“We need to hurry, your Majesty,” said the woman, keeping him moving until they got to the sealed hatch near his quarters. At least it had been sealed, up until this moment. Now it was wide open, as was the hatch inside the three meters of open space. And inside of that was his special ejection capsule, with three acceleration couches waiting.
“In you go, Sir,” said the woman. “And hurry.”
“Missile impact in two minutes,” called out the voice over the intercom.
Sean patted the woman on the arm. “Thank you, Catherine. And get your people to their own pods.”
Sean walked into the capsule and fell into one of the couches, letting it strap his suit in. Two of the Marines, a Sergeant and a Corporal, followed him in and fell into their couches, slapping their particle beam rifles into the racks provided. The hatch sealed closed, leaving Sean and the two Marines alone.
Kind of silly sending a pair of Marines to guard me, he thought, linking into the ship through the pod’s interface. If we get picked up by an enemy, there isn’t a whole lot they can do, except die beside me. He slapped the pistol holstered by his side, imagining using it if he was picked up by the Cacas, making them kill him so he didn’t become some kind of hostage.
The missiles were on the way in, on final approach. Every escort was jamming for all it was worth, doing all they could to mask the heavy cruiser. The Manila herself was oriented to put him into space on a path that would hopefully avoid all the debris if multiple ships were shattered.
Twenty light cruisers and fifty destroyers, most of them specialized anti-missile ships, were firing for all they were worth at the incoming missiles. Forty of those ships were interposed between the enemy weapons and the flagship, while the other thirty were further to spinward. They were still targeted by the enemy missiles, but most of the counter fire was directed toward the missiles that could end up targeting the flag. Only the weapons they couldn’t bring to bear for the protection of Manila were firing in their own defense. Even the carriers were firing everything they had at the missiles coming at the flag squadron, ignoring their own defense.
Sean took a moment to look around the pod, which was much more advanced than the standard model, with three meters of armor and its own electromag field. When he had been told about it, he had insisted that in the future all pods be improved, if not to this standard, then at least enough to significantly improve the chances of his spacers. Then his attention was again taken elsewhere.
And I’m to blame for this, again, thought Sean, watching as the missiles got to the one minute mark, at which time every ship in the force fired a couple volleys of offensive missiles, followed by plasma torps, getting the final defensive fire out. Every one opened up with hundreds of projectile cannon, the rounds set to explode a light second out and fill space with metal.
Sean dismissed the thought, and the blame. He was supposed to be here. He was the rallying point for the Fleet, and everyone had tried their hardest to keep him out of the thick of it. But the enemy had used one of their own tricks against them, and no one was to blame for that. Even if they had thought this was going to happen, space out here was too vast to sweep for ships laying cold.
The missiles the Imperial ships had fired were now detonating, each sending out a hundred one megaton submunitions in a spray that detonated seconds later. Lasers were acquiring missiles, blowing them out of space with a moment’s contact. The lack of graviton tracking was affecting the targeting, and they were getting fewer hits than normal. But still hundreds of enemy missiles were dropping off the plot.
Someone was thinking in the fleet that day. Every ship launched scores of countermeasures that sent a signal out to the missiles that mimicked those of the radar striking the vessels. Every ship projected holograms into space that mimicked their shapes to the visual sensors of the missiles. Jamming peaked. In a normal environment this tactic would have had some effect. In an environment without graviton tracking it was devastatingly effective.
Incoming missiles locked on returns that were nothing more than small decoys, or were confused by the visual garbage that filled space. Most of them, the four hundred some odd that made it through the defensive fire, went for proximity kills of objects that were actually much smaller than the target they thought they were going after. One light cruiser and three destroyers still took direct hits, shattering from the impact. Twelve other ships, including Manila, took damage from proximity strikes that released heat and radiation into their hulls. And the hyper VII carrier Zokoku, the flag of its task group, was left dead in space after five near misses. And then the missile storm was past, a couple of score clear misses sailing off into space.
The klaxons died, and a moment later the hatches leading to the pod opened, revealing a smiling Catherine Mays.
“It’s so good to see you again, Senior Agent,” said Sean, walking out of the capsule.
“It’s good to be seen, your Majesty,” said the smiling Agent.
“Kelso. What’s going on?” he sent over his com link.
“We backtracked those missiles and located the launching platforms,” said the Admiral. “Lenkowski is dispatching some ships to bring them to task.”
“Take them out from range, if possible,” said Sean, running back into his control room and pulling up the tactical holo. “I don’t want to lose any more people than need be.”
He looked at the holo as it came back up, breath sucking in as he saw what was going on at the moment. The Elysium/Klashak force was trading missiles with the enemy inner system force. Lenkowski’s main force was closing on the primary enemy fleet, trading missiles along the way. And two more of his outer groups were under missile attack from the enemy hidden in the Kuiper belt. “And let those two groups under attack know how to handle that attack. They might do even better than we did in their own defense.”
* * *
SUPERBATTLESHIP ANASTASIA ROMANOV.
Lenkowski was staring at his own tactical holo as his ships moved within beam range of the enemy. The missile exchange had not gone his way, and he had lost many more ships than the simulations had shown he would. The enemy was grievously wounded as well, but still had more beam based firepower than he did.
Just wish I had a couple of the superheavy units, he thought, as Anastasia Romanov shook from another particle beam hit. One of his standard battleships exploded, having taken more than her systems could stand. A heavy cruiser, then a couple destroyers followed suit. Moments later a Caca superbattleship blew.
Looking at the figures, Len was not sure how much of a command he would have when he flew through the enemy formation. He was pretty sure they would have more, just as he was sure that the rest of the Imperial ships in the system would put paid to whatever enemy were left alive after he was gone. Not that it will do any of the crews of this task group any good. I should have come in through hyper and dropped into normal space just outside the barrier, just like the last task group had done. That group had almost killed its forward velocity in an attempt to come back out and attack again, and was currently exchanging missiles with the Cacas. And now it’s too late to jump, since we’ll be crossing the barrier any second now.
“We’re taking a pounding, sir,” said the ship’s Captain over the com. “Do you want us to switch over to accelerate through them?”
“No, dammit,” growled Len as the ship shuddered again. “Continue decel. We need to extend this engagement out as much as possible, hurt them as much as we can.”
“Yes, sir,” said the Captain, looking not happy at all about the order, but obeying it.
“Sir,” said the Fleet Tactical Officer. “The Margravi ships are accelerating.”
“They’re what?” blurted Lenkowski, looking at the tactical holo that showed the almost hundred vessels of the allied task force putting on the gees. “Get me their admiral on the com.”
A moment later he found himself looking into the spider like face of the alien commander. “What are you doing, Admiral?” asked L
enkowski, realizing that he was actually talking to the entire linked crew of that battleship, represented by this one member.
“We are doing what is necessary, Admiral,” said the alien. Its eyes clamped shut for a moment as the bridge behind it shook. Len could see the confusion in the six eyes, a sign that casualties had occurred aboard the ship, and the group mind was having to readjust. “We are not important, except as the defenders of our species, and through them, our allies. So we are striking in the only way that assures success.”
They’re going to ram, thought Lenkowski. Dear God, no. They can’t do that. “Admiral. As your commanding officer, I order you to go back into deceleration mode and stick with the fleet.”
“And as an allied commander, we must refuse that order, Admiral, and do what we must.”
The com went blank, and even though Lenkowski called for his Com Officer to get them back, he knew it wouldn’t happen. The insectoids, who really had little in the way of individual identity, respected the singular minds of their fellow beings. And saw no choice but to sacrifice themselves to save those minds.
Len sat back and watched the tactical holo, as ship after ship from both sides dropped off, while the viewers showed their massive explosions in space. And on his right flank the Margravi ships pulled ahead, aiming for the enemy vessels in a suicide charge. Several of the Margravi vessels exploded under enemy fire, small destroyers, followed by some cruisers. Then they started to strike, a cruiser plowing into a superbattleship, a destroyer into a supercruiser. All hundred of the Margravi ships died. Fifty-three struck targets, in most cases larger than they were, and the Ca’cadasan left flank dissolved into nothing.
* * *
“Get us out of here,” yelled the Great Admiral, watching as the enemy ships did the unthinkable and took out his entire left flank in a suicide charge. “Order the fleet to retreat.” He felt panic running through him. I was supposed to be the conqueror, and they have thwarted me at every turn. He couldn’t even swear revenge against these creatures. His resources were used up, while there seemed no end to the humans.
“Where would we go, my Lord,” asked the Helm Officer, while the Com Officer looked back at him with confusion.
“Away from here. We need to gain space and get into hyper, so we have a chance at running.”
The Helm Officer gave a head motion of agreement and started working his board. There is no chance of running, thought the Great Admiral. But it’s either that, or stay here and die.
“Get me the commanders of my task groups on the com,” he told the Com Officer, then waited for the well-known visages to appear on com holos surrounding him. “This is what we are going to do, my leaders,” he told them, then outlined the plan that would sacrifice most of them, so that his ship and a force of escorts would get away.
* * *
“Enemy ships are accelerating, your Majesty,” called out Kelso.
Sean nodded his head as he watched the tactical holo that showed the Ca’cadasan ships, what were left of them, vectoring away from Lenkowski’s force at their maximum acceleration. The Margravi panicked them, he thought, still unable to get the images of the vessels of his allies sacrificing themselves to achieve victory out of his mind.
“Any way we can stop them?” he asked, watching as missile icons continued to move back and forth between the forces.
“I don’t see how, your Majesty,” said Kelso. “Lenkowski still might be able to kill some of their ships. In fact, I would say it’s a sure thing he’ll continue killing them. But a lot of them are going to get away.”
“I want their flagship stopped. Have we identified it?”
“We think we have, your Majesty. But it’s surrounded by other vessels.”
“Send out an order to stop it, at all costs,” said Sean, clenching his fists. “At all costs, Admiral. I want their leader, alive if possible, but definitely he is not to leave the system.”
* * *
After hours of running the Caca force was finally away from most of the enemy ships. They had run into the system for about an hour, then started vectoring back out. We’ll be able to jump to hyper in another two hours, thought the Great Admiral, looking at the viewer which showed the multitude of stars in this Galactic arm. Then let them try and catch us. His ships were still capable of faster acceleration than most of the enemy ships, and all had the better shielding that allowed them to transit hyper at higher velocities. And once they were in hyper.
“We’re tracking missiles,” came the call from the Tactical Officer.
“Where?” yelled the Great Admiral, wondering if his last plan was about to be crushed.
“Off the starboard stern,” said the Tactical Officer, looking back with wide eyes.
“Time to impact, you idiot?” growled the Great Admiral. As the last word left his mouth the ship shook like it was about to come apart, followed by two more massive strikes. The Great Admiral was standing up at that point, his helmet retracted, nothing to protect his head as he fell back and slammed his crown on the Com Officer’s board. Blackness enfolded him, and he knew no more, for the moment.
* * *
“We got him,” yelled Ngovic, thrusting a fist into the air.
Suttler smiled as he watched the warheads going off on the enemy ship. All were in the two hundred megaton range, not traveling fast enough to add much kinetic energy to their strikes. One missile hit the bow of the ship, taking out a good portion of its grabber ring. The other two hit the ventral and dorsal hyperdrive projectors respectively, destroying them. That ship would not be going into hyper anytime soon.
Four other of the enemy ships were hit, two going up in plasma globes, the other two sustaining major damage. But the flagship was the primary target, and it had definitely been disabled. And the enemy still didn’t know where he was, as he had launched the missiles from positions sitting in space.
“Inform his Majesty that we have his enemy flagship for him,” he told the Com Officer. “Awaiting pickup.”
* * *
CONUNDRUM SPACE. JANUARY 10TH, 1002.
Sean sat on the throne like chair in the large conference room aboard Augustine I, which was again serving as his flag for this meeting. The huge Ca’cadasan male walked across the room toward him, twin sets of arms in restraints, armored Marines marching beside and behind him. The Marines stopped him twenty meters away from the Emperor, then pushed the big being down to his knees. The Ca’cadasan resisted for a moment, but couldn’t prevail against the strength of the suits.
“I believed you thought our positions would be reversed,” he told the Caca, standing from his throne and walking toward the creature. He still wore his own battle armor, helmet retracted. While he was sure the creature was under control, he thought it best to not take stupid chances because of bravado. The young man he had been would not have recognized the wisdom he had absorbed in this short vicious war.
“You are the commander of the Ca’cadasan forces that invaded my Empire?”
“I am,” growled the male, his hate filled eyes glaring Sean. “And one day you will still bow before us. If not me, then another of our officers. Or our Emperor.”
“That day is not coming, creature,” growled Sean in return. “You are defeated.”
“And we will never give up,” shouted the Caca, struggling against the strength of the Marines suits and failing to budge the heavy troopers. “Our people will gather more of our strength, and we will never give up until you are no more.”
“I believe you, Creature. Which is why I will destroy your people first. Since you will never give up, and we can’t watch our backs forever, I will bring the fight to you. I will destroy you first. Believe that.”
Sean looked in the Ca’cadasan’s eyes and could see the fear there. And one day I will see the same in the eyes your Emperor. He walked back to his impromptu throne and took a seat, watching as the Caca was pulled to his feet and led from the room. My reign will not be one of progress, but one of war. And when it’
s over, I’ll be damned sure that nothing else in this Galaxy will ever threaten my people again.
Epilogue
SESTIUS. JANUARY 12TH, 1002.
“I would like some time alone, Sergeant,” said Cornelius, looking into SanJames’ eyes.
“What is this place?” asked his Platoon Sergeant, standing by the section of fence that had withstood the kinetic strike that had pretty much destroyed everything else.
“Home,” said Cornelius, turning and looking at the fields that were now overgrown with native vegetation, mostly scrub, though some of that foliage would eventually grow into the trees that ruled this part of the planet. He turned back to look at his top sergeant, and the men who stood with him. His men. “I want to look around a bit, alone.”
“We’ll watch out for you then, sir,” said the Sergeant, glancing at the forest that bordered one side of the field. They both knew what kind of things lived in those woods. Not anything that would stand up to their weapons, of course, but still dangerous.
Cornelius nodded, then slid through a gap in the fence that had been made by something traveling at high speed. The fence was made of modern materials, and would be standing in this place for a thousand years, even as the forest grew up around it. The robot tractor sitting in the middle of the field was made of similar materials. Some of it might be melted from the strike that had taken out the nearby mobile shore gun. There might be holes in its skin. And what was left would stay intact for as long as the fence. Probably longer.
He walked up to the tractor, pushing his way through the low brush. His feet came down on some bones, one snapping under his boot. Cornelius squatted down and looked them over, recognizing them as the bones of a young cow. Probably one of the juveniles we were raising, before… He let the thought trail off, not really wanting to visit there now. But they were not so easily dismissed. He thought of the days he had spent in these fields, sweating under the hot sun, working on this recalcitrant robot, feeding those cattle. All that work, taken away by monsters from the stars.
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 7: Counter Strike Page 39