Exodus: Empires at War: Book 8: Soldiers (Exodus: Empires at War.) (15 page)

His own force
was heading toward New Moscow as more of a diversion, though now, with the new
enemy force entering the equation, they might not get there in time after
all.  There were enemy scouts watching them as they penetrated occupied
space, and a large Caca force arrayed to intercept them before they reach New
Moscow.  The enemy had to think they had a very good chance of beating the
force that he was bringing.  He only had two hundred and five battleships
and a little over eight hundred smaller craft, while the enemy force had over
fifteen hundred ships.  But what they didn’t know was hopefully going to
bite them in the ass.

Lenkowski wasn’t
really sure that he liked how his forces were spread out for this operation. 
Imperial Fleet doctrine called for keeping forces concentrated whenever
possible, so that they wouldn’t be defeated in detail.  The new wormholes
were causing a lot of doctrinal changes, maybe too many too fast, in the
Admiral’s opinion.  The wormholes gave a lot of advantages to his fleet
over any enemy they might face in this war.  Instantaneous communications,
with far flung forces and headquarters; the ability to transfer ships across
long distances.

His own force
had most of his ships that deployed their own wormholes for uses other than
com.  He had over half of the Super Heavy Battleships in the fleet, with
their wormhole missile tubes and particle beams.

“Any word from
New Moscow?” he asked his Chief of Staff, Commodore Meatra Felici.

“Everything is
moving as scheduled, sir,” said the dour faced man.  “The carriers should
be launching in two hours.  Ground assault scheduled for forty-one hours,
eighty minutes standard time.”

Which meant the
carriers would be launching at a little under two hours according to the clocks
aboard
Augustine I
, and the ground assault would start in a little under
thirteen hours.  Half a day, as far as this force was concerned.

*    
*     *

PLANET NEW MOSCOW.

“And if the
Imperials don’t come through as planned, we will be slaughtered when the Cacas
catch us with these things,” said the woman, holding the small chemically
powered pistol in her hand.  “And I’m not sure these things will even
penetrate their armor.”

The people
gathered all nodded, and there were some murmurs of dissatisfaction that were
difficult to make out over the white noise that was being generated by a small
device in the center of the tent.  Agent Sharon Vakhrusshev looked at the
woman, not able to really blame her, but needed her cooperation nonetheless. 
All of these people were risking much by being here, but they risked the same
just being in the tent and listening to her.

“Maybe not the
heavily armored infantry,” said Vakhrusshev to the people looking at her. 
“But with careful aim, this weapon will defeat the armor of the camp guards.”

The woman, a
former officer in the Czar’s Navy, looked doubtfully at the weapon, which was
smaller than the standard magrail she had once carried on duty.

“It is
engineered to fire ten shots at sufficient velocity to bring the built in shape
charge to the target at the proper orientation.  It will then penetrate
light Caca battle armor and impart a sufficient shock to the creature wearing
it to incapacitate it, if not kill it outright,” said Colonel Pietrov Gorbunov,
holding up his own copy of the weapon.  All of them were unloaded at the
moment, and the users would not be able to practice with them before using them
in earnest.  Only the four operatives who had brought them into the camp
had any proficiency with them.

“Look,” said
Sharon, looking around the tent at the frightened but determined faces. 
“These weapons are a last resort.  Hopefully, the Imperials will take out
the guards in the first couple of minutes.  You’re not really going to see
a lot of use for that pistol.” 
I hope
, she thought.  “Only
use it as a last resort to take out any guards they don’t target in the initial
assault.”

“And then we get
gunned down,” said a man who was at one time a Captain of Police in the capital
city.

“Then don’t carry
the damned thing,” growled Gorbunov.  “Just let the Cacas shoot down some
of your fellow citizens before they go down.”

The man glared
at the Colonel, then looked away, but he kept the pistol in his hand.  The
former policeman looked up and at the entrance of the tent as a couple of men
strong armed a tall man into their midst.  The man was slack faced, a
headband stretched around his forehead.

“We caught this
guy lurking around the side of the tent,” said one of the people holding his
arm.  “I didn’t like his looks, so decided to slap a scrambler on
him.”  The headband was the scrambler, which would scramble his thoughts,
keeping him from making contact through his implant without turning that device
off, so anyone monitoring him would not suddenly notice his implant falling off
whatever net he might be on.

A woman came
through the entrance a moment later with two little girls.  “These
children were with him.”

“Please let my
daddy go,” said the light skinned child, tears streaming down her eyes. 
“He didn’t do anything.”

“And what is
your daddy’s name?” asked the former Captain of Police, getting to his feet,
his eyes glaring at the man.

“His name is
Rory Caronones,” said the darker skinned child.  “And he’s a collaborator.”

Chapter Twelve

If my soldiers were to begin to
think, not one of them would remain in the army.

Frederick the Great.

NEW MOSCOW SPACE, APRIL 6
^TH
,
1002.

Sixty light
hours from New Moscow the first ship gate sat, surrounded by empty space and
the small task force that had deployed the gate and followed it into its
present position.  All of the escorts were hyper VII ships, six battle
cruisers, sixteen light cruisers, and thirty-four destroyers, sitting cold in
space.  All were powered down with the exception of passive sensors, life
support and minimal grabber boost.

The first of the
ships scheduled for that gate came through, four squadrons of battleships,
moving on the proper vector at point three light toward the system. 
Bismarck,
Count Smirnov, Brezhnev, Catherine the Great, Baron Hawkmoon,
others,
famous names of ships that had been making history for generations. 
Sixteen ships in all, now antiquated, they were still capital ships which would
have a part to play in this fight.  Next came three squadrons of heavy
cruisers, another eighteen ships on the same heading.  A ship every ten
seconds, a dance that required precision that courted disaster.  After
them came the three squadrons of destroyers, the screening element.  All
seemed to be going well until the end of that line.

*    
*     *

“Emergency
decel,” yelled out the Commander in charge of the
Walter Gronn
, the next
to the last destroyer through the wormhole gate.

“But, sir,” said
the confused Helm Officer, Lt. SG Sonia Bartolli, glancing back for a
second.  The destroyer was perfectly on profile, and there was no need to
adjust anything.

“You heard me,
Lieutenant,” yelled the panicked Captain, his eyes wide.  “We’re too
damned close.  Emergency decel, now.  Or, by God, I’ll have you
brought up on charges.”

Sonia put the
ship into emergency decel, all five hundred and twenty-five gravities, but
neglected to put any side vector into the boost.

The last
destroyer came through a bit sooner than expected, and ran right up the ass of
the slowing ship.  Both ships flared with fire and plasma, spinning off
into space on opposite courses.  Acceleration forces killed everyone
aboard
Gronn,
and there were heavy casualties on the other ship as
well.  Two ships taken out of the order of battle, but not the most
detrimental of possible losses to the mission.  The flare of their
collision would be seen in the system in fifty-nine to sixty hours. 
Hopefully, that wouldn’t matter, since the ground action would have already
started.

It took a moment
to clear the path of debris, a couple of destroyers sweeping through with
magnetic grapples.  Then the second wave of this part of the mission came
through, seven of the new Hyper VII carriers, heading inward at point seven
light.  Each used its grabbers for a moment at low power, opening up some
separation from the other carriers.  Minutes after entering normal space
the carriers started launching their fighters.  It took about ten minutes
for each ship to put its hundred fighters into space, until seven hundred of
the craft were coasting inward.

*    
*     *

Captain
Beauregard Morris stared at the tactical holo hanging in front of his command
chair as his fighter coasted forward in the lead position of his
wing.  
My wing
, he thought, still in slight disbelief. 
He had only been a senior squadron commander during the last offensive, when
the wing had been at full strength.  But the wing, the launched weapon of
the carrier
Zokoku
, was gathered into a tight formation, their targets
locked in.

“All ships report
green, sir,” called out the Com Officer, Lt. SG Joanie Wedgewood.

“Report to
mother that the wing is ready for deployment,” he told Wedgewood.  “Raise
bubble in five zero minutes.”

The com went
back to the carrier by tight beam and was acknowledged immediately.  The
Captain lay back in his chair as he went over the orders of his wing one last
time, thinking of anything he needed to touch base with the others on while
they could still communicate.

He still didn’t
know several of his squadron commanders that well, and almost half of his ship
commanders were relative unknowns.  The inertialess fighter community was
small and close knit, there being only about sixteen hundred ships in it when
at full strength.  And after the losses of the last offensive, even with
reinforcements, it still stood at just over eleven hundred.

The fifteen
hundred ton ships packed a devastating punch, with their ability to get up on
top of an enemy before the Cacas even knew they were there. 
Unfortunately, they were also extremely fragile.  While difficult to hit,
a strike by almost any ship weapon would normally spell their doom.  While
they had destroyed more than a thousand times their mass in enemy ships, they
had also suffered heavier losses proportionally than any other branch of the
Fleet.  It would have taken two more months to complete the training and
refitting of his wing, two months they didn’t have.  As soon as the
Zokoku
had come out of the repair dock the wing had been ordered to report aboard
for this mission, and here they were.

“Targets locked
on all ships,” called out the Wing Tactical Officer, who was also the weapons
officer of
Zokoku
1, also known as
ZC-Prime
.

Or at least
as locked as they can be
, thought the Captain, looking at the zoomed in
plot of the Ca’cadasan force that was their target.  Where that target
would be it forty hours was anyone’s guess.  All they could hope for was a
target in front of them when they exited the bubble, something they could lock
onto and hit, then get the hell out before he lost too many ships.

“Accelerating at
twelve hundred gravities,” announced the Pilot, and the ship pushed ahead at
its maximum normal space accel.  It took some little time to reach their
attack speed of point nine light, the speed they would need when coming out of
the bubble to be an effective strike force.

“Raising
bubble,” called out the Pilot, glancing back at the Captain for a moment. 
Outside the electromagnetic field enclosed the ship and firmed up to full
strength.  A moment later the negative matter was released from the two
storage tanks along the side, the reverse protons pulled into the field and
locked in place.  As soon as the screen was in place the ship disappeared
from the Universe for all intents and purposes.  They were still there,
still solid, but no energy could enter or leave the bubble.

“Acceleration
set at thirty thousand gravities,” called out the Pilot as he pushed the
grabbers to full.  Without inertia working on the ship they slid easily up
to the maximum acceleration rate.  In two minutes they would pass light
speed in the bubble.  In fourteen more they would reach their maximum
cruising speed of point two light, and would coast the rest of the way in,
until they were sixteen minutes decel from their targets.

“Time to target,
thirty-one hours,” said the Pilot, making a last second adjustment to his board
and then locking it.

“Nothing to do
now but relax,” said the Wing Tactical Officer, getting up from his chair and
heading for the exit of the control room.  “Anyone want a snack?”

“Everyone get
some food, and we’ll go into regular down time shifts,” ordered Morris. 
“Be prepared to run simulations in eight hours though.  I want us ready
for whatever happens when we come out of the bubble.”

Unspoken was the
fact that there was no guarantee they would come out of the bubble.  They
were blind, and though the chances of hitting something were exceedingly rare,
if they did they were gone.  Their negative matter bubble wouldn’t destroy
enough of an even moderately sized rock, and losing the bubble meant immediate
translation down to sublight, followed by an inertial rebound that would
convert them to fast moving atoms, or even subatomic particles.

Again, it was
something they couldn’t do anything about, so everyone on board just tried to ignore
all the things that could go wrong before they went into battle, and instead
focus on what they could effect.  Like their own performance.

*    
*     *

“We’re picking
up a burst of graviton emissions, my Lord.  Sixty light hours out of the
system toward Galactic North.”

High Admiral
Lisantr’nana Mishrantaow looked up from the table he was seated at in his
dining chamber aboard his flagship.  A slave had just delivered the roast
haunch of human to his table, and he looked at the delicious meat with a watering
mouth.  The High Admiral looked up at his subordinate with a glare. 
He had been looking forward to the fresh meat all day, and his personal cook
was a master at preparing human.  Now this interruption for what was most
probably nothing.

“Has it been
identified?” he asked the shrinking subordinate, a cold smile on his face as he
felt the fear on the other male.  The humans had been scouting the system
at a distance for over a month now, so a contact was not unexpected.  But
intelligence, which had penetrated the human command, knew that no attack was
forthcoming sooner than two to three months.  So this was obviously more
scouting activity, and nothing more.

“We know it was
human, and from the distance it was detected at, it was quite strong,” stammered
the male.  “It could have been a scout ship under high acceleration, or a
capital ship under a lower rate.”

“So you have no
idea what it is, and it’s so far out we really can’t do much to it.”

“If we com the
outer picket, we can have a ship jump out there and make contact in four
hours,” said the subordinate.

“And by then
whatever had made that signature will have moved and be locked down in
stealth.  So what the hell use is your suggestion worth?”

“I’m sorry for
interrupting you, my Lord,” said the other male with a deep bow.  The
expression on his face showed that he clearly hoped he would be dismissed
quickly, and would be sure not to interrupt his Admiral again unless he had
something solid.

“You were just
doing your duty,” growled the High Admiral, in a tone that said he would
appreciate it if the next time the male came before him he had something
real.  “Now leave me.”

The male almost
ran out of the room, the Admiral glaring at his back for a moment, then turning
back to his platter of meat.  He picked up the haunch and brought it up to
where his sharp teeth could scissors a large bite from the thigh region. 
He let out a groan of pleasure as the flavorful meat touched the taste
receptors on the roof of his mouth.  He would have to compliment the cook. 
Though that worthy was just a slave, it was useful at times to remind him that
he was appreciated.

*    
*     *

Walborski was
once again on the mountainside observation post, scanning the area below with
his field glasses.  The entire regiment was now on the planet, all getting
acclimated to the gravity of the world.  Hundreds of augmented soldiers
were running the tunnels, while more were doing calisthenics or sparring with
other Rangers.  It seemed like such a little thing, less than a two
percent difference in gravity.  But when men were trying to dodge weapons
or move through restricted areas, just a little bit off could mean death.

A drizzling rain
was coming down, obscuring the visibility of the post.  Cornelius thought
this would be the perfect time to go.  The vision of the enemy would be
obscured as well, and really all of their sensor platforms would be
degraded.  Unfortunately, everything was on a tight timetable, and they
couldn’t go until everyone was ready.

That must be
the edge of the minefield
, thought the Ranger, focusing in on some large
bodies that lay on their sides out on the plains.  They were sixty ton
herbivores, a trio of them, looking as if they were asleep, with the exception
of a leg that lay off to the side, cut off by a mine.  Two predators lay
with them.  The herbivores had wandered into the field that was laced with
weapons they did not understand.  The predators saw some easy meals and
came into the same killing zone, paying the price as the disks rose into the
air and spun their monomolecular wire snares through the killers.

“The Colonel is
calling a meeting,” said a Ranger NCO, climbing into the observation
post.  “You’d best go, sir.  I’ll take over here.”

Walborski nodded
and put his glasses away.  It was a long climb down.  Nothing his
superbly conditioned body couldn’t handle even multiple times in a day. 
More tedious than anything.

The conference
room was filled to capacity, every officer and senior NCO in the Regiment
present.  Colonel Pham stood at the front of the room, watching the
entrance as the leadership filed in.  Walborski was not the last, even
though he might have had the farthest to go.  A pair of lieutenants earned
that distinction, and the stern look of the regimental commander.

Cornelius took
his seat and let his eyes roam the room.  He knew many of the people here,
if not all of them.  It was rare for Rangers to be deployed in units
larger than battalion size, and this was actually a reinforced regiment of
three battalions.  Each battalion had four companies of Rangers, all up to
a full strength compliment of one hundred and sixty-nine men, with the
exception of two companies, Walborski’s and one other.  Each had been
brought up to full strength by transfers from regiments that weren’t involved
in this mission.

Each of the
battalions also had one company of unaugmented combat engineers in heavy armor,
as well as two heavy weapons platoons.  That brought each battalion up to
a combat ready strength of one thousand and twenty-eight men.  There were
also two heavy armor companies attached at regimental level, and an
anti-aircraft company, as well as outside fire support.  And the Naval
Commando company that was assigned to the infiltration battalion, adding
another one hundred and forty-two highly trained commandos.