The rating moved the wormhole down closer to the ground, slowly, going for one of the few places in the camp that was not under direct surveillance. A short burst of jamming that could be mistaken for random static hit that area, and the wormhole expanded quickly under an inflation of negative matter under a magnetic field.
“Go,” ordered the Intelligence Officer to the team, and one of the men took a running leap into the wormhole, which was expanded just enough to take his horizontal body. The wormhole on the other side had unshielded negative matter holding it open, and there was real danger of contact with it. And matter contacting negative matter canceled each out, which could have disastrous consequences for both the agent and the wormhole.
The viewer showed the man coming out of the wormhole and hitting the ground in a roll, coming back to his feet and rushing into the nearest tent. The second man followed, then Vakhrusshev, followed by her last man.
The wormhole closed up to its original centimeter diameter, then moved to the edge of one of the tents. It hovered over the ground for a moment, then hit the dirt with enough force to raise a tiny dust ring. The wormhole ate into the ground, while the hole within the chamber rotated on its frame until it was aimed into a side cavern that was not being used. Dirt started spewing from the end and it dug its way down, till it was ten meters under the earth. At that point it expanded to an opening two meters across, this time the hole held steady by the expanding framework that came through from the other side.
Now began an hour of work, the rating, part of the Naval Engineering Corps, moving the hole back and forth until he had excavated a series of ten by ten meter chambers under the camp. At that point he moved the wormhole to the side and parked it, his work done for the moment.
* * *
Sharon Vakhrusshev took a few moments to orient herself after she had run into the tent. There were people in the tent, two men, three women and a pair of quivering children. Boris and Estefan had grabbed the men, holding them in place.
“We’re not here to hurt you,” Sharon told the people while Chang came into the tent behind her. “We need to contact Colonel Gorbunov. We understand he stays in this area.”
“Why do you want Pietrov?” asked one of the women. “What has he done to you?”
“Nothing. It’s what he can do for us. But I need you to tell me that you will not breathe a word of this to anyone. Especially the Cacas.”
“We’re not collaborators,” said one of the men, struggling to throw Boris’ grasp from him and failing against the much stronger man. The man stopped struggling after it was clear that he was not going to break free of the iron grip of the agent. “What good would it do to collaborate anyway? Get us a couple of more days of life in this rendition of hell.”
“I can’t tell you much, but I need to talk with Pietrov. It’s vital that I talk with the man. If you want to have any hope of getting out of here.”
“I can lead you to him,” said the man Boris was holding. “He’s only a couple of tents over.”
“Then let’s go. You stay here, Estefan, and watch these citizens.”
Sharon felt exposed as they walked out of the tent and down the path under the watchful eyes of so many people. It was getting close to curfew, when they would be forced to get into a tent or be found out. Many people had already retreated to the tents, but there were always some diehards who had to push it to the limit.
“Pietrov,” said the man as they came to the entrance of a tent, tapping on the door-post. “I have some people who want to meet you.”
“Bring them in,” said a voice from within, and Sharon ducked through the entrance to see a man sitting on a cot looking at her with wary eyes. He was the only adult in the tent, which was otherwise occupied by children, fourteen of them, from a toddler up to a few adolescents.
“Colonel Gorbunov,” said Sharon, giving the man a short bow. “I am Senior Agent Sharon Vakhrusshev of the New Moscow Intelligence Directive.”
“I didn’t know that New Moscow still existed, Senior Agent, much less that it still had an Intelligence Directive. And what can I do for the mighty Kingdom of New Moscow?”
“You can help us get ready for an event that will free our people from these monsters.”
“And how are you going to accomplish this miracle?”
“Not just me. And I’ll tell you how we’re going to pull off this miracle.”
* * *
KINGDOM OF NEW MOSCOW SPACE.
“Estimated time to New Moscow system, one hundred and ninety-five hours, Admiral.”
Grand High Admiral Gabriel Len Lenkowski nodded to the Fleet Navigation Officer as he sat back in his chair, looking at the tactical holo that showed the entire region of operations. The New Terran Republic force was sweeping through their area of operations, meeting little resistance, liberating systems that had mostly been emptied of human life, keeping the attention of the Cacas in that region focused on themselves. There were two planets in that region that still had humans, about seventy-five million of them total, also waiting their turns for processing. In ten hours the ground assault would go in, well ahead of the fleet arrival, much like that planned for the systems in the central region.
And hopefully we will find that our assault doctrine is working as planned, he thought, looking at the overall sweep of the battlefield that was the Kingdom of New Moscow. If not, I don’t know if we’ll have enough time to make corrections.
His own force was heading toward New Moscow as more of a diversion, though now, with the new enemy force entering the equation, they might not get there in time after all. There were enemy scouts watching them as they penetrated occupied space, and a large Caca force arrayed to intercept them before they reach New Moscow. The enemy had to think they had a very good chance of beating the force that he was bringing. He only had two hundred and five battleships and a little over eight hundred smaller craft, while the enemy force had over fifteen hundred ships. But what they didn’t know was hopefully going to bite them in the ass.
Lenkowski wasn’t really sure that he liked how his forces were spread out for this operation. Imperial Fleet doctrine called for keeping forces concentrated whenever possible, so that they wouldn’t be defeated in detail. The new wormholes were causing a lot of doctrinal changes, maybe too many too fast, in the Admiral’s opinion. The wormholes gave a lot of advantages to his fleet over any enemy they might face in this war. Instantaneous communications, with far flung forces and headquarters; the ability to transfer ships across long distances.
His own force had most of his ships that deployed their own wormholes for uses other than com. He had over half of the Super Heavy Battleships in the fleet, with their wormhole missile tubes and particle beams.
“Any word from New Moscow?” he asked his Chief of Staff, Commodore Meatra Felici.
“Everything is moving as scheduled, sir,” said the dour faced man. “The carriers should be launching in two hours. Ground assault scheduled for forty-one hours, eighty minutes standard time.”
Which meant the carriers would be launching at a little under two hours according to the clocks aboard Augustine I, and the ground assault would start in a little under thirteen hours. Half a day, as far as this force was concerned.
* * *
PLANET NEW MOSCOW.
“And if the Imperials don’t come through as planned, we will be slaughtered when the Cacas catch us with these things,” said the woman, holding the small chemically powered pistol in her hand. “And I’m not sure these things will even penetrate their armor.”
The people gathered all nodded, and there were some murmurs of dissatisfaction that were difficult to make out over the white noise that was being generated by a small device in the center of the tent. Agent Sharon Vakhrusshev looked at the woman, not able to really blame her, but needed her cooperation nonetheless. All of these people were risking much by being here, but they risked the same just being in the tent and listening to her.
“Maybe not the
heavily armored infantry,” said Vakhrusshev to the people looking at her. “But with careful aim, this weapon will defeat the armor of the camp guards.”
The woman, a former officer in the Czar’s Navy, looked doubtfully at the weapon, which was smaller than the standard magrail she had once carried on duty.
“It is engineered to fire ten shots at sufficient velocity to bring the built in shape charge to the target at the proper orientation. It will then penetrate light Caca battle armor and impart a sufficient shock to the creature wearing it to incapacitate it, if not kill it outright,” said Colonel Pietrov Gorbunov, holding up his own copy of the weapon. All of them were unloaded at the moment, and the users would not be able to practice with them before using them in earnest. Only the four operatives who had brought them into the camp had any proficiency with them.
“Look,” said Sharon, looking around the tent at the frightened but determined faces. “These weapons are a last resort. Hopefully, the Imperials will take out the guards in the first couple of minutes. You’re not really going to see a lot of use for that pistol.” I hope, she thought. “Only use it as a last resort to take out any guards they don’t target in the initial assault.”
“And then we get gunned down,” said a man who was at one time a Captain of Police in the capital city.
“Then don’t carry the damned thing,” growled Gorbunov. “Just let the Cacas shoot down some of your fellow citizens before they go down.”
The man glared at the Colonel, then looked away, but he kept the pistol in his hand. The former policeman looked up and at the entrance of the tent as a couple of men strong armed a tall man into their midst. The man was slack faced, a headband stretched around his forehead.
“We caught this guy lurking around the side of the tent,” said one of the people holding his arm. “I didn’t like his looks, so decided to slap a scrambler on him.” The headband was the scrambler, which would scramble his thoughts, keeping him from making contact through his implant without turning that device off, so anyone monitoring him would not suddenly notice his implant falling off whatever net he might be on.
A woman came through the entrance a moment later with two little girls. “These children were with him.”
“Please let my daddy go,” said the light skinned child, tears streaming down her eyes. “He didn’t do anything.”
“And what is your daddy’s name?” asked the former Captain of Police, getting to his feet, his eyes glaring at the man.
“His name is Rory Caronones,” said the darker skinned child. “And he’s a collaborator.”
Chapter Twelve
If my soldiers were to begin to think, not one of them would remain in the army.
Frederick the Great.
NEW MOSCOW SPACE, APRIL 6TH, 1002.
Sixty light hours from New Moscow the first ship gate sat, surrounded by empty space and the small task force that had deployed the gate and followed it into its present position. All of the escorts were hyper VII ships, six battle cruisers, sixteen light cruisers, and thirty-four destroyers, sitting cold in space. All were powered down with the exception of passive sensors, life support and minimal grabber boost.
The first of the ships scheduled for that gate came through, four squadrons of battleships, moving on the proper vector at point three light toward the system. Bismarck, Count Smirnov, Brezhnev, Catherine the Great, Baron Hawkmoon, others, famous names of ships that had been making history for generations. Sixteen ships in all, now antiquated, they were still capital ships which would have a part to play in this fight. Next came three squadrons of heavy cruisers, another eighteen ships on the same heading. A ship every ten seconds, a dance that required precision that courted disaster. After them came the three squadrons of destroyers, the screening element. All seemed to be going well until the end of that line.
* * *
“Emergency decel,” yelled out the Commander in charge of the Walter Gronn, the next to the last destroyer through the wormhole gate.
“But, sir,” said the confused Helm Officer, Lt. SG Sonia Bartolli, glancing back for a second. The destroyer was perfectly on profile, and there was no need to adjust anything.
“You heard me, Lieutenant,” yelled the panicked Captain, his eyes wide. “We’re too damned close. Emergency decel, now. Or, by God, I’ll have you brought up on charges.”
Sonia put the ship into emergency decel, all five hundred and twenty-five gravities, but neglected to put any side vector into the boost.
The last destroyer came through a bit sooner than expected, and ran right up the ass of the slowing ship. Both ships flared with fire and plasma, spinning off into space on opposite courses. Acceleration forces killed everyone aboard Gronn, and there were heavy casualties on the other ship as well. Two ships taken out of the order of battle, but not the most detrimental of possible losses to the mission. The flare of their collision would be seen in the system in fifty-nine to sixty hours. Hopefully, that wouldn’t matter, since the ground action would have already started.
It took a moment to clear the path of debris, a couple of destroyers sweeping through with magnetic grapples. Then the second wave of this part of the mission came through, seven of the new Hyper VII carriers, heading inward at point seven light. Each used its grabbers for a moment at low power, opening up some separation from the other carriers. Minutes after entering normal space the carriers started launching their fighters. It took about ten minutes for each ship to put its hundred fighters into space, until seven hundred of the craft were coasting inward.
* * *
Captain Beauregard Morris stared at the tactical holo hanging in front of his command chair as his fighter coasted forward in the lead position of his wing. My wing, he thought, still in slight disbelief. He had only been a senior squadron commander during the last offensive, when the wing had been at full strength. But the wing, the launched weapon of the carrier Zokoku, was gathered into a tight formation, their targets locked in.
“All ships report green, sir,” called out the Com Officer, Lt. SG Joanie Wedgewood.
“Report to mother that the wing is ready for deployment,” he told Wedgewood. “Raise bubble in five zero minutes.”
The com went back to the carrier by tight beam and was acknowledged immediately. The Captain lay back in his chair as he went over the orders of his wing one last time, thinking of anything he needed to touch base with the others on while they could still communicate.
He still didn’t know several of his squadron commanders that well, and almost half of his ship commanders were relative unknowns. The inertialess fighter community was small and close knit, there being only about sixteen hundred ships in it when at full strength. And after the losses of the last offensive, even with reinforcements, it still stood at just over eleven hundred.
The fifteen hundred ton ships packed a devastating punch, with their ability to get up on top of an enemy before the Cacas even knew they were there. Unfortunately, they were also extremely fragile. While difficult to hit, a strike by almost any ship weapon would normally spell their doom. While they had destroyed more than a thousand times their mass in enemy ships, they had also suffered heavier losses proportionally than any other branch of the Fleet. It would have taken two more months to complete the training and refitting of his wing, two months they didn’t have. As soon as the Zokoku had come out of the repair dock the wing had been ordered to report aboard for this mission, and here they were.
“Targets locked on all ships,” called out the Wing Tactical Officer, who was also the weapons officer of Zokoku 1, also known as ZC-Prime.
Or at least as locked as they can be, thought the Captain, looking at the zoomed in plot of the Ca’cadasan force that was their target. Where that target would be it forty hours was anyone’s guess. All they could hope for was a target in front of them when they exited the bubble, something they could lock onto and hit, then get the hell out before he lost too many ships.
“Accelerating at twelve hundred
gravities,” announced the Pilot, and the ship pushed ahead at its maximum normal space accel. It took some little time to reach their attack speed of point nine light, the speed they would need when coming out of the bubble to be an effective strike force.
“Raising bubble,” called out the Pilot, glancing back at the Captain for a moment. Outside the electromagnetic field enclosed the ship and firmed up to full strength. A moment later the negative matter was released from the two storage tanks along the side, the reverse protons pulled into the field and locked in place. As soon as the screen was in place the ship disappeared from the Universe for all intents and purposes. They were still there, still solid, but no energy could enter or leave the bubble.
“Acceleration set at thirty thousand gravities,” called out the Pilot as he pushed the grabbers to full. Without inertia working on the ship they slid easily up to the maximum acceleration rate. In two minutes they would pass light speed in the bubble. In fourteen more they would reach their maximum cruising speed of point two light, and would coast the rest of the way in, until they were sixteen minutes decel from their targets.
“Time to target, thirty-one hours,” said the Pilot, making a last second adjustment to his board and then locking it.
“Nothing to do now but relax,” said the Wing Tactical Officer, getting up from his chair and heading for the exit of the control room. “Anyone want a snack?”
“Everyone get some food, and we’ll go into regular down time shifts,” ordered Morris. “Be prepared to run simulations in eight hours though. I want us ready for whatever happens when we come out of the bubble.”
Unspoken was the fact that there was no guarantee they would come out of the bubble. They were blind, and though the chances of hitting something were exceedingly rare, if they did they were gone. Their negative matter bubble wouldn’t destroy enough of an even moderately sized rock, and losing the bubble meant immediate translation down to sublight, followed by an inertial rebound that would convert them to fast moving atoms, or even subatomic particles.
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 8: Soldiers (Exodus: Empires at War.) Page 16