They set us up, he thought, grimacing. The bastards suckered us in. And while we thought we knew where they were, they took advantage of our arrogance to kill one of my battle groups.
“Can we drop some ships down to normal space to have a look? To see what they have?” Klanarat already knew the answer to that, but was hoping that he had made some simple error.
“No, sir,” answered the flag navigator, shaking her head. “The fastest ship we have would take over three hours to get down to translation velocity.”
“Admiral Pillas is reporting the same thing we're seeing,” called out the com officer. “Nothing ahead. And not enough translation signal to account for the ships they thought were there.”
“How is Admiral Landa doing?” asked Klanarat, concerned about his one battle group that had actually contacted an enemy.
“We've lost contact with Admiral Landa's flagship,” called out the com officer.
“Try to reestablish a connection,” yelled Klanarat, storming over to the officer's station,
“The wormhole on that ship with connection back to the capital has collapsed, sir,” said the terrified officer, looking up at his admiral. “We're trying to get through by use of their Klassekian backup, but command is reporting that the sibling has gone into a catatonic reaction.”
Which means the one aboard Landa's ship is dead, thought the Alpha, his mouth falling open in shock.
“Do we have connections with any of the other ships?”
“Still three in that force,” said the officer, punching in commands on his board. “Connecting to Rear Admiral Jronas. She seems to be the ranking officer in that force.”
A rear admiral was the ranking officer in a battle group that had been led by a five-star fleet admiral, and had two full admirals and four vices in its command structure. If they had lost that many of their commanders then things were really bad. Or else the Cacas had been inordinately lucky in their targeting. Klanarat doubted if the second was the reason.
“Admiral Klanarat,” came the voice of the rear admiral as a holo came to life with her face. From the look of her she was scared half to death. “We have lost most of our screening force. The enemy is hitting us hard. I....”
The holo filled with static for a moment, an indication that something had hit the ship. Since it came back up that meant it hadn't been a direct hit. Still, something had hit them, and hard.
“We have hull breaches all over the forward part of my ship. We....”
The holo blanked out, and this time it seemed like a good bet that it wouldn't come back up.
“We just lost her wormhole, sir.”
Which means we just lost her ship, and the admiral with it, thought Klanarat, a numb feeling almost shutting down his brain.
The last com link with that battle force was lost fifteen minutes later.
* * *
“We have some enemy ships breaking away, my Lord.”
“What kind of ships? And how many?” Mrastaran wanted a complete victory here before he moved on the other flank of the enemy. Anything less was unacceptable. However, he needed to move, and quickly, if he was going to accomplish that mission.
“We have twenty-seven graviton sources, my Lord. All in the cruiser to scout range. And they are sliding out of our missile range, now.”
“Send some cruisers after them,” ordered the great admiral, wondering why he was even bothering. The Klavarta ships could out-accelerate anything he had that was manned and hyper capable. “Order the rest of the fleet to execute plan Beta.”
The ships that were in hyper changed vectors enough to get to the rendezvous point. They started to drop down into normal space, adjusting their vectors on the way. When they were in normal space they oriented themselves to one of the five wormhole gates set up for the next part of the mission. Fifteen minutes later the first of the vessels, all superbattleships, started through the gate, one every thirty seconds. It was a well practiced maneuver. The great admiral had insisted on practice sessions until they could do it without a hitch. Every minute ten of the twenty-five million ton ships went from the Klavarrta right flank to the left. In fifteen minutes that was one hundred and fifty of them. In an hour six hundred and forty. That doubled the capital ship strength of the force already in place, giving them twelve hundred superbattleships to go along with their five thousand escort and support ships.
As soon as those ships were through the rest of the fleet went through another set of gates and started the build-up at the center of the front, and the last act of the destruction of the Klavarta fleet.
It was a tactic that the New Terran Empire and their allies had used against the Ca'cadasan Empire in several campaigns. Very effectively. The Ca'cadasan Empire couldn't emulate everything the humans did, but this was one that was in their game plan. It might work on the main front as well. But only if it worked here in this test of concept.
“We're ready to go through, Great Admiral,” said the navigation officer, glancing over at the helmsman. “We're next in the queue.”
Mrastaran gave a head motion of acknowledgment. There wasn't anything he could do about it, since there were ships stacked up behind the flag, all moving at a relatively high velocity. If his ship slowed they would most likely be hit from behind. The only reason the officer had given his commander a heads up was to inform the luminary that he was about to become violently ill. Moments later he was vomiting on the deck after the translation occurred. Mrastaran was in an ill mood for some minutes, until he saw the plot that showed the enemy left flank sailing right into his engagement window.
Chapter Seven
But courage which goes against military expediency is stupidity, or, if it is insisted upon by a commander, irresponsibility. Erwin Rommel
“Admiral Pillas is reporting that Caca ships are translating in hyperspace ahead of him,” called out the com officer.
“How many?” asked Klanarat, a sick feeling hitting him right in the gut. He wasn't sure where all of these ships were coming from. He had been sure he had a good handle on what he was facing. Now that was in serious doubt. They had located and fixed eight relatively large battle groups, none of a size to challenge any of his three larger formations. A massive group had seemed to come out of nowhere and hit his right flank, taking it out. So the Cacas had tricked him and concentrated their entire fleet on that flank? So where in the hell was this second force coming from?
“The Imperial admiral is on the com, sir,” called out one of the techs working the com station.
God, but he didn't want to talk with that infuriating woman right now. But if he didn't, there might be hell to pay later.
“Put her through.”
“Admiral,” said Beata Bednarczyk as her image appeared on the holo. “I think the Cacas are gating their ships from one flank to another.”
“They've never done that before, have they?” asked Klanarat, the idea striking him as possible, but not very palatable. That would mean the Cacas had stolen a march on his own fleet. That someone over there was actually thinking. That could spell serious trouble.
“Not that we know of,” agreed Bednarczyk, shaking her head. “But we have done it to them on the other front. Many times. I don't see why they couldn't imitate the idea. They're not all idiots, you know. Even if we wished that they were.”
“Wouldn't they assume we might do the same to them?” asked Klanarat, still trying to reason his way out of the unfolding situation.
“Not when you're traveling at above translation speed,” said the woman, a serious look on her face as she shook her head.
Klanarat looked over at the readings on his fleet. His ships were moving at point nine light in hyper VII, just below the maximum safe rate. If they went above the maximum safe rate they would be taking radiation damage as the particles of hyperspace, themselves more energetic than normal matter, sleeted through his electromagnetic field and hull armor. At that speed they would not be able to drop out of hyper. Not until they dropped
down to point three light, a velocity that would take many hours to reach at maximum deceleration. His force was already decelerating, something he had ordered so they would be able to react faster to the situation around them. Now it looked like it wouldn't be enough.
The other problem was they couldn't erect a wormhole gate in hyper. They would have to assemble the gate in hyper, even if it was self-erecting. And they would have to have the gate contained in a hyperfield. They would need an expanding hyperfield apparatus that was outside of a ship, something they didn't have, as the hyperfield generators and projectors, as well as the power supply, were integral parts of the vessel. So at the moment they were helpless to do anything but decelerate and try to change their vector.
“Dammit.” Klanarat felt like he had been used by the Cacas. They had taken advantage of his own mindset, showing him what he expected, then hitting him with the unexpected. He would lose most of his fleet. He would be disgraced.
“I order you to bring your fleet up and support that flank.”
“But....”
“You have your orders, Admiral. Now carry them out.”
Klanarat dismissed the com and looked over at his com officer. “I want a fleet order sent out. All ships are to decel at maximum and change vector ninety degrees to port.”
“All crew,” came a call over the intercom. “Liquid injection in one minute. Repeat, liquid injection in one minute.”
The Alphas and Engineers in the crew need do nothing, since they were made for this. The rest would be putting on breathing masks. At the one minute mark the clear oxygenated liquid started rising from the floor, swiftly flooding until the entire flag bridge was filled. Everyone on the flag bridge filled their lungs with the liquid and started their gills working. All except the Klassekian com techs, three of them, wearing their specially made helmets so they could talk normally while performing their function.
The ship started moving up the deceleration scale until it was thirty gravities over the capacity of the inertial compensators, while all of the crew remained comfortable within the protective liquid. What wasn't comfortable were the feelings of the grand fleet admiral who stood in that liquid on the bridge. He couldn't do anything about his second flank force. All he could do now was save his central force, and that by making sure the enemy wasn't in position to hit it with the same kind of numbers.
It's going into the crapper, he thought as he pulled the oxygenated liquid into his lungs. The plan had been for his three major forces to hit the largest of their eight in passing, then turning around and going after the others, which would have fewer ships than the initial three. Those formations would either have panicked and started back for Caca space, continued on to their targets, or consolidated so they could present a united front to his fleet. Neither tactic would have helped them. He would have caught them and he would have mauled them. He hadn't planned on them tricking him.
The admiral huffed, the flow of liquid tickling his lips and nostrils. Of course no one planned on being tricked, which was why it was and had always been a viable tactic. All he could do was react, not the best way to win a battle, and hope things started to turn his way. Looking at the plot, he didn't see how that was possible.
* * *
Beata clenched her fists as she looked at the repeater plot from the right flank, her rage growing as she thought about the thoughtless orders the Klavarta admiral had given her. There was no way she could get to that flank force. Not for two days at the best speed she could manage. Why in the hell had he even bothered to issue such an order. To cover his ass? Oh yes, I ordered her to reinforce that flank, but she was tardy in her movements. Like any kind of inquest into this travesty of a campaign, looking at the plots, would find the evidence to support Klanarat.
She felt like crying out as she saw Klavarta ships fall off the plot. In hyper all ships gave out graviton emissions as their arrays kept them in a space that naturally tried to eject them. When those emissions faded it meant the hyperdrive array was no longer working and they were no longer in hyper. The ejection was normally violent, and ninety-five percent of the time the ship came through in pieces. Anything from clouds of plasma to large pieces of hull. Spacers rarely survived the transition. In the five percent of the time when the ship survived it wasn't in the best of shape. So every ship leaving the plot represented a kill for the enemy.
That bastard, she thought as she watched three more ships die. She hadn't liked his battle plan from the start. If it had been her she would have sent her scout force ahead by five or six hours, coming in from the flank and following it up with her main fleet, concentrated. That way she could roll up each of the enemy battle groups, and still have a large enough force to take the Cacas on if they happened to be concentrated as well.
“We have some initial plans for you to look over, ma'am,” said Captain Clarence Yamagata, her staff planning officer.
“What do you have?” she asked, turning away from the plot. There was nothing there that would help her at all. If anything happened of interest, one of her analysts would find it and let her know about it.
“We think our best option is to fall back on this system,” said the captain. “Pleisia. A former Ca'cadasan world that used to be one of their major naval bases on the front. It would make an enticing target for the Cacas, a target of prestige.”
“Any other advantages?” asked the admiral as she looked over a holographic representation of the system. Five rocky worlds in orbit around an F9 star. A half dozen gas giants, hundreds of moons, three complete asteroid belts. No wonder the Cacas had used it as a base system. It had all the resources they would need to build the infrastructure a fleet required.
“We have orbital infrastructure, space docks, stations,” continued the staff officer. “Even a couple of large forts. Mines all over the system, even a couple of hundred antimatter sats in orbit around the star. There is are some defenses on the surface of the planet. Two divisions of Klavarta warriors.”
Beata looked at the captain with wide eyes as she thought of fifty thousand of those scary looking bastards tackling the Cacas in ground combat. She wasn't sure how they would go about it, but with imagination and daring they might be able to do it. The system looked like a good place to kick the asses of the big aliens. Except they would have to deal with orbital bombardment.
“How soon till we can get to it?”
“Two days?” said Yamagata, shrugging his shoulders. “Maybe a little more. And the Cacas can't get there for at least four days, giving us two days of prep time.”
Beata wasn't sure that would be enough time. But trying to assemble her force, along with whatever else she could gather across this front, any further back would give up too much of New Earth space to the aliens.
She needed to meet the Cacas in normal space. She might be able to fight a good battle in hyper, but she wouldn't be able to use all of her resources. Such as her warp fighters. She could also get some wormhole gates set up near the planet. She wasn't sure how Grand Fleet Admiral Klanarat would feel about this. In some ways she really didn't give a damn. Technically she was under him. Also, technically, she was still working for her Emperor, and her fleet was on loan to New Earth. Sean would expect her to do her best to salvage the situation, no matter the intentions of the Klavarta.
“Send out orders to all of our commands,” she said, looking over at her com officer. “All ships are to head for the Pleisia system at best speed. And get me Admiral Montgomery on the com.”
“Ma'am,” said the four-star admiral, appearing on a holo within seconds. Mara had a wormhole on her ship, so she was in constant high bandwidth connection to her commander.
“I want you to cover my flank on the way to the target system.”
“And if Admiral Klanarat orders me to move up to support his fleet?”
“Then you are to have com problems,” said Beata, a slight smile on her lips. “Understood?”
“Yes, ma'am,” said Mara, her own smile growing wider.
“No problems with me.”
“Then get moving.”
Beata turned away as the holo faded. She was trying to save this front, where everything was already going to hell. If Admiral Klanarat had a lick of sense he would follow her lead in this and bring what he had left into Pleisia. She doubted he had that much sense. He was more likely to try and fight a running battle with a weakened fleet in hyper, where Beata couldn't use her warp fighters. Where he couldn't use his own.
Well, the hell with him, she thought. She would do her best to rescue his nation from the situation his lack of tactical sense had landed them in, whether he liked it or not.
* * *
“Their central force has scattered, my Lord,” reported the chief of staff, his face appearing on a holo by the great admiral's command chair.
Mrastaran already knew that. He could see it himself on the plot, where a Klavarta force was attacking his overwhelming fleet. Less than a hundred of their smallish battleships, along with about three hundred smaller ships. It was obvious that they were trying to slow him down and were willing to make the sacrifice to do it. Other Klavarta forces, some as large as this one, were being tracked by his scouts. He had some forces moving in to take them under fire. He wasn't sure if those attacks would be successful, and he was thinking about waving some of them off.
“Their admiral had a brain after all,” growled the great admiral, disappointed that he wasn't about to crush the largest part of the enemy fleet.
He was hoping that the enemy commander would have kept forging ahead with his central force, unsure what to do, while the Ca’cadasans gathered their forces through the wormholes to gobble them up. But they had started changing vectors as soon as he started the attack on the second flank force. If they had started at the time he had attacked the first flank force they would be home free. Instead, they still had about thirty percent of their remaining force in the targeting cursor of his fleet.
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 15: All Quiet on the Second Front? Page 9