Crimson Worlds Collection III

by Jay Allan

  But the CAC attack waves were too massive, even for Garret’s skilled leadership and razor-sharp crews to fully counter, and the fleet paid the price. His ships began to take damage as enemy missiles entered the effective zone. Many of the 500 megaton thermonuclear warheads expended their fury without effect, too far from any target to inflict significant damage. The massive weapons of destruction were visible only as quick flashes of light against the blackness of space. But some of them detonated close enough to bathe Garret’s ships in radiation and heat their hulls enough to cause significant damage. For all the unimaginable energy released by nuclear explosions, most missile duels were exercises in tearing ships apart bit by bit or killing their crews with blasts of radiation from near misses.

  A direct hit would destroy any vessel, but the probability of actually contacting a ship with a missile across the vastness of an interplanetary battlefield was remote. It did happen occasionally, with catastrophic results for the unfortunate vessel involved, but it was far too infrequent to base tactics upon.

  The CAC volleys hadn’t scored any direct hits, but Garret’s small task group had taken enormous damage nevertheless. The capital ship Naseby was a total loss. Riddled with hull breaches and almost entirely non-functional, she’d lost her captain and 90% of her crew before the exhausted survivors abandoned her in the escape pods.

  Two cruisers and a dozen destroyers and fast attack ships had also been destroyed, and most of the rest of Garret’s central force had taken heavy damage. The CAC ships closed hard, firing volley after volley of missiles before entering energy weapons range. Now, they were moving in for the kill. Just like Garret had planned.

  The energy weapons duel was a standoff at first, the extraordinary skill of Garret’s crews momentarily matching off against the numerical advantage of their adversaries. But Garret knew that couldn’t last. Numbers would tell, sooner or later. And probably sooner. It was time.

  “Send a flash laser communication to Ticonderoga, Commander Rourke.” Garret stared straight at the tactical display, eyes blazing as he spoke. “Code word, ‘Go.’”

  Francisco Mondragon sat still and silent in his chair, staring at the tactical map displayed across Omdurman’s bridge. The battleship was in Jacobs’ vanguard, and she was bearing down hard on the flank of the CAC fleet. Omdurman had launched her missiles already – the entire task force had – and now she was leading the rest of Jacob’s ships right at the enemy.

  “All laser batteries, prepare for action.” Mondragon was trying hard to shed his Basque accent, but his English was still far from perfect. “Prepare to fire immediately after missile detonations.” The Europan officer had bonded with his new allies, and when Grand Fleet dispersed, he appealed to Jacobs to find a place for him in the Alliance navy. He was deeply disillusioned with Europa Federalis and enormously impressed with the standards and skill of the Alliance fleet. Garret approved the request and commissioned the Basque officer on the spot, assigning him to Jacob’s task force. He’d expected to have a diplomatic mess to clean up after the fact, but things on Earth had gone to hell so quickly, it never came up. Mondragon was an Alliance captain now…and MIA as far as the Europans were concerned.

  “Yes, sir.” Commander Jenkins was Mondragon’s tactical officer. “Detonations projected to commence in 30 seconds.” Before the First Imperium War, an exec like Jenkins might have objected to serving under an officer he considered foreign. But Jenkins had fought in the war, and he’d seen firsthand the bravery and sacrifices of the Alliance’s multi-national allies. Besides, everyone knew about Francisco Mondragon and his service under Admiral Jacobs in Scouting Fleet. Mondragon was a genuine hero as far as Jenkins was concerned, and the Alliance officer considered himself lucky to serve a commander of such ability.

  Mondragon’s ship, along with the rest of Jacob’s task force, was coming in right behind the missile volley. Jacobs had been ordered to conserve ammunition and launch only a single barrage, and he’d held it until the last minute before firing. By the time the missiles blasted off, his ships were clear of the asteroid belt, and they had a point blank firing solution on the surprised enemy.

  “Very well, Commander.” Mondragon took a deep breath and trained his eyes on the huge main screen. There were clouds of tiny dots on the display, the hundreds of missiles fired from the ships of the task force. A few centimeters behind them was a row of larger symbols, Jacobs’ ships. At the very front of the formation, less than 10 light seconds behind the line of missiles was a small triangle…Omdurman.

  The small dots winked out and disappeared, one at a time at first, then in bunches. Out in space, around the enemy ships, 500 megaton warheads were detonating. To anyone watching, only an impossibly bright, but very short-lived flash would be visible. Most of the energy of the massive nuclear explosions blasted out in the forms of x-rays and gamma rays…massive pulses of deadly radiation.

  Any ship actually hit by a 500 megaton bomb would simply disappear, its structure and crew vaporized in an instant. But none of the missiles in Jacobs’ barrage scored direct hits. Many of the bombs expended their fury too far away to damage any enemy vessels. But the ones that got close, within a few kilometers, wreaked havoc on the CAC vessels and their crews. Explosions close enough to a target ship could vaporize or melt sections of its hull, tearing the vessel apart bit by bit. The massive dose of radiation inflicted could also overload the shielding, injuring and killing crew members as it did.

  Jacobs’ targeting had been true, and the CAC units nearest the asteroid field were savaged by the nuclear devastation his volley unleashed. Thousands of their crewmen were killed or incapacitated, and entire systems were knocked offline. All but the most heavily damaged ships could be at least partially repaired by damage control teams…but the CAC task force didn’t have the time. Jacobs’ ships were bearing down right behind their missiles, about to rake the stunned and battered enemy forces with laser fire before they could regroup or get wrecked systems back online.

  “All laser batteries, lock on Macau.” Mondragon’s eyes focused on the largest of the CAC battleships. He pulled up the scanning report on his display. She’d been damaged by half a dozen missiles, and Gravis’ fighters had hit her too. She was in rough shape and streaming air. Mondragon’s eyes narrowed into a feral expression. Now he was going to finish off the big capital ship. “Fire.”

  Admiral Zhu sat in his command chair, silently staring at the disaster unfolding on his tactical display. How was it possible? He’d had Garret. A few more minutes, and he would have destroyed Pershing…and become the man who defeated the greatest admiral in space. A victory like that could have taken him anywhere he wanted to go…even to a seat on the Committee. Now, he’d be lucky to get out of this system alive.

  “We’ve got more enemy contacts, Admiral.” Captain Wu’s voice was hoarse, ragged. He understood better than the admiral just how dire a situation Zhu’s folly had gotten them into. “They’re englobing us, sir.”

  The notion of surrounding an enemy was as old as warfare itself, but no one had ever managed to completely encircle an enemy in the three-dimensionality of space. Until now.

  Garret’s fleet had appeared to scatter, small groups breaking off in random-seeming vectors, trying to avoid the CAC missile volleys. But there was nothing arbitrary to the actions of those ships…this was no panic-based flight. Garret’s vessels pulled themselves back together as they moved past the enemy fleet, each group executing a meticulously crafted thrust plan and maneuvering toward its assigned station. They were almost done, and the CAC fleet was under laser fire from all sides. Over a third of their ships were already lost, and Garret’s forces were steadily closing the globe.

  “We’ve got to pull back.” Zhu was starting to panic, and it was obvious in his voice. “All personnel to the tanks. Prepare for full thrust back toward the warp gate.”

  It was far too late for that command, and Wu knew it. They’d be blasted to radioactive dust before they got everyone buttoned
up. He was piecing together Garret’s strategy, even as he watched it unfold. The brilliance…the brutal truth of it all was becoming clear. None of them were getting out of the system. Maybe a scattered ship or two, but the CAC fleet itself was doomed. Garret had tricked Zhu, suckered him into a trap…an ambush so complete it was going to destroy the entire CAC navy. Almost half of their ships were already destroyed or battered into barely functioning wreckage. It wasn’t going to be long before Garret’s victory was complete.

  “I gave you an order, Captain Wu!” Zhu was really losing control, his terror obvious to everyone watching.

  “Sir, it’s too late for that.” Wu didn’t give a shit about humoring Zhu anymore. He figured he had maybe 10 minutes to live, and he wasn’t going to spend it kissing the pompous fool’s ass. “You’ve managed to lead us into a deathtrap. You were so focused on getting Admiral Garret…and he used it to trap us, you fool!”

  “You will follow my commands, Captain Wu!” Zhu’s voice cracked with rage.

  “There is no time to escape, Admiral.” If he was going to die, Wu didn’t want it to be in the tanks. He’d seen that before, and it was a gruesome way to go. If he was going to die, better it be in action, at his station. “All we can do is fight it out here.” That wasn’t going to be enough, but Wu couldn’t think of another alternative.

  “We must surrender then! At once!” Zhu had lost all veneer of discipline or courage. He’d become a pathetic mewling creature, worried only about his own survival.

  “Fleets do not surrender, Admiral.” There was disgust in Wu’s voice, and hatred. Hatred for the sniveling creature standing on the flag bridge…and for those who had ordered the removal – murder – of Admiral An.

  Individual ships sometimes surrendered when a battle was in its final stages. Damaged vessels unable to retreat often gave up rather than face certain destruction. But an entire fleet had never before surrendered while the battle still raged. It was just too dangerous for the victorious side to show mercy. There were a hundred ways a surrender could be a trick…and no reliable method to ensure that the yielding ships had truly powered down their engines and weapon systems. No fleet surrender had ever been accepted in a century of interstellar combat.

  Maybe, Wu thought…maybe if it was an officer who knew Garret, who was close to him during the fighting on the Rim. But C1 had destroyed that possibility when it murdered the highest echelon of officers. Admiral Garret might have trusted Admiral An…or at least heard him out. But he certainly wasn’t going to give any weight to Zhu’s promises.

  No, he thought again, feeling a flush of rage…Garret will never listen to Zhu. If there was a chance…any chance at all, Zhu had to go. Wu acted quickly, almost on instinct rather than thought. His hand dropped to his side, gripping his sidearm. He pulled it from the harness in one quick jerk, and leveled it at Zhu’s head.

  “What are you doing, Cap…”

  A single crack echoed across the otherwise silent flag bridge. Zhu’s body fell back, blood pouring from a single hole in his forehead.

  Wu turned slowly, panning his eyes from station to station, waiting for someone to act…to pull a weapon and shoot him. But there was nothing except motionless silence. Everyone on the flag bridge stared at him in shock, waiting to see what he would do next. He slowly put the pistol back in its place and walked over to the command station.

  “Attention Alliance fleet, attention Alliance fleet.” His English was far from perfect, but he did the best he could instead of allowing the AI to translate. He wanted his tone, his emotions to come through. It was their only chance…and it was a longshot.

  “Admiral Garret, this is Captain Wu. I served with your forces at Sigma 4 and X2.” And you have no idea who I am, he thought grimly. “Admiral Zhu has been relieved of command, and I am offering…” – he sucked in a deep breath and exhaled hard – “…I am offering the unconditional surrender of all naval forces of the Central Asian Combine now present in this system.”

  He punched in the fleet com frequency, while maintaining the transmission to the Alliance flagship. He wanted Garret to hear this. “All units…this is Kublai Khan. Cease fire at once. Cut all thrust and engine output to zero and reduce power levels to the minimum necessary for life support.”

  He had no idea if they’d obey. The rest of the fleet had heard his broadcast to Garret…they knew he was trying to surrender them. No one except Kublai Khan’s flag bridge crew knew Zhu was dead, but Wu had no idea how the ship captains would respond to his attempt to surrender them all. It would only take one of them to destroy whatever fragile chance there was. It was a longshot Garret would bite under any circumstances, but if anyone continued to fire, there’d be no chance at all.

  Wu leaned forward toward the microphone. “Attention Admiral Garret. This is Fleet Captain Wu. I am offering the unconditional surrender of the CAC fleet, effective immediately. I have ordered all vessels to cease fire at once and power down. Please respond.”

  Wu sat in the admiral’s chair and let out a deep breath…and waited.

  Chapter 19

  Base Omega

  Asteroid Belt

  Altair System

  Gavin Stark stared at the bare rock wall. It was a considerably different view than the priceless wood paneling and floor-to-ceiling windows that had adorned the walls of his office in Alliance Intelligence Headquarters. Omega Base was built with security and defense in mind, not comfort. Bored into the depths of a large asteroid, it could survive almost any bombardment, even one by the heavy burrowing nukes that had destroyed his base in the Dakotas. But defensibility came at a cost, and Omega was a claustrophobic hole in the ground, utterly devoid of luxury.

  Stark was breathing deeply as he sat alone in his bare office, suppressing his anger and frustration. Overall, things were still going well, but there were trouble spots too, and they were getting worse, not better. For one thing, Erik Cain was still alive, and his miserable fucking Marines remained in the field, fighting as hard as ever.

  Stark was mostly in control of his rage, but he still couldn’t keep his hands from balling into fists as he thought about Cain. How, he thought…how is it even possible? Cobra had never failed on a mission. Neither had Alex before he’d sent her after Cain. What force was looking over the accursed Marine general, confounding Stark’s every move?

  There were other problems too, including at least a few new ones. Stark had known, of course, that General Gilson commanded a force of Marines out on the frontier. He’d anticipated her eventual return, but he had expected to have both Arcadia and Armstrong long secured before she did. She commanded a sizeable force, but nothing capable of assaulting either of those key planets once his own people were in charge and dug in.

  But the fighting on Arcadia dragged on just like it did on Armstrong. Elias Holm was the problem there. Cain’s mentor had scrounged up some veteran Marines Stark hadn’t accounted for – he still wasn’t sure where they’d come from – and managed to keep the fight going months longer than even the worst projections. Long enough for Gilson and her 7,000 veterans to land and throw the entire battle into chaos. A few weeks earlier he’d been getting confident assurances that the victory was imminent. Now he was getting frantic appeals for more troops.

  He stared at the strength figures and casualty reports from the various colonial operations. His forces had easily swept away the planetary militias of the other worlds – everywhere except Columbia. But when his armies faced the Marines on Arcadia and Armstrong, their attacks bogged down, despite their numerical superiority.

  His Shadow Legion forces fought with extreme discipline and courage…yet it was becoming apparent they were still no match for the Marines, at least not without a considerable advantage in numbers. He couldn’t understand. They had the training and experiences of veteran Marines implanted directly into their brains, yet somehow, when they faced the real article on anything close to equal terms, they failed. Time and time again, he’d seen the outnumbered Marine force
s hold his legions back, despite sometimes massive numerical mismatches.

  He tried to put the mounting frustration aside, focusing instead on how to solve the problem. What could it be that made the Marines so effective in battle? It was a question he’d been asking himself for years. He’d always assumed it was their training…and the experience their veterans passed down to the new recruits. But now he could see there was more to it than that. It was strange, some hidden factor that seemed to strengthen the Marines as their situation become increasingly dire. As his legions drove closer toward victory, the Marines seemed to become ever stronger, more resolute. It made no sense, followed no logical pattern…but he’d seen it happen again and again.

  He’d initially expected his Legions to fight better than the Marines, not underperform them. His soldiers had all the knowledge and training the Marines did, plus they were conditioned to be fearless, never to lose focus in battle, to ignore losses and methodically, relentlessly follow their orders. No matter how he tallied his mental spreadsheet, it came up the same. His troopers were superior. Yet report after report from the battlefields proved the opposite conclusion.

  Gavin Stark was a genius, but he was a sociopath too. His brilliant, but twisted, mind had blind spots, aspects of human motivation he simply could not comprehend. It was a weakness that had caused him to underestimate his adversaries again and again. The Marines didn’t behave as his perversely logical mind expected them to. They fought as a single whole, not just in their maneuvers and formations, but also in spirit. They were driven by tradition, by the memories of their Marine forefathers, who’d passed to them a history…with an expectation that they would add to that record and then pass it to the next generation. They felt the obligation to those who had come before to never bring dishonor to the Corps. They fought for the men and women next to them in line, those other Marines they thought of as brothers and sisters, just as they knew those comrades would give their all for them. They were a brotherhood, a single whole made up of the individual warriors themselves.