Imperium: Revelation: Book Two in the Imperium Trilogy

by Paul M Calvert

  Soon, the noise and confusion of the beach and mole was far behind them, and from this distance Alexander watched as ships of all sizes moved back and forth across the narrow stretch of water separating the two countries, those going home perilously crammed with soldiers. Many of those in the smaller boats hung with their heads over the sides, not finding the rough sea swell to their liking, but Alexander guessed they wouldn’t want to be back on the beaches, despite their present discomfort. Having been brought up on the coast and used to being at sea, Alexander wasn’t bothered by the swell and as the boat moved away from the smell of smoke and exploded munitions, he began to enjoy the fresher sea air, for it reminded him of happier times.

  He watched a crewman thread his way through the crowded decks towards where he was standing. Before the man could walk past, Alexander asked, “Where are we headed?” only to be answered with a sigh and a terse, “Ramsgate, mate,” from the sailor, obviously having been asked the same questions hundreds of times already.

  Alexander pushed his way through the press of bodies and down to where he had left Sergeant Streeton and the other wounded. Food had obviously been handed around while he was on deck and despite his ration bars, Alexander was very hungry, enviously eyeing the eating men.

  “Oi, Alexander, I‘ve saved you some, lad,” called out the Sergeant, a plate of thick-cut and slightly curled sandwiches appearing as if by magic from beside him. “Tuck in, lad. Your face was a picture when you thought you’d missed out, I can tell you,” he continued, chuckling to himself.

  “A man on deck said we are heading for Ramsgate. What’s that?” he asked the Sergeant, between mouthfuls, thinking it was probably a port or military base of some kind.

  “It’s a fishing and seaside town. The missus and I went there once or twice, before the war. It’s in Kent,” he replied, but on seeing the confusion on Alexander’s face, stopped and looked at him intently. Lowering his voice, he beckoned Alexander to come closer. “Look, lad. I know it’s all going to be strange for you here on in, so don’t stray too far, alright? I’ll see you right, as will the lads. We still owe you for blowin’ that bridge, just don’t draw too much attention to yourself.”

  “What do think will happen when we arrive, Bill?” Alexander asked.

  “I’m not too sure, truth be told, never experienced anything like this in all my years. My best guess is we will be taken off and those wounded will get treated. The rest will be processed, recorded and given passes back to their regiments, or at least what’s left of them.” He looked wistful for a moment, then continued, “Our regiment is based in the Capital, so it’s back to the Smoke for us, with a bit of luck.”

  “Smoke?” asked Alexander, now really confused, “What’s smoke?”

  “You really don’t know anything do you, son. It’s London, you know, The Smoke.”

  Scene 18, Commodore MacFarlane, Sector 10

  Commodore MacFarlane was sick and tired of running away and had been fighting her natural inclination to turn and face the enemy for several days now, but knew that to do so would play into the enemies hands. Following the death of Rear Admiral Gibson three days earlier, along with the loss of his flagship, INS Intrepid, MacFarlane had found herself the ranking officer in charge of what was left of Sector 10’s Grand Fleet.

  “Or rather,” she thought bitterly, “What’s left of the Grand Fleet that remained loyal to the Emperor.”

  Her battlecruiser, INS Sydney, had sustained severe damage in the surprise attack by Duke Vincent’s forces an hour after it had entered orbit around the Sectors capital, Ragnar. Without any warning, as the ships were powering down, planetary defence systems had fired on the fleet, crippling the flagship and knocking out half a dozen cruisers before shields had hardened sufficiently to protect them from the incoming fire. In addition, around a third of the fleet had switched sides and began firing on their erstwhile colleagues, sowing confusion and doubt amongst the loyalist ranks. For many minutes the confusion worsened, with individual Captains taking what decisions they could to keep their ship and crew safe, many striking out for the nearest Jump Point, some banding together with Captains they knew and trusted.

  Knowing the end of his ship was close, Rear Admiral Gibson had passed command over to MacFarlane, then rammed his stricken flagship into the nearest weapons platform and orbital repair centre, destroying them both in a gigantic, silent explosion which briefly illuminated the dark side of the planet, before the remaining debris began their slow fall out of orbit and down to the planet below. Gibson’s sacrifice opened a window for her to escape, and with ultimate responsibility thrust onto her shoulders, MacFarlane reacted quickly, using her ship's AI to assist in assessing what other ships were friendly or not, then instructed their Captains to follow and regroup around her, slowly moving out into the relative safety away from the reach of the planet’s defenses. Of the hundred and twenty ships which had entered orbit, she now had fewer than thirty-eight left to her and of those, none were undamaged, with the majority requiring major repair work. The enemy, however, had been reinforced by another fleet which had decloaked shortly after the trap was sprung. Fortunately, to avoid being picked up on mass sensors, the enemy had been forced to disperse themselves over a wide area, and MacFarlane’s battered fleet had been able to force their way through the thin enemy line before it had a chance to close and regroup.

  Since leaving orbit, the enemy fleet had been chasing her ships through the system, trying to engage and finish them off. Early on, once it was obvious she would be able to break free of the trap, the enemy had contacted her with a proposal. The self-styled Admiral, George Charalambous, had offered a promise of repatriation and safe passage for anyone who surrendered their ship, but his veneer of civility had quickly vanished when she’d told him, in no uncertain terms, what to do with his offer. She smiled inwardly, remembering how his handsome, yet saturnine face had screwed up in anger at her comment, making her wonder what his reaction had been when she cut him off in mid-flow. She got her answer when he began launching a succession of railgun slugs, which her fleet was able to avoid with ease, but she noted this Admiral's weakness in displaying his temper as something she might be able to exploit in the future.

  Skye called up a status report for her fleet, promising herself it would be for the last time that day, but knowing deep down she would be looking again for some good news in an hour or so. As expected, there was nothing new, just updated figures on the constant drain of missiles and slugs they were launching towards the enemy following behind. In return, out of range for particle beam weapons, the enemy was firing regular salvos of missiles towards them, in the hope that a few might get lucky and some squeeze through their point defences. Fortunately, enough of her Interdiction Frigates and defence drones had survived to provide excellent cover.

  Far ahead, the system’s Jump Point Station was answering hails as normal, but she knew something was amiss. Her Science Officers had detected a change to the Jump Point and since nothing had Jumped in or out of the system since the sneak attack, she strongly suspected it had been compromised somehow by the rebels. In a major system such as this, the Jump Station was a formidable opponent in its own right, more than capable of defending the Jump Point against most attacks or at least until reinforcements could arrive from in-system. Having suffered at the hands of a planetary defence once already, Skye was in no hurry to test if her hunch was correct by letting her battered ships get within range of the massive batteries defending the Jump Station. At least, not until she was absolutely certain they could Jump to safety.

  In the meantime, this cat and mouse game would continue until reinforcements from either side arrived in the system or the enemy managed to entrap her, the latter being something she had no intention of letting happen.

  Feeling the need to stretch her legs, Skye stood up and walked the short distance over to the Science station, using the few moments to get yet another update, despite the earlier promise to herself.

  “
I must stop doing that,” she told herself, reaching the station and resting her right hand on the shoulder of the lead Science Officer. “How are we coming in determining what’s happening at the Jump Station, Lieutenant?” she asked.

  “Nothing we can definitely prove at this distance,” came the reply, the earnest young man looking up at her, “but we agree with your theory that there is a disruption in the Jump Point which is stopping anything coming in or out.”

  Skye frowned. “Permanent or temporary, natural or artificial?” she asked.

  “Coincidences like this just don’t happen, Ma’am. The statistical probability of the Point being destabilised shortly after we were attacked is just too high. I am convinced it’s artificial in nature and will resolve itself in due course, for who in their right mind would trap themselves here in this system forever, just to stop us from escaping?”

  The Officer’s conclusion and logic matched her own, but the implications were grave. From what Skye had heard, Duke Vincent was no fool and would never have dreamt of doing something like this on his own, without there being serious backing behind him. How many other systems and possibly Sectors had been affected by similar disruptions to their Jump Point’s and how many Dukes and Duchesses were siding with whoever was behind it?

  Skye walked back to her chair, then over to her Weapons Masters, neither of who acknowledged her arrival, so intent were they on the screens and information being passed through their stations., Not wishing to disturb them, she tapped into the data flow and watched the stream of information coming into their stations, then walked back to her chair again, her badly hidden frustration clearly apparent to anyone who knew her well.

  “A stern chase is the longest,” said a quiet voice to her left. She looked across to the speaker, her First Officer, Commander Jill Boyce, a stunning woman with a shock of blonde hair, elegant and slim. “It’s an old nautical saying from the days of sailing ships,” she explained to MacFarlane, who nodded, understanding what her First officer meant.

  “Skye, why don’t you get some rest?” asked her First Officer quietly, so no-one else could hear, “How long has it been since you slept? I’ll take over here while you catch up on some sleep.”

  Skye nodded, “Good idea, I think I will. Call me in three hours or if anything comes up that needs my attention. I don’t want to miss the Ramscoop deployment either. Thanks, Jill, you have the Bridge,” and with that, Commodore Skye “Tempest” MacFarlane left for her nearby ready-room, gratefully lying down on the newly formed bed and falling asleep within seconds of her head touching the pillow.

  “Commodore, we are approaching Gravitational Ramscoop distance of the gas giant,” said the voice of First Officer Boyce, intruding into Skye’s dream and waking her up with a start. She sat up, taking a few seconds to awaken from her deep sleep, letting the words sink into her mind, checking the time.

  “Three hours. I’ve been asleep three hours?” she thought to herself, shaking off the last of her fugue, part of her not quite believing it had been so long, certain her head had only just touched the pillow.

  “Thank you, Jill, I’ll be there in a moment. Time to deployment?” she asked.

  “Fifteen minutes to optimum distance. Everything is ready and awaiting orders. I thought you’d want to see,” Jill replied, “No need to rush.”

  Skye walked to her washroom and ran cold water into the basin, splashing her face and removing any traces of sleep. She looked into the mirror, noting the darkness under her eyes that her recent nap hadn’t completely eradicated, the eyes themselves slightly bloodshot from staring too long at display screens. An attractive woman, with short dark hair and a kind face almost completely devoid of makeup, stared tiredly, but defiantly, back at her. She quickly dried her face and stood straight, checked everything on her uniform was in place, then headed for the exit, her face again the professional mask.

  “Captain on the Bridge,” announced the AI as Skye entered and walked over to her chair, nodding a greeting to her First Officer.

  “Have you ever used a Gravitational Ramscoop before, Jill? “ she asked conversationally.

  “No, this will be a first for me. You?” she asked.

  “No, me neither. I’m glad you woke me. Thank you for the relief, by the way, I needed it.” Skye looked at the reports from the forward ship, INS Brightstar, that would be lead the collection of raw materials for conversion.

  “Signal Brightstar to begin at her Captain’s convenience, once they are in range,” she ordered, increasing magnification in the tank so the nearby gas giant’s image filled most of the viewing area. She noted quite a few of the Bridge crew were watching closely or updating themselves on the process from the ships extensive data library. Normally only used in emergencies such as this when a ship was unable to obtain regular sources of raw materials, the Gravitational Ramscoop, or GR, would extend a powerful gravitational field in the desired direction, effectively directing and shovelling a section of the gas giant’s atmosphere towards the ship, concentrating it down into solid form. It worked best at high speeds which, when combined with the focused gravitational lensing of the Ramscoop, made the process more efficient. Their current speed of sixteen hundred miles per second was sufficient to capture and compress a large amount of material very quickly from the gas giant's upper atmosphere and go some way to replenishing the stock of raw materials urgently required to repair damaged sections of the fleet, hopefully avoiding the need to cannibalize and leave behind the more seriously damaged vessels.

  Commodore MacFarlane had decided to use the gas giant early on in the chase, once it became apparent the Jump Station had probably been compromised, not just for the raw materials but also to take advantage of a slingshot effect as they swung around the massive gas giant planet. In the three-dimensional tank ahead of her command chair, Skye watched as a representation of the gravitational field spread out towards the planet at the speed of light, crossing the distance in two seconds. Almost immediately, a section of the gaseous surface vanished as a tunnel formed deep into the denser interior of the planet’s atmosphere. Violent shock waves could be seen spreading out from the tunnel, expanding rapidly across the atmosphere’s surface. Huge amounts of gas, by the tens of thousands of tons, streamed towards INS Brightstar, slowed by the Ramscoop and focused gravity waves before it impacted on the ship itself, the potential energies generated by the process used to begin the transformation process before bringing the compressed materials on board.

  The operation had its risks and could only be undertaken when the collecting ship was able to devote all of its attention to the task, hence why it was leading the fleet and using the other ships as a shield between it and the pursuing enemy. Forty seconds after beginning, the collection was over and the Ramscoop field allowed to collapse.

  “Two hundred and fifteen thousand tons of material collected, Commodore,” reported the Science Station to Skye’s right. “No damage reported from Brightstar. Captain Menzes confirms reprocessing has begun and the first consignments will be ready for pickup in two hours.”

  Skye nodded, the ship’s AI already having calculated that the amount would only cover half of the material lost in the initial stages of the ambush back at Ragnar. “Not enough, not enough,” the voice began in her head until, with an effort of will, she silenced it, thinking to herself if she allowed herself to follow that path only despair and defeat lay ahead.

  “I’ve got few, if any, choices left, other than to cannibalise at least one of the worst damaged ships, perhaps two if we want to have enough slugs to keep up a constant bombardment,” she thought grimly, bringing up another list showing which of the more damaged ships were the most likely candidates for scrapping. Every ship counted and meant something to its officers and crew, but she was experienced enough not to let sentiment get in the way of her decision. “Those two,” she decided, mentally highlighting two heavy cruisers, INS Talavera and Vitoria, both of which had been severely damaged in the initial assault and then aga
in as they covered the retreating survivors as they pulled away from the planetary defence grid. Compared to the other ships, both would require a disproportionate amount of repair, especially as each had suffered extensive damage to their point defences and propulsion systems. INS Talavera, in particular, was already showing signs of problems in its remaining engine, the other two having already been put out commission.

  As a courtesy, Skye sent her conclusions to Boyce for a second opinion and quickly received a response, agreeing with the decision.

  “Better get this over with sooner rather than later,” she thought to herself, then put through an urgent call to the two Captains, activating a privacy screen around her command chair so that only herself and the recipients would be party to the conversation. The familiar flat sound of the privacy screens dampening field surrounded her, letting her know it was fully activated.

  Within moments, two faces appeared in front of her, Captains Patricia Moscattini and David Bolt, and she noted their faces looked even more careworn than her own, testament to the problems they were facing on board their ships.

  “Not for much longer,” a cynical part of her mind said before she shushed the inappropriate thought away. Even without having had access to their military records, the short time she had been with the fleet was enough for Skye to know how capable these two Captains were, and from the expressions she could read on their faces, both had probably already guessed what she was calling them for. Knowing it would be kinder not to drag it out any longer than necessary, Skye began.

  “There’s no easy way for me to tell you both this, but I need your ships. I am sure you may have been expecting something like this since we planned to mine the gas giant. Unfortunately, the amount of material we gathered won’t be enough and as a second pass is out of the question I am left with no choice if we are to bring the other damaged ships up to anything approaching full capacity.” She paused, giving either of them a chance to interrupt or say something, but both remained quiet. “I wanted to tell you both face to face of my decision...you and your crews deserve that much. Full instructions about where to go and how your crews are to be redeployed are contained in the data package being sent to you now. I’ll leave it up to you how to inform your crew. Any questions?”