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

by Doug Dandridge

  Ships continued to translate in, all to be hit by something as soon as they entered normal space. One ship opened its portal right on top of an Imperial destroyer. The two hundred thousand ton human scout ship broke apart as the space it occupied stretched it past its limits. The four million ton cruiser that came through the opening hit the remnants of the destroyer at point three light, just before the antimatter aboard the human vessel breached containment. A dead cruiser continued into the system, spinning and gushing gas.

  Within a minute phase one of the ambush was over, all mines and remote missiles detonated. There were still a score of functional alien superbattleships in existence, as well as over thirty of the smaller vessels. All had damage, but all were functional to some extent.

  “And now we have the knife fight,” said Mgonda, whose force had so far sustained very light casualties. The destroyer and a couple of score fighters gone, as well as some damage to a few cruisers and destroyers. That was about to change, as the icons of missiles erupted from the ships of both sides on the holo.

  Missiles are most effective at range, where they can built up to relativistic speeds before driving in at their targets. Now missiles were being struck down soon after leaving their launch tubes, doing damage to their own vessels. And lasers and particle beams continued to jump between ships, doing massive damage to armored hulls.

  Catherine the Great shook from hits, then more hits, taking punishment from a pair of the enemy capital ships. Duke Abraham, another of the superbattleships, seemed to attract the most return fire, catching it from a half dozen enemy ships, while other human warships pounded them in return.

  One of the enemy battleships exploded, followed by another, then one of the human superbattleships, the Duke Abraham, that was a lesser vessel than the enemy’s standard capital ship. Soon ships were exploding all through the battle, mostly enemy, but enough human ships to make the butcher’s bill heavy.

  And then it was over, with the last of the damaged enemy cruisers and scouts, less than a dozen vessels, heading insystem, with human cruisers and destroyers on their tails. They could not jump into hyper without killing their velocity and coming back out. And none would be around long enough to do that.

  “That was a great victory, Admiral,” said Commodore Murphy. “A decisive victory.”

  “Still hurts to lose ships,” said Mgonda, looking at the debris that clouded the scanners. The Admiral looked around the bridge at the relieved looking crew, feeling some of that relief himself. “I wonder how the other systems are doing?” he said, looking out at the stars on the main viewer.

  * * *

  Jaxsov System would have been chosen as the system to be defended, if it hadn’t been the furthest of the three from Conundrum base. As it was, any ships sent there would have arrived too late, and at best have been caught up in a fight they couldn’t win. So the system was left to its own devices in a war in which there were not enough resources to be everywhere at once.

  Jaxsov VI had been inhabited for almost two hundred years, with a growing population of over four hundred million. The F5 star bathed the planet in a strong light, from far enough away to make the planet a paradise for its inhabitants. There was also a large industrial presence on the planet and in space, and Jaxsov VI provided missiles to the Empire’s fleet. When the aliens came there were two superfreighters in orbit around the planet, loading up on missiles that were without the warheads that would be attached back at Sector Fleet headquarters. The production of the last quarter, there were enough launch vehicles to fill the twenty-five million ton cargo capacities of each merchant ship.

  Commodore Magda Lynn was awoken from a sound sleep by the report that unknown ships were approaching the system. “How many?” she asked the Sensory Officer on the command deck of the class one fort in orbit around the planet.

  “Over a hundred,” said the Commander, looking wide eyed at the Commodore. “At least forty large capitals.”

  The Commodore swallowed what she was about to say, her heart beating faster. It really wouldn’t help to tell the control deck watch that we’re screwed. Not that they don’t already realize that.

  The Commodore walked away from the sensor station, hands behind her back, trying to appear calm, running down her assets in her mind. There was, of course, the class one fort, over a hundred million tons of orbital fortress, with offensive and defensive weaponry to match. There were also two class two forts and a class three. And none of them can maneuver worth a damn, she thought. The Fleet really didn’t like the concept of forts, thinking the resources and manpower could be much better used to build and crew warships. But they made the civilians feel better to look up into the sky and see them in orbit.

  Then there was the insystem task force, made up of non-hyper warships whose job was to live or die with the system. She had three ten million ton monitors, eight cruisers, and sixteen destroyers. All were capable of better acceleration than their hyper counterparts. And all were underpowered as far as beam weapons went, though they could still throw a good weight of missiles. And finally there were the Fleet vessels in the system. A pair of battle cruisers, three heavy and two light cruisers, and a sextet of destroyers. And the force coming through hyper would crush them like a hammer striking a walnut.

  “The captains of the superfreighters are asking what you want them to do,” said the Com Officer.

  “Prepare to die gloriously,” said the Commodore under her breath, looking over as the Tactical Officer, Commander Schmidt, came running onto the bridge. “Any ideas on how to defeat this juggernaut coming down our throat.”

  The Tactical Officer sat there for a moment, then looked up at the Commodore with a smile. “I think I might have, ma’am.”

  Minutes later the Commodore was talking with those captains on a conference link. They both stared at her like she was mad, and considering the idea she wondered if she perhaps was.

  “I really don’t see how this is going to help us,” said Captain Gersha of the Bohemian Queen. “I mean, the missiles don’t even have warheads. And they only have a one tenth charge to their batteries.”

  “But the enemy doesn’t know that,” said the Commodore, trying to look serious when she wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation. “Now, I want you to get all the missiles into space that you can, and link them to my fire control. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Captain Lee of the Shanxi’s Folly. “Might as well try your crazy idea, as nothing I can think of is going to get my ship to outrun the wolves.”

  “When I give the order get all of your people out of the launch area,” said the Commodore, pointing her finger at each of the two men in turn. “Five minutes later we will launch, and any of your people who get caught still attached to a missile are your responsibility. Comprende?”

  “Totally,” said Lee, and the viewer went blank, then showed a scene of the local starfield, one that would soon be filled with enemy vessels.

  Now all I need is for the enemy to cooperate, and we’ll all be happy on this end.

  * * *

  Low Admiral Gronachonaxic gave a feral smile as he waited for the translation to normal space. Some of the scouts had translated earlier, from much farther out, then rentered hyper, so he had some idea of what he faced in the system ahead. Some of his fellow admirals, and many of his captains thought he was too cautious in taking such action, but he didn’t care about their opinions, not when it made him feel better to know what was there. Nothing to be concerned about as far as he could tell. Five of their forts, and a couple score ships, none in the class of his heavy capital vessels. And an industrialized system, that had to be important to the human war effort. He would leave that industry smashed, the planet devoid of human life, and open the way for further conquest.

  The nausea of translation was soon past, and the Low Admiral looked with satisfaction as his entire task force formed up and started to accelerate into the system. The planet was three light hours ahead, and they w
ould be able to insert into orbit in a little over thirty hours.

  “Fire a couple of volleys of missiles into the system,” he ordered, as soon as Tactical had firmed up all the targets, at least based on what was going on three hours ago. The flagship bucked slightly as she released her missiles, and the plot soon filled up with thousands of missiles heading into the system. With luck that will be the end of the battle, thought the Low Admiral. At two hours in things began to change.

  “We have missile launches,” called out the Sensor Officer, and the plot changed to show tens of thousands of arrows coming from the planet toward them. The plot changed to a viewer, and showed some close up shots of individual weapons, then zoomed back to show a mass of objects moving toward them.

  “How many?” asked the Low Admiral, knowing this was a scene from hours before, the light from the missiles just reaching them.

  “Tens of thousands,” called out the panicked Tactical Officer. “No, a hundred thousand. Two hundred thousand.”

  “Two hundred thousand,” said the Low Admiral in a dropping voice.

  “Three hundred thousand, my Lord. More.”

  “How could they fire so many missiles?” asked the Helm Officer. “That’s more than three hundred battleships would carry.”

  “What’s their acceleration?” asked the Low Admiral, falling back into his chair and staring at the plot.

  “About one thousand gravities, my Lord,” answered the Sensory Officer.

  “Why so low? What can they be trying to accomplish.”

  “We know they are not stupid, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer. “So they must have some strategy.”

  “We have more missiles incoming,” yelled out the Sensory Officer. “Several hundred, launched from their vessels, about a half light hour from the planet.”

  “Get us out of here,” yelled the Low Admiral to the Helm Officer, then turned to scream at the Com Officer. “Order all ships to maximum decel, then back out of the system and jump to hyper.”

  “But the mission,” said the Tactical Officer, an expression of disbelief on his face.

  “The mission will not be accomplished if we are destroyed,” growled the Low Admiral, the shame of running battling within him with the hope of living. “There is no way we can weather that kind of a saturation attack.”

  The Low Admiral threw himself into his couch as the warning hoots sounded across the bridge. A moment later the heavy hand of pseudo-gravity pushed him back, until he was taking many more gees than normal. As heavy planet dwellers the Cacada could handle more gees above their norm than most races, and now the ships all piled on ten gees above what their compensators could handle.

  Over the next couple of hours the ships lost inward velocity and started to curve vectors until they were racing back to the hyper barrier. And all the while the storm of missiles came closer. There were some explosions in that missile field, most likely caused by collisions, but otherwise they were nipping at the heels of the Ca’cadasans.

  At the hyper barrier the ships began to jump to I, some having to put on a burst of emergency decel that caused multiple injuries throughout the vessels. But they all made it, and the Low Admiral breathed relief as he saw that his entire force was in hyper.

  “Set us on a heading back to base,” he ordered the Helm Officer.

  “Shouldn’t we try again?” asked the Tactical Officer.

  “By the power of the Gods, no,” said the Low Admiral. “I will not face that again if I can help it. And base must be warned that these systems further in may be more heavily fortified than thought. We may need larger forces to attack them.” And we may still take unacceptable losses.

  * * *

  The control deck of the fort erupted in cheers as the enemy jumped back into hyper. The enemy salvo had hit over an hour ago, at the cost of two forts, a dozen warships and one of the superfreighters. The Commodore thought they had gotten off lightly, considering that the worst case scenario would have been total annihilation.

  “Wasted a lot of missiles, though,” said the Sensor Officer, looking at the plot that showed hundreds of thousands of drifting and coasting missiles. Those that had enough battery power were slowing, the rest were heading out of the system.

  “Better them than us,” said the Tactical Officer, beaming that his plan had worked.

  “We’ll try to salvage what we can,” said the Commodore, looking at the same plot that showed the enemy moving away, jumping into hyper II. That had been a major concern, that they might come right back. And the system wouldn’t have been able to pull the same bluff a second time. “The most important part is that we’ve saved the system, for now.”

  She walked over to the Com Station, keeping her eyes on the plot and praying that the Cacas didn’t turn around. “Order a courier to Conundrum,” she told the Com Officer, putting a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “They need to know about this attack. And that we need more protection if we’re going to supply missiles to the fleet.”

  But how much can they give to this one system, when so many are at risk.

  * * *

  Paradiso System did not have the fortune of the other two targets. The inhabited planet nestled in close to the K class star. There were over a hundred million people on the world, which had agricultural and mining concerns, as well as some light manufacturing. What it didn’t have were defenses, beside a trio of orbital forts, Class Three and lower, and a small system defense force. It didn’t even have the temporary luxury of visiting warships, at least not at this time. All the people in charge could do was watch the incoming hostile ships on the plot, then try and reason with them when they popped out of hyper.

  There was no reasoning with the Ca’cadasans, not on this day. They didn’t leave the planet a lifeless ball. That was against their moral code. They did kill everything in space, and hit every concentration of humans on the planet. They even landed ground troops to hunt down every human they could find in a day’s time. That done, they left the few hundred thousand survivors cowering in hiding places and left the system.

  Chapter Eleven

  Wars may be fought with weapons, but they are won by men. It is the spirit of the men who follow and of the man who leads that gains the victory. General George Smith Patton, Jr.

  SESTIUS SYSTEM, MARCH 24TH THROUGH 26TH, 1000.

  “That planet is eating my men alive,” growled the General, stalking across the command deck.

  The Low Admiral watched the other male through hooded eyes, thinking of a way to respond that would get the officer out of his hair without starting a blood feud. “What do you want of me, General?” he finally asked, deciding to take the direct approach.

  “I would like you to bombard the humans into submission, so we can get on with exterminating them and get out of here,” said the General, his voice a dangerous growl.

  The Low Admiral looked at the viewer that showed the planet below. The gray scar of the destroyed continent, one end glowing with magma, was passing by, and the Low Admiral winced again over the threats of damnation the priests had leveled against him for that. It’s not like I tried to hurt the planet with that missile. It was meant to destroy the orbital fort, which another missile took out before it could get there. He turned toward the General.

  “The priests will not allow me to devastate the surface of the planet, General,” he said, holding up a lower hand before the other officer could speak. “I can hit population centers and military installations. I can even hit concentrations of the enemy in the wilderness, if I am given their location. What I cannot do is incinerate a continent’s worth of ecosystem.”

  “All because of that damn silly religion,” growled the General, committing the sin of being an apostate.

  I could have him impaled for such a statement, thought the Low Admiral, dismissing that reasoning as soon as it came. He is too good at his job to risk killing, and allowing one of lesser ability to take his place.

  “You know that it is a tenant of the re
ligion the Emperor subscribes to,” said the Low Admiral in a measured voice. “I will hear no blasphemy on my vessel, General. Is that clear?”

  The General glared at him for a moment, and the Low Admiral wondered if he would have a fight on his hands. After a moment the General looked down, then bowed. “I am sorry if I comported myself poorly on your vessel, my Lord Admiral. I will accept whatever aid you may give me.”

  “And I will be glad to give you that support, in the air and in space,” said the Low Admiral, feeling a flush of relief come over him. “Just get me some targets I can hit, and I might even ignore the restrictions a bit.”

  * * *

  Jennifer found herself up to the elbows in blood and guts as soon as she reached the sanctuary. The trip had mostly been uneventful, except for a tense moment when she had spotted some aircraft in the distance. She had looked over her shoulder the rest of the flight, wondering if some high speed war machine was going to come up her tail and blast her from the sky.

  The landing area around the sanctuary was crowded with people and very few vehicles. One of the Marines on duty had tried to wave her off, but she was having none of that. She had brought the military aircar down under the guns of a trio of men, who had finally relaxed when they saw who she was. Jennifer climbed out of the car as soon as the canopy retracted, then started to help the children out onto the plateau.

  “Who are they?” asked a soft suited Marine, walking up and looking at a flat comp.

  “They are some refugees I picked up on the way,” said Jennifer, not liking the way the man was looking at the mother and her children.