Exodus: Empires at War: Book 8: Soldiers (Exodus: Empires at War.) (10 page)

“Powering up
missile tubes,” announced Lasardo in a hiss just above a whisper.

The Captain
smiled.  This was a critical moment, powering up the tubes and the next
steps they would take.  But he found it humorous that the Tactical Officer
would speak in such a soft voice, as if afraid the enemy might hear. 
Indeed, they could yell and cheer and play loud music over the bridge speaker
system and not be heard across the vacuum.  However, that enemy might be
able to pick up the slightest trace of heat, and that was the risk.

“Target locked
into missile targeting systems,” said Lasardo, his eyes focused on the holo
that showed the enemy in relation to all of the destroyers.  They would
not all fire at once, but instead on a time schedule that would get all of the
first wave there at the same time.

“Fire when
ready, Mr. Lasardo,” ordered von Rittersdorf, nodding to the officer.  His
ship would fire first, despite being slightly closer to the enemy than all the
others, their missiles set to a profile that would allow the others to catch
up.  Which would also make them the first target the enemy picked up.

“Range, three
light minutes,” called out the Sensor Officer.  “Enemy range to hyper
limit, two point six light minutes.”

“Firing,” yelled
out Lasardo, his voice cracking with nervous tension.

Komorov
shook
slightly as she launched six missiles from her forward tubes, accelerated up to
point zero one light by the powerful magnetic accelerators of the tube. 
The grabbers powered up an instant later and turned the ship so that her four
port tubes could fire, then turned at five hundred gravities to the starboard
to release the loads of those tubes.

The other ships
released their first volley at almost the same time, fourteen missiles each,
one hundred and twelve of the destroyer class weapons.  All were the
newest version of the dual purpose missile, capable of use in both normal and
hyperspace.  Like all destroyer class missiles they massed fifty tons
fully loaded.  Unlike the older missiles, five tons of mass was taken up
by the hyperdrive unit that was recessed into the body of the missile until
moments after firing, when it rose into place to start generating a
hyperfield.  The missile could be fired without the hyperfield generator,
and would gain a bit of boost from the reduced mass.  Or the generator
could be jettisoned at any time, though command preferred that the missile be
fired without, since each five ton generator carried a couple of hundred kilos
of expensive supermetals.

The warhead was
also interchangeable.  Each ship carried three different types of
warheads; heavy unitary, medium unitary and multiple.  They only had the
number of warheads that would fit their load of missiles, and missions dictated
what they carried.  Still, it could sometimes take some thought during an
engagement to choose the proper load for the early volleys.

The electromag
fields came up on the ships, the laser rings took several seconds to charge
from their crystal matrix batteries while the matter/antimatter reactors
throttled up, which took more time.  In less than a half minute all of the
ships were sending lasers at the target, while their particle beam accelerators
continued to pile up the velocity of the protons they would soon release.

The Caca ship
took some time to react, not surprising as they had been caught flatfooted,
totally unprepared for the attack.  It took over a minute to raise
electromagnetic fields and get their counter missile systems online.  By
then the first volley was a third of the way to the target, accelerating at a
short range boost of ten thousand gravities, also something new for destroyer
class missiles, and something they were only capable of maintaining for a
little over ten minutes before their drives burned out.  And all they
needed for this engagement.

“Enemy is
launching missiles,” called out Lasardo as the red icons appeared on the
tactical holo.  “Forty incoming, acceleration eight thousand gravities.”

At the moment
they couldn’t tell which ship or ships were the targets.  All were locking
on their defensive weapons as if they were the targets, though at the longest
range of the counter missiles it would not matter, as long as they achieved
hits.

The enemy
launched their own counters, taking out thirty-one of the incoming
weapons.  A moment later the human counters started taking out the enemy
missiles.  Both sides released a second volley, and von Rittersdorf chewed
on a fingernail as he watched that second wave come in, while the first was
entering final approach range.

The viewers
showed antimatter warheads detonating in space in pinpoints that had to be
stepped down by the visual systems to be bearable to the human eye.  The
explosions came closer each second, visual evidence for both the effectiveness
of the defenses and the approaching lethality of the remaining weapons.

First, there
were a couple of near misses, the three ships that were now definitely the
primary targets of the enemy volley. 
Komorov
was not one of those
targets for some reason.  Probably because the enemy considered her a ship
not in the command loop, since she was the closest of the vessels.  More
near misses occurred, and two of the destroyers started venting atmosphere as
large pieces of hull were blown off into space and radiation and heat and
transferred into the vessels.

A near miss to a
third destroyer was followed quickly by a hit that detonated against the port
bow of the vessel.  It was a shattering hit, blasting the vessel apart and
sending pieces spinning on their way, just before the breach of antimatter
converted the largest section to plasma.

The enemy ship
faired much worse as thirty-three missiles came through the defensive
fire.  Twenty eight of those were proximity detonations that sent heat and
radiation into the hull of the supercruiser.  Three were very near misses
that blotted surface installations from the hull and sent raging energies
deeper into the vessel.  Two were hits, or close enough to not
matter.  The missiles were not travelling at a high enough velocity to
impart a killing level of kinetic energy.  The inertial compensators were
able to take up much of the load, though enough got through to disrupt most of
the electrical systems aboard.  The two hundred megaton unitary warheads
did the most damage, and when the bright flares of the blasts faded the enemy
ship was seen to tumble end over end, a derelict.

“Order
deceleration of the second wave,” ordered the Captain, looking to save the
weapons while he could.   There was really no use in wasting the
weapons on a ship that was obviously no longer in shape to resist.  That
still left the second enemy wave coming in, and
Komorov
appeared to be
one of the targets this time.

The destroyer
went into a maximum evasive pattern, the Helmsman punching in the programmed
semi-random series of maneuvers that moved her from side to side, up and down,
adjusting her acceleration and changing her velocity, using her full capacity
of over five hundred gravities to make herself the most difficult possible target
to track.  After ten seconds or so the Helmsman switched to another
program, not allowing the pattern to become predictable.  The Sensor
Officer monitored the jamming suite that was masking the destroyer’s own
electronic signature, while sending out signals that mimicked other
sources.  She launched decoys that sent out signals that appeared to be a
destroyer, setting them into maneuvers that were similar to those the Helmsman
was monitoring.  The decoys also deployed holographs that looked from a
distance like the ship they were mimicking.

The Tactical
Officer monitored the defensive programs that were prioritizing the incoming
targets, switching off targeting with the other ships to assign the best
interception through that portion of the approach envelope.  As they
closed the targets were handed off to the target vessel, with made the last
ditch attempt to stop the enemy missile.

Half the enemy
wave was stopped at counter missile range, a few direct hits, most struck by
the shrapnel or radiation burst, converting to bright pinpoints over a light
minute distant.  Another fifteen died under hits from lasers, the combined
fire from all of the destroyers.  The five that made it through weathered
the fire of close in weapons, two more going down in explosions that filled
near space with radiation.  Three continued in on final approach, two
tracking onto the
James Komorov
.

The Captain
watched those incoming weapons on a trio of holos that hung in the air in front
of his chair, repeats of other projectors.  One showed the overall
tactical situation, the two red arrows of missiles almost touching his ship,
one other on top of the second target.  The second holo showed a close in
view of
Komorov
, with the two arrows a couple of light seconds away,
closing at point three light, seven seconds from impact.  The third showed
a view from the ship, the forward view of one of the approaching missiles shown
as an incoming streak, resolution impossible at its velocity.

He could feel
the tension on the bridge, everyone doing their jobs despite the terror that
lived within them.  Everything they and their ship could do was being
done, and they still could die within seconds.  Despite all their skill,
all the technology of their ship, they would have been hit, or at least sustained
major damage from a very near miss, except for blind luck.

One missile
juked to port, just as the other came in from the other direction and was hit
by a close in defense beam.  The explosion of the missile caught the first
one, which had been on course to get through the defenses of the
Komorov. 
It tumbled as it came apart, the antimatter in the warhead breaching
contain an instant later. 
Komorov
shook as some of the plasma
kicked into the bow, warning klaxons going off from several hull breaches.

The Captain
looked over the damage figures as they came through, breathing out a sigh of
relief.  The damage was superficial, and there were only two
injuries.  They had gotten off light.  The other ship had escaped
with even less in the way of harm.  Shaking his head, saying a calming
mantra to steady his nerves, he looked over at the Com Officer.

“I want Marine
boarding parties readied as soon as possible,” said von Rittersdorf, looking at
the enemy ship on the holo.  “Send a couple of scouts to look her over
closely, and if it looks safe enough, we’ll board and see if there are any
survivors.”

Of course, there
would be no way to make sure the enemy ship was safe, and any Marines he sent
aboard could be going to their deaths.  They needed intelligence though,
and if he could he would have gone with them.  He couldn’t of
course.  His duty station was on the bridge, so all he could do was sit
and worry about his people while they went about their tasks.

“We’ve got
some,” came the call over the com a couple of hours later.

“As soon as we
get them aboard, we’re heading in,” he told the Helmsman, looking back at the
holo of the planet.  He was pretty sure he would find what he was afraid
of.  But his orders stated that he had to be sure.

“Time to orbit, thirty-one
hours,” stated the Helmsman.

And Battle Fleet
would be starting the offensive in fifty-three hours.  Not that this
mission would have any bearing on that operation.  Or at least he hoped.

Chapter Eight

The evil that men do lives after
them; the good is oft interred with their bones.

William Shakespeare.

CAPITULUM,  JEWEL, MARCH 30
^TH
,
1002.

Sean looked over
at the love of his life, as she sat in the comfortable chair on the
porch.  The stars were out in profusion tonight, back dropped by the
glowing nebulae, the ones that came from supernovas that the astrophysicist say
couldn’t have possibly happened.  The stars hadn’t been massive enough,
and they hadn’t left behind the characteristic neutron stars or black
holes.  There were rumors that the Ancients, the space faring civilization
that had once ruled this space, had done something that the Universe didn’t
approve of.

Jennifer was
pregnant with his heir, a boy, according to the physicians.  She glowed
the way that pregnant women did, the health of hormones.  For some reason
the artificial wombs that the people in the past thought would free them from
the drudgery of pregnancy had not worked out.  Children could be born in
them, but there was something wrong with them.  Not quite as bad as clones,
but not anything that sane people would want to chance.

He noticed the
pensive look on her face, and was sure that she was thinking about Glen
again.  She had been engaged to the Marine captain before he had met
her.  The man had died a hero, leading an attack that allowed other
soldiers and Marines, as well as a large group of civilians, to escape. 
He had been decorated, posthumously, but the woman had never forgotten about
him.  It aggravated him that he was still on her mind, while it made him
feel guilty to recognize that aggravation.

“What’s wrong?”
he asked, really just to break her out of her depression, not really wanting to
know.

Jennifer sighed,
looking up at the stars.  Sean followed her gaze, picking up the slight
shimmer of the electromagnetic shield out of the corner of his eye.  There
were two strobing vehicles up there on a patrol pattern, and he knew there were
more further up.  There were also decoys, other verandas attached to the
massive palace, in case of an attack.

“Sometimes I wish
I wasn’t in this position,” she said, looking down for a moment, then over and
into his eyes.  “Empress, I mean.  Not that I regret being your wife,
or the mother of your child.  But I sometimes wish I could have a normal
life.”

“Me too,”
admitted Sean, nodding, then getting up and walking over to her chair, setting
down on the end and putting a hand on her knee.  “I really never expected
to be in this position either.  I thought I would serve out my time in the
Fleet, maybe get to a low flag rank, then go on to be an ambassador, while one
of my brothers assumed the throne.”

“And then we
never would have met,” said Jennifer, looking back down at the floor of the
veranda.

“And both of us
would most probably be dead,” he finished, scooting up in the chair and laying
down beside her, putting his arms around her.  “I know that this invasion
is a terrible price to pay for the happiness of two people.”

“The invasion
was coming no matter what,” she said, putting her finger on his lips to quiet
him.  “That doesn’t make it wrong that we met and fell in love.”

Jennifer sat
there for a moment, just looking at the star field.  She wiped a tear from
her eye, then looked back at Sean.  “What are we going to do about the
machines?”

Sean felt his
chest tense up, at the mention of the newest threat to the Empire, which was
also a very old threat indeed.  The news had come from Exploration Command
base outside of the Empire that the Machines, the murderous constructs that had
revolted against humanity four centuries before, thought to have been
destroyed, were still around.  And they had grown powerful enough to cause
serious problems.

“I guess we will
have to take care of our garbage,” he said after a moment.  “I’m going to
send some ships out there to reinforce the Command.”  And with that he
forgot about that problem, for the moment.  Sondra had already been
informed of his wishes were that new theater was concerned, and it was up to
her to put the force in place to prosecute that war.

“Your guests are
here, your Majesty,” announced the Major Domo, the man in charge of all the
other servants in the palace, who also fulfilled the duty of the Emperor’s
prime servant.

“What guests?”
said Jennifer, sitting up, an ambivalent expression on her face. 
Normally, guests meant someone political.  Not that she hated them all,
and in fact found some of them admirable and likeable people.  But the
evenings always seemed to devolve into strategy sessions, where she was
welcome, but still felt excluded by her lack of knowledge.

“Your Majesties,”
said the teenage girl who came charging onto the veranda, stopping in her
tracks ten meters away and bowing.  Her long brown hair swirled around her
head as her wide brown eyes twinkled at the royals.

“Rebecca,”
called out Jennifer in delight, moving a little so she could get up from the
chair.

“Thought you
might like these guests,” said Sean, rising with her.

“Your
Majesties,” said Devera Walborski, walking up behind her adopted daughter, holding
her adopted son in her arms.  Devera had married Cornelius Walborski, one
of Sean’s favorite soldiers, a man who had helped save the most precious
station in the Empire, the
Donut
, as well as engaging in other acts of
heroism.  And she had taken the child of Cornelius’ late wife as her own,
as well as adopting Rebecca, a child Cornelius had rescued on the planet Azure
after the Ca’cadasan invasion of that planet.

“He’s getting so
big,” said Jennifer, holding out her hands to take Cornelius Junior from
Devera.

Food was brought
out to the veranda, and the party sat down at the glass table to enjoy the
common food of steaks and potatoes, with a salad on the side.  The fresh
baked bread had an aroma that brought water to the mouths of everyone, even
Junior, who was given a specially prepared meal intended for his young eating
habits.

“Are you worried
about Cornelius?” asked Jennifer after the plates had been taken away and the
after dinner wine and dessert was served.

“Of course,”
said Devera, closing her eyes for a moment while an expression of pain played
across her face.  She opened her eyes and looked into those of the
Empress.  “But he’s good at his job, and he wants to do it, though I wish
he would get some of the hate out of his heart.”

“Maybe when it’s
over,” said Jennifer, frowning as the other woman shook her head.

“I don’t think
it will ever be over,” said Devera, a tear coming to her eye.  “This war
is going to go on for decades, if we lose.  Probably a century if we win,
if not longer.”

Jennifer looked
over at Sean, who felt his heart sink.  He had really not wanted to go
here tonight.  But it looked like he was not going to get his wish.

“She’s right,”
he said, looking at Devera for a moment, then into Jennifer’s eyes.  “We
have a decade of fighting ahead just to turn back their invasion.  They
have too much, and they will keep throwing it at us until they don’t have any
more to throw.”

“And then
they’ll have to give up, right?”

“No, my
dear.  I don’t think they will.  They will rebuild, and renew
operations against us as soon as they can.  And we will be forced to go on
the offensive against them and destroy their industrial base, which means
invading and conquering their huge empire.”

“And if we don’t
invade them?” asked Jennifer, her eyes widening.  Sean had never really
talked to her about this.  Like many people in the Empire, she thought if
they defeated this enemy once they would go away, at least for a century or
two, before they reinitiated hostilities.  That they would act like other
powers acted, no matter how vicious the war, and return to a long state of
tense peace.

“If we don’t
invade them, if we allow them to rebuild their fleet, they will keep coming at
us until one of us no longer exists.  The only outcome that leaves both of
our species extant is for us to win.”

“And we won’t
totally destroy them?” asked Jennifer, doubt on her face.  “We won’t hate
them so much that we totally destroy them when we have the chance.”

“I don’t know,”
said Sean, shaking his head.  “I really don’t know.  If I have
anything to say about it, we won’t.  You have my sacred word on that.”

“You
promise?  I don’t want us to get a reputation for genocide.  We
should be better than that.”

“They want to
kill all of us,” said Rachel, her child’s face twisting in anger.  “They
killed my mom and dad, and my little brother.  Why shouldn’t we kill all
of them.  Every single one of them.”

“You shouldn’t
hate like that, Rebecca,” said Devera, putting a hand on her daughter’s
shoulder.

“I know I
shouldn’t,” said the child.  “But I do.”  The little girl looked at
Sean.  “I want the war to go on long enough for me to get in it.  I
want to have my finger on the firing button of a warship, sending missiles into
their ships, spilling them into space.”

The table was
silent after that outburst, even Rebecca seeming to realize she had said
something that offended the adults.  Sean looked at the child, that
sinking feeling returning.  This was a generation of children that was
going to grow up with war, a conflict unlike any other generation had
faced.  They would grow up hating another sentient species.  And when
the day came that the war ended, if by chance it ended in their favor, whoever
ruled at that time might give the order.  The Ca’cadasans would go into
the long night, and humans would have to live with the guilt of being the cause
of their extinction.

*    
*     *

ASSAULT SHIP HIMS KHARKOV, IN
TRANSIT TO FLEET RALLY POINT.  APRIL 1
^ST
, 1002.

Captain Nora
Kevista pulled her joystick to the side, sending her F310 Pteranadon orbit to
atmosphere fighter into a spin, its grabber units pulling the maximum
acceleration its inertial compensators could handle.  Still, twelve
gravities of that acceleration made it through, reddening the vision of the
pilot and causing her back seater, Warrant Three
Joey
Jasper, to grunt
his discomfort.

The hyper
velocity missile coming their way missed, barely, though the second missile hit
her wingman, blasting his aircraft into pieces that would burn up when they hit
the atmosphere.  Nora cursed at the loss of the other aircraft.  Now
she was on her own with this insertion, the atmosphere coming up almost too
quickly.

“Putting on the
brakes, Joey,” she yelled over the intercom as the Pteranadon deceled, then
pushed into a belly first profile that used the outer atmosphere to kill even
more velocity. 
This is real flying
, she thought, as the responsive
fighter obeyed her wishes.  There was still a lot of computer control
involved, the fighter itself helping her to control what human reflexes
couldn’t.  Still, it was more of a test of skill than the space fighters
the Fleet flew.  Exercising that skill was the primary reason she had gone
into Imperial Army Aviation.

“Something’s locking
on,” called out the back seater as the alarms sounded in the cockpit. 
Nora put the craft into a dive before it was optimal, then pulled back and
looped in the thin air. 
I’m going to make it
, she thought, just
before the cockpit lit up with bright light and all of the controls went dead.

“The exercise is
over,” said Colonel Wingate Smithers, the wing commander of the air group
aboard the assault ship HIMS
Kharkov
.

“Shit,” cursed
the Captain as the cockpit rose on the simulator, and the ground crew swarmed
up to help her out of her chair. 
Now we get to go through another
reaming out
, she thought with a grimace.  Of course, when they were
flying into the atmosphere of New Moscow there would be no more reaming outs
for the kind of mistake she had just made, only the oblivion of death.

*    
*     *

PLANET NEW MOSCOW.

“It’s clear,
sir,” said the scout, coming back through the wormhole to report back.

“And the cave?”
asked the Ranger Captain, glancing back at the rest of his company, standing in
their battle armor with their equipment strapped all over the suits.  This
part of the mission called for those suits, both to bring them onto the world
and to carry the equipment which even the strongly augmented men would have
trouble carrying.

“Clear. 
The excavating robots did a good job.  Hard to believe there was only a
squad of engineers involved.”

“OK,” said
Captain The Baron Cornelius Walborski.  “First squad, move through, and
make sure the entrance is secured.  Second squad follows.  Lieutenant
Jemmison, you follow through with your platoon HQ, and I’ll bring the company
HQ in after.”

The
acknowledgements were shouted out by the highly trained, highly motivated
men.  All Rangers were elite, but these men were scouting specialist, the
best of the best, and Walborski was proud to command them.  It had taken
them a little time to retrain to the suits, and after making planet fall they
would handle the first part of the mission without the armored strength
enhancing battle panoply.

Walborski waited
for the last man of Jemmison’s platoon to push through the mirrored surface,
then took the step himself.  He was now an old hand at wormhole
travel.  Still, the slight nausea fought with the total disorientation
which seemed to stretch him out over time and space before he came to be back
in a single location.

“Get the men
squared away, Top,” he told his First Sergeant, a small man of Filipino
extraction named Renhard Fujardo.  He looked around the large cavern,
carved from the rock by the lasers of the construction robots the engineers had
employed.  It was about a hundred meters wide, and forty high, with
numerous smaller tunnels leading off.  “I’m going to give the place a once
over.  Tell the officers and senior NCOs we’ll meet here in an hour, after
they make sure their areas of responsibility are secure.”