Exodus: Empires at War: Book 3: The Rising Storm

by Doug Dandridge

  “Moving out now,” said the slightly accented voice of the officer.

  As Baggett watched the first of the medium infantry troops came from the buildings on the other side of the park and started his way. Sure was nice to get upgraded, thought Baggett, zooming in on one of the high tech suits. Still not in the class of what the Marines have, or the heavy infantry, but better than the light equipment we had at our last posting. Just wish we they had given us more time to train on it. But then, the enemy couldn’t be expected to give you time.

  The Colonel tensed as the first of the other figures started across. Civilians, caught in a trap by the advancing Ca’cadasans. Old men, women, office workers. He caught sight of some children being carried or pulled along by adults, their parents, teachers, or other caregivers. There were even some women carrying babies close to their chests, and one man with a child carrier on his front. He looked up again, praying that the eyes in the sky would not see what was going on beneath their view. Or would ignore what to them would look like insects scurrying for cover.

  The strike didn’t occur until the people were over halfway across the park. There were hundreds of them out in the open, moving as fast as they could over the terrain that was cluttered with fallen trees and the holes made by explosive ordnance. And then before his horrified eyes a half dozen people simply exploded into vapor and ash, gone.

  Baggett screamed out into the com, trying to get the people to move, while he glanced up and saw the traces of a quartet of light amp beams, visible where they interacted with the smoke and dust. He looked back at the people, seeing the beams sweeping into the largest concentrations of them, to vaporize the helpless civilians, here and there hitting a soldier and killing him as well. Soon there were a score of suits lying on the ground, burst open from the pressure of their expanding contents. Trees and shrubs were aflame, and the smoke built up over the park, causing the invisible beams of the lasers to stand out in flares of blue.

  “Come on, come on,” called the Sergeant Major, his own face white with fear and anger. They were coming on, some reaching the edge of the park and making it into the buildings on the Colonel’s side. Soldiers moved with them, most refusing to abandon their charges, though their armor would have moved them swiftly into cover.

  “I need some help here,” yelled the Colonel into the planetary net. “Any antiship assets. I need help.”

  “Glad to oblige, Colonel,” came a calm crisp voice over the net. “Send your information.”

  The Colonel sent the information on his location and the trajectory of the beams with a thought, then continued to stare out at the carnage before him.

  * * *

  “Here they come,” came the voice over the local com circuit.

  Cornelius swore under his breath as he leaned against the side of the trench and aimed his rifle toward the movement through the smoke. He had set the weapon for single shot, maximum velocity, as ordered. They didn’t know what kind of body armor this enemy wore, but had to assume it was as good as any the Empire had. Of course, he thought, as he looked through the view screen that cut through the smoke on enhancement settings, if that’s true, then these things won’t dent them.

  There was movement through the smoke. The images looked wrong in many ways, more like some representation of demons than any intelligent species he had ever heard of. They wore helmets, but great horns curved from them into the air. And it looked like too many limbs were moving around. At one point he could count four, three of them attached to some large weapon. More figures appeared, until dozens of the creatures could be seen advancing in a crouch. That they hadn’t seen or opened fire on Cornelius and his comrades he could only attribute to the jamming that was saturating the atmosphere. He could see them due to his systems using the one clear band that wasn’t being jammed.

  “On the command to fire,” came the Lieutenant’s voice over the net. “Fire.”

  Walborski stroked his trigger. The rifle bucked into his shoulder hard, though the small grabber units took up most of the recoil. His round hit center of the alien he was aiming at, spinning the creature around and off to the side. Cornelius aimed at another and let off another round, again getting a hit. This one staggered back and then down to one knee. Then it brought its weapon up and sprayed a stream of something at the trenches. As the first one hit it exploded in a small but violent blast that knocked two of the militiamen back with clouds of blood. Then the rounds walked up the trench, taking out soldier after soldier.

  Cornelius fired again at that target. His first round struck the alien’s weapon with a clang. The alien shook the rifle, then tried to do something with it as Walborski’s second round bounced off the enemy’s face plate. He saw something that looked familiar hanging from the alien’s armor and targeted that, bringing in the view and centering before pulling the trigger, just like he had done when hunting on New Detroit. He knew he had guessed right as the object exploded into a glare of fire that threw the alien back, weapon flying out of his hands. Several other enemy close by were also flung away by the explosion of the grenade.

  The farmer turned militiaman glanced around a moment and didn’t like what he was seeing. Dozens of militiamen were down, many not moving and disrupted parts of their anatomy showing why not. Even as he watched his squad leader took a projectile to the helmet that blasted all the way through, blood and brains spraying from the exit hole. A round cracked past Joel’s head, recapturing his attention and shocking him out of his shock. He turned back toward the enemy that was still advancing. That enemy was sustaining casualties, but there were more of them to start with, and they were putting the humans out of action at a five to one rate.

  Walborski felt panic starting to take charge as his friends and neighbors died around him. He wondered where the promised artillery support was. The ground rumbled underfoot, and he was sure someone was being hit by something, but not where it was doing him any good. A few men clambered out of the position and started to run, their panic already in control. Cornelius watched as both of them were shot in the back, and decided that he would die facing the enemy. He turned back and brought his rifle back to his shoulder, and froze in place as the large war machines started grinding up the road to support the enemy. That’s not fair, his mind screamed. They didn’t need the help.

  Cornelius cursed the fates as he picked out a target he might be able to do something about. A trio of enemies was setting up a big weapon on a tripod. It looked like some kind of heavy beam weapon, something that Walborski was sure the humans wouldn’t want brought into action. Flipping the selector on his rifle to full auto, looking at the HUD on his visor for a readout of ammo and selecting mini-grenades, he took careful aim, then pulled the trigger and held it.

  * * *

  Fifty kilometers to the west of the city of Frederick, on the edge of the lands that had been terraformed, the giant mobile gun moved its turret. The vehicle was not a tank, though it could move its multi kiloton bulk on both treads and grabbers. Its primary purpose was to fire back at orbiting vessels that were bombarding the planet. The original battery consisted of five of the vehicles. They had all contested the initial landings, and two had paid the ultimate price.

  In the control room of the vehicle the crew linked in to the other two members of the battery. They picked up the target on passive sensors, while the turrets moved onto a firing solution. Automatic systems loaded the main magnetic accelerator cannon, while the secondary particle beams powered up, spinning their protons up to point five light within seconds. When all was ready a human crewman hit the commit button, and all systems fired according to the plan formulated by the primary gun’s firing computer.

  All three vehicles bucked back a bit as their accelerator cannon fired their one hundred kilo charges at one hundred thousand meters per second. A second later the particle beams fired, tracking onto the same Ca’cadasan scout ship that was the target. They continued to fire while a second material projectile was launched at the ship. Second
s later they stopped, bereft of the protons that charged their chambers. Immediately the three vehicles lifted on grabbers and began to move, mobility being their only salvation at this point. The battery settled in new locations moments later, or at least the two survivors had. The battery commander’s vehicle lay crushed and burning on the hillside, the price it paid for firing on an enemy that controlled the orbits.

  * * *

  Sixteen thousand kilometers up, in medium orbit, lay the target warship. It was a four hundred thousand ton scout, the smallest true combat ship of the Ca’cadasan Fleet. Its current mission was ground support for the invading forces. It currently was firing on a concentration of the vermin known as humans, out in the open, a perfect target for its weapons.

  Four of its laser domes were targeting the open area, which was partially obscured by smoke and dust. On infrared it could pick out its targets, and unerringly strike them from existence. Soon into the firing pattern infrared became less effective due to the fires and other hot spots in the target area. That didn’t prevent the ship from firing, from doing her duty to Emperor and race.

  The six particle beams struck the hull in just over a tenth of a second after being fired. The scout was not ready for the assault, there being no enemy warships in the system, and it being assumed that all shore based anti-ship artillery had already been silenced. The beams struck along the ventral area of the vessel and imparted their kinetic energy into the ship, carving deep runnels in the hull. Much of the kinetic energy was transferred into heat energy, overloading many local ship systems. Two of the currently firing laser domes were hit and shattered as the beams continued to lock onto the ship, guided by the ground based systems computers.

  In two and two thirds minutes the first trio of kinetic rounds arrived, tracking onto the course of the ship to intersect her perfectly. After the pummeling by the particle beams the scout ship was missing much of her ventral sensor system. She still picked them up with seconds to spare and opened fire with her lasers, knocking two of the kinetic rounds from the sky. The rounds exploded with eye hurting brilliance, giving some indication of their package. The third round hit the scout dead center, penetrating deep into the hull before the antimatter warhead, containing a kilogram of the substance, exploded, taking out most of the rest of the ventral systems of the vessel. Six seconds later the other three rounds arrived, with nothing to track or intercept them. All struck, all detonated, and the crippled ship continued along in orbit, taken out of the fight.

  * * *

  The Colonel cursed under his breath, wondering when the aid he had called would materialize. The beams continued to sweep back and forth across the park, losing some of their accuracy with the abundant heat sources and swirling clouds of smoke. Civilians were stumbling out of the open area, many with the aid of soldiers. Two of the beams winked out, though the two remaining were still deadly. Baggett cried out as the beam intersected a mother holding a baby, and both lives were snuffed out in an instant while their material forms were reduced to hot steam and ash. He looked up and cursed, and wished he had something he could use to strike at the ship. But he was helpless here on the ground. He looked back down to see some more people coming across, sticking to the edge of the park. The beams moved at random now, and he held out hope they would make it across, especially after he saw the three small children running with a parent, and the father holding another infant. Then a beam started their way, incinerating the wood and vegetation that hadn’t totally destroyed, moving unerringly where he didn’t want it to go.

  “No,” he screamed as the beam almost reached the people, then winked out of existence. The civilians continued across, then into the buildings, safe for the moment. The Colonel said another prayer for the souls of the fifty or so who hadn’t made it, wishing he had a target that he could fire at, while promising death to any Ca’cada he got within his sights.

  Other men appeared at the opposite edge of the park, the men of the company that had been holding the Ca’cadasans at bay. They moved quickly, using their grabbers to fly over the ground. Just before they all made it to cover the enemy appeared, their three meter tall armored forms coming out of the ruins and moving quickly across the park.

  This is more like it, thought the Colonel, sighting on one of the forms with his heavy mag rifle, set for maximum power. Other soldiers were already firing at the enemy, a combination of beam weapons and projectiles reaching out to strike the enemy while they were uncovered. The Colonel ignored all of them, squeezing the trigger of his weapon, which bucked hard into his armored shoulder.

  The fifteen millimeter round left the barrel of the rifle at ten thousand meters per second, the rifle and the armored suit of the Colonel taking up the recoil. At its velocity the round flew almost flat trajectory across the five hundred meters separating shooter and target. It struck with a thunk that the Colonel could barely pick up on his audio, though the turning heads of some nearby Ca’cada troopers made it clear that they heard it. Ca’cadasan armor was tough, but not tough enough to prevent penetration of the hardened armor piercer. The soldier staggered, was able to right himself, but showed no indication of ability to come forward. The second shot, to the faceplate of the soldier, had a more immediate result, knocking him back to fall over and land on the ground in a heap that didn’t move.

  Baggett shifted his aim to another target, thinking that only a city environment would give him such an opportunity for close in shooting. Normally, armored soldiers would engage with kilometers still separating them. In urban attrition warfare the weapons made to strike at kilometers did double and triple damage at close range. The second target fell over as easily as the first, and soon the Colonel was hunting for targets as the Ca’cada went to ground, behind cover, what there was in the scorched park, their stealth fields at full power.

  Moments later the Colonel’s suit was registering coherent light falling on his gloved hands. Not much, just a trickle, but enough to let him know his positions were under attack. He pulled his rifle and hands back into the building he was using as his redoubt. There was some smoke in the air, but nothing like would be expected if the building were not made of modern building materials such a carbon steel alloys and plasticrete.

  Then the kinetic rounds and ground based artillery started falling on the regiment’s position. The buildings were strong enough to resist the strongest earthquakes and accidental crashes by aerial vehicles. They were not made to withstand kinetic rounds dropped from space or modern ground based artillery. Pieces of building flew into the air and fell to the ground while the earth shook underneath. The building next to Baggett’s took a direct hit from space and folded in on itself. A dozen soldiers went off the circuit, killed in the hit, while others struggled in their medium suits to claw out of the rubble.

  “I think it’s time to boogie, sir,” said the Sergeant Major over the circuit.

  “Right you are, Terry,” said Baggett, checking the status of the regiment on his HUD. Second Battalion was already set up on the river about a kilometer back, dug in with weapons set. Third was still in blocking positions, with what militia they could gather, on the outskirts of Frederick, making sure that the regiment wasn’t cut off by the Cacas. The Colonel marked where he wanted the three companies he was with to go after they hit the river defense, into a backup position about a five hundred meters further back. That way they could lend indirect fire to the defense, and be in place when that line was cracked, which was sure to happen. He sent the commands while he was vacating the building, headed into the open for a couple of seconds, then across more rubble that gave him a bit of overhead cover.

  The Colonel looked at his armor reserves while he was on the move. He still had almost a company of light armor and most of a platoon of heavy. But no air support, he thought with a curse. He had understood the General’s insistence on keeping control of all air assets, but that had been predicated on his actually being able to contact Division Command. And that had not been a reality for almost an h
our. Did they take Division out? he thought as he moved across the open area to the river, then over the body of water, waving to the troopers who waved at him. Division should have been under cover, with com signals originating from a remote location, so that shouldn’t have happened. But you can never say for sure. And God knows there’s a lot of static in the air around this rock.

  A bright flash to the north, followed by a rising mushroom cloud, caught his attention, and he said a quick prayer for whomever had been caught under that blast, while asking God that he and his be spared that kind of attention. And then he was back to the business at hand, making sure that his trained killers were in the best position to take out as many enemy as possible, no matter the cost to he and his soldiers.

  * * *

  “My soldiers need more fire support,” growled the General, storming into the task force command bridge. He glared at the Low Admiral in charge while standing in a posture that showed his willingness to run over the other officer. “They are being chewed up in ground combat with those damned rodents.”

  “We are providing all that we can,” said the Low Admiral, his own hormones rising to the challenge. I only wish that the battleships had been retained in this system, thought the naval officer. But high command had taken his most effective combat vessels, citing their need elsewhere, leaving him a single battleship, three cruisers and a half dozen scout ships, besides his troop transports. And two of his scout ships had been heavily damaged from ground fire.

  “You have ships sitting idly by, doing nothing, while my men are caught in a battle of attrition on the surface,” growled the other male, pointing a claw at the holo screen, which indicated friendly and enemy units, then at the other senior officer. “I demand fire support for my brigades in the cities.”

  “The ships are not the problem,” said the Admiral, his fur bristling. “The problem is the lack of targets.”