Crimson Sun (Starcaster Book 3)

by J. N. Chaney

  Except, he was the one who convinced them to do it in the first place, because of Cotswold, and Nebo, and Trixie, and everyone else who’d died in this miserable war the squids had started.

  You’re offering to surrender to us, he said to the shaman. Does that mean the war is over and you’ve accepted that you’ve lost?

  Surrender?

  Yes, that’s what you’re offering? So that we will leave this world?

  A sound filled Thorn’s mind, harsh and metallic.

  Laughter. The Nyctus shaman was laughing, peals of it ringing across the miles even as the navy surrounded their world in a lethal embrace.

  Thorn shook his head in disgust, listening hard to the rising tide of voices from the planet below.

  Kill the soft ones. Break their ships, just as you broke their worlds.

  And the truth loomed before Thorn like a lowering sword. There would be no peace, and the people of this world wanted him, and his navy, and his worlds—dead. All of them, just like his daughter. And parents.

  And, in a way, himself.

  Thorn opened his eyes to find Tanner staring at him.

  “Well?”

  Thorn looked at the viewscreen, at the grossly outnumbered red icons, and shook his head in disgust. “I offered them a chance.”

  “And their answer?” Tanner asked, a glimmer of hope dying as he saw Thorn’s face.

  “They say no.”

  Thorn watched a fleet die.

  Sitting on the Hecate’s bridge, watching the death ride of the Nyctus ships, he was reminded of when he’d stood with Scoville—then a Commodore—in the simulator at Code Gauntlet, watching the last moments of the Centurion, an ON heavy cruiser. Thanks to Nyctus magic obfuscating the ship’s sensors, she had ended up on a death ride of her own, along with many of her consorts that day. This battle was different in every way. The Nyctus were outgunned and overmatched, and had lost any chance of surprising the navy. Put together, the battle was a clash of resigned Nyctus officers who hoped their deaths were merely a precursor to the final death throes of humanity, achieved by an endless parade of Nyctus KEW craters on every moon, world, and station.

  Thorn had known their thoughts. They knew this was a death ride, and a hopeless, fruitless one, at that. They flung themselves into battle anyway, broadcasting their contempt and howls for revenge; blood oaths of every kind were sworn as the ships began to come apart, each dying squid wishing the most hideous death on each and every human in the galaxy.

  There was no middle ground now. There never had been.

  The larger Nyctus ships raced in, pumping out missiles and direct-fire shots from sundry weapons as fast as they could. The ON point-defense systems opened up, a web of glittering tracers reaching out and swatting away the missiles before they could even get close. The Nyctus did manage to land a few hits, then the Star Tiger transmitted the firing command to the fleet and a wave of destruction rolled over the squid defenders.

  The Star Tiger led the charge, rolling hard as she dispensed massed fire into the heart of a Nyctus cruiser. In a blazing detonation, the target vanished, replaced by another squid ship that was yawing to one side, leaking gases in a luminous trail. An ON missile struck it at knife-fighting range, and the Nyctus ship turned into a brilliant point of light.

  Across the battlespace, Nyctus ships were overwhelmed, broken apart, and chased down. Tanner directed a salvo of missiles into the engine of an enemy vessel that was gamely pursuing an ON destroyer, but bravery alone could not defend the Nyctus against three direct hits. The third missile failed to explode but tore a rent in the enemy hull so long that Thorn could see into the dying ship—and out the other side.

  A spray of ON point defense rounds shredded the wounded ship, and the Hecate flew through a debris cloud that was already fading to memory. In rapid succession, the capital ships and the lighter vessels, destroyers and corvettes, crumbled under repeated impacts of missiles, rail guns, and even some of the new particle-beam projectors.

  The Hecate suffered one hit, taking a glancing blow from the missile, then returned fire with a beam weapon that boiled the Nyctus armor away into slag. Before Tanner’s weapons officers could go for the kill, a streaking ON corvette raked the Nyctus target, then flew on as the squid ship imploded in a ball of plasma.

  This isn’t war. This is slaughter, Thorn thought, but he wasn’t disgusted. Just invested.

  In less than ten minutes, all of them had been reduced to sparking wreckage spinning and tumbling through a diffuse halo of frozen atmospheric gases and glowing wisps of plasma.

  Thorn could only stare in wonder at the end results. There had been no contest. So, murder comes home to the murderers.

  The small planetary defense craft the Nyctus sent up proved surprisingly nimble and harder to track. Half of them survived long enough to get among the ON ships, raking a light cruiser and a destroyer with their own rail guns, crippling both. But even the most skilled squid pilots couldn’t avoid the gale of return fire forever. The last survivor, trailing a stream of uncontained drive plasma, inflicted the only catastrophic hull loss on the ON fleet. With the last of its capacity to maneuver, it jinked hard, veering, and slamming into the heavy cruiser Cronos. The impact broke the cruiser’s back, splitting her in two with an eye-searing flare.

  Tanner, who’d remained impassive throughout the brief clash, only had to issue a handful of orders, all of them variations on steady as she goes. Otherwise, the Hecate merely kept her place in line, her point-defense systems governed by the fleet’s integrated protection plan. When it was over and a check-fire was called by the Star Tiger, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

  “The ideal battle is one in which you’ve brought overwhelming force to bear on your enemy. Doesn’t happen very often. When it does, though—”

  Thorn expected him to say, it’s a thing of beauty, or something similarly trite.

  “—it’s not a pretty sight.”

  Thorn looked from the carnage depicted on the viewscreen to Tanner. The man seemed genuinely conflicted by the results of their day, though Thorn knew Tanner would do anything to save a single human life.

  Thorn gave himself a slight nod. That was the best type of soldier, he concluded.

  The XO, Lieutenant Commander Raynaud, leveled a somber gaze on the viewscreen. “Can’t fault their bravery, that’s for sure.”

  The Tac O shrugged. “They were squids.”

  Thorn fired a sharp glance at the man, but it was Tanner who spoke. “No matter what these bastards as a whole have done, the crews of those ships fought and died as soldiers, Tac O. We will not minimize that.”

  “They didn’t die completely in vain,” the XO said. “Two dozen ships of various types have broken orbit and are burning hard on the most direct course away from us.”

  Tanner watched the telemetry onscreen. “That would be the squids evacuating their planet.”

  “There couldn’t be—what? More than a thousand or so Nyctus aboard them, total?” The XO shook her head. “Not much of an evacuation.”

  “No, it is not,” Tanner agreed.

  Thorn said nothing. Hating the enemy was a complicated thing. As much as he despised the Nyctus, he couldn’t deny the truth in Tanner’s words.

  Someday, that might be us, fighting a hopeless battle for a lost cause. Will we do the same? Will we refuse surrender at any cost?

  Scoville’s voice broke in across the Task Force main channel. “All ships, Green Light. I say again, Green Light, out.”

  Green Light was the established code word for the completion of Task Force Trebuchet’s approach to the hydro planet. The operation now swung into its second phase—planetary bombardment.

  Two squadrons of ships, a dozen in total, fell back, then accelerated away from the planet. They would act as early-warning, as well as a defensive screen against the arrival of Nyctus reinforcements. The rest of the Task Force fell into orbit, the light ships engaging the remaining planetary defenses, which were
scant. By the time the capital ships had readied themselves to open fire, resistance had been reduced to sporadic, fitful shots from the few remaining squid batteries.

  Tanner watched the tactical display, finally easing his troubled expression. “No other squid forces in sight—as in, none whatsoever. It looks like we caught them completely flatfooted.” He leaned back. “As much as they have feet, anyway.”

  “Do you still think the squids have something to spring on us, sir?” Thorn asked.

  Tanner shook his head. “No, I do not, Lieutenant Stellers. I think we are about to get away with obliterating a planet.” His face fell, dour and clouded with regret for an act he hadn’t committed.

  “I spoke to them, sir.”

  “What?” Tanner asked.

  “I spoke to them. Many of them, actually, before and after I offered them a chance to surrender. Do you know what they said, sir?”

  Tanner’s face fell, because he did know, but he waved Thorn to speak.

  “They swore to kill every one of us. They assured me that our races could not—would not—live side-by-side in this universe, and they did so while staring down the barrel of our best fleet, sir.”

  Tanner said nothing, his chin cupped in one hand as he considered Thorn’s report. When their eyes met, Tanner uttered one word. “Understood.”

  The time ticked down. Across the Task Force, the Cyclone missiles were powered up, their guidance systems coming online, receiving last-minute corrections to accommodate specific targets. Fifteen gigatons was a cataclysmic amount of destructive force, but it wasn’t enough to just dump it all onto the surface. It had to be applied with deliberate calculation, to inflict as much damage as possible.

  Osborne, the Tac O, gestured at his console. “Sir, the Star Tiger’s signaling that we’re ready to open fire.”

  “Alright, Tac O, acknowledge—”

  “Sir?”

  Tanner glanced at Thorn, who’d spoken up on sheer impulse, saying the single word before even really meaning to.

  “Any other junior officer speaks up at a time like this, I brush them off,” Tanner said. “You get a special pass. Are you about to tell me something I’m not going to like, Stellers?”

  “No, sir. It’s not that. I was wondering if I could speak to Admiral Scoville.”

  Tanner’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “There’s something I want—need—to ask him.”

  Tanner studied Thorn for a moment. Thorn let him, meeting his gaze squarely. The Captain finally nodded, once, and tapped his chair console.

  “Star Tiger, this is Hecate. I have Stellers for Scoville.”

  “Stand by.”

  “Scoville here. Stellers, I’m holding the firing order for this, so I hope it’s something I need to know.”

  “Sir, I’d like to be the one who gives the firing order,” Thorn said.

  Silence fell, and even Tanner found nothing to say.

  “That’s an unusual request, Lieutenant,” Scoville finally said. “Also unnecessary—or is there some mystical, magical reason you should do this that I don’t know about?”

  “No, sir, it’s not that. I just—” Thorn paused to let his racing thoughts catch up to his mouth. “This whole op was my idea, sir. I think I need to own this moment. The Nyctus spoke to me.”

  “I’m the one in command, Stellers. The responsibility for this Task Force and its actions is mine.”

  “I understand that, sir. But, for this—I just think I need to be part of it. Have my name firmly to it. If this is to be judged, then let my name be judged with it. Sir.”

  Tanner leaned back, watching Thorn, his gaze febrile and bright. But he said nothing.

  Thorn didn’t expect Scoville to agree and indulge this unorthodox, and admittedly unnecessary, request. But the Admiral surprised him.

  “Alright, Stellers. The firing order to commence the bombardment is yours to give, and will be so reflected in the operations log.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Whenever you’re ready, Lieutenant.”

  Thorn looked at Tanner. “I’d say that you don’t need to do this, Stellers. But I get that you do.” He turned to the XO. “Make sure this is recorded in our own log as well, XO.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Thorn looked back at the planet, a vast sweep of azure ocean speckled and swirled with clouds gleaming almost painfully white. He could see only a single piece of land, an island.

  He wondered how Cotswold had looked to the squids, if any of them had paused to simply look at the planet they were about to destroy, and felt anything at all other than contempt.

  “All ships,” Thorn said. “Fire.”

  Across the Task Force, Cyclone missiles leapt from their launchers and began to fall planetward. A few were lost to the last dregs of Nyctus defensive fire. The bulk of them plunged into the atmosphere, leaving dozens of incandescent trails like a spectacular meteor shower. They aligned themselves precisely, assuming trajectories designed to carry their warheads on ballistic trajectories to their targets. As soon as each had stabilized, they began to dispense their multiple warheads, some of which were decoys intended to confuse the enemy defenses.

  “First impact in five minutes,” the Tac O said.

  No one spoke. Each member of the bridge crew, from Tanner to the Marine manning the security post by the door, watched the viewscreen in silence, each alone with their thoughts.

  Thorn considered reaching out, touching the minds of the Nyctus below. But he didn’t. Instead, he heard Densmore’s voice.

  Revenge is a powerful motivation, Thorn. It’s also a terrible one.

  He knew what he’d experience if he Joined with the doomed Nyctus. It would, indeed, be nothing but an act of vengeance.

  “Impact in fifteen—” the Tac O said, but Tanner cut him off.

  “Not necessary, Tac O.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The terminator, the line between day and night on the planet, rolled into view. On its very edge, a dazzling flash of light suddenly pulsed. At the same time, there was a faint burst of static across the comm channel. Another quickly followed. Then another.

  Now a wave of detonations rolled across the planet, a ripple of thermonuclear fire searing the land, blasting powerful shockwaves through the water, turning the air around them to glowing vapor. The barrage went on and on as more warheads struck home. A pale shroud began to envelope the planet, vaporized water from oceanic strikes mingling with dust plumes from detonations on landmasses.

  And all of it happened in eerie silence.

  He’d been on Cotswold, though, and had experienced the destruction of Nebo through his daughter’s eyes. The surface of this planet would be a maelstrom of shockwaves ripping through water, earth and air, stellar flashes of heat, roaring fireballs.

  While Thorn watched, death came to millions of Nyctus. Millions more would succumb to the aftermath—radioactive fallout, a ravaged biosphere, famine and disease as the long nuclear winter set in.

  “Rounds complete,” the Tac O said.

  Thorn could see firestorms raging across the land, vast plumes of smoke and vapor spreading from water impacts. Their sensors had detected Nyctus construction, some of it sprawling and elaborate, beneath the world-spanning oceans. They’d been assigned the highest-yield warheads.

  “Any sign of squid reinforcements, a relief force, anything?” Tanner asked.

  “None, sir,” the Tac O replied. “Just the flotilla of ships running away. Every other ship on the screen is one of ours—”

  Thorn suddenly doubled over, groan rising to a howl. A sudden flood of noise had slammed into his mind like an icepick, cleaving him to the soul.

  Screaming. The squids were screaming.

  “Stellers, what’s wrong?” Tanner snapped, waving over the Marine. Per SOP, the Marine drew his sidearm and aimed it at Thorn. “Tell me quick, because I really don’t want to get your brains all over my bridge.”

  “They’re dying, sir,” Thorn g
asped, sitting upright. “I can hear them. I can hear them dying.”

  Tanner sat back. “Shit. Can you make it stop?”

  “I—” Thorn said, then stopped, gritting his teeth. He nodded. “Yeah. I can block it. But that’s the thing—I have to block it. It’s—”

  He closed his eyes.

  Millions of Nyctus, screaming into the ether. And not just from this planet. From others as well. On some level, the squids must maintain some sort of ongoing, collective Joining. That was a useful thing to know, but right now, it was nothing by a ragged chorus of agony, as shrill in Thorn’s mind as the screech of tearing steel.

  Thorn sat back, opened his eyes again, and took a moment to breathe. Tanner nodded to the Marine, who lowered his sidearm, then holstered it and stepped back.

  “Tac O,” Thorn said. “Or—somebody, put a star chart up on the screen. Show as much of Nyctus space as you can.”

  The Tac O looked at Tanner, who just said, “Do it.”

  Thorn walked to the viewscreen, his steps slow and deliberate as an inveterate drunk. He forced himself to listen to the screaming, mentally turning his perception as though he was swiveling his head, listening first one way, then another. Each time the desolate shrieks and howls peaked, Thorn made himself extend his awareness, riding the emanations of pain and loss back to their source.

  He turned and pointed at a star system. “There. There’s a squid planet in that system, heavily populated.”

  The Tac O looked from Thorn to Tanner. “Sir, I—”

  Tanner raised a hand, his gaze fixed on Thorn.

  Another wave of suffering. Thorn pointed again.

  “There.”

  He did another slow, mental turn.

  “There. And—another one, there.”

  The last surge of anguish was the strongest of all. Thorn had to bear down, forcing his awareness into the teeth of it, like trying to push himself into a howling wind—

  MURDER

  MURDER

  MURDERERS

  The accusations crashed through his mind like shattering glass. He drove on anyway.

  “There,” he said, pointing at one more star system. “Something big. A major squid world, I think.”