Exodus: Empires at War: Book 7: Counter Strike (35 page)

I finally made it here,
thought the General,
looking around the cavern, which, he had to admit, was not a very good view of
the planet.  Massadara had been the original destination of his then battalion,
a light infantry unit that had been upgraded to medium armor.  But they had
been sidetracked to Sestius, and had written their history on that planet
instead.

“Thank you, Colonel,” said Baggett to the
officer.  “I was told to report to the planet commander when I arrived.”

“Yes, sir,” said the Colonel, pointing to an
open area of the cavern.  “You might want to ditch the suit before you go into
the chamber he’s in.  It can get kind of crowded in there.”

Baggett nodded, walking to the indicated area,
and ordered his suit to open through the link.  Nanites first opened the seams
on arms, legs and body, while his helmet retracted onto the back of his suit. 
Within seconds the seams existed where solid alloy had before, and the suit
hinged open under its own power.  As soon as it had opened completely he
stepped out, his hard connections popping out of his lower spine and skull. 
The General walked forward in his skin suit, the ubiquitous garment that
members of every service wore under their armor.  His had the patches of his
unit, and his rank on the breast and sleeves, so there would be no mistakes.

“Lead the way,” ordered Baggett, glancing at
the wormhole, where more of his men were coming out quickly.  It would take
hours for all of the infantry to come through.  The heavy units would wait
until they were just about to start their offensive, and the wormhole had been
moved outside and expanded.  He had reservations about starting operations
without his armor, artillery and aviation assets, but understood the need to
secrecy until the particle beam bolts started flying.

Baggett recognized Colonel General Mich Sapatra
the second he entered the room.  The tough as nails officer was probably the
shortest person in a room that included many women.  He looked like a fireplug,
all thick muscle.  He had been Baggett’s first battalion commander, so many
years ago.  The man looked up from the map and smiled as he saw the Major
General step into the room.

“Good to see you, General Baggett,” said the
man, walking away from the table and returning Baggett’s salute, then offering
his hand in a fierce grip.  “I always knew you would go far.  Even when you
were a shavetail Louie.”

“I’m happy I could prove you the prophet, sir,”
said Baggett, following the man over to the table.

Sapatra laughed, a deep rumbling sound that
surprised people coming from such a short man, until one remembered that his
chest was that of a much taller body builder.  “If I were a prophet, I could
wish that I saw this shit coming,” said the four star General, shaking his
head.  He pointed to the table, which showed a large continent.

“This is the main landmass of this world, and the
one we think the Cacas will be landing on when our ships enter the system,”
said Sapatra.

“And why is that, sir?” asked Baggett, reaching
out and moving the map over to see the continent across the ocean.  “Since they
still have some people on the ground here, wouldn’t they try to land there.”

“And get themselves blown into space by orbital
bombardment?” said Sapatra, moving the map back.  “No.  I think they’re going
to land here, and try to close with us, wherever they can find us.  They would
hope they could delay our bombardment, hopefully until they could get a relief
force here to kick us out.  But they won’t know about you, or the other two
divisions of your corps.  So I want you to set up over here, on the coastal
plains.”

“Shouldn’t the Corps Commander pass this down
to me, sir?”

“Oh, he will still have operational control of
the corps,” said Sapatra, pulling a cigar out of his pocket, offering one to
Baggett, and, after refusal, puffing his into ignition.

Baggett looked askance at the burning tube of
vegetation that was pumping fragrant smoke into the air.  He thought the habit
of smoking nasty, even though so many military people indulged without any ill
effects.

“He and the other two divisions will be located
around the other coast and their mountains, and he might have some command and
control problems with your division.  So you will be taking orders from this
headquarters.  Understood?”

So we’ll be on our own over there, except for
whatever support Sapatra might be able to give us from what he already has. 
“I understand, sir.”

“Now I don’t want you playing it safe once they
are down,” said Sapatra, putting a finger through the holo and onto the hard
surface of the table.  “I want you to hit them, and hit them hard.  They will
be exposed down here, and your heavy infantry should be able to rip them a new
one.”

“Do you think they’ll really come down here,
sir?  Seems to me that they would try to blast their way out of the system.”

“From what I understand, they will see a force
they can’t really blast through.  I fully expect them to evacuate their
logistics ships and those troop transports of theirs to the surface, since
those ships will just be easy targets as they try to break out.”

And they will hope for an eventual relief force
for their ground forces
, thought Baggett as he nodded. 
The wonderful thing
about their not having instantaneous communications.  They’ll likely think this
is a local operation, and not know that there is no help available.

“We’re going to ship one of the two wormholes up
to you prior to the attack.  I want you to get all of your heavy assets out and
under cover, which means I don’t want them being spotted from space.  So
minimal power, and no crossing open spots.”

“How long do we get to keep the hole?”

“No more than two days, so get everything
through that you think you will need.  I know, you won’t get everything you
think you need, like a year’s supply of everything.  But get as much out as you
can.  Then ship the hole back here.   I’ve got some other uses for it.”

“And when will they attack, sir?”

“We were expecting the ships to get here in
five days,” said Sapatra, frowning.  “But it seems that hyper VII is
unavailable, so maybe eleven days.”  The General turned the frown into a
smile.  “Which may not be a bad thing, since the Cacas won’t be able to use VII
either, or so we hope.  And we’ll have more of our own ships coming to the
party.”

The General stared at the holo for a moment
more, his nostrils flaring as if he were already fighting the battle in his
mind.  He looked over at Baggett.  “I know you won’t let us down, Samuel.  So
get your people in position and get ready to kick their asses.”

“Yes, sir,” agreed Baggett, rendering a salute
and turning to leave.

“And don’t let me hear about a major general
getting into hand to hand combat, Baggett.  The Empire has too much of an
investment, and you’re too much of an asset, to risk you killing a couple of
Cacas eye to eye.”

“How?”

“After Action Report, Baggett,” said the
smiling Planet Commander.  “We see all, we know all.  Now don’t act like a
second Louie, and make sure the bastards pay.”

*    
*     *

SAURON SPACE.  DECEMBER
27
^TH
, 1001.

Captain Svetlana Komorov watched as the last
ship in her wing came aboard, standing on the side of the hangar deck as the
fifteen hundred ton inertialess attack fighter poked its nose through the cold
plasma field that kept the atmosphere in.  The ship cruised slowly along the
open area and stopped, then vectored sideways into a slot between two other
ships.

“All craft are aboard, Captain,” she told the
commander of the
Akagi,
watching as the heavy hangar doors slid shut. 
She was of equal rank with the ship’s commander, who was in charge of the care
and feeding of the carrier, while Komorov was in charge of the aviation wing. 
There was a commodore aboard who exercised operational control over both parts
of the combat team.

The carrier was fully crewed.  Unfortunately,
her wing was not.  With two more hyper VII carriers to assign fighters too, and
losses across all the wings on the Congreeve operation, as well as some minor
losses against the Fenri, there just weren’t enough ships to go around.  Or,
maybe more accurately, not enough negative matter to make all of the ships
operational.

The fighter she had been watching settled to
the deck with a triple thump of landing gear.  The engines powered down, and
moments later a pair of hatches, one forward, one aft, slid open as the
debarkation ladders dropped from craft to deck.  The crew started coming out,
the four bridge personnel and two engineers, while the ground team ran forward,
looking over the outer skin of the ship, one climbing the top, making sure the
fighter would be ready for combat when needed.

“Welcome aboard, Commander Humphrey,” she told
the officer leading the crew away from the craft.  He was replacing one of the
division leaders she had lost at Congreeve, and would be in command of
forty-three fighters, nine less than he should have.

“Thank you, ma’am,” said the young man who had
also survived Congreeve, and earned a command slot by taking over for his then
wing commander after that Captain had been killed on the first pass of the Caca
ships.

“How’s your division shaping up?” was her next
question.

“I wish I had some more time to get the
newcomers straightened out,” he said, looking back at some of the other
fighters in his division, half of which occupied this hangar.  The other half
were in the other port side hangar, while those of Second Division were in the
starboard hangars.

“You and everyone else who’s in a command position,”
said Komorov with a laugh.  “I think you dispersed them as well as could be
expected.”  There had been some hard decisions to make with those dispersals. 
They had intact teams that had performed well at Congreeve.  They hadn’t wanted
to break them up, but it also seemed cruel and unusual punishment to send
people into combat who hadn’t been through it before, without the leavening of
experienced crew.
The Admiral settled that
, thought the Captain of the
officer who commanded
Akagi
and two of her sisters.

“Not a one of your original crews had any
combat experience before Congreeve,” had said Rear Admiral Condalisa Perez. 
“The same as your new people.  Your old hands,” and the Admiral had smiled at
calling people who had been through one battle such, “have developed trust in
their teammates.  So I suggest, and a suggestion is all it is, that you keep
the old teams together, and assign new teams in equal measure to each
squadron.”

And that’s what we did,
thought the wing
commander, who considered it the best choice of a bad position to be in.  The
best would have been for everyone to survive Congreeve.  An unrealistic
outcome, just as it would be unrealistic to think that everyone would survive
the coming battle.
That’s what this war is going to be about.  Go into every
fight, lose crews, then rebuild, just to do it again.  Should have gone into
battleships.  At least there, when the ship comes through, so do most of the
people.  And when the ship doesn’t come through, it’s a total loss.

“Prepare for jump to hyper,” called a voice
over the intercom.  The ground crews kept about their business, experienced
spacers to which a translation was not much of anything.  The only change was
the people on top of the fighters getting down fast, so they wouldn’t fall if
they happened to catch a bad reaction.

“We have a staff meeting in ten minutes,
Commander,” said Komorov after checking her implant clock.  “The Admiral has
passed down our targeting information, at least what there is of it.  I want
both the divisions ready, so you guys can drill your people on the simulators
on the way.”

The lights on the hangar dimmed for a moment,
and the slight nausea of jump sat in Komorov’s stomach.  They were on the way. 
Next stop, Massadara.

Chapter
Twenty-three

Ten
soldiers wisely led will beat a hundred without a head.

Euripides

SESTIUS SYSTEM,
DECEMBER 28
^TH
, 1001.

“Grandfather,” yelled the young man, running
into the hidden cavern that was the Freeholder guerilla movement headquarters
on Sestius.  “The Hunter is back.”  He ran further into the cavern, to one of
the smaller side caverns that were used as personal quarters.

Former Marine Sergeant Major Montano Montero,
the Patriarch of his clan, and leader of the Sestius resistance, looked up from
the his meal to see his favorite grandson standing in the door of the cavern. 
Hell,
one of my few surviving grandsons
, thought the man who at one time had
counted them in the scores.  He put down the unappetizing meal, which consisted
of military rations, not too bad in and of themselves, until you had to eat
them every day, and stood up.

“You talking about Walborski?” asked the
Patriarch, walking to the entrance of his quarters and out into the main
cavern.  Fifty meters further back into the cavern was the wormhole, used to
bring supplies in to people who could no longer farm and ranch, since those
activities attracted attention from orbit, which normally was a terminal error.

“Hello, Mr. Montero,” said the young man in
Ranger’s passive cammo, a heavy chemical propelled rifle over his shoulder. 
Another, older man stood beside him, and a line of similarly clad men filed
past.

“Walborski,” said the Patriarch, a smile on his
face, which turned to a frown when he saw the tan bars on the collar of his
camo suit.  “And you had to go and let them make you an officer.  What a waste
of a fine soldier.”

“Sergeant Major,” said Walborski, using the
rank for emphasis.  “This is Colonel Tomas Suarez, my regimental CO.”

“Colonel,” said Montero, holding out his hand. 
“And it’s retired Sergeant Major.  So don’t expect any bowing and scraping.”

“The Lieutenant told me all about you, sir,”
said the Colonel, taking the hand.  “He neglected to tell me that you were a
condescending son of a bitch.”  Suarez laughed, and Montero joined in.

“And what are you here for, Colonel?” asked
Montero, not sure why so many men, and they were still coming out of the
wormhole, would come to Sestius.  Especially special ops infantry, who really
couldn’t do much about the Cacas in orbit.

“We’ve come to clean out your infestation of
roaches,” said the Colonel.

“We don’t have many on the planet.  And the
ones we do have are holed up in the mountains, in hardened facilities.”

“Then that is the first place we take out,”
said Cornelius, looking at the Colonel, who was nodding.

“Right you are, Lieutenant.  And I think
Captain Freemont’s company would be perfect for the job, don’t you.”

Walborski smiled, and Montero didn’t need to be
a genius to realize that Walborski was probably part of that unit.

“And then we wait for the rest of the roaches
to come down, where we can get at them.”

“And how are you going to do that, Colonel? 
Did you bring a bunch of surface to space missiles with you?  Long range?”

“Nope.  I’m leaving that up to the Fleet.  They
ought to be here in about eight days or so.  Then we’ll see how many of them
bail out of their logistics ships and troop transports.”

Montero thought about that for a moment with a
growing smile.  “Will you need guides?  I have the best people around for
showing you the sights.”

“I would appreciate that, Mr. Montero.  And,
first of all, Captain Suarez could use someone to show him that hardened
facility in the mountains.  Do you have someone in mind.”

“Why, yes, Colonel,” said the old man, who was
still in top shape from living on a planet where survival required fitness.  “I
think I’m up to it.  Don’t you, Lieutenant?”

*    
*     *

REPUBLIC SPACE.

“We did what we could, Madame President,” said
the Crakistan Admiral, her unemotional face looking out of the holo.  “We
struck their force with as much might as possible, but still half of it made it
through.”

“And your losses, Admiral?” said Graham, not
really wanting to hear the news.

“We sustained one third losses, Madame
President.  That includes the ships that were totally destroyed, as well as the
percentage damage to our surviving ships.”

Julia nodded, at a loss for words.  She had
followed the battle on holo while it was occurring.  The ambush had seemed to
go off perfectly, with missiles jumping up to hyper VII and hitting the
oncoming force.  The only problem was the lack of missiles capable of getting
to VII.  They were still scarce in the Republic, with the Empire giving all
they could spare, which was nowhere near enough.

And then the enemy force, missing over a third
of their number, did the unexpected.  They decelerated, turned around, and came
after the combined human/Crakista force.  They had plenty of missiles they
could launch in hyper VII.  Dual purpose missiles were the only ones the aliens
carried.  And launch them they did, just before jumping down to normal space
and closing with the Republic force.

We were lucky to get any of our force away
, thought the
President, looking into the face of the Admiral, still expressionless. 
And
you don’t feel anything because of it.  No sorrow, no regret.
  She shook
that thought away, knowing that it was unfair.  The Crakista had lost just as
high a percentage of the ships of her own people as she had the human vessels.

“Orders, Madame President?”

“Bring your force back into Republic Space.  I
want all the heavily damaged ships to head to the New Rome naval yards.  That
includes the ships of your people, Admiral.  All other vessels are to report to
the logistics train at Mesa’s Star.”

“Very well, Madame President.  And who should
take over command of the combined fleet?”

“You are to retain command, Admiral.  You
fought a force almost as massive as your own and inflicted heavy casualties on
that force.  I don’t see how any of my people could have done better.”

“Thank you, Madame President,” said the
Admiral, the words coming out of her mouth as if she was tasting them for the
first time.

She’s learning how to deal with us emotionally
flawed creatures.

“And what about the ships that got past us?”

“They’re the Empire’s problem now.  The Emperor
knows they are coming.  And the Cacas might be surprised when they move a
little further into the Empire.” 
Like they might have problems dropping out
of hyper VII, if what Sean told me is correct.

“Meanwhile, I leave it up to you to reorganize
your fleet and prepare to go on the defensive, for now.  I’m sure the Cacas
will be back, and I want us to be ready for them.” 
Because I’m tired of
losing so many of my citizens to the genocidal maniacs.

*    
*     *

SPACE TO COREWARD OF
CA’CADASAN EMPIRE.  DECEMBER 29
^TH
, 1001.

“They’re closing on us, Commodore,” said the
Science Officer who was the acting Tactical Officer.

We really didn’t think we would need someone to
run a battle for us when they built and crewed these ships
, thought Commodore
Natasha Sung, looking at the tactical holo that showed two groups of ships
coming after her squadron.  They had not been able to get away from the Caca
force that had been tailing them for the last couple of weeks.  And now
another, larger force was coming up behind that one.  With similar resonances
as the following force.

I should have slowed
, she thought,
considering the actions she could have taken weeks back. 
If we had slowed
enough to translate into VI, we could have released our scout ships
.  Those
ships were of similar size and capabilities as destroyers.  Lightly armed
destroyers, true, since they had been designed and built to scout the environs
of the Galactic core, or the Magellanic clouds.  They were science vessels, not
warships, but they were better than nothing.  Of course, with the three large
mother ships in VII, the hyper VI ships were less than nothing

The other course of action would to have been
to have decelerated back down into normal space and found some place to hide. 
The problem with that solution was she didn’t know how many Caca ships would
eventually be vectored to their location.  Enough, searching long enough, and
they would be sure to find the big, twenty-seven million ton vessels. 
And,
dammit, I’m not accomplishing my mission if I’m sitting hiding in some gas
giant moon system or nebula.  The longer I hide, the longer it takes to get in
touch with the people I’m supposed to see.

The other possibility would have been to slow
to under point ten light, and bring more hyper VII missiles through the
wormholes, configured as cargo gates.  Enough missiles could take out any
force, as long as it wasn’t a fleet.  Instead, she had decided to keep to hyper
VII and her top speed, and now she was about to pay the price.

“Force Alpha is accelerating, Commodore,” said
the Tactical Officer.  “They are closing to missile range.”

“And force Bravo?”

“Still coming on.”

And when they get within missile range, we’re
totally screwed.  They’ll swamp our defenses and blast us out of space.

“We have missile launch,” yelled out the
Tactical Officer.  “Missiles in space and accelerating at ten thousand
gravities.”

“What about force Bravo?” asked the Commodore
just before the vector arrows appeared on the plot.  She felt her mouth fall
open as she saw the vector arrows, and how they were not pointed at any of her
ships.

“Missiles were fired from force Bravo,” called
out the Tactical Officer, a confused expression on his face.  “They fired on
Alpha.”

The ships in Alpha launched everything they
had, aimed at Bravo.

“Are you sure Bravo is Caca?”

“Their resonances are similar, ma’am.  But I
can’t tell you they are an exact match.”

So, feuding Cacas?  Or someone else?  And if
someone else, are they friendly?  Or are we trading one threat for another?

Whoever they were, they were at least as
advanced as the Ca’cadasans.  The exchange of missiles blew all the Caca ships
out of hyper.  And three of the strangers were taken out as well, leaving nine
of their ships still closing on the Imperial exploration vessels.

“We have a visual on the unknown vessels,
ma’am,” said the Tactical Officer, putting the view of the approaching ships on
the holo.

“Definitely not Caca,” said Sung, studying the
clean lines of the unknowns.  They were slender, much more so than any warships
the Commodore was familiar with.  They looked like some kind of martial weapon
themselves, fragile and tough at the same time.  Estimates of two million tons
mass each came up on the sensor analysis.

“We have a message coming in,” called out the
Com Officer, looking over at the Commodore.  “We don’t have a translation yet,
but the signal is being sent to the linguistic banks.  Do you want to send our
language primer over to them.”

“Of course,” said Sung, waving her hand at the
Com Officer.  “Get it to them, as fast as possible.”

The Com Officer nodded and worked her board,
sending the information.  “We’re receiving a burst transmission from them as
well,” said the Com Officer.  “I think they’re sending over their standard
language programs.  Feeding it into our computers now.”

Sung looked at the holo of the approaching
ships, frustrated that she couldn’t talk to them, yet.  Not knowing their
intentions as they closed on her vessels.

“We have a basic translation going, ma’am,”
called out the Com Officer.  “And they are within visual com range.”

“Send them a visual of our bridge,” she
ordered, looking over at her Tactical Officer, who was shaking his head.  “Any
other suggestions, Mr. Fujardo?”

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea going visual
yet, ma’am.  Not when we don’t know their intentions.”

“And those ships could probably blow all of us
out of hyper if they wished,” said Sung.  “I’m sure seeing our faces isn’t
going to change their minds.”

She waited a few minutes, until the com holo
came alive on her own bridge, showing a golden skinned being sitting in a
command chair.

He’s almost human
, she thought of the
alien, then amended that thought immediately.  Superficially the alien did look
human, to a point.  Similar shaped skull, a pair of eyes, golden in color, with
slitted irises like those of a cat.  Neck was thick, shoulders well developed. 
Even the proportion of the upper arms and forearms were similar, if not quite
exact.  The hand only had three digits, two fingers and an opposable thumb, all
tipped with hard, claw like, nails.