Black Dawn (Blood on the Stars Book 8)

by Jay Allan

  She was shifting in her seat, edgy, jacked up on adrenalin and the stim she’d just taken. But, as she looked at the display, she saw that the enemy was continuing to blast their engines at what had to be full thrust. The incoming ships had already built a substantial velocity, and she’d expected them to cut their engine levels to prepare to engage. But, they hadn’t.

  A thought crossed her mind, one she could hardly contemplate. Could the enemy be withdrawing? It was hard to believe. They’d clearly landed forces on Dannith, troops who would be doomed if the fleet fled and left them behind. She shook her head again at the coldness of the enemy, how they considered most of their forces expendable, like so many torpedoes or rounds of ammunition. She’d discounted the idea at first, but as she continued to watch the enemy ships accelerating—and traced their vectors directly to the transit point—something clicked in her mind. She was suddenly sure the enemy was breaking off…and she intended to hurt them as badly as she could when they passed.

  “Commander, issue a fleet order. I want all batteries at maximum power. One hundred ten percent where possible. We’re only going to get a few shots at these bastards, and I want them to count!”

  * * *

  Blanth felt the cold wetness of the mud on his knees, as his weight dug into the ground. The rain had continued for hours now, and as miserable as it had made conditions for his people, it had been a godsend. The enemy tanks, massively heavy, had gotten terribly bogged down in the marshy, low ground around the river. His lack of ordnance heavy enough to really engage the massive war machines prevented his forces from taking full advantage, but he’d sent out some volunteer teams nevertheless, and they had managed to disable two more of the great vehicles.

  There had been a downside to those operations, though, in terms of foreshadowing for the war Blanth knew had come. The enemy soldiers had been caught by surprise by the sabotage teams, but they’d reacted quickly, and in the resulting battles, he’d gotten his first glimpse of their combat ability. His Marines had always been the best, more capable than any of their adversaries…but the machine-assisted enemy troopers, almost cyborgs, fought his people with a savagery and effectiveness that chilled him to the bone. He couldn’t admit they were better than his people—it just wasn’t in him as a Marine—but he was shaken nevertheless…and he knew if the enemy tired of trying to root his people out of the woods with their armor, the enemy infantry could almost certainly do the job. They had numbers and armament, and despite his best efforts to conserve resources, Blanth’s people were running out of ammunition.

  He cursed all the rounds his people—even the Marines—had wasted shooting ineffectively at the enemy tanks, but there was nothing he could do about that. He had to make a choice. Stay and hold the position as long as possible…or disperse his people and hope enough escaped into the planet’s wilderness to carry on guerrilla warfare. If he waited any longer, there would be no supplies left at all, and no chance to maintain even a spark of resistance, at least around Port Royal City.

  He moved forward, ignoring the heavy fire tearing through the woods all around him, and he crouched down on the edge of the wooded area. The tanks were still coming, and for all the help the rain had provided his people, it hadn’t stopped the deadly vehicles, only slowed them.

  Worse, he could see enemy troops forming up, and from the looks of their formations, they were planning to assault his positions. He was out of time.

  He started to turn, but something caught his eye. It was a flash of light, from up in the sky. He had no idea what it could be. Dannith didn’t have any military aircraft, and what transport planes the planet had possessed had almost certainly been destroyed in the bombardments. Did the enemy have air assets after all? If they did, why had they waited so long? If enemy airships had attacked his forces when they were crossing the river…

  His thoughts froze as he saw an explosion around one of the tanks. The huge vehicle hadn’t been destroyed, but it didn’t take much of a look to confirm it had taken considerable damage.

  And, the shot had come from the air.

  Friendly aircraft? How?

  Blanth had no idea what was happening, but even as he tried to figure it out, more explosions erupted along the enemy line. His looked up, scanning the sky, but the cloud cover was thick, and he couldn’t see anything in the dusky haze except for more light trails…followed by explosions.

  Then, his comm crackled to life, and a voice blared through his earpiece.

  “All Confederation units, this is Captain Stockton, from the Confederation battleship, Repulse. We have a dozen squadrons in the air now, seeking out and attacking enemy positions on the planet. All enemy space forces had retreated from the system, leaving their ground forces unsupported. There are landing craft behind us, with three thousand fresh Marines inbound.”

  Blanth listened, still not believing what he’d heard. He knew Stockton’s voice though, from years of service with the pilot on Dauntless…and he’d have bet his last round of ammunition that he’d just heard the captain’s words. If Stockton was back, that meant the rest of the White Fleet had returned. Just in time to save Dannith.

  He turned and raced back toward his main positions. It was time to get his people ready.

  Ready to attack.

  * * *

  Stockton was exhausted, but exhilarated as well. He’d led his squadrons against the Hegemony fleet as it fled toward the transit point, and his people had once again drawn blood, destroying half a dozen ships and sending others continuing their flight as barely functional wrecks. He’d brought his people back to their motherships, charged with excitement over the small casualty rate they had suffered, by far the lowest losses of any strike in the campaign. Whatever else the Hegemony had, whatever forces or technology they might mass for the return engagement he knew would come, he liked to think the bastards would think twice about how they’d been handled by the Confederation’s fighter wings.

  He shifted in his seat, moving his controls, adjusting his position. He hated atmospheric flight, and the fact that his people had been forced to fly straight through a storm to reach their targets hadn’t helped at all, no more than did the fatigue growing heavy in his head and body. But, there’d been no choice. The fleet’s scanner readings of the surface suggested the ground battle was not going well, that the Marines and other defenders were on the verge of defeat. He hadn’t hesitated when Admiral Eaton gave him the order. He’d only been back an hour from the battle in space, but Stara had already gotten the flight crews working, pulling off the bombing rigs from Repulse’s squadrons and installing the atmospheric kits. It was a tedious job, but the crews knew just what was at stake, and they’d completed it in record time, as had their comrades on four of the other battleships.

  Stockton and the strike force had launched less than two hours after they’d landed, with no sleep, and nothing more than a sandwich and bottle of water to recharge themselves. But, they were the best the Confederation had, and they were devoted to their legendary commander. They would have followed him anywhere.

  The sleek craft had launched just outside planetary orbit, and within minutes, they were descending through the atmosphere, and targeting the massive enemy tanks.

  The war machines had considerable air defense capabilities, and his pilots, most of them inexperienced at atmospheric flight, despite their overall status as veterans, suffered terribly as they pressed their attacks. By the time the strike force had launched all its missiles—and devastated the enemy forces—they had lost almost a third of their strength.

  But, as he stared at the screens, at the damage reports…and at the landers now beginning to appear in the upper atmosphere, he knew those losses had not been for nothing.

  They had saved Dannith.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Senate Hall

  Troyus City, Planet Megara, Olyus III

  “The measure has passed with an overwhelming majority. Gary Holsten and Tyler Barron are hereby declared traito
rs to the Confederation. They are to be attacked and terminated on sight. All Confederation personnel are obligated to bring them harm in any way within their capabilities, and…”

  Desiree sat and listened as Ferrell read the resolution to the assembled Senate. The news of what had happened in Delphi, of Dauntless’s destruction of Titania and the other ships sent to apprehend Barron, and worst of all, the intervention of foreign Alliance ships on behalf of the renegade admiral, had given her—given Ferrell, she reminded herself—all that was necessary to unify the chamber in opposition and outrage.

  She knew politicians well enough to understand their dedication to principles and ethics were utterly changeable to suit their momentary needs, but the one thing guaranteed to enrage them all was disregard for their own power and status. Barron’s escape, and his destruction of the ships sent to bring him back—with foreign assistance, no less—had sent them all flying into fits of self-indulgent rage.

  And Ferrell, for all his notable faults, had become somewhat of an expert at venting and directing the bruised egos of megalomaniacs.

  “There can be no doubt that we have done only what we have been forced to do, and that we here, the members of this noble and august body, are the defenders of justice and righteousness…”

  Marieles tried to pay attention—he was her creature, of course—but it was a losing fight. She’d brought Ferrell out of obscurity and thrust him into the center of things, and the formerly quiet and meek Senator had risen to the challenge, unexpectedly become somewhat of a standout among a room full of long-winded gasbags who could speak for hours without pause, seemingly even without breathing. She suspected his nearly endless expression of rage would serve her purposes, at least in the immediate future, but that didn’t mean she had to listen to every boring, pompous word.

  “So, I say to you, my esteemed and respected colleagues, that we…”

  “Senator…Senator…there is news. Terrible news!”

  Marieles’s head snapped around at the sound of the aide’s voice, immediately recognizing the fear in the man’s tone. She knew immediately something extremely bad had happened, even as she watched the aide rush up to the podium. The news had to be disastrous. She couldn’t imagine what else would have sent one of Ferrell’s staff rushing onto the Senate floor to interrupt the politician in the middle of his self-aggrandizing speech.

  “What is it, Griggs?” Ferrell snapped, holding his anger in check, but clearly unhappy at the intrusion.

  “It’s Dannith, Senator.” The aide ran the rest of the way down, almost to the speaking floor where Ferrell stood. He turned and looked out over the assembled Senate and then back to Ferrell. “There’s been a battle, a horrific battle.”

  “A battle?” Ferrell looked shocked, and a wave of murmurs rippled through the room. “Against what force?”

  “A new invader, Senator…some enemy the White Fleet found out in the depths of the Badlands.”

  Marieles looked away from the scene, drawing herself back into her own thoughts. Barron’s babblings…she’d written them off as fictions intended to delay his arrest and imprisonment. Could he have been telling the truth? Had he truly come back to warn the Confederation of an approaching enemy?

  And, if he had…what should she do next?

  AS Invictus

  Outer Reaches of the Cassiopolis System

  Three Billion Kilometers from Planet Archellia

  “At least one power on the Rim is taking the threat seriously.” Barron sat in the study, enjoying the warmth of the fireplace, something he’d never seen before on a warship, a perk, he supposed, of the office of Imperator of the Alliance. Invictus was the Palatians’ new flagship, fresh out of the shipyard and on its first voyage. Barron understood the choice of the ship’s name. The Confederation named new vessels after old, lost ones all the time. He didn’t have to look farther than his own Dauntless to see that. But, Invictus was a name that rekindled old memories, painful ones. Still, he understood why Tulus had chosen it. The original Invictus had been destroyed by Dauntless, and by all the standards of the old Alliance, such a name would be retired in disgrace, not reused. Tulus was trying to move his people forward, to retain the martial fortitude that made them strong, while shedding some of the more troublesome traits that had held the Palatians back for far too long.

  “I have dispatched all additional intelligence assets at my disposal to Megara, Tyler, but I am afraid that both the Union and your Confederation are far more advanced that we in the arts of espionage.” Spying had always been deemed less than an honorable career in the Alliance.

  Barron owed his life to his friend, the Alliance Imperator. Without the forces Tulus had dispatched to the Confederation, Dauntless would certainly have been destroyed in Delphi…and the goal of preparing for war with the Hegemony would be even less attainable than it already seemed to be.

  “Thank you again, my brother. Your ships arrived just in time.” Alliance ships had almost opened fire on their Confederation allies. Barron knew that was no more a cause for celebration than the fact that his own ship had actually engaged and destroyed their former comrades. Barron had no proof, but he suspected Sector Nine was involved somehow in what was happening. He wasn’t a spy himself, but he’d learned to never underestimate the Union’s spy agency.

  Tulus nodded.

  “Your efforts to investigate are appreciated, Imperator Tulus.” It was Gary Holsten speaking. The former intelligence chief had been strangely silent since his rescue, spending most of his time in his quarters on Dauntless, and even sitting wordlessly for the first twenty minutes of the current meeting. But, he held his tongue no longer. “There can be little doubt that Sector Nine is behind whatever is happening on Megara…and I must say, both the plan and its execution have been brilliant.”

  Barron didn’t appreciate the skill behind whatever had so destabilized the Confederation when war was coming, and a quick glance at Tulus told him the Imperator didn’t either. But, neither of them were spies…and Holsten was one of the best.

  “I have—at least I had—considerable contacts on Megara. I may be able to work with your agents, connect them with assets already in place, ones likely far more aware than we of exactly what is taking place.”

  “Indeed, Mr. Holsten…I am inclined to agree with you. Perhaps you should meet with our intelligence people immediately. I will appoint you with vice regal powers in matters of espionage, specifically with regard to the situation on Megara and in the Confederation as a whole. All Alliance personnel will obey your commands.”

  “Thank you, Imperator. I am honored.” There was little doubt from the sound of Holsten’s voice that he was surprised by the level of assistance Tulus had so readily offered. But, Barron suspected Holsten didn’t know the Palatian the way he did. He’d no doubt expected racial pride and conceptions of honor to impede cooperation. That would have been true once, Barron knew, but the Alliance was changing, and if Tulus continued to be successful, changing rapidly.

  And, Barron suspected the Imperator understood, better than most, the grave nature of the threat faced by not only the Confederation, but by the entire Rim.

  Holsten stood up. “With your permission, I will go meet with your people immediately, Imperator. At this point, I am only certain of one thing, and that is, we do not have time to waste.”

  “No, Mr. Holsten…we almost certainly do not.”

  Holsten nodded toward Tulus, and again to Barron, and then he walked swiftly out of the room.

  Barron and Tulus remained, neither man speaking for a time. Finally, Tulus looked over at his Alliance friend, his brother by sacred oath, and he said, “Well, my comrade…it appears that we will fight together once more.”

  “Yes,” Barron said, leaving it at that, but inside thinking…I just hope we are fighting against the Hegemony, and not against Confederation forces.

  Planet Calpharon

  Sigma Nordlin System

  Akella sat in her chair, set on a platform abov
e all the others present in the august gathering. The men and women around her were the leaders of the Hegemony, the most genetically perfect human beings in all of the galaxy. Yet, for all their ability, for all the massive power and responsibility each of them carried, they all served at her behest. She was Number One, the supreme ruler of the Hegemony, and the most genetically advanced human known. And, her word was law.

  She shifted, somehow maintaining her grace and confidence, even as she tried to find a comfortable position. She was pregnant with her first child, an event later in her life than might be expected. Her responsibilities had delayed conception several years beyond normal standards. A woman of her rank and ability was expected—no, required—to bear a minimum of four children, and while Akella was still in her childbearing years, she’d reached the point where further delay had simply not been a possibility. There were drugs that could prolong fertility, of course, and while frowned upon to an extent, they were allowable. Unlike any form of genetic engineering or gene manipulation…or the greatest sin among those of the Hegemony, cloning. Such practices had played great roles in bringing about the Great Death, in the downfall of the empire that had once ruled all mankind, and from the Hegemony’s founding, even the slightest research into such areas had always been punishable by death.

  Ruling the Hegemony was a massive undertaking, even in normal times. But, she realized now that her people had encountered something unexpected, a group of human survivors out on the Rim. The Hegemony had encountered many pockets of survivors before and, save for the Others, had subjugated them all, brought them into the rightness of adherence to genetic cultivation and hierarchy.