Exodus: Empires at War: Book 7: Counter Strike (42 page)

“Containment breach imminent,” called out the
voice of the computer that monitored all engineering operations.  “Containment
breach imminent.” 
Which means the damned system can’t tell me when it’s
going to blow. 
“Captain.  One of the reactors is about to blow.  I’m going
to have to jettison it.”

“Go ahead, Chief Engineer,” said Captain Javier
Montoya, the expression on his face over the holo showing a man who was already
handling all he could.  “Do what you need to do, just keep giving me power.”

“That’s a roger,” said Dawson, pulling up the
control panel that allowed him to fire the reactor capsules out at high
velocity into space, in such a case as was going on at this time.  He touched
the panel for number six, which expanded on the board, then placed his thumb
over the identification panel, which read both his print and his DNA.  After
that, he pushed the jettison panel, which changed color, first blinking red,
then going steady.  He pressed down on the panel, looking at the schematic of
the reactor, waiting to see the representation move up through the top of the
ship and into space.  The outside hatch blew open, and Dawson waited for the
ejection.  And waited, as nothing happened, and the computer voice kept telling
him that his death, and that of everyone else aboard, was imminent.

*    
*     *

The Great Admiral stared in disbelief at the
tactical holo.  First, he had been hit by the impossible fighters of the enemy,
which had resulted in his losing over a hundred ships.  He had punished them as
well, his people having learned from the Congreeve engagement what to look for,
and when to throw up a blockade of fire.  The fighters also gave off some kind
of signal when they returned to normal space, a subspace surge that they had
barely detected through all the interference.  It had been noted at Congreeve,
and, while it wasn’t much, it did give them just a bit of warning.  They didn’t
have a lock though the signal, but they did have a general direction, and a
time, so they had fired everything they had, and had destroyed at least two
thirds of the attacking fighters. 
And how many ships would I have lost to
them if we hadn’t perceived that signal. 
He knew, of course, that the humans
would learn from this, and come up with a new strategy to again give them the
edge.

Then he had been hit by the incoming missiles
by the enemy task force that had gone around them to spinward, thousands of
missiles seeming to come out of nowhere, not even picked up until they were
less than a light minute away, and that by active radar and lidar.  That also
had seemed unfair.  So much of modern warfare was based around being able to
detect an enemy and his missiles through graviton emissions at long range, and
that resource had been swept off the table for this fight.  They had gotten
lucky in one area.  If they couldn’t track the missiles by gravitons, neither
could the missiles they.  His ships went into evasive maneuvers, putting out as
much fire as possible, and he had only lost another hundred ships to that
strike.  He almost expected the enemy to start a vector change and come after
him, but it appeared on visual that they were continuing into the system to
attack the ships near the inhabited planet, a force the foe outmassed four to
one.  He had sent a signal to those ships insystem, but he wasn’t sure what
good it would do, except to tell them their doom was coming. 
Maybe they
could get away
, he thought for a moment, then dismissed that notion.  Of
course the enemy would have the system ringed with ships, waiting for his
insystem force to do just that.

His fleet had taken a pounding from the human
force that had just passed through it.  He had at most four hundred ships that
were combat capable.  And there was sure to be another enemy force on the way
in to hit him.  Maybe more than one.  Any way he looked at it, his force was
doomed.  So the next thought on his mind was what to do about it.  The honor of
the Race called for them to die fighting, to never surrender
.  But they
didn’t have a situation like this in mind
, he thought, imagining the almost
one million Cacada that were still under his command. 
And what kind of
treatment can we expect from the humans
, he thought, sure that it wouldn’t
be good.

I might have a few more minutes to decide
, he thought, staring
at the holo again, wishing his thoughts could change it.  But it was reality
that was staring him in the face, and there was nothing he could do to change
that.  Even his surprise, waiting out in the dark, would not be enough to do
more than hurt the enemy some more.

*    
*     *

“What’s the problem with
Augustine?
”
said Sean into the com, looking at the tactical holo zoom of the battle that
had just occurred.

His former flagship had all of his attention. 
He knew many of the people on board that vessel, including the Captain.

“They’re reporting problems with one of their
reactors,” said Kelso over the com.  “From what I understand, they’re working
on it.”

Sean used his command override to look at the
operating system of the ship in question, coughing as he saw what the problem
was. 
They’re going to blow up
, he thought with a start.  A ship like
the superheavy battleship might even survive one reactor breach, tough as she
was, and especially if they were able to reduce the antimatter feed.  But if
one reactor went, it might set off others, and the stored antimatter used for
all the reactors.  Best case scenario, half the crew killed and the ship
crippled.  Worst case, everyone died.  And from what he was seeing, no one was
abandoning ship at this time.

“We have missiles on approached,” called out an
almost panicked voice on the com.  “Estimated impact in one minute ten
seconds.”

Sean switched the holo from the part of the
fight he had been watching, to see the icons of thousands of missiles heading
his way. 
Where in the hell did they come from
, he thought, his
attention taken by the fact that his life, and the lives of everyone in the
task groups around him, were in deadly danger.

Chapter
Twenty-seven

I am not afraid of an
army of lions led by a sheep; I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion.  
Alexander the Great

MASSADARA.  JANUARY 9
^TH
,
1002.

Major General Samuel Baggett moved with his
security detail on a tour of what had been the front lines.  It had been,
before the general collapse of the Caca forces.  Now it was a field of death
and despair, mostly for the aliens.  There were bodies everywhere, most of them
in the distinctive ground combat armor worn by the Ca’cadasans that, while
giving decent protection, seemed to have lesser capabilities than the human
version. 
That will probably change in the future
, thought Baggett,
recalling that the Cacas had surely captured many human suits, and were just as
sure to reverse engineer them in the near future.

Many of the suits had large holes burned
through them, acrid smoke still rising, the victims of particle beams.  A line
of suits nearby were literally torn apart, obviously hit by a high velocity
projectile, probably from a tank.  One of the thousand ton vehicles sat on a
hilltop with its gun leveled on a large cluster of Cacas who were prisoners,
reminding them of the futility of their position.  The prisoners were sans
suits.  Actually sans all clothing, standing with bowed heads under the guns of
heavy infantry troops.

An explosion sounded in the far distance, a
short dull crump.  There was still some resistance, the Cacas being a stubborn
people.  The ones they had under guard had taken enough between the artillery
and infantry supported tanks, and had gone from fiercely resistant to cowed in
an instant.

Something flew over with a sonic boom.  Baggett
looked up into the clouds, now their natural color as the holo projectors were
off line.  Now it was to human advantage to have unobstructed vision of the
surface, and clear communications.  A pair of atmospheric fighters flew over,
just off the assault ships that had inserted into orbit.  There were four of
the ships, with a hundred of the fighters each, as well as their ground troops,
which were being shuttled down.

There would still be scattered resistance for
the next couple of days, but the humans would be the ones to call down strikes
from orbit. 
We paid our cost in blood too
, thought Baggett, looking at
the line of troopers that were laying on the ground, sealed into preserving
cryo containers that would keep their remains intact until interment.  That
interment would be here, on Massadara, the place they had fought and died for. 
That was the tradition of the Army, for all but nobles, who would be sent back
to their home planets for burial.  He knew there were several of those as well.

“It’s always sad to see the aftermath, isn’t
it?” asked Brigadier General Dagni Thorwaldsdottir, the Assistant Division
Commander.  She had been cleared for combat just before the start of the
campaign, but had spent her time in the command bunker, as per Baggett’s
orders.

“It sure is, Dag,” said Baggett, looking into
the pretty face revealed by her retracted faceplate.  “At least it wasn’t the
bloodbath it was back in Fenri space.”

“And what will happen to them?” she asked,
motioning with her chin at the hundred odd prisoners gathered below.

“They’ll be fed, interrogated, then used to get
whatever information we can about their strengths and weaknesses.”

“In violation of the Accords?” said Dagni with
a tone of distaste.

“They didn’t sign the Accords,” said Baggett,
looking over the ruins of what had been a human town of ten thousand, his
mind’s eye seeing the destruction of Cimmeria, and so many other densely
populated systems.  He spat.  “And they sure didn’t follow the spirit of them. 
So let them suffer, I say.  The bastards deserve whatever they get.”

“We’re getting a com from Grand Fleet Admiral
Mgonda,” came a call over the net.  “On the general circuit.”

“Put it through,” he told the tech.  “Put it
through to the whole division.”

“To all units in the Massadara system,” came a
voice over the net.  “Stand by for a cast from the System Commander.”

There was dead air for a few moments, then the
deep voice of a man used to command came over the com.  A voice everyone in
this sector was familiar with.

“To the valiant Spacers, Soldiers and Marines
in the Massadara system.  I was proud to send a message to the Emperor moments
ago.  That message was, ‘we have met the enemy, and he is ours’.  I am happy to
say that all organized resistance in the system, in space and on the ground,
has ended.  The commander of the Ca’cadasan forces in the system has called on
his people to surrender to us, unconditionally.  We are in the process of
rounding up the last of the Cacas not in our custody.  They have been ordered
to surrender, to come out into the open without weapons, with all hands raised
into the air.”  There was a moment’s pause.  “And if they do not come out into
the open, to relinquish their persons to our custody, they are to be destroyed
by whatever means necessary.  I would not have any of our people killed by the
dastardly actions of an enemy who had already capitulated.  Mgonda, Commander
Imperial Forces Massadara System, out.”

Cheering rose all around as the soldiers of the
First Heavy Infantry Division digested the message.  They had survived the
battle, the Cacas had been defeated, and the Empire was well on the way of
throwing the murderous bastards out of its space.

Baggett linked into the command circuit to get
the rundown of the battle as told by its casualty figures.  While his division
had rolled over the enemy, the other two had hit much stiffer resistance.  They
had still won, but at a higher cost, if nothing like what Baggett had seen in
his last posting.  And the Fleet?  They had won, with heavy casualties.  They
had destroyed over three billion tons of Caca warships, at the cost of three
point six billion tons of their own.  More importantly, they had lost over a
million spacers, which made the land battle losses seem like nothing. 
Not
nothing,
he thought. 
Every one of those people is someone’s spouse or
lover, brother or sister, son or daughter, maybe even a parent.

He looked again on the naked Cacas, shivering
under the guns of his soldiers, and wanted to give the command to shoot.  But
that would destroy his career, and, more important, his humanity.  With a shake
of his head, he turned away, walking to the sounds of a distant firefight, wanting
this madness to end while he still had a soul.

*    
*     *

SUPERHEAVY BATTLESHIP
AUGUSTINE
I.

Dawson grabbed the laser cutter head from the
tool locker, then ran into the lock leading to the reactor chamber.  The outer
door to the lock was set into the containment vessel that the reactor
compartment sat in.  The inner was set into the reactor compartment itself. 
Both doors were of heavy construction, barriers to the radiation within the
compartment.

Four engineers ran into the lock with the
Commander, closing the door behind.  Dawson activated the inner door and
stepped into the compartment, hauling the heavy cutter head that the strength
of his suit allowed him to carry.

The radiation meter on his suit went off the
scale, and he saw why immediately.  There was a large hole in the side of the
reactor, and the chamber was flooded with neutrons.  That was not the only
damage apparent.  The chamber was a complete disaster, gashes through alloy
supports and control runs, systems melted, a seemingly hopeless wreck. 
And
I’ve got almost no time to get two systems online, and the damage cut away
that’s holding this bitch in place.
  A wave of nausea passed through him
from the radiation, which was another concern.  But not more of one than the
reactor that was threatening to go critical.

“Get on that feed there and cut off the
antimatter going in
,
” he told off one engineer, then pointed to
another.  “And see if you can start the hydrogen feed going.”  That would take
care of one problem.  There was raw anti-hydrogen sitting within the
fluctuating magnetic field of the reactor, and no hydrogen for it to react
with.  The reactor was no longer in vacuum, and some air was getting into the
containment field, hence the radiation from the minor reaction.  But not enough
to clear it.

Dawson took a look at the ready antimatter
containers, attached to the outside of the compartment, and used to heat up the
volatile substance as it was fed in from the outside stores, before feeding it
into the reactor.  And from what he was seeing on the schematic on his HUD, it
was still feeding anti-hydrogen into the reactor through the nonfunctioning
regulator valve, adding to the problem.

If the reactor blows it’s not really that much
of a problem.  But if the ready antimatter goes with it, and it’s almost sure
to, then we have real problems
.  And the feed from the ready tanks was also
jammed, no, in reality, gone, so there was no way to evacuate the tanks.

“Cut those supports through,” he told the other
two engineers in his team, pointing at the two heavy structures holding the
reactor to the chamber wall.  They had been hit hard by the particle beam, and
sections had pushed through the skin and welded to the outer compartment,
holding the containment cell in place.

As those people headed for that task, he moved
to the control run that led to the ejection charges and grabbers, that were
here to push the reactor out of the ship.  The charges were only there to start
the fifty meter tall compartment on its way, at which time the grabbers would
accelerate it out into space and away from the ship.

Dawson opened the control run and found the
superconducting cable inside was gone, totally vaporized by the beam that had
struck it.  He continued to open more of the run, until he found the still intact
end, then back the other way until he found that terminator.  Reaching into his
bag, he pulled out a spool of superconductor and attached it with nanite spray
at the severed end closest to the internal switching.  He then ran the cable to
the other end and attached it.

“You should have control of the ejection
process now,” he told his Assistant Chief Engineer in Engineering Central
Control.

“I’m not getting any signal,” she said into the
com, her voice controlled, but quivering on the edge of panic.

“I’ve cut the antimatter feed,” shouted the
engineering rating working that task.

Too late
, thought Chief Engineer, monitoring the
buildup in the reactor.

“The hydrogen feed is gone, sir,” said the
other rating.  “We need a new unit.”

Shit.  We don’t have time. 
“How’s it coming on
those supports?”

“We’re almost through the second one now, sir.”

“Everyone else out of here,” he shouted into
the com.  “Now.”

The other ratings ran to the lock and cycled
through, while the man with the cutter continued to work.  Dawson cut the run
from the far end, then pushed the cable into a remote control box.  He checked
the unit, saw that everything was in working order, and turned his attention to
the man still cutting away.

“It’s free,” yelled the man.

And I’m sorry,
S
pacer
, he
thought, pushing the button on the control box.

The charges went off underfoot, and the
grabbers immediately took over, accelerating the capsule up and out at over a
thousand gravities.  Death for Dawson and his engineer was instantaneous, as
they were crushed within their suits by the hundreds of gravities overload.

Two seconds later, with the capsule over twenty
kilometers above the ship, the reactor breached, followed by the breach of the
ready stores, a gigaton blast that turned every bit of the capsule into fast
moving plasma and radiation. 
Augustine
took her share of the heat and
radiation, but the ship survived, still decelerating for her return to action,
and another go into harm’s way.

*    
*     *

HEAVY CRUISER
MANILA.

“Missile impact in three minutes,” called out
the voice of the Tactical Officer of the
Manila.
  Klaxons were going off
all over the ship, including the control room where the Emperor stood.

The tactical plot showed the incoming missiles,
spread out in formations that would distribute their attack over several
minutes.  Not the best of formations for an attack, but they had the advantage
of having closed before detection, making counter missile engagement short and
indecisive.  The plot also showed all of
Manila’s
escorts moving at best
emergency speed to get between the missiles and the heavy cruiser.  A moment
later all of the escort ships for the carriers started to move away from their
charges, frantically trying to join the other light cruisers and destroyers in
the screen.  And leaving their hyper VII fleet carriers unprotected, except for
their own defensive fire.

“We need to get you out of here, your Majesty,”
said Senior Agent Catherine Mays, the head of his protection detail, putting an
armored hand on Sean’s shoulder.  “Please.  We have to move.”