Exodus: Empires at War: Book 11: Day of Infamy (Exodus: Empires at War.) (24 page)

“They’re reporting dozens
of impacts with missiles.  Holes through the hull, some dozens of square
kilometers in extent.  Reports of over five hundred electromagnetic generators
damaged or destroyed.  Casualties estimated at about a hundred thousand.”

Sean nodded, thinking
about what he had just heard.  Five hundred of the generators represented a
substantial amount of resources, as each massed more than a battleship.  There
were over three million of the devices on the
Donut,
what gave it the
massive power generating capacity it needed to make up to thirty wormholes a
day, with the excess going into antimatter and negative matter production.  It
had taken over fifty years to construct and place all of those devices, which
meant it would take considerable time to replace the damage as well.

And if they take that
out, we lose all of that capacity, as well as our wormhole production. 
He looked over at a holo
that was showing another Ca’cadasan ship dying under the particle beams of the
same Augustine class ship that had killed the last one.  Those beams were an
order of magnitude greater than any other shipborne weapon in this war, and if
the
Donut
were taken out, they would lose that weapon as well.  They
would still have the missile acceleration tubes in free orbit around the
Donut,
those which already had wormholes installed.  They would have no more, and
any ship with one of the launch systems that was taken out, along with its end
of the tunnel, would be irreplaceable.

Sean opened his mouth to
speak, shutting it immediately as he realized there was really nothing to say. 
What could he order that wasn’t already being done?  His people on the
Donut
and manning the system defenses would do everything they could to protect
that vital resource.  Anything he could say now would just be a distraction.

“The Captain is reporting
we are targeting the nearest Caca ships,” called out the Fleet Tactical Officer
from his station on the flag bridge.  A moment later the ship shuddered
slightly as its four wormhole launchers let loose their first volleys of high
relativistic missiles, one hundred and twenty weapons travelling at point
nine-five light toward targets that were much too close for them to have
achieved that velocity on their own.  The ship shook again as four more
wormholes loosed streams of protons, or in the case of two of them,
antiprotons.  The beams slashed out, on a wide spread, obliterating incoming
enemy weapons and fighters.  Those that made it through were instantly taken
under fire by the ship’s lasers and close in weapons, until that threat was
neutralized.

“Targeting and firing
again,” called out the Fleet Tactical Officer.  The ship shuddered again as
another hundred and twenty missiles came out of their portals at point nine five
light.

And we have to hope that
they overlook those acceleration tubes
, thought the Emperor as he watched another of
the enemy ships disappear from the plot, this one from the missiles launched by
this vessel.  These wormhole weapons were his ace in the hole, that and the
ability to shift forces across great distances.  If he lost them in the middle
of a battle, this fight might be over before it really began.

*     *     *

Admiral Mei sat back in
her seat, watching the floating holo that showed the questioning her Marines
were putting to the captive humans.  True interrogation would come later, at
the hands of Fleet Intelligence.  Her Marine Commander was just there to get
some preliminary information, something that might help them battle the other ship,
the one that was targeting the
Donut.

“We think they were
trying to bring another wormhole through the one we were carrying,” said the
handsome human who had been the leader of the penetration squad that had
navigated the freighter into Imperial space.  “I’m not completely sure what
would have happened, but from running the math, I knew it wouldn’t be good.”

My God
, thought the Admiral. 
She knew what would happen.  The same thing that had happened at the homeworld
of the Klavarta.  An explosion that had scoured the surface of a world clean,
actually shattering the crust and destroying over ten thousand Caca ships. 
What
would it have done to the Capital system?
she thought.  Scoured the surface
of Jewel clean, at least the hemisphere facing the blast.  It would have left
the planet denuded of atmosphere, while the cracked crust would have spewed
magma into the vacuum around the planet.  All of the structures of Central
Docks would have been blown away, completely obliterating the yards and every
vessel in it.  New Terra would have suffered less damage than Jewel, but it
would still be close to a total loss.  Ariel would have come through with the
least damage, probably no more than a severe dose of radiation, enough to kill
most of the life on the world.

Eighteen billion people
killed
,
she thought, shaking her head, her eyes locked on the face of the man, a member
of her own species who had been raised to hate his own kind.  To think of the
Cacas as not just his masters, but almost as the Godlike beings whose destiny
it was to rule the Universe.  Willing to do whatever it took to help his
masters accomplish their goals.  All of their goals, including the extinction
of his own species.

Only something had
happened within him, a change of heart.
  According to the Captain there were over a
hundred thousand of the slave humans in the Ca’cadasan Empire, all brainwashed
from birth to help the masters destroy their own kind.  Unless they had not
been told the real plan?  Maybe they hadn’t been told that the masters wanted
to push their species to extinction.  And this one had figured it out.

“Make sure that
information gets to as many wormhole equipped ships as possible,” said the
Admiral, looking at her Com Tech.  “Tell everyone that the information has to
get to the
Donut.
”

If her group had been
fully operational she would have had enough wormhole coms to get through
herself.  The way everything was so disrupted at the moment, she wasn’t even
sure if anyone she would be talking to could get through, so the only choice
was a broadcast to everyone.

“Orders, ma’am?” asked
the Helmsman.

Mei looked at another Com
Tech, nodding to get his attention.  “Order all ships to take aboard any
available crew and weapons we can load in the next fifteen minutes,” she
ordered.  She knew it was really time she didn’t have, but some of her ships
had taken a beating, and if she was going to fight a large Caca force she would
need every crew member she could get to effect repairs on the way to battle.

“Then order the group to
go through the wormhole to the black hole system.” 
We might not accomplish
anything.  We might be too late.  But if there’s even a chance that our being
there might make a difference, we have to be in place for the opportunity.

“Admiral Nakama is
stating that he can have volunteer crew aboard us in ten minutes,” said the Com
Tech, looking back with a strained smile.  “And as many missiles as they can
put aboard our hangers in that time period.”

Mei nodded.  They could
move the missiles once aboard through the internal shift tubes that linked all
the magazines.  It would take some time, and effort, but with more people they
could get it done.

“We also have some more
ships asking if they can join us, ma’am.”

“The more the merrier,”
said the Admiral.  “But I only want hyper VII ships.  The VIs can stay here and
guard the system, in case something else comes along.”  The wormhole gates to a
few of the other supersystem planets had disgorged more warships during the
battle.  She was sure that had been part of the Caca plan, why they had
attacked with fighters at first, to try to lure as many Imperial ships into the
zone of destruction as possible.  Some of those ships needed to stay here, for
she would be damned if anything else hit them out of the depths of space
without the system being covered.

Chapter Seventeen

If we take the generally accepted definition of
bravery as a quality which knows no fear, I have never seen a brave man. All
men are frightened. The more intelligent they are, the more they are
frightened. George S. Patton

“My Lord.  We are picking
up numerous objects in orbit around this station.”

The High Admiral in
charge of the mission looked up at the plot, tearing his mind away from the
thought that he would never see his sons again.  Unlike his subordinates, who
had been ordered onto this suicide mission, and had obeyed unquestioningly, as
was their way, he had volunteered for a hopeless charge that could win the war
for his kind in a day.  And bring glory and honor to his sons, advancing them
in their careers.

“Show me.”

Whatever they were, they
weren’t radiating gravitons, so were probably not ships.  And all of them were
very large, in the hundreds of millions of ton range, many much more massive. 
The Ca’cadasan ships were only getting sensor returns on them now, and none of
them were stealthed.

The one that appeared on
the screen was a squat cylinder, the sensor readouts showing a length of over
fifty kilometers, a width of twenty.  It was putting out gravitons, the kind
that were generated by the simple mass of the object, and not by any
technological means.

“Mass reading estimated
to be over a hundred billion tons,” called out the shocked Tactical Officer. 
“Purpose unknown, but I believe it is a wormhole production satellite.  Should
we target it?”

“No.  We will move
forward with the primary mission.” 
I would hate to fail for the lack of a
missile
, thought the High Admiral.  “And what is that?”

This object was over a
thousand kilometers in length, though less than a single kilometer in width,
looking all the world like an enormous needle.  It massed less than a billion
tons, probably closer to eight hundred million.  Thousands of smaller objects
inhabited the vastness of the space around the station, most of unknown
purpose.  They must have been factories, docks, antimatter storage containers. 
The industrial potential indicated was massive.  The destruction of so much
potential would be devastating to the war effort of the humans, but it was
still nothing compared to their station, which represented a thousand of the
power generating worlds his own Empire would need to equal its energy producing
potential.

“Second wave of missiles
should reach the station in another minute,” called out the Tactical Officer.

Most of the missiles were
visible on the plot, the specials looking like ghost images even to Ca’cadasan
sensors.  Many were dropping off the plot each second as counter missiles from
the station took them out.  The plot showed the third wave, still five minutes
from contact, followed by the first wave launched by the warships, over six
minutes behind that one.

“Time until we reach
detonation range?”

“Seventeen minutes, my
Lord.  We should launch our last missiles in thirteen minutes, then follow them
in.”

“Then that is what we
will do,” ordered the High Admiral.  “And I will want detonation within ten
thousand kilometers from of the hull of the station.  Leading vessels will
shoot by before then.” 
And just maybe we can survive the blast and get out
of this system
, he thought.  That wasn’t in the plan of the people who had
sent him, but if it got him out alive it was his plan.

“One of the large objects
is on the move, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, pointing to an icon that
denoted one of the large cylinders.  The vector arrow showed that it would
cross their path about four hundred and fifty thousand kilometers ahead when
they were still two minutes from the station.  “Perhaps they intend to use it
as a mobile battery against us.”

“Do we know what weapons
it might have?”

“No, my Lord.  It’s not
boosting at a very high rate.  Only a couple of gravities.  So it doesn’t seem
to be any kind of weapon system.”

“Then we’ll ignore it if
we can.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

They would have been
better served to have more of their warships close in to the station
, thought the High
Admiral.  They had taken out over fifty warships with long range fire, light
cruisers and destroyers, and not one capital ship.  The enemy must have felt
that the station was unassailable by any kind of sneak attack.  They were
wrong.  He had also lost a couple of ships, since the warships, when they had
still existed, and the station were putting out considerable firepower.  But
nothing had gotten close to the freighter, which had been his primary concern.

The Admiral watched the
second wave on final attack approach.  It looked like about fifty of the
weapons would strike the station, including five of the quarkium warheads. 
Probably not enough to seriously harm the station, much less destroy it.  But
hopefully enough of a distraction to allow them to get the real weapon into
engagement range.

Something exploded
ahead.  Something massive, probably of higher megatonage than the quarkium
warheads they were firing at the station.  Something that seemed to appear out
of nowhere.

“What in the hells was
that?” asked the High Admiral, looking at the Tactical Officer.

“I’m not sure, my Lord. 
It just seemed to come out of nowhere.”  The officer looked over his panel,
getting what information it could give him.  “Range was one million kilometers. 
Estimated yield, over one terraton.”

The High Admiral felt the
tension increase in both pairs of shoulders as his eyes widened.  That was the
equivalent yield of a thousand of their ship killer missiles.  And they had no
idea where it had come from.  Within five seconds eight more of the explosions
rippled through space, most no closer than the first, one within the distance
where it was flooding two nearby ships with heat and radiation.  Seven more
went off, then, after a short break, eleven more.  One went off within five
kilometers of a ship.  The vessel came apart under the blast, hull alloy
vaporizing away as armor peeled off.  The remains of the ship continued on,
without a living crew to fight it.

“Go to evasive maneuvers,
now,” shouted the Admiral.

“It will increase our
time to contact with the station,” said the Helm Officer.

“But it will give us a
greater chance in actually getting there,” growled the Admiral.  “Now do what I
say.  And give the other ships my orders.”

*     *     *

“The first missiles
should have detonated by now, sir,” said the Pilot, who was also the wing
Tactical Officer.

And we have no way of
knowing their effect,
thought Captain Javier Chavez. 
Unless they strike a
boosting vessel.

“Command is reporting
that one enemy battleship has ceased boosting,” said the Klassekian Com Tech,
looking at the Wing Commander.

So one hit, or more
probably a near miss,
thought the Captain.  Out of forty of the new missiles
launched.  In a way that was not much of a favorable exchange, since these
weapons were extremely expensive.  But then again, so was one of the Caca
superbattleships.

The Mark XXXI inertialess
missile was a new brainchild of Admiral Chan’s Research and Development
Command.  Using the same inertial bubble as the craft that equipped Chavez’
wing, they were launched from the fighters while they were under boost within
the drive.  The missiles erected their own bubbles as soon as they left the
bodies of the fighters, still contained within the launching craft’s bubble.  As
soon as they were ready they boosted away, through the negative matter screen
of the launch vessel, accelerating up to a maximum of three times light speed,
a much higher velocity than the fighters.  From that point they headed out on
their programmed course, with no way on knowing what was going on in the
outside Universe.  They could only drive toward their target, dropping out of
their bubble when they reached the point that they had been aimed for.  With
luck there would be something there worth the spectacular explosion that
occurred when a material object massing eighty tons reentered the Universe and
all of its inertia caught up to it.  It was the equivalent of eighty tons of
antimatter, three terratons of destruction.

The missiles were very
expensive, using enough negative matter that eight missiles equaled a fighter. 
They were a devastating weapon, and almost useless as they were.  It was hoped
that someday some form of guidance or control system would be developed that
would give them some kind of accuracy.  This was not that day.

“Preparing to drop back
to normal space,” called out the Pilot, making last second checks on his board.

“Give me an update on the
plot,” the Captain ordered his Com Tech.  He wished there was a better way to
get this kind of information while they were in the bubble.  Passing
communications was one thing, but he thought it was asking a bit much of the
quantum linked being to transmit this much information.  The Klassekian did her
best, and what came across was surprisingly detailed, if still suspect.  Not
anything against her abilities, but everything was being scanned by graviton
emissions against a radiation backdrop unlike anything the tactical departments
had ever seen.  Hundreds of vessels large and small, the emissions of the
largest object in known space, the black hole it orbited around, explosions
like nothing seen in Imperial space.

Still, he had to admit
the plot that was coming through her sibling to be projected into the ship’s
computer by implant seemed to be very detailed.  The second wave of enemy
missiles was almost at the station, followed closely by thousands of attack
fighters, a third wave following.  All of those were well ahead of his four
squadrons.   At his current velocity he would not be able to catch them before
they struck, but hopefully the other two and a half wings would be able to
intervene.  His targets were coming up on him now, moving at point five five
light, heading for the station.  They had not fired their missiles, something
that was troubling to the Wing Commander, since that kind of tactical decision
flew in the face of all doctrine.

“We need to acquire
targets as soon as we’re back into normal space,” said the Captain, pointing at
the nearest ships.  “We might only get one shot at them before we have to go
back into the bubble.”

The Pilot nodded, not
saying a word.  The Captain didn’t blame him.  This was the kind of situation
to tax the abilities of the best of pilots.  He would have to change vectors
and pick out targets at the same time, then fire an instant later.  Knowing
that the enemy would be sure to fire on his ship as soon as they were no longer
masked by the negative matter bubble.

“Now,” yelled out the
Pilot, the only warning any of the bridge crew would get.  The bubble dropped,
normal space appeared on the viewers, and the plot firmed up, showing a ship
bearing down on them at a closing speed of point three light.  Range, twelve
light seconds.

*     *     *

“That was one of the
support cables going,” shouted out one of the Ratings who was monitoring damage
to the station.

Lucille looked up at the
station schematic, seeing the blinking red area about five hundred thousand
kilometers up to spinward.  The outer portside cable, a five-kilometer
thickness of superstrong alloys and carbon nanofibers, was missing a six
kilometer section.  The other five were intact.  The station was made so that
three of the cables, the primary structural support keeping the fast rotating
structure together, were enough to keep it from flying apart.  It helped if the
remaining cables were evenly distributed.  If the cables were in different
regions of the station all of them could be cut, theoretically.  It was not a
theory that Yu wanted to test.

“That had to be one of
their big warheads,” said Lucille, looking over at the duty officer.  “No way a
simple ship killer could take that out.”

The damage extended deep
into the station, in fact blasting all the way out the other side, but
fortunately not retaining enough force to take out a second cable.  It had
wiped out another couple of dozen generator units, which was bad.  But not as
bad as the inhabited section it had taken out as well, and probably ten
thousand people with it.

The deck shook, too soon
to be the shock wave from the quarkium warhead that had taken out the cable. 
And not strong enough, if Lucille was any judge.  It was one of the ship
killers, still strong enough to blast a kilometer or two into the station. 
Fifteen of those had struck, as well as three more of the super-warheads.  Sheltering
deep enough in the station would protect against the normal ship killers. 
There really was no place to shelter from the super-warheads.  All you could do
was hope one didn’t hit close enough to wherever you were, and that the station
didn’t come apart around you.

“Look at this, sir. 
Ma’am,” said one of the Techs, throwing up a slowed down holo.  It showed a
massive explosion inward from the station, well toward the event horizon of the
black hole.  A missile with a quarkium warhead that had missed the station. 
And then had gone off before reaching the event horizon.  The explosion had
lived for microseconds before being sucked into the black hole, the inexorable
pull of gravity stopping the explosive force before it had travelled more than
a thousand kilometers from its source.