Exodus: Empires at War: Book 17: The Rebirth

by Doug Dandridge

  His own ship, one of the new stealth/attack, home to a wormhole, was now more than twenty light minutes from the target and totally undetectable. The take from his ambush, as seen by his sensors, was going back to the headquarters. Perhaps to the notice of the Emperor himself.

  The plot showed the missiles boosting in, the ships of the enemy maneuvering, counters coming out. It looked like complete confusion among the enemy, something that was sure to increase the damage to those vessels. The missiles wouldn't have generated enough velocity to become capital ship killers, though they would pack enough energy, along with their warheads, to cause considerable damage. And a ship sent back to the shipyards was out of action just as well as one turned into a spreading cloud of plasma.

  “They won't get there in time, my Lord,” said his tactical officer, pointing at some of the icons of boosting destroyers.

  “No, most won't,” agreed the sub-captain.

  Any destroyers hit would be totally destroyed, but might save a capital ship from a hit. The sub-captain preferred hitting the larger vessels, but any kill was a victory.

  Counters started to make kills, most of them and a quarter of the missiles falling off the plot. The next wave took out more weapons, the next still more, but a smaller percentage. Over two thousand weapons made it through the counter basket, now engaged by close in weapons and lasers. The first of the enemy ships was hit, a destroyer, fading from the plot, a sure sign that they were gone. More hits, destroyers, this time joined by a cruiser. And then the jackpot. A trio of capital ships, hit dead center, their graviton emissions fading to a mere shadow of what they had been.

  The second wave forged in, through the counter basket, into the teeth of the close in weapons, to strike.

  “Headquarters is requesting a report, my Lord.”

  And they can't even let me enjoy the victory, he thought with an internal groan. “It looks like major damage to thirty-eight capital ships. Total destruction to one hundred and forty-seven cruisers and destroyers.”

  Moments after the missiles left their launchers the nanites onboard those tubes started to work, taking they apart at the molecular level, leaving no trace for the enemy to find. They would have a mystery on their hands, something command wanted.

  A good haul for his first mission as a stealth/attack captain. Now it was time to maneuver and set up another kill zone. The ship boosted away on cold gas reaction thrusters, slow but untraceable. This time it would be much more difficult, since the enemy had to know there was a hidden enemy in the system.

  * * *

  “That seems to be the end of them, my Lord,” croaked the injured tactical officer.

  Thank the Gods, thought Admiral Krakabas. His fleet was in disarray, almost half of his screening force gone, most of his capital ships damaged. More waves like the last two and he and all of his people would be dead. And he still didn't know where the missiles had come from. That was the most frightening thought of all.

  “Go take care of the seriously injured,” the admiral croaked at the medic who squatted to see to Krakabas' broken limb. The arm hurt, though his internal nanites were working to soften the nerve signals. But there were others who had been hurt much more grievously on the flag bridge. The missile hadn't been enough to kill the battleship, but the shock wave it had propagated through the vessel had knocked the crew around. Anyone not strapped in had suffered at least bruises.

  Krakabas looked at the tactical tech who was helping the wounded. The Knockerman looked none the worse for wear, while the more gracile Brakakak had suffered from their bangs and bruises.

  “Admiral Mgonda is asking for a report,” said the com officer, one of the lucky ones who had been in battle armor prior to the ship being hit.

  “Tell him my force is no longer fit for action,” said the heartbroken admiral. He had wanted action, and possible glory. But this action had resulted in no glory, only pain.

  Chapter Seven

  In war, you win or lose, live or die - and the difference is just an eyelash. Douglas MacArthur

  JUNE 27TH, 1004. CAPITULUM: JEWEL.

  “But they weren't put in a particularly dangerous place, High Lord Grarakakak,” said Sean forcefully, looking into the face of his avian ally on the holo.

  Sean Looked over at a holo that showed the sensor take of the incident, if that word wasn't too mild for a surprise attack that had killed so many people and taken so much tonnage from the order of battle. The Brakakak force was ten light minutes inside the hyper barrier, giving them some protection from attacks coming into the system, while allowing them to enter the higher dimensions within a reasonable time range. Standard operating procedure for Imperial units.

  Grarakakak, of course, was back at his capital, but the wormhole made it seem as if he were in the next room.

  “I realize that, Emperor Sean,” said the Brakakak, his own face showing exasperation to someone who knew how to read his species facial expressions. “I am not saying it is the fault of your people. In fact, I must say that you have treated my people with equanimity. But that is not what a lot of my people are saying. They are looking for an excuse to distance us from you in this war.”

  Sean nodded. He had heard as much from his intelligence service, which was monitoring Elysium though the Imperial Embassies and Consulates throughout that Empire. People playing political games, jockeying for power, and using any tool they could find. Not everyone in Elysium was on board with their efforts.

  Well, they would have been on board if the damned Cacas had come over their borders, he thought. The Cacas had actually sent a clandestine force into the Elysium Empire, the one that had struck at the Donut over the wormhole connection. That was a small incident to the people of Elysium, though it had been a very big deal indeed to Sean and his people.

  At the start of the war, when it had been in doubt if the Empire would survive or not, the aid of Elysium had been vital to Sean. Now that the war was going their way they could probably cut Elysium loose, and Crakista as well, though it would definitely prolong the conflict.

  Another holo popped up beside the one containing the High Lord, this one scrolling text.

  Shit, thought Sean, attempting to keep the expression of shock from his face. Another allied force, this time Crakista, had been hit. And he could expect a call from their ambassador, if not one of the Counsels. That, added to the two attacks against the Elysium forces, made the pattern clear. The Cacas were trying to drive a wedge between the allies. If the two alien powers started taking inordinate casualties while Imperial forces went untouched, suspicions would continue to be raised. It could end the alliance.

  “I'm not really sure what I can do here, High Lord. We can station some of our own units around your own, or make sure that your battle groups are always interspersed with my own. But then we encounter other problems. I can see your firebrands raising hell, saying that we obviously don't trust you.”

  “Yes,” said Grarakakak, a thoughtful expression on his face. “No matter what you do, the naysayers will come out in force. I'm not sure what to do.”

  Sean knew what he could do. It was obvious that the Cacas had something new deployed. Whether a wormhole deployed, collapsed and expanded to launch missiles, or some kind of stealth craft, he couldn't say. If it was a wormhole, the missiles should have come through at high relativistic velocities. Instead they had started off with almost no velocity, boosting at max to reach their targets. He could order destroyers and cruisers to search that area, looking for any concentrations of atoms that shouldn't be there. If he acted soon, and didn't wait for them all to diffuse into the system vacuum.

  “We'll look into it, High Lord. I think the Cacas are hitting us with something new. The sooner we can figure out what, and what to do about it, the better.”

  * * *

  “We have another attack report, Supreme Lord. Success.”

  Mrastaran looked over at the male giving the report, a tight smile on his face. He gave a head motion of acceptance,
then pulled up the report on a holo.

  Very good, he thought, looking over the figures. Twenty thousand missiles, and the mines that carried them, for a return of thirty-seven capital ships damaged, most heavily, and over a hundred screening vessels destroyed. This time from the forces of the reptilian allies of the humans.

  They were still launching the fast attack craft ambushes, with a lower payoff than before. The enemy was taking precautions now, scanning systems with hundreds of scouts before anything else went in. They couldn't find everything, but any sign of an ambush and they took their time to thoroughly search. That was fine with the Emperor. It was all well and good to stick the enemy with pins, but causing them to take more time with their advance was the purpose. The longer they took to forge into his empire, the more time he had to prepare his fleet for major actions.

  The stealth/attack ships were something else entirely, and the longer the enemy wasn't sure what was hitting them from out of the dark, the better. They were copies of the human version, with some unique differences. They had the standard grabber units of course, for propulsion in normal space. They lacked hyperdrive arrays, carried in and out of systems by larger warships. And they carried an old fashioned propulsion system that was as effective as it was obsolete.

  Some of his alien scientists had come up with the idea. It had only taken some kindness and select enticements to get their cooperation. Mrastaran had always believed in using the carrot rather than the stick, and so far he was achieving results. The aliens had come up with an advancement of cold gas jets, used for attitude adjustment in primitive spacecraft. The modern version used gas compressed to ten thousand atmospheres, something inconceivable to the ancient spacers. They could boost a ship at up to ten gravities, as much as crew could handle in couches without the inertial compensators that were incorporated into grabbers. And since the stealth/attack were equipped with a wormhole, they could be resupplied with gas cylinders, in this case nitrogen, at will.

  And soon our first accelerator tubes will come online, he thought, his agile mind forging ahead and thinking of targets they could take out with thirty wormhole missiles in a line. He would never have as many as the humans, who could bring over a thousand of the devices to bear in a single fight. In a week he would have eight of them, in a month twenty. A year from now he would have over a hundred and fifty, enough to actually do something.

  The human histories he was studying were paying dividends. The humans, through all eras of technology had come up with ingenious ways to use what they called force multipliers. The tactics seemed so simple, like something any fool could come up with. Only intelligent beings didn't think that way. They forgot the lessons of the past, or just overlooked them. Well, he would remind them, forcefully.

  * * *

  JUNE 29TH, 1004. CENTRAL FRONT.

  “Nitrogen,” exclaimed Len, looking at the face of the junior captain leading the destroyer squadron that was searching the space around the ambush sight. The twelve ships were slowly cruising the space, their particle sensors sampling the gas molecules.

  “Yes, sir,” said the young man, nodding. “Still in low concentrations, maybe a thousand particles per cubic meter. But definitely more nitrogen than expected in the vacuum of system space. And something else.”

  “Well, don't leave me in suspense,” growled Len, his eyes narrowing.

  “We're picking up high concentrations of metals in the space in line with the path the missiles took,” said the captain, shrugging his shoulders. “No idea what that means, sir. But it was unusual enough to note.”

  “Good job, captain. My compliments to your ship commanders. I will be making a note in the files of all of your ships.”

  The holo faded, leaving Len alone with his thoughts. He had already forwarded the information to his chief of staff, who would make sure the intelligence and science experts would take a look. With another thought he forwarded the information to Fleet command, so their experts could look it over as well. That taken care of, he turned his attention back to his deployments.

  Seven of his battle groups had an Elysium task force attached to them. While he was thankful for the reinforcements, it now troubled him that they might be targeted by the enemy for an attack. He had split the larger groups and ordered them spread among his own forces, trying to make them less attractive as targets. And placing them near the center of his groups. The Brakakak might take exception to this, casting aspersions on their courage. But dammit, he wasn't about to let the Cacas use them to hurt the alliance. Not on his watch.

  “Admiral,” said a familiar voice as a holo sprung to life in the air.

  I wish the boy would stop scaring me like that, he thought as he winced. “You Majesty. What can I do for you this fine day?”

  “We think the Cacas are using stealth/attack ships to hit us. So, you need to be on the lookout for those ships.”

  Shit. Len didn't like the sound of that. The Empire had used the stealth/attack ships against the Cacas with great effect throughout the war. The ships could sneak into just about any space, using the smallest of accelerations, and kill at will. If the enemy had developed the technology, and there was no reason why they couldn't, it was very bad news.

  “How many of them?” he asked, thinking of the waves of missiles that had struck the Elysium groups. “How could they launch that many missiles?”

  “Chan thinks they have copied our mines as well. A stealth ship could seed space with them over a couple of days, then launch. That would be consistent with the metal atoms your destroyers picked up. So we're thinking a couple of days to deploy. Does that give you any ideas on how to defeat them?”

  Len could tell from Sean's expression that the young man had already come up with an idea, but was testing his fleet commander.

  “How about we deploy just outside the barrier, then jump them every twelve hours or so. Would that work?”

  “That should,” said Sean, a smile on his face. “And it should drive the bastards in those ships crazy. I think constant patrols should also help.”

  Len nodded. He wondered what other surprises this intelligent Caca would pull on them. He was sure it would be something unexpected. Len was also sure that the Caca Emperor would find that the New Terran Empire had it own geniuses, who were more than willing to match wits with the big slow aliens.

  “We have movement in sector eighteen,” called out a voice over the com. “Several thousand ships in hyper VII. Heading toward the edge of the sector, into seventeen.”

  Len grunted as he looked at the plot. Sector eighteen was well behind the front, an area of one hundred light years cubed. A million cubic light years. Supposedly pacified and under control. Except the Cacas still had ships there, and in several other sectors. Or were those the same ships, moved around?

  “That's the third movement this week,” the admiral told his monarch. “All starting nowhere, and heading no place in particular. By the time we get there, there's nothing. Not a trace.”

  “That bastard is playing head games with us,” said Sean, eyes narrowing. “Probably using wormholes to move them around, bringing them into a sector, moving them so we can see them, then taking them out.”

  “Well, whatever they're doing, it's driving my people crazy,” said Len, shaking his head.

  “Only your people?”

  “Okay, your Majesty,” admitted Len. “It's driving me crazy too. I can't just ignore them. If I do that they'll slip a real attack in there, and we'll all be sorry.”

  “And there's no way we can cover that much space,” said Sean, brow knit in thought.

  “The worst part is, the further we push into their space, the more volume we create behind us.” Len threw his hands up in disgust. “Something I never had to worry about when we were fighting in our own territory”

  “He's studying the second global war,” said Sean, nodding. “Attackers always create their own problem, expanding the territory they have to patrol the further into enemy lands they push. All
I can say is make sure your ships travel in large enough groups to fight off an unexpected attack.”

  The wormhole gates made convoying men and materials much easier, and safer. Freighters, tankers and transports went into a wormhole in one secure system and out the other end in another secure system. Only there weren't enough gates to cover all the planets the Empire had overrun. Thousands of planets, inhabited, with native or transplanted species. Many newly freed and in need of aid. Others with Caca garrisons intact, in need of liberation. And small groups of ships forged between these systems. Sometimes they were tracked by Caca vessels and attacked.

  That didn't even count the millions of systems that were more or less useless to carbon based life. No habitable planets. Some had resources, but nothing that couldn't be found in better systems. All potential hiding places for enemy ships. If they even needed a system, since they could just as well sit in interstellar space. Tiny dots in an endless sea, only detectable from a limited distance when they engaged their hyperdrives.

  “They're moving those ships in places where they know they will be detected,” said Len, sure that he was right. “Otherwise we would never detect them. So they're following our own movements, then moving their ships to get a reaction from us. All the effect of a probing attack without risking their ships.”

  “I think you're right, Len,” said Sean, sighing. “He's doing everything he can to preserve ships. He's willing to spend them when necessary, but wants to hit us, and hit us hard, when he considers the time is right.”

  “At least he isn't detonating stars,” said Len, trying to find a positive. “Intelligence thought this Caca might have been against that tactic, and they're proving to be correct.”

  “So far,” agreed Sean, looking intently into the eyes of his admiral. “But don't assume that's a given. I want you to make sure before you stick too much of your force into any system.”