Exodus: Empires at War: Book 17: The Rebirth

by Doug Dandridge

  “We are in the path of the missiles, Corporal Han. Suggest we move.”

  Looking at the wide swath that was definitely coming his way, heading for the fleet he was falling ahead of, he couldn't see any way to move completely from their path. Not with the pitiful acceleration of the suit.

  “Track any close missiles and try to move us out of any that are coming right at us.”

  “With their building velocity that might not be possible,” said the flat voice of the computer. Of course it was flat. It had no emotions, no fear, really no survival imperative. With its obedience subroutine it would do everything it could to make the missiles miss, but its capabilities were very limited.

  “Missile swarm will be passing in eight seconds. Seven. Six. Five.”

  Han could have done without the countdown, but he couldn't summon the breath to order it to stop. Gauntleted hands clenched into fists as he stared at the HUD. The corporal had been in ground combat, and had accepted that he might eventually die, as had so many around him. But to die helpless floating in space, not aiding his Empire and his people in the least? That was intolerable.

  “One,” said the computer, and Han closed his eyes, waiting for the end. And waiting.

  “Missile swarm has passed,” announce the computer. “Tracking vector changes towards the fleet.”

  “Orient me to look at the fleet.” he ordered.

  The fleet had been decelerating furiously, then changing its vector while he fell ahead. He had also been decelerating at less than a hundredth their rate, and the distance was far and growing. The corporal wouldn't be able to see the action. Everything was moving too fast. He would see the bright points as warheads went off, and the secondary brighter pinpoint that signified a ship breaching antimatter. The infantryman had the best seat in the house to the spectacle of a missile duel, and wished with everything he had that he was aboard one of those ships. At least then he would either survive or die, and not have to wait out his inevitable and eventual demise.

  Small suns appeared in space in the direction of the fleet, closer kills. Then the smaller points as the distance from him increased. He thought he could tell what was going on by the different flares. Small ones were counters going off and not making a kill. A much brighter flare was a kill, a direct hit, warheads joining in simultaneous flame. There were small points, followed almost immediately by a large one. Those were counters going off just ahead of a missile, the radiation or particle field too much for the fast moving offensive weapon to take. Several times there were triple flares, probably a missile hit, then its own warhead taking out another.

  The flares stopped, then twenty seconds or so later they resumed. Han could only assume that the first wave of counters was through, then the second wave struck. Three cycles of that and many more missiles started to flare, hit by the hundreds of lasers striking out in counter-weapon duty. Suddenly a couple of flares were linked in the same region, followed by a tremendous flare. That was a ship dying. And then it was over. The fleet was still there, still moving away from him. Doing him no good, but at least they were safe.

  “Fleet is changing vectors,” said the suit computer. “Starting to accelerate back into the system.”

  “How close will they pass?” he asked, hoping this might be his hoped for rescue coming his way.

  “Closest approach will be just over two light seconds.”

  Over six hundred thousand kilometers. Not close enough to do him any good, unless they decided he was worth rescuing. He thought he was, but a fleet in combat might not see it that way. Still, he had to do something and hope.

  “Boost the distress signal.”

  “Boosting signal fifty-four percent. It is at maximum. Power decreasing.”

  That really didn't matter. If he wasn't picked up within an hour,he was probably dead. Unless.

  “Can you initiate cryo?”

  “Insufficient energy.”

  Shit. He should have ordered that option sooner, but he had been too afraid of going in cryo and never coming out. Now he was destined to go into the blackness of death, and there was definitely no coming back from that.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Hence that general is skilful in attack whose opponent does not know what to defend; and he is skilful in defense whose opponent does not know what to attack. Sun Tzu

  “The enemy fleet is changing vectors, my Lord,” announced the chief of staff, stomping onto the bridge.

  Lokasure, of course, was paying attention to the force in front of him. The gate was charged with sending swarms of wormhole launched missiles, a hundred thousand every twenty minutes, toward the fleet insystem. None of those missiles had reached them yet, and he was wondering if he should have started them on their way much sooner. There were still a half dozen minefields to fire, set up to take them along the way in. But if they were making any kind of major vector change?

  “Where are they heading?”

  “They are boosting to port and up. That will take them out of close proximity to the last four minefields. We can, of course, still engage, but they will have more time to react.”

  Lokasure was not sure that was a bad thing. The common wisdom was that missiles were more effective over range. They built up to higher velocities and were much more difficult to engage before they started their own final attack run. But defensive fire had grown more effective throughout the war. Better weapons, better command and control, and frankly better tactics. Wormhole missiles made the whole distance thing moot, but the humans still had thousands of the advanced launchers, while his Empire had a couple of score. And less efficient in their ability to boost their weapons. They could make up some of that with the gates, but it was not as efficient or effective.

  “Send the signal for all of the fields to track and fire. If we can't get them in close range, we might as well send as big a swarm at them as possible.”

  The chief of staff gave a head motion of acknowledgment, then moved to one of the stations to send the order.

  “My Lord. We have more warp missiles on the way. Over eight hundred this time.”

  “And still no sign of fighters?”

  “No, my Lord. I think they don't have any operational fighters, and are dropping the missiles into space, then engaging them remotely.”

  That made sense. Carriers were made to launch fighters, and fighters needed reloads of weapons to stay in the fight. That carrier might have had thousands of warp missiles aboard, and with no launch platforms, the human commander had done the only thing possible.

  “We have wormhole missiles, my Lord. Thirty light seconds out and coming in at point nine five light.”

  “How many?”

  “A hundred and eighty of their smaller class, my Lord.”

  That was also bad news. He had expected the battleships to have wormholes. The enemy had so many that almost all of their capital ships carried one, at least when they weren't themselves deployed through a wormhole. Now it seemed that the carrier, also carrying one, had configured it to launch, something they never did. Well, not never, since they were doing it now. And the fifty ton missiles allowed for launches of sixty per volley, instead of the thirty the old full sized missiles had allowed. The missiles didn't carrying the same amount of kinetic energy, but then they didn't need to. A straight on hit was still enough to kill most ships, and they had twice as many chances for an impact.

  Why did everything have to change so fast, thought the fuming admiral. They had started the fight with the humans years ahead in tech. That advantage was partially illusion, as the wormholes made themselves felt almost immediately. Then the humans had jumped years ahead on the tech front. The Empire was trying desperately to catch up, but it was difficult when the human had so many loyal scientists in their nations.

  And he was still having problems getting his missiles to hit. The humans had excellent electronic warfare suites, another tech the Ca'cadasans had ignored for too long. They found the frequency the Ca'cadasans were using for ac
tive missile sensors, and duplicated it, sending out spoofing echoes that pulled missiles off course, or deploying decoys that mimicked their ships. The decoys couldn't do that for long. They ran out of power shortly after switching on. But they didn't have to, and the humans, at least these humans, seemed to have an endless supply of the damn things.

  Could they be bringing them over by wormhole? he thought, scoffing at the notion. That would mean another wormhole, beside the three he had already accounted for. And that was too many for that force. It was bad enough that so many of their specialized missile defense escorts had survived and were doing a very good job of intercepting those missiles that made it through the decoys. They had to be running low on counters, didn't they?

  “Keep sending volleys at them,” he ordered. “As long as we have weapons to launch.”

  He was still taking out ships, a couple each launch, all screening vessels. But they would soon run out of those, and the capital ships would be the only possible targets. Then they would start hitting them as well. Wouldn't they?

  * * *

  “The Shodaki Maru is reporting that they are almost out of decoys,” reported the com officer, a worried expression on her face.

  Why shouldn't she be worried, thought Merkle, grimacing. The decoys were one of the few advantages they had. Outfitted with brand new tech, they were doing a great job luring enemy missiles into fruitless attack. The logistics ship had been packed to the brim with them, their one bit of luck. Tens of thousands of them, but even that number wasn't limitless.

  “Keep deploying them as needed,” she ordered. They would run through the remainder quickly, but what use to save them and not deploy a sufficient number. So far the high tech devices, weighing in at just under a hundred tons each, had perfectly mimicked ships, sending out graviton emissions and sensor returns that enemy missiles couldn't distinguish from the real thing. Most were fooled into attacking the decoys. A missile hitting one, despite its small size, still resulted in a detonation. Most times the missiles detonated for proximity kills. And the few that moved off to look for other targets were easily tracked and killed. Which left at most a few hundred weapons that actually attacked her ships.

  If only if we had them deployed before the attack, thought Merkle, shaking her head. Then they would have the majority of the force still intact, four wings of warp fighters ready to attack, and another logistics ship ready to deploy more decoys. Unfortunately, she had what she had, and nothing else was coming.

  “That was the last of the warp missiles,” said the tactical officer. “At least all we have access to.”

  Merkle nodded. They still had the two hangars which were sealed off behind damaged hatches. A full squadron of sixteen attack birds, a partial squadron of nine space superiority fighters in the other. And plenty of reloads, doing as much good as the fighters with the hatches closed.

  “How long before we have those hangars open?” she asked the damage control officer on the holo hanging in the air.

  “It's looking like the one will be clear in the next ten minutes. The other will take a bit longer.”

  “Can you put any more people on them?”

  “All the rest of the damage control crews are busy trying to get people out of compartments, ma'am. That should be their priority, right?”

  “Wrong,” said Merkle, already regretting the order she was about to give. But if her ship was blown out of space it wouldn't matter if those people were stuck in a compartment or free to roam the ship. “Get everyone you can on those hangars. When they are open they can go back to search and rescue.”

  “But, those people need to get out, ma'am.”

  “You heard my order. Now get to it.”

  The abashed looking officer nodded and started sending out orders. It might make some of her people unhappy to leave shipmates trapped, but they could be as unhappy as they wanted if they were still alive.

  “Oregon is reporting that they have lost more boost. The last near miss took out a pair of grabbers. Juno has reported no appreciable damage to themselves.”

  Well ain't that wonderful, thought the captain. The choice was to continue on, which might buy them a little more time, or stay with the battleship so it could stay in the diminishing defense net. Juno, the other battleship, was still at full boost capability, but the carrier couldn't take advantage of that with their reduced capacity.

  “Run some numbers for me, tac. Could using a light cruiser and a destroyer as pusher vessels get the Oregon back up to speed.” She didn't want to use Juno as a pusher, since it would mask some of the intact battleships weapons.

  The tactical officer went to work, putting the figures in and getting the results. He then turned back to look at her.

  “We can get Duluth and Zhou mated with her stern in five minutes and add their boost. That will give Oregon the same capabilities as Northrup. There's likely to be some damage to the ships before they get properly grappled, and the forward laser rings of the cruiser and destroyer will not be able to bear.”

  But the two rear rings of the battleship will be able to engage, and well as the stern rings of the smaller ships, she thought, nodding. In the long run, allowing the battleship to keep up without slowing the rest of the small force was a net win.

  “Make it so.”

  “Hangar four should be open in four minutes, ma'am.”

  Good. That would give the enemy something else to think of. Not enough to destroy the enemy fleet, but maybe enough to distract them.

  * * *

  “Finn. Drop what you're doing and report to the work detail outside of hangar six.”

  “But, we're almost ready to begin the cut into the compartment,” cried the petty officer. “I already have the airlock in place and the people inside are waiting to get out.”

  “Finn. Drop everything,” said the damage control officer. “That means now, spacer. This comes from the captain. Now move it. I'll handle contacting the people in that compartment.”

  Marcia Finn growled to herself but she really didn't have any choice. An order was an order, and someone high above her pay grade had decided she and her crew was needed elsewhere. Still, it was wrong that people were waiting on her, and she had been told to turn her back on them.

  “Okay, everyone. Pack up all the equipment and head to the nearest airlock out. We've got a job to do outside.”

  That brought some grumbling for her people, not that she blamed them. She would let it slide as long as they did as they were told and only grumbled. No one liked working outside during an ongoing battle, but the well disciplined crew worked fast.. In less than a minute they had their equipment bundled and were on the way to the nearest lock.

  Finn looked out into space as she secured her boots to the hull. Her HUD was showing the path to where they wanted to be, less than a hundred meters up and forward along the hull. She could see other teams moving toward the same point, but nothing of what was there around the hull curve.

  “Let's move,” she ordered, shooting a magnetic grapple on a line that struck the hull fifty meters further.

  Her suit quickly reeled her in that direction, and she landed and reengaged her boot grapples. The large torch, at least her part of it, shifted slightly but mostly held in place. It would be nice if she could just use her grabber to fly to the region of interest, but coming off attachment to the ship meant it was still boosting at three hundred gravities, while her suit, only capable of ten gravities, would swiftly fall behind. And in a battle it was unlikely anyone would decelerate to come get her. She would be lost in space, potentially picked up by enemies she wanted nothing to do with.

  Two more evolutions and she was at the hatch. There were dozens of figures in engineering suits gathered around a section of hull that was bowed in, gaps at the sides showing that this had been a hatch. Its size indicating a craft hatch. Torches were flaring at a dozen points as people were trying to cut through the hatch, and Finn walked and led her crew to a portion that had no one working on it.<
br />
  The laser cutter, one powerful enough to cut through a bulkhead, had a difficult time here. The hatch and the hull around it were armored, almost a meter of hard alloy. It had been nanowelded on the side, metal becoming one with other alloy, making it a tight armored whole. The bowing in, hit by something, had sprung some of it, but most was still intact, and the nanites within had been destroyed were no longer able to do the job.

  “Get cutting,” she said as another torch came up.

  It would really be easier if one of those battleships just tuned its laser rings on here, she thought as she cut through the metal. That would work, if they could get that ship in place, and if it didn't burn through too fast and destroy whatever it was they were trying to get out of there.

  Another team settled in a couple of meters down and started to work, then another even further down.

  “How are you doing, Finn?” asked the damage control officer.

  Finn was sure he was asking around to all the teams, and she had no way of knowing the overall progress.

  “It's tough sir, but I'm just broke through. I'm estimating a meter a minute at best.”

  “Try to go faster. We need the fighters free from that hangar, immediately.”

  A schematic appeared on her HUD, showing where the cuts were being made, and the overall progress. It didn't look like they were going to clear this hatch anytime soon.

  “Just get those cuts done, and I'll tell you when to back off. When I do, back off quickly. They're not going to have time to deal with collateral damage.”

  What collateral damage? she thought, cringing inside. That meant that something inside was going to fire whatever it had to take out the weakened hatch. And that kind of firepower would vaporize anyone in a suit that got in the way.