Storm of Vengeance

by Jay Allan

  One more jump. One more jump, and we’re there.

  But, she wasn’t sure the enemy was going to give her the last bits of time she needed.

  Not if they’re moving up to attack now…

  “Commander…get me Captain Starr. Direct laser communication.” Thomas Starr was another Pilgrim, a man she’d known for almost fifty years. If any of her people still had faith that she was doing more than running from the enemy, it was Starr.

  “On your line, Admiral.”

  “Captain, I need your help.”

  “Yes, Admiral. Of course.”

  “Tom…you know I haven’t lost my nerve and brought us all the way here in some kind of panic, don’t you?” She felt a hitch, a feeling that she shouldn’t be letting go on the security surrounding her plans, not in the middle of the bridge, at least. But the secrecy had mostly served its purpose now. It wouldn’t be long before she told all her people what she expected of them. A tight beam comm line to an old friend and some open talk in front of her officers were tolerable risks.

  “I figured you were just as likely to panic as you were back at Regulus VII.”

  She had to force back an unexpected smile. It wasn’t everyday someone threw a forty-five-year-old reference at you.

  “Thanks, Tom.” It was all that had to be said. West was surprised how much it meant to her to know an old comrade still believed in her. “Tom…the fleet has to get through the next warp gate. All of this, the flight, the systems we’ve been through, it was all to get us here. There.”

  “And, you think the enemy is going to hit us now. In this system.”

  “Yes.” A pause. “We can’t let that happen. We’ve got to do something to hold them back.” She hoped he wouldn’t make her say it…and she was grateful when he didn’t.

  “My people can hold them off, Admiral. At least long enough for you to get the fleet through.”

  West felt a wave of relief…and one of guilt and sorrow as well. Starr commanded a task force of lighter ships, small cruisers and several types of escorts. Fast ships.

  And expendable ones. At least compared with the battleships and heavy cruisers of the line.

  “Just long enough for us to get through, Tom. Then your ships can follow.” She was upset with herself for that last bit. She knew she was sending Starr on a virtual suicide mission, and she was damned close to certain he knew it, too. She owed him the honesty to admit it.

  “Don’t worry about anything, Admiral. My people have this. Get the rest of the fleet through the gate…to whatever you’ve got planned. These bastards won’t catch you…you’ve got my word on that.”

  “Thank you, Tom.” She wanted to say something more, but she couldn’t find the words. Suddenly she felt sorry that she hadn’t confided in Starr earlier, that she hadn’t shared her plan with him. It was bad enough that few if any of his people were likely to survive the battle she was sending them into, but it really cut at her to think none of them would even know what they were dying for, what desperate effort they were saving.

  “We’ve got this, Admiral. You focus on the big picture.” A pause. “I never thought for a second that you lost your nerve. I just feel sorry for those miserable robots. They have no idea what they’re up against.”

  West tried to answer, but she couldn’t force out the words. She was still looking down at the comm unit when the signal cut out.

  She took a deep breath, her eyes fixed on the workstation screen as Starr’s ships began to move out of the formation, decelerating to turn and face the approaching enemy. She felt the urge to hesitate, to stay and not to abandon Starr and his people. But she knew that would just strip their sacrifice of its meaning…and throw away any chance she had to strike a blow against the First Imperium.

  She turned toward Sampson’s station, breathing in and exhaling again, slowly regaining her usual steely control. She had a job to do, and no more time for indulging emotions. She had a reputation for icy coolness in battle, and by God, she was going to live up to it.

  “Commander…all ships in the main force are to accelerate at full power…directly for the warp gate.”

  * * *

  The Fleet Intelligence had run its calculations as it entered each system. It reviewed vast reams of data, comparing previous search and scanning reports with an analysis of the position within the known portions of the warp gate network. It also took into account the number of transits from the starting point in the first system.

  It tried to take human emotions into consideration, as well, though it assigned a lesser importance to these, not because it considered them a lesser factor in what the enemy might do, but because it understood its own limitations in such analysis.

  It crunched millions of factors, countless possibilities, and it drilled all of it down to a single number, one that had assigned a probability of 1.0 or greater to continued pursuit as the optimal course of action after each warp gate jump. Until this last transit. The result now was 0.999762, virtually indistinguishable from 1.0, for a biologic certainly, but not for a thinking machine of its sophistication. Its orders were clear. Follow the enemy fleet as long as the probability was 1.0 or greater that their course was toward their mysterious homeworld.

  That was no longer the case.

  The Intelligence’s orders in the new circumstance had changed. Attack the human fleet and destroy it, at once. There was no reason to wait, no condition that justified or allowed further delay. It was time to attack.

  The Intelligence began transmitting orders, directing the components of the massive fleet. Entire task forces fired thrusters in perfect synchronization. The Intelligence reviewed multiple approach vectors…and selected an interception point.

  Then…it put a hold on all maneuvers.

  There was new data. The enemy fleet had increased its acceleration. They were moving at what appeared to be maximum thrust toward the system’s third warp gate.

  All except one sub-fleet.

  The nearest ships were decelerating. They appeared to be forming up to engage the Intelligence’s forces. The Intelligence considered detaching a single task force to destroy the enemy ships while the rest of the fleet pursued and attacked the main human force before they reached the warp gate. The calculations confirmed that it could intercept the main enemy formation short of the warp gate.

  But, the Intelligence ordered all units to decelerate slightly, to engage the single enemy task force before proceeding to pursue the main human fleet. There was no disadvantage to fighting the final battle in the next system instead of the current one…and with all the fleet’s firepower, destroying the enemy’s rearguard would take almost no time at all.

  Then the entire fleet would advance…and overtake the humans in the next system.

  And destroy them utterly.

  * * *

  “Task Force Beta has completed transit, Admiral.” All fleet units are through except for the command task force.

  West heard Sampson’s report, but she didn’t answer. Not right away. She knew she had to order the last of her ships to move through the gate. The mission depended on it…and the nightmare she’d watched engulf Starr and his people would be for naught if she squandered the time they had paid so much to give her. Still, she was frozen, her eyes fixed on the display, watching as the last of her friend’s battered cruisers tried to break off and run for their lives.

  Thomas Starr wasn’t one of those trying to get away. The officer had died with his ship, fighting to the last. West had been watching when it happened. She hadn’t reacted, hadn’t allowed the slightest chink in her ice-cold armor.

  She’d struggled with her demons on this mission, thoughts of Nick Frette, of the people she’d lost—and the ones she was almost certain to lose in the battle to come—even remembrances of friends and comrades long gone. She had wondered if the technology that sustained life had kept her going too long, if there was a limit to how much pain and loss a person could endure, no matter how long drug and genetic tre
atments kept hearts pumping and lungs breathing.

  But now she was back…ready for the fight she knew would be the climactic one of her distinguished career. She’d been considered a cold-blooded combat commander for that entire time, and now she embraced that label more fully than she ever had before. The blood flowing in her veins was frigid, and her eyes blazed with an intensity that seemed almost enough to bore through Garret’s hyper-steel hull. She had banished all weakness, personal loss, fear, even concern about the outcome of the fight she was leading her people into. She was death now, darkness…and she embraced every cold and negative thought, channeled unfiltered rage toward the enemy that had cost her—and her people—so much.

  “Admiral…” Sampson’s voice was tentative. It was obvious the aide could sense West’s grim determination.

  West looked at the display, watching as the lead enemy ships blasted toward her position at nearly 100g. They would be in missile range in just a few minutes…and it would take that long to get the entire task force through. But, still, she said nothing. She didn’t move, didn’t flinch. She just stared at the oncoming enemy forces, watching as they caught and destroyed the last of Starr’s ships.

  The bridge was silent, the tension palpable, hovering over the officers and workstations like a dense fog. Sampson sat at her station, rigid, staring at her screens, clearly trying not to look over at West.

  Finally, the admiral spoke. She didn’t turn her head, didn’t move at all. She just said, calmly, even quietly, “Forward, Commander. The rest of the fleet will move through the warp gate.”

  “Yes, Admiral.” The relief was obvious in Sampson’s voice, as she acknowledged, and as she turned and repeated the order into her comm unit.

  West didn’t watch, didn’t even listen. Her mind was already through the warp gate…with what she knew was waiting.

  The massive battle she planned, the Armageddon into which she’d led her spacers. The one she’d spent her life preparing to fight.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Planet G-48 II

  Somewhere Below the Surface

  Earth Two Date 02.26.43

  “God damn it…send a runner then!” Devon Cameron stood in the middle of the large cavern, surrounded by about sixty of his Marines. His forces were strung out all across the network of caves and tunnels, moving quickly, combining what scanner readings they could get with geological advice from the tactical AIs…and perhaps more than anything, a healthy dose of gut instinct.

  “Yes, General!” The aide’s sharp response came back in an instant, and a few seconds later, one of the armored figures that had been standing around turned and took off at a slow jog. That was just about as quickly as one could move in the tight confines of the tunnels.

  Whatever difficulties the operation presented—and they were many and varied—his people were as sharp as he’d ever seen them. He knew they had to be scared, but he was sure they also understood just how important a mission they were on.

  Cameron took a deep breath of the slightly oxygen-rich mixture his suit fed him, and he shook his head. The planet might have been a perfect choice for the production of antimatter, but it was a nightmare in terms of tactical operations, especially below ground. The crust was thick with radioactive elements, and the massive volcanic and tectonic activity caused all sorts of interference with communications and scanning. He had Marines scattered over more than a hundred square kilometers of underground mazes, tunnels, and caves…but his comm range through the heavy metals and dense radiation was less than a klick…especially in areas where the rock was particularly dense. The lack of communications was a nightmare for any operation, much less one as desperate and dangerous as this one.

  He sent a thought to his AI, and an instant later the display inside his visor switched to a map. The neural connection that allowed him to connect by thought to the computer that ran his suit had been an amazing leap forward, an area of technology that researchers had stumbled around for half a century…before the Mules made it work. Cameron knew his predecessors had fumbled with all kinds of tiny switches and buttons in their suits in past years, or shouted out verbal commands to their AIs. All of that was still there, of course, backup systems in case the primary ones failed. But Cameron hadn’t twisted his finger around to tap a button in ten years. Directing his suit to do something was no more difficult than raising his hand or turning his head.

  His eyes darted back and forth across the map. It was as up to date as possible, though the communications difficulties had really slowed progress in updating the dynamic mapping database. Half his people were tied up on a daisy chain of sorts, creating a system that could relay reports and data upstream to headquarters in links that were a kilometer or less in distance.

  And, headquarters was Cameron himself, and maybe a dozen and a half Marines following him around as he moved deeper into the planet’s crust. There was a command post on the surface, but his attempts to keep it in the net had been largely futile. The radiation and seismic activity on the surface, from the initial nuclear assault, and then Strand’s sustained bombardment, had played havoc with comms.

  The pathways on the map were color-coded. Most were blue, signifying fully plotted tunnels and chambers his people had moved through. There were a few spots where the scouts had discovered clear signs that the First Imperium bots had passed as they’d moved to the surface days earlier, and they were displayed in yellow.

  And now, there was one small section of tunnel, shown in bright red.

  Finished corridor instead of natural or bored out tunnel. An actual part of the complex his people were searching for.

  But, the signal had been brief, the report sketchy. A single fireteam had apparently pushed through into the finished corridor…and after they sent that basic info back, they went silent.

  Cameron had sent word down through the makeshift comm chain, but there were breaks in several places in the line. Finally, he just started using messengers. It was a throwback to methods of warfare from centuries earlier, but it still worked…slowly.

  It had been frustrating enough during the exploratory efforts, but he didn’t relish the idea of his Marines being in trouble somewhere they couldn’t call for help. The enemy had expended massive forces in its failed attack on the surface, but Cameron was pretty sure his people weren’t done fighting.

  Even as he considered that fact, he heard a commotion down the hall, and his comm unit crackled to life.

  “We’ve got First Imperium bots…sector four and sector six. Hitting us in multiple locations.”

  It was just what he’d feared. “Alright, Decker, Willis…get your sections moving. It looks like we found the fight we came here for.”

  He paused for just a few seconds, and then he reached around, pulling the assault rifle from its harness. “The rest of you…with me. Victory—or defeat—is down in those two sectors, and that’s where we’re heading. It’s time to finish this.”

  He held the rifle up in his hand, and then he moved toward the cavern’s exit, trying to ignore his aides as they called to him to stop and remain in the rear area.

  He was a Marine, and no pair of tiny little stars was going to keep him out of the action…not in a fight like the one his people faced now.

  * * *

  “Admiral…we’re picking something up on the scanners.”

  Strand’s head snapped around so quickly, she almost pulled a muscle in her neck. Her forces had been adequate to give the Marines orbital support—and to wait around and try to pick them up if they were able to complete their mission—but if another First Imperium task force showed up, the fight would be over in the blink of an eye. All her ships had full damage control operations underway, but the hard truth was, her fleet wouldn’t be combat ready again for months, if ever, and that only with the use of Earth Two’s massive spacedock facilities. Her vessels could limp home, most of them, at least, but that’s about all they had left in them.

  “Enemy ships?” She thought
she managed to keep the dread she felt out of her tone.

  “I don’t think so, Admiral.” A pause. “It’s just a single contact, and the energy level is very low. Enough for minimal life support…maybe…but not much else.”

  Strand looked back at her own screen, quickly checking the comm feed from the surface. The main command post was still in contact, but they hadn’t had a signal from the forces underground for nine hours. Strand’s stomach tensed when she looked at that report, with the time listed increasing each time. She knew the problems affecting the comm on the planet, but it still fed her worst concerns. For all she knew, every Marine who’d gone down there was already dead, the mission a complete failure.

  Or, they’re about to hit the main facility even now…

  That made her feel better…for a few seconds. But, then she realized, even if the Marines got through and were able to take out the enemy production facility and storage tanks, they’d probably kill themselves in the process.

  Whatever is going to happen, there’s nothing you can do but wait…

  So…go check this out, whatever it is. It’s not like you’re doing anything sitting here in orbit…

  “Bring us out of orbit, Commander. Direct course for that contact.” She wondered for a moment if she should send another vessel, but then she put the thought aside. Midway was in as good shape of any of her ships, and was probably kilo for kilo, the strongest vessel she had left. Besides, if she was sending anyone to check out some unknown ship, she was damned sure going.

  “Yes, Admiral.”

  “Let’s not take any chances. I want active scanners on that contact at full power. If there’s enough of an energy spike to light a candle, I want to know about it.” She paused, just for an instant. “And, bring us to battlestations.” She didn’t really expect a fight. Mostly likely, the contact was some wrecked ship, perhaps from the original fleet that had explored the system, with some minimal remaining power, but otherwise a ghost ship.