Crusade of Vengeance

by Jay Allan

  “Yes, sir…” The commander paused and then continued, “Good luck, sir.”

  “Thank you, Commander…the same to you, to all of us.” He paused, just for a few seconds, and then he walked to the elevator. He stepped inside, and he muttered the command, and it closed its door and whisked him down to the main compartment, the one that held most of his crew, already armed and equipped…for whatever lay ahead.

  The doors suddenly opened, and he stepped out, just as he felt the ship land and the engines quiet down to nothing. He knew where he was, and he realized his hopes of leaving were very small. But he didn’t care, not as long as he could take out the Regent. That was all that mattered to him, all he truly cared about. He was obsessed, he realized, driven by realization, by years of conflict, and by whatever else there was…and he knew then he would sacrifice his life in an instant, and that of everyone else who was present, if it would destroy the Regent.

  He walked out, and he exchanged glances with some of his crew members. The room was almost silent—everyone present knew what lay ahead, and one way or another, they were all ready to proceed.

  He reached out and grabbed one of the remaining packs laying on the counter, and he pulled out the breathing mechanism, wrapped it around his head. He swung the rest of the pack, mostly an air tank, over his shoulder, fiddling with it for a few seconds, ensuring that it didn’t get in the way of his rifle. He knew the hatch doors would open any second, and his people knew what to do. He didn’t know how quickly the Regent could send forces to intercept his invaders…but he knew it wouldn’t be long.

  I just hope they’re not there already…

  He waited perhaps another fifteen seconds, a time that seemed far longer than he knew it was…and then the lighting turned bright yellow. That was the signal…in another ten seconds, the hatch would open.

  He pulled his mask on, flicked the switch to begin the airflow. The planet was habitable, but he didn’t know whether the Regent would use some kind of gas or interfere in some way with the airflow. He had analyzed the situation a hundred times. No, a thousand. He knew he could never come up with everything the Regent might do, but he was going to come as close as he possibly could.

  This was it…the ultimate showdown he had spent his life preparing for. Him vs. the Regent.

  And I am going to get this done, whatever I have to do.

  I promise…

  Just as that thought passed through his mind, the lights turned from yellow to red…and the hatch swung open.

  It was time.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Bunker Under Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

  Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

  Earth Two Date 04.12.63

  Achilles’ eyes were almost fixed on the monitor, watching the enemy ships get closer and closer. He saw Frette’s force pursuing…really pursuing, at a dangerous speed. Her vessels were gunning hard as well, shooting at the enemy as quickly as they could. She was going to lose ships, both to the enemy fire and to her own overuse of their capabilities. She would destroy a lot of the attacking ships, too…but he realized she wouldn’t get all of them. Not before they reached the planet.

  Not before they bombed Earth-2.

  He stared at the formations, tried to decide how many ships would make it, how many would be able to bomb the planet. He’d always known the likelihood was there that the battle would come to Earth-2, that buildings on the surface would be destroyed…but he didn’t know if the bombing would be conclusive, whether it would just cause damage, or whether it would utterly destroy the city…and all the civilians currently hiding underground.

  Now, however, his waiting time was almost over, and the image he’d had for years, the question that had lingered for as long as he could remember, was finally there. Earth-2 would either survive or not, and as he watched, he knew that survive meant the people, or at least some of them. The city, everything on the surface was doomed…he realized that as he watched.

  The leading enemy ships were closing fast, and in a few minutes, the largest of the orbital facilities would be in range. His emplaced weapons in the fortresses outranged anything the enemy had, and he knew he needed to get the most he could out of them. He had fifteen minutes, twenty tops, and then the enemy would be firing, too. And then his emplaced guns, the fortresses surrounding Earth-2 would be destroyed…and probably quickly. The fortresses had minimal positioning thrusters, but their ability to evade fire was far weaker than that of the attacking ships. Once the enemy closed to their own firing range, it would only take a matter of minutes for them to destroy all of the fortresses.

  Then they would move closer…and begin the attack on the surface.

  But first, he would have a chance…a chance to batter them, to reduce the size of the force threatening Earth-2…and he intended to make the most of it. He had gunners ready to go, dozens of them in the other facility, along with a few positioned in the doomed forts themselves…but he intended to direct the fire himself, along with several of the other Mules. He realized it was challenging, that it went against his desire to reduce the tension between the people of Earth-2. But nothing was as important as survival. Nothing.

  His eyes focused, his entire body tense as he waited for the moment to open fire. The battle had been going on for hours now, but until this moment, he had been a spectator. Now, he would become a participant. He watched, looking to his side, to the other Mules who controlled some of the stations’ guns. He saw in them the same doubts he had, but also the determination. They were going to do their best, savage the enemy fleet as much as possible in the short time they had.

  And then? He would just have to wait and see.

  He watched the clock, checked the distance to the approaching enemy ships. Then he looked again at his companions, at the Mules focused on the gunnery…and he said, simply, “Open fire.”

  Even as he uttered the short phrase, he opened up with his own guns, blasting the enemy fleet. The weapons he was firing were several hundred miles from his position, but with lightspeed communication, the distance was almost irrelevant. The weapons responded immediately, at least to human—and Mule—sensibilities, and the entire area around the enemy fleet was bright on his screens, the beams and explosives blasting all around. Most of the shots missed, of course. Even the Mules as gunners went wide far more times than they hit.

  But the shots added up, and with the misses came hits…and the size of the firing weapons was substantial. Even the enemy vessels, as strong and capable as they were, suffered serious damage from just a single shot. And the hits began to add up, even as the enemy force drew closer. One ship was destroyed, then another. Then another. Achilles realized his people were doing well, perhaps better than he’d expected…but he also knew that even their current rate of firing, of hits, wasn’t going to take out all the enemy vessels. Not in the time he had. He had some installations on the ground as well, mostly missiles, but he was sure, surer than he’d ever been, that, despite the missiles and the weapons in the stations—and the pursuit of part of the fleet—some of the attacking force was going to reach orbit. They were going to bombard the planet’s surface.

  He had known that already, mostly, but now he was sure…and he realized he would have to rely on the everyone’s abilities, the tenacity of the Tanks and the regular humans as much as that of his own people. How much damage could they take? How many could die, and the civilization still endure?

  He didn’t know, despite his generous mental abilities, and he realized all he had was faith. He could push as hard as he could, do everything to manage the situation, but in the end, he was relying on the others as much as they were on him, on his leadership. He tried to focus on shooting the enemy vessels, on taking out as many as he could, and he succeeded…partially and for a brief time, which was all he could manage.

  * * *

  Vincennes sucked in air, as much as he could. He was the commander of the orbital stations, at least the top o
fficer present. He realized his chances of surviving the battle were poor indeed…but he recognized that the chance of anyone making it was also pretty damned bad.

  He knew the fire was being directed from the ground—from the Mules—and despite his own normal human nature, he couldn’t ignore the fact that they were better, that their firing would probably take out more of the enemy ships than his, or that of any of his gunners. He had argued against such things before, claimed that all parties should be treated equally, but now that he faced the doom approaching, he realized that he needed everything he could get, that even a one or two percent increase in firing made the change worthwhile.

  He looked around, at the minimal crew deployed to the orbital platform. That was, to an extent, the norm on Earth-2, where the crews were a fraction of the size they had been in the fleet that had colonized the system, but there were even fewer on his stations than there were on naval ships.

  We’re lost…and whoever set this place up knew we would be…

  The fact that the battle was going to be a desperate fight, to the end in every way possible, made it easier to take, of course, but he still knew his people would go first. Well, not first…the fleet had suffered considerable losses already…but before the bulk of the planet’s inhabitants. Perhaps, even, some of them could survive, for a while at least, could escape from totally damaged forts before they were killed. He just didn’t know.

  He didn’t have fire control, but he did command the positioning thrusters. His stations didn’t have much thrust, but they had enough for minimal anti-fire operations. And just like the vastly superior mechanisms on the ships of the fleet, they could be pushed, run beyond their ratings. There was no way to gain the thrust the fleet ships had, nothing close, but he realized that every bit he could get, every hit or two he could eliminate, or even delay, would protract the battle, would give his guns extra shots.

  “Commander…increase power to the engine components. Fifteen percent above maximum.” He stared at his subordinate, trying to give as much strength as he could to the officer. He knew everyone on any of the stations realized their survival chances were poor—very poor—but he understood enough to realize that distracting them, if only for a few minutes, was worthwhile. The increase in speed would help, assuming none of the stations was destroyed as a result, of course, and perhaps, just possibly, it might temporarily lift his people’s morale. “That is for all stations, Commander. All units are to move at one hundred fifteen percent.”

  He listened to the officer relay the orders, and in a few seconds, he could feel the difference. The stations didn’t have the same systems the ships did, and the movement, especially at the overload level, was jerky and difficult. But it would cut down on the incoming fire…which he figured was about to begin.

  A few minutes later, the first beams did begin coming in, the enemy reaching long range and firing. He had gotten his orders in, commanded his stations to blast away at full power to avoid enemy fire…but when that shooting began, he realized his vast stations still moved slowly, even with their extra power. They were harder to hit, to a point, but he cringed as one of them took a shot, a glancing blow…and then a few seconds later, the one closest to his own received a direct hit, losing close to half its guns.

  He looked straight ahead, struggling with all he had to think about the battle, about anything else he could do…but he realized, other than watch, there wasn’t much.

  There wasn’t anything at all.

  * * *

  Frette sat quietly and watched. There wasn’t anything else to do, at least not at that moment. Her ships were moving toward the planet—and more importantly, directly on the tail of the enemy fleet—at whatever speed they could manage. Her ships were mostly clustered in three large groups, based on their acceleration capacities, but there were dozens of vessels, damaged ships and others, scattered all around.

  She knew her orders for all ships to accelerate at full carried risks, and that the separation of her fleet exposed her vessels, especially the ones up front, to intense fire from the enemy. Her fleet together, clustered as one force, would make the enemy choose which ships to fire upon, it would give them more vessels within the same range…but she had realized that the entire force would be too slow, that her only chance was to accelerate every ship as quickly as possible.

  She knew she needed all she could get right now. The question wasn’t who would win the space battle, which force would endure when the other one was destroyed. No, her real purpose was to destroy the enemy fleet utterly, or at least weaken it as much as possible, before it reached Earth-2.

  She looked up, watching the display, noticing that the fire on her vessels had been reduced. She would have been glad if that had come from damage to the enemy or some other natural phenomenon, but she realized at once that it was the diversion of fire. The lead enemy vessels were shooting at the fortresses now. The large facilities emplaced around Earth-2 had been firing for more than fifteen minutes with no answer, and they had destroyed a large number of enemy vessels. Whether it was enough or not, depended on too many variables, not the least of which was how much longer they could fire, how many more vessels they could take out…before they were all destroyed.

  She watched as her own ships fired at full—beyond full—and as the stations did the same. They were hitting well, destroying enemy ships, but the Regent’s forces were firing back just as strong, and many of her own ships were gone now, or battered to some fraction of their initial effectiveness. Now, she winced as she saw the stations begin to be hit. She recognized that their movement was beyond normal, and she realized that their commander had ordered his own engines to be overtaxed, pushed to the brink. She was glad to see it, sorry that she hadn’t thought of extending her orders herself…but she also realized that it was only a temporary advantage, one that would only last a short while.

  She winced as she saw one of the stations hit, and then another. She watched as her own ships exchanged fire, as they destroyed more enemy vessels, even as they lost more of their own. She knew, mentally, that the battle was going to be a fight to the finish, that whichever side won, it would lose most of its ships, while its enemy lost them all. She couldn’t be sure that the enemy would fight to the finish, that there was no point at which they would retreat…but she knew she was in until the end. There was no retreat possible, no point at which she would order her surviving ships to leave. They would fight until the end, until the enemy was destroyed, or they were.

  She looked around her, at the officers on the bridge. They were committed, she understood, they knew what was at stake. She knew most of them didn’t believe that Max Harmon’s desperate mission had any chance, and she understood…but she actually believed there was at least some possibility that the planet’s leader—and hate him or not, there was no argument that he was the leader, no matter how many people despised him—might just pull off his crazy attempt. She didn’t know if it was her closeness to him, or some degree of knowledge she held…or simply that she believed it because she had to, because she knew that her people had to win in both locations in order to achieve real victory.

  Perhaps she held onto it, because she realized a victory by her, if that turned out to be at all possible, would mean little more than a few years before the next assault. If Harmon was successful, if he destroyed the Regent, then a win by her forces would be just that, a triumph, one that would allow her people to endure.

  A victory…over the Regent, total and complete. She knew the odds were long, for either her or Harmon, but she gave them each a chance at least…some odds that they would both prevail, that humanity would endure, that it would survive on Earth-2.

  She didn’t particularly care if she herself survived. Her life was over, save only for her obligations, her duties. She took them seriously, as she had for twenty years, as she still did…but she didn’t care if she survived the battle, in fact, part of her preferred that she didn’t.

  But she realized she would
enjoy knowing that her side prevailed, that her people would go on. She didn’t really expect that, but she still thought it would be nice.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Just Outside E2S Carson City

  Alpha-Omega 12 III

  Earth Two Date 04.12.63

  Harmon grabbed his rifle from his back as he stepped out of the ship, and onto the surface of the planet. He had feared the enemy would already be in place, that his men and women would be cut down as they tried to make their way out. But there was nothing. Nothing save the dusky, rough terrain.

  He swung his head around, checking in all directions he could see before activating the comm that connected him to Carson City’s far better scanning capabilities. He didn’t see anything, but it only took a few seconds for the ship to locate the closest enemy forces. They were five minutes away and heading right toward his ship. Toward all of his ships. He hadn’t really expected his stealth devices would function on the ground, but his observation of the enemy movement was the final confirmation.

  “Alright! Get ready…we’ve got enemy forces coming, and it sure looks like they can see all of our ships…so let’s get ready!” He was on the wide band, communicating to all of his personnel, not just the ones on Carson City. It was a guess that none of his vessels remained hidden, but after seeing the scans of enemy forces heading toward every landing point, he felt fairly strongly that the stealth portion of his mission was over.

  He turned and looked at his own people—all of whom had the same access to scanning data he did—line up, taking whatever cover was available between them and the approaching enemy. Harmon looked again at the scan, at the forces heading his way…and he felt a wave of, not relief actually, but not hopelessness either. He had wondered what kind of forces the Regent would have, how it would have gone in the development of defenses for itself vs. offensive assets it could throw at the invaders. He still didn’t know, of course, and there were enough bots coming his way to wipe out his forces if they weren’t careful…but there weren’t that many. His people had a chance, at least against this first assault.