Exodus: Empires at War: Book 8: Soldiers (Exodus: Empires at War.)

by Doug Dandridge

  Innocent knew how he felt. She herself had lost family to the Cacas. The majority of citizens in the Empire had, even if they were distant. Almost everyone in the military had also lost friends, classmates. They had many reasons to hate the big aliens, and it had to gall the Marines to watch the alien prisoners living in luxury.

  “I need to see the Great Admiral,” she said, looking at the high security door.

  “Yes, ma’am,” said the Marine, closing his eyes for a moment, linking with the security center and sending the request through.

  Innocent had the highest clearance possible, and she had no doubt her request would be fulfilled. There was always the chance that someone else was already talking with the Great Admiral, and that she might have to wait. But a moment later the officer opened his eyes and looked at her, nodding once.

  “You’re cleared to go in, ma’am. A Marine guard detail will accompany you for your safety.”

  “Thank you,” she replied, waiting for the door to open.

  The meter thick portal slid open, revealing a long corridor and a pair of Marines in battle armor. Both were armed with holstered particle beam pistols, the holsters specifically coded to each Marine so only they could draw them. Both also held large sonic stun rifles specifically made to bring down the big carnivores.

  They walked down the long corridor, over a hundred meters into the body of the huge station that was a rear base of Sector IV. It ended at another thick door, which opened once the Commodore and her guards were in front of it. Innocent could almost feel the eyes on them, the security scan of the long hall, ensuring that nothing happened to the prisoners housed here, or that those beings didn’t get away. There were many more of them now scattered across the Empire, many in accommodations that were not so welcoming as the ones she was walking toward.

  Walking through the door, she found herself entering a large room, this with a security desk in the exact center, another Marine Lieutenant sitting alongside a Gunnery Sergeant. Two more battle suited Marines stood against the walls with stun rifles in hand.

  “The Great Admiral has been informed of your coming, ma’am,” stated the officer, pointing at one of the doors. “You can go in, but please be careful.”

  Innocent smiled at the other woman and headed for the door, while one of the guards in the room moved over to a box by the portal and stuck a large key into a hole. He turned the key and the door slid open, the second guard covering the opening with his stun rifle, while her two assigned Marines took up positions by her. The guard by the door nodded, and one of Innocent’s men, a Sergeant, went forward ahead of her.

  The room beyond had been built to specifications to house a high ranking Cacada. The ceilings were high, six meters, beyond the reach of even a jumping Cacada, protecting the sensing and defensive devices from any possible manipulation. The room itself was ten meters on a side, with pieces of furniture that looked much too large. The colors clashed to her human eyes, and there were strange odors in the air. The Great Admiral, Miierrowanasa M’tinisasitow, sat on a throne like chair against one of the walls, dressed in the uniform of a Ca’cadasan noble. He eschewed the uniform of his rank, and had none of the men around him that would normally serve as his staff and guards.

  He betrayed his own people by surrendering, thought the Intelligence Officer, looking at the big male who had a defeated look about him. Ca’cadasans didn’t surrender. They had a long history of fighting to the death, no matter what. And this male had been in charge of the only large Ca’cadasan force that had ever surrendered to an enemy. True, he hadn’t actually issued the order. He had been knocked unconscious at the time, and his next in command had issued the orders. But the Great Admiral had been the male in charge, so the responsibility ultimately was his.

  The Great Admiral was still an impressive specimen, his wrinkled snout full of sharp teeth, his reddish fur covering a muscular torso from which the four arms sprung. Horns reached a half meter above his head, giving the being the look of the demonic. He stood up as he saw the humans, towering his full three meters. The two and a half meter tall females that were there to serve him looked small in comparison, and they crouched down in anxiety at the presence of the humans.

  At least the females are too stupid to blame him for the defeat, she thought, looking over at one of the semi-intelligent beings. All had the dull eyes of merely intelligent mammals, with less muscularity than the males, and the characteristic three sets of breasts showing that they were mammalian, or at least as close as a totally alien evolutionary tree could come to.

  “Please sit, Great Admiral,” she suggested as she stepped forward.

  A flash of anger appeared in the Ca’cadasan’s eyes. Though politely phrased, he recognized an order, and his kind still thought themselves the superior to every other sentient species in space. Part of that had to do with their longevity. This male had lived over fourteen hundred years of a greater than two thousand year life span. That lifespan, and its slow metabolism, was actually the thing that made them inferior to species like humans when it came to speed of thinking. Their brains were built for planning over long periods of time, and not for coming up with solutions on the spot.

  The Caca sat back in his chair, and the two Marines lowered the barrels of their rifles a bit. There were still four females standing near the throne, and though they had never been seen to be aggressive, and according to the males were not unless they were defending their children, the Marines were taking no chances. Looking at the females, who outmassed her by more than double, Innocent was glad that they were being cautious.

  “And what can I do for you today, Commodore?” asked the Great Admiral in an ironic tone.

  “We’re getting ready to move on the Kingdom of New Moscow,” she said, matter of fact. “I was wondering if you might have some advice for us?”

  “Don’t depend on my people to surrender again,” said the Great Admiral, showing his teeth in a very predatory grin. “Whoever is in charge there would have already received orders from above making it clear that surrender is not an option.”

  “You think they will fight and die, then?”

  “Oh, no. Since I am sure that you will outnumber our force so as to make victory impossible, I have no doubt they will retreat when it becomes apparent that they can’t win. If you leave an opening for them to escape through, they will use it. If not, they will stand and die, and take as many of you with them as they can.”

  “And what of the humans still alive in the Kingdom?”

  “If you hope to rescue them, I would give up that hope,” said the Great Admiral, again showing his teeth. “The commander there would see his captives as resources, and will not be willing to give those resources back to you. They will leave the dead behind, those they are not able to take with them for further processing.”

  Innocent stared at the male for a moment, almost wishing she could order her guards to kill him. They would not obey that order, of course, since they already had orders from a higher authority to keep this Caca alive.

  “You really don’t care about the harm you cause, do you?” she finally asked, glaring into the eyes of the Great Admiral. “You’ve just rampaged across the Galaxy, smashing whole civilizations along the way. Killing the birthplace of humanity.”

  “Of course we care,” said the Great Admiral, an expression Innocent had come to consider pained crossing his face. “We gather the other intelligent species into the embrace of our Empire for their own good. Without us, they would either destroy themselves as they reach their nuclear stage, or they would go out and conquer other species, just as yours have.”

  “And we work with the species under us,” she argued back, planting her hands on her hips. “And have organized the greatest alliance this arm, full of intelligent species, has ever seen. We are not conquerors, like you are. And we will prevail.”

  “Our Emperor has said otherwise, and the entire resources of the Empire will be mobilized to crush you.”

  “
And our Emperor has decreed that we will crush you,” she said, letting a smile cross her face for a moment. “I guess we will just have to see which one of us prevails.”

  She turned to walked away, then turned back for a moment. “You know, we sent a mission to locate the other power you are fighting with. We are weeks away from that contact, and once we do, our wormholes will allow us to aid them, and to take aid from them. At that point, you will face an organized two front war. Think about that.”

  She could see from his expression that she had hit home. Regardless of the little she had gotten from him, she decided that that expression was enough of a victory for the day.

  * * *

  KINGDOM OF NEW MOSCOW SPACE, MARCH 29TH, 1002.

  “That looks like their last ship, sir,” said Lieutenant SG Lasardo, the tactical officer of the hyper VII destroyer James Komorov, and a man the Captain trusted implicitly.

  Captain the Duke Maurice von Rittersdorf acknowledged as he stared at the plot. The ship coming out of the system, currently on a deceleration profile that was consistent with a jump to hyper just beyond the limit, was a supercruiser, four million tons of Caca warship. The big boys, escorting the troop transports, had left normal space hours before, and would be of no help to this one. Still, it out massed his eight destroyer squadron by more than double. His orders were to observe, and avoid action if possible. With one caveat. He was also ordered to inflict damage to enemy units in situations that didn’t compromise his primary mission.

  His ships were all dead in space, powered down as much as possible, matter-antimatter reactors cold, electromag shields inactive. The ships were well insulated, and the heat inside was almost unbearable, despite the superconducting cooling system shunting heat to the unoccupied portions of the ship, and all crew suited up with battle armor environmental systems online. It was difficult to hide in space without special effort, and the mission called for that kind of effort.

  His ship and one other, the Gregor Stoyanovich, were the exceptions, as they had multipurpose wormholes, mostly used for communications, but also serving double duty to whisk away much of the heat. Some would say it was unfair to the other vessels, but von Rittersdorf was not about to let the entire crews of two vessels swelter when there were ways around it.

  “Com. Tight beams to other ships. I want to take this bastard when he comes within closest approach on our missiles.” He looked back over at Lasardo. “You got that, Guns?”

  “Aye, sir. Running simulations now.”

  The primary mission had been to observe this system at the far center of New Moscow space, to see what the Cacas were up to in a system they had seemed so heavily invested in. And now they had pulled out all of their ships, packed up everything they could take along, and destroyed everything they couldn’t. The Captain looked at another holo that showed a view of the night side of the habitable planet, once the home of a billion and a half people, now totally dark.

  “Firing solution plotted,” called out Lasardo. “Optimal range in eighteen minutes.”

  “Send that info to all ships, then get me the Duchess on the wormhole.”

  Moments later the face of Rear Admiral Mei Lei, the commander of this task group of Scout Force Battle Fleet, was looking out at him.

  “It looks like they’re taking off, ma’am,” said von Rittersdorf, giving the holo image a slight bow. “We’re tracking the last ship and getting ready to light her up before she makes hyper. If we’re lucky we might be able to get some prisoners.”

  “That is good news, Maurice. I trust that you will not put your command at undue risk in the process, but more information is always good.”

  Both knew that was part of the job, taking risks. Sometimes von Rittersdorf thought he had taken the wrong track by going into the Scout Force. But, then again, screening battleships during fleet actions, when missiles were flying, and the primary mission was keeping the capital ships alive at all costs, was not the safest of tasks. His current job was to gather information, and the Fleet had a tradition of fighting for that intelligence.

  “I’ll make sure we come back,” he said, thinking that he would indeed make sure most of his squadron returned from this mission, if it was within his power.

  The Captain watched as the timer counted down, anxious that the sensors of the enemy not pick them up. If they did, his destroyers were still committed. But the enemy would be able to get in some more shots as well. At close range missiles were not as effective as at longer distances, and he did not want to get into a beam fight with this target. He would probably still win, just because he presented more targets for the enemy to engage. Each of his targets, however, could take much less beam energy before systems started to fail.

  “Powering up missile tubes,” announced Lasardo in a hiss just above a whisper.

  The Captain smiled. This was a critical moment, powering up the tubes and the next steps they would take. But he found it humorous that the Tactical Officer would speak in such a soft voice, as if afraid the enemy might hear. Indeed, they could yell and cheer and play loud music over the bridge speaker system and not be heard across the vacuum. However, that enemy might be able to pick up the slightest trace of heat, and that was the risk.

  “Target locked into missile targeting systems,” said Lasardo, his eyes focused on the holo that showed the enemy in relation to all of the destroyers. They would not all fire at once, but instead on a time schedule that would get all of the first wave there at the same time.

  “Fire when ready, Mr. Lasardo,” ordered von Rittersdorf, nodding to the officer. His ship would fire first, despite being slightly closer to the enemy than all the others, their missiles set to a profile that would allow the others to catch up. Which would also make them the first target the enemy picked up.

  “Range, three light minutes,” called out the Sensor Officer. “Enemy range to hyper limit, two point six light minutes.”

  “Firing,” yelled out Lasardo, his voice cracking with nervous tension.

  Komorov shook slightly as she launched six missiles from her forward tubes, accelerated up to point zero one light by the powerful magnetic accelerators of the tube. The grabbers powered up an instant later and turned the ship so that her four port tubes could fire, then turned at five hundred gravities to the starboard to release the loads of those tubes.

  The other ships released their first volley at almost the same time, fourteen missiles each, one hundred and twelve of the destroyer class weapons. All were the newest version of the dual purpose missile, capable of use in both normal and hyperspace. Like all destroyer class missiles they massed fifty tons fully loaded. Unlike the older missiles, five tons of mass was taken up by the hyperdrive unit that was recessed into the body of the missile until moments after firing, when it rose into place to start generating a hyperfield. The missile could be fired without the hyperfield generator, and would gain a bit of boost from the reduced mass. Or the generator could be jettisoned at any time, though command preferred that the missile be fired without, since each five ton generator carried a couple of hundred kilos of expensive supermetals.

  The warhead was also interchangeable. Each ship carried three different types of warheads; heavy unitary, medium unitary and multiple. They only had the number of warheads that would fit their load of missiles, and missions dictated what they carried. Still, it could sometimes take some thought during an engagement to choose the proper load for the early volleys.

  The electromag fields came up on the ships, the laser rings took several seconds to charge from their crystal matrix batteries while the matter/antimatter reactors throttled up, which took more time. In less than a half minute all of the ships were sending lasers at the target, while their particle beam accelerators continued to pile up the velocity of the protons they would soon release.

  The Caca ship took some time to react, not surprising as they had been caught flatfooted, totally unprepared for the attack. It took over a minute to raise electromagnetic fields and get the
ir counter missile systems online. By then the first volley was a third of the way to the target, accelerating at a short range boost of ten thousand gravities, also something new for destroyer class missiles, and something they were only capable of maintaining for a little over ten minutes before their drives burned out. And all they needed for this engagement.

  “Enemy is launching missiles,” called out Lasardo as the red icons appeared on the tactical holo. “Forty incoming, acceleration eight thousand gravities.”

  At the moment they couldn’t tell which ship or ships were the targets. All were locking on their defensive weapons as if they were the targets, though at the longest range of the counter missiles it would not matter, as long as they achieved hits.

  The enemy launched their own counters, taking out thirty-one of the incoming weapons. A moment later the human counters started taking out the enemy missiles. Both sides released a second volley, and von Rittersdorf chewed on a fingernail as he watched that second wave come in, while the first was entering final approach range.

  The viewers showed antimatter warheads detonating in space in pinpoints that had to be stepped down by the visual systems to be bearable to the human eye. The explosions came closer each second, visual evidence for both the effectiveness of the defenses and the approaching lethality of the remaining weapons.

  First, there were a couple of near misses, the three ships that were now definitely the primary targets of the enemy volley. Komorov was not one of those targets for some reason. Probably because the enemy considered her a ship not in the command loop, since she was the closest of the vessels. More near misses occurred, and two of the destroyers started venting atmosphere as large pieces of hull were blown off into space and radiation and heat and transferred into the vessels.

  A near miss to a third destroyer was followed quickly by a hit that detonated against the port bow of the vessel. It was a shattering hit, blasting the vessel apart and sending pieces spinning on their way, just before the breach of antimatter converted the largest section to plasma.