The bridge layout was that of an inverted horseshoe with its two ends pointing away from the Helm and Navigation stations who sat at the top of the arc ahead of the Admiral. The ships First and Second Officers sat either side of the Admiral. Two Weapons Masters, one responsible for offence, the other defence, sat to her left in front of the Cyber Warfare station. To her right were positioned both Science and Engineering. Immediately forward of the Admiral, and behind the Navigator, sat Life Support.
“We are at full alert, Sire, and the task force is moving to a higher orbit,” confirmed Admiral Janice Frith, a graceful, elegant woman of indeterminate age with shoulder length black hair and a manner that instantly instilled confidence. A veteran of many fleet engagements, tactically she was at the height of her powers and a formidable opponent.
“I believe we can confirm the loss of Captain Stuart-Jacks shuttle with all hands and the possible loss of Ambassador Gallagher’s too, although he may be lucky and survive the impact if crash protection systems haven’t been too badly damaged. Through luck or good judgement, they managed to avoid the worst of the blasts that took out the Captain's shuttle.”
Alexander nodded grimly. He would only mourn for his old friend when he knew all hope of his surviving had been lost. “Is there any chance at all this was a terrible accident?” he enquired.
“No Sire,” came the reply, “Before we lost contact with it, telemetry from the surviving shuttle confirms the escorting fighters had small unexplained tactical fission devices in the cockpit areas. Probably detonated by the pilots themselves instead of remotely. Our own sensors have detected radiation emissions concomitant with nuclear blasts.”
Alexander thought for a long moment, then ordered Frith to immediately take out the space defence platforms that he could see from the sensors were already turning to try and locate the flagship and other vessels in the fleet. On commencement of an alert, the ship's systems had automatically reactivated the hulls stealth features. With the immediate change in orbit and given their technological level, it was now impossible for the platforms to get a fix on their location.
“Or so we think,” thought Alexander. “I shan’t take anything for granted now,” he said quietly to himself.
Faint, almost imperceptible, vibrations came through the floor as the flagships main batteries began firing, taking out the platforms. Alexander could feel them clearly as his armour transmitted the deck vibrations through to the soles of his feet.
Although normally used for fleet or ship to ship actions where the opponent was thousands rather than hundreds of miles away, he agreed with the Weapons Masters’ assessment that overkill was called for. Dauntless’s main particle weapons had already put the closest two platforms out of action and the railgun shells which impacted a few seconds later reduced them to debris no more than a few inches in size. There would be collateral damage on the planet below, as the immense velocity of the railgun shells simply tore through the platforms and continued on until they began impacting the surface of a major continent, creating craters hundreds of yards across. Their shock waves could clearly be seen even from this orbit, rippling across the ground, pulverising anything for a radius of several miles.
“Admiral, I’m detecting surface launches of ballistic missile type weapons from previously unreported silos across multiple sites and continents,” reported one of the Weapon Masters. “AI confirms a spread of impact destinations bracketing an area close to and surrounding our previous location. Estimated impact time one and a half minutes.”
“Thank you, Charles,” said the Admiral, turning towards the Emperor. “Sire, am I right in assuming that the planet below us will no longer be joining the Empire and that you wish me to take out the missiles and silos?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Ever the master of understatement Admiral, you are correct,” replied Alexander sadly, looking again at the planet and the blossoming impact points. “Take whatever steps you deem necessary to degrade their ability to strike at us. I want every launching site targeted and taken out and their ability to wage war against us degraded with extreme prejudice.”
Alexander gave his final instructions before turning away from the viewscreen and heading towards the exit. “You are now in charge Admiral Frith, I’m going to search for survivors and see if I can rescue my friends.”
The remaining cohort of bodyguards, waiting patiently in the departure area, suddenly came to attention as their suits indicated their Sergeant was receiving new instructions. They’d been kept abreast of developments and seen footage of the ambush so their mood was understandably both sombre and angry. A close-knit group, most were serving five-year tours in the Emperors personal guard, having been chosen as the best fighting men and women their individual planets could provide. Competition was fierce for this honour and the majority would be reapplying for further tours when their current ones ended.
Companions of the Emperor were feted as heroes wherever they travelled in the Empire and could expect to be some of the first to receive invitations to royal functions on their home planet, along with the guaranteed right to vote on planetary matters, or even a minor title if service was particularly meritorious. For the Imperial Navy, with the creation of powered combat armour, any reason to discriminate between men and women on the grounds of physical strength or endurance ended, however, men still outnumbered women in the Marines by thirty percent. Curiously, these numbers were mirrored but reversed for pilots, where women outnumbered the men.
“Listen up,” messaged the Sergeant, “we have five minutes to change armour, weapon loads and unit configurations. We are on a search and rescue mission; expect stiff resistance and we will be going in looking for trouble. Your suits will tell you what your designated speciality will be once you dock hot and reconfigure.”
Docking stations began rising from the floor next to each suit, allowing additional smart metal to begin flowing into them, increasing their mass and bulking them out from lightly armoured dress and into battle configurations. Subtle bulges began to form, indicating where weapons would be available as required.
“The Emperor himself will be leading us today, so this is our chance to show him what we are capable of and avenge our comrades,” continued the Sergeant as the suits finished changing. “Some of you have never seen him in action, so stay focused and watch each other’s back.”
The ships AI announced the imminent arrival of Alexander, who strode into the hall looking formidable and very angry. All markings on his now black suit were gone and it had bulked to twice its original size, with only his head showing inside a partially formed helmet. A monomolecular edged sword was sheathed on his right hip and his battle shield of partially collapsed material was fixed onto his left arm.
Small handheld lasers, although a popular staple of science fiction, were not practical for foot soldiers due to the bulk required to make them work effectively in the real world. The reality of modern combat meant laser weapons were normally reserved for spaceships or armoured vehicles that had the size and power to handle them. The bread and butter weapons favoured by ground troops were swords, shields, and handheld railgun-like firearms, all of which could be extruded on command out of the armoured suits’ smart-metal. High-temperature superconductor based batteries provided the power supply for both suits and weapons. If required, batteries could be topped up by microwave transmissions of power from orbit or ground stations.
Monomolecular swords, edged so they could cut through hull metal, combined with shields able to withstand repeated impacts from hypersonic flechettes, was the preferred weapon load for troops going into close combat.
“Gentlemen,” began Alexander, addressing the assembled Marines, “our comrades have been cowardly betrayed by the peoples of the world below us. We freely offered them the Empires protection along with the security and prosperity that membership brings, yet all the while they were planning to betray us. Our actions today will be long remembered.” He paused for a moment. “That’
s the formal bullshit. Remember our dead comrades-in-arms. We ask for no quarter and we’ll give none in return.”
Alexander looked at as many faces as he could, nodding slightly whenever his eyes met with a familiar face, recalling names even without the subtle prompting of Vimes in his mind.
“I believe we will find survivors of the second shuttle; how many I do not know, but if not we will bring their bodies back home. To your stations.”
Within moments of the depressurisation warning sounding in the room, helmets formed around heads as the Marines followed their Sergeant through the opening doors into the hard vacuum of the hanger bay, not bothering to use the pressurised docking tube. Alexander stood off to one side of the shuttle entrance, motioning his bodyguard into the opening, slapping the occasional shoulder armour of a veteran he knew personally as they passed by. Once all were inside he followed the Sergeant and sent a message to the pilot to seal the hatch, taking his assigned G-station at the front of the craft without a word.
Pre-flight checks all completed, the shuttle noiselessly moved up and forward, clearing the ground crews, turning left and exiting the hanger doors into space. As with the armoured suits, any previous markings had been re-absorbed back into the shuttle's hull and it had reconfigured itself into full battle readiness, having drawn additional metal from the hanger deck. Point defence bulges dotted the hull and an extrusion from the belly of the shuttle pointed forward, indicating the presence of a large railgun. On board, everyone noticed the slight tremor as the shuttle moved out through the flagship’s electromagnetic shields, closely followed by a squadron of fifty sleek, multi-purpose fighters. From a hanger on the other side of the flagship, an empty shuttle took station to the rear, all moving silently in formation as they accelerated away at high-G towards the downed shuttles last known location.
Things were not going well on the surviving shuttle.
“I’ve extruded a wing on the port side to partially compensate for the damaged repulsors and give us more lift,” the pilot said to Ambassador Gallagher, “but we will be impacting the ground in just over two minutes. I can still make the original landing site but would you prefer somewhere less obvious?”
“What about those low rise residential areas?” he replied, pointing ahead. “Crashing there will provide good cover from any ground assault until such time as we are rescued. We’ve got to hold on for at least thirty, possibly forty-five minutes before we can be picked up. Attacking troops might hesitate for a few seconds if civilians are around.”
“OK, Ambassador, I’ll try my best” the pilot replied.
Not lifting her eyes from the controls, Harris also addressed the Ambassador, “I’m expecting more of those silver fighters will soon be heading our way, sir, loaded with missiles rather than tactical nukes this time, unless they plan on wiping out the city. Without sensors, we won’t be able to do anything until we see them coming down our throats. Starboard point defences are now working and will take them out on that side, but we can’t do anything about those that come in on our port. We need to land now, before they get here.”
“I have every faith in you both, just get us down as fast as you can. Preferably in one piece please,” Gallagher responded. He feared the worst, not just for himself but also for his colleagues who had been waiting at the designated welcoming area and with whom he’d lost all contact following the ambush.
Settling lower every second, the shuttle avoided the high rise buildings and skyscrapers surrounding the large park meant to have been the welcoming zone, threading its way between two towers and heading towards the crowded residential part of the city situated at one edge of the park. Large crowds were gathered below, probably hundreds of thousands strong, who all looked up as the shuttle zipped over their heads, barely skimming some trees. The pilot wanted to bring the shuttle in at a low angle of glide to reduce damage and bleed off speed through friction with the ground. Moments before impacting the first of a row of terraced low-rise dwellings, the shuttle extended forward a large smart-metal shield to begin absorbing the impact. The shield crumpled away in an instan, doing what it was designed to do, but not before sufficiently slowing the shuttles forward momentum, protecting the occupants from serious deceleration G-forces. Crash cocoons of smart metal formed around the pilots in the instant of impact, moving them backwards and away from the forward cockpit area, allowing it to crumple and deform as designed, all the while absorbing more of the force.
The extruded port wing caught suddenly and violently spun the shuttle left, further slowing the forward momentum as it tore through the buildings, pulverising brick and metal walls. A section of the hull suddenly peeled away and before anyone could react, a chunk of metal reinforcement speared through into the interior, ripping into a row of Marines. Around them, apartments shattered and exploded into dust, with debris spinning through the air until the shuttle ended sideways on, halfway into a row of small, shop-like buildings. Behind it, clouds of rapidly expanding smoke and dust billowed high into the air, marking a four-hundred-yard long trail of destruction through the residential centre of town. Flames from ruptured gas mains started up in hundreds of locations along the crash path.
Finally down, the noise of the shuttles crash landing was in stark contrast to the relative peace from falling masonry and debris raining down amongst the wreckage. Within the rubble, cries could be heard coming from those trapped occupants of the buildings who were lucky enough to have avoided being crushed to death by the initial impact. The occasional loud crash of settling debris rang out as a counterpoint.
“Everyone out, look sharp people, we have work to do,” sang out the amplified parade ground voice of Master Sergeant Plewa. “Eames, DeGrizzo, Walker and Tommaso; you four stay with the Ambassador, the rest of you follow me.” Switching to battlefield communication via thearmoured suits, Plewa continued to give out instructions, all the while checking suit readouts for injuries, noting ten fatalities from when hull integrity was compromised. Farewells would come later when they were all safely back on the flagship. He went about organising the survivors, choosing another four Marines to act as temporary Corporals so he could focus on deployment.
Inside her cocoon, a battered and bruised Flt Lt Harris instructed it to open. She felt a flash of ice in her lower belly when nothing happened, but remembering her training, she hit the emergency release. To her relief, a seam of light appeared along the length of her cocoon which she was able to prise open. A large gauntleted hand appeared, grasping her outstretched arm, and pulled her upright. “Ambassador?” she asked, taking stock of the destruction around her.
“Well, you got us down, if not all in one piece. I’m getting no readouts from the AI and believe it and the shuttle to be severely damaged. Either that or it's very, very unhappy about what we did to it just now,” said Gallagher, attempting to lighten the moment. “Effectively, work on the assumption that everything is fried.”
A sudden series of loud explosions behind Harris made her jump as Marines blew the emergency exits.
Not seeing the pilot anywhere, she moved to get past the Ambassador as he was blocking her view of the pilot’s cocoon. “Help me get out…” Harris’s voice began, but trailed off as she realised that no-one could have survived the metal beam that had punched up through the shuttle floor, coming out through the cocoon where his head would have been.
Gallagher put his hand lightly on her right shoulder. “I’ve already checked and he’s dead. I’m sorry. Did you know him well?”
Harris looked up at the Ambassador whose helmet had fully retracted, exposing his face. “No, this was our first flight. After all he did in getting us down…Damn! Sorry, sir.” She looked at the damaged cocoon then back to Gallagher. “I don’t suppose you have any spare weapons hidden in that suit of yours, Ambassador?”
Gallagher shook his head. “That’s the spirit. No, Lieutenant, at least nothing you could use without armour. Stick close and between myself and these four Marines here we will do our best
to keep you safe.” Looking at each of the four Marines in turn, he asked, “Isn’t that right, gentlemen?”
“Yes sir,” they replied, moving to position themselves around the pilot and Ambassador as they all walked over the debris littering the floor beneath their feet towards the nearest exit.
Before leaving the shuttle, Gallagher tried merging his exo-suit with the shuttles hull in an effort to draw additional metal into his suit. “Damn,” he said, as the suit confirmed that the impact, loss of power and a dead ships AI had made the metal totally inert. “Worth a last try, though,” he thought, before following after the others and making sure Harris was covered by the Marines.
Master Sergeant Plewa decided to move everyone away from the immediate vicinity of the downed shuttle, for this would be the first place hit by any long-range barrage. Slightly concussed from the landing, Plewa had already used his suits pharmacological function to administer a cocktail of drugs to keep himself sharp and compensate for his injury. He saw from the readouts in his helmet that a number of his surviving Marines had already done the same. “No broken bones or wounds, that’s something,” he muttered to himself, checking the display again and noting it seemed those who’d survived the crash were all mobile and able to fight. “I’m almost getting too old for this shit.”
Now in his one-hundredth year of Imperial service, Plewa had been a Sergeant for ninety of those, refusing again and again the offer of further promotion as it might have entailed a commission away from the Emperors bodyguard. “Is this going to be my final battle?” he thought for an instant before dismissing the idea. “I know Alexander better than most and if he isn’t leading the rescue himself I’ll swear off alcohol for a month.” He laughed at the thought before triggering his communicator, telling the Marines to liven it up and get a move on.
Imperium: Betrayal: Book One in the Imperium Trilogy Page 4