Invasion (Blood on the Stars Book 9)

by Jay Allan

  Dauntless shook again, and damage reports began to flow onto the bridge. He listened as Atara run her ship, fielding the reports, assigning engineering teams, and he felt intense pride in her. She had become a tremendous captain. Better than you, he thought, with a bit of an inner smile.

  He sucked in a deep breath. They had to hold another thirty minutes…survive another thirty minutes.

  Then, his ships could withdraw, and pull back to Megara to prepare for the final struggle.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  The Admiralty

  Troyus City, Planet Megara, Olyus III

  Year 317 AC

  Tyler Barron still couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

  Dauntless had arrived in Megara orbit less than an hour before, and he’d been summoned down to naval HQ without explanation, along with Clint Winters and Sara Eaton. He hadn’t known what to expect…and he thought he’d been prepared for anything.

  But the words from Gary Holsten’s mouth hit him like a battering ram.

  Van Striker. The fleet’s commander, the victor of the Union War, his mentor, and a man he considered a personal hero and a friend.

  Dead.

  It didn’t seem possible, and even as he sat around the table, he struggled to grasp the cold reality of it.

  “Ricard Lille?” There was venom in his voice as he repeated the name of Striker’s killer. Lille had also held Andi prisoner, and her quest for vengeance had led to her death as well. He felt the rage inside, not the fiery hot volcano of normal anger, but something deeper, colder, more fearsome. He had duty, a war to fight, a desperate defense to mount, but in that moment, all he could think of was hunting Lille down and killing him.

  “Yes.” Holsten’s tone was somber. Barron knew the two men had been friends, of course, but now he realized how truly close a bond they’d shared.

  “He has to be found…hunted down, whatever it takes.” Barron turned and looked at Winters and Eaton, and quickly confirmed they felt the same way.

  “He’s already dead.” Holsten took a deep breath. “That’s what I haven’t told you yet, Tyler. Andi killed Lille.” A pause. “Right after Lille killed Van.”

  Barron heard the words, but they didn’t make sense to him, not at first. He’d convinced himself Andi was dead, with a certainty that had killed part of his soul. He’d been sure that Holsten’s inability to find her had signaled the worst. Now, he clawed his way forward, grasping the meaning of what he had just heard.

  “Andi is alive?” There was hope in his mind, though his words carried mostly lingering confusion.

  Holsten paused. “Yes,” he said, hesitating again just after the word came out. “But, she is hurt, Tyler…badly hurt. She was tracking Lille, even as he shot Van. There was a terrible fight…on a roof. She was stabbed several times, and…” He hesitated yet again, clearly struggling with what he had to say. “…they both fell off the roof. Lille was killed instantly, and Andi…”

  “Where is she?” Barron’s words were like cold steel.

  “She’s in the main Troyus Med Center. I have a transport waiting for you downstairs, Tyler. I knew you’d want to go over there right away. I just…didn’t want you to find out about any of this over the comm.”

  Barron turned to move toward the door, but he stopped for an instant. He was facing away from Holsten when he asked, “Is she going to make it, Gary?” He felt as though he was going to throw up. The thought of Andi, wounded again, suffering, perhaps dying after all…it was more than he could take.

  “I don’t know, Tyler. She’s in critical condition, and the doctors can’t say. But, she’s tough…”

  “As tough as they come,” Barron snapped back. He wasn’t sure if the words had come out as a tribute to her strength or they were just what he needed to say…and to hear.

  He slipped out of the room, without another word, and broke into a dead run down the hall, toward the bank of elevators.

  * * *

  “I want to thank you all for coming.” Stockton walked across the restaurant and looked at the four figures sitting at the corner table. It was a quiet kind of place outside the over-crowded center of Troyus City, and he’d asked them to meet him there. It didn’t make any real sense to have the informal gathering in such a place when the Admiralty offered conference rooms and offices and the like, but Stockton had seen more war and death than he’d ever imagined, and he knew more lay ahead. He figured they could all use a change of scenery, even if the topic of the meeting was more war and death.

  Besides, the food was terrific, and he’d eaten about as many shipboard rations as he could stomach.

  Stara Sinclair was standing behind Stockton, and she smiled and nodded to the two men and two women present. “It is good to see you all in one place.”

  Stockton turned toward one of the men, and before anyone at the table had a chance to respond to Stara, he said, “It is good to see you, Warrior, my old friend. I’m sorry it took an invasion to get you back in the cockpit where you belong, but you haven’t lost a step, not that I could see.” Timmons had led his assortment of recalled veterans and Academy upperclassmen into the fight at Ulion, and he’d ripped into the enemy battle line with unrestrained savagery. The losses had been high, especially among the inexperienced pilots, but they’d certainly left their mark.

  “I’m sorry I had to leave so much of the fight to you in the past few years, old friend. Glad to be back at your side.” The words were clearly heartfelt, and Stockton returned the emotion. Timmons had been Stockton’s rival back in the day, and the two had shared something between intense competition and naked hatred. But, they’d long ago put aside the friction of their younger days, and Stockton considered Timmons one of his closest friends.

  “You’ll have plenty of time to catch up. One thing is sure. We’re going to have some fighting to do.” He looked up at the others. “That is why I wanted to speak to you all together. You all know the fighter corps is going to be front and center in this war. The enemy doesn’t seem to have any squadrons of their own…but that doesn’t mean they won’t continue to become more difficult and dangerous opponents. I’ve faced off against them for some time now, and I can say, their targeting and tactics have steadily improved…and anyone who faced that force of modified escorts in the last fight knows how deadly they were.”

  He paused for a moment. “We have to stay ahead of the enemy. Our tactics need to be constantly evolving, and we need to find ways to make our bomber strikes more effective in each new battle.” He paused. “Admiral Barron has asked me to take command of the fleet’s entire strike force…” He hesitated again. “…and he’s bumped me up to commodore.” Stockton was pompous and arrogant in his own ways, those common to fighter pilots, but he still sounded slightly embarrassed as he announced his promotion. He could brag about his skill in the cockpit, but he found it harder when the subjects veered away from his exploits in a Lightning. “And, he’s also promoted each of you to captain, effective immediately.”

  He saw the reactions around the table, mostly surprise. Fighter pilots rarely rose to such ranks, mostly because not too many survived long enough…and those that did were usually burned out from the endless pressure of constant combat missions.

  “You’ll all get your orders and your insignia tomorrow, and let’s skip past false modesty and the like. Every one of you rates and deserves the bump…and you’re all going to earn the hell out of those captain’s salaries. I want everybody to order something for dinner, and settle in…because we’re going to be here for a long time. We’re going to revamp the entire fighter corps—deployments, tactics, organization, training…everything. Fighter tactics are going to win this war…or lose it.” He stared out at his companions. “And, I for one, don’t like to lose.”

  A round of nods and acknowledgements made its way around the table.

  “First things first…there’s one change in mindset you all need to accept. In the fighting to come, we are no longer just military office
rs, nor only pilots. We are the manifestation of death itself. We exist to kill, to destroy the enemy. And, that is just what will do, what we will inspire our pilots to do. I will command the massed fighter corps, and the four of you—Captain Trent, Captain Federov, Captain Timmons, and Captain Covington—you will be my deputies. Your skills are beyond question, and your loyalty and endurance are as pillars of granite. Now, we will show the Hegemony what we can really do.”

  Stockton handed out tablets to each of the officers seated at the table. “These have orders of battle for every fighter in the navy and all the system defense forces, from the coldest veterans in the main battle fleet, to some half strength garrison squadron in the middle of nowhere. There is nothing extraneous in this war, nothing unneeded. Every pilot, every Lightning, will go forth into the maelstrom…and we shall battle our way through, to victory.”

  He paused again, just for a few seconds. “I once read an old text, from pre-imperial days, even earlier, and something in it stuck with me, symbols of fear and devastation. You all have call signs, of course, but I have pulled something from those ancient words, a label I will use when thinking of you as a group.”

  His looked at each of them in turn.

  “The Four Horsemen.”

  * * *

  Barron stood next to the medpod, looking down at the battered and bruised figure inside. Andi was pale, half her body covered in casts and bandages, and nearly every centimeter of exposed skin black or deep purple with hideous bruises. There were monitors all around the pod, and a dedicated medical AI keeping track of her condition at all times.

  Barron had seen wounded men and women, and he’d been badly hurt more than once himself, but he’d never seen anyone look quite as…worn out…as Andi did. But, she was alive, and he felt elation as he looked at her, tempered only by his fear he could still lose her…again.

  He’d been there a while, an hour, two, maybe more…he didn’t know. He’d lost all track of time. But, just then, her eyes opened, and she looked up at him.

  “Tyler?” Her voice was faint, weak, barely audible. But even the slight whisper grabbed at his insides.

  “Andi…I thought you were dead. I am so sorry…” Barron felt buried under guilt. For letting himself assume she was dead without proof. For not believing in her enough to have faith she’d survived. But, most of all, for letting her go, for not truly understanding what she’d gone through…and how it had affected her.

  “No…no sorry.” She tried to turn her head toward him, but she winced when she did. He leaned over farther, bringing his face closer to hers. “So…happy…to see…you.” Her words were clearly a terrific effort, but he could hear joy in there, too.

  Barron smiled. “I’m so happy to see you, too.” He paused, for just a few seconds. “I love you, Andi…you know that. I always have.”

  “I…love…you, too…”

  “I sent word to your crew to let them know you’re alive. I’d expect them to show up sometime soon, at least as quickly as they can get here from Archellia.”

  She twisted her lips slightly, managing something close to a smile.

  “I didn’t see how much pain you were in, Andi, or realized how much you’d suffered. I was too focused on the war, on the disruption in the Confederation…but I promise you, that will never happen again.”

  She held the smile, and he could see wetness growing in her eyes.

  Barron felt a wave of relief. He didn’t know what the doctors would say, but he knew Andromeda Lafarge better than anyone else on the Rim…and one look into her eyes told him what he needed to know.

  She was going to make it. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind.

  “I’ll always be there for you, Andi, whenever you need me…” He smiled as he looked down at her. “Not, that you’ll need it…because when word gets out you’re the woman who killed Ricard Lille, I doubt anyone is going to have the stones to cross you. I know I won’t!”

  Epilogue

  Grand Fleet Command Station

  Confederation System Beta-4 (Venga)

  “Our modified escorts proved themselves to be an extremely effective defense against the enemy’s small craft…though it is also clear we will need massive numbers of them, and also that they require heavier units to protect them from attacks by capital ships.” Chronos sat around a large conference table, looking out over the eight men and women present, the highest-ranked Masters in the fleet, save only for Raketh, who was engaged in a mission elsewhere. Those present formed his informal war council, and they were the key commanders in the fleet.

  There was some discussion in response, but it was clear everyone present agreed with the fleet commander’s assessment…or, at least, that none were prepared to openly dispute it.

  “Unfortunately, we suffered a total loss of those units, and it will take some time to modify standard escort classes to the anti-attack craft configuration.” A pause. “The rapid-fire batteries will also place considerable strain on our antimatter supplies, perhaps even forcing us to limit the use of our railguns. That is unfortunate, but as you all know, the enemy small craft have been quite successful in disabling the primary weapons systems on many of our ships before they were able to fire anyway. I have decided, our main tactical consideration is to defeat the small craft. They cannot exist in limitless numbers, and if we are able to bring sufficient force to bear against them, we should be able to destroy them all…and then, the enemy fleets will be helpless before our own, superior forces.”

  Chronos believed most of what he was saying, but he was also a realist, and not one to believe his own propaganda. In truth, his losses, while not sufficient to truly jeopardize the campaign, had been far higher than he’d anticipated, even in his most pessimistic projections. He would still conquer the Rim, he was confident of that, but the losses to the Grand Fleet would leave the Hegemony perilously close to unprepared if the Others did return, as so many seemed to fear they one day would.

  “We will pause in this system before continuing on. We will conduct what repairs we can to our damaged units, and we will commit the mobile shipyards to converting as many escort craft as possible to the new configurations. We will endure the delays all this entails, and then, when all is ready, we will continue to our next objective…the enemy capital. They will no doubt commit to a defense of that system, and that will allow us to fully engage and destroy their naval forces. The combination of massive casualties and the loss of their primary system will very likely break their will to resist, leaving us only the need to mop up scattered resistance and begin full-scale absorption operations.”

  A series of nods and acknowledgements made its way around the table

  * * *

  “The scouts have returned, Commander. The Union fleet is indeed deployed in accordance with the information…provided…by the ambassador. It is a sizable force, but analysis suggests considerable efforts have been made to employ freighter and other non-combat craft to increase the apparent strength of the fleet, again, just as the ambassador said.”

  Raketh nodded to the officer, but he remained quiet for a moment. The Union ambassador had appeared to be a weak and pompous fool, but in the end, it had taken considerably harsher measures to encourage cooperation than Raketh had expected. There was a deep fear in the man, and the Master took note of it. The Confederation appeared to be somewhat disorganized in terms of governmental authority, but it appeared the Union was run with a considerable amount of fear…and Raketh knew that would affect the manner in which its military personnel behaved, in ways both useful to his plans, and also dangerous.

  He had most of the Reserve with him, a force sufficient to defeat the Union fleet…and he was determined to strike at once, to catch the enemy’s forces when they were massed in one location, and end the conquest of the Union in one fell swoop.

  “You may issue the orders, Kiloron. The fleet will transit at once. The conquest of the Union will begin immediately.”

  * * *

  “It was
Van Striker’s final command, Tyler. His last words, even as he lay dying in the street. He chose you to take his place, and he told me to tell you he had complete confidence in your abilities.” Holsten’s words were clearly sincere, but Barron still couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He looked over at Clint Winters, and the admiral nodded back to him.

  “I will follow you, Admiral Barron.” Winters had deliberately chosen a formal form of address, despite the fact that he’d called Barron, ‘Tyler’ a hundred times in the past week.

  “I appreciate the confidence, Clint…and from you as well, Gary. And, Admiral Striker’s faith means more to me than I can put into words…but I’m just not ready. I will do all I can, of course, but I can’t command the entire fleet.” Barron felt like a trapped animal, desperately searching for a way to escape. “I don’t have the experience, the capability.”

  “That is nonsense, and you know it.” Holsten’s voice was crisp, decisive. “Besides, who is more qualified? There is no officer in the navy with your achievements, Tyler, and none the rank and file will more diligently follow. The Alliance forces will be vital to our chances to match the Hegemony, and no one in the Confederation is closer to Imperator Tulus or more highly regarded among the Palatians than you. You have come full circle, and now you stand where your grandfather once did. The call has come to you to save the Confederation, as it once did to him. Can you deny it? Can you ignore it? I know you too well for that, my friend. We face a terrible struggle, and it may indeed be one we cannot win. But, we will fight to the end, and you must lead our people.”

  Barron felt as though he was trapped, and try as he might, he couldn’t find a way out. Finally, he just looked at the two men in the room with him, and he nodded. It was all he could muster.