Crimson Worlds Collection II

by Jay Allan

  “No, they’re not a match for the enemy’s weapons. But they help bridge the gap.” Crandall paused, thinking quietly for a few seconds. He put his hand on the scale model on the table. “But this will be at least the equal of a particle accelerator. Maybe even better.”

  Hofstader laughed softly. “Yes, that’s true.” He paused. “If we ever get it built, and if it works the way we expect it to.” He ran his hand back through his knotted, unkempt hair. “And if we manage to produce the antimatter we need to power it.”

  “We will.” Crandall had become quite a cheerleader for the entire effort. “I’m confident we’re on the right track.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that, because we need to figure out how to move things even faster.” He was still looking right at Crandall, but all trace of his smile was gone. “Because Compton’s fleet took out a lot of the enemy at Point Epsilon, but he still had to retreat. The First Imperium force was massive, and now they’re unopposed a maximum of three transits from any of the worlds on the Line.” He stood like a statue, his eyes locked on Crandall’s. “Things are about to get hotter.”

  Tom Sparks stood in the center of the massive fabrication facility. His suit protected him from the shower of molten metal landing all around. He shouldn’t have been there; his place was in the control room. But they were having a problem with the firing chambers, and he hadn’t been able to figure it out. He’d decided to watch the entire assembly process, and by “watch,” he meant up close and personal.

  His people had been working around the clock for months. They’d rushed the x-ray lasers into production, having completed the design for both the weapons and the buoys to carry them in less than two months. Project X had been a tremendous achievement, and the team’s reward had been a day off, which most of them spent sound asleep. The next day they started working on Project Z.

  The x-ray laser had been a major technological advance, but the gamma ray laser would be a quantum leap over that. His people had been working on replicating the First Imperium particle accelerators too, but if they could put Project Z in the field it would be potentially even more powerful.

  “Stop the line.” Sparks’ frustration was obvious in his tone. This mix wasn’t going to work either, and there was no point in wasting time finishing it. “Let’s try increasing the iridium content in the alloy by another 3% and see how that holds up.” He spoke into a small com unit he wore hooked on his ear. He needed to get the right combination for the components. If he could figure out how the First Imperium manufactured those dark matter infused alloys, he thought, he’d really have something. But that was a waste of time right now. The physicists were still arguing about how to capture measurable quantities of the mysterious substance; they were years away from being able to manipulate it, probably centuries.

  He walked back toward the control room, stepping inside the airlock and stripping off the blue protective suit he’d been wearing. Sparks had always enjoyed being busy, but now he was being pulled in so many directions he felt like his head was going to split open. He tried to push the gamma ray laser from his mind. He had hurdles to overcome on that project, but Hofstader and Crandall had worse ones. They had to produce enough antimatter to power the thing, and they had to perfect the sustainable containment system. He was sure he’d solve his problems before they did theirs.

  Now he had to check on the status of x-ray laser production. The weapon had proven its worth, but every buoy they’d been able to produce went to Second Fleet and the worlds of the Line. They needed more of them…a lot more, and they needed them quickly. That meant he had to streamline the production process.

  He was about to put an improved version of the PBS into production as well. The Plasma Bombardment System had also been highly successful, and the ground commanders on the line were demanding more supply. They had produced versions that could be dropped by planes, planted as mines, and fired by artillery. Now he was finishing a revised system, one that could be mounted on an Obliterator suit, creating an almost unimaginably powerful close range weapon. There were a few final adjustments before they could start churning the things out, but he was confident they’d overcome all the major problems.

  He walked slowly down the hall and through the series of doors that led outside. It had been three days since he’d seen the sun…or was it four? He needed some fresh air, even if only for a few minutes. He cleared the last security station and walked out into the dazzling light of midday. He squinted – his eyes had grown unaccustomed to the intense sun.

  Looking out over the valley he was amazed at what had been accomplished on Carson’s World in the past year and a half. No expense had been spared, no resource denied. A quarter of the output of Earth’s economy had poured into the labs and production facilities hurriedly built on this old mining world. The secret of the First Imperium’s technology was here, and this was where the weapons to defeat the enemy would be designed and produced. The planet’s population had increased from a few thousand to well over a million, and more were arriving every day.

  They were making progress; there was no doubt about that. By Sparks’ best guess, they were advancing human technology the equivalent of a century each year. Epsilon Eridani IV was giving up the secrets of the First Imperium, but slowly, grudgingly. Sparks wondered, with grim curiosity, if it would be fast enough.

  Chapter 9

  Outer Defense Perimeter

  Planet Sandoval

  Delta Leonis System

  “The Line”

  “Admiral Garret, you have to transit now, sir.” He could hear the insistence in Camille Harmon’s voice. She was 75,000 kilometers away, but she sounded like she was standing right next to him. Garret had been compelled to appoint a commander for First Fleet when he was named supreme commander of the forces of the Grand Pact. Stupid name, he thought for at least the tenth time.

  He’d managed to wear two hats and hang on to the fleet command and the top Alliance spot simultaneously, but a third position was just too much. He’d been determined to dig in his heels and stay in charge of First Fleet, but he finally realized it wasn’t possible. His first pick to replace him had been Admiral West. She’d been in the thick of the fighting on the Rim, and no one had more combat experience or a better record against First Imperium fleets. But then Admiral Compton went and got himself all shot up at Point Epsilon, and Garret ended up assigning West to take over Second Fleet. He’d merged her Third Fleet into Compton’s battered formation, allowing him to pull the hardest hit ships from both OBs and send them to Wolf 359 for repairs.

  Compton was badly hurt, but his people had gotten him into medical stasis in time, and Garret was sure Sarah’s crew on Armstrong would put him back together again. He hoped it wouldn’t take too long. Terrance Compton was his oldest and closest friend…and a brilliant tactician he’d come to depend on. Garret didn’t want to fight the rest of this war without Compton; that much he knew for sure.

  With West committed to Second Fleet, Harmon was an easy choice to take over his slot as commander of First. She was an accomplished officer, and she probably would have ended up with Third Fleet instead of West, but she’d still been recovering from an attempted assassination attempt. It made Garret’s blood boil to think of one of his flag officers being shot by an Alliance Intelligence assassin on her own bridge. Gavin Stark was the head of the Alliance’s feared spy agency, and Augustus Garret had a score to settle with the devious spymaster. More than one. But that would have to wait; this was no time for infighting.

  Harmon had survived the attempt, but her spine was severed by one of the shots. Sarah and her crew did their best. They got her through it and back to duty, but not without some lingering problems. Full spine regenerations were still problematic, and Harmon had a complex combination of new tissue and sophisticated prosthetics implanted in her back. Everything worked, more or less, but she was in almost constant pain. Garret had been hesitant to put her in the front line…until he spoke to her. He walked aw
ay from that meeting knowing one thing. Camille Harmon was ready for action.

  Garret sat on Lexington’s flag bridge staring intently at the data streaming in from Sandoval. He was damned if he was going anywhere until he got a read on how well the defense network had performed. “I’m perfectly fine, Admiral Harmon. No need to worry. There is plenty of time to pull back.”

  “With all due respect, sir, you should be on Armstrong now.” Harmon’s voice was verging on emotional. Her concern was sincere. She hadn’t faced the First Imperium forces yet, but she’d studied the intelligence reports. And she didn’t like the idea of betting Garret’s life that the enemy couldn’t pull something unexpected out of their sleeve.

  Garret sighed. His people were really starting to get on his nerves. It was well-meaning, he knew, but he wasn’t a man to tolerate over-protective behavior. He’d dealt with it to a certain extent for a long time. He’d been the navy’s hero since he crushed the Caliphate and CAC fleets at Gliese 250, and his career both before and since had been an almost uninterrupted series of victories. But since he’d been named the supreme commander, things had gotten considerably worse. Augustus Garret enjoyed the respect of his people, but he wasn’t about to tolerate officers expecting him to cower in the rear.

  “Admiral Harmon, I suggest you spend more time worrying about First Fleet and less nursemaiding me. I have no intention of leaving this system until I have analyzed the damage the defensive network inflicts on the invaders.” He paused, sighing again. “I remind you, we are coming back here, and I have to develop an attack plan. I need all the data I can get.”

  “Very well, sir.” Harmon accepted his admonishment, but it was obvious she disagreed. Garret had to suppress a small laugh. As a young officer, he’d craved glory more than anything. He’d focused relentlessly on it, taken crazy chances with his ship and crew, sacrificed everything else important in his life to pursue it. Now he had more glory than he could have imagined, and it was nothing but a burden. It was empty, hollow. The worship of his officers and crews tormented him, and now he wanted nothing more than to do his job without the medals, the accolades, the adoration. But the glory was a trap, and there was no escape.

  “Admiral, we will all be out of here in time.” His voice was conciliatory. Harmon was just doing her job, and her concern was reasonable. She had no way of knowing how much it grated at Garret. “Let’s just stay sharp and not make any mistakes.”

  “Yes, sir.” He could tell she’d read the change in his tone. “Understood.”

  “Very well, admiral. Garret out.”

  He rushed off the comlink. The data he was waiting for was starting to pour in. The campaign for Sandoval had begun.

  “We’ve got reports coming in, General Cain.” Captain Carter was sitting at a workstation a few meters from Cain’s chair. “The enemy has entered the laser buoy perimeter. The weapons have begun firing.”

  Garret’s people had laid a thick belt of the ECM-shielded laser satellites around Sandoval. First Fleet wasn’t offering a conventional pitched battle and, without the dynamics of ship to ship action, Garret couldn’t be sure what course the enemy would take. A solar system is a huge space, making it difficult to guess where to place static defenses. But he knew the enemy was heading to Sandoval, so that’s where he concentrated everything. He wasn’t expecting to stop them; he was just looking to blow as many of them to hell before they got to the planet.

  Cain could imagine the scene unfolding in the space around the planet. The x-ray laser buoys fired one shot each, powered by 100 megaton thermonuclear explosions. The magnetic bottles contained the energy of the massive detonation for a fraction of a second before they overloaded, long enough to focus the intense power into a single, extremely powerful x-ray pulse. There were 500 of the buoys positioned around Sandoval, though probably no more than half would have a target within their firing arcs.

  The lasers could hurt the First Imperium ships. One or two direct hits could destroy a Gremlin; four or five could take out a Gargoyle. Cain didn’t have any idea what would be needed to seriously hurt a Leviathan. As far as he knew, none of the enemy’s massive battleships had ever been significantly damaged.

  Cain’s people cheered as the reports came in. The lasers were scoring hit after hit, and First Imperium ships were damaged and destroyed all along the line. But Cain himself sat quietly, a somber look on his face. The ships being hit were mostly Gremlins, and Cain knew the smaller ships were expendable. He was glad to destroy any First Imperium unit, but he knew the loss of the Gremlins would have a minimal effect on the enemy’s invasion plans.

  “Captain Carter, I want status reports from all commanders at divisional level and above.” They’d had a strategy meeting three days earlier, when they first got word of the enemy fleet transiting. “And I want them in 30 minutes.”

  “Yes, sir”

  “And Carter…I want all formations on alert and in position in one hour.” His voice was gruff and serious. “Any commander who doesn’t have his people in place in an hour, I’ll stand him in front of a firing squad.” If Cain was exaggerating, it wasn’t apparent from his tone.

  “Understood, sir.” Carter sounded a little nervous. He had been Cain’s aide for a while now, and he was used to the intensity of 1st Army’s commander. But Cain’s grim resolve was like nothing he’d seen before. He wondered if the general would really shoot a commander if his forces weren’t in place on time, but in the end he decided he didn’t want to know. He was worried he wouldn’t like the answer.

  Hector had already calculated the range of times before the enemy could commence landings. The soonest was roughly 90 minutes, but that would assume they came on full bore, totally ignoring the orbital fortresses and bomber wings. The most likely time frame was 3 to 4 hours, but Cain wasn’t taking any chances. His people would be buttoned up and waiting for the enemy long before then.

  “Very well, captain.” Cain sat quietly for a minute, running his mind methodically through his preparations. “Run a diagnostic check on the ground defenses.” Cain had positioned a large number of ground-to-air missile batteries around the likeliest landing zones. He was going to make Sandoval an unrelenting hell for the First Imperium forces, and that was going to start while they were still landing. “I want everything ready to go. No mistakes.”

  “Yes, General Cain.” Carter could feel the rumbling in his stomach, the stress and fear before the battle. Cain had everyone at a fever pitch, which was probably good for performance but only made the stress worse. Carter’s eyes caught something on his screen, and his head shot around. “Sir, orbital platforms launching bombers now.”

  The orbital forts would have been under Cain’s control if First Fleet hadn’t been present, but for now they were on Admiral Harmon’s OB. Just as well, he thought. He really didn’t want to be bothered with it anyway. Harmon would do a much better job. Cain was a ground pounder through and through, and he was totally focused on the coming land battle.

  He knew the forts were easy targets for the enemy’s antimatter missiles. Whatever his own people were about to face, he didn’t envy those crews up there…or the bomber teams. The forts were likely to be obliterated and First Fleet was bugging out. The pilots would be damned lucky to find a place to land when…if…they got back from their attacks.

  “Happy hunting.” Cain was muttering softly, wishing his best to the bomber crews he knew were launching. “Give the bastards hell.”

  “Here they come, people. I want this formation perfect, so pay attention.” Captain Greta Hurley was focusing intently on her plotting screen. She was leading First Fleet’s bombers in, and now the 10 squadrons from Sandoval’s orbital forts were linking up with them. All together, there were 312 bombers, and they were all under Hurley’s command. It was a massive strike force, and its commander was already a veteran of combat against the First Imperium. She had more ships than ever before, and this time she didn’t have to divert half of them to anti-missile duty. Her people ha
d inflicted damage on the enemy before, but this time she was determined to really hurt them.

  She was still getting used to the new rank. A captain who didn’t command a ship was a fairly uncommon creature in the Alliance navy. She was at the top of the bomber corps hierarchy, the “go to” officer to command a large fleet strike force, and her seniority had gotten her transferred to First Fleet while Second Fleet was refitting. No rest for the Alliance’s foremost expert on bomber tactics against the First Imperium.

  She’d been amused by some of the odd traditions ingrained in the culture of the navy. It was Captain Hurley leading the strike team, but up until her bomber had launched she was Commodore Hurley. For as long as anyone could remember, the navy had followed the mantra that there can only be one captain on a ship. The interloping second captain was generally granted a courtesy promotion to commodore while on board. Hurley thought that was all the more bizarre a tradition, since the rank of commodore was inactive in the Alliance navy, used only to give fake ranks to superfluous captains.

  “The Sandoval squadrons have assumed position in the formation, captain.” The AI in her bomber had been replaced with a new enhanced system before the mission. It was now the equivalent of a ship captain’s unit. “All ships are positioned within mission-specified parameters.”

  The AI had been programmed as her virtual assistant, but she wasn’t used to interacting with it yet. She’d worked with bomber computers before, of course, but the quasi-sentient units were vastly more complicated. Should she say thank you? Treat it like a crew member?

  “Thank you, Scarlett.” She’d had to think up a name quickly, so she’d borrowed from her squadron, the Scarlett Hawks. She didn’t actually command the Hawks anymore, but she flew with them in the formation. She had to remind herself continually to let Lieutenant Commander Barrow run the squadron. She’d flown with Barrow for over a year, and he’d been her choice to lead the Hawks. But letting go was still difficult.