WarWorld: The Battle of Sauron

by John Carr

  “Signal from TF Damaris” Communications Fifth Rank Boyle stammered, “well . . .actually, just the Damaris, now, First Rank.”

  “Put her through.”

  “No visual; voice only.” Boyle patched the communication to Diettinger’s station.

  “Diettinger .. .intercepted signals Imperial Battleship Lermontov your rear port aspect. Your intentions known, repeat, your intentions known... expect heavy resistance en route to any Alderson points . .Lermontov calling in support to guarantee no Sauron vessels escape system.”

  “First Rank Emory,” Diettinger answered, ”Can you bring Damaris about and join our formation?”

  “Negative, Dictator. But I believe I can guarantee that Lermontov’s first wave of requested reinforcements does not join theirs. God speed, Fomoria. Damaris out.”

  Within the immersion display, Damaris altered course and closed to engage four Imperial battleships, a raging tigress among wolves. Amid streams of lasers and a hail of missile launches, the Damaris disappeared beyond the blackening horizon of Sauron, still battling the Imperial capital ships drawn off from the Lermontov, as Vessel First Rank Emory had promised.

  Fomoria and the ships of her task force had reached nine gravities, and Saurons or not, her bridge crew were being molded back into the gel cushions of their acceleration couches.

  “Nine squadrons Imperial heavy fighters closing on heading three-two-six mark two-seven. Lermontov has closed to beam range and firing.”

  “Signal task force to return fire,” Diettinger ordered, “But under no circumstances are any ships to attempt to disengage computer lock and break from formation.”

  “Why?”

  He looked down; the voice that came from his communications panel was that of Cyborg Koln.

  “The Race must survive,” Diettinger answered. “It cannot - it will not be allowed to - do so on Sauron, nor any other world where Imperials know Saurons are still alive. With almost forty ships full of Saurons and over-filled with Cyborgs, we can find a place to hide and rebuild.”

  “The Empire will pursue us.”

  “They are not likely to find us. In any case, I doubt that this alliance between the Empire and the Outworlders will last long. Whatever concessions the Imperials made for this aid they will undoubtedly come to regret. By escaping before destroying too many of the Outworlder ships, we leave a strong and intact mercenary element within the borders of the critically weakened Empire, giving that Empire a great many more important things to worry about than tracking down a few hundred thousand Sauron refugees.”

  Koln nodded inside his helmet. “I am forced to concur. I have been watching the displays of Sauron; its fate was unavoidable. Your plan favors the survival of the Race, and seems viable.”

  That, Diettinger realized, was positively effusive praise from a Cyborg. “My thanks. However, Cyborg Koln,” he used the popular form of address, dropping the obsolete ‘Rank’ as a gesture of respect, “I am somewhat engaged, as you must know.” Diettinger felt a touch of magnanimity couldn’t hurt. “But I will see to having you and the rest of the Cyborgs released from lock-downs as soon as possible.”

  Diettinger broke the connection with a sense of relief. Koln had been self-contained and even approving. He would be happy to let the Cyborgs out once they reached some measure of safety.

  Especially as there is still an excellent chance that we will not get out of this alive, anyway...

  As if to underscore his fatalistic appraisal, Fomoria suddenly lurched to starboard as an explosion went off within her Field. The bridge went dark for a moment as power was automatically re-routed to crucial systems; the immersion display flickered, revealing the featureless grey walls of the Fomoria’s command center that had disappeared when the display had painted them over with the holographic illusion of space that lay beyond them. Fire leapt from a control station and swept over three of the bridge crew before the gas extinguishers smothered the flames that left a third of the bridge blackened and ruined and all of it filled with acrid smoke.

  “It’s the Lermontov, First Rank; burn-throughs in our Field’s port zone,” Weapons began coordinating power shifts within the Fomoria to close the breach in the warship’s Fields.

  “Enemy heavy fighters penetrating our Field, coming in over the bow,” Second Rank called out.

  The immersion display reproduced the Morgans as they swept over the Fomoria’s hull, raking fire in a series of walking hits and passing so close to the display’s sensors that Diettinger could make out the insignia of a gold-bordered black flag bearing a skull-and-crossbones; the 97th Imperial Fighter Squadron. At some level, he could not help but be flattered that the Empire had thrown the redoubtable “Jolly Rogers” at his ship. He hoped they appreciated the attention he was about to show them in return.

  “Clear my sky, Weapons.”

  Only a Sauron could have accomplished what happened next; Weapons’ commands swept the space ahead of Fomoria with an interlocking screen of fire from the heavy cruiser’s main batteries, creating a lattice so dense and so variable that not even a fighter pilot’s reflexes could save them; nor did they. Two of the Morgans were obliterated, consumed too quickly even to leave debris.

  The satisfaction that was evident on Weapon’s face did not however carry to that of Communications Fifth Rank Boyle. “First Rank; we’ve lost telemetry from the rest of the Task Force.”

  Diettinger felt his blood go cold.”Are they still receiving from us?”

  “Apparently not, First Rank. Helm and Navigation tie-ins have all been severed. The formation is falling behind.”

  Second Rank nodded. “Confirmed. That last burn-through destroyed our comm laser paths and three-quarters of the projectors; elements of Task Force breaking off to engage the Imperials.”

  Diettinger stared at the immersion display. Emory’s last communication had revealed to him that Imperials were intercepting his message lasers; a difficult prospect to be sure, but easier at such close quarters as the battle had become. One simply aimed a broad-beam scanning laser between two enemy ships assumed to be communicating with one another; message lasers intersecting the scan created distortions whose modulations could be decoded into distinct, if patchy, patterns. Enough patches, and you had a picture of what was being said.

  Given enough time, the Imperials might even have decoded the entire random Jump sequence Diettinger had designed, if he hadn’t cleverly left the randomization process in the hands of the shipboard mechanical computers; in effect, even he did not know where they were going. But not knowing, he now had no idea what to tell the remnants of the fleet.

  So, he couldn’t signal the fleet to Jump out and rendezvous somewhere down the line; the Imperials would overhear and follow them immediately. And the Fomoria certainly couldn’t stay here.

  “First Rank,” Second called out, “Receiving scattered signals from all fleet elements.”

  “Speak,” he said quietly.

  “Various messages, First Rank,” she said after a moment. Quiet as Diettinger’s command had been, her voice was lower still. “All signals are the same general message: ‘We will cover your escape.’ Three send ‘Godspeed;’ two send ’Vengeance’.”

  In the display, Sauron was passing beneath them and to port. From behind the far side of the Homeworld emerged a massive cloud of debris: All that was left of the Damaris and the four Imperial battleships that had foolishly pursued the tigress into her lair.

  Diettinger let out a long breath. “Status of the random Jump program?”

  “Intact, First Rank. Mechanical Jump-clocks now disconnecting from main computer; timers initiating; indicators show all active.”

  Diettinger nodded.

  “Helm. You guided us into the Tanith Alderson Point at seven gravities’ acceleration. You are to guide us into the Dropshot Alderson Point at no less than nine.”

  Helm managed to keep his shock limited to a mere cessation of breathing and blinking. If First Rank noticed, he did not comment.


  “Weapons; Status Lermontov”

  “Still pursuing, First Rank.”

  “Discourage her.”

  Fomoria lashed out at the Imperial battleship with a fury of lasers. Lermontov’s Field went violet, a massive burn-through at her bow, and the Imperial began to turn just as Fomoria began to shudder.

  “Can we do something about this vibration, Second Rank?” Diettinger asked her.

  “Harmonics, First Rank. We have received heavy damage to several main stress-bearing elements and our structural integrity is degrading. The pulse of the thrusters at this acceleration is matching the vibration conducted to the hull and will shake us apart if we don’t slow down.”

  Diettinger was almost smiling at her. “A simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ would have sufficed, Second Rank. Helm, current acceleration?”

  “Seven-point-nine Gs, First Rank.”

  “Continue to eight.”

  Second Rank rolled her eyes.

  “Lermontov has broken off,” Sensors cut in. “Seven other capital ships vectoring to intercept.”

  “Will they catch us?”

  She grinned, never taking her eyes from the screens before her. “Not unless they want to have blood-jelly paste for crews, First Rank.”

  “How very colorful,” he said quietly.

  “The remaining Morgans are still with us, First Rank,” Weapons notified him.

  “At eight gravities?” Diettinger wondered.

  “Acceleration now eight-point-five, First Rank,” came Helm’s update; his voice was shuddering along with the Fomoria, whose tremors were now becoming audible. A panel in one of the consoles, shaken loose by the incessant vibration, suddenly tore free, shot across the bridge at eight-and-one-half gravities and buried itself in the steel of the wall, missing Diettinger by less than a meter.

  And the human norms are still keeping up with us?

  Well, they are the “Jolly Rogers,” after all, he admitted to himself.”Time to Jump Point?”

  But Navigation could not hear him; the din of Fomoria’s vibration was now too great even for Sauron ears; Diettinger looked to the display. One of the Morgans was breaking up, still pouring fire into the Fomoria as it went. He shifted the immersion display’s viewpoint to look back at the Homeworld, to see the remnants of his task force - of the Sauron fleet - disappearing within a cloud of Imperial warships.

  And the Homeworld . .firestorms and mushroom clouds pockmarked the land. Even the seas roiled as the Imperial ships sought out the great undersea cities. A great red wound ran along the main continent of Lebensraum as the Imperial assaults that had begun with the impact of Intruder Three ended by splitting the planet’s crust, while in space above, the bright lights of the Homeworld’s hopelessly outnumbered fleet pulsed and disappeared from the immersion display as each ship died. All but one.

  Is it possible for the universe to contain so much hate? he wondered. When their fury is spent here, will this be enough for them? Or has it gained a life of its own, now? Can anything this inimical, this dynamic, this alive be put down once released? Or must it feed until it decides, in its own good time, that it has at last had enough blood for one century? Until its time comes round again . .and will humanity, human norm or Sauron, ever be truly free of it? Should we even want to be? What if one day we find we are not, after all, alone in the universe? Hideous as this conflict has been, relentless as we have been to destroy one another, what if one day humanity encounters something... worse?

  The shuddering stopped instantly as Fomoria hit the Jump Point and, at nine gravities’ acceleration, entered it perfectly.

  In the near-instantaneous moment of Jump travel, there comes a sensation of absolute but ephemeral clarity which passes almost before it has begun. In that millisecond of perfect, omniscient apprehension, Diettinger knew everything, every question, every answer, every beginning, every end . .even the answer to the questions he himself had posed on the future of the Race, human norm and Sauron. The answer was there - so obvious, so pure, and so very, very simple.

  He reached out for it...

  Book 3 The Eye Opens

  2640 A.D., Haven

  Thirty-Two

  I

  General Gary Edmund Cummings, commander of the Haven Volunteers, stared out of the helicopter’s cockpit and down at Castell City. The city’s linear streets were almost empty of motorized traffic with the exception of an occasional white motorcar. For the most part, only horse-drawn wagons, carts, coaches, bicycles and pedcabs traveled the thoroughfares of the capital. All motorized vehicles were under Government control and ownership. Traffic was light, especially for the major arteries of a planetary capital - no matter how humble. Except for an occasional smoke plume from some factory, he might have been back on Terra in the eighteenth century.

  Cummings’ thoughts drifted back to when he’d first landed at Splash Island - almost twenty years ago - to organize the evacuation of the Seventy-Seventh Division of the Imperial Marines. In those days Castell City had been a bustling metropolis: nothing, of course, compared to major cities on Sparta, or even Churchill, but respectable. The streets were full of motorized vehicles, private cars and trucks, and all the modern conveniences of an Imperial capital.

  Today, Castell was a city in rapid decline. There was no denying it. Imperial Plaza was still the hub of the city, streets radiating out in strict geometric precision. Only now, the Viceroy’s Palace was a mound of blackened rubble - another relic of the War of Liberation, along with hundreds of other ruins that had once been factories, buildings and apartment blocks.

  Cummings ran his fingers through his black hair. Everyone, including his wife, thought he dyed it, but he didn’t. If he did, it would be to dye it gray. The regeneration treatments he had been given on Tanith had worked even better than the doctors had predicted. Now everyone around him was growing old, while he appeared never to change.

  On the other side of the Plaza, rose the Chamber of Deputies, a stone monolith. It was too bad the rioters hadn’t burned it along with the Palace, when King David Steele’s reign came to a deserved and violent end. Deputy Booth, one of the Brigade’s ’friends,’ had called him with information that the Speaker, Martin Sanders, was about to put through another measure to place the Militia under Chamber rule. Why not, he thought, they’ve already given up every other asset - including the goodwill of the citizens of Castell - they ever possessed.

  It was true the Empire had strategically pulled back - make that abandoned this sector - but that hadn’t changed his orders. Originally a citizen of Churchill, Cummings had been put in command of the 77th back in 09, when it had been unstated Imperial policy to put ‘trusted’ commanders in charge of Outie military units, as more and more planets joined the Sauron Coalition of Succession.

  It had taken him a few years to prove himself as commander of the “Land Gators.” Initially, they had not been pleased to have a Churchillian in command of Haven’s 77th Imperial Marine Division. It wasn’t until the Liberation of Lavaca that he’d earned their trust as well as respect. Now he was as much a Havener as any of his original command, many of whom had died in battles on one or another of the forgotten worlds spanning the Empire.

  He had been as surprised as anyone when he’d been given orders by Marshal Blaine to retire from the “Land Gators” and become the Imperial watchdog on Haven. And, while he had his regrets about leaving the Imperial hub, commanding the Haven Militia was not one of them. Just keeping the Volunteers together and out of civilian control, during decades of economic upheaval and civil war, had taxed every bit of his energy and ingenuity.

  Thanks to his old friend, Albert Hamilton, he’d been able to work out a compromise that solved most of his payroll problems. The best part was that it had left him independent of local politics. In exchange for a few hundred metric tons of useless durasteel and obsolete weapons, the old Baron had supplied him with enough hard specie to keep his troops fed and clothed. Meanwhile, the Baron had provided positions for retirin
g soldiers and officers at his estate in Whitehall. In exchange, he had given the Baron the best intelligence he could obtain in these days of decline and technological breakdowns.

  A decade before it had begun, the Baron had foreseen Haven returning to a far lower level of civilization and technology. At the time, Cummings had thought maybe Hamilton had taken one too many falls from his beloved horse, Belisarius. But he had jumped at the chance to exchange surplus durasteel for hard currency. Now, it appeared the old fox had known exactly what he was doing, and had earned well-deserved goodwill from the Militia in exchange.

  Colonel Anton Leung, sitting to his right, pointed to a black plume of smoke coming from the commercial section of Little Frankfurt. “More rioting, or just another act of senseless violence, General?”

  Cummings shook his head, while his left hand absent-mindedly stroked the bowl of his pipe. “Whatever it is, we’ll be blamed for it, or for not stopping it.”

  “Right. Like that riot last night! Couple of our boys are on R R, next thing you know, they’re under attack by armed street rats and gangsters. We should have proscribed this city long ago, General.”

  “It’s proscribed now,” Cummings answered.”I used to believe that spending our marks here would make the City Fathers realize that having us nearby was good business. By God, these citizens aren’t the enemy, they’re the reason we’re here”

  “Some of them know it. The Harmonies and a delegation from Hindu Town protested the Ban this morning. I told them to go talk to Mayor Niles and the City Fathers. They left shortly thereafter.”

  “Can’t blame them,” Cummings said, then paused to take a deep draw on his pipe. “City Hall in Castell City is about as stacked with the old families as a cardsharp’s deck. Those poor bastards won’t get any satisfaction from the Chamber, either, and they know it. I feel the worst for the Harmonies: those poor primitives are virtual prisoners in Melody Town and they have been ever since the CoDominium came and took the planet away from them.