“Continue on our current course,” she ordered, finally. “Engage the enemy missiles as soon as they come into range.”
They were targeted on her battleships, she realised, as the missile vectors shook themselves down. Her smaller ships had been completely ignored, which made it easier for their crews to concentrate on keeping the missiles from striking the battleships. But there were just too many warheads, some of which were spewing out jamming pulses as they closed in on their targets. She gritted her teeth as she realised just how cunningly the system had been designed. There was no hope of hiding the missile’s existence, so the jammer was making it hard to pin the missile down to a precise location. It required several shots to be sure of taking down each missile, which ensured that others would make it through the defence grid and strike their targets ...
“Furious has taken fifteen hits,” the tactical officer reported. “She’s ...”
He broke off as Furious vanished from the display. Rani stared, shocked. No battleship had been lost in combat for decades! The heavily-armoured ships had been designed to be virtually invulnerable. Poor maintenance was a far worse threat than enemy fire. She knew better - no battleship had ever faced another battleship in combat for centuries - but it was still shocking. The enemy had something new.
“Report,” she growled, as red icons lanced towards Orion. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure,” the analyst admitted. “There were some ... oddities ... around the missiles as they plunged into their target, but ...”
Orion shuddered, violently. Rani grabbed her chair and held on for dear life as red lights flashed up on the display, reporting that the battleship had taken two hits. It looked as through the Commonwealth had come up with something that went through armour - even hullmetal - like a knife through butter. Her mind raced, wondering what it could be, as damage control parties scrambled to the gash in the hull. Even superhot plasma cannons couldn’t do more than scorch hullmetal. Cutting through the immense slabs of armour protecting her battleship required heavy lasers. It was why she’d always dreaded having to repair a battleship, when she’d been assigned to System Command. Even the simplest task was a nightmare.
“Keep us on course,” she growled. Furious was the only battleship that had been destroyed, but Hammerhead and Powerful had both taken damage. The only consolation was that the second enemy barrage was much weaker than the first. “And prepare to engage the moment we enter missile range.”
“Aye, Admiral,” the tactical officer said.
Rani forced herself to sit back and relax. The enemy had shown off a new surprise, but they hadn't had enough missiles to make it decisive. A barrage twice the size of the one she’d faced would have wiped out her entire fleet. Hell, if they’d fired on the smaller ships, they would have destroyed at least a dozen warships. And now she knew what she was facing.
This isn't the end, she told herself, firmly. This is not the end.
***
“They're still advancing towards us, Captain,” the tactical officer said.
Mandy raised her eyebrows. She’d expected - hoped - that Admiral Singh would break off after the first missile strike. Losing a battleship and two thousand trained spacers had to hurt, even if the other three battleships had survived blows that would have killed anything smaller. Indeed, as reluctant as she was to admit it, there was no way to avoid the simple fact that the battleships were very well built. Their acceleration curves were pathetic, they moved through space like a whale through mud, but they were tough. And planets, their targets, could neither run nor hide.
The second strike is going to be a great deal less effective, she thought. Admiral Singh’s crews might be stuck with primitive gear, compared to some of the wonders she’d seen emerge from the Commonwealth or the Trade Federation, but they weren’t stupid. Their point defence had already adapted to the advanced warheads. Given time, they might even figure out how the trick was done and counter it. And we’re running short of advanced missiles.
She watched, grimly, as the range closed. The second strike had been a great deal less effective than the first. Her crews were already updating their targeting systems, but it was too late. She just didn't have enough missiles to batter Admiral Singh to rubble before the Wolves entered their own range. And at that point, she’d have to keep the range open to keep from being overwhelmed herself.
“Captain,” the tactical officer said. “The enemy are entering missile range.”
“Reverse course,” Mandy ordered, as the battleships opened fire. The design wasn't just tough, she recalled; it was armed to the teeth. Each battleship was spitting out more missiles than all of her squadron put together. “Hold the range as open as we can.”
“Aye, Captain,” the helmsman said.
“And continue firing,” Mandy added. “Don’t give them a moment to relax.”
She forced herself to watch as the enemy missiles roared towards her ships. They’d be operating on the extreme edge of their range, but it probably wouldn't be enough to save her from taking damage. The only saving grace was that it would keep Admiral Singh away from the planet, preventing her from doing something drastic. Mindy was down there, along with Jasmine and hundreds of others she knew. She didn't dare let Admiral Singh lash out at the planet. She'd kill billions in a split-second.
“The enemy have updated their own seeker heads,” the tactical officer noted. “Their targeting system is roughly thirty percent better than it was during the Battle of Tazenda.”
Mandy nodded, unsurprised. Admiral Singh wasn't stupid, after all, and she did have possession of a fairly large industrial base. The Grand Senate might have been able to slow innovation to a trickle, but Admiral Singh couldn’t possibly do anything of the sort. She’d be crushed by the Commonwealth when something new and deadly - or even an improved weapon - was put into service against her. Even the Trade Federation might be able to come up with something that would obliterate her navy in an afternoon.
“Take out as many as you can,” she ordered. No matter what she did, she was going to lose ships and spacers. “And continue firing.”
***
They must be desperate, Rani thought. It was odd to be pleased at losing a battleship, along with spacers she couldn't easily replace, but enough things hadn't happened to convince her that the enemy was on the ropes. They should have kept their new missiles in reserve long enough to lure her into a trap and crush her with overwhelming firepower. Instead, the cat was out of the bag far too early to give the enemy a decisive victory. They know I’m going to take Corinthian off them.
It was stupid, she noted: stupid and sentimental. An advantage like that shouldn't be thrown away, even if it meant surrendering an industrialised world to her. The Commonwealth could have won the war within months, if they’d kept their weapons a secret until it was too late for her to come up with countermeasures. Instead, they’d lost their best chance at kicking her ass.
She smiled, coldly, as the battle slowly evolved in front of her. The enemy’s hasty decision to reverse course was far from stupid, but they just hadn't had time to get back out of missile range before it was too late. Their point defence was an order of magnitude more capable than her own - it was clear their sensors were excellent - yet that was why she’d fired so many missiles. And their hulls weren’t any tougher ...
Their force shields are eating up some of our missiles, she thought. She’d expected as much, of course. But we have ways to get around it now.
“Admiral,” the tactical officer said. He sounded pleased, but there was an edge in his voice she didn't like. “Three enemy ships have been destroyed, two more have been crippled. A number of others have also taken minor damage.”
Rani nodded. There would be a chance to capture the ships soon enough, if the crews didn't abandon ship and trigger the self-destruct. Even if they did, she’d take the lifepods and have the crews interrogated. They might just know something useful about how the shields worked. Or, for that matt
er, how so many other pieces of technology worked. And then ...
“Admiral,” the communications officer said. “I’m picking up a signal from the planet.”
He swallowed, hard. “I’m afraid it’s bad news.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
But when the squadron was suddenly called to war, they were utterly unable to meet the challenge. They lost, decisively.
- Professor Leo Caesius. The Role of Randomness In War.
“The 23rd Assault Regiment is also reporting problems,” Colonel Travis reported. “An officer has been killed and two more have been forced to run.”
Mark swore, venomously. He should have anticipated the possibility of a general collapse, even at the very hour of victory. He’d known there were problems, he’d known his men were brittle ... and he’d thrown them into battle anyway. Defeatism and mutiny were contagious, too; as panic spread, more and more units would collapse into chaos. Normally, he could have brought up intact units and sealed off the contagion before it spread further, but now ... now he no longer had the reserves in place. He’d thrown everything into the battle for the city.
Damn it, he thought. They were winning! The inner enemy defence lines were crumbling before them. And yet, his force was coming apart at the seams. It wouldn't be long before the enemy noticed and counterattacked, if they didn't just use the time to take a breath and get their forces ready for the next offensive. We were winning!
“I can order the gunners to shell the mutinous soldiers,” Colonel Travis suggested. “Sir ...”
“Shut up,” Mark snarled. Sending Ferguson away had definitely been a mistake. The man was probably dead, after taking command of a unit that had charged into the teeth of enemy fire. And if he wasn’t, chances were Ferguson had been badly wounded himself. “I’m not going to shell my own positions.”
An operator looked up from her console. “Colonel Bateman has been killed, sir,” she said, grimly. “Captain Rostock reports that he has been forced to abandon his post after some of his men turned on him.”
Mark rubbed his eyes, then glanced at the system display. Admiral Singh was battling the Commonwealth Navy, which seemed to have inflicted significant damage on her forces even though she was pressing the offensive. Did she want to get herself killed? No matter what happened, Admiral Singh was going to have real problems staying alive, let alone holding on to power. Tens of thousands were dead, a number of irreplaceable starships had been destroyed ... and for what? Taking Corinthian now would hardly make up for everything they’d lost.
And going down in a blaze of glory will get my remaining troops slaughtered, he thought. I won’t let them die for nothing!
***
Jasmine crawled through the sewer, silently thanking the gods that protected marines that her nasal implants were working perfectly. The sewer hadn't been cleansed in weeks, perhaps longer, and the stench was practically unbearable. If she hadn't had the implants, she suspected she wouldn't have been able to force herself into the pipe and crawl along it towards their destination. As it was, she was grateful she wasn't claustrophobic. Coming apart midway through the mission would have gotten the entire team killed.
She allowed herself a flicker of relief as she saw the grate at the far end, nothing more than a grid of metal allowing inspectors to peer into the system. There didn't seem to be anyone on guard duty, but she was careful not to make a sound as she reached the grate and used a sonic screwdriver to unlock the screws and carefully lower it to the floor. The inspection chamber was empty, thankfully; she inspected the door as Buckley followed her out, looking as if he’d crawled out of a bog. Stewart, behind him, didn't look pleased at all.
“Remind me,” Jasmine muttered. The door should be easy to open from the inside, even though it was locked and bolted. “Whose bright idea was this?”
“Yours,” Buckley said. He produced a debonder from his belt and held it out to her. “I thought my idea was better.”
Jasmine smiled as she tested the debonder against the door, making sure they could get out without using explosives. The enemy command post was heavily guarded; there were guard posts, three layers of barbed wire, a dozen AFVs and four companies of armed soldiers on constant patrol outside the fence. She’d watched them long enough to know they weren't incompetents either, unlike some HQ guard companies she could mention. Everyone who went in and out of the command post was thoroughly inspected, no exceptions. She’d watched with some amusement as a protesting senior officer was patted down by the guards before he’d finally been permitted to enter. No doubt he’d already been planning a futile complaint to his superiors.
She’d tried hard to come up with a way to breach the defences, but found nothing. Her platoon was better trained than the enemy soldiers, yet they’d be unable to inflict enough damage to win if they attacked from the outside. If someone in Freedom City hadn’t checked the plans and discovered the sewer, she wasn't sure what she would have done. Taking out the enemy command post was desperately important, but even a suicide mission had no guarantee of success.
And if we’re wrong about where the enemy CO has based himself, she thought, we’re screwed.
She checked her rifle, then glanced at the remainder of the platoon. They were ready, weapons in hand. Jasmine held her k-bar in one hand as she pressed the debonder against the lock, disintegrating it into dust. She kicked the door open and lunged out into the corridor, eyes scanning for enemy soldiers. A young woman in uniform gaped at her, her eyes going wide as Jasmine pitched the knife at her, striking the poor woman in the throat. She tumbled to the ground, gurgling in pain as she died. Jasmine recovered the knife, wiped it on her stained uniform and led the way down the corridor. The longer they could keep the enemy from realising that they were under attack, the better.
Poor bitch, she thought, as they found the stairwell. If they were lucky, most of the defences would be on the outside. But she was in our way.
They ran into a pair of armed soldiers as they hurried up the stairs, two men who snapped up their rifles with commendable speed. Jasmine opened fire, killing them both instantly; they staggered backwards and fell to the ground. She swore as she stepped over their bodies and hurried further up the stairs. The entire building would have heard the gunfire. They’d be starting their emergency procedures at once, putting the officers in the panic rooms while elite troops swept the building for the marines. It wasn't as if they’d have difficulty finding them, either. Jasmine suspected all they’d have to do was follow their noses.
Four more guards appeared at the far end of the corridor as she reached the top of the stairwell, opening fire at once. Jasmine ducked as Buckley unhooked a grenade from his belt, then threw it down the corridor. The building shook as the grenade detonated; Jasmine picked herself up and hurled herself forward, sweeping the corridor for surviving enemy soldiers. One of the young men was badly wounded, so badly wounded he didn't have a hope of survival; the others had been caught in the blast and killed. She felt a stab of pity as she put him out of his misery, then pointed to the final door. It had been blown off its hinges by the grenade.
Inside, a handful of senior officers were stumbling around in panic. Jasmine allowed herself a tight smile as she led the way into the chamber, watching in grim amusement as the officers hastily raised their hands. REMFs! No doubt they’d felt safe, surrounded by so much firepower and armed guards. But then, they had been safe in their original FOB. It was coming so close to the city, where there were plans and charts for every building, that had defeated them. She wouldn't have made such a careless mistake.
She searched for the senior officer and blinked in surprise as she recognised him. General Haverford had accepted her surrender on Thule, a lifetime ago. She hadn't been impressed at the time, even though she suspected she had him to thank for being dispatched to Meridian, instead of being summarily shoved out an airlock. Admiral Singh would not have hesitated to kill her if she'd known who Jasmine was. The combat uniform he wore was unmarred by
extensive collections of medals and campaign ribbons, but it was also clean and tidy. He hadn't been in the field for months.
“The battle is over,” she said, confidently. Dirty and smelly as she was, she’d walked right into the heart of the enemy CP. “Order your troops to surrender.”
***
Mark stared at the figure before him, momentarily lost for words. She - he wasn't entirely sure of the gender, let alone anything else - was covered in filth, but she was holding him at gunpoint. Her team was covering his senior officers, most of whom were holding their hands in the air as if they were afraid that one false move would result in a massacre. How the hell had she gotten into the base?
He took a breath, despite the stench. “Admiral Singh ...”
“Admiral Singh is not here,” the figure said. She jabbed her rifle towards him. “You are.”
Mark nodded, curtly. They’d lost. The mutinies had been bad enough, even though he thought he could have put them down in time, but the enemy commando team could wipe out his entire command staff. His army would come apart, allowing the enemy to wipe them out piece by piece. And Admiral Singh seemed to be doing her best to get herself killed, rather than either escaping or coming back to succour the groundpounders.
They Shall Not Pass (The Empire's Corps Book 12) Page 38