Exodus: Empires at War: Book 17: The Rebirth

by Doug Dandridge

  She heard Yanatov scream, then the man calling out in panic for anyone to come and save him as he drifted off into space. The ship shook slightly, the sign that the missile had detonated well off. Not far enough off for the spacers who had lost their hold on the ship and drifted off. Those were lost, with nothing available to go after them. It was a horrible end, drifting for eternity in the depths of space. At least they wouldn't be awake for eternity. The very thought made Finn shiver.

  “How are you coming on your detail?” asked the damage control officer.

  “Commander,” she yelled. “I just lost people. And you want to know how I'm doing on the job. Well...”

  “Don't say it Finn. Don't say something that someone else might hear that will force me to take action,” the officer said in a lowered voice. “I know it hurts, but we need you on your game if we're going to survive.”

  “Yes, sir. And sorry, sir.”

  “No need to apologize. And I'll have you know I'm looking at the casualty figures, and you weren't the only one who lost people.”

  Yeah, but these were mine, she thought, choking back her tears.

  They were the commander's as well, and he of course knew all of them.

  “Sorry.”

  “Think about this later,” said the officer, his own words catching in his throat. “Right now you have a job to do. And, if you want to talk about this later, I'm here. If we make it.”

  * * *

  “We have the situation well in hand in seven of the eight systems we are advancing into,” said Grand Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda, looking out of the com holo. “Three of them were textbook, and there was very little opposition.”

  “And you, of course, made sure they weren't setting up that star as a trap?” asked Sean, sure that Mgonda had done just that.

  “I'm not about to let myself fall for one of those,” said the sober faced duke. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, I'm a dumb ass.”

  “Good to know you're not taking it for granted,” said Sean. So far the intelligence that this new Emperor was not okay with destroying systems had proven spot on. Fine, if it was true. But the Cacas had their back against the wall. Sean wouldn't put it past them to lull the Empire into a false sense of security, then start blowing stars to kill battle forces without warning. “Not me either. And I think we need to re-figure how we're going to deploy from here on. I don't like loosing those carrier forces the way we did.”

  Sean winced. That had hurt. nineteen carriers, their crews and almost all their fighters, blown out of space. One still fighting for its life, though things were looking bad for the Northrup. But the mines had come as just as much of a surprise, and they would have to start sweeping space ahead of the capital ships with dedicated destroyer sweeps. Be hard on the tin cans, but if it kept battleships in action, it was worth it. To everyone but the crews of those destroyers.

  “Any word on how we're going to combat their stealth ships?” asked Mgonda.

  “Chan is working on some new sensor suites, as well as a couple of other tricks that look hopeful. Intelligence doesn't think they have all that many of them, yet, and they aren't as stealthy as our own.”

  “All it takes is a couple in the right place and time to throw a spanner in our engines,” said Mgonda, frowning.

  “All I can tell you is to take your time and blast space with you sensors. It will slow you down, but it's not worth loosing ships to cheap shots.”

  “Just like they planned, your Majesty,” said the Admiral, leaning forward, his face coming closer in the holo. “I hate dancing to their tune. Why the hell won't they come out and fight.”

  “I have a feeling that they will unleash their fleet on us in the near future,” said Sean. “They're mimicking several Earth tactics from old wars. The falling back hit and run is one. But that is normally followed up by a major offensive to our weak points. I'm afraid that's coming.”

  “I'll try to be ready.”

  “Good to hear. But the thing about surprise attacks is that they come when you least expect them,” said Sean. “So keep your people on the alert. I know it's hard on them, but rather lack of sleep than death.”

  “Agreed.”

  “I will be keeping track of Northrup,” said Sean, not trying to put any extra pressure on the admiral, but honestly committed to seeing that fight to the end. “Dismissed, Taelis.”

  The holo faded, leaving Sean alone with his thoughts again. He pulled up the holo of Northrup's battle, watching as the icons moved across space from enemy to his ships. Then he pulled up a close view of that region, zoomed in and filling the chamber, seeming to spread into infinity in the way of holo maps. All of Mgonda's forces were blinking blue, known enemy forces red, stars taken green while inhabited systems still under enemy control were orange. All looked like it was going according to plan, if slower than Sean liked. The enemy appeared to be weak on this front, and the Emperor thought that was a lie. There had to be ships out there, somewhere. Intelligence estimates had the enemy fleet strength at thousands of ships at the very least on both sides of the front, Mgonda's and Lenkowski's.

  When will you move, thought Sean, his eyes moving from area to area. There were just too many stars, the problem with interstellar warfare. Thousands of systems inhabited by intelligent beings. Tens to hundreds of thousands with life bearing worlds yet to be exploited. And hundreds of millions of basically useless stars, still possible bases for the enemy. And then they could just be hanging out in open space, between the stars. Too many hiding places, and no way to search them all.

  Sean gave up on trying to figure out where the enemy was hiding. He had tens of thousands of trained people considering that problem. They could do more with their many sets of eyes and questing brains than he could alone, but he couldn't keep himself from contemplation of the problem.

  And there are never enough ships, thought the leader of the alliance. He had over a hundred thousand in the field, human and allies, not including those who were defending the Empire and its vital installations. And he still didn't have enough. More were coming, almost enough to make up for losses. But he was facing the winner's dilemma. The enemy, who was now on the hidden offensive, could concentrate at will, while he was forced to spread himself thin trying to find them. Which meant there were a lot of weak points the enemy could exploit. Only when were they going to move? The suspense was maddening.

  * * *

  The Supreme leader of the Ca'cadasan Empire, Mrastaran I, was also contemplating a holo map. His problem was the opposite of his opponents. He had too many systems to defend, and was not bothering with most of them. There were some vital systems, and he didn't have the ships to defend them either, though he could make the enemy pay for the privilege of taking them. He would still lose more ships than they, but it was worth it to make them cautious. He might also lose the commanders, but the ones he had assigned to those fleets were expendable.

  I think it is time to unleash my twin hammers, thought the Emperor. The hammers he was thinking of were fleets of over ten thousand ships each, sitting in space outside of enticing target systems, on the other human admiral's front, where action had been scarce. He had two more fleets forming, much larger, but was holding them for an offensive that would push the enemy back. And then he would form more fleets, thrusting like a rapier with them until the enemy wasn't sure what to do next. And then, maybe, he could ask them for negotiations, with the threat of more death and destruction on the horizon.

  In other news, four of his ambush forces were free of their systems, after destroying the outer forces and sending hard swarms into the inner forces. Only the one system still had a Ca'cadasan presence, at least anything more than a single stealth ship with two wormholes. That system was still a problem. They were moving toward their gate, having already stopped their forward momentum and started on the vector to safety.

  Lokasure was the best of them, thought the Emperor. The male had tested high in intelligence, and had impressed very much
on his interview. Mrastaran had big plans for him, possibly becoming a great admiral and leading one of the two grand fleets. Unfortunately, the attack on the carriers hadn't gone as planned. Something had got into the path of the missiles meant to take out the fourth ship, and it had formed up with all of the remaining screening ships and the two surviving battleships, moving off to leave the action, limping from heavy damage. And Lokasure had made a grave mistake in judgment.

  He had gone after the enemy carrier, while turning his gate toward the system to fire on the enemy there. What he should have done was pick one or the other and concentrate on it. He still would have taken the carrier out if not for the new decoys the humans had deployed. That had been an unwelcome surprise, the only kind to be had in this war. Still, he had heeded the orders of his Emperor and turned away, and in an hour his ships would start back through the gate and safety. Well ahead from the battle cruiser force that was moving in hyper toward the system.

  Mrastaran zoomed in on the enemy force on approach. It looked to be about a hundred capital ships, probably all battle cruisers. The other eight hundred odd vessels would be their light scout ships and screening vessels. Not insurmountable odds, but every one of the battle cruisers would be carrying a wormhole, and that would give them an immediate firepower advantage.

  Lokasure was still firing on the enemy as he retreated, but nothing seemed to be getting through. They were still losing ships, a screening vessel here and there, and they were down to twenty-one warp fighters, though those appeared to be taking out too many missiles. Mrastaran really didn't care if Lokasure took out that last carrier. He had fought a battle, made some mistakes he could learn from, and could report back for his next assignment.

  Suddenly the gate icon blinked, then disappeared.

  “What happened,” yelled the Emperor, hearts in his throats.

  “It looks like one of their stealth ships was near and took out the gate, Supreme Lord,” said the captain of his own stealth ship.

  So the enemy had one or more of their stealth ships in the system. Better systems, more well trained crew. One or more? And then the voice of the Ca'cadasan stealth ship commander made it clear they were dealing with more than one.

  “We have missiles coming in. I'm...”

  And then the real time plot died, along with the ship that had been transmitting it.

  “No,” growled the Emperor. One of his most promising subordinates was now trapped, his only out through hyperspace, with a much faster force on approach.

  * * *

  “Reverse vector,” ordered Admiral Lokasure, watching as the incoming enemy force, now on his plot, split into three. Those would all be less capable than the singular formation, but all of the capital ships would have wormholes, and probably some of the lighter scouts as well. Each of those smaller formations could still tear his apart in a missile duel.

  He could jump into hyper now, but he doubted he could get up to the velocity where he could escape. They would pass him and hit him with everything they had. No, with the gate gone he was doomed, so he might as well finish off his first target.

  “All ships in group alpha are to follow us in pursuit of the enemy carrier,” he ordered, looking over at his chief of staff. “Groups beta through theta are to jump and head out on diverging courses.”

  That would give the enemy something to concentrate on, himself, while the majority of his force went their separate ways with the chance to escape. The Emperor might not agree with his decision, but he felt responsible for his males, and if anyone needed to die, he was the one. The other seven groups jumped, all starting to vector out. With luck most of them would get away, depending on what the enemy did. As long as someone got back to report to the Emperor, let him know what had happened, he would be satisfied.

  * * *

  “They're leaving,” said the chief of staff, standing to the side of the admiral's chair.

  “Some of them, yes,” said Vice Admiral Cawrast Garasra, looking at the multiple icons that designated new enemy formations vectoring away from each other, obviously trying to run. The relief force was also on the plot, less than two hours out, starting the accel decel dance of moving through hyper for a jump into normal space. That force had split into three, each with thirty or more battle cruisers and over two hundred smaller vessels. Each group had over forty wormholes, their aces in the hole.

  Unfortunately, one of the enemy groups was changing vectors into a chase profile back at the carrier. It was a suicide run, doing two things for the enemy. Attempting to take out the last target, and forming a target too enticing for the scout force to ignore. The admiral didn't give Northrup much of a chance, but they had defied the odds so far, and they might just continue to.

  “Should we launch on them, sir?” asked the fleet tactical officer.

  “No use. They will either be gone or destroyed by the time out missiles get there.”

  At least we took out their gate, thought the admiral, eyes locked on the plot.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter. Ernest Hemingway

  “Missile impact in three minutes,” called out the tactical officer. “Next wave will be here two minutes after.”

  Merkle nodded as she stared at the plot, the damnable representation of all that might be. Including the death of her ship and all aboard. She was tempted to order abandon ship, since she had almost no decoys left, and there were no more coming through the wormhole.

  “Commander Rodriguez reports that her squadrons are armed and ready.”

  “Give them the go ahead to attack.” Even if she didn't save her ship, she was determined to make the enemy pay. They had located the command ship of the group coming after them. That was the target. The coming scout force might take care of it, sure. But she didn't want to give that commander the satisfaction of seeing his quarry destroyed.

  “We will be ready to eject the stern section in four minutes,” called out the engineer.

  If that was the only thing she had going it would not be enough. But it wasn't all she had. The stricken battleship, too badly damaged to ever get into hyper without a long visit to the shipyards, its crew had been evacuated to the other battle wagon. Those crew still weren't safe. Nothing was, with ten Ca'cadasan superbattleships and over several hundred smaller vessels coming after them with all the acceleration advantages. They were still falling behind, since they had killed all their velocity toward the carrier when they were still attempting to retreat through the gate that no longer existed. But the velocity difference was falling, and soon they would start closing again.

  “Missile impact in two minutes,” called out the tactical officer.

  Merkle watched the plot, the sacrificial battleship centered, the time to impact from the enemy missiles on the numbers under the icon showing the massed missile swarm. There were over ten thousand missiles in that swarm, no sweat if they still had swarms of decoys and numbers of defensive ships. There were less than a hundred decoys in space, one battleship at seventy percent capability, two light cruisers and eleven destroyers. Not enough, even if every ship got hits with every weapon all the way in.

  The missiles moved closer, the swarm resolving into individual missiles. Merkle felt her heart skip as sweat poured down her face despite the cool air of the bridge. She counted to herself, then looked over at the tactical officer. This was her idea, her responsibility, and she wanted to give the order.

  “Engage,” she said in a hushed voice, the immensity of this decision weighing on her.

  The battleship was oriented with its dorsal section pointed toward the missile. The timer went off in the ship, and the twin reactors and their antimatter feeder containers were ejected out, their grabbers engaging and pulling ten thousand gravities as they rocketed toward the enemy swarm. Five seconds into flight they detonated, spewing a cloud of superheated plasma that was all that w
as left of the devices after the antimatter breached. The cloud was in the way of the missiles, and over three thousand of them detonated as they hit the wall. Many came through with degraded sensors, probable misses. But not worth taking the chance on.

  The battleship detonated five seconds before the swarm reached it, sending out another cloud of plasma, this one taking out most of the remaining missiles. Leaving a few hundred that the defenses had no trouble taking out.

  “Warp fighters are on attack run,” called out one of the com techs, a Klassekian.

  Now you get some of what you have sown, thought the captain, watching the icons of the fighters moving quickly into position, forming a ring around the enemy force. Then dropping out of warp.

  * * *

  Commander Winifred Rodriguez really didn't like what she had been ordered to do. However, she wasn't in charge of this shooting match, and the orders had come down. No use arguing, and she could see the reasoning behind it. Still, she was used to attacking in warp, and this time they would be launching from normal space, with all the risks that entailed.

  Her fighters were carrying an unusual load. Hundred ton capital ship missiles, set for a short term profile of twenty thousand gravities. At that rate they would only boost for fifteen seconds at most, which according to simulations would be long enough. Simulations didn't always mimic reality though, and the commander expected to be hit with enemy weapons right after they jumped to normal space.

  Each space superiority fighter, nine of them, had two capital ship missiles attached by hastily attached supports. The fourteen remaining bombers, her own squadron, each had three of the missiles. That was all they could carry and still maintain a warp bubble.

  “Two degrees to port, and seven up,” called out the Klassekian com tech, giving them directions. The sensors could pick up the enemy force as diffuse graviton emissions, not enough for pinpoint accuracy at range. The closer they got, the clearer the image, which was how the warp missiles homed in on ships. The missiles closed the thirty light second distance in just over a second. The missiles they now carried would take many minutes from a standing launch to do the same. Hence they must be much closer.