Deeper and Darker (Deep Dark Well Book 3)

by Doug Dandridge

  “And can you out think this SOB who captured you?” she asked, the anxiety before the battle charging her with adrenalin.

  “I hope so,” he said, hunching his armored shoulders. “If not, we’re going to give him a fight. But in the long run, he really can’t win. The Suryans will see to that, and those they recruit to our cause. In a year a real fleet will come here, and the New Galactic Empire will cease to exist.”

  “And the reason we couldn’t wait that year?”

  “You’ve seen the city, talked to the people,” said Watcher, his eyes narrowing. “I refuse to let these people suffer another year under this madman. It is a risk, but one I’m willing to take. I just wish you would let me send you back to the Donut. You don’t have to take this risk with me.”

  Pandi shook her head, tapping her hard armor with her right hand. It too had been reconfigured, with more armor, greater strength, while not having the bulk of Watcher’s panoply. “Then all I would do would be to worry about the trouble you’re getting your stupid ass in.”

  “I’ll have you know I am the smartest dumb ass in the Galaxy, and so capable of getting myself out of my stupid mistakes. Most of the time.”

  “You’re a man,” said Pandi with a smug smile. “You can’t help it that you can’t ever think without a cloud of testosterone screwing with your frontal lobes.”

  Watcher roared with laughter as they walked back to the cave, something which did Pandi good to see. After all, the man had the weight of the Galaxy on his shoulders, and a little levity could go a long way to helping him relax.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  This is slavery, not to speak one's thought.

  Euripides

  “We have an invasion situation,” came the call over the com, interrupting the Emperor’s attention to the tactical holo.

  One of his battle groups had ceased to exist, hammered to scrap by the enemy missiles. Defenses that would have taken out ninety percent of an even denser volley from his own ships had only been able to take out a little over forty percent of the Confederation missiles. They were just too fast, too maneuverable, and, most of all, too hard to track with their penetration aids. Half the missiles that had gotten through had gone for proximity kills, but the other half had hit their targets, even if those targets had already been expanding balls of plasma. It still counted as a hit if the blast went off in the center of the cloud and spread the plasma further. He had been watching the attack of one of the missiles on one of the first ships to be hit, transmitted from one of the vessels that had survived some seconds into the strike. The enemy weapon was a blur, even in extreme slow motion, but he could still see how it had maneuvered all the way in, moving out of the way of particle streams, hitting counter missiles with its own built in lasers.

  And the second force was about to be struck. They had been warned by the first group, and had watched the video of that attack. And the Emperor doubted it would have much effect on the efficiency of the second strike.

  “What do you mean, an invasion situation?” he asked, turning away from the holo and bringing up a tactical map of the capital and the region around it.

  “Enemy troops and vehicles have been spotted in the Lake Huarta Farming Region,” said the voice of Field Marshal Juan Gonzalez, the commander of the Imperial Army. “Reports coming in are sporadic and confused, and something has taken down our satellite coverage of the area.”

  And we have no ships in orbit, thought the Emperor, looking back at the system plot. The ships that had left Odin orbit were now fifteen million kilometers out, and it would take them almost thirty minutes to stop, plus an hour to come back into orbit.

  “What about aircraft? Have you sent any recon craft into the area? Any ground attack craft?”

  “We have, your Majesty. Anything that goes in low disappears, I’m thinking shot down. Anything we send through higher is met by these.” Another holo sprang to life, showing what looked like a very dangerous hunter/killer aircraft. The image was blurred, hard to see, even from close.

  “Have you shot any of them down?” he asked, already painfully sure what the answer would be.

  “No, your Majesty. They don’t appear on our sensors scans, and are pretty near invisible visually at any kind of range. Add to that they are staying in the clouds, and we only catch sight of one when it attacks, just for a second.”

  “Shit. I want them taken out of the air. Commit as many aircraft as you need. If worse comes to worse, set off aerial AM explosions. Maybe we can knock some out that way.”

  “That will cause a lot of collateral damage, your Majesty,” cautioned the Field Marshal. “The effects on the ground underneath, the crops from the factory farms, will be devastating.”

  “I really don’t care about that, Field Marshal. Because you are going to blow the hell out of that farmland anyway.” The Emperor looked at the expanded map, cursing again as he saw the area that was covered. “I want this attack taken out before it can get to the capital.”

  “From what we know, from the only reports that have come out of the area, we’re facing armored vehicles and heavily armored infantry, your Majesty. It will take a number of direct hits to put a dent in whatever they have. And we still haven’t figured out how they landed there.”

  They used wormholes, you moron, he thought, watching as a red tendril spread toward the capital, still sixty kilometers away. But from where? If from their ships, this must be limited to a battalion. If from their station, then there may not be a limit to them. “I want you to commit everything you have,” he ordered the Field Marshal. “They must be contained, until we can destroy them.”

  “Can’t we use kinetic strikes, your Majesty,” asked the Field Marshal, his expression showing his distaste for the order to nuke the land his people lived on.

  “We don’t have any, you idiot,” said the Emperor. “All of the ships that have penetrators on board are elsewhere.” And he had never really thought to equip the station with any, since there were almost always ships in orbit. Now, when he needed them, there were none, and wouldn’t be for at least another half an hour, if some of the ships on Odin blockade had any on board. “Follow your orders. I really don’t care what it costs. Stop them and destroy them.”

  The Emperor turned back to the tactical holo just in time to see the second battle group disappear under a hail of missiles. He cursed once again. Over a hundred of his ships had been destroyed, and he had yet to harm the enemy. Not even a scratch to their hulls.

  And the missiles of his own force were still trying to catch up. They had already exceeded the velocity they would need to eventually catch them. All they needed now was time to close the distance.

  * * *

  “All ships have reloaded, my Lord,” said Krishnamurta’s Flag Captain, Aagney Behera.

  The Admiral nodded his head. Every one of his vessels carried one or more wormholes back to the Donut. And every one of the missiles they had already expended had been replaced in the magazines. That was one advantage the enemy didn’t have, and one he hoped they hadn’t guessed he possessed. Better that they think we are running through our weapons, he thought. He had already smashed two enemy battle forces, but there were a lot more ships where they came from. By their current count over eleven hundred warships. And two hundred more would be arriving in the system in less than fourteen hours.

  “What’s the status on our attack craft?” he asked his Flag Captain, whose job it was to keep up on such things.

  “Ready to be deployed whenever you’re ready,” said Behera.

  “Prepare to deploy them then. Attack plan Gamma One.”

  The Flag Captain nodded, then closed her eyes and connected with the com net, ordering what needed to be done.

  Krishnamurta looked at the plot, zooming in on the force coming out from the moons of Odin. Most of the ships were still trying to vector in on his fast moving force. Others, about thirty of them, were starting to decelerate for an eventual return trip to Kallis. And we can�
��t have that, he thought.

  All of the cruisers released a wormhole into space. Each was attached to a specially configured probe that decelerated at thirty thousand gravities, getting into the proper alignment and getting rid of the velocity they held of their launching ships’ vectors. It still took some fifteen minutes before they were where they needed to be, but as soon as they locked into place small vessels started coming through.

  Each of the ships was of a size with the one Pandora Latham had used against the Nations of Humanity in the Supersystem, about thirty thousand tons, with a crew of six. Based on the same design, they had been modified with an inertialess drive, such as that used by the Suryans, though of a much more advanced capabilities. They were armed to the teeth with lasers, particle beams and eight short range, high acceleration missiles. Each exited their wormhole at a velocity of point five light, followed by another every five seconds, until fifty-two of craft were in space, heading for the Imperial force that was coming out from the moons. Minutes after entering the system space the craft had all surrounded themselves with globes of negative matter held in a magnetic field.

  Sealed in their own baby Universes, the ships sped forward at ten thousand gravities. In such a field they were capable of passing the speed of light. The only problem came when they dropped the field and came back to the normal Universe. If they were going significantly faster than when they entered the field the inertia rebound would turn them into fast moving atoms, with all the explosive power that entailed.

  “Ships are away, sir,” said the Flag Captain. “Wormholes are redeploying to their secondary positions.”

  “Very well,” said the Captain, watching as the fast attack ships disappeared from the plot, cut off from his sensors. Good luck, little falcons, he thought. The small ships were fast and maneuverable, but could not take much of a hit before they were destroyed. And good hunting.

  * * *

  Captain Kelivarish was the first of his people to leave his home system since the fall of civilization. His people had had it better than most, they had retained enough knowledge after the fall to have regained space five hundred years past. Because of that, they had been able to colonize multiple planets around their star of the Supersystem. Then, they had been hit hard by the murderous Nation of Humanity, who saw the Maurid species as the ultimate alien evil. One of their planets had been devastated from space, their fleet all but destroyed, several colonies on habitats or harsh moons destroyed.

  His people had been rescued by Watcher and his consort, who had defeated the Nation and brought safety to all the peoples of the Supersystem, no matter their species. One would be hard pressed to find a Maurid of his people who was not grateful to the pair to the point of being willing to give their lives for them. Their loyalty was absolute, and when the call went out for soldiers for the new Confederation, many who had served in the Maurid army answered the call.

  Some of his men came from earlier industrial societies, people who had never heard of the weapons they were using. He had been amazed at how fast someone could be brought up to speed using simulators and implant technology. The soldiers didn’t always understand the tech, but they understood how to care for the weapons, and how to use them, and that was really the important part.

  The Captain lay on his stomach, looking out over the road that wound its way through the valley. Like most of his people, he was wearing a very light, flexible body armor that would protect him from most projectiles, several seconds of personal lasers, and maybe a touch of particle beam fire. It enhanced his strength while not taking away his natural speed, and had a complete sensor and com package. With a thought he zoomed in on the road, seeing nothing but some civilian ground vehicles. With another thought the view changed, showing the line of vehicles moving through the streets of the town to the west.

  The technology bringing him this view was the most amazing to an old infantry officer like himself. The air for thirty kilometers in all directions was seeded by millions of microbots, recon drones in the micrometer scale. Most were hovering in the air, some were perched on the sides or roofs of buildings, on trees, even on a few thousand birds and other animals. All were linked into a network, feeding it back to hundreds of thousands of orbital satellites the size of memory chips that had been seeded by wormhole above the planet. They were all shielded against reasonable EMP emissions, though a really powerful weapon could knock out small swathes of them.

  Kelivarish matched the tanks up with the map that appeared on his HUD and connected to his platoon leaders and sergeants to let them know the show was about to begin. “No shooting until they’re all in the bag,” he warned his leaders, relying on them to pass the message down to the individual soldiers. A shot at the wrong moment could mean they didn’t get the entire armored battalion. While not a total disaster, since ripping the heart out of the formation would most likely result in enough shock to take the unit out of the order of battle, it was not the optimal outcome.

  And these are the cowards who captured and tortured Watcher, he thought, seeing the first vehicle leave the town three kilometers up the road. That thought enraged him, like it would most of these soldiers.

  “We’ve got the scouts in sight,” called the squad leader of the small unit he had placed further up the road to take care of the half dozen scout cars that had traversed the highway well ahead of the tanks.

  “Hold up,” he told the Sergeant, another of his people. He knew he didn’t have to tell the other Maurid what to do. The male knew that hitting the scouts early would just tip off the battalion. But it never hurt to make sure everyone was on the same page.

  “Do you want us to move to keep them in the kill zone?” asked the Sergeant.

  “Only if you can do so without giving yourselves away,” said the Captain, feeling stupid after saying in. The suits the commandos were wearing we also extremely stealthy, with both passive and active cammo fields. And all of the men were well practiced in moving quietly while presenting the smallest possible target, if any at all.

  The tanks continued to roll along, the clanking of treads sounding through the night. I’m surprised they aren’t using grabbers, thought the Captain, zooming in on the first tank in the column. He estimated that it massed between three and four hundred tons. And he assumed they were not using grabbers because they needed their supermetals for more important things than planetary defense weapons. Still, it put them at a distinct disadvantage as far as mobility went. If their treads couldn’t move them over it, they were stuck. And we’re about to stick a bunch of them on this road, at least temporarily.

  He continued to watch the tanks, zooming in on several of them to observe the men riding in the commanders’ hatches. All seemed alert, checking both sides of the road, their hatch mounted particle beams ready. They seemed ready for anything.

  He sent a click over the com, alerting everyone that the time was coming. The Captain waited a few seconds, then voiced the command. “Fire.”

  As soon as the words left his mouth the night was lit up by what looked like streaks of light, hypervelocity rockets leaving their tubes at forty thousand gravities, the heat of the friction of their passage pointing from launcher to target for a fraction of a second. Twenty rockets lanced out, all on a different target. All were well aimed, all hits, and twenty tanks died in fiery explosions. Some as turrets flew into the air, others as holes blasted through hulls.

  Particle beams fired at the same time, taking out every commander that sat a turret in the tanks that hadn’t been hit by rockets. Other beams took out those drivers who were piloting their craft from an open hatch. Still others took out gunners who were riding in their hatches, enjoying the night air.

  Ten seconds later the next wave of hyper velocity rockets reached out, and the tank battalion ceased to exist as a viable combat formation. Twelve tanks were left, all without commanders, many without drivers, trapped on the road with burning vehicles to all sides. Massed particle beam fire took them out.

&nb
sp; The Captain glanced up the road, to where the other squad had been waiting for the scouts, to see balls of fire rising over the hill. A quick check of the com confirmed that those vehicles were also dead.

  “To the rally point,” the Captain said into the com. He looked over at the two humans in his small HQ section and nodded. They all got up off the ground as one and started running through the night, first into the thick forest at their back, then to a point ten kilometers away where they would gather to regroup and prepare for their next attack.

  * * *

  “We have incoming missiles, my Lord,” said the young Suryan artillery officer, sitting at a panel that had been set up in the cave.

  “Nukes, or antimatter,” said Watcher, looking at the holo plot above the board.

  Pandi knew that both were bad news. Antimatter packed more destructive power per mass than a fusion warhead, though both produced quite a burst of radiation on detonation, mostly deadly neutrons which killed all animals, including those with intelligence.

  “Engaging,” called out another soldier, a woman sitting to the right of the officer.

  The tactical holo showed every Confederation aircraft heading for the deck, and then boosting at maximum acceleration away from the area. Six ground based icons blinked, as the shore artillery opened up.

  Outside, six lasers shot into the sky, invisible except where they penetrated the water vapor of the sparse clouds. Two beams engaged each target, and the three warheads detonated high in the outer atmosphere.

  “They were all hundred megaton weapons, my Lord,” said the artillery officer. “Fusion.”

  “Bastards,” said Pandi, grimacing. “He was going to kill his own people. How many would those warheads have taken out.”

  “From two to three million, my lady,” said the officer. “Maybe twice that many injured.”

  “Bastards.”

  “That order could only have come from Kitticaris,” said Watcher, looking over at the main tactical holo that showed the ground action developing, his spearheads pushing further into enemy territory, while two more warheads were taken out in the upper atmosphere over them. “My main worry is that he will start throwing low altitude cruise weapons at us. We will still be able to take them out, but the damage to the surface of this region will be considerable.”