Crusade of Vengeance

by Jay Allan

  It had watched the enemy, focusing mostly on that closest group, holding back its assault until they were inside, but tracking them carefully. There were three groupings in all, three sets of enemy troops approaching. That was good in a way, as its forces would have the chance to pick them off one at a time…but it was bad, too. Bad at least in that one of the enemy groups had moved toward the closest route to it, the most direct assault possible.

  It had already deployed its remaining forces, almost all of them, and the battle would begin at any moment. There would be time, after the first fight, for it to redeploy its survivors, to pivot to meet the other enemy groups as well. Those other two groupings were currently offset by miniscule forces, perhaps enough to slow them a bit, but not stop them. But they were farther away. And as long as the Regent’s main force prevailed in its first fight—almost a certainty—it would then move on to deal with the other two enemy positions.

  It had the edge, by every way it could calculate such things, but it was still disturbed. It realized, perhaps too late, that it had focused too much over the years on tracking down the enemy, on destroying their homeworld. That was crucial, of course, the ultimate goal, but it was not as important as its own survival. It had to defeat the enemy, here and now. It had to survive the battle, even as its fleet was engaged lightyears away against the enemy’s main planet. It was close to ultimate victory, it realized, but also too near, at least in a way, to total defeat.

  It would change its rebuilding schedules, regardless of the outcome of the attack currently underway. It would increase the defenses around itself, even at the cost of a few years in finishing off the enemy. But there was nothing it could do now, nothing except fight as hard as possible. It knew the odds were in its favor, but it was also aware that it had miscalculated to a considerable degree before, at least in terms of its priorities.

  No, it realized…I just gambled. And lost, at least to an extent. But I can still prevail, still win. I just have to focus, to proceed and not to make any mistakes.

  No mistakes at all…

  * * *

  “Another hit! The ship is badly battered, perhaps even out of the fight.”

  Leigh listened. She was happy, too, at least about the state of the battle so far…but she knew it could end anytime, that her vessel could be easily destroyed in just a moment if the enemy could track it.

  But if you’ve taken out a second ship…that only leaves two…

  She had been waiting for more ships to appear, but none had. Perhaps the Regent only had the four vessels with it. She’d expected more, but there was no sign of them. She wondered what she would have done if she had been in command in the Regent’s place, if she would have directed almost all of her vessels to concentrate for the great attack, or it she would have held more back, better protecting herself. The Regent hadn’t expected the attack currently underway, of course. Even Leigh acknowledged that it was the most uncertain stroke of luck that one of the scout ships had found the Regent just when it did. But she wondered if she would have found herself in the same situation as the Regent was in now…or if she would have been better off, or worse.

  She wanted to believe she would have been more careful, but she realized the Regent had vastly greater resources than she did. She could only guess at the odds of her side discovering it just when they did, and she knew the Regent could create a far better estimate. What odds would have pushed her to be more defensive, and how much of a small chance might she have ignored? Surely, at some point she would have discounted the danger, whatever it was, especially when she was aware of need to defeat the enemy at its own homeworld. Ten thousand to one? A hundred thousand? A million?

  Her thoughts were suddenly disrupted…by the destruction of the second enemy vessel. It had hung where it was for perhaps thirty seconds, until a series of rapid internal explosions erupted and destroyed it. She felt a rush, and for the first time, despite her efforts to hold back, she began to imagine defeating all four enemy ships. One of the remaining two was a battlecruiser, which could take a lot of damage. She knew that destroying two of the enemy ships was a tremendous performance on its own, but now that the thought of winning the fight entered her mind, she started to imagine just how that could happen.

  She heard some sounds from her bridge officers, various celebratory gasps and whispers, but otherwise, they remained focused. They knew as she did, the only way for them to survive was to defeat all four enemy vessels…and they all knew how difficult that would be.

  But now it at least seemed possible. As long as the stealth unit continued to function.

  She turned, looked toward the main display again, watching her ship’s next shots. They went wide, terribly so, and she realized how much difficulty still lay ahead. She continued to stare, even as her next shots fired, and the ones after that. Her targeting was improving, but she knew it was helping the enemy, too. Every shot was a clue, a bit of evidence that would direct the incoming fire…and all the enemy had to do was guess right. Once.

  She stared at the third enemy vessel, the one her people were trying to target. She had decided to leave the battlecruiser to last, the toughest enemy being the final one. If she managed to destroy the third enemy ship, she told herself, then she would truly entertain her thoughts about winning. Until then, she pushed back on them, shoved them aside. She had a job to do, and she was going to see it done.

  * * *

  Max Harmon took a few steps forward, into the mountain. The door had been fairly well hidden, and it had taken his people some time to find it, and more to force it open. He’d been ready for defensive fire, for bots to be deployed right behind it, but there was nothing. Whether that was good or bad, whether it meant they were deployed somewhere inside or that he had chosen the wrong entrance, he didn’t know, but he was sure he didn’t have time to reconsider his plan. He would push forward, look for the Regent…and fight anything thrown in his way.

  He stopped about five meters inside, about ten of his people through with him so far, and he looked around. If he was totally off, if the entrance led to storage or something else of limited use, he knew he still had two other groups, two more chances to find the enemy. But something told him, this was the right route. He wasn’t sure, of course, not in any material way…but he felt edgy, anxious. Some part of him knew he was on the right trail.

  It just didn’t know if he would make it through, if the enemy would stop his force before it penetrated…before it reached the Regent.

  He listened, trying to tell if he could hear anything relevant. There was some noise, that of equipment in the background. He knew some of that was routine, and he checked twice, determining both times that the atmosphere was breathable. It made some sense to take advantage of that fact, to switch off and save the carried air, but he decided against it. He didn’t know how quickly the Regent could change the atmosphere, whether he would be able to notice in time to order his people to respond…so he kept them on the bottled air, eating into the time they had.

  None of the sounds he could hear struck him as particularly of concern, and a moment later he moved forward again, waving his arm behind him to his small contingent. He moved forward, slowly, as quietly as he could. He knew the enemy, the robots that served the Regent, could hear him, no matter how cautiously he advanced, but he tried his best anyway. It was all he could do.

  He continued to move, about 300 meters he guessed, and he could see the hallway ended just up ahead in a T. He stopped just before, peering around carefully, looking both ways. He didn’t see anything, but he heard something, and he responded…just before the enemy opened fire.

  He jerked his head back, reacting to the sound, which had been his first warning…and that saved him, at least for the moment. “Enemy,” he cried, feeling somewhat foolish for saying something so profoundly obvious. He also jerked up his rifle, bringing it around, toward the presumed enemy position and firing.

  He knew he was a bad spot, that the fight that was just be
ginning would be a challenge for his people. The enemy fire was coming hard and fast, and no more than two of his people could get in position to fire each way, and even that was difficult. The Regent’s forces were deployed on both sides, firing toward not his people. He knew they would have fire problems, that they would mostly avoid each other…but he suspected some fire would get through, that they would take some losses from their own shooting. But he couldn’t argue with the location for an ambush, at least not in the purest, most grim-minded sense.

  He wondered if he would have done the same thing, if he would have placed his forces on both sides, giving his enemy no choice but to fight…or to retreat, leaving the rear of his formation open. He did think, not for a second, of retreating. He understood the ambush point, realized that if his people fled, the enemy would advance and fire on them. No…he wasn’t going to take a step backwards, not anymore. He had come to destroy the Regent, and he was going to do just that.

  Or he was going to die…all of his people were going to die.

  He gritted his teeth and continued to fire, not looking, not watching to see what he was hitting. He just blasted away, shooting wildly. He wasn’t sure what else to do. He had decided that the enemy force was strong, that there was no other way to go. He had chosen the correct way…he was almost sure of that. He just questioned whether his people would get through, or whether they would be wiped out.

  He looked back to the soldier behind him, wordlessly communicating with him for a second. Then he jerked his way back, waving up the next trooper to take his place, as he pulled out his comm unit. He wasn’t sure if it would work that well inside the enemy’s labyrinth, what interference the enemy could create, but if he could reach either of the other two commands, he now had one thought in mind. They should abandon their own searches, and rush over to his position.

  He was in the right place…he was sure of that, now. And he wanted everything he had right there.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Bunker Under Cutter Research Compound (Home of the Mules)

  Ten Kilometers West of Victory City, Earth Two

  Earth Two Date 04.12.63

  “Abandon unit four…all residents to units two and three!” Achilles had been left with nothing to do…for a few minutes. Then the next wave of enemy vessels came in…and instead of bombing the surface, their missiles were exploding at surface level, digging up huge segments of gravel and dirt as they did. And, in the case of one of the explosives, shaking things up enough to threaten one of the underground shelters. It hadn’t been destroyed, not yet, though Achilles knew there had been casualties. Many. And of the survivors, he had no idea how badly affected by radiation they were. He didn’t have time for that, not now…he was acting on impulse, doing all he could to save as many people as possible.

  He looked around him, at the control room. He knew his underground facility was the strongest and deepest, that it had been built by his own people, for them. He realized that there were far fewer Mules than Tanks or regulars, and he understood why they were the most protected of all of them. But he was also well aware that the rest of the people, those protected less profoundly, would see it very differently.

  Fortunately, few of them knew about it. Very few of the regular humans had ever been in the Mule’s facility and even less had known about the escape routes dug beneath them.

  Not that it matters…even our shelter will be dug out, eventually…

  He thought about the design of the city, wondered for a moment if it would have made more sense to locate the escape facilities elsewhere, away from the surface buildings. But he realized that there was no way to hide so many people, that at most he would have bought a few minutes, while the enemy scoured the planet, looking for the people.

  “Achilles…unit four evacuation underway. But it will overwhelm units two and three.”

  “Yes, I realize that…but we can’t leave anyone behind. Two and three will just have to do their best.”

  “Understood.”

  Achilles sucked in a deep breath, and he looked up at the displays. Frette was coming in, her ships approaching the planet even then. He considered himself to be cold, balanced…but he felt some relief, and he suspected it was obvious to those around him. The battle was far from over, and even as he watched, another wave of nukes careened down to the surface, blasting into the rock, and digging a deeper hole, where once the great city had lain. Frette’s arrival was no guarantee of victory, nothing like it. But the time of ships attacking the planet without being themselves targeted, was now over. At least as long as Frette had surviving ships—and some of the people buried under the city endured—there was a chance.

  * * *

  The ship was utterly silent, not even the distant sounds of engines. SP-01012 had ordered his vessel to stop, to sit and watch the fight, from just inside the system. SP-01012 wasn’t cowardly, nothing remotely like it. It would sacrifice itself if necessary, as it was programmed to do…but that didn’t mean it didn’t value itself highly and place a significant price on any risk it exposed itself to.

  Its position had changed, from one of many similar systems, each commanding a single scout ship, to the commander of the entire fleet. There was no other way to consider it. It was number two in the First Imperium, its position subordinate only to that of the Regent. And its actions were affected by that, its sense of its own net worth increased.

  It was watching the battle, carefully. It was concerned, or at least as close to that as it could get. It still gave itself an excellent chance of victory, but there was no question the humans had fought well. Very well. It realized that it would be victorious, in a manner of speaking, even if its force was defeated. It had already destroyed all of the human facilities to build new ships. Even if his force was turned away, if every ship was destroyed, the enemy wouldn’t be much better off. They would have at best, a few damaged vessels…with no place to repair them. The Regent would simply build more ships, while the humans were scrambling to reconstruct new shipyards. Even if it’s forces “lost” the fight, if they didn’t manage to exterminate all of the humans, the Regent would win the next battle…utterly.

  And hopefully, it would still lead, it would command the next force. With what it had already achieved, with the destruction of the population centers on the human planet, and the complete obliteration of their manufacturing capacity, victory was almost assured, if not totally now, then in a couple years. That is one reason it located itself in a small ship, a fast vessel positioned near the warp point. If its forces did lose, it would simply flit away, and report things to the Regent. It knew the Regent was beyond its own abilities, that it was possible it would reach a different position that he did. But he didn’t think so…and that was all he had to go on.

  * * *

  Clark was sweating. He knew it wasn’t the temperature on the bridge. There were a lot of things on his battered ship that weren’t working right now, but that wasn’t one of them. No, it wasn’t heat…it was tension. He had been edgy enough when Frette had assigned almost seventy percent of the ships to his direct command, but now he was entering the final stages of the fight. And he still didn’t know who was going to win.

  He had kept an eye on Frette’s forces, on her status, but mostly he had focused on his own portion of the fleet. He’d almost been destroyed earlier, his ship surviving by the slimmest of margins. But his chief engineer—and her entire staff—deserved great praise. They had not only managed to restart the engines, somehow…they had actually managed to restore more than seventy percent of its thrust.

  Most of the vessels in the fight—on both sides—were damaged now, firing incomplete arrays of weapons, and straining to avoid hits with less than their full engine power. He knew that, and an analysis of who had their ships in the best condition was as good a factor to who would win as anything else. But he didn’t have that. He just didn’t know. His readings were spotty, and they were incomplete, even on his own ships. And between damage and the
focus on running his own vessels, firing all weapons, and dodging incoming hits, his largely battered forces simply didn’t have the ability to get more than a quick look at the enemy ships. Whether they were worse on average than his, or the same…or better…he just didn’t know.

  All he knew was he had to fight. To the end.

  He checked his ship’s stats, the damage readings. He commanded several hundred vessels, but right now—and until and unless he decided on any fleet action except to continue fighting—he was, in effect, just the leader of his own ship. The engines were still at seventy two percent, a near miracle…though still less than he’d come in with. He knew his ship was easier to hit than it had been, as were many vessels on both sides, though the damage both fleets had endured lessened their attack power as well.

  Clark turned his head, looking once again at the secondary display…at the location of Frette’s forces. Her ships were approaching the planet…and some had already entered the atmosphere. He knew that meant the battle had reached a turning point. If Frette was defeated, or even if her arrival was too late, the planetary population would be eradicated, the battle as good as lost. He knew that, and he understood why Frette had taken that command herself. But he also knew that he had to hold back the main enemy fleet, he had to defeat it. Even if Frette won, if he lost, his people would lose too. The victorious enemy would simply close on the planet, destroy Frette’s few survivors, and continue to bombard.