Exodus: Machine War: Book 1: Supernova.

by Doug Dandridge

  J’rrantar was a Phlistaran, a member of a species who had been members in good standing in the Empire for over four centuries. A half ton of muscle and bone standing on four clawed feet, with two powerful arms projecting from the top of his upright torso, he was a fearsome sight even unarmored. In his two tons of battle armor he was terrifying. The strength of his suit and his body orientation allowed him to carry weapons, this time a pair of vehicle mount particle beams and a hypervelocity grenade launcher, on his back. Now he turned his great head toward the vehicle that had just killed two of his warriors, his suit vision systems looking through the smoke as if it was the clarity of vacuum, his targeting pip centering over the turret of the armored car. The particle beams fired, ripping through that turret and anyone inside like they were made of wet paper.

  A missile came out from his flank, heading straight into the huge Marine. What was in that missile might have penetrated even his tough armor, but the defensive lasers built into his suit tracked and fired, and the warhead exploded a good ten meters from him. Shrapnel bounced from his suit with a clang, and he reflexively ducked down, flexing his legs, proving that his form could not do at least one thing as good as his smaller human Marines. Hug the ground.

  “Sir,” came a call over his com, the HUD identifying it as his Gunnery Sergeant. “We’ve got them on the run.”

  “Keep contact with them, Gunny,” ordered the Lieutenant. “But don’t crowd them.” He walked up and looked down at the suit of one of his killed in action. There were two small holes through the faceplate, and smoke drifted from the holes. “Just keep close enough to keep them running into the blocking force.”

  The blocking force was not there, yet, and would not be until J’rrantar moved there with his third squad, which was now short three suits, two dead and one damaged to the point where it couldn’t fly.

  The Lt. lifted his own suit into the air on its grabbers, rising to a thousand meters, full stealth engaged. His HUD showed him a map of the battlefield, and the icons of the guerillas moving from out of the city and into the surrounding forest. The sensors of his Marines, the supporting aircraft and the ships above gave him a clear picture of the land below. There was no way the enemy could hide, unless they went deep into the ground.

  There, he thought, looking down on a hill that rose above the forest, bounded on one side by a river, on the other rocks. Unless the enemy wanted to go far out of their way, they would have to go over that hill, which had been cleared for the buildings on the top. “Sergeant Wang. Send your Marines to that hill and meet me there. Set up these fields of fire.” The officer sent his deployments over the circuit, marking where he wanted the people to set up, including their firing arcs.

  J’rranta flew over the forest, looking down on the trees that hid the guerillas, his own night vision equipment showing him the lay of the land in full color, as if it were broad daylight, unlike the light intensification googles the enemy would be using. Occasionally he saw the flash of an explosion, or the red tint of a particle beam reflected off the trees. At one point a couple of trees shook while the sound of a blast reverberated through the woods, and the tops swayed and fell into the forest. Particle beams, he thought, his HUD showing the dots of his own troops moving through the woods.

  The Lt. took in the take of the one of the Marines, looking at the woods which that man’s night vision gear was converting to daytime clarity. The flitting forms of guerillas moving through what they thought was covering darkness appeared in the view, with figures underneath giving their relative speed and heading. He zoomed back to his own view, superimposed over the map of the area, and nodded in satisfaction as the more than four hundred guerillas continued on the path he had chosen for them. One full squad pushed from the rear, keeping them going, while a fire team on each side kept them from diverging from the path.

  The Phlistaran flew ahead and landed on the top of the hill. The eight remaining men of the squad, as well as the six men of his heavy weapons section, were busy setting up defensive positions, moving rocks, logs, anything that might intercept fire. The suits were tough, but as proven earlier they weren’t invulnerable, and anything that could either stop or slow a projectile was welcome.

  As the officer landed, he saw one of the Marines throw some fabric over a barrier of logs. The fabric shimmered for a moment, then faded to nothing, the logs behind them disappearing with them. Other Marines were getting behind natural cover, their suits going into full stealth as soon as they were set.

  “Over here, sir,” called out the Squad Leader over the com, waving. J’rranta ran to the man, his eyes taking in the high rock wall that had served more of a decorative function, but now would give cover and concealment.

  “This place looks like it was once a country manor of some sort,” said the Sergeant, pointing to the large house with its huge windows that sat at the very summit. The other buildings appeared to be guest houses, and one a stable.

  “Any signs of residents?”

  “No, sir. I sent a team through the buildings as soon as we landed, and they’re abandoned right enough.”

  The Lt. checked his HUD and estimated that they had about five minutes before the guerillas reached here. “Back off a bit, Gunny,” he ordered over the com, not at all worried that the enemy might intercept their communications and locate his Marines. His suit was communicating through laser with a couple of small UAVs that were orbiting overhead. They in turn were linked in the same manner with all of the other suits of his platoon. There was no signal that the enemy could intercept to locate. “I want them to chance running across the open area.”

  The Gunnery Sergeant acknowledged, and the HUD showed the trailing squad dropping back, using a swarm of nanoprobes to keep sight of the enemy.

  I almost feel sorry for them, thought the Lt., then considered what these people were trying to do. Keep their fellow beings from being rescued. Almost.

  J’rranta lowered himself to his knees behind the wall, crouching over with his torso as well until he was totally covered, only the snouts of his back mounted weapons poking over. Again he set his suit to full stealth and the weapons disappeared. He was still putting out heat through his suit, even more than the rest of his people, since his suit was larger and his body temperature higher. But his weapons were not putting out any more heat than the rocks and air around them.

  All of the rest of the Marines also moved to concealment. It was known that the guerillas had infrared night vision, and the suits would show up like bright lights on those devices, despite the stealth. The suits could be set to send out infrared in a direction away from those devices, mostly. But the efficiency wasn’t one hundred percent.

  Here they come, thought the officer as the flying nanoprobes gave him the images of the approaching guerillas. At first a few, the scouts, who ran up the hill, their eyes darting every which way. They moved quickly, with their sliding gate that moved them faster than the fastest normal human runner. They were halfway up the hill when the main body exited the woods, not having the time to waste, fearing the Marines who were on their trail. When his HUD showed that only a few of the enemy were still in the woods, the officer made his move.

  “Open fire,” he yelled over the com, and seven particle beam rifles, two autogrenade launchers, eight heavy particle beams and five short range mortars locked onto targets and took their first shots.

  Half the guerillas were down in the first three seconds as beam weapons ripped through them. Or, better said, they were blasted to a fine mist of bodily fluids and bits of flesh. Grenades popped across their groups, while mortars flared with the energy of tiny bits of antimatter as they came down from above.

  The guerillas tried to escape, those close enough to the woods. And ran into the trailing squad, who put their fire into fleeing enemy. In fifteen seconds it was over. Over three hundred were dead, most of the rest wounded, and every Klassekian who could still move dropped his weapons to the ground.

  Even fanatics can get enough o
f the shit kicked out of them to give up, thought J’rranta, getting up from his position and trotting out into the open, the rest of his Marines following. It took moments to make sure that all the surviving enemy were truly disarmed, then separated into those who could leave under their own power, and those who would require medical evacuation.

  “Stand down the boys and girls,” ordered J’rranta as Tsarzorian helicopters started landing on the hilltop to take away the prisoners. “Check ammo, proton packs and power packs, and give me a rundown of what we need.”

  I wonder if we’ll be called on again tonight, thought the officer, hoping that wasn’t the case. I lost two Marines, and they over a thousand. It was more slaughter than battle. And to one of his people, with their warrior heritage, a one way slaughter was nothing to be proud of.

  * * *

  One second the plaza in front of the Tsarzorian Embassy in the Honish capital was filled with protesters, waving signs, shouting slogans, calling for the death of the infidels. The next the signs were on the ground, hundreds were running off the plaza, while hundreds of others pulled out bottles of flammable liquids and other explosive devices, as well as bullpup style auto rifles and submachine guns. More hundreds came running into the plaza, and the mass charged with the sliding speed of their species toward the walls around the embassy.

  Behind those walls, or manning strong points on them, were a mere company of Tsarzorian embassy guards, soldiers chosen more for their ceremonial skills than combat abilities. Still, they braced themselves and manned their weapons, ready to sell their lives dearly. And some looked at their allies, who had come into the compound during the night, their suits stealthed, to lie in wait for just such an attack.

  The enemy came running at the wall, putting flame to the wicks of flammable cocktails, pulling the pins on grenades, their automatic weapons chattering away. They yelled their rage, sure that this symbol of all they hated about the unbelievers would soon be in their hands, that they might slake their bloodlust in the deaths of office workers and diplomats.

  The heavy weapons the humans had brought opened up, and the entire equation changed. The Marines had brought three heavy pulse lasers with them, weapons normally mounted on armored vehicles, now set on tripods behind embrasures that had been knocked in the wall, then shielded by stealth fields. Each weapon was attached to a large power pack/generator that would give each gun almost unlimited power. Each was manned by two battle suited Marines, the gunner linked into the targeting system of his weapon. Each possessed six barrels, each a gamma ray laser, each firing a twentieth of a second burst with the same power as a ten second blast from a standard vehicular laser. Each of the barrels fired once every second, using the down time to cool before the next shot. Not cooled enough, and after some minutes of firing the weapon would become overheated and in need of a cool down period.

  Two of the weapons were set at the corners of the compound, aimed across the plaza at an angle that crossed their beams in the middle. Known as final protective fire, it was an arrangement that forced an oncoming enemy to come through the beams to get to their objective. The third weapon was set in the center of the wall, its gunner sweeping the gun back and forth across the plaza.

  The gamma ray lasers lashed out. Each Klassekian touched by the beam was superheated to the point where his body exploded with the steam that had once been blood and other fluids. Each beam punched through that alien, into the next, and so on, until there was nothing left to stop them but the stone and steel of buildings, which they ate into like so much foam. The crossing beams slaughtered every alien than ran through them, while the center beam swept back and forth.

  At first the Klassekians didn’t realize what was happening. Those in back heard the explosions of those in front as they moved forward, but weren’t sure what they were. As they got closer they were splashed with superheated fluids that burned into their flesh. They then tried to back up, but were pushed from behind until it was their turn to be burned by coherent light at a frequency most couldn’t imagine. Shouts of rage turned into screams of panic, then of pain and terror.

  Thousands died in a storm of gore that would haunt the nightmares of the survivors for the rest of their lives. They finally reached the point where those pushing from the rear could no longer overcome the force of those trying to shove their way out of the death trap. Many more died trying to escape, until the flood tide reversed, and anyone still on their feet pushed their way out of the plaza.

  The pulse lasers stopped firing, waves of heat rising from their multiple barrels. The Tsarsorians in the compound cheered, until they got a good look at what was waiting for them in the plaza. No bodies, and even few recognizable pieces of bodies. Mostly just a slush of liquid with scorched bone chips sticking out, a mist of red tinted steam hovering over all. And they looked at their allies with fear in their eyes, realizing that the humans were death incarnate.

  Chapter Sixteen

  You think war is hell. I’ll give you hell, and keep giving it until you fear me more than the devil.

  Lt. General Kwan, First Lasharan War.

  “We’ll be ready to strike again within twenty-four hours,” reported Colonel Tom Margolis, his holo image looking at the holo image of Lt. Colonel Mary Isaiah, his second in command.

  “I concur,” said the light colonel, nodding her head. “We should have all suits and vehicles serviced and prepped well before then, but we can definitely use some down time before the next operation.”

  Nguyen looked back and forth between the two holos of his senior Marine officers, his mind still dwelling on the last operation. As far as they knew, Honish now had neither nuclear warheads nor the means to deliver them. There might be a submarine or three still in hiding, parked under an icecap, or deep in an oceanic trench somewhere, though the latter could only be very deep diving vessels. His force had seeded the ocean with probes that were currently on the lookout for such submersibles. There also could be some mobile launchers still hidden. Both atmospheric and space based sensors were searching for any trace of radioactivity that might tell of hidden weapons, but had yet to find any. We figure they shot their bolt in that last attack. Why hold anything back? But we have to remember that these are aliens, and their decision trees might be different from the ones we would pursue.

  The Honish navy had also ceased to exist for all intents and purposes. Again, there might be some smaller craft hidden here and there, but nothing large enough to be a threat. And the terrorist and guerilla cells were all but destroyed. Maybe some survived, but they were unlikely to strike in the near future, not after the beating they had taken.

  That beating had much to do with not committing his Marine and Naval landing forces to another battle without some rest. Intelligence had estimated that they had killed over fifty thousand of the Klassekians, including sailors and pilots. And collateral deaths must have reached near a hundred thousand, despite the caution the humans had used in strikes in and close to cities. But the Imperial Marines and Spacers committed to that battle now had to live with what they had seen and heard, and for some of them that would take months to reconcile.

  The actual physical damage to his own forces were light. Forty-seven dead, twenty-one in one incident where a modern antiair missile, one of the few remaining in the hands of the terrorists, had knocked a transport out of the air by penetrating its underhull weapons bay. Two sting ships and six fighters downed, one shuttle disabled, and mostly light damage to one hundred and seventy-eight battle armor suits.

  “We’re picking up ships in hyper VII, sir,” came a call over the com.

  Probably what they were already expecting, though it never hurt to be cautious. He looked back at his Marine commanders. “Go ahead and get everything set up for a provisional launch in twenty-four hours. We may be changing plans on the fly if these ships are bringing what I think they are.”

  An hour and a half later the first of the vessels jumped into normal space, and their identities were verified by the s
ensor and com officers. All ten of the ships were hyper VII, capable of translating to a higher dimension than ships with only a VI drive, giving them four times the speed between systems. There were two more battle cruisers in the group, HIMS Buzz Aldrin and the Vasco Balboa. Accompanying them were three light cruisers, Chan Chun, George Vancouver and Tenjiku Tokubei. Four destroyers rounded out the explorer warships, Harold Tillman, Wang Dayuan, Jeffrey Peters and Auguste Piccard. And the true treasure of the convoy, and something the Admiral was not expecting, a hyper VII liner, one of the few in existence, the Lusitania.

  Nguyen looked over the specs of the last ship that he had pulled up on a holo. Lusitania was not large as liners went, with a capacity for two thousand passengers. Of course, when transporting people in cryo, that number could be tripled, since those passengers wouldn’t need amenities such as dining or recreational facilities. And, counting the time in and out of systems to the hyper barrier, as well as loading and unloading, she could carry three times the number of passengers of a comparably sized hyper VI in the same time period.

  And now, if we only had a hundred like her, he thought, shaking his head. Actually, to save all six billion of the intelligent inhabitants of the planet, he would need over a million trips from ships like this. If the entire resources of the Empire were put to evacuating this planet, they could still not do it in the time they had.

  Besides that liner, which he would have loaded and dispatched as soon as possible, the exploration ships carried between them another brigade of Marines, seven squadrons of sting ships, thirty assault shuttles, and three squadrons of atmospheric fighters.

  “Colonel Margolis,” he said into the com, initiating a link with his Marine commander. “I’m downloading the list of your reinforcements. I think it would be best if we held off on your operation until you have a chance to add them to your order of battle.”