Sean agreed with the duke, who was also a seated member of the Lords. Though in his case a younger sister voted his proxy. Fortunately, that sibling was also a conservative and Monarchist, so there was little disagreement between the siblings
“I wish I could say you were wrong, my Lord,” agreed Sean. “Unfortunately, most of the members of Parliament are too concerned for their constituents to let go of any of the ships that we need.”
Everyone knew that most of the Lords couldn't have cared less about the people they represented. Unlike the Commons and the Scholars, they didn't have to stand for election. What they worried about was their own hides, their own property. If those assets coincided with the safety and welfare of the people, that was all well and good. Not all nobles were such arrogant narcissists. People like Duke Mgonda, or Duke Alexandropolis, the Ambassador to Elysium, dedicated themselves to service. The military, or the diplomatic corps. Even some of those who stayed behind and worked in Parliament were dedicated to service. Trying to get the rest to go along with them was like herding cats.
“Most of those ships are going to waste,” agreed Lenkowski with a frown. Len could have been a duke himself. He had been offered the position, taking the place of a no longer extant family, but for some reason had refused it. The six-star admiral had preferred to remain a commoner, even though a patent of nobility would make his life after the service so much easier. Maybe because he had no thought of a life after the Fleet. “We could definitely use them, even if it's just for occupation duty.”
Sean had to agree, to a point. The Cacas were unlikely to strike at any of the core worlds, the long inhabited systems that were the economic muscle of the Empire. They were too busy trying to defend their own space. And frankly, if a major strike came in, none of the core worlds had enough of a defensive fleet to handle them. They would be punched out, though the Caca fleet that did the punching would never return home.
The Supersystem, the eight stars in orbit around the central black hole, was a different matter. Fully one tenth of the industry of the core resided in those systems, and three of them were homes to the three houses of Parliament. Jewel was the most vital, being the seat of the Lords as well as the home of the Emperor and his family. But more important than all of them was the central black hole, and the massive station built around it, the Donut.
The Donut had taken almost a century to construct, at the cost of a considerable percent of the total GDP of the Empire. It produced thirty or so wormholes a day, tapping the rotational energy of the massive black hole it spun around. The most important installation in the Empire, it had been envisioned as the seat of businesses and corporations, allowing people and ships to move instantaneously from system to system. It still fulfilled some of that promise, but basically it had become a military installation. The Cacas had tried to take it out, twice, and the Empire was taking no chances on its security. It had the largest system defense fleet in the Empire.
It also was the home to the missile acceleration tubes and massive particle accelerators that gave the fleets at the front such a great advantage over their enemies. That, and the many ship gates that had been erected in floating rings in the space of the system. Unfortunately, those gates made the Central System the most logical point to pull ships from if they were needed. And they had often been needed. Fortunately, most of those ships had been able to return, but it made the Emperor anxious whenever he had to partially uncover it for any period of time.
“We could give her the two hundred or so fast attack craft we have working up insystem,” said McCullom. “They really don't do us much good on the offensive into Caca space, but they're still pretty effective for system defense.”
“Okay. Cut those loose and send them on their way,” said Sean, leaning back in his chair and rubbing the side of his face with a hand, a thinking gesture. “When you said working up, what did you mean, Sondra?”
“They're about halfway through their training, your Majesty. Not really ready, but available.”
Sean grimaced. That always seemed to be the case when they needed emergency reinforcements. Most often the only thing available were those who weren't quite ready. Still, in wartime people didn't always have the luxury of being fully prepared to fight, but they still had to.
“Any warships?” Sean looked first at McCullom, then at his two fleet commanders.
“I would prefer to not part with any of my toys, your Majesty,” said Len. “We've just got everyone slotted into the command structure, and with another offensive kicking off in a week.”
“I know it’s important that we keep the pressure on the Cacas,” said Sean, closing his eyes for a moment, wondering who he was going to rob this time. He opened his eyes and looked over his commanders. “But it’s also important that New Earth doesn't fall. If they do, we will have the full attention of the Cacas.”
“I think we can still handle them, your Majesty,” replied Len. Mgonda and McCullom nodded in agreement.
“Be that as it may, I would prefer to not let one of our allies get slaughtered and the Cacas end up sending everything our way. So, Sondra.”
McCullom's eyes widened, as if Sean were a snake about to strike.
“What do you have working up in the Supersystem?”
* * *
Captain Canara has received his orders, and knew that him and his people were destined to stay on the planet Pleisia. The orders didn't come with an explanation for the continued deployment. That wasn't for him to know, unless his superiors decided that a mere company commander needed to know.
A large shuttle was currently landing at the field, hovering on its grabbers as it lowered itself to the tarmac. Three of the large craft were already down, two of them disgorging their cargoes. Canara had never seen vehicles quite like the ones that were rolling off that pair of shuttles. They were even larger than the massive tanks the Imperials had given to the Klavarta army, and which were now being built under license. They had a domed turret on top, and a very long barrel that extended as soon as they were out of the cargo compartment.
“What in the hell are those, Colonel?” he asked his battalion commander, standing next to him at the edge of the field.
“I've heard them called mobile shore batteries, Captain,” said the superior officer, another warrior. “How they work, I don't know. But it's said they can shoot down ships in orbit.”
Canara couldn't figure out how they would do that. They looked much like oversized mobile artillery, with large long-range guns. There might be some beam weapons on them as well, those domes on the hull looked suspiciously like lasers, but nothing powerful enough to kill a warship.
“You know that the Cacas are coming, Captain. And we have been ordered to stay here, to hold the surface.”
“And what about their fleet, sir?” said the captain, staring at the next gun that was rolling off its carrier. “They can't expect us to stand while we're bombardment from the sky?”
“They can expect that, Captain,” growled the officer, who didn't seem too enthused about the idea himself. “And all we can do is try our best. But we will have Imperial ships and some of our own contesting the system with them. So, concentrate on your part of the battle, and let the spacers deal with their part.”
For the next hour Canara watched as shuttles continued to land, disgorging cargo. Not all of it was massive guns. There were also large cargo crates that could have contained anything. Later he got to find out what some of that cargo was.
“Your job will be to fight from within your cities,” the senior sergeant told the gathered native males through a translator. “We will be in support, but it is important that you hit them wherever they go.”
The sergeant was holding a particle beam rifle that had been made to match the physiognomy of the Pleisians. The Pleisians had already donned the web gear and the strap on armor that had been provided to them, and were now about to get their first lesson with modern firearms.
The poor bastards, thought Ca
nara, looking into alien facial expressions that had to denote pure terror. They had all volunteered, but many had to be second guessing that decision about now.
Klavarta warriors were made for battle. They had the genetic heritage that made them some of the fiercest fighters in the known Galaxy. However, they still had to train to become soldiers. Most went through a solid year of training just to become a qualified infantryman. Officers like Canara had to undergo another two years of training. And they were asking the natives to go into combat with at most three or four days of familiarization. Many would freeze up in combat. Most would die. But if they could kill some Cacas command thought it was worth the effort. Even better, if the Cacas were busy killing them, the Klavarta warriors could kill the big aliens while they were so occupied.
“Is it true the masters are returning?” asked a female who was herding several young through the marketplace later in the day.
“I'm afraid so,” said the captain to the female, who spoke surprisingly good Terranglo. “But we will be fighting to keep them away from you.”
“Can you win?” The female seemed on the verge of tears, while the children with her looked terrified.
“We will try. We will repel them, or die trying.” Canara laid a hand that was made to shred flesh gently on her shoulder. “Do you have a place you can go? Shelter?”
Like many of his people he had been raised to believe that all aliens were inferior, useful for nothing other than death. The Imperials had come in and toppled the government, and now the young were taught that non-humans had just as much right to live as they did. And those who were already adult? They lived with a burden of guilt, and most would do whatever was in their power to make it up to the aliens they had tormented.
The Pleisians had only been under Klavarta control for a decade, and still over half of them had been killed off while the others were worked to the edge of death. The Cacas had taken the world over twenty years ago, and the big aliens had been more caring toward their slaves. They still killed and ate many of them, and worked many others to death, but the Pleisians weren't in danger of extinction under them. The Klavarta had taken it back just before the humans came, and were just about ready to start the extermination again, when their new government had forbidden such actions. And since then the Klavarta had tried to make it up to the natives.
And now, because we're here, they're about to undergo another slaughter, thought the captain, letting out a deep breath. It might have been better if they hadn't come back, and even more so if they just left now and let the Cacas have the place. Unfortunately, that wasn't up to an infantry company commander to decide.
* * *
“We're picking up a large group of Caca ships ahead, ma'am,” called out the flag sensor officer, Commander James Johnson, his fingers playing over his board as he sent the information to the plot.
“So I see,” said Admiral Mara Montgomery, the commander of Scout Force. “Just where we expected them to be.”
The admiral looked over at her chief of staff, standing to the side of the plot and studying it. Captain Michael Goruptal was an officer on the fast track to commodore, just off command of a battleship on the main front. His entire job was to study the tactical situation and come up with suggestions. Mara didn't have to take them, but it was part of her job to hear him out. And she had to admit that so far he had proven to be very good at his job.
“I would go with plan Omega,” said the captain, pulling up the light codes that showed the indicated maneuver. “The scout force would split into two groups, one jumping into hyper to send out a couple of volleys, then dropping back down and hiding, while the second group then jumps to hyper and makes their attack.”
Mara liked that plan, which would give her heavily outnumbered force a hard strike at the enemy. After which they would be out of the target basket of the Cacas before the aliens could react effectively, unless she decided on the second part of Omega.
“Do it,” she ordered, looking over at her com officer. “Send to the rest of the force.”
The com officer nodded, then looked over to the Klassekian com techs sitting on either side of his station. Every ship with a wormhole, all nine of them, would receive the order by instantaneous com. Those close enough would get their signal through lascom, while the rest would receive theirs through the alien com techs.
“On my command, pulse the signal,” ordered Mara, turning all of her concentration on the plot.
It was looking like the enemy fleet would pass very close, less than ten light seconds in hyper VII. Group A was just about even with them, the closest approach occurring in eighteen seconds. Group B was slightly further ahead, and would be even twenty-five seconds later.
“Go,” called out Mara, the thrill of an approaching fight running through her. She was thought of as fearless within the Fleet, which really wasn't true. The admiral had the ability to sublimate her terror of battle into a show of excited enthusiasm that fooled everyone but those she was closest to. At the moment she looked like an excited child about to receive a present, and not an experienced officer who was about to put her precious hide on the firing line.
Group A, forty battle cruisers, five with wormholes, jumped into hyper VII from normal space, relatively stationary, just a bit ahead of the enemy. The Cacas were coasting along at point nine light, near to their maximum cruising speed. Their sensors were alert to anything transiting hyper, and anything close enough that was moving on grabbers. The only way they could have detected something sitting in normal space was to drop ships out at close intervals and scan with active sensors. Unfortunately, those ships would have be traveling at point three light, much slower than the force they would be tasked to guard, and removing them from the order of battle until they could catch up. Since they couldn't go much faster than the ships that moved ahead they would take days to catch the force. So there were none of those ships.
Five streams of missiles reached out at point nine-five light, moving in from a forward angle. Forty battle cruisers, seventy light cruisers and a hundred and ten destroyers fired off all of their internal tubes, spinning in space to bring all of their launchers to bear. The wormhole equipped ships fired two volleys, within thirty-one seconds, while the other vessels were able to get off three complete volleys. The weapons were moving in at a forward angle, adding the speed of the Caca ships to their closing velocity. Computers could act fast enough to attempt engagement, but the organic minds that controlled them were not able to overcome their shock in time.
* * *
“My Lord,” called out a panicked sensor officer, looking back at the admiral, then over at the tactical officer. “We have over two hundred enemy ships jumping into hyper ahead and to the flank.” The officer's eyes widened. “They're firing.”
Great Admiral Mrastaran jumped out of his chair, staring at the plot that showed the enemy ships in the position the officer had specified. As he watched shoals of missiles appeared, five close groups traveling at very high speed, thousands more at not anywhere near the velocity, but accelerating at fifteen thousand gravities.
“Engage them,” ordered Mrastaran, realizing that any ship that wasn't already firing counters was commanded by an idiot. A thought in the back of his mind told him to keep track of those fools after this engagement and replace them, if they and their ships survived.
“Lock on missiles and fire,” he shouted, storming over to the plot. “Prepare for light amp weapon engagement when they are within range.”
Masses of counters appeared on the plot, heading out to the waves of missiles heading in. Too late to engage the wormhole launched weapons, which had less than ten seconds' flight time. Ca'cadasan ships fell off the plot, converted to plasma or ripped apart as they fell out of hyper. Others showed reduced graviton emissions from damage, though not enough to eject them in a catastrophic translation.
The missiles the Ca'cadasans fired closed on the enemy, who translated out of hyper and dodged down to VI. A light cruiser did
n't translate in time, its plasma remains falling out of hyper. That wasn't enough to give the admiral any satisfaction.
“Keep hitting them,” screamed the great admiral.
“We can't, my Lord. Our velocity is too high to translate missiles down.”
“More ships translating up,” called out the sensor officer.
It was another group, slightly smaller than the last, a little more ahead. Once again a mass of missiles appeared on the plot, four large, fast moving streams along with thousands of slower weapons accelerating at their best rate. Again some Ca'cadasan ships were hit, and again the great majority of the enemy fell down to hyper VI. A couple of ships fell off in the sudden manner that indicated an abnormal translation. Those were dead.
“Do you want us to have ships decelerate and pursue?”
“No, I....”
“Ships translating up from behind, my Lord. Five of them.”
That would be their wormhole equipped ships, the only ones capable of sending missiles that could actually catch the Ca'cadasan fleet. At point zero five light closing they wouldn't do much. But with luck they might generate a hit or two. And the worst part was anything the Ca'cadasans sent back at them would have to decelerate to get rid of the velocity they were carrying from their launching ships, Making it a one-sided proposition. Fifteen seconds later four more ships moved up, firing their own streams. After a couple of minutes all nine ships again translated down, and the entire force took off at five hundred and twenty-five gravities, heading away. Thirty minutes later a translation wave hit, the enemy fleet jumping back up into hyper VII and accelerating away.
We won't have to worry about that force again, at least until we get to Pleisia, thought the great admiral. It would take them over a day to accelerate up to the Ca'cadasan force's velocity. Of course, in two days he would be decelerating so he could translate down into normal space within the system. If not for the orders of the Emperor he might be able to bypass the system, and avoid combat with the New Terran units altogether, driving toward the Klavarta capital. That was no longer possible, and his force might pay an enormous price for that decision.
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 15: All Quiet on the Second Front? Page 12
