Next, Sean switched the view to the tactical readout at Massadara, watching as the ships started in, and the estimated positions of their inertialess fighter force. Then to Sestius, all through the wormhole coms of the ships involved. He stayed on that one for a moment, thinking of the people that had elected to stay on that world he had visited soon after being informed that he was the Emperor. He didn’t know how many were still alive, and could only hope that some were.
He cycled through all fifteen of the systems his fleet was hitting, every place they knew the Cacas had a strong presence. Sean had studied a lot of old Earth history. To him, this was like being in the mid twenty to late twenty-first century, when naval wars across the globe were still pretty common. And an Admiral might have control of ships across millions of square kilometers of ocean. That had been the effect of radio, followed by satellites, on the way they made war. And wormholes were having the same effect. Prior to wormholes, it was more like warfare from the days of sail. Fleets were sent into battle, the results not known for weeks, sometimes months. Emperors sat in fear for their navy when they went to war.
I could have stayed in the palace and gotten the same information I’m getting now, thought Sean with a smile. But it wouldn’t be the same. This way I’m actually in the battle, even if I am hanging back with the rear echelon.
In three the attacks had already finished. The Cacas had been swept away by the stronger Imperial forces. Casualties were still high, but the systems had been freed, washed clean with human blood. Six still in various stages of battle. Four were going the human way, but two were not. The human forces were fighting hard, but it didn’t look like they were going to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat that were clamping down on them.
He shook his head. There was nothing he could do in any of those fights, no miraculous commands that could turn the tide. Right now he had to concentrate on this fight, even though he had pledged that he wouldn’t try to micromanage. But he still intended to exert overall control of the fight.
And here we go, he thought, watching as the inertialess fighters started to pull away from the carriers. This fight was in its early stages, but as far as he was concerned, they were committed to this battle. The Counterstrike was on, and this next couple days would either see them kick the Cacas out of the Empire, or prove they couldn’t.
Chapter Twenty-five
You must not fight too often with one enemy, or you will teach him all your art of war.
Napoleon Bonaparte
CONUNDRUM SPACE. JANUARY 8TH, 1002.
“We’re picking up some anomalous signals from outside the system,” reported the Fleet’s senior Sensor Officer over the holo.
“What kind of anomalous signals?” asked Great Admiral M’tinisasitow, glancing over at the system holo that showed only his own forces. And we can’t even track ships reliably in real time, due to that damned hyper turbulence. When, by all the Gods, will it finally stop?
“We really don’t know, my Lord. They match nothing I have ever seen, or anything in the data banks. I surmise they could be human ships, jumping down through hyper dimensions, or into normal space. Unfortunately, the turbulence is too severe for us to hear through it. But, as we are expecting them to strike, I think this could be a sign of it.”
“I agree,” said the Great Admiral. “Good work. And keep listening for any other signs.” Not that he’s likely to hear much. That was probably their ships dropping down into normal space, and we’ll have the Gods’ own time trying to track them by grabber emissions.
“All ships are to go to maximum readiness status,” he said next, tapping into the general com system that would go all over the ship, including his com specialists. “I believe the humans are on the outer edges of the system. All ships, ready all weapons and raise cold plasma fields to maximum. Active scans to cover all possible approach lanes.”
He stopped talking and the com link severed. His voice continued to speak in the background, as it would on all of the ships for the next several minutes, so that every warrior would get the message.
He looked back at the system tactical holo, highlighting what he thought were the most likely avenues of approach for the humans. He had done this very thing almost a week before, when the hyper distortion first manifested itself. And he had arranged for some surprises to be placed well out of the system near those avenues of approach. This hyper phenomenon is something the humans hope to use to surprise us. But it works both ways, and we can use it to surprise them as well. Probably not enough to win the battle, but maybe enough to shock them into making mistakes.
* * *
GRILYON BASE SYSTEM.
The Grilyon Admiral raised a drinking horn into the air and shouted out a toast in his own language. The thousand males and females in the great hall echoed his toast, which played back in Teranglo in Commodore Sung’s portable translator. All of the males and females were robust, muscular, and equal in every way in the Grilyon society. All were warriors, a people who reveled in combat. In fact, she had seen blood drawn a dozen times this evening. But merely blood, shed with their own claws. She had not seen anyone seriously injured.
To them it is sport, she thought, shaking her head, then taking a bite of the roasted meat on the plate before her. The entire society seems to be made up of people who love to fight.
She had been challenged a couple of times herself tonight, but the Admiral had stepped in each time and defused the situation, explaining that the humans were guests that did not understand their ways. Most of her crews had been left in the ships that orbited this class M world. She had foreseen that there might be problems with these cantankerous creatures. So she had only come down with her other captains, some of the anthropologists, and a few of her Marines.
She looked up to see another of the aliens staring at her, a behavior that normally presaged a challenge. She glanced over at the Grilyon leader to see him studying her intently. He wants to get our measure, she thought. To know if we can fight with honor. But I wouldn’t stand a chance against their weakest female.
“Perhaps I should accept their challenge,” said Major Saul Briggs, the overall commander of her Marine detachment.
She looked over at the man, who appeared to be as tough as any human she had ever seen. He ought to be, she thought of the former Force Recon trooper. Very few of her people were augmented. He was one of the few.
“I would prefer we not get in a fight with these people,” she told the Major.
“And that might be just what we need to do,” said Dr. Hau Quon, the chief anthropologist of the squadron. “After all, these people come from a society which holds martial prowess in high regard. And so far we have not proven that we have any.”
That’s nothing less than the truth, thought the Commodore. When the Gilyons had found them, they were running from what looked like a lesser force. They have no reason to believe we aren’t weaklings. And why would they want to ally themselves with weaklings? “We’re explorers, Dr. Hau. Not warriors.”
“And we’re still members of his Majesty’s Fleet,” said Briggs, fingering the Star of David he wore around his neck. “On a mission to forge alliances. And these guys look like they would make some damned good allies.”
Sung had to admit that the Major was correct. The Grilyons were individually a strong people, even if they didn’t control that large a fleet. And they were not bullies. Not really, despite their genetic predilection for combat. They weren’t conquerors. Weaker species they left alone.
“I would challenge our new friends,” said the male who had been staring at the Commodore. “I would test their courage and their spirit. What say you, humans?”
Sung looked over at Briggs. “Do you think you can take him? Or at least put up a good enough fight to gain their respect?”
“Hell yes, ma’am,” said the Major, looking at the large Grilyon, who was a strong looking warrior even among their fit looking people.
“My Chief of Ground Warriors accept
s your challenge with great honor, Warrior,” she told the male.
Everyone at the tables stood up and hurried toward the fighting ring. Not every match had gotten this kind of attention, but this was something every one of the thousands in the hall had been waiting for. The big male Grilyon stood on one side, taking off his weapons’ belt, then his upper fur and scale coat. He was barefooted, as were all of his people when not wearing full, high tech combat gear.
Briggs sat down and pulled off his boots, then stood up and took off his shirt. Sung had to admit that the Major was a fine specimen, with muscles rolling under his tight skin. He did a couple of stretches, amazing her with his flexibility. And I’m not sure why I’m surprised. He’s a fighter, and leader of fighters. It’s his business to stay in fighting trim. Her eyes moved between the human and the alien, and she wondered again about the wisdom of letting the Major fight.
“To first blood,” called out the leader of the aliens, raising his hand in the air. The Grilyon warrior moved a couple of meters into the ring, and Briggs followed his example. The leader dropped his hand, and the grinning alien warrior charged forward.
Sung was sure she had never seen anything move so fast from a standing start. The warrior covered ten meters in a second and bound into the air, claws on his feet extended, hands gripped into striking fists. Aimed right at the Major, who moved out of the way in a blur that made the alien seem downright slow in comparison.
The Grilyon hit the ground with a frustrated growl, then swung a backhand at the human. Briggs caught the swing on a double forearm block, his feet sliding in the dirt from the force of the blow. The alien jabbed with his other hand, catching Briggs in the chest and driving the air from his lungs. The hand that had struck first came back, opening into striking claws, and came down at the Major’s face.
Again Briggs was not there, sliding to the right and hitting the Grilyon in the back with a flurry of punches, so fast they looked like a blur to the spectators. There was the sound of intaken breath, and cheers for the Major. The warrior grunted from the strikes, that weren’t enough to take him down.
With a roar the warrior spun on his heel and jumped forward, right into a left legged side kick into his stomach that drove the breath from the creature. As it staggered back Briggs slid forward, launching another flurry of blows, punches, backhands, chops, striking the alien about the head and shoulders. Sung knew her Marine didn’t know the soft spots of this creature, and was trying to defeat him with sheer number and strength of blows.
The male reached out for the Major with a clawed hand, trying to grab the Marine’s shoulder. Briggs dropped lower to the ground in a crouch, under the claw, and pummeled the ribs of the Grilyon male with a series of short sharp blows. The thudding of the fists on bone sounded across the ring, and many of the spectators sucked in another breath at the display of martial prowess.
Briggs stepped back, looking over at Sung. The male stood there, trying to catch his breath, and she was fairly sure that the Grilyon had a broken rib or two, or whatever passed for them in his species.
“When will you call this fight?” she asked the Admiral, looking over at his predator’s face.
“It ends at first blood,” he said, grinning. “Not before.”
And now she saw the fatal flaw in this challenge, as far as her man was concerned. The Grilyons were made to draw blood. And Briggs had nothing on him that would penetrate that leathery hide. Maybe he can just take a superficial hit, she thought, wondering how she could get that idea to the Major. It was obvious to all that Briggs was punishing the alien, and could probably kill him, given time. And that was another result that the Commodore did not want to think about. The Grilyons saw fighting as an enjoyable pastime, but she wasn’t sure how they would react to one of their own being killed by an outsider.
Briggs ducked under another blow, then blocked a second, then threw a wheel kick into the warrior’s face. The alien’s head snapped back, and blood spurted from his mouth.
“First blood,” yelled the alien leader, stepping into the ring and laying a hand on Briggs’ shoulder. “You are the victor, human.”
The large warrior wiped the blood from his mouth with the side of a hand, then stepped forward to put his other hand on the Marine’s opposite shoulder. “You fought well, human. I would be proud to fight beside you, and call you brother.”
“As would all of us,” echoed the leader, looking around the pit to see head motions of agreement. He looked over at the Commodore. “We will fight beside your people, Natasha Sung. Against the honorless vermin you now battle.”
Sung looked over at her smiling Marine Major, now arm in arm with the warrior he had just battled, lifting a mug of their strong ale into the air. Not the way I would have gone about forging an alliance. But hell, whatever works.
* * *
MASSADARA. JANUARY 8TH, 1002.
“How are things going at your end, Baggett?” asked the Planetary Commander from his HQ. The com was coming through a couple of thousand kilometers of fiber optic cable, allowing them to talk without giving their positions away to the ships in orbit. Most of which were moving out of orbit to deal with the threat that was now striking at their force in the outer system.
“We’re ready to go, sir,” replied the commander of the First Heavy Infantry Division, his massive suit leaning against one of the holo projectors that would soon be employed to mask the surface of the planet. The fifty ton unit was currently powered down, waiting for its chance to project a holographic image into the sky that would obscure the visual observation of the surface. There were four hundred of the units in his area of operations, along with several hundred jammer sets that would mask the electronic signatures of every Imperial unit as soon as they powered up.
“In fact, the boys and girls are chomping at the bit, General.” He looked over at the King Tyrannosaur tank that sat under its high tech passive cammo covering, making it look like a small hill under the canopy of tall needle leaf trees. The tank was also powered down, the crew aboard, ready to get her up and running in seconds when the order was given. And they know exactly where to strike, he thought, pulling up the tactical map of the area, and the large force of Cacas who had recently landed and were frantically setting up defenses. More of their shuttles were landing every minute, ferrying the troops down from the almost helpless troop transports still in orbit, at least giving the soldiers a fighting chance, and not just making them targets of warships they couldn’t fight.
“Almost,” said the planetary commander.
The clock inside the heads of both men’s implants ticked off the seconds. Until, right as Baggett’s hit zero, the voice of the commander spoke. “Roll them out, Baggett.”
“Yes, sir,” shouted the General into the com, then switched to the broadcast circuit for his brigade commanders. “The word is go,” he said into the com, listening to the jubilant acknowledgements that came back.
Not very professional, he thought with a smile, not about to castigate anyone for the feelings he knew were going through his commanders. They want payback, for family, friends, even the strangers they had taken oaths to protect. Thoughts of Sestius, of his losing battle against the Cacas, giving ground as his attached units, his people, bled out. As the civilians he was supposed to be protecting died by the thousands. And now we get some.
The holo projector came to life, rolling into position beneath an opening, then firing a powerful blast of laser light in a wide cone up into the sky. The clouds overhead flared with bright light, the clear areas with a canvas of colors. The other projectors added their light, until an area of hundreds of thousands of square kilometers were no longer under visual observation from space.
The electronic jamming commenced at the same time, each unit putting out megawatts of static across all frequencies, blotting out enemy communications, covering up the electronic emissions of Imperial battle suits and vehicles. The division’s main battle computer, secreted in a secure cavern, was keeping track o
f all the changes to the electronic jamming, switching the division’s com through frequencies that were clear for seconds at a time.
At the same moment the ground based equipment powered up, a hundred hypervelocity rockets flew into the air, pulling a thousand gravities. A couple of seconds after launch, over fifteen kilometers into the sky, the rockets detonated. Two thirds of them blew out clouds of particulate matter that added more obscuring potential to the atmosphere. Thirty-two of them detonated with the flash and crack of nuclear warheads, ionizing the atmosphere, adding even more junk to look through.
The shore guns fired next, sending up their shells and beams to hit the bombardment ships that still sat in orbit. As soon as all the obscurants were in place they lost target lock, and continued to fire on where the targets were predicted to go in the next several minutes.
“Artillery, open fire,” was the next command over the com net. The hundred and twenty tubes of division artillery opened fire, sending their one hundred millimeter shells on shallow high velocity arcs into the enemy targets. Most of the shells had warheads in the kiloton range, rippling with nuclear fire across the Caca positions. Some were heavier rounds, carrying hundred kiloton warheads meant to ravage fortifications and destroy armored vehicles, their preferred targets.
The tank behind him rumbled into life, lifting on its grabbers, its electromag field coming up in a shimmering bubble. The tank moved forward, between the trees, knocking down one that got in the way.
Baggett walked away from the projection unit and back to his command bunker. It was not his role to close with the enemy, that was only a desperation move, with no place in this battle. His job was oversight, to make sure his brigades were doing what he wanted them to do. As it was the brigade commanders’ jobs to see to the dispositions of their battalions, to accomplish their missions, while the battalion commanders saw to the employment of their companies.
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 7: Counter Strike Page 36