Admiral Pauls was in the process of putting together a task force to go down to the surface of Rauud Mithie. Scans from orbit revealed nothing and Admiral Haad insisted there was a Colonial Navy ship, the Lake Tahoe, with a full crew plus diplomatic hostages somewhere beneath the surface.
“If we act quickly, we can get our people out and put an end to this war once and for all. We have total domination of the spaces around the Varson Empire and once that lunatic warlord unfolds someplace, we capture him, execute him, and demilitarize these worlds. In the meantime, we need to get down to the surface and find our ship.”
“That sounds very noble of you, Admiral Haad. Unfortunately, from what we’ve been hearing from the captured officers, this Bale Phatie character is not one to give up this fight so easily. I have ships standing by, awaiting my orders. Canuure has been targeted for total destruction. Once the ruling administration has been rendered harmless and the will to fight has been blasted out of them, Phatie will have no other options. We take away his ability to make war, we blast this race back to something equivalent to our Cenozoic. I have complete authority to do just that.”
Haad stalked the ready room. He was in his dark blue working uniform with his CVX-22 ballcap perched squarely on his head. In his mind, unless the WIN ships sent a contingent of ground troops to the surface, the fate of the Lake Tahoe would forever be a haunting unknown and the lives of her men and women forfeit should the Varson madman and his battle group unfold around Rauud Mithie. While he appreciated the help from the WIN, Haad questioned Admiral Pauls’ “shoot first, ask questions later” strategies.
“What if it were one of your ships down there, admiral. Would you be as quick to condemn them to die? Wouldn’t you at least send a ship down to check it out?”
Pauls chomped down on his cigar. Even though he was in a foreign Navy, and technically outranked Haad, he was operating in the Fringes, territory not under the direct auspices of his command structure. Human cousins or not, Haad was determined to get his way and Pauls was resisting. “So far, we have been fortunate in this campaign, admiral. We have suffered only four ship losses totaling 1,400 sailors. I don’t see the need to hazard anymore of my men and equipment to satisfy your curiosity. For all you know, that ship of yours was lost months ago. Perhaps there are no survivors of any kind and the whole thing will just be a wild goose chase. I think we should keep our stations here and wait out the events. Your madman should be unfolding any minute now if we can believe the reports from their captured captains.”
Haad looked at his aide. “Commander Earl, ready my shuttle. Gather any of our crew that may still be aboard the North America. Notify the bridge of the Kona to expect me soonest. Get her ready to sail. Have my staff officers assembled in my ready room upon my return.” Haad turned to Admiral Pauls and snapped him a quick salute. “By your leave, admiral. With or without you, I’m going down to that planet. I have a company of Colonial Marines aboard my ship and I plan to launch a search and rescue mission as soon as I can make stationary orbit around Rauud Mithie. I appreciate your concerns for your Fleet and your ships, I applaud your help in putting down this threat to our colonies. Now I must act in what I believe is the best interests of the Colonial Navy, and thus must act accordingly.”
Pauls stood and offered a hand. “Godspeed, Admiral Haad. I will provide you cover as necessary. Happy hunting.”
The men shook and Haad left the ready room under steam. He was anxious to get this affair finished, anxious to get back to the familiar confines of his own ship, back among his own officers who understood his conviction. The Colonial Navy never left anyone behind. It was not their way.
When Haad and Earl stepped out of the inner lock leading to Hangar Bay Seven, one of eighteen such bays on the massive WIN flagship, he was met by Captain Dent and his XO, Tex Decker. Haad told them what he planned to do and his idea was met by skepticism from Decker and optimism from Dent.
“Personally, I think it’s suicidal, sir. Why don’t you just wait it out up here with us, wait until that madman unfolds and we capture him,” Tex said in his accented drawl.
“Is that what you would do, Commander Decker, if that was one of your sister ships? I don’t think so,” Haad said.
“You be careful, admiral, you don’t know what you’ll find down there,” Dent said through a thin smile. “They said you Colonial Navy officers had guts, and now I can see what they were talking about. If I can soften up the old man, maybe I can help you guys out. Let me see what I can do.”
Haad looked Dent in the eye and recognized the spirit of a fellow warrior. Different uniform, totally different set of priorities, but all true Navy underneath. “That would be fine with me, captain. But, I’m going to get my men down on that planet with or without your help. You understand?”
Dent stepped back and saluted. “Admiral on deck!” he yelled into the cavernous hangar bay. Haad and his aide stepped off from the WIN officers and headed toward his waiting shuttle.
The hangar bay crewmen, enginemen, maintenance techs and quartermasters all saluted him as he passed.
Chapter 47
“We have identified a large concentration of metallic ores at this location, sir,” Mister Richard said. The Kona Coast was parked in a geosynchronous orbit some 28,000 kilometers above the surface of Rauud Mithie.
Deep in the bowels of the ship the Colonial Marine company was gearing up for the ground assault. Their shipboard electrical weapons were being swapped out for projectile assault rifles, over-and-under pulse guns, and compressed-air enhanced urban assault sidearms. Each Marine strapped on full body armor, web belts with an assortment of grenades and pocket flares. Tactical comm helmets completed the ensemble and with the addition of night-vision eyewear the company was armed and ready to go.
“Admiral, Major Valens reports her company ready to go,” Max Hansen said from the comm center alcove. She had just relieved Mister Hurd at the comm console.
“Roger, that. Have them standby and await further orders. Mister Richard, patch through those coordinates to Major Valens. Sunrise coming in two hours; we’ll launch at first nautical twilight down there, hit the ground right at sunrise.”
Haad’s commands worked their way down the chain and after hours of mission prep and planning, his soldiers and sailors were minutes away from launching. The mission profile called for two shuttles to lead the assault starting with high-gee landings on the surface at what had been identified as a camouflaged landing facility near an area that showed a high concentration of underground metal. Two additional shuttles would drop a minute later and off-load armored transport vehicles and dust-off immediately into low-altitude orbits of the area, providing air cover and cee-three for the Marine company. Once the LZ was secured a fifth shuttle and four lifeboats would make planet-fall and await any rescued hostages or stand ready for any casualties.
Trying to get the Lake Tahoe off the ground, should she still be intact, was ruled out. Retrieving the human assets was deemed far more critical than trying to reenergize a dormant navy ship. Should the mission fall apart, the Lake Tahoe would be destroyed and left behind.
Captain Dent had managed to persuade Admiral Pauls to run interference from high orbit should any Varson warships unfold into the theater of operations. Pauls also had committed ten shuttles for emergency exfiltration but would not launch them without extreme provocation.
Admiral Haad planned to be on the fifth shuttle and plant his boots on Varson soil after the landing zone was deemed secure. His senior staff voiced their disapproval at his seemingly reckless desire to join the combat operation but he was not dissuaded. He argued successfully that the only way to end the Varson threat once and for all was to have a pair of Admiralty eyes on the ground, an officer capable of assessing the underground facilities on this rogue planet, an experienced front-line unrestricted Colonial Navy admiral with the decision-making authority to assess and ultimately destroy the Varson threat for good. Something that was not done after the first war
. Haad knew that unless these worlds were occupied by humans and the warring factions still fomenting revenge and retribution were systematically stamped out, the Fringes would become a perpetual war zone. He didn’t want his unborn children to have to fight future battles of survival with the Varson lunatics.
“Mister Orr, you have the bridge,” Haad said as he relinquished the command chair. “Mister Renteria, see to it that all of our lifeboats are ready to launch should they be needed,” he instructed his quartermaster. Lieutenant Commander Earl nodded to the boatswain’s mate and the admiral was piped off the bridge.
As Captain Orr settled into the command chair he immediately started the chain of events necessary to launch the rescue mission. All of the department heads reported in. Medical personnel were standing by with a full complement of corpsmen and medtechs. Radio checks and frequency assignments were made. Orr contacted the WIN flagship and marked the departure time. All was set.
At 0415 hours on 15 March 2780, the first two shuttles burned out of the Higgs toward Rauud Mithie.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, as he noted the date/time entry in the ship’s log, he wondered about the date. The Ides of March. Maybe a good sign, maybe not, he thought.
Either way, the die was cast.
* * *
When the first Varson ship unfolded in the space high above the southern hemisphere of Rauud Mithie it was detected immediately by the WINS Antartica. The Great Black Fleet destroyer was in a polar orbit 42 million kilometers from the main battle group and her captain sounded the alert within seconds of determining the identity of the interloper.
It took all of two minutes and twenty seconds for his alert to be received by the North America, and another twenty seconds before the twenty picket ships around Rauud Mithie went to battle stations.
In the two minutes it took the Decimator and the rest of Bale Phatie’s ships to make normal space, the WIN Fleet had target resolutions on all fifteen ships.
“Kona Coast, this is Captain Dent. You might want to hold off on your ground assault. We have nine Varson warships and six oilers leaving the fold at your zero seven seven plus eight four degrees. Range five one million klicks. Acknowledge, Kona Coast.”
“Kona Coast, message received,” Captain Orr said. He ran his hand down the control stack and sounded battle stations. “All hands, now hear this: Incoming Varson battle group unfolding off our starboard flank at two o’clock high. Azimuth-range confirmed. Battle stations, battle stations.”
“Mister Orr, Admiral Haad. What’s it look like up there, Gene? Hell, man, the first two boats are away!”
“Admiral, it looks like the ships the WIN chased out of Wilkes. Same number, same hull profiles.”
“Roger. I’m on the way. Contact those Marines. Too late to bring them back now, have them take up defensive positions and hold the area around the LZ,” Haad said. “Have the transport shuttles with the APCs ready to launch as planned. I’ll be back on the bridge in five. Have Lieutenant Commander Hansen load the Mols protocol.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Bridge, out.”
* * *
“Sir! Enemy ships in orbit around the planet. They were waiting for us!”
Bale Phatie looked at Mister Yaggaar and emitted a low growl. How was this even possible? he thought. Not only was Rauud Mithie supposed to be a hidden location, a planet unknown by the humans, a planet two thousand light-years from the human stronghold on Elber Prime, but also it was infested by the same ships that had chased him away from his prize at Wilkes. Impossible!
“Are you sure these are the same ships, Mister Yaggaar?” Phatie said, leaping out of his command chair.
“Confirmed. Naarid Sheerd agrees. Same group of ships. Not as many as before, but the lead ship, the big one, its the same.”
“Contact our ground facilities, Mister Sheerd. Alert them to our presence,” Phatie ordered his comm officer.
The bewildered lieutenant looked over his shoulder and shuddered. “But, your eminence, they will not answer us. The planet has been EMF dead since you moved the secret labs here. They’re not equipped to communicate with us.”
The reality of what the officer said sent Phatie over the edge. He stormed around the bridge with his sword held high. His movements and gyrations filled the air with the sounds of angry wind chimes caught in a hurricane. His cape flew about his twisting body and thin strings of spittle escaped his lips. He was looking for someone to strike, someone to receive his full-bore anger.
“Find a way, Mister Sheerd! I don’t care how, find a way to get a message through.”
The comm officer threw up his hands and bent his back into the console. “Yes, your eminence. We can try ULF bands. Maybe they can get something through bone induction.”
Phatie closed the distance to the comm alcove in four quick strides. He pushed several other bridge officers out of his way as he moved. His sword was held high in his right hand and just before he removed Sheerd’s head the man spoke up. “We’re being hailed, sir!”
The razor-sharp blade stopped a millimeter from the back of his neck and parted the first layer of his uniform collar. “Hailed? Where is the transmission coming from, Sheerd?”
“From a Colonial Navy ship. I put her about 30,000 kilometers from the planet’s surface,” Lieutenant Sheerd said, his heart in his throat.
“Put it on speaker,” Phatie commanded.
The background static washed away in a wave of modulated carrier.
“Attention Varson ships. This is Admiral Uri Haad of the Colonial Navy. Your ships have been locked into our computer targeting system, you have no place to run. Power down your weapons, lower your Higgs Fields. Comply immediately or suffer the same fate as your ships suffered around Canuure. This is not a warning, but a promise. Lower your Higgs and be prepared to take on a boarding party. You have two minutes to comply or you will be blown right out of the sky. Admiral Haad, out.”
The message repeated once more in Elberese and twice again in native idiomatic Malguurian. Phatie listened and said nothing. His bridge officers looked to him for instructions. His weapons officer, Mister Heevie, already had his hand poised over the control stack on his console.
Phatie marveled at the message. They had developed a system of communicating using our own words. Human ingenuity was something he marveled at and feared at the same time. How could these humans know of any action around Canuure unless they had already been there and defeated the home guard? How was it possible these ships were waiting for his returning flotilla, already in orbit, already locked onto them? How was it that this Admiral Haad — the same named individual that had participated in the taking of his brother’s life so many years ago — was now threating him in his own space?
“Enable a link to that ship, Mister Sheerd. I need to teach this human swine some manners,” Phatie said.
“Channel opened, sir. You may broadcast at your convenience.”
“This is the Piru Torgud Bale Phatie on the Malguurian battle cruiser Decimator. I do not recognize your authority, admiral, and find your demands unworthy. You are in Malguurian Domain space and should you not depart immediately you will be fired upon.”
“So, we meet at last, Bale Phatie,” the speakers crackled with Haad’s electronic voice. “If you insist in continuing this war, your ship will be the first destroyed. I have offered you all the terms you are entitled to. Lower your Higgs or I will do it for you. You have no choice in this matter.”
Phatie pranced around the back of the bridge for a second or two. What arrogance, he mused, that human sailor actually thinking I would ever let him on the bridge of this ship, let him touch her control stacks. “Then I suggest you bring an army with you, admiral. Your boarding party will meet stiff resistance.”
“On the contrary. When your engineers stole the designs for the Mobile Bay and incorporated them in your hybrid ships, they also stole the electronics and computer interfaces. I need not step one foot onto your bridge. I can override your controls from he
re. We found that out from our messenger boats from your home world. Canuure has fallen, Phatie, along with the defense forces you left in orbit around your other worlds. Comply or die; those are your only choices.”
The lies coming out of this heathen’s mouth sent Phatie into another rage. Mister Heevie was the first officer to lose his head on the bridge. How could his men have been so stupid? They had copied the Colonial Navy’s computer systems? “I don’t believe your lies, admiral. There is no way you can lower my fields. That is just an idle threat.”
“Pardon me, your highness, standby one,” Haad’s translated voice said.
“Higgs going down! Our field is being drained, your eminence!” Yaggaar shouted, turning completely around in his chair in the middle of the helm control console.
“Sir,” Admiral Onduure yelled from the CIC, “weapons going off-line. Main engines spooling down!”
“Your eminence, twenty ships closing on this position,” his helmsman said.
The radio crackled to life again. “Time to end this, Phatie. Your spies on Bayliss have all been killed. It’s over. Don’t make me shut down your life support systems as well. No more time. Surrender or be killed.”
That was the last straw. Lieutenant Manciir ducked out of the way as Bale Phatie stormed toward the hatch. He sliced his way through his personal guards, and shot and slashed his way to the hangar deck.
The Piru Torgud shot two maintenance technicians and stormed onto the nearest shuttle boat. Once in the control cabin he lit the propulsion system, armed his weapons and grabbed the control yoke with both hands.
In one swift motion he fired at the outer door and blasted his way off the Decimator. He had no regard for the members of her crew that were sucked out into the void in his wake. Phatie spiraled away from his flagship and pointed his nose toward the Flame Nebula.
The Belt Loop_Book Three_End of an Empire Page 28