Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2 (39 page)

“Incoming missiles in
twelve minutes,” called out the tactical officer.  The Admiral switched her
internal view of the plot, moving outward to where the ninety enemy missiles
were coming in at point eight c.  She could feel the vibrations of the station
change slightly as the counter missile tubes started their firing sequence. 
The great thing about the forts was that they had lots of room.  So the long
range counters were larger than their equivalents on ships, which a much longer
range.  And she would use that range to keep pumping them out throughout the
approach profile of the enemy.  As she watched the plot the green arrows
increased and moved out in their waves, while the red arrows moved in.

*     *     *

“Com from the
orbitals,” said the com tech, looking over his shoulder at the Admiral. 
“Personal from Admiral Gonzalez.”

“I’ll take it on my
internal,” said Admiral Heinrich, switching into his own link.  Unfortunately,
he knew, the other Admiral was over thirty-six minutes one way com time from
him.  He could listen, but his reply would take over a half an hour to get back
to her.

“We came through as
good as could be expected,” said the Countess over the link.  “Some damage to
the other fortress.  We took a couple of minor hits from fragments.  But they
weren’t as hard to take out as we had thought.”

She paused for a
moment, looking thoughtfully into the cam unit.  “Their missiles were very good
to get those hits without achieving saturation.  Not really super weapons, no. 
Better acceleration than what we have now.  With slightly better ECM and
penetration aids.  But nothing we can’t overcome with numbers.”

“If only we outnumbered
them,” said Heinrich under his breath.

“We’ve sent everything
your way we could launch,” she continued.  “Within the time frame.  Praying
that everything works out within the plan.  Gonzalez out.”

There followed a mass
of technical data which Heinrich shunted into the tactical systems for his
staff to look over.  It did seem too easy, so far.  The big bad ogres were not
so frightening after all.  And that seemed more frightening from his
professional perspective than anything.

The Admiral started a
second as a hand touched him on the shoulder, breaking him from his thoughts.  Flag
Captain Lamborgini looked down on him, her face tense.

“It’s time, Admiral,”
she said, nodding toward the large tactical screen.

Heinrich looked up as a
series of green arrows appeared over all of his ships, then spread out and
away.  They were launching their own missiles.  The enemy was within thirty
million kilometers, a range that would continue to shrink over the next two
hours before the enemy passed them and the range opened again.  For a half hour
of that time they would be within effective laser range, and the gun battle
would dominate the engagement.  Either of the forces could be shattered by that
time by missile fire.  Or both.  Both or the enemy’s would be a satisfactory
outcome from a strategic point.

“May god be with us,”
he said as he expanded the tactical display to bring all the players onto the
scene.

*     *     *

Low Admiral
Hrissnammartanama watched the tactical display as all of the players moved
across it.  Nothing was in real time, based as it was on best guess estimates
of sensor returns of objects still light minutes away.  But the best guess
estimates were normally very good.

Over four hundred of
the largish attack fighters of the humans were coming in from the starboard
quarter, moving at point two c relative to his force.  They had just lit their
reactors up after presumably coasting for an undetermined time from their
launch vessels, and were about fifteen minutes from contact.  Nineteen medium
sized vessels, about three times the mass of his scout ships, were sitting to
the port side and had released about two thousand missiles.  The weapons were
coming in at about point six eight c relative, and would make contact in about
ten minutes.

And to his front he had
over a thousand missiles, launched from planetary orbit, coming in at point
nine c relative (about .7 absolute), and the missiles launched by the enemy
fleet, over five thousand, moving at considerable less velocity than the other
weapons, but estimated to contact his force in ten minutes.

“Except for the small
vessels we’ll be dealing with their weapons all about the same time,” said the
tactical officer with a tight look on his face.  Just as he finished the plot
changed as twelve hundred missiles left their launch bays on the human
fighters.  The vector arrows started moving toward the Ca’cadasan force, and
soon numbers appeared underneath.  ETA of ten minutes.

“A masterful
engagement,” said the Low Admiral, showing his teeth in admiration of a
skillful opponent.  “He attempts to use everything he has to saturate our defenses.”

“We have an
understanding of his systems now, my Lord,” said the underofficer, looking at
the screen.  “He will not do as well as during the first engagements.”

“He will still draw
blood,” said the Low Admiral.  “Just hopefully not as much as he desired too.”

The Low Admiral looked
at the screen for a moment more, then looked over at his tactical officer.

“Fire five full salvoes
at the enemy,” he ordered.  “Set them to continuous target tracking.  I want
them to seek out whatever comes up next if they miss their first targets of
opportunity.  Ships, orbital stations, whatever they can line up.  And send a
full salvo at that group of ships to our port.”

The tactical officer
nodded in acknowledgment and worked at his board.  Soon the tactical display was
filled with the vector arrows of the Ca’cadasan missiles heading toward the
enemy, until six thousand of the projectiles were on their way.

*     *     *

“We have enemy missiles
on an incoming trajectory,” yelled out the tactical officer.

Admiral Sir Gunter
Heinrich looked up from his chair where he had been contemplating the future
and saw the storm of vector arrows now heading for his force.

We knew we were going
to stir up a hornet's nest
, he thought as he stared at the holo tank.  And the
hornets were coming on with stingers to the fore.  He could feel the shiver of
fear run up his spine as he contemplated his own removal from existence.  What
would his family think of his leaving them?  What would his Empire think of not
having Sir Gunter Heinrich leading His Imperial Majesty's warships into battle? 
Of course the dogs would miss him, if they even remembered him, it had been so
long since he had been on his estates.  Or would he be the only one to notice
that he wasn't here anymore.

The Admiral felt
himself chuckle at the absurdity of that last thought.  How would he notice if
he were no longer here?  Unless one of the major religions was correct and
there actually was an afterlife.  He was not a believer.  His belief was that
when life ended consciousness, existence itself, ended.  And right now he did
not want to believe that.  Not with non-existence staring him in the face.

“Total of six thousand
missiles heading our way,” called out the tactical officer in an artificially
calm voice.  The voice taught to young officers in the academies, to portray
the proper attitude of nonchalance to the crew.

“Are you OK, Admiral?”
asked Flag Captain Myra Lamborgini, looking over from her chair, her head
looking tiny in the combat armor that might allow her at most a minute more of
life.  Her eyes were wide and sweat was beading on her face despite the perfect
climate of the flag bridge.

“Fine, Myra,” said
Heinrich, wiping a bit of sweat from his own forehead and smiling.  “Scared to
death at what's about to happen.  But fine.”

The Flag Captain's eyes
went even wider at the admission of her superior and lover.

“It's out of our hands,
Captain,” continued Gunter, shaking his head.  “We live or die based on the
performance of these young men and women, and the equipment that they operate.”

Lamborgini nodded her
head and returned his tight smile.

“At a time like this I
wish I were an ensign,” she said, looking at the plot.  “Or a Lieutenant JG,
working the weapons console of a frigate.  Doing something, with at least the
illusion that what I was doing would make a difference in whether I lived or
died.”

“Not a ship's Captain,
Myra?” asked Heinrich, his eyebrows looking a question.  “Not the one in charge
of the play?”

“Hell, Admiral,” she
said, shaking her head.  “Our Captains have no more control of their destiny
than we have.  Their ships are plugged into the program.  They're just
spectators.  Just like we are.  Until the first barrage arrives, ships die, and
the plan changes.  Then those who survive become masters of their fate again. 
At least to the degree where they can decide how they are going to play the
next wave.  Maybe they might even survive the whole show.”

“I wish I had told you
more often how much I love you,” whispered Heinrich, leaning over toward his Flag
Captain and placing a gloved hand on armored knee.  He wished it could be the
touch of his flesh and blood hand on her bare skin.

“But you had your wife
and family,” she said with a catch in her throat.  “Appearances need to be
kept.”

“I'm sorry,” he whispered,
feeling his face tighten.

“Our first wave should
be reaching the enemy in one minute,” said the tactical officer.  “ETA of enemy
missiles, four minutes.”

“We shouldn't be going
these places at a time like this,” said Lamborgini, flashing a quick smile. 
“If it's our last moments, we shouldn't waste them in recriminations.  If we
survive, we can talk about this later.”

Heinrich nodded his
head, then made sure the seal on his helmet was tight.  The faceplate could be
dropped and sealed just before the enemy missiles struck.  He turned his eyes
back to the plot, watching as the green arrows of his attack reached out toward
the enemy, and the red arrows of the enemy's strike moved across space toward
his force.

*     *     *

The Low Admiral could
feel the massive ship buck slightly under him and knew that the counter
missiles were cycling though the tubes.  Every ship in his force, from the
twenty battleships, through the twenty cruisers, all the way to the forty
scouts, were flushing counter missiles as fast as they could cycle.  All
targeting the most dangerous wave, that of the orbital forts that were
traveling at over point nine light speed.  After several cycles the missiles
switched targets, going with one wave toward the missiles coming from the far
cruiser force.  The next cycle targeted the wave from the fighters.  Then two
cycles on the missiles coming from the enemy battle force.  And so it went as
the fleet attempted to put all the missiles they could into space, and knock
down as many enemy missiles as possible at the longest range they could.

“First wave contact in
one minute,” called out the tactical officer, while all watched the fastest
moving arrows approached.  Three hundred red arrows that showed on the display
as larger sensor targets than the others.  They began to turn into pinpoints of
light as counter missiles reached out, dozens of counters to each of the
offensive weapons.  A hundred winked out, then another fifty, then fifty more,
as hard and proximity kills took out the weapons that had been launched over an
hour before by the orbital platforms.  Ninety six continued on, their seeker
systems making adjustments while they picked out targets, priority given to the
largest.

Close in systems took
out over half those remaining, while heavy jamming spoiled the targeting of a
score more.  Twenty missiles got within range to actually accomplish their
mission.  Four hit scout class vessels, blotting them from existence with
gigatons of kinetic energy.  Fourteen went for proximity kills when it became
apparent to their electronic brains that they were not going to hit their
targets.  They caused some damage to a pair of massive battleships and a trio
of cruisers.  One hit a cruiser dead on the bow, shattering all the way through
the two kilometers of vessel, while one made a glancing hit on a battleship,
killing all aboard as compensators fail to handle the change in inertia in the
spinning ship.

Next in were the
missiles from the cruiser force, traveling at point seven light.  The systems
on the Ca'cadasan ships were able to burn through the jamming and gain firm
solutions on most of these weapons.  Two thirds were blotted from the heavens
before they were three minutes out.  A mere dozen got within kill range,
causing minor damage to a quartet of cruisers and a pair of scouts.

The missiles from the
fighters had better luck.  Smaller targets, the dedicated jammers were able to
hide most of the killer weapons in a cloud of static.  Waves of interceptors
flew toward them, in their numbers attempting to break through the jamming and
acquire targets.  Tens of thousands of the smaller missiles flew into the
static cloud, and some were bound to come close enough to a missile to lock
target and attempt a kill.  Kill they did, putting waves of particles and
debris into the path of incoming weapons in proximity kills.  There were even a
few lucky hard kills.  Almost half the small fighter missiles broke through the
first wave of interceptors.  Half of those died at the hands of the second
wave, until a thousand missiles came within the range of the close in systems. 
In seconds the threat was over, at the cost of one of the battleships, hit by a
score of missiles in a paroxysm of statistical improbability, and a half dozen
of the smaller ships damaged to varying degrees.