Exodus: Empires at War: Book 16: The Shield.

by Doug Dandridge

  Only one more, thought Chin, making the last connection on his side of the emitter. He checked the progress of the rest of his local crew and grunted in satisfaction. This unit would be up and powering the laser ring in three minutes. If that wasn't good enough for Admiral Bednarczyk, that was too bad.

  * * *

  “Missile wave coming in from straight ahead, ma'am. ETA, four minutes, thirty-eight seconds.”

  Beata nodded, watching the symbols appearing on the plot. The missiles, wormhole launched, had yet to engage their grabbers. Enough of the probes the destroyers had seeded in front of the fleet had picked up the fast moving objects within a couple of light seconds and pulsed. A few of the enemy missiles then appeared as they engaged grabbers and went after the tiny probes. Where they hit it was a win for the humans, since it removed one of those possible ship killers from the field. The probes could be replaced, and hundreds of thousands of tons were still due to come through the gate.

  “Donut is reporting power in three minutes.”

  Beata looked over at the viewer that showed one of the gates they were using as an energy portal. Quiet at the moment, all would change when activated and millions of pentawatts of energy came beaming through to hit the receiver on its target graviton projector. More energy than the largest industrial planet in the empire could produce, and only one of five, it could have been six, it was awe inspiring to even think about.

  “What about our laser power?”

  “Overall, we have seventy-one percent across the fleet. Romulus herself has sixty-seven percent.”

  Beata ran the figures through her implant linked to the ship's analysis computer. The numbers that came back looked good, on the surface. The predicted loss figures came up and it still looked favorable. Until the admiral remembered that every one of those hundred odd ships represented a thousand or more crew.

  “Ma'am,” said Captain Singurd Janssen shouting over the com. “Our people are reporting that projector four is a total loss. It will have to go back to the Supersystem before it can be repaired.

  That had been bad luck, probably the worst they had suffered, so far. Projector four had been rammed by an out of control battleship. The ship had been destroyed as well, though most of the crew had been able to get off. The projector was too massive to be totally destroyed, but a seven kilometer deep hole pierced in the side had made it beyond the capacity of local repair.

  “I think I have an idea for using the fourth energy projector, ma'am,” said Captain Lokar Thrandos, the Klavarta Alpha who was Beata's liaison with the New Earth fleet.

  “We don't have anything to aim the energy at, Captain,” exclaimed Janssen in exasperation.

  “Oh, I beg to differ, Captain,” said the Klavarta, a slight smile on her face. “I think we do.”

  * * *

  Looking up at the night sky, Captain Xferd Canara was reminded of the lightning storms over the jungle of the planet he had grown up on. Just a thousand times more massive. The Klavarta warrior stared in awe as a thousand bright flashes of light a second erupted far out from the planet.

  He wasn't sure what was going on out there, but it had the looks of a massive fight, and he felt sorry for the spacers who were facing that onslaught. That wasn't a feeling he normally had for spacers, but he and his were relatively safe on the surface. Unless a couple of those missiles broke through the defense and smacked into the planet.

  A couple of leaves fell on his face, and he gave the nearest tree a quick glance. The vegetation had a withered look to it, the effect of photonic overload and particle radiation. Not enough to kill everything, though if they had not been shielded that would have been the result. Enough to cause cellular damage to the vegetation, life that couldn't burrow into the ground or hide under water like the animals.

  The light show went on for almost a minute, and Canara estimated that a hundred thousand warheads had detonated out there. He wondered how that translated into destroyed allied ships. From what he understood, this was just one of many attacks that would be coming in. The enemy seemed to be determined to hit the allied fleet with enough firepower to wipe it out, no matter how long it took.

  * * *

  “Okay,” said Admiral Montgomery over the com. “You all have your navigation marks, and your targets upon exit. Jump in, fire quickly, and jump back into hyper.”

  “You know they're going to come hightailing out to catch us,” said one of the captains, a Klavarta whose ship would be among the escorts for the one wormhole equipped ship in his formation.

  “That's the plan,” said Mara, feeling a slight twinge of guilt at what she was ordering these people to do. She had not asked for volunteers. The ships were hers to command, the lives hers to spend. Her responsibility was to spend those lives wisely. If her plan worked the losses among the decoys would be low, the damage to the enemy high in proportion. If not, and she lost all of those ships for little return, she would still have the majority of her fleet and her wormholes.

  “You go in one minute,” she said, looking at the faces on numerous holo screens hanging in space around her. She didn't know most of those people, and still couldn't differentiate between most of the aliens. Another twinge of guilt. A commander should know the people she was sending into danger. Unfortunately, this was was just too damned big for that to be possible.

  “Wormholes have finished their launches,” called out the fleet tactical officer. “On target and on time.”

  “Get going people,” said Mara. She watched the task force that had come from her group on the plot. It had separated from the main force almost a half an hour before, creeping along at three gravities to put distance between themselves and the task group. Of course, even though they didn't put out enough gravitons to attract notice in the roiling battleground of the system, they were releasing heat. Not much, and even less since they were not running with inertial compensators, the crews that were not Klavarta leaning back in acceleration couches to handle the crushing gravity. Most of the remaining heat was beamed away as microwaves on a vector that, with luck, wouldn't cross paths with any of the enemy ships. If any farther vessels picked up those emissions an hour or more later it wouldn't matter.

  “Jumping to hyper,” said the image of the task force commander, a Klavarta Alpha. The graviton wave went out from the one hundred ships, and the Cacas knew exactly where that task force was, as well as its current vector. The graviton emissions kicked up as the ships went to full acceleration.

  Mara looked at the time over the plot. The force would be in hyper for exactly five minutes, gaining a twenty light second distance from their point of origin. Then they, and their cargo, would drop back into normal space. The wormhole equipped ship would fire on one of the Caca forces that had revealed itself earlier. It would take twenty minutes for their missiles to reach that force, which might have jumped into hyper and moved away by that time. Mara hoped so, because that was the force she was trying to lure into her trap.

  She wished she could let them move through hyper for a much longer time span, but the one thing she didn't want was the Cacas catching them in hyperspace, where the big aliens had all the advantages. No, normal space would be fine.

  The scout force, now outer force, commander chewed on her lip as she watched her ships move across the plot. That was a habit her mother had tried to break, and her ex-husband had constantly complained about. Too bad, because it was one way to deal with the stress of watching ships she knew were going to be hit hard after moving.

  “Jumping back into normal space,” reported the Klavarta commodore who was in command. “Releasing normal space assets.”

  Mara, of course, couldn't see those assets, but she knew what they were. Six hundred fast attack craft, four hundred warp fighters, and tens of thousands of mines. She also had thirty-five wormhole launchers waiting for their next loads, each having sent twenty volleys on the way. They were headed for the four points she thought most likely for the emergence of the Cacas. She had plotted the
m with precision, so even the ones that didn't have targets in their baskets could shift vectors and head for the emerging Caca force. They wouldn't be as effective as missiles coming in straight and silent, but they should still have an effect.

  “We have translation from the closest Caca force, ma'am.”

  Mara grunted as she watched that signal appear on the plot. Not the entire Caca force. She wasn't sure how she felt about them splitting like that, since it meant fewer ships in the basket. She grinned at her presumption. There was no way she could have taken out that entire force, and the thousand odd they sent would be a workable target. It might even allow the force she had sent to make it out with most of its ships and crews intact.

  Yeah, and then you woke up, she thought.

  “The other task forces are jumping back into normal space, ma'am.”

  Those two groups, cut out from two of her other battle groups, were on the same mission, supported by they home groups. She wasn't sure the Cacas would snap at all the bait, but she could hope, couldn't she.

  “One other Caca force translating,” called out the tactical officer. “Just under a thousand ships heading for task force three point one.”

  “What about two point one?”

  “Nothing so far, ma'am.”

  Well, hitting a pair of them would still get the attention of the Cacas, and maybe make them step more carefully. Now, if only there was something she could do about the forces that were firing on her friend.

  “The third force is jumping, ma'am. Looks like they all took the bait.”

  And so much for the luck of one of her task forces.

  * * *

  “We have a human force jumping into hyper, my Lord.” The male was silent for a moment. “Two more.”

  I have them, thought Mrastaran. Not knowing where the enemy ships were out here had been driving him to distraction. He knew they were out here, in strength. Not knowing that strength or their location was unacceptable, but the enemy wasn't asking for his acceptance.

  “The three closest groups to them are sending detachments on search and destroy missions. All are jumping now.”

  “Looks like the battle group commanders are decisive,” said Admiral Trostara, grinning. “They are to be commanded.”

  “How many ships in the human groups?” asked Mrastaran, watching the graviton signal of moving ships in hyper on the plot.

  “Estimating a hundred in each group.”

  That's not enough. What the hells are they up to? It had to be a trap, and he needed to act decisively himself.

  “Get in touch with are ships. Tell them to break off.”

  “My Lord?”

  “It's a trap, you dolt. And they are heading blindly into it.”

  “Transmitting, my Lord.”

  The flagships pulsed a graviton code that would reach all three detachments in seconds. But...

  “We have a lot of interference out here, my Lord. Most of it coming from those damned big things in orbit around the planet.”

  Damned big things was a good description. The Ca'cadasans had not been able to spot them on the time delayed take of the event hitting the planet. Or, more accurately, being stopped in its tracks before hitting the planet. Since then they had seen the projectors moving into positions pointing out, ready to defend against his missile waves. Close to them had been huge tugs, and the shapes of human battleships, both giving him the scale he needed to assess the projectors. They were massive, probably as large as any deep space objects the Ca'cadasans had ever made.

  “Get them, now. Tell them to break off.”

  None of those forces had a wormhole, and light speed wouldn't reach them in time. In fact, light speed transmissions wouldn't reach them at all until they were in normal space, and then after a considerable time had passed.

  “We're sending, my Lord. But I'm not receiving an acknowledgment. Wait, getting one from our second group detachment. They're reporting that their changing vectors.”

  So one was moving out of the trap, but the other two were continuing on, blind to their danger.

  * * *

  “The Caca force is almost on top of us, ma'am,” reported the Klavarta commander in the calm voice of a warrior about to face an extreme threat. “Estimating ten seconds to translation.”

  Mara smiled, though inside she was feeling anything but happy. One Caca force was coming in right where they wanted it. The other wasn't quite on target, but it looked like it was going to be close enough to be workable. The third was changing vectors. Someone over their was using their brain. Probably that unusual great admiral of theirs.

  “They're translating. Opening fire.”

  * * *

  “Translating now,” called out the navigation officer.

  Senior Captain Krishas grinned as he watched the plot. Finally he would be able to destroy some human ships. To see them converted to plasma at close range. So far this entire campaign had been less than satisfactory. The first battle had been shooting at ships they couldn't spot while taking fire. This battle had, so far, been much the same. But now he had the chance to close with the enemy.

  Krishas was a battleship squadron commander. He had his own squadron, plus fourteen more, totaling seventy-five capital ships. Along with him were over two hundred of the large Ca'cadasan cruisers and seven hundred scouts. More than enough to put paid to the accounts of the much smaller enemy force.

  The translation nausea hit, again, and the senior captain found himself fighting to hold in the contents of his stomach as the bridge swam before his vision. Everyone on the bridge, all Ca'cadasans, were in the same state for at least ten seconds, some as long as a minute. The thought struck the captain through his disorientation that the proponents of adding aliens, especially easy translators, to the bridge crews held merit. The suspicious and arrogant Ca'cadasans in command would hear of no such nonsense.

  “We have missile launch” called out the tactical officer in a distorted voice. “Five thousand, no ten. Twenty?”

  How could so few ships get out so many missiles in such a short time? His vision starting to clear, the captain saw the truth of the matter. Those missiles weren't coming from the enemy force, at least not most of them. They were launching from small platforms, most undetectable, scattered about the enemy force. There were missiles coming from the ships, of course, and as he watched a massive swarm erupted, ten times what should have been possible.

  They have box launchers on the hulls, thought the captain. His mind reeled on the edge of panic. He calmed himself, noting that his own ships were returning fire, and there were enough outgoing weapons to annihilate that force.

  “We're picking up missiles on final approach. Estimating sixty. Velocity, point nine five light.”

  So they had a wormhole aboard that task force, and were getting in their hits while they could. His own defensive weapons opened fire. He wouldn't get them all, but he doubted more than a handful would make it through his barrage.

  “More missiles coming in from spinward. On final approach and changing vectors.”

  Those weapons were very detectable. Krishas looked over at the central plot to see over a thousand missiles in six different groups curving in on his position.

  “Launch from system south,” called out the tactical officer, voice breaking in obvious panic.

  Where in the hell are all these things coming from? thought the senior captain. And how in the hells are they getting in shots from so many different vectors without us knowing they are there?

  The senior captain stared in horror as eleven of his ships blinked on the plot, then disappeared. Either their propulsion systems had been knocked out, or they had been destroyed. Either were catastrophic outcomes, since a ship that couldn't boost, couldn't jump into hyper, was a total loss.

  Not all the weapons struck at the same time. They detonated at a distance as defensive weapons found them, or they hit ships with impacts or proximity kills over a period of ten seconds or so. Ca'cadasan weapons were
also going off among the enemy force, which was reduced to a collection of hulks or spreading clouds of plasma.

  When twenty seconds had passed the enemy fleet had ceased to be. There were a couple of drifting wrecks, but most were gone. And Krishas had lost half his force. The senior captain breathed a sigh of relief that his flag hadn't sustained any damage.

  “Missiles on approach. Estimating twelve hundred. Velocity, point nine five light. ETA, twenty-five seconds.”

  “Where in the hells are they coming from.”

  “From here, sir,” said the tactical officer, shaking off his panic and doing his job. “Range, unknown, but it must be outside of our sensor range for passive objects.”

  Which meant these weapons had been fired from a distance of multiple light minutes. Since his ships had only been in this space for about a minute, that meant they had been fired at this point ahead of time. It was a trap, and he had stumbled right into it.

  “We have more close in missile launches, my Lord.”

  Krishas stared wide eyed at his tactical officer. He had nothing to say, no orders to give. After all, when one was just about to die, what was there to say?

  * * *

  “Both task force commanders engaged are reporting the total loss of their groups. One point one is reporting that the Caca force was totally destroyed. Three point one is estimating ninety-three percent losses. The remainder of that group have jumped back into hyper and are moving away.”

  Smart of them, thought Mara. They could have stayed to perform search and rescue, and been hit by the next wave to come in. In both situations there were still ten waves to come, though a signal had been sent to them with orders to change vectors. She was hoping those weapons might still do some good. Though a betting woman, Mara would not bet on the odds of that happening.

  “Casualties?”

  “One point one is reporting that eighty-four percent of their crews were able to get out. They don't have firm figures on how many survived.”

  Mara winced. Those ships had jumped with skeleton crews, about twenty percent of their full complement. There was no possibility that they would have been able to make repairs, and what they had was enough to run the systems for the time they would be needed. Most used consoles on the outer hull, and bailed in the life pods before the ships were hit. Some couldn't get out in time. And there was a high risk that the pods would be blown out of space by exploding ships and warheads.