Crusade of Vengeance

by Jay Allan

  “Thank you.” Then, a few seconds later, “And I know it is crowded…” He felt a bit uncomfortable with his own space. “…but it’s the only way. The battle will be over soon.” He considered that last bit as he said it, not sure it should have escaped his lips. It was true, no question, there just weren’t that many ships left…but what would happen then, who would win, was still very up in the air.

  * * *

  “Bring us down…maximum speed!” Frette had actually been slowing her speed for almost an hour, reducing it to the levels she needed to enter the atmosphere. But now she was coming down, and she wanted to do it as quickly as possible. Her part of the battle was almost over. Either her remaining ships would destroy the enemy vessels before they managed to wipe out the population…or they wouldn’t.

  She realized that it was possible she was already too late, that the enemy bombing had completed its goal of destroying Earth-2’s population. She had reached out, called for any ground units still functional—still alive—to respond, but she knew the presence of the enemy fleet probably meant her attempts would be blocked, even if there were still humans alive down there. She had nothing to do, nothing save destroy every enemy vessel as quickly as possible.

  She had already come fairly close to that. In the desperate pursuit, the ongoing attack, she had destroyed or severely damaged more than eighty percent of the enemy vessels…and she had lost almost the exact same portion of her own. The ships fighting now were the last ones, at least in the forces close to Earth-2, and the combat, at least this portion of it, was almost over. The enemy had entered the atmosphere, and they were bombarding the planet. That was bad, in the sense that the population was exposed to ceaseless bombardment, that even if it didn’t wipe them all out immediately, it would spread radiation sickness.

  But it also meant that the enemy force was focused on something other than her ships. That, combined with the vastly slower speeds of the enemy ships in orbit and the atmosphere, gave her vessels a chance. A chance to end the fight now…and to find out whether there were any survivors on the planet.

  Her own ship was battered—all her vessels were—but it still possessed two of its main guns and four secondary batteries. And as it descended, as it streaked through the upper atmosphere, it continued to fire. Its guns blasted away, firing stronger than they were supposed to, and charging more rapidly. She knew her ships were almost destroyed, that even the ones that survived the fight, if any did, had put out so much, there was no coming back. Her own vessel had blown multiple systems, as she was sure most of her ships had. Her fleet, even the vessels not taken out by the enemy, was almost spent. It was only the engineers, and their desperate efforts to keep the vessels fighting, that staved off final destruction…for a few minutes more.

  And a few minutes will be enough…

  She watched as her ship fired, and as her shots began to hit, vastly better than they did in space. The enemy shots were just as good, but many of their ships were firing at the ground, trying to destroy the population before they themselves were obliterated. She couldn’t help but admire the bots, their total lack of concern for survival. She realized that defeating her forces was only the secondary goal of the ships she had pursued. Destroying Earth-2 was number one, and fighting on as she did, she wasn’t sure they hadn’t already done that, that her destruction of their force would be pointless.

  But she realized she had no option, none but to fight…to the end.

  She stared straight ahead, watched as her guns fired, and as they destroyed the enemy. She saw some of her own ships blasted, too, of course, but now that a fair number of the enemy vessels were targeting the surface, she knew she had an advantage. It was time…time to take them all out.

  Time to see if any of her people on the planet were still alive.

  “Focus on the ships bombing the surface!” She spat out the command, directing her vessels to fire not at the ships shooting at them, but at those bombarding the surface. She didn’t know if there were any survivors down there, not yet anyway…but she had no choice but to assume there were. And keeping them alive meant hitting the ships bombing them first.

  “Yes, that’s right.” she said a few seconds later. “Take out the enemy ships dropping bombs first…ignore the vessels shooting at us!”

  * * *

  Clark held on, as tightly as he could. He knew his ship was badly damaged, that almost all his vessels were…but the enemy was in no better shape. His final advance, closing to an almost unheard of range, had amped up the battle even more than it had been. He still wasn’t sure who would win, or if anyone could actually claim victory after taking the losses both sides were. But, of course, there was victory. If his people came out of it, with even one broken down ship left, and the enemy didn’t have one…that was victory, of a sort. And even more if a decent number of the civilians on the planet survived.

  Right now, he had only one concern…to destroy the enemy. All of them. That part was still up in the air, though he realized he was close…but he was also close to being wiped out.

  His own ship was left, something he couldn’t say about seventy percent of his hulls. That was luck, he realized, and only luck. If anything, he had exposed his vessel more than the others, advanced it directly in the forefront of the fleet. And it was battered, badly. He still had two major batteries though, and as long as he had anything that could shoot, his vessel would be in the front of his forces.

  He had almost taken over the gunnery, firing the two weapons himself. But he had realized that the ship’s senior gunner was probably better than he was, so he just sat and watched. It wasn’t the way he’d imagined a great battle. He’d assumed that he would be constantly busy, issuing one order after another, but while he was paying explicit attention, he realized he’d only given a few commands. Whether that was simply the reality of combat, or just something explicit to this type of battle, one to be fought to the finish, he didn’t know.

  And right now, he didn’t care. Even as he sat still, watching, he saw more ships destroyed, on both sides. The two forces were locked in a terrible fight, a desperate battle to the end…and try as he might, Clark couldn’t tell which side would endure.

  The ships were barely a thousand kilometers apart, far in some instances, but in terms of space combat, almost touching. And his ships were still closing, reducing the intervening space even more. He had even considered ordering his ships, those badly beaten up and without offensive power, to try to ram. But he couldn’t do that…not yet at least. Still, he’d had a few ships who’d tried it on their own, and one that had actually made contact, destroyed an enemy battleship along with itself.

  His vessel fired, it’s two remaining guns fully powered, blasting away. He found the closeness of the enemy to be disrupting, but even at such a range, the majority of shots still missed. He had more than doubled his hit rate, almost tripled it, but the enemy had seen the same effect. That just hastened the conclusion of the fight, reduced the time until it was decided.

  The fleet felt almost as though it was melting, as though it was fading to almost nothing. He knew that wasn’t really true, that fewer than half the destroyed ships had actually exploded. The space behind him was filled with wrecked ships, with or without survivors, but without weapons, without power. Some of them might survive, assuming his fleet actually won, but he just didn’t know.

  He focused his eyes on the target, as his ship continued forward, directly toward it. His thrust was severely off, down now to, at most, twenty percent. But his distance was now a scant four hundred miles. It was closer than any range he could remember, any reasonable distance for combat. But he was still closing.

  The closer he got, the better his odds of hitting—and being hit. But either way, the battle had gone on for a long while. It was time…to end it either way.

  His weapons fired, and they came close. But no hit. The enemy fired as well, a ship comparable to his in both size and the damage it had suffered. Its shots were also c
lose, one of them barely missing. But the fight went on.

  All along his line, what was left of it, anyway, he saw the battle turning to a bunch of individual duels, ships paired off, so close to each other that there was nothing to do but exchange fire, to shoot until they destroyed their adversary, or it did the same thing to them.

  His eyes went to the screen, still working, mostly, at least…though now there were several large lines running across it. His own monitor was still functioning, though, and the timer until the ship’s guns were ready to fire again showed less than twenty seconds.

  He stared at his gunner, and at the enemy ship on the screen. In his head, he spat out all sorts of commands, orders to aim, to fire. But he just sat where he was, still, watching.

  He didn’t know the precise timing of the enemy ship’s recharging, but his ship had shot first the last time, and unless its adversary had more efficient powering mechanisms, he figured he would get the next one, too. But that was mostly speculation. In truth, he didn’t really know. He just hoped for the best.

  And he got it. The instant the timer reached zero, the guns fired…and they both hit! The shots looked like direct hits, but he had seen enough not to assume. Not until perhaps five seconds later, when the ship erupted into a huge fireball, and then vanished.

  He looked, for three or four seconds, celebrating. Then he scanned the monitor, looking for another target, the nearest one. He calculated the approach trajectory, the course to the enemy vessel—that had just taken out one of his ships—and he snapped out the orders, purely and crisply. The battle would go on, to the bitter end…and even after he was destroyed, when his ship gave out, he was certain the others would continue fighting.

  Until only one side remained.

  Chapter Forty

  Inside the Regent’s Fortification

  Alpha-Omega 12 III

  Earth Two Date 04.12.63

  Damn!

  Max Harmon looked around, at his shrinking collection of troops, and at the few of them still in position, firing. And at the growing pile of wounded…and dead.

  His eyes moved back to his comm specialist. He’d been sending out the same information, repeating it again and again. But the enemy was clearly blocking his transmissions. That didn’t mean there was no chance any of his comms got through…but no responses had. Not yet at least.

  Things were going badly, too. His people were caught in a bad place, with limited firepower. Worse, perhaps, the enemy knew the terrain better, and the automated mechanisms had much better fire control in the tightly confined space than his battered soldiers. He had good men and women with him, no question, some of the best from Earth-2…but it wasn’t going to be enough.

  He moved, grimacing for a moment as he felt his wound. It wasn’t bleeding, at least not much, not at the moment, but it hurt. It wasn’t mortal, not unless it remained open and untouched for a long while, but it was painful.

  And it was getting worse…which Harmon knew wasn’t good.

  He looked around, trying the best he could to hide it from the others. Everyone knew he was hurt—he couldn’t hide that—but most of them thought it was more superficial than it was. He didn’t know the true opinions of his team, whether some of his remaining supporters were in the mix, or if everyone present would be just as happy if his injury finished him off. He’d tried to go through the volunteers, select people who were at least professional, but he wasn’t foolish enough to believe that all the people who’d turned against him in recent years had been open about it. But he did believe most, if not all, of the people he’d brought understood the importance of the operation…and would follow him through to the end.

  Which might be coming…soon. He glanced over at the comm station again. Still nothing. Then he looked ahead, just as another of his troops on the firing line fell back…and dropped immediately. He hoped, for a second, that it was just a wound, a minor one…but the unmoving body told him otherwise.

  His force was tiny now, most of his people killed or wounded. He knew he had to make some kind of move, but even as he was considering what he could do, the enemy beat him to it.

  He heard the sound of his forward personnel, and in an instant, he knew what was happening. He couldn’t get more personnel on the front line, but he shouted out commands, quickly and shockingly calmly. His people moved the wounded, the best they could, behind the line they formed. Harmon knew he should position himself to the rear, that his position and his injury entitled him to such a position. But he realized in his gut it was almost over. His steadiness began to deteriorate. His people were going to die, all of them. He tried to believe that one of the other groups would find their way to the Regent, and he knew his own death wouldn’t completely end the effort…but it wasn’t good.

  He was sure now that the Regent was ahead of his group, and possibly not that far. But his resolve faded, as he heard the bots coming down the corridor. His troops were firing, and destroying some of the enemy, no doubt…but there just weren’t many of them left. Then, suddenly, the enemy reached the corner…and they came about. They charged his shattered line, shooting, even as his own troops returned the fire. For an instant, his line held, they defeated the first three or four enemies to emerge. But there were more bots, and they pushed forward, firing like mad. The entire hallway was covered with fire, smoke and dust mixing with the energy pulses. Something—luck, perhaps, though he wasn’t sure if it was good or bad—caused it all to miss him. But he could tell, amid the smoke and dust all around him that many of his remaining people were down.

  He fired, wildly, now convinced he was in the last minute of his life. He had led the force to the Regent’s home planet, and he had gotten fairly far, at least he believed he had. He’d also caught the Regent ill-prepared to defend itself. But not ill-prepared enough. Not quite.

  He fired, again and again, ignoring the pain from his wound…ignoring everything. He couldn’t feel anything, not pain, nor fear. He was going to die, and he knew it. He looked around, saw that less than half his remaining people were still standing. They were good, and they knew their only chance was to push forward…somehow. But Harmon could feel them beginning to break. There comes a time in battle, when most people, even the bravest and most dedicated, lose control, and run. That was beginning to happen, even as Harmon latched on to his own spirit. If he was younger, if he wasn’t the hated dictator of Earth-2, about to oversee the biggest disaster in human history, perhaps he would have run as well. But he was all of that, and he decided instead to die where he was.

  He fired, again and again, even as his few survivors began to run, to flee. He felt his entire effort falling away, to nothing. He hit another bot, barely three meters ahead, and it fell to the ground, disabled if not destroyed. He wanted to shut his eyes, prepare for his end…but something kept him up, awake and firing, even as he expected to die at any second.

  Then he heard something…from behind. He thought, for a moment, that he was hearing things, that his mind had shifted from reality to what he hoped for…but then the sound repeated, again and again. It was fire, from behind him. Toward the enemy.

  He thought, wondered if it was possible that his message had gotten through, that one of the other contingents had actually come. Impossible! Or at least improbable. But it was so!

  He thought of that for perhaps a second, maybe two. Then he felt something hit him. It wasn’t pain, not exactly, but he realized he had taken another hit…and he felt himself slipping away, losing consciousness. And then he was gone.

  * * *

  Leigh felt strange, beyond exhausted on the one hand, yet driven, ready to take things to their ultimate completion, whatever that was. She had destroyed three enemy ships, an almost unimaginable result, and she was fighting the fourth one even as she sat there, watching every step, waiting for whatever happened.

  She wanted to issue orders, to come up with some brilliant way for her people to fight the enemy ship, but there was nothing. She had given every command
she could, blurted out every bit of advice she had. Her future was largely in the hands of her gunners…and in the engineers who would be responsible for dealing with any hits her vessel took.

  She had endured far longer than she’d dared to hope, and her stealth system had earned its weight in…in what? She had been thinking of gold, but its value had proven to be far greater even than that. She had scored three solid hits on the final enemy ship, and she hadn’t taken a single one in return.

  Of course, even one hit could badly damage my ship…while that battlecruiser can take a bunch…

  She was silent, as she had been since the last hit, watching and waiting. Then her vessel’s guns scored a fourth hit, and the enemy ship was showing some damage. It jerked slightly, and after she let out a howl of excitement, she snapped out a command to her first officer. “Damage report,” she said, though she knew she’d get it anyway, as soon as it was available.

  “Coming…” The word was the last one spoken on the bridge before the ship shook hard. Leigh knew immediately what had happened. Her vessel had been hit…and from the feel of it, fairly badly. She knew she was due, long past due actually, but she still felt disappointment.

  “Redo avoidance program…switch to routine C.” She snapped out the command, changing her vessel’s avoidance routine.

  “Yes, Captain.” The response was followed almost immediately by a hard jerk, as the engines roared, and the ship shook off its previous pattern. But a second later, she saw the incoming beams, a miss…but barely. She guessed that one of the shots had been one hundred meters away, but an instant later, the report came in, proving her wrong. It had been forty-three meters off.

  “Check the…” She had been in the process of ordering the status of the stealth unit checked, but her first officer turned just as she was speaking, and she knew exactly what he had found.