A hundred and fifteen warp-capable single-seat vessels appeared inside the planet’s atmosphere and blasted ten of its thirty-two ground fortresses at point-blank range; their twenty-inch graviton guns punched through the targets’ force fields and armor, bursting open power plants and detonating stored ordnance. On one of the visual display screens, bright dots blossomed on the planet’s surface and engulfed the smaller points of light of civilian cities, marking explosions massive enough to be seen from orbit. Like malignant ghosts, the fighters disappeared as suddenly as they had arrived, before any defenders had time to acquire and engage them. Their next sortie would strike at other bases, orbital fortresses and, eventually, the enemy fleet’s capital ships.
Sixth Fleet launched its own missiles as it moved into beam weapon engagement range. The other two Viper formations abandoned their planets and appeared behind her ships, but she’d been expecting that and left blocking forces in place to keep them busy while she dealt with the enemy in front of her. She had more than enough firepower for the job at hand.
Enemy missiles were destroyed by the hundreds as they lumbered forward, faster than any manned vessel but still pitifully slow against energy weapons. Some eventually reached their targets, however. Here and there, a ship-killer managed to avoid the warp shields protecting most of the human vessels’ surface and exploded where it might inflict damage. The Halsey was struck once, but Givens didn’t even feel the impact: a glancing blow, easily absorbed by her conventional force fields. Others were less lucky: a frigate was damaged severely enough to fall out of the line of battle, and the Pan-Asian battlecruiser Jinan lost its main gun battery from a lucky hit. That was the extent of the damage Sixth Fleet suffered before it reached direct fire range. By that time, the fortresses that would have doubled the defending formation’s firepower had been slaughtered by her fighters.
“Fire as you bear.”
Sixth Fleet’s ships opened up on targets of opportunity, using their heaviest weapons first. Graviton cannon unleashed nearly-invisible beams of twisted space-time, followed by bright plasma discharges and the brief flashes of ultra-heavy lasers. The enemy replied in kind, but most of their shots were swallowed into the maws of warp apertures protecting the human vessels. And as if that wasn’t enough, the surviving hundred and twelve warp fighters engaged the heaviest Viper warships from all angles, striking weak points and disappearing an instant later. Givens watched the growing enemy casualty graphs on the tactical screen, fighting to keep her composure; the devastation CSG-1’s fighters were inflicting was awe-inspiring. If she had three or four hundred fighters at her command, she could have overcome every Nasstah fleet in the galaxy. Well, at least until the enemy came up with countermeasures. She was enjoying the benefits of unleashing a brand-new weapon system on an unprepared foe. Sixth Fleet had gone on the offensive too quickly for the news to sink in. Sooner or later, the enemy would adapt, and maybe even overcome the latest surprise humanity had brought to the table. Not today, however. Not today.
Another screen displayed a close-up view of the Viper flagship coming apart: bright blue and gold flames erupted at several spots along the bulbous two-kilometer shape after fighter and main gun shots inflicted critical damage. The forward section erupted in a cataclysmic explosion that filled the screen with white light for several seconds. When the flash was over, nothing recognizable remained of the dreadnought. Six thousand aliens and a tenth of the enemy fleet’s firepower went with it.
After that, it was as much of a massacre as the attack on the asteroid facilities. The two other Viper formations broke off their attack and warped back to their original bases, but not before a final fighter attack decimated them. Going into warp under fire all but guaranteed severe losses. The Vipers would have been better off staying put, not that anything was going to save them in the end.
Admiral Givens clenched her jaw and watched silently while her people did their work. Once all space and orbital defenses were down, her Marines, with overhead fighter support, would finish off the ground bases. And then she’d start burning every Nasstah city on the planet, using the same murder devices the enemy preferred for the job. Thermal-bloom devices were both the oldest and most advanced weapon system in the galaxy: they were a multimillion-year-old gift from the Elder Races, and one that nobody had been able to reverse-engineer for any purpose other than genocide. Anyone willing to kill billions of civilians used them. Which was another way of saying all Starfarer civilizations used them.
And to think we once assumed any species that managed to cross the spans between stars would have evolved beyond violence, Givens mused bitterly as she contemplated the brutal slog ahead of her. It would be funny if it wasn’t so terribly sad.
And worse, we have shown ourselves incredibly adept at thriving in this nastiness.
More Viper ships burned on the screen, harbingers of the greater fires that would soon follow.
Earth, Sol System, 165 AFC
“The Nasstah didn’t have enough transport in-system to evacuate more than five million people or so. They clearly never expected Sixth Fleet would venture so deeply into their territory. They also refused our demand for unconditional surrender. They refused to parley at all, at least at first. Their counteroffer was sent only after Hades-Two and Hades-One had been neutralized, and Third Fleet was about to advance towards the single remaining inhabited planet in the system.”
The rear admiral giving the briefing was a typical remfie, Tyson Keller thought sourly. The kind of staff desk jockey that could keep a straight face while using terms like ‘neutralize’ to refer to mass carnage unparalleled in Earth’s history prior to First Contact. Then again, Tyson supposed it just wasn’t politically wise to baldly tell the President that the US Navy had consigned seven billion sophonts to the flames. Even if the current POTUS was the kind that liked things stated plainly.
“And we have the text of their offer,” President Albert P. Hewer said, his homely features betraying none of the emotions he must be surely feeling at this moment. “That will be all, Admiral Felton.”
After the high-ranking flunky was gone, Hewer turned to the other two people in the room. “Thoughts, gentlemen?”
“Offhand? Their offer’s not good enough,” Tyson said, glancing at the third man in the office.
Geoff Chappelle, Assistant to the President for National Security Affairs, was the oldest man in the room, which was saying a lot; he’d been pushing ninety by the time First Contact happened, and had been one of the few people that age who’d survived the early anti-agathic treatments Earth’s alien benefactors had provided the survivors. Like Keller, Chappelle had been a science fiction writer, although one who’d spent a great deal more time and energy thinking about what aliens would be like, should humans ever encounter them. While not a military veteran himself, the current National Security Advisor had decades of experience studying military technology as well as imagining ways of advancing it. His expertise in politics and history were just icing on the cake. Chappelle had hit the floor running as soon as Starfarer tech restored him to full health, and played a crucial role in helping the US survive and eventually thrive in the brave new world that had begun with the deaths of well over half of every human on the planet. Tyson valued the man’s insights, even though he often disagreed with them.
“The definition of a good diplomatic deal is one where all parties involved are equally unhappy with the result,” Chappelle said. “On paper – I wonder how long we’ll be using that archaic term – the deal looks pretty good. The Vipers withdraw from the Tripartite Galactic Alliance, refuse to allow the other two members to use their space lanes for transit or supply, and pay us some pretty hefty reparations, both in Galactic Credit Units and war materiel. It’s not unconditional surrender, but not bad at all. On paper. Question is, do we trust them to keep to the terms?”
“That’s one of my problems with it,” Tyson said. “As a feeb friend of mine used to say, ‘Once a cocksucker, always a cocksucker.’ At
tacking us without a declaration of war pretty much guarantees they’ll break their word as soon as it’s convenient to do so.”
“On the other hand, at the moment it is very convenient for them to offer us those terms and to stick to them,” the NSA noted. “We just killed over one tenth of their total population. Their losses in industrial capacity are much worse, possibly in the thirty percent range. Admiral Givens made sure all the shipyards in the system were utterly destroyed before agreeing to the cease-fire. And their invasion and defense fleets in that sector have been annihilated. We’ve crippled them.”
“Not enough. Never do an enemy a small injury. As far as I’m concerned, they can all go compare notes with the Snakes down in Hell.”
“And if we look like enough of a threat, other Starfarers may decide to join the Alliance. It is pretty clear that our victory at Parthenon worried the Vehelians enough to go from being a friendly neutral to an unfriendly one.”
Tyson clenched his jaw at the reminder. The O-Vehel Commonwealth (a.k.a. the Ovals) had been a friend of sorts, a trade partner (and occasional rival) who’d had no problems doing business with America even after the war started. The Ovals’ sizable navy had made the Galactic Alliance wary of trying to force its way through the Commonwealth’s territory, in effect protecting an entire sector from invasion. Things had changed, however. The Ovals had suddenly become hostile, seizing hundreds of thousands of humans in Vehelian space and granting the enemy free passage through their territory. Only the fact that the Imperium was taking its own sweet time moving forward had prevented that betrayal from turning into a catastrophe.
“We’re scaring everybody,” Chappelle went on. “Too many civilizations already view us as some sort of bogeyman, and if we appear to be too barbaric to deal with, they might decide that the Alliance is the lesser of two evils.”
“Or they might also decide to leave us the hell alone if they don’t want us burning down their cities,” Tyson countered.
“There’s a fine line between impressing them enough to be cautious, and driving them into the enemy’s arms. The warp fighters haven’t helped us there, either. More and more people are referring to us as ‘demons.’”
Tyson glanced at Al. The President had been sitting quietly, letting his two chief advisors argue freely. This would be a fun bull session, except for the fact it might determine whether or not humanity would live to the end of the second century After First Contact.
“Everyone’s a critic,” Tyson went on when POTUS turned down the unspoken invitation to pipe in. “I suppose the galactic community would have been happier if we’d just rolled over and died quietly. Then they would mourn us poor humans. I’d rather we were hated than pitied, especially when that pity’s likely to be posthumous. Without those warp fighters, the Vipers would be burning down our cities, and they wouldn’t have stopped to listen to any counteroffers, or pleas for mercy for that matter. Fuck them.”
“I’m going to take the deal, Ty,” Al finally said.
“You’re joking.”
POTUS shook his head.
“I’m going to demand more in the way of reparations because that will weak them as much as destroying Hades has and also because, well, we really need the money, especially now that the Ovals have shut off about twenty percent of our galactic trade. But I’m taking the deal.”
Tyson bit off his initial response – you didn’t curse out POTUS, especially not with an audience – and waited silently for an explanation.
“Geoff is right: if we wipe out sixty billion aliens without even attempting to negotiate, we might turn the triple alliance into a Galactic League. Always leave an enemy an avenue of retreat. It might even help us with the Imperium. If we give them a way out of this mess, maybe they’ll take it. Leaving us to deal with the Lampreys.” His expression hardened. “They are the worst of the bunch, have had it in for us since we wiped out their Snake flunkies. They’ll probably have to go.”
“I think you’re making a mistake,” Tyson said, sounding a lot calmer than he felt. “The Alliance’s openly-stated objective is genocide. To offer them anything less in return is not proportionate. It sends the message that it’s all right to try to eradicate us, because the consequences of defeat aren’t severe enough to deter them. Maybe making an example of the Lampreys might be enough, but I doubt it. If anyone raises their hand against us, we have to cut it off.”
“There is also a practical aspect involved,” Chappelle interjected. “Can we physically exterminate the Vipers, let alone the entire Alliance? Yes, we wiped out the Snakes; they were a minor polity, only about twice the size humanity is now, and it took everything we had to put paid to them. Sixth Fleet is already over-extended; keeping it supplied that far out is taxing our logistics to the max, and every warp transit they make deeper into enemy territory increases the chances they’ll outrun their supplies and be cut off and overwhelmed. We put everything we had into that offensive. Push too far and we could still lose everything. We also need those fighter pilots back, to provide cadre for the new squadrons we’re building.”
“Yes. The Joint Chiefs have made those points as well,” Tyson had to admit.
Funny how the Navy had changed its collective mind about the ‘fighter boondoggle’ after the Battle of Parthenon. Now they all wanted a fleet of carrier vessels to command. Not to mention taking the actual fighters off the Marines’ hands. Al had stomped all over the latter idea, given that making a full switch would take time the US didn’t have, not in the middle of a war. For now, the gyrenes would be doing most of the flying, with Navy squadrons being added as production and training allowed.
“We’re buying time, Ty,” the President said. “Time to get more fighters into action. Time to build up. The Imperium is the largest Starfarer civilization in the galaxy, and they haven’t begun to fight, not really. Removing the Vipers from play will let us prepare for the main event.”
“Looking at the short term, you’re both right. Long-term, though, I think this is going to bite us in the ass. I think being brutal now will keep us from having to be even more brutal down the line. I don’t want to hand our children a situation where the only way they’ll ever be safe is if they are the only technological species left in the galaxy.”
President Hewer actually shuddered at the thought. Chappelle looked vaguely ill as well.
“I hope you’re wrong, Ty, but I have to think about the present. Beating the Vipers was tough enough. Destroying them is likely beyond our means. We’ll squeeze a few extra concessions out of them, and keep a close eye on them so they aren’t tempted to stray. Let seven billion dead be enough.”
Will anything be ever enough? Tyson wondered, but kept the thought to himself.
“Moving on, I want to discuss the communique from Xanadu System. On the face of it, the deal they are offering might improve our strategic position enormously.”
“It sounds too good to be true, Al. So it obviously isn’t true.”
POTUS grinned. “Always a regular Pollyanna, aren’t you? Sec-State is basically twiddling her thumbs. I think this might be worth her time. It can’t hurt to at least engage in negotiations, can it?”
Guess we’ll find out.
Tyson had learned never to trust aliens bearing gifts. Even the Puppies had always managed to hide a few strings in them. And the Xanadu aliens were a secretive bunch. Which was another word for shady.
They would all find out, but it would be the poor bastards going there who’d pay the price if Al was wrong.
One
New Parris, Star System Musik, 166 AFC
“No good deed goes unpunished,” USWMC Captain Peter Fromm said after he had First Sergeant Markus Goldberg sit down.
“We’re being sent on detached duty,” he continued. He grimaced at the words. His last such deployment hadn’t been any fun at all.
“We, sir?”
“Charlie Company. We get to accompany a State Department mission as a combination honor guard and walking dog
and pony show. Grunts and guns only. No vehicles or heavy equipment. I asked to let us bring all the weapons platoon’s TOE along, on the grounds that it’s better to have it and not need it than the other way around. Colonel Brighton is working on it. He’s not happy to see us go, but if we go, he doesn’t want to send us out naked and depending on the kindness of strangers.”
“Isn’t all this kinda irregular, sir?”
“Irregular as hell,” Fromm agreed. Protecting diplomatic missions was in the hands of the Bureau of Diplomatic Security, and when the DS needed a few leathernecks to supplement its own agents, it normally went to the Corps’ Embassy Security Group, which made the necessary personnel decisions. Embassy duty was a plum assignment, hardly the kind of thing handed down to a line company that was still in the process of refitting for duty after a brutal year-long deployment. “And it’s all my fault.”
Goldberg was a short, dark-complexioned, intense man with thick eyebrows that formed an almost-continous furry line across his forehead. They went up quizzically for a second before he figured it out by himself.
“Jasper-Five?”
Fromm nodded. “Jasper-Five. Turns out both State and War have turned that fiasco into a propaganda coup. Some Nullywood studio released a flick about it, as a matter of fact. I haven’t seen it myself.”
“I have, sir. Thirty-One Days at Kirosha. Knox Pitt is playing your part. A few of the guys have been gaming in the interactive version, and that’s caused a few problems. The Marines who were there mostly don’t think very highly of it.”
Fromm had been aware of the multimedia production but had done his best to ignore it. Unfortunately, there was no ignoring it when the Departments of State and War both decided that sending the hero of Kirosha to assist in a diplomatic mission was a great idea, especially since they rarely agreed on anything. He didn’t feel particularly heroic. All he had done was keep a few thousand humans and aliens alive during one of the many surprise attacks of the Days of Infamy. And victory hadn’t come cheap, either; he’d gotten quite a few good people killed along the way.
Advance to Contact (Warp Marine Corps Book 3) Page 2