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

by Doug Dandridge

  I can’t wait to get off this damned gate duty, was his next thought. He much preferred the task of stalking enemy ships from stealth, his own ship his only responsibility. Well, soon this task would be over, and he could be back about it.

  * * *

  NEW MOSCOW SPACE.

  Fleet Admiral Jerry Kelvin stared at the plot that showed thirty thousand enemy missiles heading his way. It would take another hour for those missiles to reach his force, but he was almost ready to pull the first of his mind screws on that enemy.

  “Send out the grav pulse,” he ordered his Com Officer. “And bring our fleet to five hundred gravities acceleration.”

  The pulse went out, the coded transmission that told all the ships what to do. His own force, the one the enemy already knew about, increased its acceleration to the maximum of its own battleships, some of them near the edge of their safety margin. And the other ships, the ones that had been shooting from the gate for the last couple of hours, started their own deceleration, changing their vectors depending on how far out they were from the main force. It would take just under an hour for those ships to join formation with the main force.

  Kelvin could wish that he had the other ships that were supposed to come through the gates, the ones that had missed their windows. It would take those ships more than four hours at this point to decelerate to a stop and start on their way back to the gate, another more than six hour trip. They would not participate in this battle, though they might be useful in the next. When they can be here to die along with the rest of us when that large Caca force gets here.

  All of his ships were now present on the tactical plot, all boosting along at their required rates, all now radiating heat at a prodigious rate. The enemy would be seeing the graviton emissions immediately, and their heat emissions hours after that.

  He switched the plot to one that showed everything known to several days travel out. Grand Fleet Admiral Lenkowski’s force appeared on that plot, as well as the much smaller force from the Republic. And, closer than both, the massive fleet of the enemy, the one being tracked by ships in normal space and transmitted through the wormhole net. That was the force he had to worry about. That was the one he would be forced to engage days before Lenkowski’s reached this system. The Republic force would arrive in time to add its weight of fire to that fight. And Lenkowski’s would appear well after his combined force was rubble in space.

  First I need to fight this battle, he thought, zooming in on the plot to look at his ships. And the surprise on that plot that was still hidden from that enemy.

  * * *

  “My Lord,” called out the Tactical Officer, breaking High Admiral Lisantr’nana from his thoughts. “You have to see this.”

  “What?” growled the High Admiral, jumping up from his seat and stalking over to the tactical station. He glared at the officer for a moment, before his eyes were drawn to the display. “What in the hells are those?” There were now hundreds of additional vector arrows on the plot, all of them pointing back at the enemy fleet. But they were not colored the green of friendly forces. In fact, they were the brownish orange that signified unknowns. “Put it on the main holo.”

  The new icons appeared on the central holo, and the High Admiral walked over to stare at the display. Figures were coming up under the vector arrows as the ship’s comp systems digested the data and made their appraisals.

  They’re actually heading our way and decelerating, thought the High Admiral. And they’re too damned big to be missiles.

  “We’re assigning designations to those ships,” called out the Tactical Officer. “One hundred and fifty-four battleships, One hundred and twenty-two of their cruiser class vessels, and two hundred and sixty-three of their scout/escorts.”

  “That’s over five hundred ships,” blurted out the Navigation Officer.

  And where did they come from? thought the High Admiral, staring at the plot in disbelief. “How does this change the balance of force?” he asked, turning toward the Tactical Officer.

  “We still have the superior force, my Lord,” responded that officer. “They will hurt us more than we thought before this reinforcement, but we will still destroy them.”

  The High Admiral thought that over for a moment. Even if he could defeat this force, he still had the one back at the planet to deal with. Which meant he had to preserve as much of his fleet as he could.

  “Where the hells did they come from?” he shouted to his bridge crew. “And how do we know that’s all of them?”

  There was no answer to either of his questions, and he felt dread at having to deal with the cunning humans, who always seemed to outthink his people. But we are supposed to be the superior species, so how can they possibly be that much smarter than we are.

  He looked at the plot once again, this time feeling more confident. The humans might be the smarter species, but his people had never lost a war. And he wasn’t about to lose this fight.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The soldiers that didn't come back were the heroes. It's a roll of the dice. If a bullet has your name on it, you're a hero. If you hear a bullet go by, you're a survivor.

  Bob Feller.

  PLANET NEW MOSCOW, MID DAY, APRIL 8TH, 1002.

  “We’re going forward in one minute, General Baggett. Or as soon after that as the drop occurs.”

  Baggett looked up at the huge shape in combat armor that stood towering over him. “Thank you, General Klash'ta,” he said to the other officer, the commander of the 512th Heavy Infantry Division. One of his brigades would be leading the attack, along with a tank battalion. A battalion of Marines and two human heavy infantry battalions would attack along another axis with a second battalion of tanks, while a third brigade force dug in on a ridge line to the north would keep the Cacas from retreating. Or so it was hoped.

  “Intelligence is still giving us an estimate of two brigades of Cacas,” continued the Phlistaran officer. “Fortunately, the only fortifications they have are the two firebases. Their infantry only has the hasty fortifications.”

  Baggett nodded as he watched a line of Phlistaran infantry trot by, though cavalry might have been a better term. The Phlistarans looked awesome in their heavy combat armor, each massing as much as a small vehicle. All carried oversized particle beam rifles in the hands attached to the large arms that thrust from their upright torsos, while the barrels of multiple heavy weapons thrust from the turrets mounted on their long, broad backs. The only negative was that they were big targets, but to compensate they carried heavier armor on the forward sections of their torso plates and on the flanks of their bodies. They were still not invulnerable, they were not tanks, but they were truly formidable soldiers.

  “I wish I could go forward with them,” Baggett told the lower ranking general.

  “I too would like to charge,” said the Phlistaran, his faceplate retracted to show his fearsome jaws and incongruous gentle brown eyes. “Alas, it’s the price of getting older and accepting command, that we can no longer put our lives on the line by charging into enemy fire, but must order the young to put their own lives at hazard.”

  Baggett thought on those words as he waited for the time to tick down. He was now a flag officer, and it was his job to stay alive so he could command. He could take some risks, like leading from the battle zone and coming forward to observe. But that was about it.

  “The eagles are on their way,” called out another voice on the com.

  “Open fire,” yelled Klash'tar into his com. “All units forward.”

  “Forward,” yelled the Phlistaran Brigade Commander.

  At the same moment the artillery opened fire, and a wing of ground attack aircraft came streaking over at low altitude. Everything had been planned so nothing would fly through the artillery, and the guns would not target areas where the infantry was moving. Baggett watched his plot with concern nonetheless, because things were known to not always go according to plan.

  About half the incoming rounds ex
ploded in the air before they reached their targets, and the enemy fire bases also opened up, sending about half of their fire at the Imperial artillery positions, the rest to the ground in front of their fighting positions.

  Balls of fire rose into the sky ahead as the ground attack aircraft dropped their ordinance, then pulled up and away while releasing rockets that streaked at targets further into the Caca positions. A quartet of craft exploded in the air as defensive weaponry took its toll of the attack. The other ground attack craft faded under stealth fields and flew away, two limping from minor hits.

  The infantry started forward at a trot, their own forms hard to follow under the stealth fields of their armor. The tanks moved with them, buttoned down, all weapons ready and sensors probing ahead. Artillery came down just ahead of them, many of the shells carrying bomblets that spread over the ground and took out the minefields. Enemy shells followed, dropping more self-burrowing mines to take the place of the ones that had been taken out. Drones flew in from both sides, attempting to penetrate the jamming and visual stealth of the other side. And drones fell out of the air, smashed to bits by beam weapons or rockets.

  The enemy infantry fired first, giving away their positions as they took a toll of the Phlistaran infantry. That infantry went from a trot to a gallop, surging ahead at over a hundred kilometers an hour, the tanks increasing speed to keep pace. Particle beams fired from the Phlistaran rifles, the cannon on their backs firing more beams and explosive shells. The tanks fired their particle beams and lasers almost continuously, while their main guns spoke every couple of seconds.

  Baggett followed the action on his HUD, cringing internally as Phlistarans fell off the plot, their life signs fading. Tanks disappeared as well, some gone completely as their crews died with them, others with the icons of the tankers’ battle armor still there, showing their survival.

  The human brigade was also going forward, attacking the line on another axis, and they suffered nearly as many casualties, though their ability to stay lower to the ground aided them somewhat. Some bright flashes appeared behind the enemy lines, and the ground rumbled as kinetics came down from orbit to hit the enemy fire bases.

  And then the Phlistarans were in among the Caca lines, and it was in many cases hand to hand combat, as the big enemy carnivores battled the even larger friendly hunting species. Baggett switched his view to that of a Phlistaran private, watching as the big creature speared a Caca with a particle beam, then hit another with the butt of his rifle. The second Caca fell back, then raised his own weapon, but the Phlistaran was on him in and instant, battering him with his rifle, stomping on his with the blade sharp armor of his hoofs, killing the Caca in a close and personal fight. The feed died suddenly, and the General knew that the big private had died with it.

  The Caca line bent but held, and their own armored vehicles came out of hiding to hit the thousand ton Tyrannosaurs in the flanks. A score of the big tanks went up in balls of fire as the heavy kinetic rounds punched through their flank armor. The big tanks got their revenge a moment later, and over thirty of the enemy tanks died.

  Ground attack came in again, this time higher than before, rippling missiles into enemy weapons emplacements behind the lines. Again they lost some of their number, but bore in to do their duty at the risk of their lives. Another pair of kinetics hit, raising clouds of dust as their blast waves flew outward.

  The battle looked like pure hell, and Baggett, watching through the eyes of another trooper, this one human, felt his own limbs quiver as he remembered fights he had been in, and the terror he had felt. The fight had devolved to every being for himself, no quarter asked or given. Anyone without a suit wouldn’t have lasted a second, while those with the armor were still hard pressed to survive. Both sides were firing beams into each other so close they couldn’t miss, vaporizing tough armor and tender flesh alike. There was definitely no quit in humans or Phlistarans, nor was there any in the Ca’cadasans. It looked to be a matter of who could give until the other couldn’t take anymore, and it was looking like both sides would be destroyed in this fight.

  “We’re coming in,” called out the voice of a human over the com. Baggett looked up, his visual systems having great difficulty piercing the smoke and dust that hung over the battle site like a pall. He switched the view to link into one of those soldiers coming down, shot from one of the assault ships overhead.

  Baggett switched the view to a company commander, freshly ejected from his entry capsule. The ground swayed beneath the soldier as his canopy lowered him, taking off more of his velocity. Then the ground steadied as he ejected the canopy. The view changed as the captain looked around at his men and women, ditching their chutes in the air and engaging their grabbers. The ground was shrouded in dust, the bright flashes of particle beams cutting through. The artillery had stopped firing, for the moment, so that the troopers could come through without hazarding friendly fire.

  In an instant the dropping troopers were opening fire, hitting the Cacas from above and behind. The battle swung in that instant as the front line Cacas panicked. Baggett had to give it to them, many still tried to disengage in some kind of order. Those were killed in the crossfire, and the rest went running for imagined safety. The ground support aircraft swept in and hit them from behind, while the two land assault brigades came from their separate axes of advance to hit the enemy in flank and rear.

  In minutes it was over. Less than a hundred Cacas were still alive to surrender, many of those too injured to struggle on. The firebases which had threatened the camps were no more, and one of the largest concentrations of enemy ground troops that they knew of had been destroyed.

  One of them, thought the General, monitoring another situation that was developing, threatening to blow up in his face.

  * * *

  Captain Cornelius Walborski monitored the take from the remaining drone, watching as the enemy soldiers formed up in their assault formations. They didn’t have any tanks or mecha this time, and really didn’t need them with what looked like an overwhelming force of infantry.

  And I have less than a hundred Rangers left. We’re outnumbered and outclassed.

  Most of the Cacas were in their versions of heavy suits. About a third were in the medium suits that most of the alien ground troops used, but those were not of great concern. His own men were all augmented, better trained, superior soldiers in every way. But they were facing heavy infantry, whose better armor gave them a lot of advantages.

  Raindrops started falling, big heavy drops that presaged a cloud burst. Thunder sounded, lightning flashed, and the area around the Rangers looked like twilight despite being early afternoon. Cornelius looked up at that incipient storm and came to a decision.

  “Everyone, out of your armor. First, put it on its back on the ground. Once you close it up, set it to maximum power jamming and get into your ghillie suits and web gear.”

  Most of the men had to guess what was going on, as, with glances toward the heavens, they lay their suits down and opened them, climbing out. Each man had an efficient but low tech cammo suit in a bag on their armor, as well as web gear with ammo and equipment and their standard Ranger weapons. It had been thought ahead of time that as unlikely as their fighting without suits might be, it was still a possibility, as was scouting sans armor.

  “Everyone gather over behind the tank,” he told his men over the com link that was still active in their implants. He waited for a few moments for the men to all suit up and get there. All had quickly and efficiently armed and equipped themselves, and came out of the twilight to gather around their Captain.

  The men were hard to see, even close up, and with a man with augmented dark vision looking directly at them. The ghillie suits were made of a passive cammo fabric that used a chemical process to blend them in with their surroundings. They also held in body heat, unless the wearer opened their special venting to let it out. The rain started coming down even heavier, and they became even more difficult to see.

&nbs
p; “OK,” said Cornelius to his gathered men, about three fifths of the company he had come to this planet with. “We have what looks like a battalion of enemy, most of them in heavy suits, coming down our throats. There is no way we’re going to stop them standing in a defensive line in our medium suits. Plus, we are Rangers. Our strength is in striking out of the dark, and nature has given us the dark.”

  The rain started coming down even heavier, hard cold drops, the perfect cover for the kind of operation he intended. He looked at the faces of the men closest to him, and smiled back at the feral grins on their faces. “What we are going to do is to move through this storm, into the enemy formation, and kill the bastards. We will move forward in half squads, and try to be mindful of your fellow Rangers. But above all, kill as many Cacas as you can. And good hunting.”

  The men moved away, forming into their half squads of from four to six men. Cornelius hadn’t included himself in those groups. He had planned on going it alone. But when he turned to walk away he found himself facing his top sergeant.

  “You’re going to need some backup, sir,” said the older man, who had been in the Army for over twenty-five years. “You may think you are superman, but you can be killed just as easily as the rest of us. So I will be coming with you to make sure you aren’t killed due to arrogance or stupidity. Understand, sir?”

  “Roger, Top. Just make sure you let me lead. You may be the more experienced, but I’ve got the skills.”

  “Yes, sir.” The Top Sergeant looked up at the sky as a true cloud burst let loose. “So, let’s be about it while the weather is still favorable.”

  Cornelius nodded and smiled, then turned and walked out in a crouch, his eyes wide and drinking in every bit of light there was to find. He strained his ears, but the world had mostly dissolved into the sound of water drops raining from the sky.