EMPIRE: Conqueror (EMPIRE SERIES Book 6)
Page 17
As the DPN’s missiles, now forgotten by the ships that had fired them, approached the Sintaran cruisers, the cruisers projected their hypergates, pulled the hypergates over themselves, and disappeared.
The recordings of the destruction of Olympia taken by the cruisers were sent in real time back to Sintar, before the cruisers disappeared into hyperspace for the trip back to the Empire. Dunham and Peters watched the recording in VR after the kids went to bed.
“That was hard to watch. Knowing what was coming,” Peters said.
“Agreed. But some people just won’t take No for an answer, and my obligations are to the people of this Empire, not to them. Maybe now the DP fleet will surrender, and I won’t have to kill all of them, too.”
“Well, they should surrender. Doesn’t this mean it’s all over? I mean, the Democracy of Planets is no more. All the lawmakers and high-level bureaucrats are gone.”
“No, it doesn’t mean it’s over. Don’t forget the lesson of Catalonia. Every sector governor thinks they would make a wonderful independent monarch. I’m sure the same goes for the Democracy of Planets’ district governors. Some will see this as their big opportunity.
“And don’t forget the plutocrats that actually ran the DP. They’re not going to be happy either. And they have the money to back some district governor’s play.”
“So what do you do about that?”
“I’ll probably have to make some early examples.”
“So it goes on.”
“It’s never over until it’s over.”
Gunther Auer was at his desk reviewing some reports when his secretary came in to interrupt him.
“Mr. Auer, Sir. I’m getting multiple messages that you should check the news feeds.”
“Thank you, Linnae.”
Auer checked into his favorite newsfeed in VR. They were showing a planet that had been completely incinerated, with a layer of heavy smoke and ash in the stratosphere. Some unmanned camera drones had been run down through the soup, and the surface looked like Auer’s imagination of hell itself.
“Holy shit. I didn’t expect Jeremy to be so thorough,” Auer muttered as he watched.
Auer turned the sound up in the VR channel.
“As you can see from the drone footage, the surface of the planet Olympia has been rendered completely lifeless and uninhabitable. It is unlikely any of the planet’s three billion inhabitants survived or, if they did, can for much longer. The drones carry radiation meters, and the ash and smoke swirling around the planet have high radiation readings.”
Auer dropped out of VR and sat back in his chair. So the Emperor had beaten Jeremy to the punch. That was unfortunate. This Emperor was getting on his nerves.
“Linnae, could you see if Mr. Ecking can contact me today, please.”
“Of course, Mr. Auer.”
Surrender
The omnipresence of the destruction of Olympia on the news feeds – from ships in orbit or approaching or leaving the planet at the time, including hundreds of thousands of DPN warships – meant the crews of DPN warships elsewhere also knew what had gone on as soon as it happened.
Senior Chief Petty Officer Raymond Condit and Chief Petty Officer Paolo Madeira ran into each other in the Goat Locker after the news had reached their formation of the original invasion fleet.
“Damn, Ray, did you see that shit?”
“Yeah, I seen it, Paolo. Looks like the Emperor decided to take the war to the assholes who ordered it rather than the poor dumb bastards who showed up to fight it.”
“Wow, Ray. You don’t sound upset about Olympia at all.”
“I’m not, Paolo. Those are the assholes who sent us out here, with no clue what they were doing, and then abandoned us when it didn’t go their way. The Emperor cleaned their clock instead of ours. That’s two favors I owe him.”
“What’s the first one?”
“Not starvin’ to death.”
“Oh, yeah. Me, too, I guess.”
“Status change, Sir. Large down-transition. Still ongoing. Sintaran warships. I’m making sixteen thousand ships now.”
“Sir, you’re being hailed. It’s Admiral Espinoza.”
“Put her through to me, Comm,” Fleet Admiral Conrad Benton said.
“Hello, Admiral Benton,” Espinoza said, waving one hand from the arm of her command chair.
“Hello, Admiral Espinoza. You seem to have misplaced half your fleet.”
“They’re off on another mission, Admiral. That’s something I want to talk about actually. But first let’s get some supplies moving. I assume it’s still OK for our freighters to approach your fleet?”
“Of course, Admiral. We’ve got our weapons locked down here. You keep a pretty regular schedule.”
Espinoza gave orders off camera. It was only a couple of minutes before the big freighters appeared.
“Status change, Sir. Fifty down-transitions. Freighters, big ones, running heavy. Moving into position.”
“Begin transfer operations,” Benton said.
Benton turned back to Espinoza in VR.
“Looks like everything’s under way, Admiral Espinoza. You were saying?”
“Yes, Admiral. I only have half my fleet here this time because the other half – also under my command – is going to confront a new DPN force preparing to invade Sintar.”
“I don’t know anything about that, Admiral. I’ve been cut out of that loop.”
“Understood, Admiral Benton. But we are aware that one million warships of the remaining DP navy is mustering at twelve locations aimed straight at our capital, Sintar. We are sending sufficient forces to dissuade them of this action. We hope.”
“Can I ask what you’re sending, Admiral?”
“Just over three million warships. A quarter-million warships to deliver an ultimatum to your eighty-four thousand warships in each of twelve locations.”
“So the DP forces can do, round numbers, about ten million missiles per box launch, and you can do, umm, more like twenty million. Is that right?”
“Yes, and we can box-launch three times to their two.”
“You can kill them all with no trouble, Admiral.”
“Which is not our goal. We hope to demand and accept their surrender. There are over three billion spacers on those million ships, Admiral.”
“And yet the Emperor just killed three billion people on Olympia, Admiral Espinoza.”
“True enough, Admiral Benton. The Emperor killed the decision makers. The people who provoked the Sintar-Alliance War, who launched the Sintar-DP War, and who, in the form of the new government, decided to continue to attack Sintar. He just got tired of killing the people following orders, and decided to kill the ones giving them.”
Benton just nodded. He had had all those same thoughts himself.
“So, Admiral Benton,” Espinoza continued, “I was wondering if you could do your fellow spacers a favor. Talk to them. Let them know what our capabilities are. Let them know how we’ve treated you. If we can get those twelve formations to surrender, we can just declare this whole thing over and go home to our families. For a change.”
Admiral Benton nodded. Fighting the force she described was a complicated way to commit suicide.
“Of course, Admiral. I’ll have to poke around and see who is commanding each of those forces. But I’ll be happy to try to talk them out of doing something stupid.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Admiral Benton.”
“Oh, thank you, Admiral Espinoza. Benton out.”
“What do we do now, Sir?” Admiral Sean Hawkins asked.
DPN Fleet Admiral Kishan Rao turned from the tactical display to his chief of staff.
“That’s a damn good question, Sean.”
They had spent the last two days researching just what had happened on Olympia and what the status of the DPN was now. It wasn’t encouraging. Half a million of the DPN’s warships had been destroyed outright. Four million of the DPN’s warships were, for all intents and purpo
ses, captured, dependent on the good graces of the Imperial Navy to keep them alive. And one million of them were now more or less stuck in the system of the completely destroyed planet Olympia, without hope of resupply or enough reaction mass to get to anywhere else to be restocked.
That left the one million active warships of the Sintar strike force, eighty-four thousand of which were under Rao’s command, arrayed against the entire Imperial Navy, the bulk of which remained undamaged and well-supplied.
“Sir, I have a communication request for you from Fleet Admiral Benton.”
“Put him through, Comm.”
In VR, Admiral Benton appeared in his command chair, in uniform, as did Rao.
“Hi, Kishan.”
“Hi, Conrad. How are you guys doing? There hasn’t been much news.”
“Given the destruction of Olympia, we’ve now surrendered and are on our parole. But I’ve been encouraged to get in touch.”
“By Sintar?”
“Yes. The local forces admiral stops by every other week or so to restock us with food and reaction mass, so we don’t starve and we can keep normal gravity aboard ship.”
“Sintar’s restocking you?”
“Yes. They’ve been keeping all two hundred of the invasion formations alive for the past couple months. They didn’t even demand our surrender. They’ve dedicated ten thousand freighters to bringing us food and reaction mass every two weeks. Without them, we’d have starved. Or had to abandon ship in cargo containers.”
That could get really messy, Rao knew. Jamming five thousand crew into four cargo containers for a trip down to the planet from orbit, with no cushioning or physical restraints other than their own crowding, usually led to lots of injuries and more than a few deaths. Multiply that by twenty thousand ships. Per formation.
“That surprises me, Conrad. Quite a lot, actually.”
“I’m told it’s on the Emperor’s direct orders. He was a Marine, you know. Got tore up once pretty bad himself. Almost died. He holds no grudge against us. Those bastards on Olympia, though, that’s a different matter.”
“Those dead bastards on Olympia.”
“It serves them right, Kishan. We ran into a buzz saw. Sintar is much stronger than they thought. Much better prepared. Those bastards on Olympia started the war, and then, when it went south, they left us out here to die. We’d be dead already, other than for the Emperor.
“But rather than sue for peace, or try to fight through supplies to us, they mount another doomed offensive? What a bunch of morons.”
“Doomed offensive?”
“Yes, Kishan. You’re not going anywhere. There are a quarter-million Sintaran ships shadowing each of your formations. You’re outnumbered in hulls three-to-one. They can box-launch twenty million missiles to your ten million, and they can box-launch three salvos like that, not just two. They can also out-accelerate you and outmaneuver you, by a lot. Damnedest, deadliest little ships you ever saw.
“And if you were to escape them, there are six million picket ships between you and Sintar. Oh, and those picket ships? They can now box-launch eight missiles apiece. In hyperspace. You have forty-eight million missiles between you and Sintar.”
“What options do I have, Conrad?”
“You can die trying to carry out the stupid orders of a bunch of dead people, Kishan, or you can surrender and just go home. The Empire will even supply you for the trip. It’s not that hard of a decision, really. You saw what happened to Olympia. The Democracy of Planets and all the bastards running it are gone.”
“Why would Sintar let you tell me all this, Conrad? That’s all valuable intelligence for a fleet commmander.”
“Because the Emperor doesn’t want to kill three billion people who are just following orders. He will, though, if he has to. You won’t ever be allowed to actually threaten Sintar. He’ll kill every single one of you first. And he can, Kishan. That’s the point.”
“All right, Conrad. You’ve given me a lot to think about. Thanks for the call.”
“No problem, Kishan. Take care. Benton out.”
Rao switched channels back to his flag bridge.
“What did Admiral Benton have to say, Sir?” Hawkins asked.
“That there are two hundred and fifty-thousand Sintaran ships shadowing each of our formations, and our choice was going to be surrender or die. And if we did escape somehow, we have six million picket ships between here and Sintar, each of which can now box-launch in hyperspace. So the mission, ordered by people who are now dead, is not something we can accomplish anyway.”
“Surrender to Sintar? That doesn’t sound like fun, Sir.”
“Conrad did, and Sintar’s been restocking him in place. They’re also restocking the rest of our invasion formations, even the ones who didn’t surrender.”
“They are? Why?”
“Because they didn’t want to let thirteen billion fellow spacers – DP or not – starve in space?”
Hawkins stared at him, and Rao shrugged.
“Is that so unbelievable, Sean?”
“Based on what we’ve been told, yes, Sir, it is.”
“So maybe a little of what we’ve been told is a lie. Or maybe a lot.”
Rao shrugged, and Hawkins seemed to consider.
“In any case,” Rao said, “it’s not actionable right now. There’s nobody here to surrender to.”
Two hours later, that situation changed.
“Status change, Sir. Six widely spaced down-transitions. Mass says they’re light cruisers.”
“Coming to take a look-see. All right. Formation orders. Battle stations.”
Thirty seconds later the battle-stations alarm sounded on the flagship.
Another half-hour went by.
“Status change, Sir. Multiple large down-transitions in progress. Making it sixteen formations, out-system from us. Out of missile range. Down-transition still in progress. OK, that looks like it, Sir. Sixteen thousand warships. Sintaran.”
“Sixteen thousand warships?” Rao asked.
“Yes, Sir. Sixteen thousand warships per formation. I make it a quarter-million-plus warships total in three classes.”
Sixteen thousand per formation. Two hundred and fifty-six thousand ships. Just as Benton had said.
“Sir, you’re being hailed. It’s Fleet Admiral Dexter McGee.”
“Put him through, Comm.”
“You’re live, Sir.”
Rao faced McGee in the VR comm channel, both seated on their flag bridges.
“Fleet Admiral Kishan Rao here, Fleet Admiral McGee.”
“Good afternoon, Admiral Rao. I request and require your surrender.”
Rao took a deep breath, released it.
“I understand, Admiral McGee. We surrender. Please communicate your instructions.”
DPN Fleet Admiral Boyd Aden had heard from his friend, Fleet Admiral Cheng Hai-Lin, and he wasn’t buying any of it. When Sintar showed up, he was going to fight them. That was his job, whether he liked it or not, and he wouldn’t surrender to a comm call.
“Status change, Sir. Six down-transitions. Mass says they’re light cruisers. Spaced around the system.”
“Formation orders. Battle stations. Make your vector out from the planet, maximum acceleration.”
“Orders transmitted, Sir.”
His own flagship turned away from the planet and went to one and a half gravities acceleration.
They had been accelerating for a half-hour when the scans came alive again.
“Status change, Sir. Multiple large down-transitions in progress. Sixteen formations, out-system from us. Confirmed Sintaran. Missile range in fifteen minutes.”
Aden watched the icons continue to appear on his tactical display.
“Down-transitions slowing now, Sir. Total of two hundred fifty-six thousand warships in three classes. Missile range now in ten minutes.
“Formation orders. Stand by box launchers.”
“Orders transmitted, Sir.”
“They’re hailing you, Sir.”
“Ignore it.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Missile range now, Sir.”
“Fire box launchers.”
“Orders transmitted, Sir.”
“Missiles firing, Sir.”
Five minutes passed, long enough for ships to drop the containers that contained the first box-launch salvo and clear the second.
“Fire second box launchers.”
“Orders transmitted, Sir.”
“Missiles firing, Sir.”
Fleet Admiral Natalia Shvets was on her flag bridge when the formation down-transitioned out of hyperspace. She waited for the tactical plot to stabilize.
“He’s on his way to meet us, Ma’am. Missile range in ten minutes.”
“Who is this guy, Jack?”
“Fleet Admiral Boyd Aden, Ma’am,” said her chief of staff, Admiral John Yackley.
“Hail him, Comm.”
“Hailing, Ma’am.”
“Formation orders. One gravity acceleration. Stand by box launchers.”
“Orders transmitted, Ma’am.”
The minutes ticked by as the fleets grew closer.
“Missile separation, Ma’am. Estimate ten million incoming.”
“Groups 1 and 2. Fire box launchers. Target the missiles.”
“Orders transmitted, Ma’am.”
“Missiles firing, Ma’am.”
It would take twenty minutes for the missiles to reach each other. In the meantime, the DP warships fired again.
“Second missile separation, Ma’am. Estimate ten million incoming.”
“Groups 1 and 2. Fire second box launchers. Target the missiles.”
“Orders transmitted, Ma’am.”
“Missiles firing, Ma’am.”
There were now four waves of missiles – two on each side, one after the other – aiming for the same volume of space between the two fleets.
“Point-defense crews stand-by to pick off the leakers.”
“Orders transmitted, Ma’am.”
“Missile separation. Half their formations fired, Sir. Estimate ten million incoming.”
Aden watched the tactical display as it updated. Scanning was right. Only half the Sintaran formations had fired.