by Jay Allan
The bridge doors zipped open and General Holm breezed through. “What do we have, Admiral?” Holm was normally informal with Harmon, but not on her flag bridge in front of her staff.
“Unknown force, General. We’re still working on IDing them.” She was staring at her workstation as she spoke, monitoring the incoming data. “I will defer to your judgment, General, but we may want to leave the troopships in Kruger 60 until we have more data.” Harmon had insisted on bringing the battlefleet through before transiting the poorly armed and protected troopships. The dozen vessels carrying the Marines, and their cruiser escorts, were waiting for the word to transit.
Holm paused, his eyes moving toward the main display. He could see some of the individual ship IDs, and he knew immediately. “That is Gavin Stark’s fleet.” Holm had been with Garret when his fleet had tangled with Stark’s Shadow forces. “I recognize some of the ships.” He stepped closer to Harmon and lowered his voice. “And that’s not all of what he has. There’s more out there.”
Harmon looked straight ahead and sighed. “Well,” she said softly, “it doesn’t really matter. Cain and his people are stuck on the planet, and we can’t leave without knowing their status.” She turned her head and looked right at Holm. “So, whatever Gavin Stark has out there, we’re going to fight him.”
Holm nodded silently, touched by Harmon’s devotion to the forces on Armstrong. He knew she was putting her own people at grave risk to aid Cain and his Marines. “I think we should bring the transports through now, though, Admiral.” He was staring at the tactical display. “The enemy is going to have to alter their vector away from the planet to intercept your fleet. We can beat them to the planet with our transports if we don’t waste any time.”
Harmon looked over at Holm. “That’s a little risky, isn’t it, Elias?”
Holm smiled. “My people are down there, Camille, fighting as we speak. Your crews are risking themselves against a superior enemy fleet…I’ll be damned if my Marines will hide on the other side of the warp gate while all that goes down.”
Harmon nodded. “I understand, Elias. I will issue the orders.”
“Thank you.” Holm took a deep breath. “One more thing…if I can borrow a shuttle to get over to the transports when they come through? I’d like to go in with the Marines.”
Liang stared at the screen. The Alliance ships had stopped transiting into the system. That wasn’t a guarantee that there were no reserves on the other side of the warp gate, but it was a good bet. The ships in the system had scanned his fleet by now, and they knew they were outnumbered. They would have sent for reserves if they had them.
At first he’d been afraid Garret’s fleet had caught up with him, but now it was looking like something else. He faced a sizable force, but one significantly smaller than his own….and certainly than Garret’s. His worries about Garret subsided; he could see there were too few ships for the enemy force to be the main Alliance fleet. He felt a wave of relief. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but Liang was terrified of facing Garret again. The mythology surrounding the Alliance admiral had grown to new levels after he obliterated the CAC fleet. Liang, three times defeated by Garret in his career, had come to believe the legends…that Augustus Garret was invincible.
“The enemy appears to be moving into a battle formation, Admiral.”
“Very well,” Liang snapped at the tactical officer. He took a deep breath. He’d have preferred to avoid combat, and he would have allowed the enemy to flee back to Kruger 60 unmolested. But it looked like they wanted a fight.
He was worried about more than just Augustus Garret. The Alliance navy had the highest standards of any power’s fleet, and its veteran personnel were feared by all the forces who had opposed them. Liang’s crews, on the other hand, were whatever Stark had been able to scrape up. Some of them were experienced…ex-naval personnel recruited from the various human navies. Others were barely better than a pack of pirates, drawn into Stark’s service by the promise of rich rewards.
Liang wondered if Stark had tried to clone naval crews as well as Marines. Perhaps he simply didn’t have time, the admiral thought. An infantry force was fairly straightforward, while a naval crew required dozens of different specialists. But, whatever the reason, the naval crews were definitely the weak link in the Shadow forces.
Liang frowned. He might not be facing Garret…and he certainly had the numerical advantage. But his gut told him not to take this fight for granted. Garret’s lieutenants were not to be underestimated, and their crews were all veterans of the First Imperium War, far more adept at their craft than his own spotty recruits.
“Bring the fleet to full alert.” Whatever happened, he was going to have to fight this new force before he could land the ground troops. The Alliance entry point at the Kruger 60 warp gate was much closer to Armstrong than the current position of his fleet. His forces would be engaged long before they reached the planet. He turned his head and snapped, “And order the transports to decelerate immediately. I want them to fall back 60 light seconds behind the main fleet and reduce velocity to 0.005c.” He knew Stark would have him nailed up by his feet if he got those troopships and their cargo of Shadow Legion soldiers blown to bits in space. Pulling them back and reducing their inbound velocity would facilitate a quick escape if necessary…at the cost of adding days to their estimated arrival at the planet.
“Yes, Admiral.”
Liang stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the knots in his stomach. “And bring the fleet to battlestations.”
“Estimate four minutes until enemy missiles enter shotgun range, Admiral.” Givens’ voice was deliberate, focused. He knew Harmon was trying to thread a needle with her own launch.
“Launch all missiles.” Harmon had held back her first volley, waiting until the last possible moment. The fleet was moving at .03c, and every minute brought them closer to the enemy and increased the accuracy of the strike.
But she couldn’t wait any longer, or her own defenses would degrade her barrage. In four minutes her ships would open up with their shotguns, filling space all around the fleet with clouds of metal shards moving at 3-5% of lightspeed. At that velocity, even a tiny piece of depleted uranium could obliterate an incoming missile….or an outgoing one.
“Yes, Admiral.” Givens pressed a button, sending the launch order to the entire fleet.
Yorktown shook a few seconds later as it launched its externally mounted missiles. Harmon knew the same thing was happening on all the ships in the fleet, and she waited half a minute to allow her units to finish their launches. “Put me on fleetcom, Commander.” Harmon’s voice was hard, cold.
“Yes, Admiral.” Givens worked his controls. “You are connected, Admiral Harmon.”
“Attention all fleet personnel. This is Admiral Harmon. As you all know, we are facing an enemy that outnumbers us by a considerable margin.” She was staring straight ahead as she spoke, eyes fixed on the main screen. “But we have never allowed that to deter us from our duty.” She paused for a few seconds. “We are going to exceed even our top performance in this battle. I expect the absolute best every one of you has to offer, and I will accept nothing less. We are going to launch our second volley in 8 minutes. That means we have to clear the external racks by then…and we need to do it while the enemy strike is coming in and our interdiction efforts are underway.” She paused again, for only an instant this time. “You all have my complete confidence. Now let’s get to work.” She cut the line abruptly.
Throughout Harmon’s fleet, her crews flew into a frenzy, maintenance staff clearing away the external racks while gunners manned the shotguns and other defensive systems targeting the incoming enemy missiles. She had asked more from her people than conventional wisdom deemed possible. But Camille Harmon had learned her craft from Augustus Garret, and the word impossible wasn’t in her vocabulary.
She sat in her chair, emotionless…as she had been since the day she led her ships through the X2-X1 warp gate, leaving
her son behind with Terrance Compton and thousands of Alliance naval crew. But now a small grin formed on the corner of her mouth, its origin deep within the darkest part of her soul. I am here, Gavin Stark, to face your fleet. And I am Death Incarnate.
Holm twisted and turned, trying vainly to get comfortable. The acceleration couches could keep a man alive at g forces that would smash him into a broken and bloody piece of meat, but no one ever said they were comfortable. But Holm wanted to get to Armstrong as quickly as possible, and that meant accelerating halfway and decelerating the other half. Now they were just about there.
He’d ordered the ship’s AI to feed him updates on the naval battle taking place in the middle of the system. Harmon’s people were outnumbered…almost 2-1…but Garret was still betting on her coming out on top of the enemy. She was one of the fleet admiral’s very best lieutenants…the best since Terrance Compton was lost out at X2. The two forces had exchanged several missile volleys, but they hadn’t closed to energy weapons range yet. Harmon’s direction of the close-in point defense had been flawless, and so far the Alliance fleet had taken less damage than it inflicted.
“Prepare for depressurization.” The transport’s AI made the announcement, interrupting Holm’s thoughts. The task force was approaching Armstrong, and the ships were reducing thrust prior to orbital insertion. Holm lay back, feeling the crushed, bloated feeling slowly dissipate as the AI normalized the pressure in the chamber and administered drugs to counteract the pressure-equalization cocktail it had injected at the start of the journey. Holm’s mind was still a little fuzzy, but then he felt another small pinprick – a shot of stims - and his head cleared up immediately.
“Get me General Gilson,” he snapped out at the AI, suddenly feeling more energetic and aware. The stims were helping push out the last vestiges of the hallucinogenic side effects caused by the drugs injected during acceleration and deceleration.
“Yes, General Holm.” The troop transport AIs had relatively rudimentary personality systems. The tone of their voices sounded human enough, but the unnatural cadence gave them away. “General Gilson on your line, sir.”
“Yes, General?” Gilson sounded a little woozy. Her ship was a few seconds behind Garret’s in coming out of heavy deceleration, and he could tell she was still feeling residual effects.
“I’m launching a spread of scanner drones to get an idea what’s going on down there. I want you to get your people ready to land as soon as the reports come in.”
“Yes, sir.” There was a noticeable delay in the communication. Gilson was on a ship 60,000 kilometers from Holm’s. Not a sufficient distance to meaningfully interfere with communication, but enough for a noticeable hitch. “We’ll be ready to go.”
“Very well. Garret out.” He looked around the room at Marines climbing out of their acceleration couches, staggering around trying to regain their balance as quickly as possible. “Let’s go, Marines,” Garret yelled, clapping his hands as he did. “Shake the shit out of your heads. Our comrades are facing God knows what, and we’re going to get out asses down there to help.”
Liang sat in his command chair, staring at his screen in disbelief. It just wasn’t possible. The Alliance fleet had held its missile fire until the last possible instant…and then released 4 volleys in less than 20 minutes. He couldn’t understand how the enemy had managed to clear their external missile racks so quickly while fighting off his own incoming volleys. Yet they had defended against his missiles very effectively while savaging his fleet with their own, perfectly-targeted barrages. Despite his advantage in hulls and missiles, he was in far worse shape than his adversaries.
What do I do, he wondered…do I stand and fight, or do I run for it and preserve the fleet? His orders were crystal clear. He was not to risk a catastrophic defeat under any circumstances. Preserving the fleet was his primary consideration.
But Gavin Stark was on Armstrong by now, and breaking off and fleeing the system meant leaving him behind. How would Stark react if his lieutenant fled and abandoned him on the planet? Would Spectre be able to escape the system if the fleet withdrew? In theory, the stealth vessel should be able to sneak out undetected, but it really hadn’t had much testing.
Liang imagined – for a brief instant – what would happen if Stark was lost. The Shadow forces would still be there, along with all Stark’s preparations. Would Liang have the chance to take control? To take Stark’s place and make himself an emperor?
It was a seductive thought, but Liang knew he didn’t have the capability or the tools to hold Stark’s immense operation together. Liang hated Stark; he feared Stark…but he had no illusions about the man’s superhuman genius. There were former Alliance Intelligence spies everywhere, and Stark was the only man they would follow. And Liang shuddered at the thought of what would happen if he made his own bid for power and Stark got off Armstrong and returned. Gavin Stark knew an almost infinite number of ways to dispose of enemies…most of them very unpleasant.
Liang made his choice. He knew what would happen if he got Stark’s fleet shot to pieces, and it wasn’t likely to be a very pleasant outcome for him. His overriding order was to preserve the fleet at all costs. So he had two choices. Stand and fight it out to the end, or run for it now while he still had time to disengage.
Even with the damage he had sustained, his fleet was still stronger than the Alliance force. But Liang felt a sense of hopelessness. When he’d seen the size of the enemy fleet, he had discounted Garret’s presence. But the enemy fought the way they did under their legendary commander. Was it possible Garret was on the enemy flagship after all? Perhaps he had detached a portion of his fleet for another purpose, and it was him on that enemy battleship leading a reduced force.
He turned and looked back at his tactical officer. Liang didn’t have confidence in his people…and he knew how good the Alliance spacers were. And if that was Garret out there, he’d not only destroy the Shadow fleet, he’d chase down the troop transports and destroy the reserve legions too.
Liang swallowed hard. “The fleet will withdraw at full speed. All personnel to the couches. Maximum acceleration in ten minutes.” Yes, he thought…I will live to fight another day. Or at least until my reckoning with Gavin Stark.
Chapter 27
City of Nancy
French Sector, Europa Federalis
Earth – Sol III
Hans Werner was sweating like a pig. The heavy rubberized material of his protective suit was stifling. He could feel the sweat pouring down his neck and back. He wanted the rip his way out of the bulky coverings, suck in a breath of fresh, cool air…but he didn’t dare. The Europans had escalated things late in the battle for Nancy, bombarding his advancing troops with chemical weapons in a last ditch attempt to hold the city.
His detectors showed a non-lethal, but still potentially dangerous concentration of nerve gas in the city itself, so his forces were all operating under full chemical warfare protocols…even though the fighting had ended, and the enemy was in headlong retreat.
His forces had taken Nancy, but the battle had been a brutal one. He’d hesitated before reporting the chemical attack, knowing exactly what HQ’s response would be. Most of the major powers had automatic response policies in place, making escalation unavoidable when one side employed a proscribed weapon. Werner was now authorized – no, expected - to use his own chemical weaponry…and the high command was rushing him additional enhanced ordnance.
The hard-fought victory had earned Werner his third star, and an upgrade for his hastily-assembled and heretofore haphazardly organized force. He now officially commanded the 12th Army, and reinforcements were working their way forward to bring his formations back up to strength.
He climbed up and over a pile of wreckage that had been part of someone’s home a few days before. He knew he shouldn’t be up this far. One enemy sniper left behind could deprive the army of its commander. But in his mind he was still a lieutenant-colonel commanding a single battalion, and he ha
d a hard time adapting to the exalted rank his well-timed successes had bought him.
He scrambled down the pile of rubble and spotted a cluster of dead soldiers…and two who were still alive. He pulled himself back up onto the mound of debris, looking toward a crew searching for wounded. “Over here…there’s two wounded over here.” His voice was dry and hoarse from yelling. He knew he was dehydrated, but it was such a pain in the ass to get a drink in the CBN suits, he tended to ignore the thirst as long as he could.
He pointed as the soldiers scrambled toward his position carrying two stretchers. The streets were too pockmarked and full of wreckage to get the transports through, so his troopers were carrying the wounded to the edge of town and loading them onto the trucks there. Werner had moved the field hospitals back, farther away from the chemical weapons zone. He knew every extra kilometer cost lives, but he couldn’t take the chance that one of the hospitals might get hit with a gas attack.
The city had been badly damaged in the fighting, at least half its buildings now little more than shattered facades and piles of smoking rubble. It was hard to tell, but it looked to him like Nancy had been a pleasant community, without the dense ring of slums that surrounded most cities in both Europa Federalis and the CEL. Whatever it had been, he thought sadly, it was mostly a ruin now.
That ruin had cost him 50,000 casualties. The field hospitals were bursting at the seams, and his support teams were scouring the battlefield, looking for disabled tanks they could get back in working order. His soldiers were exhausted and mourning their legions of dead. But they weren’t going to get a rest. He already had his orders. The new 12th Army was to move north toward Metz and take the ancient fortress-city, opening the way for an advance against the Europan capital at Paris.