Exodus: Empires at War: Book 7: Counter Strike

by Doug Dandridge

  * * *

  The common wisdom of space warfare was that ships had the advantage over planets in all respects. Planets could be armed enough to make a conquest more expensive, but they could not beat an invasion fleet. But that presupposed that said fleet would take out the orbital defenses from range, then target what shore defenses they could locate on the way in.

  The planet would, meanwhile, try to obscure the sensors of the opposing ships to give their weapons a little more time, always saving some to shoot at the landing shuttles when they made their inevitable appearance. This didn’t take into account that the enemy ships might not find out about the defenses until they were all in orbit of the planet, and within range of all of the weapons.

  This was an Imperial Army show. Thirty two brigades of mobile shore artillery had been transferred to the planet through the wormhole that had been brought there recently. Ninety-six battalions, two hundred and eighty-eight batteries. Each battery had ten of the one thousand ton mobile shore defense guns. About a third of the battalions were made up of hypervelocity projectile cannon, with secondary laser weapons. Another third carried heavy particle beams, while the last third were equipped with high power lasers. Eight hundred and eighty-eight guns, all fired at once, concentrating their firepower on the most appropriate targets among the enemy ships.

  The high velocity cannon fired one hundred kilogram penetrators with nuclear warheads at point two c. The rounds tore through the atmosphere as almost instantaneous streaks of fire that hit the enemy ships in low orbit, punching through electromag fields as if they didn’t exist, penetrating several meters of armor before their warheads detonated. The guns were specifically designed to take out ships in medium to low orbit, ones that would not be able to react in time to weapons the fields couldn’t repel, and the outer layer of their armor couldn’t withstand.

  The twenty scouts ships in low planetary orbit were taken out in an instant, each struck by scores of one megaton warheads. Half shattered, leaving swarms of debris flying around the world. The other half was killed just as well as if they had been blown apart, all of their grabber systems taken out, adrift with no functional weapons systems, doomed to eventually fall back into the atmosphere.

  The next layer of ships, scouts and a number of supercruisers, were also targeted. The first salvo toward them all hit the ships that were not prepared for their fire. The second volley had similar results, if not quite as spectacular. By the third volley the ships were taking out about half of the rounds with counter fire, lasers, particle beams and close in defensive projectile weapons. Hundreds of rounds disappeared in bright pinpoints of nuclear fire, while the others continued on to strike their targets, which didn’t have time to maneuver out of the way.

  The cannon immediately lifted on their own grabbers, using the shielding of the planetary defensive jamming to move to new locations. Over ninety percent of them made it. Ten percent took either severe damage from close misses, or were totally destroyed, their locations plotted from the trajectories of their shells. As soon as they had located new positions, they reacquired the closest targets and opened fire again.

  The particle beam equipped batteries took aim at both the ships in medium orbit and many of those further out. The beams, traveling at point six light, packed a punch, though not in the same range as the hypervelocity projectile cannon. They still ravaged the hulls of the target ships, eating holes in the outer armor, burning through grabbers, knocking out laser rings. The electromag fields attenuated them somewhat, but at this range the beams held together well, and achieved about eighty percent of mass on target. The guns fired for ten seconds, keeping their protons on target, then ceased fire as the projectors started to overheat. The guns lifted at this time and moved to new positions, sustaining about the same casualty rates as the projectile batteries.

  Lasers concentrated on the furthest vehicles out. They were not as effective against ships with strong electromagnetic fields as the other weapon types. But they still did some damage. And while all the batteries were firing, prepositioned missiles rose from the surface and headed for the enemy ships.

  * * *

  “Get us out of here,” yelled the High Admiral, feeling his flagship shudder underneath as particle beams struck. The ships in low and medium orbit were dropping off the plot at an alarming rate, or losing power and all acceleration. “Order all the force to move away from the planet.” We’ll move out of their range, or at least the range of their shore batteries, and lob missiles at them until this duplicitous world is dead.

  The ship shuddered again, two different motions, that of being hit by streams of fast moving protons, and the shift caused by launching counter missiles. The force was getting some intercepts, but the volume of fire and the close range was not allowing enough. The High Admiral looked on a side viewer to see one of his battleships hit by a missile, actinic fire blurring the view of the hull for a moment. It was not a large warhead, none of the missiles seemed to carry the gigaton range weapons that warships employed. While in the low megaton range, they were still enough to cause considerable damage, even to the tough supercruisers and battleships. Enough damage to allow other missiles to strike, until enough had hit to take the ships out of action.

  The Ca’cadasan ships pulled away at their maximum safe acceleration, pushing crews heavily into their couches as they accelerated at well over five hundred gravities. It wasn’t fast enough to take them away from their killers, as the shore batteries continued their tactic of fire and move, shoot and scoot. The High Admiral railed as his force died around him. Until they had finally got out of effective range of the weapons, five light seconds away. Naval weaponry would still be effective at this range, but not the smaller weapons of mobile shore guns, firing through an atmosphere.

  “Report,” said the High Admiral, looking over at his Tactical Officer.

  “Twenty-three ships made it away from the planet,” said that male, turning a frightened eye toward his commander. “Thirty-four still remain in orbit of the planet, unable to boost.”

  “Where they will die,” whispered the High Admiral. He watched on the viewer as one of those ships exploded, hit by more of the nuclear tipped shells. Missiles were ignoring those close in vessels now. Another exploded, and bright flashes ran over the hulls of some more. I will avenge you, he thought, now watching as the planet launched missiles reached for his remaining force. His ships were now cycling missiles at a prodigious rate, their laser rings sending off beam after beam, knocking most of the enemy weapons out of space.

  There were some hits, several dozen. The small warheads really didn’t do much damage, but to ships that were already in dire straits and trying to get away, it was enough. One battleship had taken so much that a strike by one small megaton warhead hurt enough to cause an antimatter breach aboard, and the twenty-five million ton vessel went up in a flare of spreading plasma.

  “Take us to a light hour out, and we’ll make them pay,” he told the Helm Officer.

  “We’re picking up incoming objects,” called out the Tactical Officer. “Over two thousand of them. Accelerating in at over ten thousand gravities.”

  “Where in the hells are they coming from?”

  “It looks like that moon over there,” said the Tactical Officer in alarm, as the main holo switched to a view of said body, an eight hundred kilometer diameter rock sitting in orbit four million kilometers from the planet. Along their path of retreat. And it was firing missiles from surface batteries that were on an intercept course with the force.

  “Turn our vector,” shouted the High Admiral. Two thousand missiles. And what kind? The same as were fired from the planet? Or ship killers?

  “We’re picking up ships coming from that moon, my Lord,” called out the Tactical Officer, his tone one of panic.

  The Admiral leaned forward in his chair to take in the view of the central holo, a close up of the edge of that rock, and what looked to be a hundred vector arrows coming around it. The kind of v
ector arrows that indicated ships.

  “They’re calling for our surrender, my Lord,” called out the Com Officer.

  “No,” growled the High Admiral. He glared at the Com Officer, until a flash at the corner of his eye attracted his attention. He turned back to one of the holos in time to see another of his battleships explode.

  “Get us out of this. We can’t let these vermin take us. You can’t let these vermin destroy me.”

  “There is no way out, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, his expression changing from fear to disgust. “We have two choices. We can surrender, in which case the humans will take us prisoner, and our fate will be in their hands. Or we can continue to resist against a force that we cannot defeat, and we can die.”

  The High Admiral stared with wide eyes at the holo, then back to his Tactical Officer.

  “They have called for our surrender again, my Lord,” said the Com Officer. “They want an answer.”

  “Missile impact in three minutes,” called out the Tactical Officer. “Orders, my Lord?”

  The High Admiral sat in his chair, staring at the holo with wide eyes, a low growl in his throat.

  “Order the force to surrender,” the Tactical Officer said to the Com Officer.

  “You cannot give that command,” said the Com Officer. “Only the High Admiral can command while he is alive.”

  The Tactical Officer gave a head nod of agreement, then stood up from his chair, fighting the increased gravity of acceleration on spread legs. He staggered over to the Admiral, who didn’t move a muscle. The Tactical Officer reached out, grabbed the older male by his horns, and threw him out of his chair. He let his weight fall on the other male and brought both hands up, then pummeled the High Admiral in the head, all four fists striking, two at a time. The Admiral tried to grab the younger male’s hands and failed. The Tactical Officer grabbed the hilt of the ceremonial dagger out of his leader’s belt sheath, brought it up in an overhand grip, and plunged it down through the throat of the High Admiral.

  “I am now in command,” the Tactical Officer told the bridge crew. He looked over at the Com Officer. “Signal the force to surrender. And tell the humans we have given up.”

  Moments later the incoming missiles started to self-destruct, while the human force grew closer.

  * * *

  Of the other two forces that had gone raiding, one had fought an indecisive action with a human force and was compelled to withdraw without hitting the developing world they had been tasked at destroying. The other made it to its target system, which was found to be lightly defended. They left a smashed world behind them, two hundred million dead, all cities and industrial concerns crushed. They left the system behind and headed back to one of the Ca’cadasan bases at hyper VII. Later, as they closed on the base system, they found they were unable to jump back down when half the force ran into the hyper barrier, the Galaxy taking revenge for their actions.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  There is no instance of a nation benefitting from prolonged warfare.

  Sun Tzu

  SESTIUS. JANUARY 5TH, 1002.

  At least we’re not burning up in the heat, thought Cornelius as he clambered up the side of the mountain. Like all the men in his platoon, he was wearing an unpowered skin suit that gave him a bit more protection than soft clothing, or bare flesh. The suit would stop low velocity projectiles and a moment of laser fire. Against particle beams, it was not much protection. It had a passive cammo coating that helped it to blend in with its surroundings, and when the pores were closed it trapped most of the body heat within. Everyone also wore a cloak that helped to hold in more of their heat, making the Rangers as near undetectable as possible to heat sensors.

  Of course, like all of them, that cloak was now rolled up on his back, over his rucksack, since none of the men really wanted anything interfering with their ability to climb the rock. The pistol on his side, a low velocity liquid chemical weapon, was snapped into place, his rifle, similar to the pistol with the exception of its muzzle velocity, was strapped over his back. And at least I don’t have to carry a rocket launcher, or any of the heavier shit, he thought as he wedged his fingers into a rock crevice while looking for his next point of contact. As an officer, he wasn’t required to hump more than his personal equipment. Of course, not being a complete ass, he was carrying extra ammo and grenades that might come in handy for the rest of the platoon.

  It was cool out, this high up, but not as cold as the higher snowcapped peaks that surrounded them. The fort was built into the rock of a plateau that allowed the Cacas good observation of all the valleys around them. And protected them from assault from anything but troop carriers, which they could shoot down before they got within attack range of the plateau. Or so they thought.

  Walborski shifted a foot, reaching up and placing the toe into the rock. Like his gloves, the soles of the boots utilized nanotech to bind to the rock. Still, he was careful to maintain three points of contact at all times. It was almost a thousand meters straight down if they fell off the face. No one wore antigrav vests. If one was activated, the enemy was likely to know they were there, which would compromise the mission. And no one expected someone equipped with one not to use it if he fell, so the temptation was removed. They did carry a light parachute below their rucksacks, for their extraction if needed, but it was a risk deploying an old fashioned chute in mountains so close to a rock wall, especially with the winds that were rushing past.

  Only a hundred meters to go, thought the Lieutenant, looking up at the two point men who climbed before him. His Platoon Sergeant had suggested that the LT let the entire first squad precede him, but he wasn’t wired that way. He wanted to be one of the first to the top, after the scouts, so he could get a look at what they were dealing with

  Off in the distance came the crack of explosives, the rest of the company on their diversionary attack. Hopefully attracting all of the attention hereabouts. From the noise echoing through the mountains, it sounded like they were in the next valley, when it fact they were two valleys over.

  The first man climbed over the lip of the cliff and crouched low, looking around for a moment, then waving for the rest of the people to come on. He disappeared as he moved further in, and the second scout took his place, serving as the link between the first scout and the still climbing platoon.

  Walborski pulled himself up over the lip of the cliff, aided by the scout, then turned to help the next man up. The second scout moved away, and the LT signaled for the man he had helped to stay in place. The man nodded, and Cornelius moved in a crouch toward the group of rocks the scouts were sheltering behind. The LT couldn’t understand while the rocks were there. He would have had them removed, and could only put it down to arrogance, or laziness. Both of the scouts were on their bellies, looking around different sides of the rocks, their glasses trained on something. Walborski went to the left and tapped that scout on the shoulder. The man crawled back and Cornelius took his place, looking first over the scene with his own enhanced vision, then bringing his field glasses up to get a closer look.

  There were a hundred meters of open ground between where he was and the outer works of the fort. A hundred meters of killing field. There were towers at each corner of the blockhouse that was the fort, in each tower a firing slit that allowed whomever was in them to cover all the approaches.

  “We’re all here,” said Sergeant First Class Rupert SanJames, his platoon sergeant, indicating the entire forty man unit had achieved the plateau. “Orders?”

  “We wait,” said Cornelius, not really liking that part of the operations order. The longer they sat here, the more likely they were of being discovered. But without the go ahead, they were at risk from the orbital assets.

  Cornelius checked the old fashioned watch that all Rangers wore, watching as the seconds ticked down. Of course, there was no guarantee that the Fleet would arrive on time, or be spotted by the enemy on time. But they needed to move while the enemy warships, what
there were of them, were leaving orbit, and the shuttles from the two transports up there started on their way down.

  “Get the launchers ready,” he ordered his platoon sergeant, then watched as the older man went to the four Rangers equipped with the weapons and told them to prepare. The men in question extended the launchers, getting them ready to launch, though still powered down.

  The deadline ticked by with no signal, and Cornelius wondered if they would be sitting here until someone spotted them, and brought down kinetic weapons from orbit. I don’t know why they think those troop transports aren’t equipped with dropped penetrators. If they were my ships, they would sure have them.

  Something flared bright in the air far above, a smaller second sun in the sky. A small tactical nuke that was the signal. “On my command,” he whispered to the men nearest him, who transmitted it in low voices down both sides of the line. SanJames was at his side a moment later.

  “Don’t even think about it, LT,” said the Sergeant First Class.

  “What?”

  “You’re an officer now. Follow me is a good motto, but you don’t need to be the first man into the open.”

  “I’m their leader.”

  “Then lead. But don’t put your ass on the line just to prove how brave you are. These men know about your history. You don’t have anything to prove to them.”

  And your job is to make sure I live long enough to actually lead Rangers, thought Cornelius, looking into the Sergeant’s eyes. He nodded.

  “And don’t stick too close to me,” cautioned SanJames, waving a finger in the air. “It wouldn’t be good for the both of us to be cut down.”

  There was another boom in the sky, another bright flash high up in the atmosphere.

  “Aim launchers,” he ordered, watching as a pair of the men went around the corners of the rock formation, lining up their launchers and looking through their sights. “Arm.”