

  “You have top priority,” General Winters said. “Draw everything you need from stores. And good luck.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Pat said.

  He felt sweaty as he turned and walked out of the office. He’d expected to join the attack on the enemy defenses, not be charged with a mission that could only end in total victory or mass slaughter on an incomprehensible scale. He wished, as he keyed his terminal to assemble his marines, that he had time to call Kat, but he knew he didn’t. His call would be unfair, hellishly unfair, to the men who couldn’t call their partners before embarking on the mission.

  The final mission, he thought morbidly. Either we win or die.

  “You’re going to wear the deck out,” William said.

  Kat barely heard him as she paced forwards and backwards in the CIC. Local space was clear, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that the enemy was out there, watching her. The Theocrats did not seem to realize that Aeliana had fled the Tabernacle. They were busy making their plans to escape. They had to make their bid for freedom before the end came.

  And the only way they can break through our lines is through a diversion, she thought numbly. She wasn’t blind to the irony. Both sides in the war were staking everything on a diversionary tactic.

  She shook her head, slowly. The Theocrats were merely planning to escape. She was gambling everything on her marines being able to capture or kill everyone in the Tabernacle before the Theocrats blew up the entire planet. Sure, they probably didn’t have enough antimatter to reduce Ahura Mazda to an asteroid cluster, but it wouldn’t make much difference to the population if all that happened was that their world was turned into a radioactive hellhole. Kat had seen the images from ruined Earth. Even now, there was no hope of resettling humanity’s former homeworld.

  And if we get this wrong, she thought, the entire galaxy will blame us.

  She’d sent a message to Tyre, outlining the situation and what she was doing to counter it, but there had been no response. The War Cabinet, already shocked by her father’s death, seemed inclined to leave matters in her hands. She felt a little betrayed, but she understood the sentiment. They wouldn’t want to complicate matters when she could take the blame if things went wrong.

  “You’ve done everything you can,” William said.

  “I hope so,” Kat said. She’d repositioned the fleet and covertly brought up as many people as she could from the surface, but the evacuation was only a drop in the bucket. Evacuating Ahura Mazda in full was utterly impossible. Her entire fleet train couldn’t hope to move more than a couple of million people at a time. “But what if I’ve missed something?”

  “Then everyone else has missed it too,” William said. He lowered his voice. “You’ve done everything you can, Kat.”

  Kat folded her arms. She felt . . . nervous. No, worse than nervous. She’d known the risks when she put her own life on the line, but now she was gambling with an entire planet. She knew, of course, that she hadn’t transported a few hundred tons of antimatter to the planet’s surface, any more than she’d built the detonation system—small consolation.

  We should have considered the possibility, she thought.

  She felt sick, despite herself, as the hours ticked away.

  And Pat was down there, leading his men on a do-or-die mission. His ring felt heavy on her finger, mocking her. She wanted to call him back, even though she knew he’d never forgive her if she did. Yet, the thought of him being safe was almost worth it. He’d be alive to hate her.

  A console chimed. “Commodore,” Wheeler said. “Long-range sensors are picking up turbulence. Tactical analysis calls it a cloaked fleet.”

  Kat sucked in her breath. “Red alert,” she ordered. New icons appeared on the display, heading straight for her fleet. The enemy clearly wasn’t trying to be subtle. She rather suspected they’d decloak before they entered firing range. “All hands to battlestations!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  “Admiral,” the operator said, “the enemy fleet has detected us.”

  Zaskar ignored the cleric’s sharp intake of breath. He’d hoped to get into firing range without being detected, but he hadn’t counted on it. The Commonwealth’s sensors were just too good. And now the enemy fleet was bringing up its shields and slipping into combat formation. They were ready for him.

  Did they know we were coming, he asked himself, or were they just being paranoid?

  He pushed the thought aside and leaned forward. “Decloak the fleet,” he ordered, concentrating on projecting an impression of calm confidence. “Raise shields, bring up the tactical datanet and prepare to engage.”

  “Aye, sir,” the operator said.

  Zaskar nodded, studying the enemy fleet as it moved slowly into position. The first battle had proven costly, but the enemy clearly hadn’t suffered too badly. Their crews were trained to reestablish their datanets and realign their formations on the go without waiting for orders from higher authority. They’d probably broken up a couple of squadrons and plugged the surviving ships into other formations—not something he would have wanted to try with Theocratic craft, but it seemed to work for the Commonwealth.

  Because we train our crewmen to follow orders and nothing else, he thought. And they train their crewmen to use their brains.

  “Enemy missile range in seven minutes,” the operator said. “They’re bringing up their ECM now.”

  “Interesting,” Zaskar mused. Was there a reason for that? He couldn’t open fire until the enemy ships entered missile range. There was no need to establish hard locks on their ships, not yet. Were they just trying to confuse his sensor crews? They’d certainly want to hide their full strength from him. “Launch sensor probes, then establish a shell of recon drones surrounding the fleet.”

  He ignored the cleric’s astonishment. Recon drones were expensive, but there was no point in withholding them from the battle now. One way or the other, everything hinged on this final engagement.

  “The enemy fleet is launching gunboats,” the operator warned. “They’re slipping into assault formation now.”

  “Launch our own gunboats,” Zaskar ordered. “Deploy half of them to attack the enemy ships; hold back the other half for fleet defense.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” the operator said.

  Zaskar gritted his teeth. It was hard to be sure, but he seemed to have a slight edge in gunboats. And yet, their gunboats were superior to his. The odds might be more even than he cared to admit. But raw numbers would give him an edge, he was sure. He needed to weaken the enemy as much as possible before the missile engagement began.

  “Enemy gunboats on attack vector,” the operator stated. “Our gunboats are moving to intercept.”

  “The point defense is to engage as soon as the gunboats enter range,” Zaskar ordered. “The crews are not to wait for orders.”

  The cleric gasped. Zaskar ignored him. There was no time to issue orders. The enemy gunboats would carry one or two shipkillers apiece, antimatter-tipped warheads that would do real damage to his vessels. They had to be stopped before they got into firing range or his fleet would be crippled. His point defense crews had to engage the gunboats as soon as they could.

  “Aye, Admiral,” the operator said.

  Zaskar nodded. The enemy fleet had smoothed itself out into a conical formation, its superdreadnoughts surrounded by destroyers and light cruisers while the battlecruisers held back. It was a reasonable enough formation, giving the enemy commanding officer the opportunity to absorb Zaskar’s thrusts or go on the offensive himself, depending on what Zaskar did. Its only downside was that
it would be harder for the enemy ships to scatter if the fighting didn’t go their way, but that wasn’t likely to be a problem.

  “Hold us at the extreme edge of missile range,” he ordered. “And fire as soon as we have solid locks on their hulls.”

  “Aye, Admiral,” the operator said.

  “That’s a lot of ships,” William said quietly as the enemy fleet decloaked. “They must have brought every remaining ship in their fleet.”

  “It looks that way,” Kat agreed. “We’ll never have a better chance to end the war.”

  She smiled, pushing her doubts aside. Ten superdreadnought squadrons, flanked by over two hundred battlecruisers, cruisers, and destroyers . . . a formidable force, perhaps the most powerful armada the Theocracy had ever deployed. Tactical icons flashed up on her display as her analysts identified a number of superdreadnoughts. Four squadrons were clearly the ships that had escaped Ahura Mazda, seventeen other superdreadnoughts had been spied orbiting a dozen worlds within the Theocracy. Many of them were in poor condition.

  “Commodore,” Wheeler said. “The fleet has entered formation.”

  Kat nodded. Her gunboats were already en route to the enemy ships, but they wouldn’t be enough. The enemy point defense would probably be able to keep the gunboats from doing real damage. No, she needed her superdreadnoughts to win the fight.

  She glanced at Ahura Mazda, hanging in the display. She’d ringed the world with stealthed recon platforms, watching for a shuttlecraft trying to flee the Tabernacle. She doubted the enemy had managed to fit a gateway generator onto a shuttle—the Commonwealth hadn’t managed to produce anything of the sort—which meant that the shuttlecraft would have to be picked up by a starship. Logically, the Theocrats would head straight into deep space, which was why she had an entire squadron of battlecruisers lurking under a cloaking field, ready to engage anyone fleeing the planet.

  And the Theocratic leaders might just be stopped before they can send a signal, she thought. But they may have set a timer.