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

by Doug Dandridge

  “What do you wish, your Majesty?” asked the Admiral, sitting back in her seat. “Have you had enough, or do you insist on seeing this through to the finish?”

  “It’s your task group, Admiral,” said Sean, looking back at his cousin, who was sitting stiff backed in her chair.

  “And it’s your fleet, your Majesty,” said the Admiral, rolling her eyes. “You made a point of saying that you were the Emperor, uncrowned or not. And I agreed to follow your orders. Because of that I am trapped in a situation I don’t agree with. I am pledged to protect you. And I am pledged to obey you.”

  “I want you to continue this mission to the best of your ability,” said Sean, staring at the Admiral until she dropped her eyes. “We have not come this far, and sacrificed so much, just to let those people down now.”

  “Those people are not important, you stupid lug,” yelled Samantha, turning in her seat. “Don’t you see that? We could lose this damn war based on whether you come back from this fiasco alive.”

  “I told you to stand down, Commander,” growled the Admiral, again out of her seat and pointing a finger at the Com Officer. “You are relieved of duty. Leave the bridge and go to your quarters, where you are to remain.” The Admiral turned away from the officer. “Assistant Flag Com Officer to the bridge.” She turned and looked at Sean. “So that’s the word, your Majesty? You want us to fight?”

  “I want you to fight,” said Sean. “I want these bastards wiped from this system, and the people of that planet liberated.”

  “I should resign my commission in protest,” said the Admiral, putting a hand on her forehead, closing her eyes and rubbing. “I should let my senior captain take the blame for this, if it goes south.”

  “And will you Admiral?” said Sean, his voice low, hoping that this wouldn’t happen.

  “No, your Majesty,” said Admiral Mara Montgomery with a grimace. “I believe enough in my abilities to know that I have the best chance of getting us out of here. So I will carry on. And if you are killed under my watch I will be vilified by every armchair admiral for the rest of time. But you will allow me to conduct this battle according to my plans and instincts. Is that understood?”

  “We will succeed, Admiral,” said the Emperor with a smile, nodding his head. “I guarantee it.”

  “And why doesn’t that give me the surge of confidence it was supposed to,” said the Admiral, shaking her head.

  * * *

  “Range, three light minutes,” called out the Tactical Officer. “Plasma shields at full power to the front.”

  The Low Admiral grunted in acknowledgement, looking at the plot that showed the enemy dispositions. One of their scout capital ships was directly ahead, shifted just slightly to the port so it didn’t risk a collision with the larger Ca’cadasan ship. It had one of the smaller cruisers and the two scout ships with it. The other two scout capital ships, each accompanied by a cruiser, were off to the side, where they would be able to take his ship under fire from the flanks. The humans plan well, thought the Low Admiral. We will only be able to attack each of their ships at one side, which they can protect with their plasma fields, while they will hit us from multiple angles.

  All of the human ships were turned with their sides facing the Ca’cadasan, and the Admiral could see the advantage that their laser ring designs gave them over the dome mounts of the Cacada. The enemy could bring all their light amp to bear, while no matter which way he turned a full forty percent of his laser projectors were useless.

  “How long till we pass through their formation?” asked the Admiral, looking at the Navigation Officer.

  “Six minutes, thirty seconds,” said that officer.

  And then we will have to shift the cold plasma to the stern, and our stern weapons will be able to fire.

  “We’re being hit with light amp to the front,” called out the Tactical Officer. “Cold plasma is starting to heat up. No burn through to the hull.”

  That will change as we get closer, thought the Admiral. No matter how strong we make our shields there will be burn through. No matter how we configure our skin for reflection they will hit the right frequency to get some heat into the hull.

  “Enemy ships are shifting position,” called out the Tactical Officer, and the plot showed the ships on the outside moving in. Each enemy was putting out four laser beams, the most powerful each ring could produce, and now they were all falling on the nose of the ship.

  “Evasive maneuvers,” called out the Admiral, and the ship began to move in random motions that took her out of the beams. The enemy shifted moments later to a spread pattern that made sure a couple of the beams were hitting at all times. And they couldn’t have seen that we had gone to evasives with the delayed image they are seeing. So they just assumed we would, and fired a maximum probability pattern. But why did they move their ships at the last moment.

  * * *

  “They’re coming right down our throats, Admiral,” said the Tactical Officer. “Just like you wanted.”

  All of the Terran ships were turned side on to the enemy, all of their laser rings able to take the oncoming ship under fire. And all were doing so. It did not make sense to hold fire, as the rings could fire heavy bursts or a lesser continuous for a half an hour, the energy from the ship’s matter-antimatter reactors feeding them all the power they needed. Instead of rings the enemy ships used domes that still allowed beam arcs along a considerable range, but not as much as the battle cruisers’ weapon arcs.

  The Ca’cadasan ships were firing for all they were worth, the sixty percent of their weapons that could aim at the humans doing so. The battleship held a slight advantage over the three battle cruisers in laser power, but only if it were able to hit the humans with everything they had, which they could not.

  The human ships ignored the damaged enemy scout vessel. Until that vessel maneuvered itself in the way of their beams, absorbing what it could so the battleship didn’t have to.

  “We need that damned enemy can out of the way,” yelled the Admiral, watching the scout ship on the plot moving back and forth, getting in the way of the outgoing fire from the human ships.

  “Enemy ships at two light minutes,” called out the Sensory Officer. “Thirty-six million kilometers. Closing speed point five one light.”

  “Four minutes,” whispered the Admiral. The enemy ships would be even with them and then passing them in four minutes.

  “Lieutenant,” she called out to the fill in Com Officer. “Make sure all captains understand their instructions. I want no confusion.” Because confusion will kill us deader than shit.

  “We have particle beams incoming,” said the Sensory Officer. “Combinations of protons and antiprotons.”

  “Do you want to return fire, Admiral?” asked Flag Captain Greenefield.

  “Negative,” she called out, shaking her head. The particle beams could overheat within a short time frame, rendering them next to useless. And she wanted to hit them with all she had when it was the time to do so.

  “Most of the beams are missing,” said the Tactical Officer.

  “And as they get closer they’ll get more accurate,” said Sean, leaning forward nervously in his seat.

  That’s right, thought the Admiral. Regretting your decision, your Majesty?

  * * *

  “Range, one point five light minutes,” called out the Sensory Officer.

  Keep on coming, you bastards, thought the Admiral. Step into my trap.

  “What are those holes in the bow of each ship?” asked the Low Admiral, looking at a blown up image of an enemy ship. They could not see that portion of the enemy vessel at this time, turned as they were.

  The Tactical Officer pulled the holo over to his station and looked at it for a moment. “They look like plasma torpedo ejectors.”

  “But, that is primitive technology,” said the Helm Officer, his snout wrinkled in disbelief. “We haven’t used such in millennia.”

  “If it works for them, I guess it is no
t too primitive,” said the Tactical Officer.

  “Range, one light minute,” called out the Sensory Officer.

  “Do you want to target those smaller enemy ships, my Lord?” asked the Tactical Officer. “Maybe whittle them down a bit.”

  “Continue to concentrate on those scout capital ships,” said the Low Admiral, pointing two right index fingers at the officer. “They are the danger, not the fleas that accompany them.”

  * * *

  “Range, thirty light seconds,” called out the Sensory Officer.

  “Captain reports we are taking damage to the outer hull,” called out the Sensory Officer. “North America and Countess Simone are reporting same.”

  “Initiate fire plan,” called out the Admiral, watching the behemoth that was heading for her force, and now not able to dodge as they had when at longer range.

  The ships all turned their lasers onto the oncoming bow of the enemy ship, bursts of pentawatt power hitting the cold plasma fields of the vessel and transmitting heat into them. Some of the energy made it through, striking the hull and transferring heat. But the main purpose was to weaken the electromagnetic fields, and degrade the cold plasma that was held within it.

  Moments later the ships fired all of their particle beams, sending protons and antiprotons at point eight light through the weakened field and into the grabber skirt of the battleship. Alloy flared and portions of the skirt went down, dropping the acceleration of the ship.

  But if the humans couldn’t miss at the close range, neither could the Ca’cadasans. Hulls flared from direct hits of lasers and particle beams, and gas poured from holes opened in the lighter armor of the human ships.

  Sir Galahad shuddered from a direct hit, then shook again as the lights dimmed, then came back at full strength. “Bridge reports that we have lost laser ring C. D has lost two emmiters,” yelled out the Com Officer.

  “Orders, Admiral?” said the voice of Captain Stafford.

  “Continue firing profile,” yelled the Admiral. “You should have no other considerations.”

  The Captain acknowledged. She knew he was thinking about their passenger, but that passenger had ordered this battle, and would live or die with the consequences of it.

  The three light cruisers and four destroyers in the force weaved back and forth, trying to interpose their full strength shields in the way of the enemy fire. One of the light cruisers took a devastating hit from a particle beam, followed by a strike from the beams of two lasers domes. The light cruiser careened out of control, explosions ripping across her hull. She moved into the path of another particle beam, which burned a hole deep into her hull. Power dropped and the ship fell dead in space, until two more lasers and a particle beam shattered her bow.

  A destroyer, this one already damaged from the missile duel, took a pair of hits from full strength lasers. That was all it took, and the ship first lost power, then containment, and blew apart into plasma. North America took the brunt of the blast, knocking out all her electromag field projectors and energy weapons on the port bow. Laser B went down completely, while laser A lost half her emmittors. And now the enemy ships were at five light seconds, point blank range for energy weapons.

  * * *

  “We’ve lost another laser dome, my Lord,” called out damage control. “Grabbers at seventy-five percent. Port forward particle beam is out as well.”

  “What about our shields?”

  “Twenty-six percent of projector units are out on the bow section, my Lord.”

  A bright flash appeared on the viewer, one of the enemy destroyers flaring in a catastrophic explosion. A cruiser drifted in space, and one of the scout capital ships was venting atmosphere.

  We’re going to make it, thought the Admiral, grinning. There was the following force, but they would repair most of their damage before those ships caught them, and could probably win that fight as well.

  And then the enemy ships started to turn on the screen, and those primitive and archaic weapons were pointed his way.

  * * *

  “All ships report plasma weapons fully charged and ready,” called out the Com Officer. “Ships starting maneuvers.”

  “You may never see anything like this again, your Majesty,” said the Admiral, talking to Sean without looking back. “Hopefully not from this range.”

  At the same moment the three battle cruisers, two light cruisers and three destroyers ejected the first of their plasma torpedoes from their bows. They were archaic weapons, really not suited for modern warfare due to their extremely limited range. They were still mounted aboard imperial ships more for tradition's sake than anything else. That, and they took up little room, while also furnishing auxiliary fusion reactors for the ships that carried them. And they were a devastating weapon at close range.

  The first torpedoes were fired at the approaching enemy at six light seconds range. They hit the enemy’s weakened shields at four light seconds range. Most of the plasma was shed by the shields, only allowing about thirty percent through, which was enough to splash over the skin of the battleship and destroy most of the working field generators.

  The human ships all immediately fired a second torpedo, coming out two seconds after the first. These hit at three light seconds range, and burned into the hull of the enemy battleship, putting holes in the armor and knocking out laser domes. The third torpedoes came out two seconds later and hit the enemy ship at just under two light seconds range. The damaged Ca’cadasan scout got in the way of two torpedoes, a battle cruiser’s and a destroyer’s, and went up in a flare of released antimatter as her containment failed. Small pieces of the ship were ejected at speed in all directions, peppering all the combatants, but doing particular damage to her flagship.

  The battle cruisers and their escorts continued to fire lasers and particle beams into the enemy, and also released long range interceptor missiles in rapid cycles that struck the hull of the enemy vessel like large, antimatter tipped darts. The interceptors caused minor but cumulative damage to an already hurting ship.

  The Ca’cadasan battleship moved through the enemy formation, galled but still functional. She hit the most seriously damaged battle cruiser with a concentration of her rear mount weapons, putting the North America out of the fight. The remaining ships continued to pour on the laser fire, while releasing torpedoes from their rear mounted launchers. The battleship continued on, with severe damage to her stern as well as bow.

  * * *

  “We made it through them,” said the Tactical Officer, a look of relief on his face.

  “Yes,” growled the Low Admiral, glaring at the screen which showed the damage the ship had sustained. But we’re dead when that other force hits us. And they surely will. The damage screen showed that the ship was now operating only twenty-five percent of her grabbers, and only another twenty percent were even capable of being repaired. Of her twenty laser domes, only eight still existed, and none of the particle beam weapons were operational. Given a week they might be able to restore most of their functions, minus the lasers. And the enemy force would catch them in three hours.

  “I have failed,” said the Admiral in a soft voice. Glory was not to be his, out here in the stars far from home. Only death. And the planet would not fare much better when the enemy force went into orbit, as the soldiers had nothing to protect them on the surface from orbital bombardment.

  * * *

  “When you’ve taken them out come back to the planet,” said Rear Admiral Mara Montgomery over the com to Commodore Conridus Basingee.

  “We’ll be there as soon as we can,” said the smiling officer. “What about the North America?

  “I don’t think we’ll be able to repair or salvage her,” said Montgomery, frowning. “We’re taking the crew off now, and we’ll scuttle her in space.”

  “A bad end to a good ship,” said the Commodore, bowing his head.

  “By the Goddess, we will see that they did not die in vain,” said the Admiral, looking back at the Emperor.
“Right, your majesty?”

  “Admiral?”

  “You will see that these people did not die in vain,” said the Admiral, staring into his eyes. “After we complete this mission you will agree to go back to Conundrum, and from there to the Capital. No more games.”

  “I promise, Admiral,” said Sean, his eyes tearing. “I promise that no more people will die in vain.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, your Majesty,” she said, not dropping her gaze. “You will order people into battle, some to die. And some will die for no reason. You won’t be able to stop that. But you will be able to minimize it.”

  “I will do that, Admiral. I promise.”

  See that you do, thought the Admiral, nodding her head, then looking back at the viewer. “Turn them to plasma, Conridus. Then meet us back at the planet, so we can finish this and get the hell out of here.”

  She looked back at her Com Officer after the viewer switched to a tactical of the system. “Send a repeating message to the humans on the planet, on all possible frequencies that they may be using. Tell them we are coming, and that we will appreciate any intelligence they can give us.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said the officer.

  “Thirty-five hours to orbital insertion,” said the Navigator, anticipating her next question.

  “Order the two light cruisers to finish picking up the survivors of North America,” she said to the Com Officer. “And send insertion data to the rest of the ships.” All six of them, she thought, out of the nineteen I had in this force at the beginning of this battle. Hope I’m not subtracting more before this is over.

  * * *

  Sean felt the exhaustion overcoming him as he walked into the living room of the VIP suite they had reserved for his use. His Marine Detachment had a couple of men outside, which he still thought ludicrous, since he was aboard an Imperial warship. He had too many other things to think about, to process from this day of battle, to sweat the little things.

  First he went into the bedroom and pulled Satin’s stasis box down from the cabinet, then put it on the bed and opened it. The cat lay peacefully sleeping in a box of liquid, an oxygen mask over his face. The liquid was in case the ship had to go high gee, so the cat would survive, same as the humans did in their tanks. Sean removed the cat from the box and laid him on a towel, then took off its mask and rubbed the cat down with an absorbing cloth that pulled all the liquid away from his fur. Satisfied, he rubbed an area on the cat’s lower spine, and the animal came awake, looking up at him and issuing a soft meow.