by Eric Thomson
IMPERIAL
SUNSET
Ashes of Empire #1
ERIC THOMSON
Imperial Sunset
Copyright 2018 Eric Thomson
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used ficticiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published in Canada
By Sanddiver Books
ISBN: 978-1-7753432-5-7
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
PART I - EXODUS | — 1 —
— 2 —
— 3 —
— 4 —
— 5 —
— 6 —
— 7 —
— 8 —
— 9 —
— 10 —
— 11 —
— 12 —
— 13 —
— 14 —
— 15 —
— 16 —
— 17 —
— 18 —
— 19 —
— 20 —
— 21 —
— 22 —
— 23 —
— 24 —
— 25 —
— 26 —
— 27 —
— 28 —
— 29 —
— 30 —
— 31 —
— 32 —
— 33 —
— 34 —
— 35 —
— 36 —
— 37 —
— 38 —
— 39 —
— 40 —
— 41 —
— 42 —
— 43 —
— 44 —
PART II - PROMISED LAND | — 45 —
— 46 —
— 47 —
— 48 —
— 49 —
— 50 —
— 51 —
— 52 —
— 53 —
— 54 —
— 55 —
— 56 —
— 57 —
— 58 —
— 59 —
About the Author
Also by Eric Thomson
Sign up for Eric Thomson's Mailing List
PART I - EXODUS
— 1 —
“Crap.” Centurion Eve Haller pulled out her earbug and tossed it aside in disgust. “The damned rebels just breached our outer defensive line. I was hoping Her Imperial Majesty’s 14th Guards might hold on a little longer, if only for the honor of the Crown.”
Lieutenant Colonel Brigid DeCarde gave her battalion operations officer an ironic smile.
“If that was the explosion we just felt, then I’d say they didn’t merely breach the outer ring but flattened it entirely, so don’t be too hard on the Guards.”
Haller made a dismissive gesture. “One can never be too hard on the Guards, sir. Useless gits that they are. Good thing we pulled our people back to the inner line last night. And too bad for the 14th, but they wouldn’t listen. I’d say the final round is about to start.”
“Do you intend to inform her nibs?” Major Piotr Salmin, the battalion’s second in command asked. “Before she drinks herself into a stupor, seeing as how it’s almost lunchtime? Or will you leave that unpleasant duty to the Guards?”
DeCarde, a muscular, square-faced blonde with deep blue eyes beneath short, sandy hair, exhaled noisily. “At least when our dear governor general is sloshed, she’s not trying to play tinpot general based on her three years as a reserve officer in the 1st Imperial Guards forty years ago.”
“Considering the morale of the 14th Guards Regiment these days, I figure she only has to order one more suicide mission before what’s left of it defects to the enemy. Then, we’ll be the last thing standing between a bloodthirsty mob and Countess Klim’s scrawny throat.”
Haller’s macabre laughter bounced off the command post’s solid rock walls. “If those bastards think the rebels will accept them with open arms, they’re delusional. After what they did? They’ll be lucky if the only thing they get is summary execution and not the sort of treatment the Guards supposedly inflicted on rebel prisoners when we weren’t watching.”
“So will we.” Regimental Sergeant Major Cazimir Bayn, a barrel-shaped veteran of the Imperial Marines muttered. “Rebels won’t differentiate between the Guards and us, even if we took no part in the atrocities. Hell, we weren’t even on Coraline when the worst of them happened.”
“True,” Haller nodded as she picked up the earbug and reinserted it. “It’ll be a repeat of the 3rd Marines’ last stand at Fort Wagner. No survivors.”
“Except there won’t be an Imperial Marine Corps left to commemorate our noble deaths,” Salmin, a solemn-looking, dark-haired, dark-eyed, forty-something career officer said. “Or strike our unit permanently from the order of battle.”
Haller tilted her head to one side and held up a hand.
“B Squadron reports a rebel battalion moving up to seize the breach, but the survivors from the Guards companies manning the outer defenses are running away instead of trying to delay them. Major Pohlitz figures their panic will infect the Guards companies holding the inner defensive line and would like to move his squadron into the fortress before the inner defensive line turns, and I quote, into a massive clusterfuck that’ll leave my ass hanging in the wind for no damn reason.”
DeCarde turned her eyes back to the status board where the tactical diagram was shifting in response to fresh data. “Permission granted. Tell him to try and be inconspicuous.”
She mentally cursed the blinkered idiots who sent her battalion to Coraline when they knew the entire Shield Sector was in full revolt against the imperial government. At last count, half or more of the Marine Corps and Navy had declared for the rebellion against Empress Dendera. But her Imperial Pathfinders were elite strike troops, not cannon fodder to be wasted on forlorn hopes, such as saving Countess Klim from a fate DeCarde thought was thoroughly merited.
If it weren’t for an inability to break her oath, something baked into the family DNA, she might have turned her battalion, the 6th of the 21st Imperial Pathfinder Regiment, against the empire herself. Of course, since her Marines now shared the final redoubt with the last loyal unit on Coraline, there would be no going over to the rebellion. Klim’s vicious response to the first sparks of disaffection, as per Empress Dendera’s orders, made every imperial trooper share in the guilt. And the rebels would make sure her troops shared in the punishment alongside the 14th Guards Regiment.
A lengthy, though muted rumble echoed through the empire’s last redoubt on Coraline, a massive fortress carved out of the Talera mountain range long ago, well before humanity left its native world. DeCarde knew nothing of the civilization that built it but admired their handiwork and believed nothing short of a kinetic strike from orbit might dent stone rendered almost impervious to any damage. The grim fortifications overlooked rolling foothills crossed by a sluggish river that drained the surrounding countryside until it met the Western Ocean near Alexandretta, the half-destroyed colonial capital fifty kilometers away.
“Did our rebel friends find a stash of artillery ammunition we missed, or are the factories back in operation?”
The last loyal Navy ships to pass through the Coraline system weeks earlier carried out a savage orbital bombardment of rebel-held areas at Governor General the Countess Klim’s orders, enough to destroy any semblance of modern technology. It was one more item on the long list of sins committed against the citizens of Coraline in the name of a distant empress willing to kill billions if i
t would help prop up her rule over a fractious empire.
“I doubt they repaired factories, Colonel. Our last drone overflight didn’t show evidence of rebuilding.”
And it was the last drone overflight, period. Nothing flew on Coraline or orbited the planet. Between them, the 6th of the 21st and the 14th Guards Regiment shot down everything the rebels captured or commandeered, a favor the latter returned with interest. The rebellion’s shock troops on Coraline came from the 118th Imperial Marine Regiment which had mutinied months earlier, and they proved to be tough, capable enemies.
“Meaning they can’t keep hammering away at Klim Castle.” DeCarde used the ironic name her troopers gave the ancient fortifications. Its formal designation was Talera Fortress. “For the good it’ll do them. Whoever built this place knew a thing or two we can’t even begin to understand.”
“Until a Navy task force loyal to the rebellion appears overhead.” Sergeant Major Bayn, not a cheerful soul at the best of times, sounded positively glum. “Then, it’s a quick jump to Valhalla for the likes of us.”
“Did you intend to live forever, RSM?” Salmin gave the old noncom a sardonic grin. “Besides, where would we go if we escape the countess’ hospitality? Maybe the empress destroyed the wormhole network and blew up every antimatter cracking station in the sector, effectively halting FTL travel. Right now, I figure the pro and anti-rebellion forces are probably duking it out above the sector capital, turning each other into so much orbiting scrap metal.”
“That’s what I always liked about you, Major, sir,” Bayn replied. “Your optimism.”
“Uh-oh.” Centurion Haller raised a hand to catch DeCarde’s attention. “Her nibs is summoning a command conference. Perhaps the latest rebel advance knocked her brain cells back into alignment.”
“Let’s hope she’s already well into her cups. Otherwise, our dear countess might just decide on a sortie to end this siege in a blaze of glory, and I don’t have the patience to talk her out of it. When is this blessed event to occur?”
“In ten minutes.”
DeCarde sighed. She picked up her brimmed field cap, adorned with the regimental insignia of the 21st Imperial Pathfinder Regiment, a crown-topped winged dagger with the numeral 21. Until last century, the Imperial Marine Corps boasted twenty-two elite Pathfinder Regiments. But the current empress’ dynasty, founded by a power-mad, greedy senator who led a coup against a weak emperor and seized the throne for himself, disbanded half of the Marine Corps’ Special Forces and eliminated the Imperial Army altogether.
To replace them, he created an Imperial Guard Corps loyal to his person rather than the constitution, unlike the Navy and Marines whose allegiance was not to the person on the throne. Now, only five Pathfinder Regiments remained. Or perhaps not even that many. Her battalion could well be the last of its kind remaining. DeCarde didn’t doubt that given a chance, her regimental commander would have gone over to the rebellion and broken the crown off his insignia. Would that she could do the same, but Klim’s actions ensured no further imperial troops would dare make overtures to the rebels, lest they be massacred out of hand.
She gave her second in command a weary grin. “The battalion is yours if I blow Klim’s head off and end up in front of a Guards firing squad.”
“You realize the idea of taking command at this juncture simply thrills me.” Salmin grimaced with distaste.
“If the colonel shoots her nibs, you’ll not need to worry about that particular burden, Major.”
DeCarde gave her sergeant major a tight grin. “Now who’s being an optimist?”
— 2 —
“The flagship, sir — it’s gone.” Disbelief, mingled with outrage and not a little fear.
Captain Jonas Morane, commanding officer of the Imperial Starship Vanquish, turned tired, blood-shot eyes on the cruiser’s combat systems officer. His angular face bore the weary, almost resigned expression of someone who knew his life was changing forever. If they survived the next few hours or days.
“What?”
“Valens’ subspace beacon vanished. She’s either been taken or destroyed.”
“I guess we’ll find out which it is when the visuals reach us. In approximately three minutes, right?”
Lieutenant Commander Annalise Creswell nodded. She was an athletic redhead whose normally bright green eyes were dulled by the stresses of fighting a losing war. Fatigue and worry lined Creswell’s pale features, giving her the appearance of someone ten years older.
“Three minutes, sir.”
Subspace radio was practically instantaneous within the confines of a star system. But it still took coherent light a second to travel three hundred thousand kilometers, and Morane’s ship was fifty-four million kilometers from the main force engaging the rebels near Toboso, the Cervantes system’s sole inhabited planet.
Vanquish, a long, wedge-shaped fast attack cruiser and its three consorts sat athwart the 197th Battle Group’s escape route, waiting for the main force to disengage from a rebel ambush so they could flee through Wormhole Cervantes Two. Hopefully toward a system still in the hands of naval units loyal to the empire, although they were getting fewer each day.
“What about the others?”
“Still transmitting.” Creswell hesitated. “Cancel that. Stilicho just went dark as well.”
“Damn.” Morane ran a hand through his short, black hair as his mind tried to deal with the rapidly deteriorating situation. Two more heavy cruisers either taken or destroyed by Admiral Loren’s rebel fleet. On top of their earlier losses.
He’d told Rear Admiral Greth, the 197th’s commanding officer, it was too risky entering the Cervantes system. The rebels surely controlled such a significant wormhole junction and were ready to attack any unwary loyalist vessels passing through. But Greth wouldn’t hear about falling back toward the imperial capital and saving his battle group’s strength until they could join others still faithful to their oaths.
For the sin of objecting to aggressive action against the rebellion, Morane and his fast attack cruiser were left out of battle. Their mission was to protect the 197th’s most vulnerable units, the replenishment ship Narwhal and two frigates damaged in their previous engagement with Loren’s forces, Nicias and Myrtale. Greth considered it a punishment for lacking the right fighting spirit.
Morane, who was increasingly doubtful about the wisdom of fighting the rebellion head-on, voiced no objections. He didn’t want to court a needless death. If that made him a coward in some eyes, so be it. The empire was finished, he could feel it in his gut, and the rebellion wouldn’t fare much better. No entity born of such violent dissolution could last.
Now another pair of the 197th Battle Group’s remaining heavy cruisers were gone, their crews dead. And for what? So a psychotic ruler could cling to her throne for another few weeks or months?
Morane kept his eyes on the combat information center’s primary display, waiting for the moment visual evidence of the flagship’s fate reached Vanquish. With Greth gone, command would pass to the senior of the captains in the main strike force, though it wouldn’t be Tanaka, of Stilicho.
“We just lost subspace contact with Belisarius as well, sir.” A pause, then a gasp.
The command cruiser Valens’ image vanished in a blinding flash of light. Seconds later, another flash announced the destruction of her consort, Stilicho.
“What the hell is happening around Toboso?”
“Perhaps Admiral Greth stumbled across several rebel battle groups concentrating for a large-scale attack. If they were running silent, he wouldn’t have noticed them until the last minute, now we’ve lost both of our scouts.” Creswell’s matter-of-fact tone belied the somber blanket of defeat settling over Vanquish’s combat information center.
Morane grunted. “I’d call that a massive blunder rather than a stumble, Annalise.” He didn’t need to add that he’d warned Greth against charging in headlong. There was no need. All of his senior officers had been present during that unpl
easant discussion.
Two minutes later the stunned CIC crew watched Belisarius’ shields collapse after sustaining more anti-ship missile hits than its defenses could handle. Several more volleys slammed into her massive, curved hull. Then, she too became a miniature star with a very brief lifespan as her antimatter containment bottles ruptured.
“I still can’t believe we’re killing each other like that, Captain.” Combat Systems Chief Petty Officer Lettis’ subdued voice sounded almost mournful. The gray-haired spacer shook his head.
“Family quarrels are often the most vicious of all, Chief, and civil war is the ultimate family quarrel.”
“Too bad we can’t find a rogue wormhole, go back in time, and kill Dendera before she becomes empress.”
“You’d have to go back another three generations and kill Stichus Ruggero, I’m afraid. The empire’s fate was sealed when the Senate and the Fleet failed to oppose his accession to the throne.”
Another bright light flashed across the display and Creswell consulted her status board. “That was probably Theodosia. She’s no longer transmitting. The remaining ships have come around Toboso and are accelerating back toward us.”
“With the rebels in pursuit.” Chief Lettis cursed volubly in five languages. “The escorts are gone. Vanished.”
Morane took a deep, calming breath to fight back the despair welling up his throat. Only two heavy cruisers remained of the six that exited Wormhole Cervantes Two forty hours earlier. And the ailing frigates sheltering under Vanquish’s guns were the last of the 197th’s smaller combatants. His own ship was the sole survivor of the battle group’s half-dozen more nimble fast attack cruisers, just as Alcibiades and Hephaestion, now desperately accelerating away from Cervantes, were the last of the heavies. Five ships left of a battle group that started out with eighteen.
According to the latest intelligence report, one only Greth and the starship captains were allowed to see, this scenario was repeating itself in sector after sector. Dendera might hang on to Wyvern and a few of the core systems, but the rest of the empire was plunging into anarchy as warlords fought each other for supremacy. Few of the rebellious admirals could claim Loren’s brilliant grasp of politics, let alone his charisma. Fewer even would be able to hold their sectors once the disintegration started in earnest.