Date: 2020-01-26 05:00:00+00:00
Description: It's hard to fight an intelligent opponent. As Sean's Empire is finding out. The Ca'cadans were often their own worst enemy, making mistake after mistake on their way to eventual defeat. Now someone who can think is in charge, and things have changed. Mrastaran I had never wanted to be Emperor of an Empire in decline. The admiral had wanted to finish out his carreer and retire to a life of reading and contemplation. Known as the Philosopher Admiral, Mrastaran thought his moves out ahead and adjusted to the situation. This dangerous leader is now in charge of the Ca'cadasan Empire, and he reali
Publisher: Catbrother Publishing

Exodus: Empires at War

Book 17

The Rebirth

by

Doug Dandridge

This novel is dedicated to one of my favorite authors, David Drake. David was good enough to give me a blurb on the first book of my Kinship War series. A great writer, whose prose comes from the heart. Hammer's Slammers forever.

Contact me at BrotherofCats@gmail.com

Follow my Blog at http://dougdandridge.com

Follow me at @BrotherofCats

Copyright © 2020 Doug Dandridge

All rights reserved.

Please respect the hard work of this author.  If you found this book for free on a pirate site, please visit Amazon and buy a copy of your own.  I feel that I charge a reasonable price for this work. I would like to thank Ruth de Jauregui for lettering my cover. I think her work really improves the snap of those covers, and I am fortunate that she does the.

For more information on the Exodus Universe, visit http://dougdandridge.net for maps, sketches and other details of this work.

Prologue

“Supreme Lord,” said a voice to the right and behind.

Mrastaran was still not used to being addressed in such a manner. In his mind he was still a great admiral. A warrior, and a philosopher. Not the ruler of the Ca'cadasan Empire.

He had never wanted this position, but it had landed in his lap. The male had only wanted to finish out his career and retire to his family estates on an out of the way planet. Away from all the politics he hated.

Unfortunately for him, but fortunately for the Empire, the young idiot who had been Emperor had killed everyone in line for the throne between himself and the great admiral. Four other males, from a doddering oldster to an infant, had paid with their lives for the crime of existing, threatening his own rule as he kept making decision after bad decision, and the unrest of his subjects grew.

Mastaran was forced to return to the capital by imperial Decree. Probably to face execution for failing to crush the enemy on the Klavarta front. He had won a Pyrrhic victory, but not enough of one to allow the Ca'cadasans to remove their fleet and reinforce the main front. That was what the Emperor wanted, demanded, and anything less was treason. It was really just an excuse to get rid of another possible rival, and everyone knew it.

Only the great admiral had come into the capital system to the news that Jresstratta V was dead, killed by his own guards. And the male who had ordered the assassination hadn't used the event to take the throne for himself. He didn't have the pedigree and the people wouldn't have accepted him. Which left the next in line of succession, Mrastaran.

And so here he was, the Supreme Lord of the Ca'cadasan Empire. A realm in disarray. On the edge of defeat. He really wondered if it deserved to survive. But then, these were his people, and he had to do his best by them.

“Have the ships arrived?” he asked the supreme admiral who was now his chief of naval operations.

“Most of them, Supreme Lord. With more coming.”

Mrastaran turned to look at the other male, Klestaras. “We can do without all the supreme lord stuff, Admiral. I am a battle commander, plain and simple, while my regent takes care of the political mess back at the capital.”

“If you say so, Supre.., I mean Admiral.”

The new Emperor had made the decision to lead the fleet himself. From the deck of a ship. Not really at the front, but near enough. It was a risk, but they needed to take risks if they were to survive this thing. The first thing he did was sack the reactionary fools who were leading the fleet, ones who thought with their glands instead of their brains. He had promoted admirals known for their intellect, and demanded that they read up on Terran history. Not just military history, but the political side as well. They needed to understand their enemy, the way they thought, if they had any chance of beating the humans.

The first principle he had expounded was from von Clausewitz. That to defend everything meant to defend nothing. He had ordered thousands of systems abandoned by their defense fleets. The ground troops could stay, for now. He didn't need infantry. Later on he could decide if he wanted to keep those systems in the Empire at all.

Then he had taken a page from the Japanese Empire of the Second Earth Global War. He didn't think he could beat the humans straight up. What he needed to do was hurt them, so bad that they asked for a peaceful solution. If they asked the Ca'cadasans to release the sentients they had in bondage he would consider it. They really didn't need those slaves, not in the modern Galaxy. It was an affectation of the species, seeing themselves as superior to all, deserving to rule everything. But first he had to bring the humans to the bargaining table.

Superior to all, he thought with a huff. The Ca'cadasans only superior trait was longevity. They were physically strong, but there were several species of greater strength. He had one in his Empire, and that one was being mobilized. The humans had at least one stronger species. The Ca'cadasans were not the swiftest mentally. Mrastaran himself was a genius among his people, which might put him in the top five percent of the human species. Which meant there were tens of millions of humans smarter than he was.

His advantage was the wisdom of age. Something that most Ca'cadasans didn't use well enough.

“We start moving into position tomorrow. What isn't here can come up when they can.”

“And then, Admiral?”

And then we wait for the humans to move, and pick the best place to cause them the most casualties possible. It would be a bloodbath no matter what. Something Mrastaran abhorred. And something he thought impossible to avoid at this point.

* * *

“Why in the hell couldn't the little shit stain of an Emperor manage to stay in power,” said Grand Fleet Admiral Gabriel Len Lenkowski, his image sitting in a chair in the conference room while his body occupied a ship thousands of light years away.

“It would have been a lot rougher on the Ca'cadasan people and their slaves,” said Sean, immediately raising a hand to cut off the protests of his battle fleet commander. “I know. We have to care more about our own. But it rubs me the wrong way to see so many innocent sentients taken out in collateral damage.”

“It's going to be bad news with Mrastaran in charge, your Majesty,” said Grand Fleet Admiral Beata Bednarczyk. The junior grand fleet admiral of the alliance was also attending by holo, her body actually much farther away than Len's, on the Klavarta front. “That male actually thinks before he acts. And from what I understand he reads, a lot. A lot of our stuff, so he understands us better than anyone else in their Empire.”

Sean nodded. He had seen the reports that had come from their Maurid operatives on this new Emperor, who seemed determined to remain a field commander as well. Sean, early in the war, had tried the same thing. It had led to confusion in the chain of command and resentment at home. And he had to admit that Len and Duke Taelis were much better field generals than he was at his age. He might have been more intelligent, but smarts weren't the only thing that made a great fighting admiral.

“And our intelligence assets have reported that he has already started to clean house,” said Admiral Ekaterian Sergiov, one of the few people at the conference actually sitting in the room. “Getting rid of leaders who act before they think, at all levels.”

“And how did you come by this information, Admiral Sergiov?” asked Duke Taelis Mgonda, also attending by holo, leaning forward in his chair thousands of light years distant.

“Your Majesty?” asked Sergiov, looking at Sean.

“Go ahead and tell them, Admiral,” said Sean with a shrug. “These people have the highest possible clearances, and for once I'm not going to let need to know govern here.”

“Your call, your Majesty.” Sergiov pulled up a holo that projected the image of a coal black Maurid.

“This is Shadow, our direct contact to the Maurid Council. Of course the Council lost all access to the higher levels of Ca'cadasan intelligence. They were still able to glean some from Cacas captured in the field.”

“I'm surprised they got anything from them,” said Len, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the image.

Maurids reminded some people of canines, wolves. They reminded Sean of the Werewolves of legend. Their clawed hands and feet, each capable of fine motor activity, could curl up into running pads. Their jaws were as powerful as those of a terrestrial shark. They were smart and they were fast, and they were holy terror as intelligence operatives.

“They can be very persuasive,” said Sergiov, a cold smile playing across her lips. “But that's not the important part. This new Emperor is what's important.”

“And what else is he doing?” asked McCullom.

“He's trying to reach a reconciliation with the Maurids. Offering them a bit of independence if they come back into the fold.”

“Surely they aren't falling for that?” asked Taelis, scowling. “We offered them a much better deal, and they've seen what the Cacas will do it they think they are being disloyal.”

“The problem, Duke Taelis,” said Sean, leaning forward and steepling his fingers, “is that the species have been members of the Ca'cadasan Empire for thirty generations. They have earned more freedom than most because of their singular abilities. While most aren't willing to jump back into the loving arms of their masters, a percentage are.”

“But, why?” asked Taelis, confusion on his face. “The Cacas just tried to exterminate them in job lots.”

“They are much like us in some ways,” said Sean, closing his eyes. “They want to protect lovers, spouses, families, and the Cacas took care of them for over a thousand years. We're something new, and most of them don't know us. It's surprising that so few of them have decided to go back into the fold. But because some have, we have an opportunity.”

“Yes, Duke Taelis,” said Sergiov, dismissing the holo of Shadow. “Some of the Maurids on our side are using the reconciliation for cover to get back into Caca territory and gather intelligence for us. Of course we don't expect them to get into the hierarchy of the Caca command structure, but if they can feed us some info. Troop movements, morale, logistics. Anything that gives us a look into the minds of the enemy.”

“Just be careful, people,” said Sean, giving his intelligence chief a nod for her presentation. “This is a new development for our enemy. I'm sure we will be surprised by some of the things they do. That could bite us in the ass. Or give us new opportunities to hurt them. So, let's get to it.”

Chapter One

All warfare is based on deception. Unknown

MAY 10TH, 1004. CA'CADASAN SPACE.

The Emperor Mrastaran, Mrastaran the First, strode onto the flag bridge of his flagship as the males jumped to their feet, bowing while rendering the traditional hand salute to a commander. Mrastaran stopped for a moment to look around the bridge, something new on a Ca'cadasan ship. It was newly added, assembled quickly from prefab parts, and if it worked as well as he expected there would be many more added to flagships across the fleet.

And the stupid hard heads are grumbling about this as well, thought the ex-fleet commander who had been known as the philosopher admiral. Well, it was his empire now, and what changes he wanted made would happen. Another of those changes was his actually commanding from the deck of a ship. Traditionally, emperors stayed on the home world, in relative safety. They served their stint in the fleet in low threat areas. That was the way the Ca'cadasan Empire and ensured that there would always be a seated Emperor, and that the succession would proceed smoothly no matter what.

“Get me the heir on the com,” he told the com officer. “Private link.”

The holo came to life in front of the Emperor at the same time as the air around him solidified into a holographic privacy field. Another new device, based on proven tech, giving the commander the ability to have a private conversation without leaving the bridge.

“Father,” said the male who appeared in the holo frame. The young male, still under a thousand, was a striking figure with the looks of a vid star.

Mrashrasta was Mrastaran's eldest, newly retired from the fleet and the heir to the throne. He had been raised to be his father's son, using his head for something other than a helmet stand. Maybe not quite the historian and philosopher his father was, he was still better educated than ninety-nine percent of the general population. He was also one of the few males that Mrastaran trusted fully.

“Any problems?” asked Mrastaran, concerned about having put so much on the shoulders of the young male.

“I have heard a few comments about turning our backs on tradition,” said the young male. “The usual.”

“Be careful,” Mrastaran cautioned his son. “You have good people around you. Take advantage of them.”

Of course Mrastaran was still the Emperor, but he might be cut off from control of the Empire at times while out on campaign. That shouldn't happen, not with the wormhole aboard the flagship. An old combat commander, the Emperor knew that things that shouldn't happen, did.

Mrastaran hadn't executed the guards who had let the old Emperor become the victim of an assassination attempt, despite the outcry that they needed to be crucified. Instead, he had transferred them back into the fleet, their identities changed. The Emperor thought the culture of the Empire needed to change, drastically, and mass executions needed to end. His own security, and that of his sons, was being provided by the traditional retainers of his family. He trusted them as much as he could any male who was not a direct family member.

One of his other sons, Maratan, a hundred years younger than his eldest, had been promoted out of the fleet to become the Chief Inspector of Ships. There had been some cries of favoritism, as if previous emperors hadn't given friends and family prime positions that had made them rich. Others had said the the young male didn't have the experience for this position. While Mrastaran might have agreed with those sentiments, Maratan was another of the few males he trusted to see his vision through.

“You be careful, father. You know that the humans will go all out to take your head.”

Mrastaran gave a head motion of agreement. He knew he was taking a risk leading, even if not directly from the front, but the morale in the fleet was at an all time low, and they needed something to give them motivation. The Emperor had read all the human histories he could get his hands on. Many of the older tales, almost legends, had revolved around the warrior kings who had fought alongside their soldiers. Something to emulate, though he wouldn't be taking his flagship into the heart of the fight. Still, being seen at the field would have to raise morale, wouldn't it?

“I will be, son. I just want you and your brother to keep things moving along. I'm counting on you to get us what we need to win this war.”

Mrastaran wasn't sure if victory was even possible. But a negotiated peace? Maybe, if he could kill enough humans to make them second guess their continuation of the war. Not by destroying systems and all life in them. That would do nothing more than enrage the humans, making them dead to possible diplomacy. No, it had to be their ships and their spacers that he killed.

“The governors and system admirals are going to raise holy hell, you know.”

The Emperor gave another head motion of agreement. That was to be expected. The problem was, he needed ships to hurt the humans with, and too many of those vessels were assigned to system defense fleets, mainly there to show the indigenous people that there was force in the system that they couldn't fight. Well, he didn't think they needed a hundred or more warships to make that point. A half dozen could conduct a planetary bombardment if need be, though he hoped to avoid that tactic. Gathering the excess ships would give him a couple of hundred thousands vessels to swell his order of battle. Mostly older vessels, and predominantly scouts and cruisers, they could still launch missiles and provide defensive weapons to any force they were assigned to.

Basically, the problem as he saw it was the Empire had too much territory to adequately defend. He needed time to get the Empire turned around. Trading space for time was a time honored tradition in human military history. Mrastaran had been reading about the second global war, and the nation state called Germany. They had used advanced tactics to roll over their nearest neighbors to either side. Then had come the invasion of the largest nation state on the planet. The Soviet Union looked like it would fall just as fast as the smaller nation states. They had traded land for time, probably unintentionally, but it had become an effective strategy that allowed them to bleed the enemy while rebuilding their own forces. They hadn't won that war on their own, but they had been instrumental in the victory.

On the other side of the planet was the nation state known as Japan. The Japanese, as they were called, had fortified a number of islands, trying to make it too costly for the United States, one of the larger combatants, to close with and attack their homeland. The United States had bypassed many of those islands and closed with Japan. The Japanese started using suicide attackers, much as the Ca'cadasans had been doing themselves. Their plan was to bleed the forces of the United States to the point where they would ask for a negotiated peace. Unfortunately for them, the United States developed the first nuclear weapons on the world, and had worked up such a rage against the Japanese that they were unlikely to settle for anything short of total victory.

Really, the situation of his Empire was closer to that of the Japanese, though there were some similarities with the Soviet Union. He had the territory, enough to gain a considerable measure of time, though not an eternity. The problem of stopping the enemy from bypassing systems was his greatest problem. His predecessor had solved that by threatening whole populations, eventually destroying entire systems. He couldn't see himself continuing that policy. Not just because it went against his principles, but because if he wanted to achieve a negotiated peace in the future, the less civilian blood on his hands the better.

“Watch out for your younger brother,” he asked his eldest. “He's meddling with a lot of sacred beasts, and there's no telling when the old guard is going to react.”

Maratan had been given the position of Inspector of Ships, which was much more complicated than it sounded. He was responsible for allotting resources to build ships, including building slips. It also included supervising ship design, which is where the Emperor thought the problems would arise. The current classes of Ca'cadasan ships had been the primary vessels for the fleet for over five hundred years. Battleships, cruisers and scouts, in a one to two to four proportion. The humans built different classes of ships, in different proportions, and Mrastaran thought, from experience that their method was better.

Ca'cadasan scouts massed four hundred thousand tons, making them a powerful warship in their own right. Problem was, they were too big. A missile hit on one of them blew them out of space, same as the two hundred thousand ton human destroyers. The humans could build two of their scouts for every one of his, and they built eight or nine of them for every battleship. Not just to more efficiently scout, but also to form swarms of pickets for missile defense. He thought their system worked much better than his, so he had ordered Maratan to start construction of the smaller scouts that he had approved, while ceasing production of the old standard. The old guard, the officers who thought that any change was bad, had raised hell when the new class had been announced. Because he was Emperor he had been able to push his will through the old guard, and the new class was now building.

He also thought the cruisers were an unwieldy class. Big enough to challenge a couple of the human cruisers, one would still die from a single missile hit. He had wanted to build a class half their mass, but had decided that the scouts were more important. That was a battle he could fight at a later time. The standard twenty-five million ton battleship was also too big in his opinion. Again, a single missile hit could take one out, same as the around fifteen million ton human battleships. The larger ships could weather a close in beam duel, but those had been few and far between in this war. This had been a missile war, and it didn't look like it was going to change.

“Well, keep on it,” said Mrastaran. “If your brother needs help, give it. I can't afford the two of you disagreeing in public.”

“In the category of good news, father, the first of the new production centers will come online in two weeks.”

“Very good. I'm hoping that will remove them from the radar of the enemy.”

Mrastaran had decided that the human raids on his industrial centers needed to stop if his Empire was to catch up with them on shipbuilding. There were still plenty of systems in the far reaches of the Empire that the humans had yet to hit. However, with so many alien subjects going over to them, he didn't doubt that they knew where all of his shipyards were. So, he had decided to build new shipyards that only the members of the high command knew about.

That had been the brainchild of Mataran. The Emperor was very glad that he had trained his sons to think. It was good to have some thoughtful males on his staff that he could trust with his life. Mataran had decided that building shipyards in uninhabited systems, linked to the capital by wormhole gate, would safeguard them. Beings assigned to those system were there for the duration of the war, and nothing was allowed to enter or leave the system through hyper. Hopefully it would make the systems untraceable, arsenals that could rearm the Ca'cadasan fleet as many times as needed.

“We're getting more flack from the rank and file over the rationing system. Most of them don't like the idea of only eating vat grown meat.”

Mrastaran had been afraid of that. He had thought it would be easier to forbid the slaughter of aliens for food. He thought it a barbaric practice whose time was done. Vat grown food was just as nutritious, if not quite as tasty. The officers, along with the rank and file, were not willing to give up one of their few remaining luxuries, and he wasn't yet ready to fight that battle. He had mandated better treatment for the aliens that labored for the Empire. While not sure if that would pay immediate dividends, he was sure it would result in better relations in the future. And the Maurids had been reinstated to their past positions in the Empire, though Mrastaran hadn't been naive enough to give them access to sensitive information. He was sure that there were many among those seemingly coming back into the fold who were still on the side of the humans.

“We'll continue processing the aliens earmarked as rations,” said Mrastaran, reluctantly. “I want that practice killed, eventually, but we have more important things to deal with. And how goes your studies?”

“The humans seem to have a long and complicated history of warfare,” said Mrashrasta, his eyes widening slightly. “I think that if the old Emperor had known so much about them, he wouldn't have ordered their extermination.”

The Emperor wasn't sure about that. Those people, much like many this day, had been sure of themselves to the point of arrogance. They wouldn't have believed that any species could cause them so much trouble, much less one with the primitive tech of humans of the time.

“I think I might be able to surprise them with some of their own historical tactics,” said the Emperor, smiling. “They are not used to seeing these innovations from us, and I think I can use them to sting them.”

“Take care of yourself, father,” said the eldest son. “Don't go leading any charges up the middle. Or try a Custer, and take on more than you can handle.”

Mrastaran's face broke into a wide smile. His son had been studying the historical tactics of the enemy after all, including some of their biggest failures.

“Worry not, my son. My ship and I will remain far back from the action.”

Doing so might bother him on some level. But he wasn't so big a fool that he didn't understand his importance to the Empire.

* * *

Sean looked at the object that rotated in the holo. Several meters long, about a meter and a half wide, features except for the nubs of grabbers that would be extended when needed. It may not have looked impressive, but it had the potential to change missile warfare forever.

“We have been manufacturing the decoys as fast as we are able, given the resources available,” said Admiral Chan, looking out of another holo. “We have several logistics ships loaded up with them and ready to go to the front.”

“Which one?” he asked, looking at his tech genius.

“We're shipping to Mgonda first. We don't have enough for everyone, and these things work best in mass deployments.”

“And your sure they're going to work in combat?”

“No, your Majesty. I'm not. They have passed every test, including live fire exercises. But we're sure of combat capability until they've actually faced enemy fire.”

Sean appreciated the honesty of the admiral, one of his greatest assets in this war. Chan was no a combat admiral. She had served as the commander of a carrier force in one operation, more as a reward for her service that anything else. Sean felt more comfortable with the admiral working at desk, looking over the thousands of research proposals that came through every month and picking the ones with the most promise.

“In the tests they sucked out best missiles right in, off course, and took them out when they got close. We'll only know if they really work when a unit is threatened by a huge enemy launch and their pushed to the limit.”

“Kind of hard on the people on the receiving end if they don't work.”

“True,” admitted Chan. “But think of it this way. A unit under that kind of fire is already at extreme risk, so any advantage these decoys give them will be welcome.”

Unless they take the place of counter missiles, thought the Emperor. One reason he hadn't authorized their deployment on warships, which already dedicated most of their space to vital things like missiles, counters and antimatter. Putting them aboard logistics ships, which had hundreds of thousands of cubic meters of cargo space, was something else.

“I approve of bringing them to the front, but I will only agree to putting a limited number of them aboard warships, for testing purposes only.”

“Okay,” said Chan, looking disappointed. “You're in charge.”

Yes, I am, thought the Emperor with a smile. “So what else do you have in the pipeline that hasn't made it into the reports?”

Chapter Two

There is no instance of a nation benefiting from prolonged warfare. Sun Tzu

“I don't see what all the fuss is about this new Emperor,” said Grand Fleet Admiral Gabriel Len Lenkowski. “So he's smarter than the average Caca. That isn't saying much.”

Admiral Lenkowski,” said the Countess Grand Fleet Admiral Beata Bednarczyk, attending the conference from over nine thousand light years away, in the Nation of New Earth. “I have the utmost respect for you. So please take this the right way when I say that you are letting your own arrogance get in the way of a thoughtful approach to the problem.”

Sean smiled. Beata had a reputation of saying what she meant, no matter how much it hurt the feelings of the one she was talking too. She was actually developing some diplomatic acumen. She was developing the diplomacy to fit in with her elevation to Countess.

“They're all dumb as rocks,” continued Len. “Sure, they sometimes get lucky, but they always seem to make the same mistakes, over and over.”

“This one is different,” said Beata. “He actually thinks before he acts. I council caution where he is concerned.”

Sean could tell from her expression that she was trying to hold back some comments. He happened to agree with her as far as this new Emperor was concerned. After studying the battle extensively, he could see that any human commander would have had trouble dealing with him. His respect for Bednarczyk had gone up several notches after going over her records from the battles. He still wasn't sure if she was on the level of Lenkowski or Mgonda, but she was damned close.

“A secondary campaign on a secondary front,” scoffed Len, his eyes boring into the image of Bednarczyk. “I'm sure he won't give an experienced fleet commander the same level of difficulty.”

Here it comes, thought Sean, preparing himself for the backlash.

“Why you trumped up, arrogant little child,” said Beata in a low voice. “How dare you. I doubt if you would have done any better against Mrastaran. In fact, I know it.”

“Why, you...”

“Enough,” yelled Sean, looking from holographic face to face, taking in the smiling visage of Mgonda and the scowling expression of Sondra McCullom as well. “I don't expect that all of my admirals will like each other. I do expect that they will get along and work with each other. So, there will be no personal insults in these conferences. Understood?”

“Yes, your Majesty,” said Beata, looking down. “And I'm sorry. It won't happen again.”

Len was silent, like he was refusing to admit to any wrong.

“Do you understand me, Grand Fleet Admiral Lenkowski? Answer me.”

“I understand, your Majesty. And I will work on my, arrogance.”

Sean could tell that Len was still steaming. Well, he would just have to get used to it. Beata, by her actions and through her leadership, had joined the ranks of his senior commanders. If they didn't want to welcome her into their exclusive club that was their prerogative. But, as he said, they would have to work with her. Even if she was on the other side of their enemy's empire.

In fact, Beata was now the most decorated of his admirals, having earned not only the Imperial Medal of Heroism, but the President's Medal of Honor from New Earth. Add to that her patent of nobility, and the only thing she lacked over the other grand fleet admirals was time in service.

“And so, Admiral Bednarczyk, what can you tell us about this new Emperor, the male you have faced in battle twice?” asked Mgonda, himself seeming much more welcoming of another opinion than Len.

“Well, one thing I can say,” said Beata after releasing a calming breath. “Don't expect the normal Caca behavior from him. He thinks before he acts, and his decisions seem to be sound. He won't sacrifice his ships or his people without good cause, though he will if he thinks it will give him an advantage.”

“You beat him, twice,” said Len, his tone indicating that he was discounting the intelligence of that Caca admiral, one beat by a newly promoted six star.

“And I almost lost my ass to him, twice,” said Beata, puffing up in anger once again. “I had so many tech advantages over him both times that a standard Caca admiral would have lost, badly. I only beat the Caca fleet so badly because the male that took over on his recall did something really stupid. Given time, Mrastaran would have pounded me until I had nothing left.”

“I agree with Admiral Bednarczyk,” said Ekaterina Sergiov, attending in person, sitting a chair close to the Emperor. “Our intelligence sources in their Empire, such as they are, have indicated that he is an unusual male. Most likely an atheist, he still adheres to the principles of their old religion. Said to be a philosopher, a thinker, he has managed to maneuver every male who has challenged him into an unwinnable situation. He studies history, including ours. Remember, the Cacas took whole libraries of book files from New Moscow. I expect he is going to make some decisions that the rest of his people won't like, but in the long run we won't like them either.”

“Any chance he offends enough people that they take him down?” asked Sondra McCollum, leaning forward in her chair.

“I doubt it,” answered Sergiov. “This is an intelligent and thoughtful male. He will only push as far as he thinks he can get away with it, then back off. He will let the people become accustomed to the changes he has made before he makes more of them. And he will make damned sure he is never alone with Cacas he doesn't trust, insuring that he has sufficient security to take care of any attempted coup.”

“The bottom line, ladies and gentlemen,” said Sean, looking over steepled fingers, “is to expect the unexpected. Be ready for anything. If that means moving more cautiously than is the norm for yourselves, then do so.”

“That will give them more time to prepare, your Majesty,” said Mgonda, one eyebrow raised to show his questioning of that suggestion.

“Then it takes more time to get to their capital,” said Sean, nodding. “And we get there with more of our people alive. And just because he adheres to their old religion, don't discount the possibility of the Cacas setting off more novas, with or without Mrastaran's permission.”

“Anything else, your Majesty?” asked Mgonda, clearly impatient to get back to organizing for the coming campaign.

“No. Get your organizations ready. We move in one week.” Sean turned toward his newest countess and grand fleet admiral. “You had something you wanted to ask me, Countess.”

Beata waited a moment for the other images to fade, disconnecting from the link. McCullom and Sergiov took a look at the Emperor, then left the room.

“You have questions about your ennoblement, and what it entails?” asked the Emperor, a smile on his face.

“I do. I'm not sure I really understand what ennoblement means, your Majesty. I don't feel any different than I did before you made me a countess. And when will I get a chance to see my county.”

“You county isn't much, yet. Unless you like looking at vast forests, plains full of animals, clear clean lakes and rivers, you know, the boring stuff.”

“Not boring to me at all,” said Beata after stifling a short laugh. “I grew up on a frontier world, and what you're describing sounds wonderful.”

“Not many people, yet, though that will change as soon as word gets out,” continued Sean. “As far as your manor, might I suggest an architect who can send you some ideas for you approval. Not saying that you have to approve any of her ideas, but it will give you a starting point.”

“When I get the time, your Majesty. I have my hands full at the moment.”

“Of course you do,” said Sean, chuckling himself.

Beata had an entire front to reorganize. Most of the Imperial ships that had been with her during the last campaign were in dock, undergoing major repairs. She had some new ships, right out of the docks and still working up with their cherry crews. The Klavarta were in worse shape, and many of their older ships had been sent to the breaking yards so that their supermetals could be recycled into new construction. The good news was that a thousand new battleships a month would be rolling out of their yards, along with five additional wormholes each week. It would take time to rebuild their fleet, but a couple of thousand ships, both those damaged in the last campaign and those that had been held back, were available, or soon would be. The Slarna and the Gernas were contributing more ships to the war effort, though Sean had been forced to make some diplomatic concessions to those governments to keep them onboard. Those concessions would improve the capabilities of their ships, as well as improving the quality of like for their beings in the street.

Sean felt that Beata had proven, a couple of times, that she could handle a task like this. Though still not the most diplomatic of admirals, her allies respected and trusted her. The next time an outright lie came from her lips would be a first. She was to organize that front as the supreme commander, by request of all of the allies, including the Klavarta. In a month, maybe a little longer, she would be moving her force into their Empire, making them dance to her tune this time. He didn't expect the Cacas to place too much in her way, since they already had more than they could handle on the main front. He also didn't expect them to give her a clear path into the heart of their Empire. She didn't have to win any decisive victories, though he wouldn't put that past her. As long as she attracted some attention it would be enough.

“Make sure you contact me if you run into any problems out there,” said Sean by way of finishing, then terminated the connection.

The Emperor was satisfied with the progress on all fronts. He could have wished for more progress, so the damned war that was weakening the economy of his empire would fade into history. But it was going damned well. If only this relatively unknown of an Emperor didn't pull too many surprises.

* * *

“We are getting more complaints from the commanders at the front, Supreme Lord,” said Great Admiral Trostara, looking out of a holo bubble.

Mrastaran grunted. Trostara had served him well on the last campaign. He was a solid commander, if uninspiring, and the Emperor needed the male in his current position more for his organizational capabilities than for his strategic acumen. Supreme Admiral Klestaras, the former front commander, and one who had been making very good decisions while trying to hold back the onrushing tide of the enemy, had been promoted to chief of naval operations. Mrastaran had considered leaving the last male in that position, but the outcry against him had been too great. He had been too close to the last Emperor, and had been implicated in his assassination. Mrastaran had refused to punish him, but had thought it better to let him go into honorable retirement.

“They are just going to have to make do,” he said, looking Trostara in the eyes. “We don't have the ships to spare. They are to delay the enemy. Nothing more, nothing less. I don't expect them to pull off great victories.”

Though, if truth be told, he would take whatever victories they could give him, while accepting the extra time they would give him. The only unforgivable sin would be the total loss of a force, allowing the enemy to thrust through the gap. Even that wouldn't result in execution, unlike the policy of the last regime. Mrastaran had decided that commanders would not be executed for making mistakes. That only stifled their initiative, which led to more bad decisions.

“Our ambush forces aren't winning many victories,” said the fleet chief of staff, giving a head motion of dismissal.

That had been one strategy endorsed by the old regime that Mrastaran was determined to continue. Again, they weren't expected to win any great victories, though some minor wins would be welcome. As long as they kept the enemy on their toes, looking over their shoulders and slowing down their progress, they were doing their jobs. He didn't like the fact that so many males were sacrificed in battle they couldn't possibly survive. Unfortunately, more would be asked to sacrifice their lives in the future. Suicide attacks were one way to bleed the enemy, and if done properly they could result in a very favorable exchange rate.

The Emperor had decided that he would have to sacrifice many millions of males to bring the humans to the negotiating table. It was the only hope he had of preserving his species and retaining at least a semblance of their position in the galaxy. They wouldn't be able to keep the slaves under foot. The humans wouldn't stand for that, and Mrastaran thought that was one tradition his own people could do without. If he had to give up his position as Emperor, even go to his death, he was willing, as long as his sons survived.

“Seventh and eighth fleets will be ready for action in twelve days, if all continues as planned,” said the chief of staff.

Mrastaran's ears perked up at those words. Those were the first of his new offensive forces. Both had thousands of battleships, many newly committed to the front from backwaters. They had a traditional proportion of their big cruisers to battleships, two to one. What was different was the proportion of scouts to capital ships. Traditionally it had been four to one, but he was shooting for a nine to one proportion, similar to what the enemy used. The new construction had yet to leave the building slips, and he wouldn't have those in his order of battle for at least another month.

He had two more fleets forming further back, hopefully ready for deployment in a couple of months. The Emperor would have preferred to have them ready sooner, but he recognized that they needed training in the new tactics before they were effective fighting forces. It bothered him that he had to deploy the first two fleets without more shakedown and training time, but he needed something to hit the enemy with, so they were to be committed before they were quite ready.

“And the new stealth ships?”

That was one class that the humans had used to punish them since the beginning of the war. The Ca'cadasans hadn't had the wormholes to spare to pursue that class. Mrastaran thought they needed what they could produce of that class, so he had commissioned ten of the craft, with more to follow if the first batch proved their worth.

“The first one is working up, and will be ready for deployment in eight days. We'll have three more in two weeks.”

Mrastaran gave a head motion of acceptance. The only way they could figure to use those ships was to place them in systems before the enemy got to them. They would wait until the perfect targets presented themselves, then fire. They might only get the one shot off, so they needed to wait, be patient, and make sure they took many times their tonnage into the night before they were blown out of space. Which meant assigning commanders with more than average patience to the ships.

The Emperor looked at the holo map, selecting which systems he wanted to deploy those ships. Far enough back that they had time to pick good hiding places, close enough to the action that they could make hits on the enemy that would make them even more cautious. And in systems that had not already been selected for ambushes by the fast attack craft. They would be wasted in those systems, since a strike by the stealth/attack ships would set off a system wide search that might find the fast attack craft, and visa versa.

“Good job, Great Admiral Trostara. You have met and exceeded my expectations for you. Keep it up.”

“I endeavor to serve, Supreme Lord,” said the other male, rendering the traditional salute.

Mrastaran frowned. He had been trying to curb the subservient behavior of his subordinates toward him, something that made the thoughtful leader uncomfortable. He might as well have told the tide on a planet orbiting a gas giant to hold. There were a lot of entrenched traditions in the Empire that would take time to change. Maybe more time than he had. So he had decided to change the things he could, things that were of immediate benefit to the Empire, and let time take care of the rest.

One problem he hadn't solved was the graviton shield the other side had used against him in Pleisia, a system within the Nation of New Earth. It seemed a war winning weapon, though it had serious limitations. Some of those limitations were assumptions, but if they were able to project that shield in front of any of their forces in any system, he might as well give up now. So he had to assume the limitations were true, and tailor his tactics toward defeating those enemy forces which didn't have it. And hope that they didn't improve it to the point where it became an insurmountable obstacle to Ca'cadasan plans.

Chapter Three

In modern war... you will die like a dog for no good reason. Ernest Hemingway

MAY 18TH, 1004. THE DONUT.

Dr. Lucille Yu studied the schematics of the great ring that she ran. The Donut was the largest construction in known space, twenty-five million kilometers in circumference, and taking a highly advanced civilization just over a century to construct. Ten percent of the gross domestic product for the century, a billion humans workers, tens of thousands of working spaceships, billions of robots, quadrillions of tons of nanobots. The might of an industrial civilization unleashed. A mass of circuits and high temperature superconductors, it was producing the technology that would win the war the New Terran Empire found itself in.

Only now the marvelous construct was damaged. It had been damaged before, once when the Ca'cadasans had brought some quarkium warheads aboard, smuggling them through the wormhole gate from Elysium. Another time when it had been attacked by the ancient aliens that saw it a risk to the integrity of time itself. Both of those attacks had done superficial if appreciable damage. This last incident had involved the Donut beaming its unimaginable power through a group of wormholes, powering the devices that saved a planet from a nova.

Repairs were underway, but it would be some weeks before they were producing more than twenty wormholes a day. A full quarter of the massive generators, each larger than a dozen battleships, had malfunctioned due to overheating during the stations deployment as a power source. They could be repaired, even those over fifty years old. In fact, the older ones would be better, more efficient, after the repairs. All it took was time and the attention of machines under close supervision.

A distant beeping sounded in Lucille's ear, really in the auditory center of her brain. Yu looked at the source in her implant and accepted the call.

“Tell me something good,” she said to her chief engineer, Martin Sheffield.

“Some good, some bad,” replied the man, his image forming in the air to her front, looking directly into her eyes. Yu stared back with her emerald green orbs, brows furrowing.

People who had never before met Lucille were always surprised at how tall she was at one hundred and ninety centimeters, a combination of genetics and having grown to maturity on a light gravity planet. Most expected a small Asian woman, such as Chuntao Chan or Admiral Mei Lei. Lucille's father had been of Chinese descent, though he was really a mix of all the ethnicities of the Empire, much like Sean. Her mother was of Scandinavian extraction, from the planet Norje. Lucille, with her natural blond hair, fair skin and fashion model body, had taken after her mother. The Epicanthic folds of her green eyes were the only outward sign of her Asian heritage.

“We'll have the main superconductor line from sector eleven back in working order by tomorrow morning,” said the engineer, a wide smile on his face.

That was good news. The high temperature superconductors that moved power through the station had taken a beating, fully forty percent of them converting to liquid, then vapor, under the extreme long-term load. The main runs were a kilometer wide, and could conduct electrons with no significant loss for the million plus kilometers of their length, even when they reached thousands of degrees. They had been engineered to handle maximum power for just over a couple of minutes, time enough to charge their connected bank of crystal matrix batteries. At just over three thousand degrees they melted, suddenly, and were no longer functioning superconductors. Soon after they converted to vapor, still held in place by their sheaths, but no longer of any use.

Fortunately, with a few exceptions where the sheaths had ruptures, the material of the superconductors was still in place. But the long fibers were no longer there, and they needed a complete rebuild. Also fortunately, with a bunch of nanites and some extra materials they could be reconstructed in place. That was being done to the eleven superconductor runs that had gone down.

“What's the bad news?”

“I don't think we've put enough wormhole sinks in place,” said the engineer, frowning. “What we have will extend their operating life significantly. But enough? I think not.”

“What's the estimated fail point?”

“Just over eight minutes.”

That would not do at all. Not in the long term. Something needed to be done about the heat buildup, and no amount of passive radiation would protect them. The plan had been to insert enough of the same kind of heat sink used by the stealth/attack ships to draw off the heat. The heat would move through more superconductors, into the wormhole and out the other end into a near zero degree sink. All of the sinks were in use, so more were under construction. Ready in another month, possibly?

“If you want more, we're going to need more wormholes.”

“How many?” asked Yu, a sinking feeling in her chest. The Fleet was already complaining that they weren't getting as many wormholes as they needed. And they weren't the only ones. There were resources and cargo ships that needed to be moved, and more gates were needed for those movements. Even though they had fifty times the wormholes of the enemy, more were always in demand. Absent wormholes translated into lost lives. And everyone wanted to save lives.

“Double the amount, at least. And more of the heat sinks, of course.”

“But we will still be able to function for a much longer time without them, right?”

“I believe so. But based on how long we needed to run everything into the red last time, that may not be enough.”

Yu sat and thought for a moment, looking into the face of an engineer who was impatient to get back to work.

“Go with the original plan. Any improvement is a plus. I'll try to get you some more wormholes.”

And more heat sinks, she thought, inwardly grimacing. That would be a major headache. The heat sinks were as large as the generators, using as many superconductors. They lowered the temperature inside their containment vesicle to just above absolute zero. That vesicle, filled with a superconducting fluid, drank up heat like a dying man in a desert did water. The superconductors continuously moved the heat into thousands of square kilometers of superconducting radiator panels. It was a lot of resources to keep the small stealth/attack craft hidden, and one could handle twenty or more of the stealthy ships. Still, they were expensive, and building more was something that she couldn't just ask in an offhand comment.

Yu had read about the old armies on Earth that needed three people in logistics for every one at the front. They had a similar ratio with tonnage of equipment, even worse if truth be told. They needed four to five tons of equipment in support for every ton in ships, war or support. Even more if the Donut was taken into account, but it was already built, and so consumed very little of those resources. At least it was supposed to be that way.

I guess I'll have to talk to Sean, she thought with another inward grimace.

She had an open line to the Emperor, and could call him whenever she needed something. Protocol was for her to go through the War Procurement Board for her needs, submitting her request and letting them weigh the merits. It was so much easier to just ask the man at the top. At they said, shit rolled downhill. But she was afraid that eventually she would use up all of her capital with the Emperor, and would then have to deal with a resentful group of Bureaucrats who had been passed over time and time again.

Yu pulled up the next project on her slate. Reinforcing the structure of the Donut. She wasn't sure if the project was really necessary. The structure was already over engineered. But Sean had experienced first hand the shaking that had come about when the generators had run too long. And he was not about to let his crown jewel fall apart. So more engineers and workmen were placing two kilometer thick woven strands of monomolecular wire, the strongest structural material known. It was also a strategic material, used in the construction of ships, forts, and industrial facilities, and so always in short supply.

I believed he would listen to reason, thought the director, recalling their conversation.

“We've already just about reached our production limit,” said Sean, shaking his head. “The slips are full, and we're beginning to reach the bottom of the barrel as far as workers are concerned.”

One good thing about the war, had thought Lucille. In peacetime more than half the population of the Empire was unemployed, surviving on the basic living wage, the dole. Most industrial processes were handled by machines, though people were mandated to supervise them by law. And no one sentient could be burdened with more machines than they could closely watch. Production had tripled early in the war, then tripled again, and the numbers of people on the dole had evaporated away. They were making real money, though the government would pay for that decades after the war was over, if ever.

“As far as ships go, we're hitting a wall with personnel to man them. Most citizens do not make good spacers, and most spacers don't make efficient officers or petty officers. We're thinking about making ships with more automation to take the place of people, but the traditionalists are bowing up and demanding fully crewed ships. And, frankly, I agree with them.”

She hadn't been able to argue with that. Plus, she was under orders to construct the new supports, so in they went. The station would be stronger, the Emperor happier, so there was no reason to argue.

“Director Yu. We have a situation.”

God, but she hated that term. It never presaged anything good.

* * *

MAY 24TH, 1004. JUST BEHIND THE CENTRAL FRONT.

“Shadow,” yelled Cornelius Walborski in an excited voice, walking quickly toward the seated Maurid leader.

The coal black Maurid was kicked back in a seat made for his kind, his lower feet holding a viewer while his upper worked on sharpening a strange looking blade. Maurids were four limbed creatures who switched from bipedal to quadrupedal as the situation demanded. All of their extremities could be used as hands or feet, or weapons, sporting as they did five centimeter razor claws.

“General Walborski,” said the Maurid by way of greeting, dropping both of the objects he was holding to the carpeted floor and springing to his feet. “So good to see you.”

“Cornelius,” said the human, putting out a hand that was taken in both of the upper hands of the alien. “Unless you want me to address you as His Supreme Doggo.”

A fierce expression crossed the face of the alien. Shadow couldn't keep the facade for long, and burst out in the hissing laugh of his kind.

“And how was your trip out?” asked Shadow, gesturing toward a chair.

“Short and uneventful,” lied Cornelius, remembering the nightmare of gate travel. Of course he had received the conditioning to pass through the wormhole without experiencing the seemingly endless time of passage. At least not consciously. The memories remained, and he could look forward to several nights of nightmares, staring at an endless plain forever.

“As you know, my kind doesn't experience your subjective nightmares,” said Shadow, a smirk on his canine face. “My trips are always pleasant.”

“And we hate you for it,” said Cornelius, his eyes narrowing as he scowled. He could keep it up no longer than his alien partner, and soon he was laughing out loud.

“We love you humans, despite your shortcomings,” said the Maurid. “You come as liberators, not conquerors. And I can assure you that my people will repay your trust with undying loyalty.”

“Then why are some of your people flocking back to the Caca fold?” asked Walborski, this time his angry expression legitimate.

Shadow rotated his shoulders back, what Walborski took to be the Maurid equivalent of a shoulder shrug. “Who knows why fools act the way they do? And make no mistake, Walborski. Both of our peoples have their share of fools. People who would rather hold on tight to the familiar than embrace what could be a life expanding experience. Rest assure that me and mine are on your side.”

“I trust you, Shadow,” said Cornelius, nodding. “All of your people? No. So I'm counting on you to let me know who I need to watch out for.”

“And if you catch a traitor?”

Cornelius thought about that for a moment. How did they define traitor here. He decided that it meant a being who had pledged his allegiance to the Imperial cause, then purposely betrayed it.

“I guess we'll question him, or her. And when we're sure we've gotten all they have, I'll kill them, with my bare hands.”

“I, believe you,” said Shadow.

“So, what's our plan?”

“We let my agents scour the surface of a selected planet, along with the soldiers you brought along. When we find someone who might have information, our alpha teams move in. That's you and me, plus other teams made up of my top people and those you select from yours.”

“You think this is going to get us anything?”

Shadow gave the same shoulder rotating motion. “We can hope. The Masters, uh, I mean the Cacas, at least the lower rank and file, treat their slaves like furniture. Like they had no ears, no minds. They tend to talk in front of people who understand their language, even if they give no sign of it. We'll get information. Will it be helpful? I can't answer that. As your people say, only time will tell.”

“When do we start?” asked Walborski, anxious for some action.

“When do you want to start?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Then let's jump through that mirror and go to where the action is,” said Shadow, grinning.

Well, there's that, thought Cornelius with a grimace. More nightmares. However, if it let him kill Cacas, even indirectly, it would be worth a lifetime of sleepless nights.

* * *

“We've finish recovering the fighters, ma'am,” came the voice of the Fighter Boss, calling in from his control room near the rearmost hangar.

Commodore Tanya Hough looked over at a screen to her side, checking the status of the craft that were the reason in being for the fleet carrier Northrup. While not technically the commander of the ship, the carrier and its eight escorts were hers, including the reinforced fighter wing.

The wing consisted of fourteen squadrons of sixteen craft each. All were of the most advanced type, capable of twenty-three light pseudospeed, and carrying missiles that could move away at twenty-six. Eight of the fighter squadrons were the space superiority variety. Still, they carried four anti-ship missiles with fifty megaton warheads. Not capable of killing a capital ship by itself, but able to inflict severe damage if they struck the proper point.

The remaining six squadrons were the new bomber class. Not technically a bomber, since they carried missiles, they were fifty percent larger than the fighter class. They had the same turn of speed and carried eight of the up-gunned missiles made especially for them. Those missiles carried one hundred megaton warheads, still not enough to kill a battleship by itself, but able to inflict even great damage than the fighter weapons. Hough couldn't wait to see those ships in action, probably the only action they would see.

Standard carrier tactics called for her ships, along with the other carriers and escorts, to hang out just outside the hyper barrier. The system assault fleet would go in the system, while the system warning force, the ships that would look out on anything that the enemy might try to insert, would deploy light hours out. The carriers need do nothing more than launch fighters when the invasion force commander called for them, and service them when they came back. Not very exciting at all, though Hough preferred it that way.

“Did they spot anything?” she asked of the Fighter Boss.

“Nary a thing,” replied the captain. “With your permission we're sending our findings, or lack of, to the task group commander.”

“Very good.”

Hough was sure that Rear Admiral Kasagama, the overall commander of the carrier force, would also be relieved, as there was little to threaten the four carriers and thirty-six escorts in his force. Like most carrier admirals, Yogama Kasagama preferred to strike from a distance with his fighters.

“Admiral Garasra is reporting that he is sending his scout groups in,” called out the task force com officer.

“About time,” said Hough under her breath.

Vice Admiral Garasra was the overall commander of the battle group. It was split into three commands under their own admirals, though Garasra preferred to move with the battle group and its four task forces. Each of those forces had between sixteen and twenty battleships, a squadron of battle cruisers, forty smaller cruisers, mostly lights, and eighty destroyers. Scout force, which had just sent in the destroyers, and was providing the back stop out from the carrier force, had twenty battle cruisers, forty-six light cruisers, and ninety-three destroyers. Garasra's command was one of nine battle groups assigned to Grand Fleet Admiral Mgonda's fleet. Mgonda himself controlled over a thousand ships in the main battle fleet, making up his heavy strike unit. It was poised to come in at the sighting of any significant Caca forces.

Twelve hours later the scouts reported all clear, and the troop transports, escorted by one of the battle group task forces, moved in to take the planet. No one knew if that world was completely undefended, or if a swarm of ground troops waited for any landing attempt. Hough would have nothing to do with the landing. A couple of years before there would have been carriers with normal space fighters and some orbit to atmosphere birds. Both of those could have provided fire support for the landing, but the valuable warp fighters were not suitable for such a task. There were orbit to atmosphere fighters aboard the assault ships that would handle air superiority and ground attack duties.

Each of the six assault ships carried a reinforced brigade, three infantry battalions with attached tanks and artillery. With orbital strike support they would likely be able to handle anything the Cacas might have on the planet. If they ran into more trouble than they could handle more ships would enter orbit to provide overwhelming fire support.

It was a tried and true set of maneuvers that worked on ninety percent of systems. It ensured that there were no ambushes waiting for the group, including the nova producing projector ships. Yeah, it worked, but it slowed the Imperial forces down, making the advance tedious. The Cacas contested some systems, rarely, and normally with a force that was too large for the battle group, which would fall back and wait for Mgonda to send more ships in. As long as it worked the forces would continue to do it.

But I wonder if we're setting something up with our predictability, thought Hough, pulling up the region plot and looking at the overall deployments. Command seemed to think they were taking every precaution, but they had to be missing something. Didn't they?

“How goes the ship?” asked the commodore, contacting the captain of the Northrup, Gail Merkle.

“All system are running at peak efficiency,” said the ship's captain, smiling. “We can give you boost whenever you ask for it, ma'am.”

Hough grunted. She knew the captain would have preferred to have her ship moving. All carrier commanders were suspicious of sitting in one place for too long. It made them an easy target, but as long as the rest of the fleet did their jobs, that shouldn't be a problem.

* * *

“We're receiving reports from another pair of systems at the front, Supreme Lord,” called out Admiral Trostara, the chief of staff.

“Are the Imperials deploying in the same way?” asked Mrastaran, looking up from the report he was reading from his eldest son.

Mashrata was still having problems with many of the traditionalists. The newly assassinated Emperor would have simply threatened them, emphasizing his threat by placing a selected number of heads on pikes, or bodies on crosses. Mrastaran didn't want to implement that kind of punishment in his Empire. He wanted males who weren't afraid to speak their minds, lest they refuse to come forth with vital information that their leader might not wish to hear. This Emperor wanted to hear everything, no matter how disconcerting it might be. He needed to feel the pulse of the Empire if he was going to make the changes he wanted.

“Yes, Supreme Lord. Exactly the same.”

“Call me Admiral while I am aboard ship, Trostara,” said Mrastaran, waving a finger in the air.

“But you are the Emperor, Supreme Lord. I mean Admiral.”

Mrastaran thought this might be a losing battle. He wanted the males under him to think of him as a combat commander. Nothing more, nothing less. But he had been named Emperor. If there had been anyone else to do it, he would have passed, but the Empire couldn't survive without leadership at the top. He was hoping, someday, to form other bodies of government, like most of the rest of the powers they were at war with. The Emperor had too much power for any single being as far as he was concerned.

As long as they fall into habit, he thought, focusing on the problem at hand, they're vulnerable. Now, if only we get the stealth/attack craft ready in time to use them before they overrun too many systems.

Mrastaran was planning for the long term in his next series of moves. Eight systems behind the lines had wormholes, collapsed to a tiny radius and hiding. But monitoring the systems as well. Those wormholes would be used in the second act future. There were also four wormholes hidden in systems the human had yet to get to. Those would get the stealth/attack. And the first of ten missile accelerator tubes was almost completed. It was taking more resources than he felt comfortable committing, but his Empire needed them.

Wormhole production had increased again, to five a day, giving him enough of a surplus that he could spend them on what he hoped were precise strikes against the human fleet. Still, compared to the humans and their estimated thirty a day, his Empire would never catch up. He would never have a hundred ships in the line sending twenty consecutive streams of wormhole launched missiles at the enemy. It almost seemed hopeless, but the Emperor believed that smart planning and creative deployment could make up for a lot of the discrepancy.

I don't have to win any battles, he thought, a strategy that was totally foreign to most Ca'cadasans. All he had to do was engage the humans in situations that cost them more tonnage and lives than he lost. And then he would offer to negotiate with their Emperor. From what he understood, he was a reasonable being who really cared about his people. Why wouldn't he talk peace if it saved lives, and the Ca'cadasan Empire offered concessions that would give the humans most of what they wanted.

The first step was to take out the majority of their front line carriers. Both sides were powerful in ship to ship combat, in hyper and normal space. The warp fighters gave the humans a decided advantage in normal space, with their fast speed and striking ability. Their weakness was the fact that they couldn't travel in hyper, and needed a carrier to bring them into a system. Fighters were not ship killers, not really. But they could damage ships, sometimes critically, and any battleship that couldn't accelerate or jump into the highest level of hyper with the rest of the fleet was normally a total loss. They would still find a way to transport them into star systems on other ships, but the loss of so many carriers would have to be a hit to their morale.

After several more hours of looking over plans, production, and sending coms off to the people in charge of implementing those assets, he felt tired. With an order to not be disturbed unless the capital came under attack, he crawled into his bed and fell into a deep sleep, oblivious to the Universe.

Chapter Four

No nation ever had an army large enough to guarantee it against attack in time of peace, or ensure it of victory in time of war. Calvin Coolidge

JUNE 9TH, 1004. KLAVARTA SPACE AND THE KLAVARTA FRONT.

Grand Fleet Admiral Beata Bednarczyk rubbed her eyes with her knuckles, fighting off the fatigue that threatened to have her sleeping with her head on her desk. The woman was still fighting the effects of the severe radiation poisoning she had been afflicted by when her fleet had sheltered behind the graviton shield. The shield was a wonder, having saved a planet and her entire fleet from the nova storm the Cacas had set off. Unfortunately, it hadn't been completely radiation proof, and most of the crew of the fleet had found themselves impacted by trillions of fast moving particles, the very definition of radiation.

But we won, she thought. The graviton shield, and the massive laser they had employed, both powered by the generators on the Donut, had beaten a fleet more than ten times her mass. Not only defeated it, all but destroyed it, as a full seventy percent of the Caca tonnage had been vaporized. The rest had tucked their nonexistent tails between their legs and headed back to Caca space as fast as their drives could carry them. The only reason they had entered her trap was because their commanding admiral, one of the smartest Cacas any human had ever run into, had been relieved of command by their Emperor, and a lesser intellect put in charge.

That had been the good news. The bad? That male, heading back for an execution, had been instead elevated to Emperor, placing one of their best and brightest in charge. While the young idiot in charge had been taken out by assassination.

“Reporting in, ma'am,” said a familiar voice as a holo bubble sprung into existence over her desk. “All quiet on the front.”

Beata looked into the stunning face of the redhead, emerald green eyes looking back at her from the holo. Mara Marie Montgomery was physically everything that Beata was not, tall and petite, with an easy manner that made her the master of any social situation. And a temper that was legendary.

“I really didn't expect anything to happen for awhile,” responded Beata, nodding. “But I am very glad that you are out there keeping a watch.”

Mara had been offered leave after the battle, but had turned it down. Beata wished her prime subordinate had taken the rest. On the other hand she was glad that the scout force commander hadn't.

“Well, we won't let them through without detection,” said the newly promoted fleet admiral.

Bednarczyk trusted her subordinate to do a good job out there on the frontier. Mara had all of the battle cruisers that had survived the fight, plus the lions share of the light cruisers and destroyers, including many of the smallish Klavarta ships. She even had the last of the ten million ton Klavarta battleships.

“I don't think we're going to see much for the time being,” said Beata, looking back at the region plot that showed all known Caca deployments. The objective words there were all known. The Cacas would keep all of their deployments secret until they decided to move.

“I'm not going to take any chances,” said the other admiral, brows furrowing. “Klanarat got caught off guard, and look what happened to him, and his fleet.”

He got his ass shot off, thought Beata with another grimace. She had been able to salvage the situation, with some swift deployments, some luck, and some new technologies. That was twice in recent years that some new tech had come along to save her, and she doubted that would continue to happen.

“That's why I have you out there, Mara. Keep an eye on the bastards. And if anything comes over the frontier, I'll be there with everything I have.”

Which was little enough. Beata frowned as she looked at her battle fleet on a side screen. She still had her two superheavy battleships, along with seventy-three of the standard sixteen million tonners. Fifty-one were in dock, either at the New Earth home system or at Central Docks. She would be getting some of those back soon, but there was no telling with many of the others. She had a normal complement of screens and scouts, enough for the moment. And twenty-one of the warp fighter carriers that had proven so instrumental in her past successes on this front.

The alien contribution to her fleet made up the majority, as always. She had thirty-eight of the new Klavarta battleships, and would be getting more as soon as they launched and worked up. Twenty a week were coming out of the building slips, And after a two week work up cruise they were reporting to her force at Pleisia. Most came through her wormhole gate, but those equipped with their own portals had to come out the long way. The admiral would have preferred a longer work up period, but was making up for that short span by holding daily tactical problems to get the training in. The Alpha line of Klavarta were, to put it frankly, better spacers than their counterparts from the Empire. They had been engineered for space, better able to handle gee forces and radiation. Their ability to breath an oxygenated liquid also went a long way to making them the preferred spacers on this front, as they could handle thirty gravities above the limits of their compensators in that environment.

The main problem with New Earth was the population. The Empire had over a trillion intelligent beings among its citizens, with more added from the liberated systems. New Earth had just under forty billion. Four billion of those were the unaltered humans that had made up the ruling class under their old regime. There were about six billion Alphas, and they wouldn't be running out of spacers anytime soon. Two billion of the frightening warriors, a billion of the laborer subspecies, built for heavy lifting, and twenty-seven billion of the smallish engineer class. Those last were the most important to their industry, as well as for shipboard repairs and maintenance. About half the size of the Alphas, with dexterous fingers, they were born to operate machinery. Which made them the perfect beings for manufacturing and construction. They put the muscle into the Klavarta war machine, but they were beginning to hit bottom with most of the subspecies already in positions.

When they get the new colonies up and running, we'll see a growing population, thought Beata, pulling up another chart to go over. That population spike wouldn't happen anytime soon, but it would happen. There were thousands of worlds with compatible atmospheres and life that could grow the population. The old regime, the murderous clones, had ignored most of them, wanting to keep their people on the hundred worlds they could keep a close watch on. Despite enticements, there had been very little in the way of immigration to the Nation. It was only a very few years back that the policy of these people had been to exterminate anything that couldn't trace its evolutionary line to Old Earth. What rational being, thinking of its family, would want to put itself in the grasp of such monsters?

The Slarna were still hanging around, though she would have bet that they would all head back to their home stars after the last battle. Their smallish four million ton capital ships had been upgraded beyond their wildest dreams, with more promised. She guessed that greed had overruled the protective instincts of their rulers, if they had any. From what she had seen, they were a most opportunistic species. Still, they brought something to the table. Same with the Gernas, heavy planet dwellers who could handle more gees than most. She still hadn't got a good grasp on their psychology. As long as they fought, and fought well, she would be satisfied with them.

A steady supply of Klassekian sibling groups had also been flowing to her, and soon all of her ships, and those of her allies, would have faster than light com aboard. Those beings had signed on with the Empire with a vengeance. She was guessing that having your one and only world saved from total destruction counted for most of that, though in fact the humans from the Empire hadn't actually rescued them. No, the ancients in that region had performed that duty, translating the entire planet into another dimension in front of a radiation wave from a very close supernova. And then brought them back. Still, they had much to be grateful to the Empire for. Improved tech for one, access to many worlds to settle for another. She, like almost every Imperial commander, was glad to have them.

As far as ground troops went, she had those billions of Klavarta Warriors, some of the most fearsome fighters in the known galaxy. However, she was happy to have some of her own people out here. Every ship had its full complement of Imperial Marines, heavy battle-suited warriors who could fight on planetary surfaces or space. Add to that two Imperial Army armored divisions, and a trio of the heavy infantry version, and she had a ground force she could trust. She wasn't sure about the new regiment Sean was saddling her with. Three battalions, with human Rangers and the Maurid soldiers of their new allies on the other front. She knew about Rangers, and had her own battalion of Naval Commandos for special operations. The Maurids were something new, and while they looked fierce enough to give her nightmares, she had no experience with their combat capabilities. Well, she would figure out how to use them, or they would sit on the sidelines and watch.

“And that's another one we can check off our list,” said Mara, smiling. “No little Cacas hiding out to spring an ambush.”

“Great,” said Beata. So far the Cacas hadn't tried to pull off any of the ambushes they had been springing on Lenkowski and Mgonda. But she was not about to assume there weren't any traps out there, just waiting for her to spring them.

Beata was just about to get up from her seat and head into her sleeping quarters when the com chimed once again. She was just about to ignore it, since it wasn't a priority signal, then decided that she had time for one more before she fell flat from exhaustion.

“Admiral Gerathak is on the com, ma'am,” came the voice of the duty com officer

He's finally here, she thought with a thrill of excitement. Sean had come through to make up one of the things she was lacking, and their Elysium allies had come through as well. “Put him on,” she said, waiting in anticipation for the face of the alien to appear.

“Admiral Bednarczyk,” said the alien in slightly slurred speech, his avian face looking out of a holo bubble.

The avian had bright blue eyes, almost all pupil, set in a face of small, multicolored feathers. He, or was it she, had no visible ears, and the mouth, while not quite a beak, was close enough that the evolutionary lines could be drawn. Bednarczyk had served with a military liaison mission to the Elysium Empire years before, and had fallen in love with their culture. While not the majority of a population that consisted of many species, the Brakakak were the dominant race, one of their own traditionally serving as High Lord of the Council.

“Admiral Gerathak. So good to see you,” she said in what she hoped was passable Brakakak, forcing the air through her throat and mouth in way that were not comfortable to most humans. It had been years since she had practiced that tongue, and she cringed inside as the words left her mouth, hoping the alien would take her attempt as it was offered.

“You speak our language,” said the avian, his mouth cracking in an almost human smile. “Surprisingly good, for your people.”

“Thank you, Admiral. It has been quite some time since I had the pleasure to be around any of your people.”

“Then perhaps you would dine with me this evening,” said the being. “We can discuss how you want to use us. My Crakista colleague will also be there.”

“I accept,” she said without reservation. She found the species to be delightful. Not just beautiful to look at, but with a subtle body odor that smelled like expensive perfume. Their speech was musical, like the songs of birds.

“Very good. Then with your permission, I will expect you at my flagship in six hours.”

Bednarczyk gave back the traditional greeting, then terminated the transmission. She pulled up the Elysium shipping manifest, which included some vessels from their Crakista allies as well, and smiled. Admiral Gerathak had brought vessels with him that would fill her needs nicely. Only enough warships, cruisers and destroyers, to provide adequate escorts for his command. The other three hundred and some odd ships were engineering specialists. Tugs, supply ships, factory ships. Just what was needed to rebuild systems, to make them ready to base her warships for the next offensive. She would also use them to rebuild the planets that had been occupied, to their detriment, by both sides in this war.

She was also looking forward to meeting with the Crakista. She had served several decades on the Crakista frontier, and had actually been involved in combat against them. They were an honorable opponent, adhering scrupulously to the laws of warfare that the two powers had agreed upon. A lot of humans thought of the Crakista as reptilian, but they would be wrong. Closer to dinosaurs, warm blooded and very intelligent. Though that wasn't correct either. The Crakista were not dinosaurs any more than the Brakakak were birds. They might resemble those Earth lines, but they had arisen by billions of years of convergent evolution on different planets.

Checking the clock she saw that she had time for a good four hours, giving her time to shower and dress in her best uniform, then shuttle over to the Elysium flagship. She thought she might be too excited to sleep. She was wrong, and blackness enclosed her as soon as her head hit her pillow.

* * *

JUNE 15TH, 1004. CENTRAL FRONT SPACE.

“We've set off another one, sir,” said the rear admiral on the com. “We were in a good position, and they only took out a few ships.”

Mgonda could tell by the expression on the man's face that losing even those few ships bothered him, deeply. That suited the duke. He didn't want commanders under him who didn't think of, care for, his people. But losing a few ships was better than losing a task force or better. Or losing a bunch of almost helpless non-combatant vessels.

“Good work, McCready,” he told the lower ranking admiral. And I hope you learned something that keeps your losses low in the future, thought the duke.

He looked over the plot and pointed at one of his battle groups, then moved his finger to link it with the system Rear Admiral McCready had just reported on. With a thought he sent the movement order into the ship's com system. In minutes the order would go out. Minutes more and that battle group would be preparing for movement. When they got there a gate would be erected, logistics vessels move in, and another system would be fortified and prepared as a forward base.

Damn, but I miss the swift movements, thought the duke, thinking of the excitement of the days when he had been moving his fleet by leaps and bounds into Caca space. He was hoping those days would return, but the Cacas were doing everything in their power to slow down the Imperial fleet, successfully. If it had been up to the duke he would have forged ahead. He believed that giving the Cacas time to prepare, to rebuild their fleet, was a mistake. If he had been in charge they would have charged in ahead without a thought for casualties, and get this war over and done with. He was a firm believer in spending lives to save lives.

Unfortunately, he was not in charge. As Sean had pointed out to him recently, the toys he had did not belong to him. Sean could remove him from command whenever he wanted. Fortunately for Mgonda, he was very good at what he did, and Sean gave him great leeway in what decisions he made, as long as he didn't disobey directly.

So, where to next? he thought, studying the plot once again. He zoomed in on multiple systems, one after the other, calling up the intelligence they had on each. Categorizing each by estimated enemy strength and potential resources. He would have to send major forces to some of those. He would still send a scout group in first, but he needed to be sure he had enough at each one to handle anything substantial they might run into. He picked out four likely candidates and sent the tasking orders up to his own superior. McCullom would look them over and send her approval, or not. She might consult with the Emperor. In fact, he was sure she would, since it would deflect responsibility if things went south with any of the operations.

If she approved he would send the orders out to the selected forces. If not? He could go over her head to the Emperor, but that might come back to haunt him after registering a resentment with the chief of naval operations. So unless it was important enough he would just find another target for that force.

Mgonda checked to see if Sondra had received his tasking orders before he went to bed. The com network indicated that she was not in her office, probably gone to bed. He could wait until morning, her time. Since they were moving slowly anyhow, it really wasn't that important that he get it back immediately. Again he thought about fast movement, and not having to get everything approved from above. Would those days ever return?

* * *

“We've set the trap in fifteen more systems, Supreme Lord,” reported one of his admirals over the com.

“I hope you took your time and set them well,” said Mrastaran, waving a pair of right index fingers in the air. “The humans are starting to look at systems much more closely, you know.”

While the traps would accomplish their primary purpose of slowing the humans down, giving Mrastaran more time to order his Empire and prepare his counter strike, he still needed them to fulfill their secondary purpose of bleeding the enemy. Losing all of the five thousand or so fast attack craft in each mission for a return of a couple of enemy ships was not worth it in the long run. Carefully hiding them, taking into account all of the possible sensor techniques that could find them, and the crews remaining patient, were the only ways to ensure they got in a useful strike.

“They will have a hard time locating the traps, Supreme Lord. I would bet my life on it.”

That was an unusual thing for a male to say to a superior, since in Ca'cadasan culture the superior might well take them up on it.

“I will be sure to pay attention to the results,” said Mrastaran, staring into the eyes of the other male through the holo. The Emperor had no intention of punishing a male who had given his best effort. Of course, if the male wanted to think he had something hanging over his head to improve his efforts, the Emperor was not about to disabuse said male of those thoughts.

One last thing, thought the Emperor after he had dismissed the officer. His eyes were burning with fatigue. And to think he had been considering retirement. Instead he was working harder than he had ever in his long life.

The Emperor pulled up the profiles of some of his junior admirals, like he had done every night for the last couple of weeks. He was looking for somethings in particular. Intelligence and a willingness to take the initiative. In the past males such as these would often be challenged by lesser Ca'cadasans of superior rank and greater physical ability. They would rise to captain, possibly low admiral status, and be taken out by someone whose leadership was actually a detriment to the Empire. Mrastaran had decided to stop that nonsense in its tracks. Males on campaign were not allowed to challenge or to accept one. Males that broke that new regulation could expect a slow and painful death. The Emperor didn't like the idea of capital punishment by torture, but he needed to insure that the most able leaders, whether in present or future commands, survived.

These five he thought, clicking on the profiles of a quintet of captains and low admirals who showed the most promise of the fifty he had looked over. Which that selection their lives had changed, though they didn't know it yet. They would be relieved of their duties and transferred to the special school the Emperor was setting up. Taught strategy, tactics, and most importantly, how to think rationally. They would be the future of the fleet, if the Empire survived until they could complete their training.

Other males that the Emperor had selected would be looking at lower ranking personnel, testing, evaluating, until he had tens of thousands of thinkers in training. The humans might still win, but Mrastaran was determined that it not come about because they found themselves facing inferiors across the battlefield.

There was so much to do, and not enough time to do it all. However, the Emperor didn't think it in the best interest of the Empire to work himself to exhaustion. At the moment he and his sons, along with some few others, were the only males he trusted to make good decisions. Eventually that would change, but it did no good to incapacitate himself before that day arrived.

* * *

“Do you think we made a good choice, Primate?” asked the Supreme Admiral of the Ca'cadasan fleet, their equivalent to the chief of naval operations for the Empire.

“I, am not sure,” replied the supreme religious leader of the Church of Ca'cadasa, giving a head motion of confusion. “He has seemed to take the wild herbivore by the horns, and I have to admit I like the way he is making changes that will echo through our society for generations. Especially as it comes to punishment.”

The Supreme Admiral thought that over for a moment before speaking. While had to agree that changes needed to be made, he wondered if Mrastaran was attempting to make too many. “He moves too fast. The spacers and soldiers need time to adjust.”

“And how much time do you think he, uh, we have,” said the religious leader. “The humans have grown mighty, and their wave crashes at our bulk-work. Unless we grow stronger, and quickly, we are doomed.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he will try to implement so many changes that our society collapses, and the nation goes down to defeat despite victories. I just don't know.” The Supreme Admiral had a strange expression on his face, combined thoughtfulness and confusion.

The Primate looked at the other male, one who had been instrumental in elevating Mrastaran to the leadership of the Empire, and he didn't like what he saw.

I'll have to keep a close watch on this one, he thought, making a mental note to have Church agents monitor the communications of the admiral. While such channels were not supposed to be accessible to people outside the fleet command structure, there were always true believers who could be called upon to carry out the work of the Church.

Chapter Five

If it were a fact, it wouldn't be called intelligence. Donald Rumsfeld

JUNE 20TH, 1004. IMPERIAL PALACE: CAPITULUM: JEWEL.

The palace was still a long way from completion. It's facade had a finished look at night with the light shining on marble surfaces. Inside was far from ready, though the family quarters, guest housing and staff rooms were finished. As was the most important room this night, the Imperial ball room, redressed as a formal dining hall.

Sean walked into that hall, a fifty meter by thirty meter room with an enormous central table, with Jennifer on his arm. All eyes turned his way, and the palace major domo called out in a carrying voice.

“The Emperor Sean, Sean the first of his line, and the Empress Jennifer.”

Not everyone in the chamber jumped to their feet. There were many heads of state seated and talking. However, all conversation stopped and many heads bowed his way as Sean escorted his beautiful wife to her seat at the head of the table, right next to his own. All conversation had stopped for the moment out of respect, and Sean bowed his head in appreciation at the gesture.

Before wormholes such a gathering would not have been possible. President Klanarat of New Earth had come the farthest, though that term held little meaning with wormhole tech, The Alpha had taking a step in his capital and walked out over nine thousand light years away, into the capital of his greatest ally. Sergie Baryshnikov of New Moscow, President Julia Graham of the New Terran Republic, Lord Grarakakak of Elysium, and Pro-Counsel Hssrat Jillarst of Crakrista had all travel about the same distance, between two and three thousand light years. As had the two representative of the Klashak Concordium and the Margravi Hegemony, minor nations in the Grand Alliance. A representative of the newly formed Fenri Confederation was also seated at the table, his small furred form contrasting with some of the larger aliens seated.

President Rizzit Contena of the Klassek people had traveled the next farthest after Klanarat. Sean had wanted the head of the newest member of the Empire, who had yet to make a state visit to the capital, to attend. To the lower left side, still standing, was the Imperial military contingent, with Grand High Admiral Sondra McCulllom, Grand Marshal Mishori Yamakuri, and Field Marshal Betty Parker, representing Fleet, Army and Marines respectively. Some of their staffers were in attendance as well, including Chuntoa Chan, Ekaterina Sergiov, and Commodore Mary Innocent, Sean's personal intelligent liaison. Standing with them in a show of respect were at least one of the senior officers of each alliance member. On the opposite side of the table were the ministers. Lord T'lisha, the Phlistaran minister of security dominated that group with his bulk, looking decidedly uncomfortable sitting at a table when he could be supervising the safety of all the attendees. Lord Garis, the Minister of State, Lord Halbrook of the Exchequer, and Lord H'rressitor, the Gryphon Minister of Commerce and Industry sat among alliance counterparts.

Just above the ministers and military people and below the foreign leaders sat the important members of Sean's Government. The Prime Minister Countess Haruko Kawasaki, Baron Emile von Hauser Schmidt, the Leader of the Lords, Laura Goolsby, Speaker of Commons, and Mohamed Ishner, the Chief of Scholars. Scattered among them were the equivalent ministers of the other alliance members. Even the Leader of the Loyal Opposition, Archduke Percival Marconi, was in attendance, giving a disapproving look at the whole gathering. Seated with them was Samantha Ogden Lee, Sean's cousin and once regent, right next to the Emperor's older sister, Fiona Ogden Lee Romanov. The Opposition continued to attempt to get Fiona to make a claim for the throne, but she had turned down her position in the succession while Augustine and family were still alive, and the law was clear that she no longer had a claim.

Sean took in the assemblage for a moment, then looked around the walls of the chamber. The flags of the various governments were hung in honor, among the many masterpieces of art and symbols of the history of the Empire. Many of those were reproductions, the originals lost with the old palace in the Caca attack. Out from the main table were a series of round tables, complete with multimedia suites and privacy fields, in which the work groups would gather after the meal.

The least august personage at the table, a newly promoted ensign fresh from the Fleet Academy at Peal Island, tapped a glass with a knife, then raised the goblet into the air.

“The Emperor and Empress,” said the overwhelmed looking young woman. “May their reign be long.”

Most of the people at the table got to their feet and raised glasses, though there were some abstentions. Sean made sure to note those, though some were understandable. The leader of the Margravi, after all, was sitting on gravity plates in an atmosphere tent, and couldn't be expected to participate. Some of the others would bear watching.

“Quite the group,” whispered Jennifer.

And I hope nothing happens to test security, thought Sean. He glanced over at T'lisha, who was also watching the assemblage like a hawk. Many of his ministers had thought the banquet a good idea. Others a security risk that put too many important alliance figures at risk. Sean thought the risk minimal, the possible returns great. The Emperor's Own Division was deployed across the expansive grounds, a wing of fighters patrolled the skies, and a pair of Imperial battleships hovered thirty kilometers up, weapons ready. It would take a suicide attack to strike at this party, and even then the chance of success was small.

Sean himself got to his feet and raised a glass. “Confusion to our enemies,” he toasted, and every hand that could raised a glass to that.

“I am so happy to see your beautiful capital city recovering from the attack,” said Pro-Counsel Hssrat Jillarst, sitting near the head of the table on Jennifer's side. “And your home as well.”

Sean looked into the reptilian eyes of the pro-counsel, wondering what thoughts were going through that mind. The Crakista were not reptiles. They were really of no line from Earth evolution, but the closest would be the dinosaurs. They didn't sport feathers like that extinct branch of the birds, instead using very fine scales as their integument. So fine that they were indistinguishable from skin at a distance. The jaws were slightly protruding, more like a cat's than a carnivorous dinosaur. Those jaws carried an omnivore's teeth, sharp incisors and flat molars. The leader was a red, among a people that sported that color along with green and yellow. Sean didn't think the colors meant anything to the Crakista, as their other leader was a yellow.

“Thank you, Pro-Counsel.”

“Call me Hssrat,” said the being that the Emperor thought was a male member of the two gender species. “It will get tedious throwing around titles as if they really identified us.”

The Crakista smiled, an expression they shared with humans. The species was said to be unemotional, relying on logic and rational thinking for their decision making. From what Sean could tell they had the full compliment of emotions, just subdued. From what he had been told in multiple briefings the Crakista had been too emotional, almost ending their species in multiple terrible wars. A philosopher had risen among them, and the species as a whole had turned away from the emotions that caused them to attack anything that stood in their way.

There were other aliens from their empire in the chamber, among the ministers. The Crakista were said to be eminently fair with the members of their empire from other species, though they retained the top spots for their own people.

Not unlike us, thought the Emperor, looking up and smiling at the servant who had come to refill his glass.

“Hssrat,” said Sean, trying his best to get the pronunciation correct. “Do you have any disagreements between you and your co-ruler?”

“Of course,” said the Crakista, making a motion with his head, up and down and side to side at the same time. “We are living beings, and disagreements always arise. We use rational thought to come to an agreement.” The pro-council let out a slight hissing laugh. “Ninety-five percent of the time. In those times when we don't agree, we allow our ministers to vote on the outcome.”

“That sounds like a good system,” said Lord Grarakakak from the other side of the table, sitting to Sean's right and down. “I wish those members of my high council who aren't Brakakak would think rationally.”

“Your system works as well, High Lord,” said the Crakista, making the same head motion. “It might take a little longer for agreement, but it does come. As it does in yours, Sean.”

Sean knew why all these people were here. He had invited them to the banquet, and the meetings that would follow, so they could talk about what the region was to become after the war was over. All had great interest in that future. All were afraid that the humans, with their four separate governments, would grab too much territory and become unstoppable. Sean didn't want his allies to fear him. This week had been planned as a working get away, where they could iron out their differences and come up with a plan that all could be satisfied with.

We might be getting a little ahead of ourselves, thought Sean, a slight smile creasing his face. They still had a lot of fighting ahead of them, unless the Cacas saw reason and surrendered. He didn't think that was going to happen.

“Sometimes I wish that I had the despotic power of the kings of old,” said Sean, looking into the air.

“Then you would only have to answer to me,” said Jennifer with a laugh.

“I do not believe you could become a tyrant, Sean,” said Grarakakak, a musical laugh rising from his beak. “I knew your father, Augustine, and he would not have raised a son who didn't think of service to his people.”

“We have wondered how your system works,” said Hssrat, looking into Sean's eyes with wide open orbs. “I would not want any of my progeny to bear the burdens I find on my shoulders.”

Sean found himself agreeing with that sentiment. He preferred not to think of his eldest, Augustine, sitting on the throne. Hopefully that would not happen for a long long time, and the child would be allowed to grow into the position.

“How do you choose your leaders, Lord Hssrat?” asked Jennifer, smiling at the Crakista.

“We test all eligible males,” said the Crakista. “A complete battery of physical and mental exams. The unfortunate males who do the best go on to the next stage. The one male who posts the best score is burdened with leadership.”

“You sound like you really don't like being one of the two rulers,” said Jennifer, tilting her head. “Is there much disagreement between you and your co-ruler.”

“That's part of the test, Empress Jennifer. Scoring very low on the scale that measures lust for power is very important. We only elevate those who don't want the position. That way we get people at the top who do not lust for power.”

“And how long do you serve?”

“For life, Empress Jennifer. Though those in the upper positions of leadership tend to have shorter lives than most.”

“How old are you, Lord Hssrat?” asked Sean, wondering how long he would be able to deal with this seemingly reasonable being, and when would he have to work with another.

“I am one hundred and twenty of your years,” said the Crakista, giving Sean a frank look. “Our medical experts have determined that I will live another twenty years. My co-ruler is much younger, only eighty-four of your years. He was recently elevated to his position, and is still getting a feel for ruling a large nation.”

So they wait until the candidates are old enough to know better, thought Sean. He was still in his early thirties, and in their nation wouldn't be considered for leadership until many more years went by.

“If we waited that long to give a position of authority to one of our own, no one would make it,” said President Klanarat, nodding toward Hssrat.

“I understand that your species does not live long past the age of eighty,” said the Crakista, an expression of curiosity on his face.

“More like sixty,” said the Alpha.

Sean felt bad for the other leaders who wouldn't see two hundred, much less a hundred for the Klavarta Alphas. He could expect upward of three hundred more years of life. Imperial scientists had stated that the next generation of genenged Klavarta would reach at least a hundred and fifty. He felt anger at the rulers they had deposed. They had constructed the genetically engineered subspecies to be very good at what they did, and to have a very limited life span. To his way of thinking that was cruel and unusual punishment.

The conversation went on for some hours, Sean getting a connection with his fellow leaders, and learning more about them in the process. The long dinner had to end eventually, and then the gathering broke up into their working groups. Leaders to one table, military advisors to another, while the government ministers went to yet a third. Jennifer led the spouses and companions who had attended to another room set off from the dining hall. President Klanarat had brought his wife, Julia Graham her husband, and Lord Grarakakak had brought along a trio of females of indeterminate relation.

“The war is going well,” said Sean as soon as he took his seat. “Agreed?”

“Well, we have had some major setbacks,” said Klanarat, shrugging his shoulders. “I appreciate the help you have offered. Without your Empire we would even now be dealing with Caca ground forces on our planets.”

And they would be exterminating you in job lots, thought the Emperor, nodding.

“War is never a good thing,” said Grarakakak, giving a very human head shake.

Sean reminded himself that the High Lord was a very intelligent and observant being who had spent much time around humans. He had a close relationship with the Imperial ambassador to his nation, Archduke Alexandropolis, and a love of human food and drink.

“My people grow tired of the mounting casualty lists.”

“You really don't know what casualties are, Lord Grarakakak,” said Julia Graham, turning a cold stare on the avian. “I lost almost a quarter of my people to their invasion. And the Czar's nation, New Moscow, fared even worse.”

“We demand vengeance,” growled Czar Baryshnikov, slamming a heavy hand on the table.

“It is not good to make decisions based on rage,” said Hssrat, letting out a sigh. “That leads to darkness. Murder, atrocities.”

“Say that when they have killed billions of your people,” roared Baryshnikov. “We will never recover from that, atrocity.”

The eyes of many of the security personnel were turned toward the table, and Sean worried that they might have a diplomatic incident in the making. Fortunately, the Czar closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I apologize for my outburst,” said the middle aged man who had been been so far from the throne of his kingdom before the Cacas had come. He had lost a parent, brothers and sisters, children, nieces and nephews. The family line had been all but obliterated.

“It's understandable, your Majesty,” said Sean in a soft voice.

“We have too many angry leaders here,” said Hssrat, eyes wide open and unblinking.

“You can say that,” hissed Julia Graham, her face scrunching up in rage. “We may not have been hit as hard as New Moscow. But I toured planets that had hosted billions of inhabitants, and where mere millions still existed. When that happens to you, tell me that we are overreacting.”

“Everyone needs to calm down,” said Sean, raising a hand and moving it in a patting down motion. “We have lost billions as well. And I wouldn't wish that on anyone at this table.”

Everyone was silent, digesting the exchange. Sean closed his eyes and took a breath. He had been hoping that this meeting would bring all the powers closer. What he couldn't afford was a growing rift.

“We need to talk about the end of this thing,” he continued. “We aren't there yet, but unless we screw up royally, we will be the victors here.”

“I think your people have a saying,” said Lord Grarakakak, looking into the eyes of Sean. “Counting your chickens before they've hatched. We believe that there is still a lot of fight left in the Ca'cadasans. And with this new Emperor? What do we have in store?”

That was something that concerned Sean as well. The Cacas at the front were acting uncharacteristically calm and composed. His offensive hadn't reached very far in, but they were finding organized resistance in what seemed a planned strategy to cause as many casualties as possible, while preserving their own fleet. Sean was still sure that they would eventually be victorious. The scientific establishment of the Empire was far ahead of the Cacas, and the allies were making their own contributions.

“Also, what does you Empire have planned when victory is ours?” asked Hssrat, his nostrils twitching. “You were already the greatest power in the region, prior to the Ca'cadasans finding you. Now you are immeasurably more powerful. When this war is over the combined might of the human nations will be enough to roll over us and the Elysium Empire without a problem.”

“Would you have rather the human powers had let the Cacas beat us,” growled Graham, eyebrows rising. “You would soon be dealing with your new rulers. I wonder what they would have thought of roasted Brakakak, or stewed Crakista.”

Sean could tell that she had hit a nerve with that last statement, as both alien leaders gave what had to be their species equivalent of a wince.

“Point taken,” said Grarakakak, closing his eyes. “I would prefer that no one ruled us but us. But at least I wouldn't have to worry about a mass slaughter if the Emperor Sean was in charge.”

“We do not want others to rule us,” stated Hssrat, his muzzled scrunched in a predatory manner. “We have our government, it suits us, and so it will stay so.”

“And I have no intention of attempting conquest,” said Sean. “We will go back to our prewar borders, and work out a deal for all of us to supervise the Ca'cadasan territories.”

“Territory, once gained, is difficult to relinquish,” said Hssrat, his reptilian eyes looking levelly into Sean's.

“Lord Hssrat,” said Julia Graham, eyes narrowed. “While we appreciate all that you have done for my Republic, you must realize that we have a lot to make up for after being invaded by the Cacas. While we appreciate the forces you lent to us...”

“A good portion of our fleet, President Graham.”

“And we put our fleet under the command of you admiral. We trusted you. Isn't it about time you returned that trust?”

“You really had no choice,” said Hssrat, looking back at her with a frank expression.

“Yes, we had no choice, if we wanted to have your ships in our order of battle. But what I'm saying is we gave you our trust. Can't you do the same?”

“Unfortunately, you are part of the human side of the alliance,” continued the Crakista. “You will always be on their side, against the Crakista and Brakakak.”

“You don't know much about us, then,” said Graham, a tight smile on her face. “My nation was founded by people who didn't want to live in a hereditary aristocracy. The Czardom was founded by people from my Republic who wanted to once again bow and scrape to their betters. We really don't get along, unless something, like the Cacas, forces us to.”

“But you are still human, and I think you have a saying about blood being thicker than water,” said the Crakista. “And now you bring another human nation into the alliance.” Hssrat turned a stare on Klanarat. “They may look different, but they are still human at the genetic level. And with a history of xenophobia. And you wonder why we are distrustful.”

“Right now we need to concentrate on winning this war, and worry about the aftermath when it is over,” said Sean. The human leaders, including the Klavarta Alpha and the Klassekian president, nodded at his words, while the leaders of the two alien powers looked at him dubiously. While he wished they would have shown agreement to his statement, he would have to settle on what they did give. Ships and crews.

The meeting went on until the wee hours of the morning, with more argument and counterargument, and the Emperor was beginning to think that nothing would really be accomplished here. He finally adjourned the meeting, thinking it better to start the process going the next day when everyone had good night's sleep.

* * *

“You seemed preoccupied tonight,” said Jennifer, laying beside Sean in bed.

The Emperor looked over at his wife, her skin wet with the sweat of lovemaking. He loved her more each day, and enjoyed their lovemaking sessions as he had no other in his past. But yes, his mind hadn't been on the here and new. A cardinal sin when joining with a love.

“I'm all but being accused of wanting to take over the galaxy,” he said, looking at his wife and wincing. She deserved his full attention at a time like this. Anything less was unfair to her.

“They can't seriously believe that?” said the Empress, a shocked expression coming over her face. “After all you have done for them. Giving them the tech to improve their fighting capabilities. Offering full access to the wormhole gate network.”

“Well, they have a legitimate concern,” he admitted, rolling over and placing a hand on her stomach. “While we may not conquer, we will be the only superpower in this region of the Galaxy. We will make policy for everyone by our actions. And there's nothing I can do about that.”

Jennifer sighed as he continued to caress her. “Don't start something you can't finish.”

“Oh, I think I can finish,” he said, his thoughts turning to her and her alone.

Chapter Six

The great questions of the day will not be settled by means of speeches and majority decisions but by iron and blood. Otto von Bismarck

JUNE 21ST, 1004. CAPITULUM: JEWEL.

Sean yawned into a hand as Sondra McCullom walked to the front of the room. The meetings were continuing, and most everyone had rested well the night before. Sean hadn't, but the memory of why brought a smile to his face. Jennifer might be prim and proper in the public eyes, but in the bedroom she was a wildcat.

“Thank you for your attention, Ladies and Gentlemen,” said Sondra, stepping behind the podium. She reached into the podium to press a button and the room's central holo sprung to life, showing a star field. “I would like to remind everyone that what we are about to discuss is top secret. Of course, you can share within your own governments, but I caution discretion.”

Sean nodded as she said the last. He had made it a point to emphasize to her that these were heads of state, and not subject to the laws of the Empire. Hence the last statement.

“The Ca'cadasans have started engaging in new behaviors along the main front. Troublesome behaviors.”

The holo switched views, showing the tactical plot of a system, the icons of ships highlighted on the outer perimeter.

“You, of course, know about the ambushes they have sprung with their new fast attack craft. Those are continuing, with added twists and turns. They are better hidden, more patient, but with our own change in tactics they are only hitting our scouts ships. We have been destroying them for the loss of some few scouts, not a favorable exchange for them, though it is still slowing our advance.”

Favorable, unless you happen to be the crews of those destroyers, thought Sean. Still, it was better to lose destroyers than capital ships, both in terms of tonnage and crew lives.

“Now they are hitting us outside the systems. We can't find their ships until they strike. Intelligence believes they are erecting wormhole gates, bringing their forces into the normal space, and striking at the logistics train sitting outside the system. They bring through twenty of their battleships, forty cruisers and eighty scouts, their normal proportion. As soon as they are through and gathered they boost at a low rate, right at the logistics train and its escorts. The gate boosts along with them. Within five minutes the ships launch a full volley, thousands of missiles, right at the most helpless targets in the system. A second volley thirty seconds later.”

The icons of the enemy ships appeared on the plot. Moments later the icons of thousands of missiles appeared, on a vector toward the allied ships sitting motionless in space. A moment later the icons of the enemy ships started to disappear, headed back through their gate. The gate was boosting along ahead of them, allowing them to transit with little change of vector. The gate disappeared moments later as it stopped boosting.

“At this point they collapse their gate, hiding it. It remains on the outskirts of the system, where it can be expanded for future operations. Meanwhile, their missiles continue in, while the target ships started boosting in all directions, trying to get off the bullseye. The escorts did what they were supposed to do, moving into position to intercept the missiles.”

The missile icons also started changing vectors, going onto headings that would intersect all of the ships.

“This is where the second part of the ambush is triggered, and the mines they had left in space, ahead of the fleeing ships, open up.”

More icons appeared, right ahead of the logistics ships, heading in at twenty thousand gravities. The icons of logistics ships, freighters, tankers and colliers disappeared. What the plot didn't show was the terror of those crews as they realized they were about to be hit. Or the expanding clouds of plasma that the vessels became.

“In this battle the Cacas killed over thirty logistic ships, along with eleven destroyers. For the cost of several thousand missiles. None of their ships were lost. No Cacas killed. It was a minor but complete victory for them.”

“Have we adjusted our own tactics?” asked Hssrat, raising a hand into the air.

“Of course, my Lord,” said Sondra. “We are leaving more ships outside the system to guard the noncombatants. Which mean fewer ships going into the system, opening us up to attacks from the forces they have now hidden there.”

Sondra changed the view on the holo, this time showing a battle that didn't go the Caca's way. Again the ships came through, but this time a wave of destroyers and cruisers, along with a couple of battleships, hit them as soon as they emerged, while other ships detonated the mines before they could engage.

“Using our new sensor suites, as well as many sensor drones, we have been able to pinpoint them before they can deploy, and hit them. Since they are learning that they can no longer deploy closely, we expect them to shift tactics. Possibly come in further from the force, beyond the range of the sensors. Or possibly jump into hyper, rush in, and launch missiles that come down into normal space. Whatever it is, we expect their Emperor will come up with something that will force us to again change out deployments.”

“Any other new missile defenses in the works?” asked Lord Grarakakak, raising a graceful hand.

“Why, yes, High Lord,” said Sondra with a smile, and Sean had to wonder if she had planted that question with Grarakakak. “Admiral Chan's team has come up with a system of decoys, small drones we can employ in mass to lured the enemy missiles away from their real targets. Unfortunately, we need them in large numbers, and they take up magazine space in our ships. So far we are only deploying them forward in logistics ships, but we are working on the problem.”

“Their ambush deployment is very unusual behavior for them,” said President Klanarat, changing the subject back to the original topic. “I expect we will be seeing the same over on our side of their Empire. Is this the doing of their new Emperor?”

“We believe so,” said McCullom, nodding toward the Klavarta president. “While we have seen the Cacas come up with changes to make our lives difficult, we have never seen such tactical flexibility.”

“What is this buying them?” asked Czar Baryshnikov. “I mean, sure, they are costing us some ships. But there is nothing they can do to stop our advance.”

“True,” said Sean, jumping into the conversation before anyone could attack the Czar. His kingdom actually had no ships with the fleet. New Moscow was too busy trying to rebuild without the necessary bodies to run the robots. The Emperor thought they would try to contribute in the future, but he was willing to cut them some slack. The others might not. “What they are accomplishing is a slowing down of our forces. Allowing them more time to prepare defenses ahead of us.”

“If that is their plan, then we would do well to ignore our losses and forge ahead,” said Hssrat, nostrils flaring. “I know that everyone here wants to conserve the lives of their people, but sometimes lives must be spent for victory.”

“That might be easier in your government, Lord Hssrat,” said Lord Grarakakak, turning his head to stare at the Crakista. “My people question our losses, and wonder why we are even involved in a fight outside our borders.”

“Then your people are fools,” said the Crakista leader. “We all know what these Ca'cadasans will do if they reach our borders.”

Sean smiled, wanting to thank the Crakista leader. The other day the two alien leaders had seemed to agree on everything concerning the human menace. Not they were at odds, and no longer presenting a united front.

“My Lords,” shouted Sean as Grarakakak opened his mouth to reply to the Crakista. “We aren't here to argue the relative faults and merits of our respective peoples. God knows that I have enough stubborn fools among my own subjects. The point is, the Cacas know that we care about our people, and they are trying to make this as bloody and painful as possible.”

“Why?” asked Grarakakak. “They must realize that they have no hope of winning this thing.”

“Ekaterina,” said Sean, looking back at his intelligence chief. “Can you give us some input into this. What might their new Emperor be thinking?”

“Your Majesty,” said Sergiov, getting to her feet. “We only have hearsay and conjecture, since we have lost all of our contacts within their command structure. What I can say, from the buzz around the periphery of their nation, is that Mrastaran is considered a very intelligent and thoughtful male. Much too cerebral to be a warrior. Not as stupidly violent as most of the species, he rose to his military rank by playing on the mental weaknesses of his fellows. And he is a voracious reader. Sociology, psychology, history.”

“And he has a complete collection of human history,” chimed in Baryshnikov. “Taken from our libraries.”

It all came together in an instant in Sean's agile mind. Once all the pieces were in place, it was so logical.

“He's planning to sucker us into the immensity of his empire, bleeding us the entire way,” said Sean, eyes narrowing as he looked into the image of the Ca'cadasan Emperor. “He'll hit us with ambushes, then some major battles along the way, until he sets us up for the decisive battle.”

“Do you believe he thinks he's going to win?” asked an incredulous Lord Grarakakak.

“He believes he doesn't have to,” said Sean, shaking his head. “He only has to shed enough of our blood that we will beg for a negotiated settlement.”

And he's going to try and split the alliance, though the Emperor. He was sure the human allies would be in this for the long haul. Elysium and Crakista were already feeling war weary. They would jump at a chance for a settlement, and would probably pull their forces from the alliance if Sean didn't go to the negotiating table.

We can't allow them to negotiate. To get out of their total defeat. That would lead to total disaster. The Cacas would be able to stretch those talks out, allowing them time to rebuild. And if they came out with a peace treaty they would be given a new lease on life. Ten years from now they could again be rolling over the borders. If they could copy enough alliance tech they could possibly win.

“Victory is in sight for us,” said the Emperor, standing up and turning so he could face everyone in the chamber. “We can't afford to let this bastard play us. We can win this thing, and the Cacas will never threaten us again.”

“And who will rise to prominence in their place?” asked Hssrat, rising from his own seat. “Will we be trading one potential master for another.”

Arguments started to break out around the room. Sean sat back in his seat and stared into the air. This conference had been meant to bring the members of the alliance closer together. Instead, it was proving to have the opposite effect. Face to face meetings were driving a wedge between the leaders of the alliance. He thought it would be a grave error for the alien powers to jump ship before this thing was done. The human powers would continue the fight, with or without Elysium or Crakista. They could still win, though it would be a steeper slope to climb, with many more human casualties.

Unfortunately for the alliance, the alien powers had yet to experience action against the Cacas in their home systems. New Moscow and the New Terran Republic had suffered occupation and mass executions. The Empire and New Earth had suffered from direct action on their territory. All Elysium had in that regard was the one small incursion that had taken their wormhole gate into the Empire, allowing the Cacas to assault the Donut. Crakista didn't even have that much of a stake. Their triggering incident had occurred outside their borders, essentially.

And now the alien powers were already looking ahead to a Perseus arm under the domination of the humans. Sean could argue against that opinion all he wanted, and it would do nothing to change the view point of others.

The Emperor wasn't sure what to do as voices were raised in anger around him. Call the conference off? Get up and walk from the room? Argue against the proposition that he was attempting to take over the galaxy? Or sit in silence and let the members of the alliance work through their emotions.

An hour later he was still sitting in silence while several arguments became physical. An hour later the Elysium and Crakista representatives had left the planet, through the wormhole net back to their home worlds.

The next day the human representatives met again. The only positive note was, even though missing, the alien members hadn't withdrawn from the alliance, yet.

* * *

JUNE 25TH, 1004. CENTRAL FRONT.

Admiral Lord Krakabas looked at a plot that showed the same thing it had the day before. A whole lot of nothing. Not that there weren't objects on the plot. A star, almost a dozen planets, many moons, tens of thousands of significantly large asteroids. And ships. Oh yes, several thousand of those, many hundreds of them the vessels of his force.

Krakabas was unusual for the Brakakak in that he craved excitement. It was his reason for being, the whole purpose of rising through the ranks of the Elysium navy. He and his had fought several small actions against an outnumbered and outclassed enemy since arriving at the front. But he wanted more. He had never heard the human saying, be careful what you wish for.

His force, seventy-two battleships, one hundred and ninety-three cruisers, three hundred and thirty-one destroyers, along with numerous support ships, was integrated into Mgonda's fleet. They were on the right flank, open to space, along with an equal number of New Terran Empire vessels. Other Elysium forces were serving alongside the remaining units of Mgonda's force, in smaller proportions to the humans. Another Elysium fleet was attached to Lenkowski's force, while the Crakista made up a slight majority of the forces of the New Terran Republic, on the far left flank.

“We're receiving tasking orders, my Lord,” called out his com officer.

“About time,” croaked the admiral, looking over at the flag com station. “We've been sitting here for over a week.” The admiral gave a head nod toward the com officer, indicating he was ready for the message.

The words appeared on a side screen near the admiral, flowing in the cuneiform script of his kind. He let out a sharp chirp as the orders registered, disappointment again coming to the fore in his thoughts.

Another flank guard, he thought in disgust. All his force had been doing so far on this campaign. Making sure that non-existent Ca'cadasan forces didn't threaten the ships that were actually battling the enemy.

Damn High Lord Grarakakak, he thought, picturing the leader of his people in his mind. The admiral was sure that the high lord had worked a deal with the humans to not put his ships at undo risk. Why send ships to war it they weren't to fight? Why...

“We have missile launch,” yelled out the duty tactical officer, a Knockerman rating. “Five, no ten thousand missiles. Range, one point one light minute. Acceleration, twenty thousand gravities.”

“Do you have a fix on the launching vessels?”

“No, my Lord. The missiles just appeared on the plot.”

“Eta?” His tactical officer would have known to include that in the initial report. The substitute?

“Er, give me a second, my Lord.”

Krakabas motioned for his com officer to attend to him. “Order all destroyers and cruisers to get into position to intersect those weapons. All ships are to start cycling counters.”

A glance at the plot showed that most of his ships were already firing, not waiting for his orders. Not exactly by the book, but he wasn't about to complain. He also noticed that most of the destroyers and cruisers would not be able to get into position. Not their fault, since they had been in a standard globular deployment.

I should have stationed the pickets further out, he thought, watching as icons crawled across the plot.

“ETA, three minutes, fourteen seconds,” reported the tactical tech. His deep voice rose. “We have another launch, my Lord. Ten thousand missiles.”

Where in the hell are they coming from? thought the Brakakak lord. What the hell is launching them?

“ETA, two minutes, fifty-two seconds.”

The regular tactical officer came running onto the bridge, without armor, hurrying to take his station. The admiral remembered that no one on the flag bridge was in battle armor, having been caught off-guard.

“Half the crew is to get into armor, followed by the other half.” He wasn't sure if everyone would get prepared in time, or if it would do any good whatsoever.

“ETA, two minutes and twenty-one seconds.”

Counters were closing on the first wave. Not enough to take them all out, or even most of them. And the screening vessels were still mostly out of place to intercept.

* * *

Sub-captain Llrastat grinned in triumph as he watched the ambush he had set driving into the enemy force. The mines, copies of those used by the humans, had been placed perfectly, in two ranks to release the two waves. And the victims, the avian allies of the humans, were the perfect target. Not just because they were unprepared, but because hitting them could drive a possible wedge between the allies.

His own ship, one of the new stealth/attack, home to a wormhole, was now more than twenty light minutes from the target and totally undetectable. The take from his ambush, as seen by his sensors, was going back to the headquarters. Perhaps to the notice of the Emperor himself.

The plot showed the missiles boosting in, the ships of the enemy maneuvering, counters coming out. It looked like complete confusion among the enemy, something that was sure to increase the damage to those vessels. The missiles wouldn't have generated enough velocity to become capital ship killers, though they would pack enough energy, along with their warheads, to cause considerable damage. And a ship sent back to the shipyards was out of action just as well as one turned into a spreading cloud of plasma.

“They won't get there in time, my Lord,” said his tactical officer, pointing at some of the icons of boosting destroyers.

“No, most won't,” agreed the sub-captain.

Any destroyers hit would be totally destroyed, but might save a capital ship from a hit. The sub-captain preferred hitting the larger vessels, but any kill was a victory.

Counters started to make kills, most of them and a quarter of the missiles falling off the plot. The next wave took out more weapons, the next still more, but a smaller percentage. Over two thousand weapons made it through the counter basket, now engaged by close in weapons and lasers. The first of the enemy ships was hit, a destroyer, fading from the plot, a sure sign that they were gone. More hits, destroyers, this time joined by a cruiser. And then the jackpot. A trio of capital ships, hit dead center, their graviton emissions fading to a mere shadow of what they had been.

The second wave forged in, through the counter basket, into the teeth of the close in weapons, to strike.

“Headquarters is requesting a report, my Lord.”

And they can't even let me enjoy the victory, he thought with an internal groan. “It looks like major damage to thirty-eight capital ships. Total destruction to one hundred and forty-seven cruisers and destroyers.”

Moments after the missiles left their launchers the nanites onboard those tubes started to work, taking they apart at the molecular level, leaving no trace for the enemy to find. They would have a mystery on their hands, something command wanted.

A good haul for his first mission as a stealth/attack captain. Now it was time to maneuver and set up another kill zone. The ship boosted away on cold gas reaction thrusters, slow but untraceable. This time it would be much more difficult, since the enemy had to know there was a hidden enemy in the system.

* * *

“That seems to be the end of them, my Lord,” croaked the injured tactical officer.

Thank the Gods, thought Admiral Krakabas. His fleet was in disarray, almost half of his screening force gone, most of his capital ships damaged. More waves like the last two and he and all of his people would be dead. And he still didn't know where the missiles had come from. That was the most frightening thought of all.

“Go take care of the seriously injured,” the admiral croaked at the medic who squatted to see to Krakabas' broken limb. The arm hurt, though his internal nanites were working to soften the nerve signals. But there were others who had been hurt much more grievously on the flag bridge. The missile hadn't been enough to kill the battleship, but the shock wave it had propagated through the vessel had knocked the crew around. Anyone not strapped in had suffered at least bruises.

Krakabas looked at the tactical tech who was helping the wounded. The Knockerman looked none the worse for wear, while the more gracile Brakakak had suffered from their bangs and bruises.

“Admiral Mgonda is asking for a report,” said the com officer, one of the lucky ones who had been in battle armor prior to the ship being hit.

“Tell him my force is no longer fit for action,” said the heartbroken admiral. He had wanted action, and possible glory. But this action had resulted in no glory, only pain.

Chapter Seven

In war, you win or lose, live or die - and the difference is just an eyelash. Douglas MacArthur

JUNE 27TH, 1004. CAPITULUM: JEWEL.

“But they weren't put in a particularly dangerous place, High Lord Grarakakak,” said Sean forcefully, looking into the face of his avian ally on the holo.

Sean Looked over at a holo that showed the sensor take of the incident, if that word wasn't too mild for a surprise attack that had killed so many people and taken so much tonnage from the order of battle. The Brakakak force was ten light minutes inside the hyper barrier, giving them some protection from attacks coming into the system, while allowing them to enter the higher dimensions within a reasonable time range. Standard operating procedure for Imperial units.

Grarakakak, of course, was back at his capital, but the wormhole made it seem as if he were in the next room.

“I realize that, Emperor Sean,” said the Brakakak, his own face showing exasperation to someone who knew how to read his species facial expressions. “I am not saying it is the fault of your people. In fact, I must say that you have treated my people with equanimity. But that is not what a lot of my people are saying. They are looking for an excuse to distance us from you in this war.”

Sean nodded. He had heard as much from his intelligence service, which was monitoring Elysium though the Imperial Embassies and Consulates throughout that Empire. People playing political games, jockeying for power, and using any tool they could find. Not everyone in Elysium was on board with their efforts.

Well, they would have been on board if the damned Cacas had come over their borders, he thought. The Cacas had actually sent a clandestine force into the Elysium Empire, the one that had struck at the Donut over the wormhole connection. That was a small incident to the people of Elysium, though it had been a very big deal indeed to Sean and his people.

At the start of the war, when it had been in doubt if the Empire would survive or not, the aid of Elysium had been vital to Sean. Now that the war was going their way they could probably cut Elysium loose, and Crakista as well, though it would definitely prolong the conflict.

Another holo popped up beside the one containing the High Lord, this one scrolling text.

Shit, thought Sean, attempting to keep the expression of shock from his face. Another allied force, this time Crakista, had been hit. And he could expect a call from their ambassador, if not one of the Counsels. That, added to the two attacks against the Elysium forces, made the pattern clear. The Cacas were trying to drive a wedge between the allies. If the two alien powers started taking inordinate casualties while Imperial forces went untouched, suspicions would continue to be raised. It could end the alliance.

“I'm not really sure what I can do here, High Lord. We can station some of our own units around your own, or make sure that your battle groups are always interspersed with my own. But then we encounter other problems. I can see your firebrands raising hell, saying that we obviously don't trust you.”

“Yes,” said Grarakakak, a thoughtful expression on his face. “No matter what you do, the naysayers will come out in force. I'm not sure what to do.”

Sean knew what he could do. It was obvious that the Cacas had something new deployed. Whether a wormhole deployed, collapsed and expanded to launch missiles, or some kind of stealth craft, he couldn't say. If it was a wormhole, the missiles should have come through at high relativistic velocities. Instead they had started off with almost no velocity, boosting at max to reach their targets. He could order destroyers and cruisers to search that area, looking for any concentrations of atoms that shouldn't be there. If he acted soon, and didn't wait for them all to diffuse into the system vacuum.

“We'll look into it, High Lord. I think the Cacas are hitting us with something new. The sooner we can figure out what, and what to do about it, the better.”

* * *

“We have another attack report, Supreme Lord. Success.”

Mrastaran looked over at the male giving the report, a tight smile on his face. He gave a head motion of acceptance, then pulled up the report on a holo.

Very good, he thought, looking over the figures. Twenty thousand missiles, and the mines that carried them, for a return of thirty-seven capital ships damaged, most heavily, and over a hundred screening vessels destroyed. This time from the forces of the reptilian allies of the humans.

They were still launching the fast attack craft ambushes, with a lower payoff than before. The enemy was taking precautions now, scanning systems with hundreds of scouts before anything else went in. They couldn't find everything, but any sign of an ambush and they took their time to thoroughly search. That was fine with the Emperor. It was all well and good to stick the enemy with pins, but causing them to take more time with their advance was the purpose. The longer they took to forge into his empire, the more time he had to prepare his fleet for major actions.

The stealth/attack ships were something else entirely, and the longer the enemy wasn't sure what was hitting them from out of the dark, the better. They were copies of the human version, with some unique differences. They had the standard grabber units of course, for propulsion in normal space. They lacked hyperdrive arrays, carried in and out of systems by larger warships. And they carried an old fashioned propulsion system that was as effective as it was obsolete.

Some of his alien scientists had come up with the idea. It had only taken some kindness and select enticements to get their cooperation. Mrastaran had always believed in using the carrot rather than the stick, and so far he was achieving results. The aliens had come up with an advancement of cold gas jets, used for attitude adjustment in primitive spacecraft. The modern version used gas compressed to ten thousand atmospheres, something inconceivable to the ancient spacers. They could boost a ship at up to ten gravities, as much as crew could handle in couches without the inertial compensators that were incorporated into grabbers. And since the stealth/attack were equipped with a wormhole, they could be resupplied with gas cylinders, in this case nitrogen, at will.

And soon our first accelerator tubes will come online, he thought, his agile mind forging ahead and thinking of targets they could take out with thirty wormhole missiles in a line. He would never have as many as the humans, who could bring over a thousand of the devices to bear in a single fight. In a week he would have eight of them, in a month twenty. A year from now he would have over a hundred and fifty, enough to actually do something.

The human histories he was studying were paying dividends. The humans, through all eras of technology had come up with ingenious ways to use what they called force multipliers. The tactics seemed so simple, like something any fool could come up with. Only intelligent beings didn't think that way. They forgot the lessons of the past, or just overlooked them. Well, he would remind them, forcefully.

* * *

JUNE 29TH, 1004. CENTRAL FRONT.

“Nitrogen,” exclaimed Len, looking at the face of the junior captain leading the destroyer squadron that was searching the space around the ambush sight. The twelve ships were slowly cruising the space, their particle sensors sampling the gas molecules.

“Yes, sir,” said the young man, nodding. “Still in low concentrations, maybe a thousand particles per cubic meter. But definitely more nitrogen than expected in the vacuum of system space. And something else.”

“Well, don't leave me in suspense,” growled Len, his eyes narrowing.

“We're picking up high concentrations of metals in the space in line with the path the missiles took,” said the captain, shrugging his shoulders. “No idea what that means, sir. But it was unusual enough to note.”

“Good job, captain. My compliments to your ship commanders. I will be making a note in the files of all of your ships.”

The holo faded, leaving Len alone with his thoughts. He had already forwarded the information to his chief of staff, who would make sure the intelligence and science experts would take a look. With another thought he forwarded the information to Fleet command, so their experts could look it over as well. That taken care of, he turned his attention back to his deployments.

Seven of his battle groups had an Elysium task force attached to them. While he was thankful for the reinforcements, it now troubled him that they might be targeted by the enemy for an attack. He had split the larger groups and ordered them spread among his own forces, trying to make them less attractive as targets. And placing them near the center of his groups. The Brakakak might take exception to this, casting aspersions on their courage. But dammit, he wasn't about to let the Cacas use them to hurt the alliance. Not on his watch.

“Admiral,” said a familiar voice as a holo sprung to life in the air.

I wish the boy would stop scaring me like that, he thought as he winced. “You Majesty. What can I do for you this fine day?”

“We think the Cacas are using stealth/attack ships to hit us. So, you need to be on the lookout for those ships.”

Shit. Len didn't like the sound of that. The Empire had used the stealth/attack ships against the Cacas with great effect throughout the war. The ships could sneak into just about any space, using the smallest of accelerations, and kill at will. If the enemy had developed the technology, and there was no reason why they couldn't, it was very bad news.

“How many of them?” he asked, thinking of the waves of missiles that had struck the Elysium groups. “How could they launch that many missiles?”

“Chan thinks they have copied our mines as well. A stealth ship could seed space with them over a couple of days, then launch. That would be consistent with the metal atoms your destroyers picked up. So we're thinking a couple of days to deploy. Does that give you any ideas on how to defeat them?”

Len could tell from Sean's expression that the young man had already come up with an idea, but was testing his fleet commander.

“How about we deploy just outside the barrier, then jump them every twelve hours or so. Would that work?”

“That should,” said Sean, a smile on his face. “And it should drive the bastards in those ships crazy. I think constant patrols should also help.”

Len nodded. He wondered what other surprises this intelligent Caca would pull on them. He was sure it would be something unexpected. Len was also sure that the Caca Emperor would find that the New Terran Empire had it own geniuses, who were more than willing to match wits with the big slow aliens.

“We have movement in sector eighteen,” called out a voice over the com. “Several thousand ships in hyper VII. Heading toward the edge of the sector, into seventeen.”

Len grunted as he looked at the plot. Sector eighteen was well behind the front, an area of one hundred light years cubed. A million cubic light years. Supposedly pacified and under control. Except the Cacas still had ships there, and in several other sectors. Or were those the same ships, moved around?

“That's the third movement this week,” the admiral told his monarch. “All starting nowhere, and heading no place in particular. By the time we get there, there's nothing. Not a trace.”

“That bastard is playing head games with us,” said Sean, eyes narrowing. “Probably using wormholes to move them around, bringing them into a sector, moving them so we can see them, then taking them out.”

“Well, whatever they're doing, it's driving my people crazy,” said Len, shaking his head.

“Only your people?”

“Okay, your Majesty,” admitted Len. “It's driving me crazy too. I can't just ignore them. If I do that they'll slip a real attack in there, and we'll all be sorry.”

“And there's no way we can cover that much space,” said Sean, brow knit in thought.

“The worst part is, the further we push into their space, the more volume we create behind us.” Len threw his hands up in disgust. “Something I never had to worry about when we were fighting in our own territory”

“He's studying the second global war,” said Sean, nodding. “Attackers always create their own problem, expanding the territory they have to patrol the further into enemy lands they push. All I can say is make sure your ships travel in large enough groups to fight off an unexpected attack.”

The wormhole gates made convoying men and materials much easier, and safer. Freighters, tankers and transports went into a wormhole in one secure system and out the other end in another secure system. Only there weren't enough gates to cover all the planets the Empire had overrun. Thousands of planets, inhabited, with native or transplanted species. Many newly freed and in need of aid. Others with Caca garrisons intact, in need of liberation. And small groups of ships forged between these systems. Sometimes they were tracked by Caca vessels and attacked.

That didn't even count the millions of systems that were more or less useless to carbon based life. No habitable planets. Some had resources, but nothing that couldn't be found in better systems. All potential hiding places for enemy ships. If they even needed a system, since they could just as well sit in interstellar space. Tiny dots in an endless sea, only detectable from a limited distance when they engaged their hyperdrives.

“They're moving those ships in places where they know they will be detected,” said Len, sure that he was right. “Otherwise we would never detect them. So they're following our own movements, then moving their ships to get a reaction from us. All the effect of a probing attack without risking their ships.”

“I think you're right, Len,” said Sean, sighing. “He's doing everything he can to preserve ships. He's willing to spend them when necessary, but wants to hit us, and hit us hard, when he considers the time is right.”

“At least he isn't detonating stars,” said Len, trying to find a positive. “Intelligence thought this Caca might have been against that tactic, and they're proving to be correct.”

“So far,” agreed Sean, looking intently into the eyes of his admiral. “But don't assume that's a given. I want you to make sure before you stick too much of your force into any system.”

“Don't worry, your Majesty. I'm not about to get a portion of my fleet burned to hell. But I have to tell you, your Majesty. It's frustrating as hell. We could be most of the way to their capital by now, if the bastards would only fight us like they had at the start of this thing.”

“A stupid opponent is always preferable, yes,” said the Emperor. “Unfortunately, the Universe doesn't care for our preferences. So we have what we have. We'll just have to deal with it. Just keep doing what you have been doing, you and Mgonda, and we'll win this thing in the end.”

Len nodded. He agreed with everything the monarch had said. Only he wished he didn't have to spend so many lives to achieve victory in the process.

Chapter Eight

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

JULY 2ND, 1004. JUST BEHIND THE CENTRAL FRONT.

“This is the place,” said Shadow, walking on all four feet beside Walborski.

The Maurid was dressed in an Imperial combat skin-suit that had been modified to fit his form. The dark padded outfit would stop pellets of moderate velocity, and stop laser and particle beam pistols for a second or so. Against a high powered beam weapon? Well, maybe long enough to know he was dead. The being had a particle beam pistol holstered at his side, a sensor and com rig over his head.

Maurids could walk on two or four feet, though the way their bodies were configured four was the preferred method when they had to cover any distance. Shadow sniffed the air, utilizing his superior olfactory sense, his face scrunched up in thought.

“What do you smell?” asked Walborski, taking in the air and trying to discern what the alien was sensing. His own sense of smell was augmented, better than normal, and pitiful compared to that of the alien.

“Cacas,” hissed the Maurid, baring his teeth.

Cornelius' hand sought the butt of his own particle beam pistol, while he waved a finger in the air. The Ranger was wearing the human version of the same suit his partner had on. A hood covered his head that carried the same sensors and com equipment. The human was used to operating with no electronics to give him away. In the center of a large modern city, with emissions everywhere, that was not as much of a concern.

“We got you covered, General,” called out one of the Ranger snipers on the rooftop behind them.

Walborski and Shadow were accompanied by two Rangers and another Maurid, equipped as they were. Half a dozen Rangers and a trio of Maurids were on the roofs of the residential neighborhood around them, covering the front group. Cornelius glanced around, seeing the gathered aliens that had been attracted by the sight of the humans. The Maurids were something they were used to, since that species had acted as enforcers for the Cacas on this world.

“We need to clear these people out of here,” said Cornelius into the com unit. “Quietly.”

“Good call,” hissed Shadow in a soft tone. “This could get messy.”

Cornelius had been surprised to learn that there were still Cacas on this world. It had recently been taken with little in the way of fighting, and it was assumed that all of the Cacas had been killed or had surrendered. It had taken some convincing for the natives to talk, but Maurids were nothing if not intimidating.

A small group of aliens, walking with their wide splayed six legged gait, four arms holding their weapons, swarmed around the small square, rounding up their fellow citizens and moving them away. They wore cloth tabbards with the lightning bolt symbol of the resistance on a pair of right arms, the only established native authority.

“How you want to do this?” asked Cornelius, pretty sure he knew the answer. Knocking would just alert the people they were after. And the door seemed to have the standard lock they had seen on almost all the entrances to dwellings in this city.

Instead of answering Shadow placed a small device over the lock, touching a stud and setting it to work. A few sparks flew and the lock clicked. Shadow nodded, then kicked the door open with a rear foot.

The barking shouts of the natives sounded within, along with the roar of a Ca'cadasan. The angry buzzing of a particle beam cut through all the noise, and a portion of the wall near the door ignited, flames and smoke spurting into the air.

Cornelius dove forward, his pistol out and tracking. The aliens were in a panic, trying to run and having nowhere to go to. One had out a pistol, and was taking careful aim this time, determined to kill the invaders. The Caca was pushing through a door on the other side of the room, hunched over and blocking the entire entrance. The Ranger pulled the firing stud on his pistol, and the entire upper right side of the alien disappeared into a hot mist of vaporized flesh.

“Everyone stand still, all limbs in the air,” yelled Cornelius, his words, in the native language, coming out of the translation device that had floated inside behind him and the other intruders. “Freeze in place or we will kill you.”

The aliens took the words to heart, doing their best to imitate statues. The stench of burnt flesh caused several of the aliens to gag and wretch. Cornelius himself coughed deeply, while Shadow scrunched his face up but ran forward, through the door and on the tail of the Caca.

Walborski was through the same door in a second, determined to support his partner no matter what he ran into. A narrow stairway opened up, heading down into the darkness. Both the pursuers had very good night vision, but the darkness was near total. Ahead of them the Caca was yelling out commands, and the Ranger prepared himself for a fight.

Even with warning the Cacas weren't fully prepared as the Maurid, followed closely by the human, burst into the chamber. There were seven Ca'cadasans crowded into the room. One had a pistol out and was starting to track, while three others were moving toward shelves and tables which had weapons sitting on them. Cornelius fired on the move, the barrel of his pistol linked with the head of the Caca pistoleer through an angry buzzing beam. The head exploded into vapor, and the body fell to the floor, knocking down another Caca in the process.

Shadow had another weapon out, a darter that thudded as it sent drugged darts into one Caca after another. The darts had been loaded with a special knock out poison that worked almost instantly on the Caca physiology. Three Cacas went down before the rest came at their attackers with hard fists.

Cornelius took a blow to the head that had him seeing stars for an instant. His body reacted by instinct, twisting him away from the follow up strikes, while his own fists struck the Caca in the throat and shoulder. The Caca coughed and went down, as Cornelius spun through the air and delivered a hard knife edge foot strike to the chest of the big alien.

Allies flooded into the room, and in seconds it was over. Two Cacas were dead, seven more were down and out. The sounds of struggle sounded from deeper in the complex, where Rangers and Maurids had rushed ahead.

“We've secured another six,” called out a Maurid, coming back into the entryway. “Two killed.”

“That gives us nine live ones,” said Shadow, a look of triumph on his face.

“And there's more,” said the other Maurid, hurrying into the room from the narrow passageway.

“Then let's see the more,” said Cornelius, heading into the passageway.

Everything seemed a tight fit for creatures as large as the Cacas. He could imagine them crawling through the tight confines of a tunnel that sloped downward for forty meters or so. Until it opened up on a large chamber, five meters high, thirty wide. Six Cacas were laying on the floor, knocked out by darts and covered by the guns of humans and Maurids, while two bodies slumped in chairs, the characteristic burns of particle beams on their chests. The Ranger thought that pair had been armed and ready to resist, and the Maurids hadn't been willing to risk their capture.

There were several stations around the room, large chairs set in front of lighted panels of electronics. A holo projection showed the globe of the world, blinking dots scattered about. A table sat on one side of the room, seared meat of indeterminate origin sitting on platters. A couple of four meter high exits led out of the room into darkened tunnels.

“The informant was right, General,” called out a Ranger officer, coming through one of the exits. “We've got barracks back here, store rooms, even a small armory. The Cacas were prepared.”

“What do you think they were doing?” Cornelius asked, looking at one of the Maurid technicians who was examining a station.

“Monitoring com traffic,” replied the alien, plugging a device carried in one front hand into the panel. “They have encryption gear here, computer interfaces. They were obviously listening in to your signal traffic, breaking the encryption, then sending out their information on a carrier wave. Possibly piggy backed onto your military transmissions.”

“This had to have been planned out far in advance to your forces getting here,” said Shadow, raising a quizzical eye ridge. “This is unlike the Masters,” continued the Maurid leader, pronouncing the last word as a derogatory. “They normally swagger about like they own the Universe, and such skulking is beneath them.”

“You really don't like them, do you?” Cornelius asked his friend.

“If you had seen the way they treated the lesser peoples of their Empire. Often no better than food animals.”

“But not your kind.”

“No. My people were made to aid and abet them in their foul conquests. If we were to survive. If our spouses and children were not made to suffer.” Shadow spit out each word as if it was excrement on his tongue, fierce eyes looking into the heart of his human companion. “And from what I've heard you have reason to hate them as well. Don't deny it. I've seen how you fight them, with a rage born fury.”

Cornelius held back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes as the image of his late wife formed in his mind. “They killed my wife, my love. Who had just given birth to our child. I would kill every one of them if it were in my power.”

“Yet you control your rage?”

“If I want to serve my Emperor, my friend, I must only kill when I'm ordered. Who I'm ordered to.”

Cornelius shook his head, bringing his attention back to the here and now, putting his beloved dead back in their place. “Now, what say we find out what these vermin were up to.”

* * *

The Ca'cadasan, one who wore the rank insignia of a mid-level officer, sat listlessly in the chair he had been tied into. Cornelius stared at him with slightly hostile curiosity. He hadn't expected the Cacas, spies really, to be in uniform. Thinking on it he considered it reasonable. After all, they couldn't possibly blend in with the population, so their best bet was to simply go into hiding.

“I think we have given him enough time,” said the Maurid who was their interrogator. The lean creature, almost skeletal for his kind, had injected the Caca with a drug the Maurids had stolen from their former masters. Something like a truth serum, a suggestive substance that made the recipient susceptible to wanting to please his questioner.

“Wake up, slime,” yelled the interrogator into the Caca's face. “What do you here on this world?”

“We were left behind to monitor the natives, and the enemy who would free them,” said the Caca in a slurred voice. “Our slaves would listen in on conversations and relay the information back to us.”

“For what purpose, slave?”

“To gather intelligence. Information on troop and ship movements, deployments, supply shortages.”

“And how did you get this information back to your superiors? Speak.”

The Caca appeared to be struggling, trying to hold his tongue. The interrogator slapped him hard across the face, sharp claws spilling blood.

Sean wouldn't like this kind of questioning, thought Cornelius, staring with cold eyes at the huge alien, then over at the smaller questioner. Fortunately, as allies, the Maurids don't have to play by our rules, he thought with a smile.

“We, we were to encrypt our information and place it within the carrier wave of a local entertainment cast.”

“And who received this cast?”

“We weren't given that information. Only to make sure the data was set in a repeating sequence.”

“So, someone must be picking up this cast,” said Shadow, looking over at his human friend.

“Who are these native agents that you speak of?”

“Many people who know they will be rewarded when we return,” said the Maurid, a bit of a sneer coming to his face. “A local merchant, a teacher, a police official, even some high administrators.”

“Why in the hell would anyone be cooperative with their slavers?” Cornelius asked Shadow in a whisper. “Especially when they've become former masters?”

“Many reasons,” said Shadow in a barely perceptible voice. “Loyalty, fear, habit. Some beings need the feeling that they belong, that they are protected, even if the protectors mean them nothing but ill.”

Cornelius shook his head. He himself couldn't understand such feelings. He had been raised on a world that was ruled by an archduke, but ruled was too strong a term. Citizens were free to choose their own path, and absorb the consequences of those decisions. That had still been too much for Cornelius, who had taken his bride to a frontier world where he could prosper. There had been consequences to that decision when the Cacas had come. But the same could be said of those who stayed on Core worlds that had been attacked.

“Even some of my own people still serve the Masters, much to my shame.”

“We are the masters of the lesser peoples of the Galaxy,” said the Caca in a loud voice. “It is only right that they serve us, from the factories to the stew pots.”

“Do you have any questions, Lords?” asked the interrogator, looking over at the pair of leaders.

“Yeah, I have a question for the bastard,” roared Cornelius, taking a step forward and pulling his monomolecular blade from its sheath. “Is he ready to die?”

“No, my friend,” said Shadow, placing a hand on Cornelius' arm. “He will die soon enough. But he is sure to still have much information of import. And I can guarantee you that his death will not be a pleasant one.”

Cornelius simply nodded and shoved his blade back into its sheath.

* * *

“They're moving away, my Lord,” said the sensor officer, sitting with all of his attention on his instruments.

“Thank the Gods,” said Sub-captain Triphlasar, gripping the arms of his command chair with anxious hands.

The sub-captain had been a scout commander when he had been selected for command of one of the new stealth/attack craft. It had seemed new, exciting, something above being a shield for the larger ships. To strike at the heart of the enemy from the shadows. Prestige, greater pay, everything an ambitious young officer could ask for.

Only he hadn't counted on long hours of boredom punctuated by periods of pure terror. Yes, his ship was a hunter, striking from shadows. And it was the hunted, on the run from scout ships. He could likely take one of those destroyers in a straight up fight. But any damaged sustained would degrade his ability to fade into the shadows. To be detected meant enemy ships vectoring to his position and a sure death.

The ship itself was a marvel, an almost carbon copy of what the Caca engineers thought the human design was. Thought, because they had never captured one. They had only seen them in action. One of the captured humans from New Moscow, along with a team of alien scientists, had come up with a working design almost overnight, and the yards had received the orders for a dozen of the craft. If they proved successful more would be constructed. The only limiting factor was the number of available wormholes.

“Keep an eye on them,” Triphlasar ordered the officer. He looked over at the helm officer. “Keep us as stationary as possible.”

“We're picking up the broadcast, my Lord,” called out the com officer. “Separating the encrypted signal from the carrier.”

Triphlasar gave a head motion of acknowledgment. He would never know what was in that cast. Need to know, another human practice the Ca'cadasans had adopted. It made sense from an intelligence perspective, but seemed intended to drive the commander on the spot to distraction.

“Enemy ship continues to move away,” said the sensor officer, looking back at his commander.

The sub-captain sighed in relief. He still didn't know what made the enemy scout conduct a thorough search of the area. Their energy absorbing hull made any return from distance too attenuated to get a firm fix. Unfortunately, a scout blasting full power radar or lidar, when close enough, would get a return, guaranteed. They would signal for help, and hiding would become much more difficult.

I can't wait until we're out of here, thought the sub-captain, then scoffed at his own thought. They had been carried here by a battleship, creeping through hyper, then dropping out twelve light hours from the star. The stealth ship had crept in at one gravity, going to gas jets for the final approach. And here they were to stay for the duration of their long mission, resupplied by wormhole. Awaiting a return that might never occur.

“We have separated the encrypted message. Sending it through the wormhole to command.”

The beamed cast they had intercepted had come from one of the primary stations on the inhabited planet, sent to an asteroid base for the edification of the miners. Which meant the stealth ship had to assume a certain position at a certain time to intercept.

When will they cut us loose to hunt, thought the sub-captain, what he had been expecting to do when assigned to this system. That carried greater risk, of course, but it was always better to be the killer than the victim.

Chapter Nine

The wild Indian power of escaping observation, even where there is little or no cover to hide in, was probably slowly acquired in hard hunting and fighting lessons while trying to approach game, take enemies by surprise, or get safely away when compelled to retreat. John Muir

JULY 17TH, 1004. CA'DASAN SPACE.

“I really don't see the purpose of all of these ship movements, Supreme Lord,” complained the Great Admiral on the com holo. “The ships are not getting their maintenance time. The males are not given sufficient time to relax, constantly on the move as they are.”

“So, the ship movements are confusing you, Great Admiral?” Mrastaran asked his current left flank front commander. “And you would like to rest your males?”

The older male returned a blank stare from the holo, and Mrastaran expelled an exasperated sigh. Sometimes the obtuseness of his people was disheartening. He had plans to attempt to breed intelligence back into his people, incentives for the smartest males to take the brightest females to wife. He still had to do something about the dregs breeding. And it would take generations before there was any progress. Something that could wait until the war was over, if the race achieved a favorable outcome. He kept his enthusiasm for a victory curbed. Dealing with this admiral depressed his mood, and he could no longer consider a victory.

“If the ship movements are confusing to you, just think how they are affecting the enemy.”

The Great Admiral blinked. Mrastaran thought the male must have been a mighty warrior in his day. How else could he have risen to his elevated rank except from pummeling opponents.

“Just follow my orders, Great Admiral. Everything will work out. And don't worry. You will get your chance to fight the enemy.” And may the Gods help us when you lead your fleet into battle, he thought.

Mrastaran dismissed the holo and turned to look at the regional plot. Every one of his forces, from single ships to battle fleets, was indicated on that three dimensional chart as blinking icons. As well as all of his wormhole gates. There were sixteen of the new stealth ships on there, single dots in scattered systems. The other wormholes were with regular forces. Thirty in gates that were allowing his diversionary fleets to shift before boosting through hyper to attract attention. A hundred more with the battle fleets forming well behind the lines. Those would be moving up soon, hidden in places where the emergence of a large force would cause the most damage to the enemy.

While still weak in wormholes, as compared to the allied forces they faced, the Ca'cadasans were still accumulating ten a day from their various manufacturing worlds. As long as they didn't lose many in combat the numbers would keep growing. Still not enough to gain dominance over the humans, but enough of a force multiplier to make a real difference in certain actions.

The humans ships were also indicated on the plot. Not all of them, but more than the humans would have believed possible for him to have knowledge of. His intelligence gathering service was paying dividends, and possible targets were constantly being revealed.

The front itself, the narrow strip of space where the opposing fleets faced each other, was the weakest it had been in some time. The Emperor had been holding back reinforcements since gaining the throne, sending only the older ships, of which there were plenty, to fight the human incursion. Every new hull was going into the two battle fleets he had forming. And the front had actually advanced at a slower rate than before, thanks to his delaying tactics. Soon those fleets would be ready for commitment.

Mrastaran had no illusions that he could crush the allied fleet, but if he could throw them back, gaining more time for new weapons and equipment to be deployed, he might be able to gain a draw, at least temporarily.

“The human is here, Supreme Lord,” came the call from his aide, a young male officer he had chosen for his particularly sharp mind.

“Send him in,” said Mrastaran after dismissing the holo. He didn't think this particular human would be able to use any of the knowledge that holo contained, but Mrastaran was trying to instill a new discipline into his people as far as operational intelligence went. And that discipline started with him.

“Are you ready for today's lesson?” he asked his visitor in Terranglo as the woman entered his cabin.

“Of course,” she answered in return. And the language lesson went as always, with the Emperor achieving a greater command of the primary language of the enemy. He wasn't sure when this skill would come in handy, but he thought eventually being able to speak directly to the enemy might be useful.

* * *

“The numbers calling for leaving the alliance are growing in our Parliament, Emperor Sean,” said the High Lord Grarakakak over the com. “They are still a good ways away from a majority, but I can only see the numbers growing.”

“I see,” said Sean, nodding. From what he understood of the laws of the Elysium Empire, if the opposition achieved a majority of two thirds they could demand that the High Lord and the other High Council Members follow their lead. They could also withhold funds with a simple majority, much like his own parliament. “Anything we can do to curb their growth?”

“Short of dropping a kinetic on their building,” said the High Lord, a slight smile tugging the corners of his beak. “Not a thing. I will keep working with my allies, and we're a long way from withdrawing. I just thought you would want to know, so you don't get blindsided if it comes to pass.”

“Thank you,” said Sean, holding back the invective he wanted to release against the Brakakak people.

He knew that was unfair. There were five primary species in that Empire, the ones that held the political power. The Brakakak were the majority, with about twenty-nine percent of the population. Next were the Knockermen, still part of the government despite their recent rebellion. Twenty-four percent of the population, with the votes those numbers carried. So the other three races, along with the small minorities of other species, controlled forty-seven percent. What it came down to was the Brakakak, even if they were completely behind the High Lord, didn't have the votes to carry the Parliament. Neither did their primary opposition. The Brakakak did hold most of the military power, since the great majority of their spacers came from that species. The majority of their ground force were Knockermen, but holding space meant holding the high ground.

The holo from the High Lord faded away. Sean thought about the message he had received from the Crakista Pro-counsel an hour before. That leader was facing a similar problem, with a twist. His fellow ruler, an younger female, wanted to get out of the alliance, now. The co-rulers held more power than the leaders of any of the other allies. Sean was close, but not quite. Crakista had a rubber stamp legislature, which had the ability to favor or disfavor the decisions of the rulers. And their favor meant nothing to the leaders if they didn't want to pay attention.

So basically, half the leadership of the Crakista Empire wanted out of the alliance, while the other half was not quite sure what to do. How much of a push would it take to get Hssrat to change his mind, and the Crakista to withdraw. It would cost them all of the trade concessions, access to the wormhole network, and not much else. They had already benefited from the tech exchange, and wouldn't miss out on much more there. Trade concessions might mean something to other, more monetarily motivated species. But the Crakista based their decisions on logic, and if it appeared to benefit the species to leave the alliance, they would do so. In fact, it might benefit them in the long run to let the human powers take the brunt of the combat casualties from here on, preserving their own power while they built up their homegrown wormhole industry.

“Samantha,” said Sean into the air, requesting a connection to his cousin.

“You called, your Majesty,” said the women, who was still working in the Imperial government as a Minister without Portfolio, a position in which she could do anything her Emperor asked.

“Please,” groaned Sean. “I get enough of the bowing and scraping from others. I don't need the same from family.”

“You asked for it,” said Samantha with a smile as her face came up on the holo. “What can I do for you, Sean?”

“I need you and your people to work on firming up our relations with the Crakista,” he said, hoping that enough minds working on the problem could come up with an inventive solution.

“Not asking for much, are you? Those cold blooded lizards are almost impossible for us mammals to understand.”

Sean sighed. A lot of his people felt that way about the Crakista, who were not actually lizards at all, though they had a superficial resemblance to that Earth line of animals. They engendered the atavistic fear that snakes caused in most people, to this day. The Crakista actually maintained a slightly higher body temperature than humans, though the cold blooded tag could have been attributed to their unemotional nature.

“They have feelings, even if they keep them buried,” Sean told his cousin. “I actually overheard one telling another a joke, and the laughter was unmistakable.”

“How do you know the one wasn't telling the other how he tortured some small furry animal?”

“You really don't like them, do you? For your information, everything said at that conference was recorded and translated. It was a joke. Not a very good one by our standards, but a joke nonetheless. Involving impossible sexual practices if you must know. Deep down they aren't that much different than us.”

“No, Sean,” said Samantha, her face scrunching up in disgust. “I don't like them. But I will do my best to find out how to sway them with a propaganda campaign. Or with dirty jokes, if that's what it takes. Is that good enough?”

The Emperor took a moment to digest what she had said. Samantha was a very capable woman, a close cousin with the same genetic heritage as himself. Which made her sit on the top of the bell curve for intelligence among humans. And he knew she could hold her feelings in check to get the job done.

“Good enough. And you have my authorization to get whatever you need from Sergiov's people. And, of course, from State. Though I suspect you've already penetrated that department and have your hands on all the dirty little secrets.”

“I'm not telling. Give me a couple of days and I'll be back to you with an operational plan. Okay?”

“Good enough.”

Samantha terminated from her end, a privilege Sean allowed her since she was a member of the Imperial family. Besides, she was serving voluntarily, and so he allowed her some latitude.

“Sergiov,” said Sean, starting the process of connecting to his intelligence chief.

“Your Majesty,” said Ekaterina, her face coming up on the holo after a short delay. “I think your brainchild is bearing fruit.”

“The Maurids and Rangers you mean?”

“Yes,” said Sergiov, a smile lighting her face. “They have uncovered Caca operatives, and collaborators, on a score of liberated worlds. Those bastards are deep into the fabric of those worlds. They have been feeding information to the enemy about everything the native people observe.”

“How are they getting it out?”

“We're not sure in every case, but in a couple of places they have piggybacked an encrypted transmission onto the carrier wave of a news cast. It's beamed into space, then intercepted by, something, out there. From there we're not sure how it's getting to their command. But we've set a trap in one system, and hopefully the rat will wander in.”

“My God,” exclaimed the Emperor. “Could it be one of their stealth ships?”

“That's our guess,” said Sergiov, nodding. “If we could capture it, that would be quite the coup.”

“Hell. Just get some sensor readings on it while it tries to evade, then blow it out of space. That would be enough.”

They still knew very little about the Caca stealth ships. All they had were the few sensor readings scouts had taken when pursuing, then losing them. Not enough. They didn't know if the enemy ships had the same capabilities as their own. Or were they possibly better at hiding. Sean didn't think they could have the same strike capability, since as far as he knew the Cacas didn't have accelerator tubes to move their missiles up to speed. The only way they had achieved wormhole launches in the past was to expand a gate and send a swarm through en mass. He couldn't see them doing that with a stealth craft. Or could they have pulled that off as well?

“We should have an answer either way within a couple of days. The transmitter is in our control in that system, and we have kept up the Caca transmission schedule. There are still a number of planets we need to check out. I wish we had ten times the number of agents we have deployed currently.”

“Tell special ops to cut some more people loose,” said Sean after a moment's thought. He had tens of thousands of augmented soldiers and spacers in their twin commands. Training at the moment, when they could be put to better use. “And I can't see us running out of Maurids anytime soon.”

“No, sir,” said Sergiov with a laugh. “And every one of them ready, willing and able to do anything to get back at the Cacas.”

“Anything else of immediate import?”

“No, sir. Anything else can wait until the morning's brief.”

The Emperor nodded and terminated the connection, thinking about who else he needed to contact.

“President Klanarat, please,” he said into the air. Klanarat was a fellow national leader, not at Sean's beck and call. He might have a long wait for the connection to be made, depending on what the President of New Earth was engaged in. Sean was about to move on to another call when the holo came to life.

“Emperor Sean,” said the Alpha in a voice that sounded filled with excitement and exhaustion at the same time.

“President Klanarat,” replied Sean, studying the face of his counterpart on the other front of the war. He thought the Alpha Klavarta looked ill, on the edge of collapse, and reminded himself that Klanarat was old for his kind. Just over sixty, in a genetic line that had not been augmented for longevity. It was a shame, really, since humans in the Empire could live for more than three hundred years with a little luck. Another reason to curse the memory of the clones who had ruled that nation when first contacted by the Empire. “I wanted to ask, how are you doing?”

“I doubt that was the reason you called, Sean,” said the Alpha with a tired smile. “But thanks for asking anyway. I'm holding on. And Vice President Thrann is ready to take over if I go down.”

“You need to hang on. Jennifer told me she wanted to see you back here for another visit. Don't disappoint her, please.”

“That's reason enough to go on living,” said Klanarat, smiling. “Now, I'm sure this is more than a courtesy call. We are both way too busy for such.”

Sean nodded, wishing he did have the time to spend just talking to this being, the ruler of the mightiest ally on the other front. Maybe having a few drinks and shooting the breeze. But business called.

“How goes the investigation? Any closer to uncovering the traitor?”

“Unfortunately, no,” said Klanarat, the smile flying from his face. “We have our suspects, and my intelligence chief is setting traps for them to stumble into. The conspiracy might go deeper than we thought. A lot of people who wish that the old rulers were still around. And willing to risk much to sunder our alliance with the people who brought them down.”

“Fanatics,” spat Sean, shaking his head. “Don't they realize how much better off they are with people like them in charge?”

“They see us as the problem,” said Klanarat, shrugging his narrow shoulders. “Our nation was holding its own against the Cacas, and the leaders they worshiped were in power. What could be better? Even if you ignore, as they had, that the Cacas were set to roll in and finally crush us.”

“And how are things working out with Admiral Bednarczyk? Has she done anything to warrant a term in your prison?”

Klanarat laughed, a sound that warmed Sean's heart. “She can be a handful, can't she? She's driving my entrenched admirals to distraction. And I'm enjoying every minute of it.”

“Glad we, she, could be of service,” said the Emperor. He picked up a glass of water and took a sip, then turned his attention back to the president. “I assume she's busy reorganizing her command.”

“Oh yes. She's hell on wheels, that one. I don't see where she gets her energy from. If we're ever short of antimatter, we may have to tap her veins.”

“And your production? We might have to divert some of what we promised you to our front if things keep going as they are.”

“Having problems with the Brakakak and Crakista, huh?”

“And how did you know that?” asked Sean, raising an eyebrow.

“Come now, Sean. I have my own intelligence service, keeping an eye on friend and foe alike. Just like everyone else in this game we play.”

“Yeah, those two species are having problems of their own. A growing number of their peoples are calling for them to withdraw from the alliance. Not a majority, yet. But if the Cacas keep striking at them to the exclusion of our own fleets, that number will grow.”

“You think the Cacas are trying to drive a wedge between you and the alien allies?” asked Klanarat, a questioning expression on his face. “I didn't think they were bright enough to consider that.”

“This new Emperor of theirs sure is. Too bad Bednarczyk wasn't able to kill him before he could assume the throne.”

“Not from lack of trying,” stated Klanarat emphatically. “If he had stayed in the system, and not been recalled, he might have died with the majority of his fleet.”

He wouldn't have driven his force into certain death, like the idiot that took over, thought Sean, shaking his head. It would have been better if this Mrastaran had stayed a fleet commander. Even better if he had been executed, and the immature idiot who had sat the throne remained. Better for his people that he took over, but Sean didn't care for them as much as he did for his.

Are you coming to dinner, came a voice in his head, the tone one of impatience. Shit, he thought. He was scheduled for a formal dinner with his wife. A hell of a thing when a man had to schedule time with his family, but that was one of the problems with running an Empire at war.

“I have to go,” he told the president. “My Lord and master beckons.”

“Say hello to your lovely wife for me, then.”

The holo faded, and Sean launched himself out of his chair in his haste to get to the dining room. He had planned to shower and put on some clean clothes, but thought his wife would care more that he was there, not what he was attired in.

“President Klanarat says hello,” he told her as soon as he walked into the room. A good move on his part, as the angry expression left her face, replaced with concern.

“How is he? You know I'm worried about his health.”

Always the doctor, thought the Emperor. Concerned about the health and well being of friends more than anything.

“You know he's reaching extreme old age for his people,” said Sean, taking a seat at the head of the table. It wasn't the long affair of the banquet room, but the settings were as decorative, and expensive, as any used for state.

“It's criminal that the people that engineered them built in such a short life span,” said Jennifer, the angry expression returning to her face.

At least it's not directed toward me, thought Sean, thankful that his deflection had worked. “And how are the young heirs doing this fine evening.”

The children were in high chairs on the side of the table, looking expectantly at their father. Maids were attending to them, bowls of porridge set and ready.

“They're turning into holy terrors are what they are,” said Jennifer in mock anger, the smile on her face belaying her words. “Glenn went from crawling to running overnight. And Augustine will not be far behind, I'm afraid.”

Augustine was actually the oldest of the twins, birthed minutes before his brother. Unfortunately, his involuntary venture in time travel had left him chronologically the younger by two months. The difference was starting to disappear as they got older. By the time they reached school age they would look again like what they were, identical twins.

“I wish there was something we could do for President Klanarat,” she said as she reached over and patted Sean's forearm.

“All we can do is keep supporting him, and hope he lives to see the end of this thing,” he said, covering her hand with his own. The way things were shaping up, and the way Klanarat looked, Sean doubted the president would still be alive when this war ended.

* * *

“How in the hell did they get a force in so far behind the front line,” yelled Sean at his CNO.

The Emperor was not one who believed in punishing the messenger, but this was really pissing him off. The Cacas were avoiding contact as much as possible, only striking when they had the advantage, or when they were back into a corner with no way out. Basic guerrilla tactics. Smart, and so unlike their actions throughout this war. And this targeting of Elysium and Crakista was threatening to drive them out of the alliance.

“The same way we do these things, your Majesty,” said Sondra McCullom, shrugging her narrow shoulders. “With stealth and patience.”

A Caca force, not very large, only a dozen battleships and the smaller support ships, had appeared out of nowhere to strike at a supply depot. The defense force had taken them out, with extreme prejudice, but not before they had destroyed a logistics force with vital supplies for Fleet and Army. They could be replaced, over time, but the Empire had already been stretched too thin as it was.

“I want more patrols of those systems, Sondra.”

“Yes, your Majesty. Only they are so hard to find when they are nothing more than a collapsed wormhole in the expanse of a system. We will, of course, run more close patrols, since they do have to get near enough to attack. But don't expect miracles.”

Sean did expect miracles. This officers had given him so many in this war. Why not another?

“Make sure our allies ships are in the centers of any formations,” he ordered.

“And then they start protesting that we are treating them like incompetent cowards,” complained the CNO. “It's damned if we do, damned if we don't.”

Sean agreed. But what else could they do?

“Keep me informed.” said Sean, the most useless command he could possibly give. He thought if the Cacas were planning to force a stroke on him, one way of causing a crisis of succession in the Empire, they had a good plan.

Chapter Ten

The only thing that should surprise us is that there are still some things that can surprise us. Francois de La Rochefoucauld

JULY 22ND, 1004. JUST BEHIND THE CENTRAL FRONT.

The last thing on the minds on anyone in the Marsas system was the end of the war. The newly freed natives were still celebrating the absence of the masters and the arrival of their liberators. Those liberators, humans and Elysium citizens, were preparing to move on to another system, one that intelligence said was very lightly held. And others were preparing to destroy everything they could get in their sights.

“Admiral on the bridge,” called out the Brakakak spacer from his station near the entry hatch.

“So, how is the system today?” asked Rear Admiral Marakak, striding on thin legs to his command chair.

“All quiet so far, sir,” said the young duty officer who had been watching out for priority messages that might call for waking his leader. “Not that we expect anything else. The Cacas are well and truly gone from here, after all.”

Marakak smiled, then frowned. Of course he liked to believe the Cacas were well away from here, and from all indications they were. Still, it was not good for the spacers under his command to assume that nothing could touch them here. In that attitude lay inattention, and the possibility that someone would miss the sign that something was amiss, until it was too late.

The admiral looked over the plot, as he had every day of the last three, the time they had been in the system. He had gone down to the planet on the second day, guarded by Knockerman marines, to take in the adoring crowds who welcomed their liberators. He had eaten and drank from the local fare, food and drink that appealed to his pallet, and was certified safe by his medical staff. It did his heart good to see beings who had been suffering under oppressive rule find the freedom they had sought. That he had been the deliverer of that freedom was a reward in itself.

“Lasastra reports they are picking up faint graviton emissions near the moon of planet four, sir,” called out the flag com officer.

The admiral perked up at that announcement. Lasastra was one of his cruiser class ships, assigned to make periodic sensor sweeps to a sector of the system. Marsas was the third world orbiting around this G class star, and the only one with an inhabitable planet. World four was a cold rocky planet with a thin atmosphere, of no real use, though its large moon was resource rich. One the Cacas had not exploited, but that the natives definitely would, once their space based industry had gotten a toehold.

“Can they tell what it is?”

The officer spoke into the mic at his board, interrogating the officer on the other end of the com. The words were converted to grav pulses using the latest code, then transmitted across the light minutes almost instantaneously.

“No, sir. Only that it was faint, there for a second, then gone. They are maneuvering in to get a closer look. ETA, fifteen minutes.”

Probably nothing, thought the admiral. Faint graviton traces were a constant in space, and most often meant nothing more than the gravitational pull of system bodies on each other. Sometimes a small gravitational anomaly created by the star. However, he wasn't one to take chances. He would feel much better once one of his ships got within visual observation range and found it clear.

Unfortunately for the admiral, this was not a morning for feeling better.

* * *

“That was the last ship, Lord,” said the com officer on the large bridge of the Ca'cadasan super battleship.

“The enemy cruiser is continuing toward us, Lord,” reported the sensor officer. “Still the only ship within light amp range.”

“And don't assume that just because its the only one we can see,” said Low Admiral Lokasure, waving a right index finger in the air.

“They are grav pulsing, Lord,” called out the com officer. “Communicating with someone.”

And if not for those idiots aboard one of my own scouts, they wouldn't even be looking, he thought, imagining the punishment he would meet out to their helm officer.

The insertion had been perfect. The stealth craft had erected a gate, and his ships had slid through using only the new cold jet thrusters. Until the last scout had come through, too fast, and found itself on a collision course with the supercruiser to its front. The helm officer had panicked and applied a quick burst of one hundred gravity grabber power. Not much, but enough for an enemy ship to detect and come in for an investigation.

Lokasure had forty super battleships, fifty super cruisers and ninety-three scouts. Not the traditional Ca'cadasan force, but close. Things were changing, and Lokasure wasn't sure he approved of all the changes. It wasn't up to him, and at least their new Emperor didn't appear to be an idiot.

As far as they could tell, the enemy force was smaller in both number of ships and tonnage. They had at most eighteen battleships, some fewer of their scout capitals, forty odd cruisers and almost a hundred scouts. The scouts would give them slightly better screening capabilities than he had. Or they would have, if they were all in the proper position to ward against missiles. Unfortunately for the enemy, over half of the cruisers and destroyers were scattered about the system on various missions.

“All ships are to fire on my command,” said the admiral. “And I mean as soon as the word leaves my mouth.”

The com officer gave a head motion of acknowledgment, as did the tactical officer.

“Closest three battleships are to fire on that cruiser when the rest of the force opens up.”

He had enough tubes aboard his ships to pound the enemy to hulks in three volleys or so. The admiral did not intend to launch three volleys. His ships carried large numbers of the mines they had copied from the humans. Dual purpose weapons, they could either be cut loose to ambush the unwary, or fire directly from the ships that carried them.

The Ca'cadasans had a modern industrial plant in every respect. Nanofabbers, using nanites and the proper raw materials, could quickly turn out large numbers of whatever they were tasked with. No retooling, no retraining of workers, and new tech was rolling out for the use of the fleet. The antimatter, produced in star orbiting satellites, was readily available for producing warheads.

The force was slowly coasting around the edge of the moon. With the current orientation of the system bodies, there would be nothing obscuring the enemy fleet when Lokasure's force was ready to fire.

“Now,” he ordered as the last of his ships came into the clear. He didn't think the enemy had seen them, since they were tiny dots with radiation absorbing hulls at the distance of three light minutes. But even if they had, it was too late.

Three of his battleships boosted away from the force, their light amp weapons firing at the enemy cruiser. Like all of his battleships they were older models, equipped with the less efficient laser domes, allowing at most sixty percent of the ship's fire to engage any single target. They would be more than enough to take out a cruiser. The rest of the fleet boosted at five hundred and forty gravities toward the third planet. And instant later the ships started spinning in space, releasing each tube as they came to bear. Half the mines fired as well, sending thousands of additional missiles at the enemy force. Which started to boost as well, though it really wouldn't do them any good.

* * *

“Ships boosting near the fourth planet,” called out a panicked tactical officer. “We have missile launch. Over two thousand missiles boosting at ten thousand gravities, sir. No, make that seven thousand missiles.”

“All ships, prepare for defensive fire. All screening vessels are to move into position. All ships are to fire on the enemy as their tubes bear.”

Marakak glanced at the plot, alive with the icons of boosting enemy warships, enemy missiles. He was looking for a way to move something between his force and the enemy before the missiles arrived. And finding nothing.

“Lasastra reports they are taking laser fire, sir,” squawked the com officer. “They're...They've stopped pulsing.”

So they were either heavily damaged, or destroyed, thought the admiral as he watched his own fire, counters and offensive weapons, populate the plot.

“Perhaps we should transmit strike the colors,” said the ship's captain over the admiral's personal com. “They are going to wipe us out otherwise.”

It only took a second's thought to reject that plea. Against other species, humans, Crakista, they could expect an honorable surrender and to be well treated as prisoners of war. Even the crazy as hell religious fanatics, the Lasharans, wouldn't kill and eat them. Not like the barbarians they faced this day.

“We fight,” he said through gritted tooth plates. “All ships are to fire as long as they have working tubes.”

He thought for a moment if there was anything else he could do. “Release all fighters. They are to strike at the enemy, then stay clear and observe after they have expended all warp missiles.”

There. That was all he could do, except wait and ride out the missile storm. Fortunately, the missiles were launched from mere light minutes distance, and wouldn't have time to build ship killing kinetic energy. Unfortunately, enough hits from gigaton class warheads and all of his ships would at best be reduced to drifting hulks.

“Impact in seven minutes?” called out the tactical officer.

Marakak was about to ask the officer whose missiles he was talking about, then decided that it really didn't matter.

* * *

The viewer was zoomed ahead on the planet Marsas, focused on the drifting debris field in far orbit. That had been the enemy force. There were a couple of battleships that had survived the storm, but they were mere wrecks. One missile had hit the planet, dead center on the northernmost continent, the most heavily populated. A huge crater spewing magma occupied what had been fertile farmland. The high clouds rippled from the shock wave, and forested land blazed and let out massive banks of smoke.

Lokasure was sure that over a billion of the natives had died in that strike. He felt nothing but satisfaction that the lesser beings who had betrayed their masters had paid with their lives. The propaganda victory in the Empire would prove to be most satisfactory, proving to the slaves that they were never safe in the caring arms of the enemy.

The plot was alive with ships, cruisers, destroyers, many commercial vessels, all running for hiding places. He had launched on anything that looked like it might take a hit before it got to the hyper barrier. And ignored the warp fighters that had swept in, staying out of range of his warp lances, and launched their missiles.

“We have two ships not capable of boosting, my Lord,” reported the com officer.

“Order the crews to evacuate to other vessels. Then scuttle those ships.”

He had been hit. Not as hard as the enemy, but they had gotten some blows in. The two battleships reduced to hulks. Another pair that had been blasted to plasma. A dozen more that had sustained major damage, though capable of going back through the wormhole to be repaired. Nine cruisers and fifteen scouts had joined the ranks of the losses.

“All ships are to boost for the fourth planet. Let's get everyone through the gate and home.”

The stealth ship would soon be erecting the gate again. The admiral was concerned that the warp fighters might detect the gate and come boosting in to take it out. He was sure the enemy had a wormhole aboard one of their battleships. That was standard operating procedure for their forces. And therefore enemy command had to know what had happened here. Or at least what was happening when their wormhole equipped ship had been blown to hell.

The stealth ship would, of course, collapse the gate and piggyback on a supercruiser that would form a small task force that would head out to another system. Its work was done here, and this system held little promise for future operations.

All in all a successful operation, and if the force he had destroyed had little importance in the wider scheme of things, it was still a victory. The admiral could still look forward to promotion, and the leadership of bigger and better forces.

* * *

“How in the hell did they pull this off, Sondra,” yelled Sean at his CNO.

Not one that believed in punishing the messenger, the situation was causing his anger to rise with every occurrence. The Cacas were not acting like the same beings he had gone to war with several years before. They were smart, only engaging when they had the advantage, or when they were trapped and had no other choice. Standard Guerrilla tactics that were threatening to drive a wedge between Crakista, Elysium and the rest of the alliance. Hitting hard and leaving nothing but vacuum for him to counter to.

“The same way we do such things, your Majesty,” replied Sondra, shrugging her narrow shoulders. “They used one of their stealth ships to erect a gate, then brought through a large enough force to defeat Rear Admiral Marakak's task group. Afterwards they retreated back through the wormhole.”

“Any chance of finding and destroying that stealth ship?”

Sondra shook her head. “Intelligence thinks it was taken out of the system on one of the ships in the small force that left through hyper. No telling where it is, or where it's going.”

Only that it's going someplace where it can cause us more problems, thought Sean, closing his eyes and sighing. It had been so much better when the alliance had been the ones unveiling the surprises on the enemy. Making them dance to a tune of Sean's choosing. Not anymore, and it was wearing on the Emperor. Hell, he was sure it was wearing on everyone from him on down to the newest recruit on the front.

“And they killed over a billion people on Marsas,” said McCullom, her expression conveying her disgust. “The ecology of the world will take decades to rebound.”

“Probably not a purposeful hit,” said Sean, not really sure if that meant anything. “Collateral damage.”

“I always hated that term, your Majesty,” said the admiral, a defeated look on her face. “It just means someone screwed up and didn't stop something they should have.” She looked off holo for a moment, someone else asking for her attention. “Have the Brakakak gotten in touch with you yet?”

“Not yet. But I'm sure it's coming.”

“I am so sorry, your Majesty.”

“Not your fault. And really nothing you could do anything about. But this does call for a change of tactics yet again.”

“Such as?” asked McCullom, leaning forward expectantly.

“We might have to something out of the history books as well. What if we...”

Chapter Eleven

In every battle there comes a time when both sides consider themselves beaten, then he who continues the attack wins. Ulysses S. Grant

AUGUST 3RD, 1004. CA'CADASAN SPACE.

“What are you thinking, Supreme Lord?” asked Great Admiral Trostara, looking over at his Emperor, who was obviously considering something of great import.

“The humans are still coming on, but much slower than previously,” said Mrastaran, looking up at his chief of staff.

While not the supreme commander of the Ca'cadasan fleet, the great admiral was basically charged with the maintenance of channels between the Emperor and his force commanders, including the supreme admiral. It was a new arrangement, and one that still needed some ironing out, but Mrastaran thought it was working well enough, so far.

“But they are still coming,” said the great admiral, making head a motion of negation. “We are still losing territory to them. Our sacred lands.”

Mrastaran returned the head motion, though his thoughts were on a different track. Too many of his people thought the planets they had basically stolen from their inhabitants as sacred, and not the ill gotten gains of thieves. He saw them as nothing more than resources for the advancement of his people and their power. He didn't feel bad about taking them from their owners. That was the way of the Universe. The strong advanced and conquered, the weak were used by those stronger than themselves.

The humans were proving to be the stronger in the one asset that had proven to be superior to all others. Intelligence. His people might like to trumpet how they were physically stronger, able to beat down any other species, though that really wasn't true either. Physical strength did little good when boosting through space at relativistic speeds, throwing missiles at each other. Even in surface warfare, the humans and their allies, with their better powered armor, could laugh at the size and bulk of the Ca'cadasans.

“It will take time to reverse the tide of their advance, Trostara,” he told the other male. “Time we didn't have while they were moving swiftly through our territory. We are buying the time. Hopefully we will be able to again go on the offensive.”

He didn't tell the other male his real thoughts. That no matter how successful they were in the next offensive, they were still at too great a disadvantage. Only if the humans decided the cost of conquering his Empire was too great would any kind of victory be theirs.

“What if they take our capital?” groaned the great admiral, pointing a finger at the glowing dot on the Empire plot. “The sacred soil of the ancestors. If they take that, all is lost.”

Mrastaran didn't believe that, but thought it best to let his people hold to their beliefs, at least for now. He looked at the vast territory of the Empire. Too much for the humans to ever garrison sufficiently. Too much to place sufficient fleets to defend. While he could place industrial assets in bits and pieces, across thousands of systems, too many for the enemy to root all of them out. He could continue the war for a thousand years if need be. To the shorter lived humans that would seem an eternity.

“They're still almost two thousand light years from our home, admiral. Have heart. If we keep doing what we have been things will turn around.”

Washington the President had it right, thought Mrastaran, recalling a text he had recently read. In earlier years he had fought in the rebellion of his country against their masters across a great sea. His superiors had wanted him to fight a decisive battle, one which he knew he couldn't win. So he had marched here and there, letting the enemy chase him. Using the concept of army in being. As long as he had an army in the field, he was a going concern, and had not lost the war. It had worked, up until he had been able to surround their army, with the help of an ally, and force a surrender.

“I believe the enemy will next attack these systems,” said Mrastaran rapidly pointing at and highlight a score of systems.

“So many?”

“I don't think they'll attack all of them,” said Mrastaran, biting off the fool he wanted to add to the end of the statement. “Those are the most likely targets, based on what they hold within the grip of their stars. They might strike all of them, or none, and possibly go after other targets. But our intelligence analysis seems to think these are the ones.”

Of course, most of those analysts were not Ca'cadasans, who were not mentally attuned to looking over and parsing great reams of data. While it was difficult to trust the analysis of aliens, Mrastaran had found several species who were bright enough and pliable enough to work intelligence. Placing a few of his cousins, also brighter than the average Ca'cadasan, to head up the bureaus was heartening as well.

“We will leave wormholes on the edges of those systems,” he ordered, calculating in his mind how many they had, and how many they would have in the next couple of weeks. “From there we can decide what to deploy to the systems.”

He sat there for a moment, trying to determine what he should earmark for the operation, then pulled up a holo with the available order of battle. The two new battle fleets, designated First and Third, were not to be touched. He had plans for them that would require their full strength, and he wasn't about to squander them in delaying operations. There were other forces that were already engaged in operations that forced them to stay in their current deployments. That left...

“These ships will be moved to the locations of our ends of the wormholes. I want them prepared to move through the wormholes and attack on a moment's notice. I'll decide on the force structure once we have a good idea on what they'll be facing.”

The Emperor preferred to deploy larger forces than those they would face, hopefully guaranteeing victory. That was best for morale, as ships and males coming back from successful operations always talked up the victory. There were cases, however, where throwing a smaller bu available force into the system to cause as much mayhem as possible would be the way to go.

Mrastaran knew that many of his admirals thought it should be beneath an Emperor to make these kind of micromanaging decisions. At one time he would have agreed. But when he was the only one he could trust to make intelligent and informed decisions, he had to make them.

“My Lords,” came the voice of a com officer into the chamber. “We have a report from our asset in the Helgren system. The enemy are ground assaulting the planet.”

“They must really want that rock,” said Trostara, smiling.

Yes, thought the Emperor, making a head motion of agreement. The enemy had been avoiding ground combat when possible, only attacking worlds they thought they could take with minimal effort, and overwhelming force. This time they were going to find they had been surprised.

* * *

“Advanced elements of the forty-seventh are down, sir,” reported the aide, walking over to his general.

Lt. General Samuel Baggett already knew that the first battalions of each of the three brigades of that division had landed. He had, after all, the entire battle-space at the tips of his fingers before him. However, it was the job of the young officer to make sure the corps commander knew what was going on, even if he was sure that Baggett already knew.

Baggett nodded, all the acknowledgment he was willing to give. His total attention was on the landing, and the people he had down there in danger. Not that he thought casualties were likely to be high, but any killed or wounded were too many as far as he was concerned.

The general was currently watching the take through the sensors of the battle armor of a young platoon leader. He couldn't say that he missed wearing the armor himself, though on occasions he might don a suit and hit the ground. Not on this operation, which was supposed to be routinely simple.

“Twenty-fifth is on final approach,” called out the aide.

The twenty-fifth was the armored division in his corps, with five battalions of heavy tanks along with their heavy infantry. They were landing in the open, away from the cities, where they could use their firepower in support of the infantry divisions. He could have depended on the fleet to provide that support, but tradition called for the army to use its own assets when possible.

The fighters and ground support aircraft flying over the troops also belonged to Baggett. There were no enemy aircraft to contend with, and the pilots were acting like this was a training mission. Baggett didn't like that attitude, but was willing to put up with it, as long as they did their jobs.

The other battalions of each brigade came down in turn, forming up on the one that held the landing zones, then moving out in companies. They were in a standard formation, troopers twenty meters apart, far enough away that nothing short of a small nuke would take out more than a couple, close enough that their sensors gave them a complete picture of what was around them. It was a tried and true tactic that had worked through the entire thrust in the Ca'cadasan Empire.

The young officer whose suit the general was riding cried out, then gasped in pain. The life signs spiked, then went flat, and Baggett knew that something had happened to the officer.

“We're under attack,” yelled out the company commander of that unit, panic in his voice. “I've never seen anything so big, and moving so fast. We need support. Now.”

Baggett saw a blur on the camera. It was large, and moving much too fast. He zoomed in and slowed down, his breath catching as he recognized the creature.

There were thousands of alien species in the Ca'cadasan Empire. While all aliens were exceptional in some way, most were just average in the scheme of things. Some were exceptionally bright, some physical giants, such as the Cacas and the Phlistarans. And there were the creatures intelligence had nicknamed demons, for a very good reason. The creatures were three and a half meters tall in their rest state, massing a couple of tons of bone and muscle. When they went into rage mode, their glands fueling their bodies, they puffed up to four meters tall, with hardened skin and razor claws and spikes protruding from their forms.

They were an evolutionary nightmare, and the experts couldn't come up with a good reason why they even existed. But there they were, thousands of them attacking one of his units. If his people had been unarmored, or even light infantry, the branch the general had come up in, all of those men and women would already be dead. As it was, they were still being tossed about, many were sustaining broken limbs, and if cornered and attacked by several of the creatures, they would find their armored arms and legs torn away. Since their real limbs were so tightly encased in the suits, their biological parts came with the armor when it was removed.

More of the huge aliens appeared, coming out of nowhere. These were wearing strap on armor that was proof against particle beams, at least for several seconds, enough time to let them close. They gripped huge mauls in their hands, swinging them in to crush armor, breaking limbs and smashing heads. Some attacked the armored vehicles on the field, to little effect.

“Get some air support in there,” yelled Baggett over the com. “Now.”

The heavy suits were fighting back. Lasers may have had trouble burning through the thickened skin, but particle beams that could vaporize hull metal could do the same with iron tough skin. The enemy was dying in droves now, piling up bodies and parts of bodies in front of the troopers. The three battalions of the brigade had now formed into hedgehogs, troopers moving quickly on grabber units and getting in close, sweeping their particle beams outward and annihilating the aliens pushing toward them. Tanks, invulnerable to any number of massive aliens at a thousand tons, rushed toward the infantry units to provide close support. Aircraft flew over, dropping smart mini-bombs that homed in on the body heat of the aliens, blasting through their bodies on contact. The situation seemed to be well in hand until suddenly it wasn't.

Later the general would think of other tactics they could have used. The suits staying in their spread formations and rocketing into the air on their grabbers. They could had hovered out of enemy reach while firing down on them. Instead they were packed into a mass that made the perfect target for more modern weapons than muscles and hammers.

Thousands of small hyper velocity missiles came in, traveling too fast to see, only visible by a short lived streak of light that could be chocked up to imagination. Only these were in great numbers, and the flash the mass emitted was like that of a great explosion reaching out. The missiles had homing sensors, relatively useless with so many in the air. But with a massed target they didn't have to be accurate. In battalions of eight or nine hundred troopers, four hundred or more flat lined on the tactical plot in an instant. Any hit was fatal. Arm, leg, head, torso, any penetration carried enough kinetic energy to vaporize most of the body beneath. The second wave killed most of those remaining alive, until only a couple of score remained effective in each battalion. Those were quickly swarmed over by the beserking aliens.

Large hyper velocity weapons reached out and hit armored vehicles. Light vehicles went up in balls of flame, flipping through the air from the energy transfer. Tanks fared better, somewhat. A small number were destroyed in the same manner as their lighter brethren. Others rocked in the air, then settled on their grabbers to the ground. Tough armor was able to withstand the hit, as long as it was one of the better protected portions. The beings firing tried to avoid those areas, but weren't always successful. Counter fire from the tanks, lasers and particle beams, swept out and hit some of the incoming, driving them off their paths.

The aircraft took fire at the same time. These were the same class hyper velocity missiles that hit the tanks, several hundred kilograms that could be fired by humans in heavy suits, or Ca'cadasan soldiers. Half a hundred aircraft exploded in the air while the rest went into radical evasive maneuvers, frantically trying to escape destruction. Some made it, getting objects between themselves and the missile firers. Many more just prolonged the process as they slid into the target baskets of other weapons. In less than ten seconds the air support was effectively non-existent, while the ground troops remained under siege.

Baggett stared in short lived shock as two of his divisions effectively cease to exist. Even as the shock ran through his system he contacted the orbital support floating around the world.

“This is Baggett. Do you have my people on your targeting scans.”

“Yes, sir,” answered the senior captain in charge of the three heavy cruisers and twelve destroyers overhead.

“I want you to destroy everything within five kilometers of my people,” he shouted, watching as more suits flatlined.

“The collateral..”

“Damn the collateral. Do as I say. Now.”

The captain was not about to argue with a three star flag officer, even if he was from another service. Three seconds later lasers and particle beams struck the area, obliterating buildings, vehicles, and any living thing in five kilometer circles around his people. He watched as the huge aliens were burned to steam, wondering the whole time if they were getting any of the Ca'cadasans. The answer came later. Those canny bastards had gone underground as soon as they had fired their missiles. Alive, to set up something else.

* * *

“Baggett feels terrible, your Majesty,” said Grand Marshal Mishori Yamakuri, the man in overall charge of the Imperial Army. “I, of course, can't fault any of his actions, and have absolved him of any responsibility in the massacre. And, of course, that depends on your own decision in the matter.”

Sean shook his head as he looked from the face of his senior army command to the other holos that was showing the casualty figures. Two divisions in Baggett's corps were no longer effective combat units, and wouldn't be until they replaced the eighty percent casualties they had suffered. The great majority of those casualties were killed in action. Add to that the over one hundred ground attack aircraft that had been shot down, also, in most cases, with the loss of the their pilots.

The other holo told a story that was just as grim. Tens of thousand of civilians had been killed, both in the ground battle and from the orbital strikes. They didn't have clear figures on enemy dead, but estimated that twenty thousand of the Caca's huge allies had been killed. Maybe twice that number, but they didn't have the bodies to prove it. They did have the bodies of over two hundred Cacas, but again couldn't tell if that was all of them. Probably not, but it was obvious that the majority of the ambushers had gotten away.

The Emperor knew Samuel Baggett, having met him on several occasions. His impression of the general was he was an intelligent man who made good decisions and kept his head under pressure. Of course, watching most of the men under your command being slaughtered was more pressure than most people would undergo. He had to make a quick decision to save what was left, and in Sean's opinion there hadn't been a good one. The general had made the least bad one, and twenty percent of his people were still alive because of it.

“Tell Baggett that his Emperor agrees with his decision. There will be no consequences, and I expect him to rebuild his corps and be ready for deployment in...” Sean thought for a moment, not wanting to throw out an unreasonable figure. “Let's say two months.”

“He might need more time to recover from this, your Majesty.”

“If he does, he does,” said Sean, nodding. “I would prefer him back sooner, but you know your people. Do what you think is right, and I'll back you up. Now, we need to talk about how we are going to prevent this happening in the future.”

“I already have my analysts looking over the battle, sir. They have come up with a couple of suggestions I think will work. A more thorough recon of the landing zone for one thing, followed by more assets sweeping out from the area.”

“I agree,” said Sean, looking into the tortured eyes of his military leader. “I'll leave the decisions up to you.”

“You realize that the Cacas are now engaged in a guerrilla war, “ said Yamakuri, looking down. “They are going to avoid contact unless they think they can get an exchange rate in their favor. I hate to say it, but landings are going to become much more expensive.”

“Then we need to avoid them when possible. And the other thing we need to concentrate on is training our people in counter-insurgency. The men and women on that landing zone acted as they had been trained to do when confronted by that kind of situation. We need to come up with a better response, and make sure our people have been trained to the point where they react without thinking.”

“We'll get on it, your Majesty. And thanks, for you decision on Baggett. It's hard to see a good man like that get hit like he did. Even worse when he gets crushed under foot by people looking for scapegoats.”

Sean dismissed the holo, sitting back in his chair and thinking about what the grand marshal had said. People were likely to play the blame game when the shit hit the fan and a lot of people were lost. He himself had been blamed for many of his decisions, though in retrospect he thought he had made the right call. Still, the press had taken him to task, like he was sure they would do with Lt. General Samuel Baggett when they got hold of this story.

If there was a silver lining to this, and it was hard to find, it was the fact that no Knockermen or Crakista had been in the landing force. Elysium had only deployed marines, as had Crakista, and those kind of soldiers were only deployed in space on the current campaign. Capturing ships or stations, but not trying to take territory on planets or large moons. He could imagine the flack he would be getting from his allies in those nations if thirty to forty thousand of their ground troops were killed. Not that it was any different than losing tens of thousands in a space ambush, but the videos would have a greater impact. He knew he had felt sick to his stomach when he viewed so many troops killed, by heavy mauls, from having limbs ripped off, from being hit by hyper velocity missiles that blew red tinted steam from rents in the armor. It was a much more visceral image than seeing a ship converted to plasma, even thought the beings aboard the ship were just as dead.

What next, he thought. At least they were no longer killing systems while trying to lure his ships in to their own destruction. Whether that was because their new Emperor didn't believe in killing systems, as had been intimated by intelligence, or because it simply wasn't working any more, he didn't know.

But now that we're sure they're not going to do it, he thought with a grimace, it might be the best time to pull it off again.

He would have to get with his leaders and make sure that they weren't taking things for granted. That was the path to disaster.

Chapter Twelve

I am tired and sick of war. Its glory is all moonshine. It is only those who have neither fired a shot nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded who cry aloud for blood, for vengeance, for desolation. War is hell. William Tecumseh Sherman

AUGUST 10TH, 1004.

“We have not been able to attack any of their allies on the ground, Supreme Lord,” said the army commander who was coordinating those actions along the front. “They refuse to commit them. Though I must say they are starting to bypass more worlds. The hunting is getting scarce.”

“The human leaders are not stupid,” said Mrastaran, looking into the eyes of the male across the light years. “Especially that young Emperor of theirs. He is a student of their history as well, and I am sure he will pick out the patterns.” And maybe I can use that against him, thought the Ca'cadasan Emperor.

“And how go the Guerrilla actions on the planets they have landed on?”

“As well as can be expected, Supreme Lord. We are getting a favorable exchange rate, at least as compared to how we were doing before. But I must say, the warriors don't like this skulking in the shadows.”

And they aren't very good at it either, thought the Emperor. At least not compared to their smaller foes. Ca'cadasans had evolved as hunters, using cunning and weapons to kill their prey. They had never been good at stealth. They were too large, too clumsy. The humans were fast and sneaky, able to use their small size to blend in to shadows that would never hide a Ca'cadasan. The Maurids were even better, but most of them had gone over to the human side. If not for the stupidity of Jresstratta the Younger, the Empire might still have those stealthy fighters on their side.

“They also feel it is dishonorable to not meet the enemy in open combat. Proving their strength and courage.”

And getting slaughtered in the process, thought the Emperor, letting out a sigh of exasperation.

“We are in a war of attrition now, Great General,” he said to the male in his best calming voice. “We have more people to spend than they do, and it seems they value the lives of their soldiers and spacers more than we do.”

That was something the Emperor planned to change, eventually. Individual Ca'cadasans should consider themselves valuable servants of the Empire. Instead, they thought of themselves as pawns to be expended on the orders of their betters. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to enact the changes he wanted. So he had to make use of the males he had, with their present attitude.

“I rankles to fight this way, Supreme Lord,” groaned the male. “I realize that it is yours to command, and that we are being beaten back on all fronts. But to one raised to constant victory, this is hard to take.”

That was part of the attitude he needed to change, right now. The Ca'cadasans had always seen themselves are the supreme warriors, always victorious. Rolling over every culture either because they had the greater firepower, the better technology, or both. They had even enjoyed those advantages against the human nations when they had first engaged them, after a thousand years of searching. Not anymore, and though his forces still outnumbered those of the alliance, he no longer held the firepower or technological advantage over them.

“Just keep hitting them, General. Ambushes, traps, sniping, anything that kills their warriors. Set off bombs when the time is right, the bigger the better. Let your warriors know that every enemy they kill, even at the cost of their own lives, is a victory for the Empire.”

The general looked doubtful, but he gave a head motion of agreement. That was all Mrastaran could ask. He would not punish males for their thoughts, as long as those thoughts didn't interfere with their duty. They could curse him in their mess all they wanted, as long as they didn't foment rebellion. Rebellion was the one thing he couldn't tolerate, and as much as he hated it, the old punishments were the best deterrent. A slow painful death in front of their fellows.

“Set explosives wherever you can get away with it,” he lectured the general. “Whenever a number of them gather, set them off.”

“And if none gather?”

“Wait a sufficient time, then set them off anyway. Rattle their nerves with the blasts. If you take out civilians on those worlds, so be it. Then prepare to take out their medical and rescue personnel when they show up.”

That was another thing he hated. The humans were merciful in their attention to the wounded, especially the non-combatants. His people weren't. They saw collateral damage as adding rations to their larders. He admired the humans for their attention to the helpless, and yet he was ordering them slaughtered whenever they showed up at a bomb site.

He terminated the connection to call up one of his admirals, the one who was in charge of the Guerrilla campaign in space.

“How goes it, Great Admiral?” he asked the male, one Hiistrara. The male had been languishing in duty occupying Imperial space that had no need for his innovative intelligence. Mrastaran had moved him into his present position, over another male who couldn't think his way out of his own house.

“So far as well as can be expected, Supreme Lord,” answered the male. “The decoy ships have already taken out thousands of their marines, including some from the allied nations.”

That was good news. The enemy had taken to blowing his ships out of space, not bothering to board them. They would order abandon ship, and scan all life pods before ordering the occupants to evacuate in their suits, scanning those as well before letting them onboard a purpose built construct where they could divest themselves of their suits in an atmosphere. The then naked males would be searched again, under the guns of marines, and then allowed to board the enemy ships. They had smuggled some bombs aboard in the bodies of males, but the humans had thought of a way to prevent that after they had taken damage to some of their ships. Nanoprobes, injected into the bodies of the males, would search at the cellular level, and any male found to be harboring explosives was immediately terminated by the nanites.

They had settled on another tactic. All of the warships in the Empire were built and crewed by Ca'cadasans. But those weren't the only ships in the Empire. Almost all the commercial and freight vessels in the Empire were of alien subject race construction. The Ca'cadasan males thought the running of such vessels as beneath them, so subject races that were trusted more than most ran those ships. They moved ore, food and finished products among the planets of the Empire. Most were interplanetary vessels, since most commerce stayed within the system. Only twenty percent, all larger ships in the millions of tons range, had hyperdrives.

The shipyards of systems ahead of the human advance were working overtime to convert most of those ships to what the humans called Q-ships. Not able to take on a fighting vessel in a slugging match, they could get in a couple of licks to a warship before they were blown out of space. Or they could play helpless, let alliance marines board them, and detonate their antimatter stores, turning ship and invaders into a spreading cloud of plasma. The tactic wouldn't be effective for long. The alliance would quickly react, and start blowing the commercial ships out of space, often from long range and hopefully without allowing the crew to evacuate. And every ship they destroyed would add to the bad will they garnered in occupied systems.

Pinpricks, he thought with a snort. The death of a thousand cuts. He didn't think any of these tactics would result in a victory in the end. All he could hope was that the humans grew tired of the war. If their allies left the alliance, the brunt of the deaths would fall on the humans, and they would have to tire of the slaughter even faster. Wouldn't they? Only time, and multiple millions of deaths, would tell.

* * *

“Are you sure this is the place?” asked Cornelius, looking over at Shadow, who was crouching by his side.

“This is where the administrator of the nearby town said they would be,” hissed Shadow in a barely perceptible voice. “And I can smell them. Their stench is pervasive, and could only be made by a great number of the, big bastards.”

Cornelius nodded, not doubting his friend for an instant. The native administrator, what would have been called a mayor in the Empire, had coughed up the information fast enough. That might have been suspicious in itself, only Cornelius had seen the reaction of intelligent beings to the bared teeth of the Maurid interrogators.

The brigadier waved a hand in the air, letting the people around him know that they were ready to move. He had almost a hundred Rangers with him, and an equal number of the Maurids they had been training with. All were dressed in tough camouflaged skin-suits, able to resist low velocity pellets, as well as several seconds of laser fire and at least one of particle beam protons. They all carried rifles and pistols that used chemical explosives to propel their rounds. No electronics whatsoever, no signals to give them away to scanning sensors. Even the implants that every being in the company carried in their brains had been deactivated for this mission.

The natives they had questioned had pointed them to this location, the entrance to a cavern system that the Cacas had converted into a barracks and armory. At least a couple of hundred Cacas, organized to supply and support the Guerrilla units that were scattered about the region. Most of the irregular soldiers were still loyal natives who could blend in, striking from the shadows and fading into the populace. It was a hell of a way to fight, but the combined human/Maurid units had been formed for just these kind of operations.

“We move,” he said to Shadow, again waving a hand just high enough for the people around him to see. Those soldiers repeated the signal until it spread to the entire unit. Stealthy creatures born to it, along with the best trained humans in Imperial space, crept forward noiselessly, their augmented and natural predator eyes scanning a darkness made near bright as twilight.

Cornelius felt more alive than he had in over a year, Hunter back on the hunt, going after the bastards that had been responsible for the death of his first wife. His rifle was across his back, secured tightly in place with quick release straps. His right hand gripped the hilt of his monomolecular blade, ready for some silent bloodletting.

Sean would kill me if he knew I was doing this, he thought, a tight smile crossing his face. His friend and monarch had assumed that Cornelius would be involved in the intelligence gathering aspect of the mission. Not in the search and destroy portion. Since the monarch hadn't given a direct order for the Ranger to avoid this fight, he took that as permission.

Something moved ahead, a great shadow in the night. It coughed, revealing its species. Only the Cacas on this world had such a deep cough, and the big clumsy creatures were terrible at staying quiet. Maybe in their native environment they had the skills of the hunter, but not in many other places.

Other shadows rose up around the sentry, a human and a Maurid who had gotten within arms reach undetected. If the Caca had been scanning the night around him with his night vision gear he would have caught sight of them before they had closed. Unfortunately for the male, he had suffered from the normal inattention of a guard on long duty. The Maurid went for the throat, leaping up with fluid grace and clamping terrible jaws around the windpipe of the big alien. At the same time the Ranger sliced through the left leg of the Caca, starting him on a drop to the ground.

Similar actions occurred in the night, all going perfectly, until the inevitable happened and a particle beam rifle went off in the hand of a dying Caca. Suddenly the night was lit by the flares of particle beam rifles basically firing at nothing, while the phutting of silenced rifles sounded underneath the buzzing of the heavier weapons.

Cornelius lunged to his feet and closed the distance on a Caca who was focusing his attention the other way. A quick jab with his knife punctured the single kidney of the alien. He pulled and punched four times in a second, each driving his knife deep into the internal organs of the alien, who fell lifelessly to the ground in a heap. Shadow rose from the Caca he had killed, spitting out the blood that was fouling his mouth.

In seconds the battle outside the cave was over, the outnumbered Cacas swarmed by a death they had barely acknowledged before it claimed them. Fire started reaching out from the cave entrance, and some few of the Rangers and Maurids went down. A trio of hard flung grenades, blasting the darkness with a flash of intolerable light and deafening noise, stunned those guardians and ended the Caca resistance. The combined force were on their feet in an instant and swarmed into the cavern.

Cornelius was near the lead of the group that moved into the maze of tunnels. He knew he shouldn't be in that position, that it was important that he come out of this attack ready to work on the next. The Hunter couldn't help himself. His instinct was to lead from the front, taking the fight the the enemy with his most effective warrior, himself. Tossing a flash bang ahead, toward the tunnel junction with multiple defenders, he followed it up immediately with a fragmentation/concussion weapon. He gave it a second for the frags to clear, not wanting to run into the effects of his own grenades, then was on his feet and running flat out, flying into a staggering Caca and driving him off his feet. A quick slice with his blade and the Caca was choking out his life on the rock floor of the cavern.

Cornelius rolled off the Caca, his right hand pulling his rifle from its elastic strap and pulling it into position. The Caca he aimed in on had on full body armor, only missing the helmet he was trying to secure while at the same time firing his rifle. Cacas had four upper limbs, all equally dexterous, a sure advantage, but this one was shocked and confused, and both helmet and rifle were not cooperating. Cornelius shot the enemy in the face, the heavy round blasting through the skull and into the brain behind, dropping the Caca dead to the ground in an instant. The alliance rifles used an advanced smokeless flashless powder with little in the way of odor, which along with their lack of electronic signature, made them the perfect weapon for a fast moving commando force.

Grenades, both thrown and rifle launched, took out most resistance along the way, and the defense of the shocked Cacas crumbled. The last Cacas were still struggling to wakefulness when the combined force overran the central chambers of the cavern system. The command cave was filled with electronics, the coordinating center of the resistance cells they had established in this region of the planet. Most of that equipment was captured intact, a windfall for the intelligence types who would soon be swarming through the cavern.

“A good fight,” said the smiling Shadow after they cleared the cavern complex.

Cornelius nodded as he took a deep breath. They had lost people, twenty-two dead, a dozen wounded. In exchange they had killed over three hundred Cacas. And had uncovered a mother lode of weapons and equipment, some of it made for Cacas, most built for the physiognomy of the natives of this world. Enough to arm thousands of them, and set scores of large explosive devices across the planet.

“It was good to see the combined unit in action,” said Cornelius, patting his friend on the shoulder. “I will be sure to report back to training command.”

“And will you tell your Emperor of your part in this night's operation?” asked the smirking Maurid.

“Not on your life,” said Cornelius after a quick snorting laugh. “I got a taste of it, and I want more. So don't you say anything about me being here.”

Shadow smiled back at him and nodded. Cornelius had fought alongside his alien brothers, and their leaders wanted him along with them as well.

* * *

Captain Lrissras stared at the plot as his cruiser approached the alien merchant ship ahead. It was a perfect target for his marines, who were armored and ready to board on his command. The only problem was, his squadron commander had forbidden him to do anything other than order the crew off the ship. That vessel, which could make a tiny by significant difference to the logistics train of this part of the front, was then to be blasted from space.

The Crakista officer knew the reason for the caution. Enough ships had fallen to the traps the Ca'cadasans had been setting to make anyone leery of boarding those vessels. While his own vessels sensors had not picked up any targeting lasers or radar, that didn't mean the ship was without powerful weapons, ready to fire as soon as their systems came up. Something that could be done in just over a second, maybe less. Even if they didn't have offensive weapons aboard they could still self destruct. An in-system ship like that shouldn't have a large store of antimatter aboard, which didn't mean they didn't.

“Their commanding officer is reporting that they have refugees aboard, and not enough suits for everyone,” said the com officer.

Which could very much be true, but which didn't change Lrissras' orders one bit. He also couldn't very well demand that people who lacked the protection to survive in space leave their only protection. Standard operating procedure was to make the crew and passengers leave their ship in suits, rescue pods if those weren't available, then wait for the unmanned support vessels to come up and take them aboard for inspection.

“We are entering the one light minute sphere,” announced the weapons officer, his attention locked on his own board as he kept the suspected ship locked in.

“Understood,” replied the captain. He had a decision to make. Killing innocents was not something his people did lightly. Orders or no, he wanted to get those people off that ship and to safety. What he really wanted was to capture that ship intact. His people didn't use the prize money system of the Republic forces they supported. But they did have a credit system for status, and the captain wanted the enhanced standing capturing that ship would bring.

“Tell the captain of that ship that he is to start evacuating his vessel immediately.”

The com officer took a second to send the message by laser com, then waited the couple of minutes for the light speed turnaround.

“The captain is refusing. He again states that he has refugees from an asteroid mine that was scuttled by the Cacas, and doesn't have the portable life support to get them off his ship alive. He requests that we dock with him and take his people off directly.”

Of course he does, thought the captain, his eyes blinking rapidly in the way of his species when uncertain. If the being really did have a problem with having too many people aboard that needed rescue, he would ask what he was asking. And if he was trying to bait a trap, he would say the same.

“How many people does he have aboard?” he asked of his com officer, then waited for the reply, while the distance between the vessels slowly closed.

He had over seven hundred people aboard his cruiser. Most were Crakista spacers, but he also had almost a hundred of his nation's aliens, trained marines in battle armor. If he ordered them across they would act immediately and without question. And this potential enemy would have three different attack options when he was close. They could let the marines board and blow their ship, taking all of the invaders with them. They could wait until the cruiser was even closer and detonate their ship, heavily damaging or even destroying Lrissras' ship. Or they could fire their hidden weapons, if they existed, again possibly destroying his ship.

“Range fifty light seconds,” stated the weapons officer.

The cruiser was in full decel now, and if he didn't change vectors it would stop within ten light seconds of the other ship.

“The captain says he has over four hundred refugees, sir. Plus his fifty-seven crew.”

That many, thought the captain, cringing inside. Of course, the other being could be lying. If only they had the fabled sensor that could detect life over a distance through the vacuum of space. So far no one had come up with even a theoretical basis for such a device.

“Ask the commodore what we should do,” he ordered his Klassekian com tech, their one method of moderate bandwidth instantaneous com.

Crakista were thought by others to be logical creatures who didn't make decisions based on emotions, and basically that was correct. What they didn't understand was the species was very emotional deep down. They suppressed the feelings that had caused them so much trouble in their barbarian era, but the feelings were still there. And right now his feeling were screaming at him to rescue the helpless. In his mind he could imagine hundreds of refugees cowering aboard that vessel, sure that they were safe just before a threatening warship appeared to order them off. Possibly children were aboard, with parents trying to comfort them in their panic.

“Range, forty light seconds.”

What to do? What to do?

“The commodore is demanding that you increase the distance and keep the potential enemy ship under observation,” said the com tech, his four eyes, two large, two small, looking over at the Crakista captain. “He has other ships vectoring toward us. The first should be within support range of us in twenty-seven minutes.”

“Very well. Helm, start vector change to move us away.”

The decision had been taken from him, and he felt relief at having orders to follow.

“Sir. We're being painted by targeting lidar. Coming from that ship” The weapon's officer looked at his commander, his eyes wide. “More sources from all around that ship.”

What in the universe did we step into, thought Lrissras, just before the graviton emissions of just under a hundred missiles appeared on the plot, coming at him from multiple launch points. Mines, was his next thought, something the Ca'cadasans had been using more of after copying them from the humans. He had been tricked, alright, and he and his ship were about to pay the price.

“All weapons, open fire on that ships. And start rolling counters.”

The ship bucked slightly as it launched a broadside of eight tubes. It started to turn, letting off the three stern tubes, then the eight on the opposite broadside, then the three from the bow. The laser rings continued their fire, and the beams would strike minutes before the missiles.

The captain stared at the plot that showed icons moving away from and toward his ship. It looked like a child's game, until one remembered that each of those icons represented a hundred ton missile. It would take minutes for the first one to reach him, and his weapons would be firing on them the entire way. A quick mathematical formula run through a sharp mind indicated that it would be enough.

The enemy ship was a wreck from laser fire by the time the first missile hit it and blew it to plasma. The cruiser was also well served, though not as badly as the commercial ship that wasn't made to take laser fire. It didn't make any difference as three missiles struck home, and Captain Lrissras and his seven hundred odd crew were turned into superheated plasma that swirled away in the vacuum of space.

Chapter Thirteen

The power to wage war is the power to wage war successfully. Charles Evans Hughes

AUGUST 15TH, 1004.

Sean looked over the figures from his front and scowled. He was still getting a favorable exchange rate with the Cacas, but that only mattered if they were looking at things the same as he was. By all indications they were proceeding from a different set of assumptions. His forces were still winning the fights, but they were losing the overall war.

It really didn't look that way, since he was still advancing into their territory on a wide front. Slowly though, ever so slowly, and there was still a lot of space in front of them. It was reminding him more and more of the Eastern Front in the Second Global War. The Cacas still had more ships, though many of those were obsolete by this year's standards. He thought his industrial capacity had surpassed theirs, and he didn't have to worry about insurgents to his far rear. Just behind the front was another thing altogether.

It was a war of attrition, plain and simple, and the Cacas were willing to spend as many lives as necessary to make him think again about continuing his invasion of their Empire. He was reminded of Verdun in the First Global War more than anything.

That battle had been set up by the German Army, after catching the French off guard and taking the fortress complex at Verdun. They had reinforced the forts with everything they had, and lured the French into a battle of attrition. Over a million men had died on each side in that battle. The German idea had been to kill so many of the enemy that the French would give up. Unfortunately, the French were just as willing to spend lives, and the battle had ended in a draw. In the long run the German strategy would have worked, since the French had fewer lives to throw into the cauldron than the Germans. Having the British helped, but with Russia out of the war things were looking bad, until the United States jumped in.

I only wished we had a United States waiting in the wings, thought the Emperor.

Worse of all, the Cacas were trying to target the ships of the allies to the exclusion of his own, trying to make their involvement painful enough that they would quit. So far the other empires were sticking it out, but the rumblings of their people were growing. He had tried to keep them out of the line of fire, but frankly he needed their ships involved in actions, otherwise what use were they?

That the enemy was targeting Elysium and Crakista was obvious. They had passed up ambushes of his ships that would have hurt the fleet grievously, just to wait until some follow up alliance ships had appeared. The only way he could think to combat the enemy strategy was to integrate their formations more closely into his own. Instead of an Elysium battle group he could place a couple of squadrons of their ships, maybe one of battleships and one of escorts, into one of his battle groups. The problem with that was it removed the higher level allied commanders from their commands. That was something the overly proud Brakakak, and the logical to a fault Crakista, who weren't all that logical when their courage was called in question, wouldn't stand for. And he didn't want to put any of his own higher level formations under an allied admiral. Somebody had to back off, and it was looking like it would have to be him.

In the positive column, the combined Ranger/Maurid units were working as well as advertised. The augmented humans and the naturally gifted Maurids had similar capabilities. The Maurids had slightly better senses, especially night vision, hearing and smell. But the augmented humans had the better distance vision and fine discrimination. The humans were a bit stronger, a bit faster, and when equipped with bladed weapons were just as deadly.

The problem with the augments was there just weren't enough of them. Augmented lost a good part of their lifespan, something most people weren't willing to part with. Only volunteers were augmented, and though some of his people had been advocating for forced augmentation, ordering soldiers to undergo the process, the Emperor didn't like the idea at all.

There was an Esprit to the special ops troops of the Empire that only an all volunteer force could maintain. Before the war the entire Imperial military was a volunteer force. Since the war conscription had reared its ugly head, and new recruits came in to serve for the duration plus one year. They would get the same benefits as the volunteers who served for a ten year initial enlistment, forty for retirement, though many served for decades beyond those four.

The initial plan was to pair the two species in special ops at a one to one ratio. With the limited pool of humans, and the almost unlimited numbers of Maurids, they might have to rethink the force structure. And would large groups of Maurids agree to serve under a few humans in company strength units? Knowing the history of the Maurids under the Cacas the answer was not certain.

The Maurids had served the Cacas like no other species in their Empire. That they tasted horrible to the Cacas helped, but having their singular abilities had more to do with it. They had served as enforcers, intelligence agents, even executioners. What the Cacas hadn't realized was how distasteful the freedom loving Maurids had found those duties. They hated holding other species down for their large masters. The Cacas had bought them off by giving them more freedom than any other aliens in their Empire. Self government of their colony worlds, along with more planets allocated to them than to any others. Even their own ships, though the Cacas hadn't allowed any species in their Empire to own armed vessels. Sean's concern was that the headstrong aliens would think the humans were trying to replace the Cacas as their masters. That couldn't be allowed to happen.

“Get me Striped Wolf,” the Emperor said into the aid, letting the pickups in his office know his wishes. He could have set the same process in motion through his implant, but like most humans he still like to voice them if possible.

Striped Wolf was the Maurid that was considered the overall ambassador to the Empire. Not an official position, since the Maurids had yet to form a government. There were many of them scattered across the Ca'cadasan Empire, and on a half score worlds of which they had formed the majority population. Three of those worlds had been liberated, including one the Cacas had marked for destruction along with its system. The Empire had stopped them from setting their plan in motion, and the Maurids of the liberated worlds had pledged eternal gratitude and joined the war on the side of the humans. Which left seven more worlds under Caca control. Or at least their systems were. Sean couldn't imagine Caca ground troops taking control of anything the wolf like aliens wanted to deny them.

The Emperor didn't expect an immediate connection, like he would get with one of his own people. He tried to query the system as to their status before he asked, not wanting to disturb their sleep or other personal activities. When he did call, he could expect a connection within a minute or less.

While he waited the Emperor tried to recall what his father's Empire was like, before the wormhole network had been in place. If Augustine had wanted to talk with the governor of a planet or some distant lord, he had to send it through the hyper net, a series of platforms that transmitted less than a light year through hyper VIII to the next. It could take hours to get a message to a core world, days to transmit across the Empire. And forget about talking to ship or fleet commanders who were not in a hyper net system. Now, in most cases, he could talk to anyone he needed, pull up any information necessary, in less that a few minutes. So he was actually surprised when the holo came up and the long snouted face of Striped Wolf came up.

Sean wished he could have greeted the alien with his given name in the Maurid language. Unfortunately, their language of growls, whines and clicks didn't come easy to humans. Linguist were training to talk to them directly, not just to communicate, but to listen in on conversations the Maurids might not want the humans to understand. Not that he didn't trust them, but he had to prepare for the unlikely worst. Maurids could speak Terranglo, but one must listen carefully.

“Emperor Sean,” said the orange and black striped male of his species. “What can I do for you.”

Stripped Wolf had been one of the first emissaries to the humans, making contact with a former Imperial Protection Detail agent on a frontier world. He had fed information to the Empire. Information that had proven to be highly accurate, if not always timely.

“I'm having a problem I hope you can help me with.” said Sean, looking into the intelligent eyes of the alien hunter.

“With my people? I hope we don't have a dissenter mucking up the works of our alliance.”

“Nothing like that,” said Sean, shaking his head. “I have been going over my potential ground deployments, something your people figure in. We have been taking too many casualties landing conventional forces on their worlds, and my experts have been suggesting sending in special ops units ahead of the heavies. They specialize in scouting and raids. But I only have so many augmented to deploy, and your people as as good as my Rangers and Commandos.” Almost, he amended in his thoughts, something he wouldn't say to the prideful alien.

“So you want to use more of my people in these units,” said Stripped Wolf, giving a very human head nod. “And more of my people want to get into the fight, but we don't have the ships, or the specialized training of your spacers. So, what is the problem?”

“I know what you people have gone through with the Cacas,” said Sean, leaning forward in his chair. “At the moment you don't have many people who have been trained in military leadership roles. Oh, probably many who could be platoons leaders and company commanders. But not the higher level positions, at least not now. Maybe in a year or so, but we don't have a year.”

“Are you afraid that my people might resent serving under aliens, because of their dealing with the Masters,” said the Maurid, spitting out the last word. “I think you have nothing to fear, my friend. We have observed your Empire, and your dealings with aliens. And they are nothing like how the Masters treated others. We have seen how you have aliens commanders of your divisions and higher formations, even the ones made up of predominately humans. You have ministers in your government, Lords in your Parliament, who are non-humans. We have no fear that you will replace the Cacas as our overlords.”

“That's good to know. I was hoping so, but I wasn't sure.”

“Rest assured that we will accept your decision on how to deploy us. Though I would appreciate it if more of my people were sent to your specialist spacer and heavy ground force schools. Until then, we will proudly serve beside your augmented.”

“Okay. My plan is to form units with three quarters Maurids and one quarter humans. That will double my special ops forces, in the short term. We can make your people the non-commissioned officers of your people's squads. And then commission those that prove they can handle the positions.”

“And once you have enough of our officers trained?”

“Then we'll form some all Maurids units. Of course, we will not interfere with you own insurgency operations, and appreciate anything you can do to help us out.”

“I am happy I could set your concerns to rest, Emperor Sean. Please contact me if there is anything else.”

Sean was about to open his mouth to ask another question when the being on the other end terminated the connection. The Emperor was about to request another connection, but thought better of it. The alien had been very cooperative, and was not a subject, so he was not under Sean's command. His people in the military might be, but the Maurid civilian government, what there was of it, was considered a sovereign nation in the alliance. He hoped that someday they would join his Empire, but that was for the future, and the complicated issue of what to do with the worlds of the Ca'cadasan Empire when the war was over. If it ever ended.

* * *

AUGUST 21ST, 1004.

“We have a situation developing in 15G5481, Supreme Lord.”

Mrastaran looked up from the report he was reading and flipped the situation holo onto the indicated system. The system, had a name of course, one given to it by the natives, if any, and one given by the Ca'cadasans. The problem with that was so many systems had the same names, so an alpha numerical designation worked better. Sector fifteen of the Empire, which the humans were currently working their way through. G class star number fifty-four eighty-one. Information came up under it. No native intelligent life, but a couple of hundred million transported aliens of several species. Along with twenty-three million Ca'cadasans both on the planet and in the space based industry. And an upgraded self defense force. Not enough to deter the humans, but definitely enough to bring a large force of them in.

The system had been set as a battlefield. This time it wouldn't be a pinprick, but a punch in the nose. Still not decisive, but much more painful. Mrastaran was well versed on the use of fists. That was the way male Ca'cadasans fought in single fights and brawls. Striking with all four fists, flailing really, with no thought of blocking or self defense. They did use some techniques when fighting with blades, but fists fights were basic violence. The Maurids fought in much the same way, though their teeth and claws made it more like a blade fight. The Emperor had been reading up on human unarmed combat techniques. They had so many of them, thousands of styles, and millions of practitioners in the more popular ones. They argued incessantly over which ones were the best, and could never come to a decision, though many of them fought with basic bashing techniques as well.

The humans would see his fleet, and have a choice of moving in to attack them, or bombarding them from a distance. Only the fleet would be in close proximity to the planet, making a long range bombardment a risk the morally motivated humans wouldn't take. And it they did, there was the planet and a couple of moderate sized moons to duck behind.

So they would forge in, sending enough of a scout force ahead to make sure there were no projection ships near the star. Mrastaran had ordered that tactic suspended, forever, but the humans would still be suspicious. So be it, they would find nothing, and eventually move their fleet in to engage his in a one sided battle.

The minefields appeared on the expanded plot. Four of them, arranged so they could take the humans under fire from the front flank. There would be nothing ahead of them for them to pick up with forward scouts. Each field had more than a hundred thousand mines, ready to launch at the humans when they were within thirty light seconds, using the velocity of the invaders to help them close quickly. The Emperor had no illusions that those launches would destroy the enemy fleet. Hurt them, yes, hopefully severely. He was willing to take what he could get, because that wasn't the primary target.

The wormhole had been released from its stealth craft and was maneuvering toward its engagement point, ten light minutes from the enemy logistics train and its escorts. Far enough that the humans would have a hard time picking it up. That would be the point of emergence for the outer strike force. After they were in space the wormhole would be turned, and a million missiles, per-accelerated in Ca'cadasan space, would come streaming through, heading for the fleet inside the system.

He was very satisfied with the plan, which was sure to cause the humans much dismay. It might only work once, or maybe multiple times. But a single success would be enough to slow them even more.

“The enemy is using a new deployment tactic,” reported the admiral in charge of that system, sitting outside in close proximity to the wormhole that was boosting by it on gas jets. “They are mixing the allied ships in with their own, instead of deploying them in their own formations.”

Mrastaran grunted. It was a very sensible precaution, and one which highlighted the ingenuity and versatility of the humans. In almost no time they had discerned his tactics and implemented counters. Which meant he now had to come with something else. He would, and they would react to it again, over an over. This was the way the humans traditionally fought each other, and went counter to the traditions of the Ca'cadasans. It was part of the culture he needed to change, until his individual commanders did the same thing. Determined what the enemy was doing, and come up with a counter on the spot.

I might as well wish for the crown of the Universe, thought the Emperor with a snort. He couldn't be everywhere, supervising everything. However, he had to do his best to make sure his people spent their lives for the greatest return, and hope for the best.

Chapter Fourteen

The best weapon against an enemy is another enemy. Friedrich Nietzsche

AUGUST 22ND, 1004.

“We've scouted close to the star, your Grace. Nothing at all. And the ships we've spotted seem to be all there are.”

Seem to be, thought Taelis Mgonda as he looked at the face of the vice admiral in charge of that battle force in the holo bubble, even while fuming over the form of address the other officer had used. Taelis was a duke, something he had done nothing to earn, having gotten it as an accident of birth. He had earned his Fleet rank, rising up through his own skills and a little luck. Nothing to do with fate. Seemed to be was also a catch phrase he was beginning to hate. Seem to be meant the assumed off of some observations. Before this bastard of an Emperor took over that might have been good enough. No more.

“Be careful, Admiral Garasra,” he told the other officer, looking at the beaked face that looked back. The admiral was a Gryphon, and as far as Mgonda knew, very good at his job. Still, it wouldn't hurt to remind the admiral that this enemy was no longer to be trusted to make the stupid move.

“I am the image of caution, your Grace. I have scouts fanning out all through the system. My logistics train is heavily guarded by a squadron of battleships, three of light cruisers and six of destroyers. And there is a bubble out to five light minutes consisting of two more destroyer squadrons. If anything gets too close they will know it, and the warp fighter squadrons will give them a warm welcome.”

It all sounded very good. The vice admiral had done everything by the book, which was as it should be. Too many officers tried to screw around with standard operating procedure when there was no need to. The time to improvise was when everything appeared to be headed into the shitter, and from he had seen of Garasra, the admiral was very capable of improvisation, but didn't do it for its own sake.

“We will crush the enemy fleet in the system, then make our landing,” said the Gryphon in a confident voice. “The transports are with the battle force, well protected in the center.”

That was another change they had made. Assault ships were warships, though not something that anyone with sense would put in the line of battle. They carried light amp and particle beam weapons that could be used for space defense as well as ground support. One might be able to take a cruiser in battle, if it was the light variety. The transports, whether commercial class of purpose built for the military, were another thing entirely. Basically, they were fast civilian vessels with some added weapons, but no real armor. They might hold their own against a Caca scout, with a whole lot of luck. Against more than one, or anything heavier, and they were dead. The soldiers and marines they carried might be tough hombres on the ground, or in ship boarding actions. While sitting on the ships they were as helpless as babies, and just as vulnerable.

Even in their toughest armored suits, or within the heaviest of armored vehicles, they were dead if the ship went up. If they could eject before that event, their suits and vehicles would protect them from the cold and vacuum of space for a week or more, and with luck they would be picked up by other ships. Of course, if the Cacas won the fight, they might not want to picked up.

Leaving them with the logistics train until they were needed had seem the solution, until the Cacas launched attacks on those units. There was also the problem of moving them into the system with fewer escorts than they would have had with either the logistics train or the battle fleet. Better to let them move with the best defensive force in the system, the battle fleet.

“I'll leave you to it, admiral,” said Mgonda, nodding toward the officer. He terminated the connection, but kept the tactical plot up on another holo. No one wanted to think a superior was riding herd on them, especially not in a fleet that had a tradition of letting the commander on the spot make the tactical decisions. Wormholes had changed the dynamic, and every higher commander could micromanage every battle if desired. The Emperor forced himself to keep hands off in most cases. And encouraged his fleet commanders to do the same.

But they are still my ships, my people, thought the duke as he watched the icons slowly move across the plot. And things had changed so much in the last couple of months. Before then they had been able to spot everything the Cacas had in a system, since they all started moving as soon as the alliance ships entered normal space. Hell, probably way before that, since they could pick up the humans moving through hyper well before they entered normal space. And anything moving through hyper at an alliance occupied system was spotted hours before they were a threat. They were predictable, attacking like stupid animals for the most part. Not anymore. Now they were unpredictable, and had borrowed many of the tactics of the humans, finding ways to hide ships, to move them without giving them away, and striking when it was to their advantage.

Taelis was afraid that many of the people in the allied fleet, especially those who had been in it for the last couple of years, still didn't believe in the concept of intelligent Cacas. He still thought them a stupid species himself. Which didn't mean they were without outliers. And some brilliant outliers could lead the stupid to victory, as long as too many unpredictable events didn't rear their heads at the local level. But if his people still thought the enemy was only capable of bad decisions, they would grow complacent. He could teach and preach all he wanted, but human nature, and the nature of most aliens, was such that they learned best through mistakes. In war, those mistakes could lead to no further learning, since the dead could only learn how to rot.

So far, everything in the system that Admiral Garasra's force was entering, the one they called Yellow Five Thirty for lack of another name, was as quiet as could be expected. The ships within the system were maneuvering, giving themselves away at a distance, looking like they were frantic. What every commander wanted to see out of an enemy. And what the enemy knew the attackers wanted to see. That was the problem.

* * *

Vice Admiral Cawrast Garasra was sitting in his command chair on the flag bridge of his designated command battleship, Thunderer, his sharp eyes switching back and forth from the system tactical plot to the bank of holo viewers to either side. Everything was as expected, which worried him as much as it did the grand fleet commander. He had given every appropriate order for the situation. Every part of the force was moving as it should toward its objectives, or sitting in space with their protective escorts around them.

Every ship was at a high alert status, just below battle stations, allowing one third of the crew to take refreshments and rest. It would be over thirty hours before they reached the planet, and there was no reason to keep everyone at their stations the entire time. Tired crew made mistakes, which could lead to disasters as damaging as battle. The logistics train, along with his carrier force, was at middle alert status, half the crews at rest. The flight crews for the fighters, minus the couple of squadrons on actual combat patrol, were relaxing in their ready rooms, able to get to their fighters in seconds and launch in less than a minute.

Of course, the ground assault troops, a division of Marines and one of Imperial Army soldiers, were either at rest or at training. That was up to their own commanders. They had already trained relentlessly at their ground bases, and the admiral didn't think they needed further training. Since that wasn't his call, he decided not to worry about it.

The flag bridge was fully manned, of course, most of the first shift com officers and techs at their stations, ready to send out the fleet leader's commands, or inform him of his subordinates' thoughts. There were ten stations to the admiral's left, seating four humans and six Klassekians. The dozen stations to the right were occupied by sensor, tactical and analysis officers, all ready to give the admiral their information or their take on things. Not all of his first line people were on the bridge. He had enough spares to keep them semi-fresh.

Are you going to show something you haven't so far? he thought, still staring at the plot, his eyes roaming but coming back to the logistics/carrier force sitting outside the system. If he were the enemy commander that would provide a prime target. He had hoped he had done all he could to dissuade them. Hope was a fragile concept to base the safety of several tens of thousands of spacers and their valuable ships on, but it was all he had.

* * *

“Could we please turn the gravity down,” complained one of the guys on the other team, sweat running off his face as he bounced the ball on the hard court floor.

“It's only set at one point three,” said a smirking opponent.

Corporal Charles Han thought the gravity was a little tiring himself, but wasn't about to say anything that would bring kidding down on him. Han was from a light gravity planet, point seven-one to be exact, so this gravity was near twice what he had developed in. Of course, the basic and infantry courses had been on Forge, a heavy gravity planet at almost one point five. Those courses had been torture, but with the nutrition the Imperial Army had pumped into him he had put on considerable muscle. Still not enough to make him comfortable in the gravity, but more than enough to raise his comfort level on most Earth like planets.

It would be nice if I could dunk it, thought the corporal, wiping some sweat off his brow. But that was the reason the other team had challenged in high gravity. They played in this kind of field, and they could actually hit their shots. They were up fifty-four to twenty-five, and it didn't look like they were going to fall behind anytime soon.

The basketball court, one of six in the large recreation chamber, was official size, meaning they had to run back and forth in a race that tired people out. Two of the courts had been configured for volleyball, two more combined into a small soccer field. The track was up a level, overlooking the floor, while the weight and exercise machines were in transparent walled rooms to the side. It was quite the luxury arrangement, but the eight million ton assault ship had more than enough room for the thousand plus crew and the five thousand troops it carried. Han had seen better. The battleships and carriers had recreation decks even larger, or maybe more of them, depending on their internal arrangements.

“You people need to hit your racks,” called out the voice of their battalion commander. “We need to be ready and alert in fourteen hours.”

“But Colonel,” whined one of the men on the winning team. “We've got too much built up tension to sleep.”

“And you know that's bullshit, Sergeant Harrison,” growled Lt. Colonel Tarashnikov, scowling from the running track he was standing on. “Set your implant to sleep and you'll be out like a light. Now get to it.”

Han was more than happy to get to it. He was in top shape, strong and lean. And his physical shape really didn't matter when he was riding more than a ton of battle suit into combat. That thing gave him the strength of ten men, along with the ability to run fast and jump high. The suits were the whole reason he had gotten into heavy infantry.

“I heard this landing is going to be different,” said Sergeant Harrison as they walked off the court and headed for the showers. “They're sending in the Rangers and some of those dog things to secure the LZ.”

The Corporal wasn't about to correct one of the squad leaders in his platoon, though he knew the Maurids really weren't dog things. Still, the news was good that they were sending recon down first, to make sure the Cacas didn't have a bad surprise planned for them. Too many good men and women had been getting killed lately soon after they disembarked from their landing shuttles. The Cacas, and the natives who still sided with them, were becoming adept at setting ambushes.

The scouts would insert much like the old airborne troopers of Old Earth had, then fan out and discover what was waiting down there. Staying in small units, they were more than likely to spot the enemy before any trap could be sprung. And if their luck ran out? Well, only a squad would be destroyed, and the support ships would have a target to destroy. That was a win win as far as Han was concerned.

* * *

“Take your break, Petty Officer Finn,” said the duty engineer of the port side reactor complex.

“I'd rather stay here, sir,” said Marcia Finn, shaking her head.

“Sorry, PO,” said the officer. “Second shift is coming on, and there just isn't room for unauthorized personnel.”

Marcia had been afraid of that. Going off duty in a situation like this meant sitting in her quarters, or at best hanging out in damage control center. When they went to full alert, battle stations, the first two shifts would crowd engineering, while third shift scattered about the ship to the various damage control stations. If thing went well, they would stay there, sealed in their battle armor with nothing to do. If things went badly there was a very good chance that damage control would do no good at all, and everyone would be reduced to atoms, to swirl along with those of the ship. There was a small chance the ship would just take damage. Then there would be work, trying to get systems back online. In the case of severe damage trying to save a ship and rescue shipmates, when the ship could still be destroyed with the next hit.

And now the bastards have stealth ships, she thought as she approached the lift that would would take her the twelve levels down and four hundred meters across to her quarters. From what she had heard, they weren't as good as the Imperial kind, nor were their launching systems up to the alliance specs. Still, they could sit hidden in the dark and drive a couple of one gigaton warheads into the side of a ship, making sure everyone aboard had a very bad day. If they came out of an accelerator, they could hit with enough kinetic energy to flash an eight million ton fleet carrier into plasma even without the warhead.

The engineering rating thought it might be better aboard a battleship, but even one of those monsters wouldn't withstand a high kinetic hit. The carrier she was on, the Northrup, was the same mass as a battle cruiser, but had less than half the armor. They weren't made to stand in the line of battle and trade blows with the enemy. No, they were supposed to remain well out of it and launch and recover their reason for being, the nine squadrons of warp fighters that were their long range weapons. Each carrier had at least one squadron on close space patrol to help find and defend against enemies. And another at ready status, able to launch in less than one minute. And seven squadrons most likely getting ready for strikes within the system.

They had a globe of tin cans arrayed around the four carriers of the battle force, along with some dedicated anti-missile light cruisers. Marcia thought, and it was a horrible thought, that the logistics ships that shared the protection of the screen were of more use, since they might intercept a missile the enemy intended for a carrier. Better them than us was the thought.

She entered her room, the luxurious eight cubic meters she shared with one other petty officer, one on duty in the engineering spaces. Compared to what the able spacers had, ten cubic meters among four of them, it was absolutely sinful. If she ever made chief, not something she was expecting anytime soon, sitting as she was on third shift, she would have her own cabin.

“Petty Officer First Finn reporting in,” she said into the air as she connected through the net to forward damage control, her assigned duty station for this shift. “Do you need me to come down?”

“Go ahead and take some down time, Finn,” said Ensign Grishan, the Gryphon officer in charge of the forward station. “We have as many people as we can fit in here. Stand by, and be prepared to suit up and go where I send you. You'll be in charge of a team, of course.”

Dammit. They're going to make me sit on the sidelines, thought the petty officer. She had enlisted right after the war had started with the Cacas, a patriotic gesture on her part. Now the Empire was conscripting people, after the initial surge of patriotism waned, and more citizens opted to work behind the lines in the factories and mines. Finn felt like the Empire owed her for her zeal in enlisting, and unfortunately they didn't seem to care.

* * *

Admiral Lokasure was back at it, inserting into another system to attack yet another enemy force. While not technically a suicide mission, since the analyst predicted that at least three quarters of the deployed ships would make it out, the admiral didn't like those odds. Still, they were better than any operation the old, too young, Emperor had planned. Lokasure still wasn't sure how he had survived long enough to gain a command like this, serving under idiots who took their orders from an even bigger idiot.

Lokasure had a much bigger force than in the last operation. Over a hundred superbattleships, Six hundred cruisers, and almost two thousand scouts ships for missile defense. It was actually a force that could move in and destroy the enemy battle fleet, but his orders were to avoid that. The enemy had too many wormhole launchers, and could bring more ships in by wormholes as well. Forge into the system and he was likely to find himself in a fight he couldn't win.

“Remember, Admiral,” said the higher ranking being that Lokasure had sworn his oaths to. “First indication they know you're there, launch everything you have. I would prefer that you wait until all of your assets are in place, but even a partially successful ambush is better than a slugging match.”

The admiral gave a head motion of agreement to his Emperor. Mrastaran was a male he could respect and trust. Not that the Supreme Lord wouldn't sacrifice Lokasure and all his males if it proved necessary, but all of the spacers knew this Emperor wouldn't spend their lives in folly. Mrastaran had been an able, some thought brilliant, combat commander, who had not been so puffed up with his own importance that he didn't study the enemy.

“All weapons are ready to fire, Supreme Lord,” answered Lokasure as the nausea of wormhole translation released its grip on him. “First indication and we're letting loose with everything.”

“Very good. And try to get yourself and your ships out of there after you hit them hard. If you can get everything away, so much the better.”

Lokasure didn't know if he could accomplish that. The humans and their allies were too damned good to take a punch and not come back swinging. He appreciated the sentiment, though. Nothing would strike a heavier blow to enemy morale than being hit hard and getting almost no payback. And this mission was as much about hitting them in their morale than destroying ships.

No, it wasn't the traditional victory every Ca'cadasan male had been raised to aspire to. It didn't have to be, and the strategy just might bring the humans to the negotiating table. Something the Ca'cadasan Empire had never before contemplated. Maybe the only thing that would allow them to survive as an autonomous people.

Chapter Fifteen

I have never advocated war except as a means of peace. Ulysses S. Grant

Mrastaran leaned forward in his chair, the series of holos hanging in the air taking his full attention. He had information at his fingertips like no other Ca'cadasan ruler before him. Jresstratta IV had caught the tail end of the wormhole revolution, and had never availed himself of it. Though truth be told, there were never enough wormholes during his rule to take advantage of it like Mrastaran was doing this day. Jresstratta V, the Younger, or the Fool, depending on who was labeling him, was never wise enough to gather all the strands. Mrastaran doubted the young male would have made good use of them if he had. Most likely he would have used them to spy on his commanders, finding the evidence he needed, real or imagined, to execute them for trumped up crimes.

This Emperor lived on information. There was actually too much for him to digest, which was why he had installed his sons and other smarter than average relatives to analyze what was coming in and shoot it up for his attention. Right now he had holos with immediately updated production figures, orders of battle, and near the center of the conglomeration, the feed from the battles about to start. He would try to keep from meddling too much, but if something seemed off with the decisions of the admirals in charge he would speak up. While not wanting to stifle their initiative, it was more important that the fights have the results he and his empire needed.

Mrastaran took a glance at production, something that would have little effect on this day, but greater rewards in the future. The Empire was now producing sixty wormholes a week. The experts were predicting eighty a week in the next two months. At that point they would hit a wall, since all the facilities that could be converted over would have done so, and building new ones might take more resources than he had to spend. They had been converting supermetal production planets that were nearing the end of their productive lifetimes. Cold planets that had been absorbing heat for many years, until they were about to reach the point where a massive industrial complex like that was no longer efficient. Fortunately, wormhole production didn't need super-cold facilities. New supermetal planets were under development, and the Empire would need every one of them to keep producing the ships they needed.

With a thought he pulled up the projected production versus what the humans could put out. The figure was jarring, thirty a day versus sixty a week. The humans were producing about three and a half times as many of the holes as he was, and their allies were adding a small but significant numbers to that total. It seemed that he could never expect to catch up. They would keep on churning them out, two hundred and ten a week, more than eight hundred and fifty a month, over ten thousand a year. He suspected that those figures were not entirely accurate, since they would have to perform maintenance on such heat producing facilities. But they would be accurate enough. While the best he could expect was just over three thousand a year. But if he used his three thousand wisely, they could come close to matching the efficiency of the enemy.

Right now he had ten wormholes committed to five ambushes, all set to go off this day, if not exactly at the same time. He wished he could set them off simultaneously, since the enemy might get wind of a pair of them from the two that went off before. Unfortunately, he couldn't make the enemy put their heads in the noose. However, even if only two of them went off without a hitch, he could be taking out fifty or more enemy wormholes for the cost of four of his. If the attack succeeded beyond his wildest dreams he might take out two hundred enemy warships for the loss of a couple of his.

That was important to him, to preserving of the lives of his best commanders and the ships and males under them. More than any previous Ca'cadasan ruler, he recognized that only intelligent males, putting their genes into the bodies of the most intelligent females, could reverse the trend of stupidity that had been growing through the last couple of millennia. However, he needed those intelligent males on the front, making a difference.

“We are in position,” said the voice of Admiral Lokasure over the com. “Firing in two minutes. No indication that the enemy knows we are there.”

Please make the attack count, thought the Emperor. And please come back from it.

Lokasure was a very intelligent male, some might say brilliant, who needed some more experience before he could be raised to high admiral, then finally to great admiral. He was what Mrastaran wanted on the spear point of his fleet. And he was in a very good position to get killed.

“Missiles will be coming through the wormholes in three minutes,” reported Lokasure, tension in his voice.

Mrastaran already had the information on the attack. The stealth craft, carrying its own wormhole, would release streams of missiles toward the enemy fleet, traveling at point eight light. They would be coming through in groups of ten, as fast as they dared send missiles from a normal space launch through the narrow exit. The larger gate, having finished the transfer of the attack force, would soon be transiting a larger wave of missiles, right at the logistics train. Then it would be turned, to send an even larger wave into the enemy fleet within the system. Those might or might not destroy that part of the force. It really wasn't that important, since they would have already been hit by the mine launched missiles within the system.

The Emperor waited, and it seemed to him that time had been hit by relativity, and was passing entirely too slow.

* * *

“Missiles are away, my Lord” reported the tactical officer. “From the stealth ship. The others will be coming through the gate in ten seconds.”

Lokasure gave a head motion of acknowledgment, gripping the arms of his chair as the tension ramped up. He could order his ship board missiles fired, depending on the situation. If the wormhole missiles got in close without detection and made their kills, he would evaluate the situation and decide how many volleys he needed to send in to finish the job. If they were detected far enough out for the defenses of the enemy to try to take them out, he might have to launch more volleys.

“Enemy force within the system is entering the first target basket, my Lord,” reported another officer.

“Prepare to send the signal,” Lokasure told his com officer. “But wait for my command.”

The com officer, unfortunately, was not the brightest officer on the bridge, and the admiral wondered if the male would sit there not taking any action if his commander keeled over dead. I'll just have to make sure I grunt out an order as I'm folding in on myself, thought Lokasure with a snort.

He wanted this to be perfect, the enemy in just the right place for the mines to engage, while the prey out here had no idea what was about to happen. Things didn't always work as planned, though, and the enemy fleet started to add in some more deceleration than expected. They would not be in the perfect position by the time the wormhole launched weapons reached the outer force. He should have expected as much. Perfection was something that was found in the holo dramas the females watched, not in the real universe.

His force was eighteen light minutes from the enemy. Far enough out that they didn't expect detection from the two squadrons of scout ships in a bubble ten light minutes out from the enemy force. Close enough that they could get wormhole launched missiles in quickly. There was always the chance that the enemy scouts would pick up the wormhole launched missiles in passing, but they were in a wide enough spread that it was probably they wouldn't. At least he could hope.

“We have a launch from the carriers, my Lord,” called out the tactical officer, an edge to his voice.

Lokasure gripped the arms of his chair tightly, wondering if that was the prelude of a massive launch toward his force. If so, he could try and maneuver, engaging the enemy weapons. There was no hope in getting his ships through the gate. It would take half an hour to get them through safely.

“They're warp fighters, my Lord. Squadron strength, vectoring to the edge of the force. Those already out there are starting to change their vectors back to the force.”

A change of shift, he thought, smiling at his own fear. Lokasure considered himself a courageous Ca'cadasan warrior, which meant he would put his life on the line for the Empire. It didn't mean he would be indifferent to the possibility of death. From what he understood, the new Emperor didn't want his warriors going into battle with a death wish. And he was only too glad to comply.

“First wormhole group will reach the enemy in seven minute, fifteen seconds, my Lord,” announced the tactical officer after some time had passed.

Which meant they had passed the outer globe of scouts without detection, since those ships were still patrolling as if nothing had happened. The next most probably detection point was at the one light minute mark. They wouldn't be boosting, but the grabbers would be powered up and ready to go. A close enough search by focused sensors could pick them up. The problem for the defense was those missiles could be coming in from any vector along the globe surrounding the force, and they could only focus scan small portions of it at a time. Still, things could happen.

“Fifty seconds till impact,” called out the tactical officer a little under seven minutes later.”

“My Lord. Their inner shield of scouts are grav pulsing. And accelerating at five hundred and forty gravities.”

“Course?”

“I can't tell for all of them, but the nearer ones are boosting to get into the way of our missiles.”

Lokasure gave the Ca'cadasan version of a nod. Those ships had almost immediately gone into a maximum accel profile, most probably well above the capacity of their inertial compensators to handle. Anything not in battle armor or sitting in an acceleration couch was being bounced from bulkheads, bones snapping. The admiral stared at the icons of the boosting ships with a feeling of respect. Humans were even less willing to sacrifice their lives, yet the dozen ships moving, the other two score or so in the background, were furiously hurling themselves to sure death and destruction to try and save the more valuable ships behind them.

“Those have to be com pulses we're picking up over the grabber boost, my Lord. They're warning the rest of their fleet.”

And they would be pulsing every sensor they had in the direction the missiles were coming in from. In seconds they would have a picture of that part of the attack.

“Send the signal to the closest group of mines. Fire on the enemy. And get a volley of our own weapons out to engage that close force.”

He wasn't sure how much of it would still be there when his ship launched weapons arrived. He was sure that there would be very little left after that wave moved through them.

* * *

“Signal from the Dampher,” called out the com officer on the bridge of the fleet carrier Northrup, looking back at his captain with a concerned expression. “They're picking up twenty, no make that thirty, missiles, coming in at point eight light.”

Captain Gail Merkle looked up in alarm from the report she had been reading. Suddenly the tale of discipline and accomplishment of the crew had no importance.

“Order all destroyers and cruisers in our task force into defensive positions,” she ordered, looking over at her battle armor, wondering for a fleeting moment if she would have time to don it. And if it would make any difference if she did. “Begin boosting on a course that will put us as far outside their vector as possible. Emergency accel in ten seconds.”

Which meant that any crew no in battle armor had less than ten seconds to make it to an acceleration couch. Any that didn't were going to find themselves flung into the nearest bulkhead at eight gravities. There would be serious injuries. There would be deaths. And if the carrier couldn't avoid being hit neither might matter.

The commodore in charge of Northrup's task force was asleep, probably just coming up to wakefulness confused. Merkle didn't have time to wait for orders, so she gave them. If the commodore, or the rear admiral in charge of the larger formation, wanted to countermand them later, that was up to them.

“Rear Admiral Kasagama is ordering all ships to go to evasives,” called out another com officer.

Well, good to know that my decision won't come back to haunt me in a board of inquiry, thought the heavy set blond woman. That was the least of her worries now, as she watched the screen rolling counters, at the same time realizing that they would be spearing space with lasers and particle beams.

“All fighters are to launch,” she ordered. Getting those craft into space was of paramount importance. Once they were there, and the situation had developed, they would know whether they were on defensive or offensive patrol.

“Missile launch in-system, ma'am,” called out her sensor officer. “Estimated ten thousand weapons to the port flank of the fleet. Range twelve light seconds.”

Merkle hadn't thought her heart couldn't sink further, but it did. Bad enough that the enemy was hitting the fleet out here, where it was weak. That they were also hitting the strength of the fleet at the same time indicated that they thought they had enough power to wipe out the entire force. Which meant there would be no relief for the ships out here, if they survived long enough for that to even matter.

* * *

“Battle stations, battle stations. This is not a drill.”

“What's going on?” asked Petty Officer Finn as she sat up in her bed. She hadn't been able to sleep, but the comfort of her rack had seemed the perfect place to do some reading. The chief's test was coming up, and she was determined to pass it on the first try. That wouldn't insure promotion, but failing it was a guarantee of being passed over for the current cycle.

“Get in your battle armor and report to your damage control station, Finn,” shouted the voice of the forward damage control officer, Ensign Grishan, his Gryphon accent pronounced from the stress.

She was just about to swing out of her bed when another voice stopped her.

“Prepare for emergency boost. Repeat, prepare for emergency boost in five seconds.”

Oh shit, went through her head as she fell back in her bed and ordered it to rotate through her implant. The bed moved swiftly, placing itself in the most likely orientation to cushion her, while restraints wrapped around her limbs and body.

The heavy gee forces shoved her back into the bed, hard, and the air was driven from her lungs. The cries and screams of crew came in from the corridor, people who had not been able to get to a safe place before ten gravities hit. There would be a lot of broken bones out there, even some internal injuries. Not Finn's problem. The ship medics would get to them, the worst injuries going to med bay. Her job would be to take care of the injuries to the ship.

If she didn't pass out from the pseudogravity pulling all of the blood to the back of her brain, leaving nothing to feed her reasoning centers. Or if she didn't join a cloud of spreading plasma that would be all that was left of the ship if it was hit too hard.

“Vector change,” shouted a computer voice over the intercom. In high gee it was difficult to talk, but the automatic systems were keeping everyone informed. The bed started to move, turning to adjust to the changing vector.

“Brace for impact,” continued the computer generated voice. “Brace for impact.”

“Fuck,” whispered the petty officer with what little breath she could gather. Impact could be a hammer blow that threw everything around. Or a penetration of the hull, sucking unarmored people out into space. Or the sudden blackness from which there was no return.

Vibrations came through the bulkheads and into the bed. Counter missiles flung out by accelerator tubes, close in weapon systems firing. And then the hammer blow. No vibrations this time, but a slam from the side that caused panic. Finn sure that she was dead. The bed ejected even more of the soft restraints, sealing her into a protective cocoon. Just in time to protect her from the second hammer blow, coming just over a second after the first. The lights dimmed for a second, and she lost contact with the ship's computer that was in constant touch with her implant. A couple of seconds later everything came back online. Warships were nothing if not redundant, and every power system and wifi hot spot was back and running almost instantly.

“Self diagnostic,” Finn said with slurred speech, repeating the same command mentally over her implant.

“Minor contusions and bruising throughout your body. Diagnosing a stage three concussion. Recommendation, sedation until medical personnel can see to you.”

“Belay that procedure,” she ordered. This wasn't the time to baby herself, no matter how serious the injuries. She didn't have internal bleeding, or at least not enough to worry about for the moment. “Ordering stimulant injection, along with a booster of nanites.”

“Confirmed,” answered the computer.

“And release my power armor from its cubby,” was her next order as the euphoria of drugs and nanites swept through her like a healing wave.

The wall panel nearest her bed slid to the side, revealing the storage compartment that housed her engineering armor. The suits was similar to the heavy armor used by Imperial infantry and marines, much more stout than the medium suits used by the rest of the crew. Diagnostic holos came up, placed in the three dimensional space by her implant. Everything looked good, all systems go and fully charged, as was to be expected in the self servicing cubby.

“Release me and open the suit.”

“Advise caution,” replied her mechanical mother, but the suit moved out of the cubby on its frame and opened, ready for her to mount it.

“Understood. Show priority damage points.”

A series of holos sprang into existence around her as she pulled herself out of the bed and put her feet on the floor. Finn noted that the gravity had dropped, though she still felt the vibrations of working grabber units through her feet. Meaning the ship still had power, and was boosting.

She looked over at the holo that was blinking red, her mind linking and gathering the data. Potential reactor breach. That one she would ignore, as best she could. There were plenty of people in engineering to deal with that, and more hands would just get in the way.

The second holo started blinking as she rejected the first. This one a hull breach, dozens of compartments and corridors open to space. Most of those compartments had been scoured clean of life, though there was a possibility that some people might have survived. If they were in their armor they might survive. Anyone who wasn't was surely dead, and this wasn't the time for body recovery. She rejected that holo and moved on to the next, first glancing at the overall damage schematic of the ship.

The Northrup was a mess, with more red than green showing on the holo. The port side had taken the most damage, particles and plasma burning deep into the ship. She was on the starboard side, but there were still hull breaches that reached around the curve of the hull. The fleet carrier was about the size of a battle cruiser, with less armor than the light capital ship. It wasn't meant to go into a slugging match with other ships. Its whole reason for being was to launch its fighters, recover them, then launch them again. It still had all the safety systems of a warship. Fire suppression, plasma fields, redundant systems. Its reactor and antimatter storage containers were just as heavily armored as those of a battleship. Good thing, or the ship would already be gone.

The third holo looked like a good place for her to be. Three interconnected compartments that were surrounded by vacuum, with dozens of crew, most without their suits of course, trapped in them. The diagnostic indicated that there were ten or so soft suits, and two of battle armor, in the spaces. Not enough for the people within. There were weak points in the bulkheads that might give way if the ship took even a light hit. A quick perusal found some other areas of concern, but nothing that couldn't wait, or didn't have other damage control teams already assigned.

“Finn reporting in,” she sent to the local damage control center as she backed into her suit. Her arms, legs and body fit into the cushioned compartments, her head against the rear of the helmet. The probe went into the port in her neck, giving her a physical connection between her brain and the suit's computer. The open parts of the suit closed around her sealing her in, as numerous needles poked into her flesh, allowing the devices to connect to her biological systems. She grunted slightly as it made the sanitary connections that would take her wastes and recycle them. The seals shut, and the nanites in the skin welded it together, making the seams as strong as any other part of the suit.

Diagnostics came up on the HUD, everything at full power. She took a step forward, the suit moving like it was part of her.

“Agreed,” came back the reply of the damage control officer. “Good to see that you made it. I'm sending out orders to nearby personnel to join your group.”

The names and com links of nine spacers came up on her HUD, giving her command of them.

“Peters, you and Chou grab the heavy laser cutters. Yanotov, you and Shakira get some environmental bubbles. Let's get this thing done.”

If they got those two dozen odd people out of the compartments and to places where they could mate with suits, that would be more bodies to work on getting things back to working order. Though, having looked over the schematic, she didn't think anything short of a shipyard was going to get Northrup back together. If it didn't get hit again, and make all of their efforts useless.

* * *

“Incoming missiles,” shouted the voice over the intercom. “Brace for Impact.”

“What the fuck,” shouted Corporal Charles Han as he sat up in his chair. “Brace for impact.?”

The corporal was in the company ready room, looking over the new additions to his suit. He had been going over and over the schematics, getting ready to use the armor in combat. The new mods included upgraded sensors that would read the heat signatures of everything within a hundred meters, specifying whether they were Caca or not. Maybe enough to save a unit from an ambush. Maybe not, but he was willing to put in the time to make sure he had a complete understanding of how everything worked. The suit was open in front of him, ready for him to mount and examine the new systems from within.

“Emergency boost in five seconds,” called out another voice.

Han didn't need an explanation of that. In less than five seconds things were going to get very heavy around here. Anyone not in an acceleration couch, or the tanks, was going to have a very bad day. There were a couple of the couches in the bay, troopers already sitting on them. And not one tank.

The corporal had always been quick on his feet, and even when his mind reeled in panic his body start to move. Standing, turning, and backing into his suit. With a mental command the battle armor started to make the connections, the probe going into the port in the back of his neck, needles in various points piercing his flesh. The suit closed, the nanite infused skin welding it shut and making it one continuous piece of armor.

A thought went through Han's mind in a fleeting flash that the suit wouldn't save him if the ship took a direct hit from a high relativistic missile. Of course, without the suit he would have been flung into a bulkhead and suffered numerous broken bones and internal injuries.

He started to pull up the diagnostic when what felt like the hammer of the gods struck the ship. The suit left the deck, propelled by the change in inertia toward a bulkhead. Its own grabbers cut in, slowing it in its trajectory into the hard metal of the ship. It was still a hard hit, and Han felt himself grasped by the cushioning of the suit, though nothing could keep his brain from slamming against his skull. The hazy confusion of the concussion made thinking difficult, but he forced himself to stay aware enough to make sure all of the suit's systems were booted up.

“Recommend shut down of Corporal Han,” said the suit computer. “However, due to the circumstances, recommend nanite injections.”

“Do it,” gasped Han, sending the mental commands which moved the armor under his control.

The soothing warmth of the nanite injection, billions of tiny robots that went to immediate work doing spot repairs on his internal systems, most importantly the brain, flooded his body.

We survived, thought the corporal, disbelief and gratitude warring within his thoughts. He didn't know what had happened, what had hit him. His suit computer was locked out of the ship's systems, the Fleet types not wanting some dumb grunt messing with their programs. It was obvious that something big had hit them. A missile? It was also obvious that it hadn't been traveling at a killing velocity, since the ship was still here.

“Incoming missiles,” shouted a panicked voice over the intercom. “Prepare for impact.”

“All nonessential personnel,” came another voice, this one with the edge of authority. “Abandon ship. Repeat, get your asses off this ship as fast as you can.”

Han didn't need to be told twice. His suit accessed the one system on the ship he had the authority to view. The corridor outside this compartment led to an airlock about a hundred meters toward the bow. He wasn't thinking about getting aboard a shuttle or a life pod. Too many people would be trying to get into them, and the spacers would have all the advantages of knowing where to go. The suit would have to do. It could supposedly keep him alive and fed for well over a week. He was hoping it wouldn't take that long, but there were no guarantees. And he still had to make it to the outer hull and into space before the ship breached its antimatter.

Chapter Sixteen

Know thy self, know thy enemy. A thousand battles, a thousand victories. Sun Tzu

“Incoming missiles,” said the flat computer voice. “Incoming missiles. Estimated impact in twenty-seven seconds.”

Vice Admiral Cawrast Garasra shook his feathered head at that last pronouncement. The computer system knew very well when those missiles would reach him. What it didn't know was whether or not they would generate hits. That part was up to him and his crews.

“How many?” he shouted.

“It looks to be around ten thousand, sir,” reported his tactical officer. “Electronic jamming is making it hard to get an accurate count.”

The count was close enough for his needs. That many missiles could hurt but not kill his force. How bad he was hurt depended on the skill of the defensive fire crews and systems. And, much as any commander hated to admit it, luck.

“All destroyers and cruisers are to head for their interception points,” he ordered, watching as those vessels took off at maximum acceleration well before they heard his order. He couldn't fault them on that, though he was very glad that his battleship wasn't tasked for that kind of mission. No, they were protecting his capital ships, which would do their best to protect the transports and assault ships among them. The destroyers couldn't take many hits, if even one, so they had to depend on their weapons and maneuverability to avoid being destroyed. Looking at the number of missiles coming in, boosting at fifteen thousand gravities, the admiral doubted any of them had that kind of maneuverability. The light cruisers had a little bit more survivability. Probably not enough. His couple of battle cruisers, well ahead of the main force, were better able to survive hits, though a relativistic missile would blast one of them out of space. The same was true for his battleships. Fortunately, the missiles were not traveling that fast, and his ships had been in decel for a couple of hours, getting prepared to enter the orbit of the planet some dozen hours ahead. Over the distance the missiles were traveling they would be up to at best point one light. The ships added point three seven light to that closing speed. A battleship could survive dozens of those kind of hits, even with the gigaton warheads. How combat ready those ships would be was another question.

He glanced over at the plot, his heart sinking as he saw what was left of his outer force. Only one carrier was still on the plot, at emergency boost and heading away from the enemy, a contingent of over forty destroyers and light cruisers taking the rear and attempting to provide missile defense. There were a trio of logistics ships, two tankers and a freighter, also on the plot, boosting at angles in an attempt to get away. Those ships were dead. The enemy would kill them, since even at emergency boost they couldn't do much more than three hundred gravities.

And what about the other three carriers? he thought, raging inside. That they were not on the plot only meant that they weren't boosting. They might still be there, heavily damaged. But the admiral doubted they were anything but plasma at this point.

“Admiral Garasra,” came a familiar voice as a holo formed in the air to the side of the system plot.

“Your Grace. I'm kind of busy here.”

“Understood. I just wanted to let you know that I have ordered the nearest force to head for your system. A scout force group. Sixteen battle cruisers and their complement of light cruisers and destroyers. They will be there in fifteen hours. So hang on.”

Garasra wasn't sure what help something fifteen hours away was going to do. And if this was all the enemy was going to send at him, he thought he could handle it.

“Understood,” said the vice admiral, turning his attention back to what was going on in his space.

The carriers and logistics ships were almost all gone. The three battleships out there were still in the fight, and from the readings they had only sustained light damage, if any. Seven light cruisers and thirty-six destroyers were still in the fight. Two of the cruisers and six destroyers were closely shadowing the damaged carrier, doing their best to ward off any attacks. Most of the rest were arrayed around the battle wagons, which were launching volleys of missiles in the direction the enemy weapons had come from. Some twenty were still far back, boosting at full speed to catch up to the other ships while taking out enemy missiles in passing.

There were no warp fighters on the plot, and the admiral feared that most had died on their ships. Even the damaged carrier wasn't launching, a bad sign. Damaged launch bays? Hits that flooded those bays with white hot plasma? Whichever it was, the fighters were not appearing, and the ship's com seemed to be out. Klassekian casualties? And he was missing a vital resource that would help him immeasurably here in the system.

The missiles had been standing still relatively in space. His ships, unfortunately, had still been carrying a lot of velocity, though they had been at full decel, and now were doing even more. They could go into accel now, and start to change vectors, but even with emergency power it wouldn't make much difference. His ships were providing most of the closing speed, and the enemy missiles would be engaging at just under point nine light.

His eleven battleship squadrons, forty-four ships, were arrayed in a series of mutually supporting diamonds. They were starting to maneuver themselves to get the maximum defensive weapons on the incoming missiles. The assault ships and transports were in as protected positions as he could ask, though still vulnerable. His forty eight light cruisers and one hundred and eighty destroyers were all in emergency boost, trying to get themselves into the paths of the missiles. The squadrons that had been on that forward flank were going to make it, while the others didn't have a chance.

“Order light cruiser squadrons one, three, five, and seven to remain in their current positions,” he told his Klassekian com tech. “All destroyers along with them to remain in place.”

“They won't do us any good where they are,” said the chief of staff.

The battleship shuddered slightly, launching counters and offensive weapons set to detonate as close to the enemy missiles as possible. Enemy weapons were already falling off the plot. Lots of them. Enough? The next fifteen seconds would tell.

“I suspect that there are more launchers out there, and I don't want the enemy to pull all my support out of position,” said the admiral by way of explanation.

The chief of staff grunted, giving the admiral his point.

* * *

Commander Sheila Francois-Ramirez gripped the arms of her chair with her armored gauntlets as the destroyer Matt Murphy went into maximum boost. While she knew that most of the ship captains in the fleet didn't insist on their people wearing battle armor while not at battle stations, she had always been more cautious than most. Even more, now that she was a married woman, her spouse serving on the other front. Not one to make her crew do what she wouldn't, she stood all of her watches while moving into an unsecured system in her armor, only leaving her helmet racked.

And how are you doing, Henri, she thought, picturing her husband in her mind for a second. Before their marriage they had served on the same ship. Promotions, followed by a request for permission to marry, had resulted in them being moved to separate commands. While she couldn't fault the logic, since a married squadron commander might hesitate to send the spouse into a dangerous situation, that didn't mean that she liked it.

She had wanted to become a wife and a mother, but she was in for the duration of the war. No resigning commissions, no leaving the service, as long as humanity was in the fight of their lives. With the current casualties rates it was looking like the duration would never come for her, as it hadn't for so many others.

Now she was trying to put her ship in the way of the missiles coming toward the fleet. It didn't look like she was going to make it from her current position. That brought feelings of relief and guilt. Relief that she wouldn't be in the way of those ship killers, missiles that deserved the name when it came to escort vessels. Guilt that someone else would be making the sacrifice.

“We're receiving orders from the flag to remain in our current position, ma'am,” said the Klassekian com tech.

Sheila let out a sigh of relief. She wasn't expecting the order she was hoping for. It was obvious the enemy missiles would reach their targets before she could do any good, and someone was thinking up there at the top.

“We have hits on the fleet,” stated the tactical officer. “Three cruisers. Thirteen destroyers.”

Bad luck, thought the commander, closing her eyes and saying a quick prayer. Over half of the incoming missiles had fallen off the plot, victims to counters, close in weapons, and the devastating shock of gigaton ship killers fired in a defensive role. More were falling off as she watched, until a couple of hundred weapons got into engagement range. All of those were gone in seconds, along with one battleship and two of the transports. The transponder on an assault ship started bleeping its distress signal, the sign that the ship had taken a near enough miss to cause considerable damage. A glance at the plot showed that it was no longer boosting. Never a good sign.

“We have missile launch from the starboard side, thirty light seconds ahead. Ten thousand or more. ETA, thirty-six seconds.”

“Move us into our defensive position,” ordered Sheila, her heart skipping a beat.

Her luck had run out, and now she would be moving into the firing line. She reached up quickly to close the visor of her hastily donned helmet, then ran the suit diagnostics. Everything was in the green.

“Launch counters. Maximum rate. And prepare to take incoming missiles under fire with beam weapons and close in guns.”

She had given all the commands that would be needed for some time. Possibly forever. The ship was on its proper course, sending out packages of destruction to blow enemy weapons out of space. Now, once again, it all came down to luck.

* * *

Corporal Charles Han made his way down a corridor that was crowded with people trying to get off the ship. Most were spacers in their lighter battle armor. Easy to push aside with the heavy infantry armor. Those in engineering suits, as heavy as the infantry combat version, were much more difficult. Han felt bad pushing anyone aside, but to him the most important person to get off this ship was wearing his suit.

“Imminent reactor breach,” came a panicked voice over the intercom. Some unfortunate sap who was staying at his station to help others to get off.

Almost there, thought Han, looking at the schematic overlay on his HUD. Another thirty meters, then a left for another twenty, and he would be at the airlock. He hoped someone had enough sense to leave the lock open. Otherwise, there would be more wasted time trying to cycle through. Anyone going through would have to at least be in a skin-suit and helmet, or they would be going out into space just to die.

The ship shook underfoot. The corporal had no idea what that meant, but shaking on a ship was never a good sign. He kept forging forward, reaching the turn and pushing that way. The ship was rumbling constantly now, and with his heart in his throat he reached the lock. Both hatches, inner and outer, were open, and people were flinging themselves into the blackness of space. As soon as Han was lined up he engaged his grabbers to full power, shoving the people ahead of him into space. With a thought he brought the suit to emergency boost, ten gravities, nothing really compare to everything else in space.

Han turned in space so he could see the future bomb the ship was about to become while moving backwards. He had no idea how far he needed to boost, so he decided to keep it up until the ship exploded or he ran out of power. As he watched pods ejected from the ship. A hanger door partially opened, then stuck in place. Alloy puffed into vapor, illuminated by the red of the laser, made visible by the very materials they were vaporizing. After some moments the hatch half came loose and fell away, boosted by its own ejected vapor. Right on its heels came the nose of an assault shuttle, boosting as fast as it could into space. Four seconds later it was followed by another.

I should have tried to get to the hangar bay, thought Han, a feeling of hopelessness settling into him. That might have been a good move. Maybe not, as everyone on the ship would be trying their best to make it to a pod or a shuttle. Assault shuttles wouldn't be the first choice, since they were not made for deep space, lacking the acceleration needed for vector changes that would get them to a habitable planet. The one thing they had going for them was toughness.

Another assault shuttle poked its nose out of the bay. It was not to be, as the middle of the assault ship went up in a blinding bright flash, taking the shuttle with it. The bow and stern tumbled away, moments before the cloud of plasma at the center flashed into another blast. There might still be survivors on the two sections propelled away. Or there might not. One of the shuttles that had escaped was now tumbling through space, hit by something.

The space around was a light show of brilliant flashes, warheads detonated in the distance. Han cringed as he thought of what would become of him if one went off closer than a couple of kilometers. Nothing good, and his lifeless body might drift forever through space after such an event. There were other flashes, more colorful, the beams of lasers intersecting the gases released by the combat. If one of those beams, made to burn through hull metal, hit his suit, all that would be left would be a mixture of him and alloys spreading into a thin cloud of gas.

So many things to kill me, he thought, grimacing. If he waited long enough the lack of air and water would do him in as surely as getting hit by a weapon. There was no way he could get to a planet, the one they had been heading for still hours away at his current velocity. If he did luck out and reach the world, the most likely result was burning up on reentry. Suits were made for atmospheric insertion, but he had none of the specialized equipment attached to make it.

“Radiation alert,” said the voice of the suit computer. “Severe radiation impacting the skin of the suit. Bleed through will result in a lethal dose within twenty minutes.”

“Direction of particles?” he asked, then gasped as the HUD showed it coming in from multiple angles. It made sense, seeing that there were so many radiation sources blooming all around. Warheads and reactors sending out waves of neutrons and gamma rays. He couldn't do much about the neutrons, but the charged particles were another matter.

“Raise electromagnetic field to maximum,” he ordered. The field was not made for this, being more of a diversionary shield against lasers and particle beams. Since it was all he had, he would use it.

“That will result in total loss of power in Four hundred and seventy-eight minutes,” said the computer.

And the good news keeps a coming, thought the corporal. “Alert me when we are down to sixty minutes.” He wasn't sure if that would help, but it would at least give him a choice.

A ship was streaking by, one of the battleships, a flash and it was gone, heading in the other direction. The corporal was not a spacer, but he was well enough read to realize that it was decelerating, while he was still coasting at his original velocity. He needed to reach a ship. Even a shuttle would do. If it didn't have the means or the room to allow him inside, he could at least latch onto the hull and let it carry him along. The suit had magnetic grapples in boots and gauntlets, and without any air resistance he could ride along no matter the velocity or acceleration. And take advantage of the shuttle's electromag field.

He used the suit's sensor to check on anything moving around him. The ships he picked up were too far away and moving in the wrong direction. There was the one shuttle he had seen leaving the transport, moving away. And the two tumbling pieces of the assault ship, also moving away on separate vectors.

The order was to not use the distress beacon right after leaving the ship, lest the Cacas come after him. No one wanted to be captured by aliens who would make one a meal. But if he didn't get help soon he doubted if he would. So he engaged the beacon, then started boosting toward the nearest section of the ship. It would take hours to reach it, and there was no telling what was still there. Still, it might provide a refuge, and that might was worth pursuing.

* * *

“Missile impact in fifty-four seconds,” called out the tactical officer of the Northrup.

Captain Gail Merkle looked at the plot which was now showing those missiles, boosting to adjust their vectors to take her out. To logistics ships were with her, able to keep up since the carrier could do at best three hundred gravities. Behind her, warding her from harm, were the remaining five light cruisers and twenty-nine destroyers of the screening force. Along with two of their battleships. One of the capital ships was at almost full combat capability. The other had been hit hard, and was actually having trouble making as many gees as the carrier. Merkle had decided to throttle back just a bit so the battleship, the Oregon, could keep up. She doubted the extra acceleration would do that much for getting them away from the enemy, while the firepower of even a damaged battleship could make a real difference.

She still didn't know what had fired on the force, and what might be there to come after them. Her own ship was a wreck, capable of three hundred gravities, leaking atmosphere from numerous holes. The hangar decks, the reason for being for a carrier, were for the most part gone, their fighters along with them. One hangar was still intact, though the hatch was welded shut, There were sixteen functional warp fighters in that hangar, and crews were down there frantically trying to free the hatch. Sixteen warp fighters might have not have seemed like much, not when they had almost five hundred before the attack. Still, they were a weapon to be added to the too few she had. The nine in the only still functioning hanger.

“Any luck getting other fighters on the com?” she asked the communications officer.

The tactical officer had suggested that one of the patrol squadrons might have survived, at least partially. If that was true that was more warp fighters, and she would welcome them with open arms.

“Nothing, ma'am.”

“Chief engineer here, Captain.”

“Report.”

“We're running on one reactor. Number two is just too unstable to trust at this time. I'm evacuating all of the antimatter back to containment vesicles.”

“Any foreseeable problems?”

“No, ma'am. We only need the one right now.”

“Keep me informed.”

There was so much that needed doing, starting with freeing crew that had been trapped in various compartments. Every one freed was another hand to put to work, if they weren't too badly injured. If so, they needed to get to med bay.

“Rear screens are taking the missile storm under fire,” called out the tactical officer.

Merkle looked on as more icons appeared on the plot, counters fired by all of those ships. Of course the logistics ships weren't firing. They would only open up on something that was an immediate threat. The carrier still had two laser rings and five counter tubes, and she was launching counters as fast as she could through those launchers.

“Get some people on moving missiles from isolated storage to the working launchers,” she ordered. The captain wasn't sure that her ship would still be there by the time those counters were needed, but she had to operate from the assumption that moving them would do some good.

The enemy missile swarm, about five thousand missiles moving at point eight light, started disappearing from the plot. Counters were making individual kills, while the detonation of ship killer missiles was taking out scores at a time. Then the enemy missiles hit the lasers of the screen, fired on spreads to take many engaged simultaneously. The enemy weapons continued on through the laser light for fifteen seconds, building up heat. Suddenly hundreds of missiles detonated, killing more of their fellows, and only a couple of hundred made it into engagement range, and into the millions of projectiles from the close in weapons.

Then it was over, with a light cruiser and three destroyers turned into spreading clouds of plasma. More ships were reporting damage, including one of the battleships. Not enough to leave behind, and the force continued on.

“We have ships boosting behind us. On a pursuit course.”

“How many?” asked the captain, looking at the mass of icons that had just appeared.

“Several hundred ma'am.”

And the good news just keeps coming, thought the captain with a grimace on her face.

Chapter Seventeen

Death never takes the wise man by surprise, he is always ready to go. Jean de La Fontaine

“We've hit their logistics and carrier force, Supreme Lord,” said the grinning male on the holo. “Three of the four carriers were blown out of space. Along with all but two of their logistics ships. Three of those destroyed, based on the fury of the blast, were antimatter tankers.”

“Very good,” said Mrastaran, looking over at the figure appearing on a second holo. “And no losses to yourselves, I see.”

The Emperor had expected there to be none, considered they had blindsided the enemy. Still, things happened, and a lucky launch might have hit some of his own ships. So far, this was a total victory.

“We are starting in pursuit of the remaining carrier, the two remaining battleships, two logistics ships, and a number of escorts. Based on the acceleration figures of that force, one or more ships were heavily damaged. My navigator estimates that we will catch them inside of five hours.”

Mrastaran digested that data. The fleet could kill all of those ships at a distance. The one advantage of coming after them, of spreading the kills out over time, was those ships would be communicating back to their own base. The entire drama would have horrible effects on enemy morale, whose leaders couldn't miss the message that the Cacas were toying with them. He expected them to take countermeasure to avoid such situations in the future. The expected response would be for their leaders to concentrate forces even more, slowing their advance. That was the best outcome he could think of at this point in the war.

“Be careful, Admiral Lokasure,” the Emperor cautioned. “Make sure you don't stick your head into a trap set by this retreating force.”

“We will lead with our scouts, Supreme Lord. And screens will be searching our flanks. Unless they have something set up ahead of time there will be nothing to worry about.”

Mrastaran had to agree with that. If the enemy hadn't known the attack would take place, how could they have anything in place to ambush his force. In the future that would be a concern, but not at the present time.

“So far you have not hit their inner system force with the same results,” said the Emperor. “Oh, I didn't expect miracles there, since that is a strong force, and you are only hitting them with mines so far. Just try to hurt them as much as possible, without risking your own ships.”

“No danger of that, Supreme Lord. With your permission, we will not be going into the system. We will, however, be sending wormhole launches at them.”

The ambush force had two wormholes, one aboard the stealth ship and one configured as a gate. The stealth ship was currently out of the battle. Mrastaran was not willing to risk the few ships of that class for little return. It had already accounted for several of the enemy ships, possibly the three carriers. The gate was being used much as he had used them on the other front, though the masses of the missile swarms would be lighter.

“Keep me informed, Lokasure. I have another battle to watch.”

The holos faded, replaced by another pair, as another male admiral made his report. There were actually four ambushes occurring at near the same time. Mrastaran had hoped for simultaneous attacks, but things didn't work that way across space. The fleets weren't moving on the same time frame. Some were almost to their target planets, while one was just starting to move into the system. Mrastaran thought that a fifth ambush might have to be canceled, since those ships would have to get warning before they were in the proper position for the kill. He could still attack, but that ambushing force would probably be lost. Not an outcome he desired. Still, four ravaged fleets for little enemy return was a more than satisfactory outcome.

Dismissing the last reporting admiral, Mrastaran pulled up an area plot and pondered the next targets. These ambushes would be triggered by other fleets, the ones engaged now given a break. If the enemy started assuming his orders of battle he would be able to pull more surprises on them. Confusion to the enemy was a toast used in the enemy military, and he wholeheartedly agreed with that sentiment. Confusion to the enemy could only benefit his plans.

* * *

“We have another launch, from port,” called out the fleet tactical officer.

When is this going to end, thought Admiral Garasra, sitting up in his seat. First an attack from port, then one from starboard about two minutes later. Now this one, from port again. Could he expect another from starboard. And how long would this go on.

The enemy had hurt his force. He had lost four battleships, a battle cruiser, three transports and over two dozen cruisers and destroyers. So far he was holding up well, and the second attack had actually done less damage than the first. That was due to all the ships being at battle stations, ready on the trigger. And re-purposing the wormhole launchers to send groups of counters into the enemy swarms. He wondered when the enemy would realize that letting his ships get closer before they revealed themselves with launches would be a better strategy. They still had to launch within fifteen light minutes of the main fleet, else the forward scouts pick them up with active sensors.

“Keep the starboard screens in position,” he ordered, sure that there would be another from that quarter soon after this one was taken care of.

“Another launch, sir. From above.”

That was alarming, and the perfect launch to make all of his screens respond.

“Starboard screens are to boost up to take care of that one. If one come in from below, the port screen will react.”

When would the next one come in, and from what direction? And counters were becoming a concern. Each incoming launch was taking four or five counter volleys. Warships carried a large number of the defensive missiles, and numerous launchers. Still, it wasn't intended that they could take on hour after hour of attacks without running dry.

“The rearmost wormhole equipped battleships are to start taking counters in through their portals,” he ordered, second guessing himself at the same time. “They are to be shuttled over to the other ships by every available craft.”

It would be a tedious process, and one that would probably not keep up with the expenditure. But it would delay his ships running dry, or so he hoped.

“I think we have another concern, Admiral,” said the chief of staff, reporting in from the battleship CIC. “We know they launched from a wormhole in the outer system. Possibly a pair. And I think we will have missiles entering engagement range with us soon.”

“Good point,” said Garasra, looking over at the plot and deciding on the course change he wanted. “In thirty seconds I want all ships to execute this vector change. Down and to port. That will force them to change vectors on the way in.”

The greatest danger of a wormhole launch, along with the velocity of the missiles, was their tendency to be invisible most of the way in, giving the target little time to react. But if the target moved from its expected position the missiles would have to change vectors from quite a ways out, giving them away.

The admiral thought that the days of forging into a system in a straight line were done. From now on ships would have to zig zag in transit, increasing the time to reach their destination even more. More tactics to slow down the advance of the allied fleets. Tactics the alliance would be forced to acknowledge.

* * *

“Just hold on in there and we'll have you out,” said Marcia Finn over the com.

“We have people in here without suits,” replied the person she thought of as the spokesman for the compartment. “And a lot of injured who can't move on their own.”

The spacer hadn't identified themselves, and she hadn't asked. If she was given an order that didn't make sense she would find out who that command was coming from. If they outranked her, a definite possibility, she would refer them to her commander. Who would assuredly back her up. After all, she was the expert here on damage control and rescue operations.

“I know that,” she replied, waving the two ratings over who were carrying the portable airlock. “Now let me get to work.”

The man on the other side of the com remained silent, for which she was thankful. Pulling up a schematic of the bulkhead, highlighting the actual structure, she used a laser pointer and highlighted where she wanted the end of the airlock to go. The ratings moved it into place and she moved in to lend a hand. The end in place she activated the resident nanites, waiting a moment for them to seal the lock to the bulkhead. That done she extended the lock out to it full three meter length, the other end pushing up against the opposite bulkhead. It too locked into place. The few struts locked, the tough plastic fabric pulling taut . She pulled the hatch around till it was facing her, then locked it in place as well. Pulling it open, she stepped into the lock and marked with laser light where she wanted the hatch into the compartment to be.

“I hope they're keeping the reactor under control,” said one of the ratings. “Be sad to waste time on a rescue only to have all of us go up in plasma.”

“Not our worry,” said Finn, though she cringed inside at the thought. “This is our battle now, and we need to pay attention to detail. One of you make sure we have medics here when I get this thing open.

“To the people in the compartment,” she said, switching back to the common rescue circuit of the ship. “Can you see the light of the laser marker.”

“We see it,” answered the spokesman.

“Use that as a marker to stay clear. We're starting the cut.”

She made sure the hatch behind her was closed, then activated the air tank she had carried in. When the lock was up to an operational pressure she signaled for one of the ratings to begin cutting. That spacer took the laser cutter and started to work on the bulkhead, carefully adjusting the depth so that the bleed through was shallow, lest some idiot in the compartment not follow her instructions and stand too close.

More spacers in engineering armor came hurrying into the corridor, carrying a number of rescue suits, including some cylinders meant to move the injured. Along with them was a trained corpsman. More advanced medical care would have to wait until they made it to med bay.

“I'm through,” said the spacer with the torch. “Now cutting up and around.”

The bulkhead was made of strong alloy, though without the armor of the outer hull. The laser torch made short work of it, a reminder of how fast a ship borne laser could burn through things after penetrating the hull. Sparks flew, metal flowed, and the cut worked its way around until it met up with the beginning of the slice. With a swift kick of her suit foot Finn sent the cut piece into the chamber to hit the floor.

“Wait,” she ordered as people started heading toward her. “I need to get this hatch in place.”

The people inside, especially those outside of suits, looked confused, but they stopped in their tracks. Finn pulled the next hatch open, converting it from a small square to a one by two meter frame. She inserted it into the cut, it filling out and forming a tight seal, then activated the nanites to weld it into place. The soft hatch appeared in the center. Touching the panel to the right side caused the hatch to fold open, and Finn walked into the room.

“We're going to take four people out who are already in suits,” she said, pointing at a couple of the people prepared for vacuum. “Then we will move rescue suits and evacuation cylinders in to get those not protected out.”

“The injured should go first,” said the man who had been communicating with her prior.

“We need to get some of you out, open the lock, and get the rescue equipment in.”

“But..”

“No arguments, Lieutenant,” she replied in a forceful tone, recognizing the insignia on his suit. “I am in charge of this operation. If you want, I can get the captain involved.”

She wasn't sure if the captain had time to get involved, but invoking the name of the highest authority on the ship was the best she could do.

The officer went silent, but he joined the other three they were going to get off first. Soon they were in the lock and Finn had closed the hatch. She could see them through the transparent covering, nodding to herself as they opened the other hatch after evacuating the air, then filing out. Another of her people stepped in, turning to grab a rack of rescue suits, then four of the evacuation cylinders. The rating closed the outer hatch, reinflated the lock, and Finn pressed the tab to open the inner.

There were seven injured laying on the deck, all with inflatable casts over at least one arm or leg. Finn didn't want to move them until the medic gave them a once over, so she threw the eight rescue suits on the floor and waited for the first eight to get to them to put them on. She moved four into the hatch and resealed it.

“Incoming missiles,” chimed over her com. “Prepare for impact.”

Christ. Not again. But it was going to keep happening, again and again, until they had finally escaped, or had been blown out of space. She knew for a fact that she didn't want to be captured, and took comfort in the fact that the captain wouldn't want that either.

* * *

“That was the last of them, ma'am,” called out the tactical officer.

Merkle looked at a plot that was free of incoming missiles, for the moment, while some of the missiles from the battleships, those that hadn't detonated close to the enemy weapons, were still on the way out. What it wasn't free of were enemy ships, boosting at full power, slowly closing the distance. And surely they would launch another volley, soon.

“I have a count on the enemy vessels, ma'am,” said the sensor officer, wiping the sweat from her brow, her helmet visor open.

Everyone's anxious, thought the captain, stifling a laugh at the silly notion. The bridge was cool, but anxiety produced its own heat. She had just received the report that the flag bridge was gone, Commodor Hough with it, which meant she was in charge of the whole force. Not how she had wanted to achieve higher command, but there it was.

“Give it to me.”

“Twenty of their superbattleships. Thirty-three cruisers. The rest are scouts, one hundred and three, no one hundred and five of them.”

That wouldn't have been an overwhelming force for the main fleet. To her reduced force, it was like a sure doom was on their tails.

“Do we have any open hangars?”

“The damage control teams are still working on the ones with fighters, ma'am,” said a crestfallen officer.

“What about the others?”

“Hangars four and seven are open, ma'am. But they have no intact fighters.”

“What about warp missiles? Are there any in the hangars. Reloads for the fighters.”

“Why, yes ma'am,” said the tactical officer, a look of confusion on his face. “But we have no launching platforms.”

“Could you set them adrift in space, aimed at the enemy? Then trigger them remotely?”

“Well, I think so,” said the suddenly elated officer. “We have two hundred in each hangar, ready reloads for the fighters. And eight hundred more in the central magazines.”

“Get all you can into space, I know that won't include those in the magazines, but you can get them moved and ready to fire. And go ahead and set up our own wormhole as a launch platform. Might as well use it to send more relativistic missiles at them.”

“Yes, ma'am. Will do.”

She wasn't sure how much good this was going to do her, but anything added to her firepower was welcome.

* * *

“We have warp missiles on the plot,” called out the tactical officer. “Four hundred of them.”

That would mean a hundred of their fighters, thought Admiral Lokasure, eyes opening wide in surprise. A carrier like that only holds a hundred and twenty of so, and with the damage they took, they couldn't have that many functional.

“Any tracks on their fighters?”

“No, my Lord. They... My Lord, we have incoming missiles. A hundred and twenty of them, coming in at point nine five light.”

Just wonderful, thought the admiral. He had enough ships to handle them, though he was sure to lose some ships to both types of missiles. Hopefully only scouts. He intended to totally destroy the enemy force, and bring the most ships possible back to serve the Emperor.

“Starting counter fire,” called out the tactical officer. The battleship shuddered as it started cycling counters, putting out a wave that would thin out the enemy missiles, leaving the rest for the lasers. But what about the warp missiles”

“Are we ready with the warp lances?”

“All the ships with them are getting them powered up,” called out the tactical officer, turning his attention away from the targeting holos for a moment.

Lokasure glared at the younger male, his expression making the officer cringe in fear. He kept his tongue in check for the moment, though he was tempted to order an immediate execution. But as the Emperor said, dead warriors learned nothing, and he was sure from the flush of the male's face that he would never make that same mistake.

The admiral wished that he had some warp fighters of his own, but Mrastaran was hording the new production for some reason, some major operation he was counting on their numbers for. Great for the future, but Lokasure thought he could really use them now, if only in an antimissile role.

The relativistic missiles were falling off the plot, but it was apparent that some were going to get through. Maybe a dozen out of the sixty, and most of those would fall from to the laser batteries. The warp missiles were moving through the counter fire as if it didn't exist, their speed and evasive maneuvers making it almost impossible for the defensive weapons to engage. A few hit, really just luck. They were moving too fast for the lasers to handle. A chance hit lasting microseconds would not get through the warps bubbles surrounding the missiles, and those were really the only type of hit they could expect.

A scout flashed on the plot, then disappeared, hit by a fast moving missile that converted it to plasma. Then another, then a cruiser. The remaining six missiles all flared as their brains decided they weren't about to make a hit, and went for the proximity damage.

Now the only threat were the warp missiles, none of which carried a true ship killer warhead, and by their lack of momentum they could do little more than tear through the hull in a narrow hole so their warhead could go off under the armor. Still, twelve scouts stopped boosting, only their momentum still carrying them forward. A cruiser took two hits, with the same result, and one of his battleships was hit as well, though its damage was minor.

“Send another volley at them,” he ordered, his rage at his losses bubbling within. “And keep firing until they're gone. I want them dead and us out of here.”

* * *

Han had never thought he could feel both bored and terrified at the same time, but here he was. There was nothing to do except keep boosting in what he hoped was a good direction, while scared out of his wits that something would suddenly appear to take him out. Of course, nothing would ever appear. Things out here moved too fast. He wouldn't know he was hit. Just one second there, a microsecond later, gone. Han didn't really believe in an afterlife, and of course he couldn't really believe that the universe would continue without him.

“Forty minutes till schedule electromagnetic field drop,” said the suit's computer.

Another problem. When the field dropped he was going to fry in the radiation storm all around him. He was still getting a harmful dose, between the neutrons the field couldn't stop and the leakage of gamma radiation through his suit armor. Of course he could leave the field up until he ran out of power, and then drift through space taking the full brunt of radiation while the suit grew cold. A choice between radiation poisoning and hypothermia. That last would probably be the easiest way to go, and in fact, if he did freeze, he might come out of it if he was picked up and given treatment. Not that he expected that to happen.

Checking his com suite he was gratified to see that he was still sending out a distress signal. That was great, except all the ships in the area might just be too busy to come to the rescue of a single infantryman. If they even picked up his signal with all the static that had to be flooding this region of space.

“Picking up missile launch ahead,” called out the suit's computer.

The suit didn't have the capabilities of a ship, and whatever it was picking up was a fuzzy return. Still, it could tell there were weapons out there, if not the total number, and that they were heading in his general direction. He wouldn't see them pass, they would be moving too fast. He wouldn't feel them in passing, since there was no atmosphere to move with them. If they were, one passing close by would pull him along in a fierce tumble. Ham definitely wouldn't feel one if it hit him. He would be dead in what had to be record time.

“We are in the path of the missiles, Corporal Han. Suggest we move.”

Looking at the wide swath that was definitely coming his way, heading for the fleet he was falling ahead of, he couldn't see any way to move completely from their path. Not with the pitiful acceleration of the suit.

“Track any close missiles and try to move us out of any that are coming right at us.”

“With their building velocity that might not be possible,” said the flat voice of the computer. Of course it was flat. It had no emotions, no fear, really no survival imperative. With its obedience subroutine it would do everything it could to make the missiles miss, but its capabilities were very limited.

“Missile swarm will be passing in eight seconds. Seven. Six. Five.”

Han could have done without the countdown, but he couldn't summon the breath to order it to stop. Gauntleted hands clenched into fists as he stared at the HUD. The corporal had been in ground combat, and had accepted that he might eventually die, as had so many around him. But to die helpless floating in space, not aiding his Empire and his people in the least? That was intolerable.

“One,” said the computer, and Han closed his eyes, waiting for the end. And waiting.

“Missile swarm has passed,” announce the computer. “Tracking vector changes towards the fleet.”

“Orient me to look at the fleet.” he ordered.

The fleet had been decelerating furiously, then changing its vector while he fell ahead. He had also been decelerating at less than a hundredth their rate, and the distance was far and growing. The corporal wouldn't be able to see the action. Everything was moving too fast. He would see the bright points as warheads went off, and the secondary brighter pinpoint that signified a ship breaching antimatter. The infantryman had the best seat in the house to the spectacle of a missile duel, and wished with everything he had that he was aboard one of those ships. At least then he would either survive or die, and not have to wait out his inevitable and eventual demise.

Small suns appeared in space in the direction of the fleet, closer kills. Then the smaller points as the distance from him increased. He thought he could tell what was going on by the different flares. Small ones were counters going off and not making a kill. A much brighter flare was a kill, a direct hit, warheads joining in simultaneous flame. There were small points, followed almost immediately by a large one. Those were counters going off just ahead of a missile, the radiation or particle field too much for the fast moving offensive weapon to take. Several times there were triple flares, probably a missile hit, then its own warhead taking out another.

The flares stopped, then twenty seconds or so later they resumed. Han could only assume that the first wave of counters was through, then the second wave struck. Three cycles of that and many more missiles started to flare, hit by the hundreds of lasers striking out in counter-weapon duty. Suddenly a couple of flares were linked in the same region, followed by a tremendous flare. That was a ship dying. And then it was over. The fleet was still there, still moving away from him. Doing him no good, but at least they were safe.

“Fleet is changing vectors,” said the suit computer. “Starting to accelerate back into the system.”

“How close will they pass?” he asked, hoping this might be his hoped for rescue coming his way.

“Closest approach will be just over two light seconds.”

Over six hundred thousand kilometers. Not close enough to do him any good, unless they decided he was worth rescuing. He thought he was, but a fleet in combat might not see it that way. Still, he had to do something and hope.

“Boost the distress signal.”

“Boosting signal fifty-four percent. It is at maximum. Power decreasing.”

That really didn't matter. If he wasn't picked up within an hour,he was probably dead. Unless.

“Can you initiate cryo?”

“Insufficient energy.”

Shit. He should have ordered that option sooner, but he had been too afraid of going in cryo and never coming out. Now he was destined to go into the blackness of death, and there was definitely no coming back from that.

Chapter Eighteen

Hence that general is skilful in attack whose opponent does not know what to defend; and he is skilful in defense whose opponent does not know what to attack. Sun Tzu

“The enemy fleet is changing vectors, my Lord,” announced the chief of staff, stomping onto the bridge.

Lokasure, of course, was paying attention to the force in front of him. The gate was charged with sending swarms of wormhole launched missiles, a hundred thousand every twenty minutes, toward the fleet insystem. None of those missiles had reached them yet, and he was wondering if he should have started them on their way much sooner. There were still a half dozen minefields to fire, set up to take them along the way in. But if they were making any kind of major vector change?

“Where are they heading?”

“They are boosting to port and up. That will take them out of close proximity to the last four minefields. We can, of course, still engage, but they will have more time to react.”

Lokasure was not sure that was a bad thing. The common wisdom was that missiles were more effective over range. They built up to higher velocities and were much more difficult to engage before they started their own final attack run. But defensive fire had grown more effective throughout the war. Better weapons, better command and control, and frankly better tactics. Wormhole missiles made the whole distance thing moot, but the humans still had thousands of the advanced launchers, while his Empire had a couple of score. And less efficient in their ability to boost their weapons. They could make up some of that with the gates, but it was not as efficient or effective.

“Send the signal for all of the fields to track and fire. If we can't get them in close range, we might as well send as big a swarm at them as possible.”

The chief of staff gave a head motion of acknowledgment, then moved to one of the stations to send the order.

“My Lord. We have more warp missiles on the way. Over eight hundred this time.”

“And still no sign of fighters?”

“No, my Lord. I think they don't have any operational fighters, and are dropping the missiles into space, then engaging them remotely.”

That made sense. Carriers were made to launch fighters, and fighters needed reloads of weapons to stay in the fight. That carrier might have had thousands of warp missiles aboard, and with no launch platforms, the human commander had done the only thing possible.

“We have wormhole missiles, my Lord. Thirty light seconds out and coming in at point nine five light.”

“How many?”

“A hundred and eighty of their smaller class, my Lord.”

That was also bad news. He had expected the battleships to have wormholes. The enemy had so many that almost all of their capital ships carried one, at least when they weren't themselves deployed through a wormhole. Now it seemed that the carrier, also carrying one, had configured it to launch, something they never did. Well, not never, since they were doing it now. And the fifty ton missiles allowed for launches of sixty per volley, instead of the thirty the old full sized missiles had allowed. The missiles didn't carrying the same amount of kinetic energy, but then they didn't need to. A straight on hit was still enough to kill most ships, and they had twice as many chances for an impact.

Why did everything have to change so fast, thought the fuming admiral. They had started the fight with the humans years ahead in tech. That advantage was partially illusion, as the wormholes made themselves felt almost immediately. Then the humans had jumped years ahead on the tech front. The Empire was trying desperately to catch up, but it was difficult when the human had so many loyal scientists in their nations.

And he was still having problems getting his missiles to hit. The humans had excellent electronic warfare suites, another tech the Ca'cadasans had ignored for too long. They found the frequency the Ca'cadasans were using for active missile sensors, and duplicated it, sending out spoofing echoes that pulled missiles off course, or deploying decoys that mimicked their ships. The decoys couldn't do that for long. They ran out of power shortly after switching on. But they didn't have to, and the humans, at least these humans, seemed to have an endless supply of the damn things.

Could they be bringing them over by wormhole? he thought, scoffing at the notion. That would mean another wormhole, beside the three he had already accounted for. And that was too many for that force. It was bad enough that so many of their specialized missile defense escorts had survived and were doing a very good job of intercepting those missiles that made it through the decoys. They had to be running low on counters, didn't they?

“Keep sending volleys at them,” he ordered. “As long as we have weapons to launch.”

He was still taking out ships, a couple each launch, all screening vessels. But they would soon run out of those, and the capital ships would be the only possible targets. Then they would start hitting them as well. Wouldn't they?

* * *

“The Shodaki Maru is reporting that they are almost out of decoys,” reported the com officer, a worried expression on her face.

Why shouldn't she be worried, thought Merkle, grimacing. The decoys were one of the few advantages they had. Outfitted with brand new tech, they were doing a great job luring enemy missiles into fruitless attack. The logistics ship had been packed to the brim with them, their one bit of luck. Tens of thousands of them, but even that number wasn't limitless.

“Keep deploying them as needed,” she ordered. They would run through the remainder quickly, but what use to save them and not deploy a sufficient number. So far the high tech devices, weighing in at just under a hundred tons each, had perfectly mimicked ships, sending out graviton emissions and sensor returns that enemy missiles couldn't distinguish from the real thing. Most were fooled into attacking the decoys. A missile hitting one, despite its small size, still resulted in a detonation. Most times the missiles detonated for proximity kills. And the few that moved off to look for other targets were easily tracked and killed. Which left at most a few hundred weapons that actually attacked her ships.

If only if we had them deployed before the attack, thought Merkle, shaking her head. Then they would have the majority of the force still intact, four wings of warp fighters ready to attack, and another logistics ship ready to deploy more decoys. Unfortunately, she had what she had, and nothing else was coming.

“That was the last of the warp missiles,” said the tactical officer. “At least all we have access to.”

Merkle nodded. They still had the two hangars which were sealed off behind damaged hatches. A full squadron of sixteen attack birds, a partial squadron of nine space superiority fighters in the other. And plenty of reloads, doing as much good as the fighters with the hatches closed.

“How long before we have those hangars open?” she asked the damage control officer on the holo hanging in the air.

“It's looking like the one will be clear in the next ten minutes. The other will take a bit longer.”

“Can you put any more people on them?”

“All the rest of the damage control crews are busy trying to get people out of compartments, ma'am. That should be their priority, right?”

“Wrong,” said Merkle, already regretting the order she was about to give. But if her ship was blown out of space it wouldn't matter if those people were stuck in a compartment or free to roam the ship. “Get everyone you can on those hangars. When they are open they can go back to search and rescue.”

“But, those people need to get out, ma'am.”

“You heard my order. Now get to it.”

The abashed looking officer nodded and started sending out orders. It might make some of her people unhappy to leave shipmates trapped, but they could be as unhappy as they wanted if they were still alive.

“Oregon is reporting that they have lost more boost. The last near miss took out a pair of grabbers. Juno has reported no appreciable damage to themselves.”

Well ain't that wonderful, thought the captain. The choice was to continue on, which might buy them a little more time, or stay with the battleship so it could stay in the diminishing defense net. Juno, the other battleship, was still at full boost capability, but the carrier couldn't take advantage of that with their reduced capacity.

“Run some numbers for me, tac. Could using a light cruiser and a destroyer as pusher vessels get the Oregon back up to speed.” She didn't want to use Juno as a pusher, since it would mask some of the intact battleships weapons.

The tactical officer went to work, putting the figures in and getting the results. He then turned back to look at her.

“We can get Duluth and Zhou mated with her stern in five minutes and add their boost. That will give Oregon the same capabilities as Northrup. There's likely to be some damage to the ships before they get properly grappled, and the forward laser rings of the cruiser and destroyer will not be able to bear.”

But the two rear rings of the battleship will be able to engage, and well as the stern rings of the smaller ships, she thought, nodding. In the long run, allowing the battleship to keep up without slowing the rest of the small force was a net win.

“Make it so.”

“Hangar four should be open in four minutes, ma'am.”

Good. That would give the enemy something else to think of. Not enough to destroy the enemy fleet, but maybe enough to distract them.

* * *

“Finn. Drop what you're doing and report to the work detail outside of hangar six.”

“But, we're almost ready to begin the cut into the compartment,” cried the petty officer. “I already have the airlock in place and the people inside are waiting to get out.”

“Finn. Drop everything,” said the damage control officer. “That means now, spacer. This comes from the captain. Now move it. I'll handle contacting the people in that compartment.”

Marcia Finn growled to herself but she really didn't have any choice. An order was an order, and someone high above her pay grade had decided she and her crew was needed elsewhere. Still, it was wrong that people were waiting on her, and she had been told to turn her back on them.

“Okay, everyone. Pack up all the equipment and head to the nearest airlock out. We've got a job to do outside.”

That brought some grumbling for her people, not that she blamed them. She would let it slide as long as they did as they were told and only grumbled. No one liked working outside during an ongoing battle, but the well disciplined crew worked fast.. In less than a minute they had their equipment bundled and were on the way to the nearest lock.

Finn looked out into space as she secured her boots to the hull. Her HUD was showing the path to where they wanted to be, less than a hundred meters up and forward along the hull. She could see other teams moving toward the same point, but nothing of what was there around the hull curve.

“Let's move,” she ordered, shooting a magnetic grapple on a line that struck the hull fifty meters further.

Her suit quickly reeled her in that direction, and she landed and reengaged her boot grapples. The large torch, at least her part of it, shifted slightly but mostly held in place. It would be nice if she could just use her grabber to fly to the region of interest, but coming off attachment to the ship meant it was still boosting at three hundred gravities, while her suit, only capable of ten gravities, would swiftly fall behind. And in a battle it was unlikely anyone would decelerate to come get her. She would be lost in space, potentially picked up by enemies she wanted nothing to do with.

Two more evolutions and she was at the hatch. There were dozens of figures in engineering suits gathered around a section of hull that was bowed in, gaps at the sides showing that this had been a hatch. Its size indicating a craft hatch. Torches were flaring at a dozen points as people were trying to cut through the hatch, and Finn walked and led her crew to a portion that had no one working on it.

The laser cutter, one powerful enough to cut through a bulkhead, had a difficult time here. The hatch and the hull around it were armored, almost a meter of hard alloy. It had been nanowelded on the side, metal becoming one with other alloy, making it a tight armored whole. The bowing in, hit by something, had sprung some of it, but most was still intact, and the nanites within had been destroyed were no longer able to do the job.

“Get cutting,” she said as another torch came up.

It would really be easier if one of those battleships just tuned its laser rings on here, she thought as she cut through the metal. That would work, if they could get that ship in place, and if it didn't burn through too fast and destroy whatever it was they were trying to get out of there.

Another team settled in a couple of meters down and started to work, then another even further down.

“How are you doing, Finn?” asked the damage control officer.

Finn was sure he was asking around to all the teams, and she had no way of knowing the overall progress.

“It's tough sir, but I'm just broke through. I'm estimating a meter a minute at best.”

“Try to go faster. We need the fighters free from that hangar, immediately.”

A schematic appeared on her HUD, showing where the cuts were being made, and the overall progress. It didn't look like they were going to clear this hatch anytime soon.

“Just get those cuts done, and I'll tell you when to back off. When I do, back off quickly. They're not going to have time to deal with collateral damage.”

What collateral damage? she thought, cringing inside. That meant that something inside was going to fire whatever it had to take out the weakened hatch. And that kind of firepower would vaporize anyone in a suit that got in the way.

* * *

“We're ready to go, sir,” said Commander Winifred Rodriguez over the com.

Rodriguez was a squadron commander of one of the only two squadrons still available to the Northrup. Hers was a sixteen ship strong attack fighter squadron, the newest type, carrying eight of the warp anti ship missiles. They also carried a couple of powerful lasers, only of use when the ship wasn't in warp, but at the moment the most important weapons they deployed.

The commander looked around the small bridge of her fighter, a two thousand ton ship with little in the way of amenities for the crew. Six on the bridge, pilot, copilot, com tech, sensor tech, engineering tech and of course the commander. Their chairs could convert into sleeping couches when needed, and there was a head and tiny galley behind the bridge. The engineering compartment at the stern held two more crew-members, an engineering officer and his tech.

“Give it one minute, and wait for the targeting information to come across,” said the wing commander, Captain Stafford, the fighter boss. “When I give the word, blast your way out.”

“Wilco.”

“The other squadron is out and forming up,” said another voice over the com, identified as Lt. Commander Jugi, in charge of the remaining nine ships of his squadron. Unfortunately, when the ship had been hit, some damage had come through into that hangar and destroyed seven of the space superiority fighters. The one positive out of that was that the hatch had been made considerably weaker than the one that was trapping Rodriguez.

“Stand ready, Jugi, We'll be out in a moment and form up with you.”

“Start getting those reloads out into space,” came the voice of the captain.

“All of them?” asked a voice identified as an ordnance officer. “What about reloads for the fighters.”

“They're going to be strictly for missile defense once they make their attack,” said the captain. “We need the rest of those weapons in space and ready to launch.”

Rodriguez didn't like the sound of that. Her birds were made to attack using warp missiles. Unlike the space superiority fighters, which had a secondary missile control mission. It wasn't up to her, and she realized the captain needed fire heading into the enemy, and it would take too long to hangar the fighters and rearm them.

“You understand your mission, Commander Rodriguez?” asked Merkle, the stress of her situation quite noticeable.

“Yes, ma'am. Hit the bastards which our missiles, then go on missile interception. Understood.”

“Don't get too close. We caught them off guard with our first launch, but after that they deployed warp lances. And I need you and your ships in space, not drifting as victims to a collapsed warp field.”

“Don't worry, ma'am. I have no desire to find myself drifting in space at the tender mercies of the Cacas.”

“Target these points and wait for my signal,” said the lt. commander in charge of damage control.

A schematic came up on the forward viewer, showing the areas that needed the attentions of the fighter mounted lasers. Sixteen points, mostly the same size, the rest already cut through, leaving fifty percent remaining. Rodriguez moved her fingers, pointing to the schematic and assigning firing points to all of her craft.

“We're ready to fire.”

“Give the engineers a second to get clear.”

Rodriguez waited impatiently. She wanted to get off the ship before it was hit hard enough to convert to plasma, taking everything with it, including her fighters. Including herself. Not that she wouldn't feel for the spacers onboard, but if she had to go, she preferred it be in her fighter, striking at the enemy.

“Go commander. Blast your way out, then go and give them hell.”

“Wilco. All ships. Fire until the hatch is free.”

* * *

“All engineers. Get away from the hatch and make sure you're well clear.”

“What about our equipment?” asked Finn, looking for the best path to get away quickly.

“Leave it, Finn. If it's still there after they get out, you can go back for it.”

And get back into the ship, where we belong, she thought, stepping carefully away, making sure she never lost grapple contact with the hull.

Ten steps away and she turned, crouched down to get four points of contact, and waited for the fireworks show. She was not disappointed, as sixteen arcs of vaporized metal rose from the edges of the hatch. Finn estimated that the holes they were punching were only ten centimeters or so in diameter, the the fighter lasers had burned through in a fraction of the time her torch was doing. Those were lasers meant to penetrate the armored hull of a ship. Really too small and underpowered to do much damage to a warship. Really more of a nuisance weapon, able to take out smaller vessels and maybe cause some concern to the captain of a warship. Enough for what they were doing.

The beams were visible through the alloy vapor, moving along as they sliced through the hatch. In less than ten seconds the job was done, except for one section that was a little larger than the others. That one went out in another three seconds, and the beams switched off.

“Engaging grabber units,” called out the officer in charge of the operation. With that the hatch rose away from the hull, slowly at first, increasing its velocity quickly, until it was moving at speed, the distance growing.

A pair of fighters moved quickly out into space, followed by another, then another, until all sixteen were in the clear. The engineers were all waving, their cheering coming over the com. It was only a single squadron, but it was going to attack the enemy. That's all that counted. And then, with a visible ripple of space, they were all gone, into warp and moving faster than the light they were leaving behind.

“Orders, sir. Can we go back in and start to work freeing crew?”

“No, Finn. We want you to head on down to the ventral hyperdrive array. They can use a hand getting everything connected.”

Finn cursed under her breath. She really hated being out on the hull, and working on the hyperdrive array would be even worse. But it needed to be done, and if they could get into hyper they might be able to get away. Finn thought it over, shaking her head as she grappled herself along. No, when they got into hyper, the enemy would do the same. It really would not accomplish anything. Still, she understood why the captain wanted it. Hyper opened up other possibilities for a tactically astute mind. Finn wasn't sure if Merkle had that kind of mind. What she did know was that the Fleet was very good at promoting people into positions they could handle. The captain would have attended all the naval colleges on the way up. At least Finn could hope that was the case.

* * *

“Captain Merkle is reporting that she has deployed her warp fighters, sir,” said the com officer, the one who was monitoring the wormhole system. To either side were three Klassekians, members of six different sibling groups. Two were in contact with the remaining ships in Merkle's group, the rest with the scout squadrons accompanying Garasra. Some of them had lost siblings, and were still in a low level of shock, though not far enough to be relieved of duty.

What an amazing species, thought the Gryphon officer. So unique, so strong, and yet so fragile. All peoples in the Empire were known to have feelings for family members, some more than others. Humans were the baseline species. Gryphon were at one end of the curve. They loved family, but when reaching adult status they grew distant. Wanting to get out on their own and make their way without the help, or hindrance, of family. The Phlistarans had been on the other end. They stayed close to everyone in their extended families. Until the coming of the Klassekians. Their quantum link made them close to their birth siblings like no other species. A strength that made them valuable to the Empire. But the death of a sibling, a traumatic event to one who saw the death through the eyes and thoughts of the brother or sister who had died, was a severe shock to the system. Fortunately, everyone in the group shared the trauma, there for each other like no other species.

“How many?” asked the admiral, sure that the answer would not please him.

“Sixteen attack fighters, and nine of the space superiority type. Twenty-five in all.”

Out of the five hundred and twelve they carried before the attack, he thought, grinding his beak. There had been combat patrols out, but they had gone down quickly, heading for the enemy and getting blasted out of space by warp lances.

“What is she doing with them?” he asked, hoping she could pull something that saved her ship and her command.

The officer talked for a moment, then listened intently.

“They are going to sweep in from the rear and hit the enemy, sir. Then go into missile defense.”

“Why can't they rearm and go back at them?” asked the tactical officer, looking over at the admiral.

“I think she used the missiles to attack on their own,” said the com officer, a quick smile showing on his face.

“They told you that?” asked Garasra, eyes narrowing. “And you didn't see fit to inform me?”

“We, we were dealing with a missile attack, sir. I thought you were too busy to listen to another report.”

Garasra shook his head, an emotional cue his people had learned from the humans. “I don't want you having to think about reports from important subordinates,” said the admiral, saying each word slowly, enunciating everything as clearly as he could. “If something comes in from the carrier force, I want to hear it, immediately.” He felt a chill when he said carrier force, since that group was reduced to one heavily damaged carrier and some of its protective ships. “If I don't have time for it I'll raise a hand. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. And I'm sorry.”

“That's how we learn,” he said, turning away and looking back at the plot. In traditional historical Gryphon such a lapse could mean death for the miscreant. The humans had allowed species they integrated into their at large society to retain their own customs, but had insisted on reforming their systems of punishment. Garasra thought that a good thing, mostly.

“We are tracking missiles changing vectors, sir,” called out the sensor officer. “Two hundred thousand. Range, three light minutes. Velocity, point nine light. ETA, three minutes, thirty seconds.”

“Start dropping decoys,” order the admiral, happy to see that he had several hundred thousand of the new devices. He hadn't been so sure about testing untested tech, but they had worked wonders for Merkles. “Begin cycling counters immediately.”

The mine launches had all been within less than a minute of striking when detected. This one gave them the time to react. A launch every twenty seconds meant they could get ten launches off before the missiles got to them. And get thousands of decoys deployed and signaling for missiles to come get them.

“Are we still boosting on the same profile?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are they still taking twenty minutes or so between launches.”

“As far as we know, sir.”

“Then in two minutes start boosting on this course,” ordered the admiral, his finger pointing out a course on the plot.

He would play this game as long as he could. It wasn't worth returning fire with his shipboard launchers, since the enemy would see the wave coming the entire way and would simply jump into hyper to get away. He was already sending wormhole launches at them, but the enemy was changing vectors every couple of minutes, something that benefited their quarry. If he could keep working his way in, avoiding any future mines, and making the time for the engagement of incoming weapons, he should do well enough. As long as they stuck to the predictable schedule.

* * *

“Things seem to be going well, Supreme Lord,” said Great Admiral Trostara, his personal chief of staff.

“Yes. Four of the attacks have gone off without a problem,” rumbled Mrastaran, looking at the five plots hanging in space to his front. On four of them the outer fleet, four carriers and all the logistics ships, were gone. Two of those still had most of their battleships, but those were always difficult to take out. And the enemy had some new anti-missile tech as well. Even the wormhole launched missiles from gate and stealth ships were having difficulty tracking targets, probably the reason most of the battleships had avoided ship killing hits.

The mine fields had taken a toll on the ships plunging into the systems, all five of them. Mrastaran hadn't expected to do much but present a nuisance to the enemy. They had gotten some hits in each case, enough to make the expense of the mines worth their while. All of the human fleets had since taken evasive courses that took them away from the gauntlets of mines, and made it all the harder for the gate launched missiles to approach without giving themselves away. That they had all done it at about the same point in the ambush indicated tight control at the top. That, or even more chilling, a high level of competence across the board. Knowing the humans he would have guessed the second.

If only I had such warriors in my fleet, he thought, as he watched the plot of the one ambush that hadn't worked to perfection. There was still a surviving carrier there, as well as a couple of logistics ships. He knew he couldn't ask for perfection across the board, and he thought of Lokasure as the most promising of his commanders on this operation. It happened, according to the humans. You couldn't always predict all the variables, and something had interfered with targeting. And now they were trying to get away, too slow, but still zig zagging to make his wormhole missiles have to change vectors and give themselves away.

Zig zagging was a term the humans had used on their home world, back in the wet navy days. When things called submarines, the water equivalent of stealth/attack craft, had stalked them from hiding. By not presenting a predictable target the enemy was more prone to miss. And so it was proving now. The enemy was changing to random courses at random intervals. The missiles could still go after them, but they had to boost, making them clear to enemy sensors and giving them a longer engagement time.

Nothing he could do about it but let his commanders press their attack. Still, he sat there staring, as if that would do anything, and letting his mind wander back to the first problem.

He had put what he thought were competent males in positions they could thrive in, hopefully. If they didn't they were either killed in battle or relieved of command when their mission was over. Relieving didn't involve execution, as it had in the last regime. Those males still had worth, as administrators or trainers if nothing else. The problem was there weren't enough intelligent males who could think on their feet for all the command positions. He really needed every ship commander to be capable of fighting his vessel with brilliance. Instead he had eighty percent of his vessel captains competent enough to follow orders, and helpless when there was no one over them who could give them concise and understandable commands. And it wasn't a problem that was going to fix itself overnight. A new generation of officers, chosen to train based on their intelligence and not their family status. Possibly hundreds of years, and he had maybe ten if he could stretch this thing out. So he had to work with what he had.

Make me proud Lokasure, he thought, watching that admiral pursue the enemy. Even if the male didn't get them all he wouldn't take it out on the admiral. Give him another mission, and see how that went. If a pattern developed, then Admiral Lokasure could become a system administrator and another male would get a chance. But don't lose your fleet, was the last thought as he leaned back in his chair and took a sip on his drink.

Chapter Nineteen

The time to take counsel of your fears is before you make an important battle decision. That's the time to listen to every fear you can imagine! When you have collected all the facts and fears and made your decision, turn off all your fears and go ahead! George S. Patton

Sean was also watching five plots. Six if the one of the overall front was taken into account, hanging back behind the others. If he had known the Caca Emperor was observing the other side of the same action he wouldn't have been surprised. It was almost as if they were playing chess with each other, moving pieces across the board, sacrificing one here for a victory there. The Emperor would have been outraged at such a thought. These were people he was watching, with their own hopes, dreams and plans for life.

On the other hand, he couldn't afford to dwell on it. And the shattered hopes and dreams that came with every battle. That way lay madness. He could think about it on the way up to battle, then he must needs erect a wall between his feelings and his reasoning faculties. He owed it to the people making the sacrifice to make his decisions from the cold harsh position of reason. Mourning could wait, regrets put on hold. When Sean had been a junior officer he had wondered how the people in command had been able to live with their decisions? How his father could do the same? Now he knew. And if he had, he might have refused the throne. If there had been anyone else qualified that even wanted it.

“Are you watching this, Admiral Chan?” he asked, already knowing the answer to that.

Chuntoa Chan was the brains of research and development, the branch that had pulled the Fleet from the position looking at superior Caca tech, to forging ahead and punishing them with new toys. She was not a combat officer, though she had been allowed to lead a carrier force in one campaign as a bone to put in her resume'. She had performed well, and received a campaign ribbon to go on her dress uniform.

“I am, your Majesty. We thought they would have stealth ships soon. After all, New Moscow knew that we had them, and the Cacas have very inventive ways of getting people to talk.”

Sean grunted. Yes, he had heard of their methods, and in fact had talked them over with their captive Caca great admiral. Threatening to eat someone, or even worse, doing so to a family member, did a remarkable job of loosening the lips of even the most die-hard holdout. One of the things that made the Cacas the most hated opponent in human history. Before this war no one would have guessed any species would take the place of the hated Lasharans, the religious fanatics who thought blowing up masses of innocent people was a viable strategy. But Lasharans didn't eat their enemies, even though they were mostly carnivorous omnivores.

“And ideas?”

“My people have come up with some, and we're pursuing the most promising.”

Sean knew Chan. Knew that she would be pursuing all the ideas, though emphasis would be placed on the most promising, as she said. But even the least promising might just some through against all odds. And he respected her for giving credit to her people where it was due, though she wasn't adverse to accepting praise on their behalf, especially those ideas that she had been responsible for. That made her a jewel of great measure. Not just was she one of the most intelligent people in the Empire, she had a knack for supervising other scientists and managing their great but fragile egos.

“Spill it?” he asked.

“New sensors for the scouts for one. Sensors with much greater sensitivity, as well as more powerful lidar and radar projectors. And some new weapons to combat them.”

“And you think these will work?”

“So far they have worked on our own stealth/attack,” she said with a smile. “And I can guarantee that ours are much better than anything the Cacas have.”

Sean believed that wholeheartedly. The Empire had very good stealth ships before the war, and the use of wormhole tech had made then many times more effective. The Cacas were just entering the field, so anything that picked up his ships would surely pick up theirs at longer ranges.

“They won't pick them up system wide,” cautioned Chan. “The best we can do is parse them out from a light minute or so, if we're lucky. But we're also working on small probes that can pulse sensor bursts and give us a location.”

“An offshoot of you decoys?” said Sean, smiling. Those had already proven their worth in the current battle. After it was over the analysts would come up with the proper way to deploy them. Unfortunate, but not unheard of with new tech. They could only hope that the new didn't become a disaster.

“Same team is working on them, your Majesty. Test models are doing everything we expected, and we should be able to deploy the first batch in a week.”

The Emperor nodded. That was fast work, less than two weeks from conception to production. In this war humanity had to ramp up the deployment schedule. It was imperative that they stayed ahead of the Cacas.

“Good job, Admiral. And my compliments to your people.”

Chan took that as the sign to stop speaking and leave her Emperor alone with his thoughts. While Sean studied the last carrier in the five forces that were engaged in battle, and it looked like it wouldn't be around much longer.

* * *

“We have enemy warp fighters on the plot, my Lord,” reported the sensor officer.

“Where?” blurted Lokasure, his eyes trying to pick out their icons on a plot filled with the graviton tracks of ships and missiles. “How many?”

He didn't think they would have many, not with a single damaged carrier in the battle. But he couldn't rule out that a bunch of them had been in space, waiting for the moment to strike. Not what he would have done if his ships were in the predicament they found themselves in, but...

“Twenty five, my Lord. Maneuvering to the port of the carrier and heading out.”

Now that he knew where to look he found them easily. Two small formations, nine craft ahead, sixteen behind. So a full squadron and part of one, and probably all they had.

“I think they plan to loop around and strike us in the rear. I advise that all ships in the rear of our formation turn to present their warp lances.”

“Do it,” grunted the admiral. It was what he was going to order anyway, and the significance of the tactical officer thinking along the same lines went a long way for making up for his past mistakes. “Take care, though. From the intelligence reports they have a much longer ranged missile.”

“And remember, they're faster as well,” said the sensor officer. “Twenty three lights for both groups. And they're looping around. ETA for a stern attack, thirty-one seconds.”

Suddenly the warp fighters turned in space, changing their vector in an instant. That type of ship could come to a dead stop in a second, then head off in any other direction, immediately back up to full speed. And now they were coming in on an unexpected vector, one that would be lightly covered by the warp lances he had.

Warp lances was a term the humans had come up with. Warp projectors that set up a linear field that could be used as a weapon. The Emperor thought it appropriate, and had started calling them that himself. What the Emperor called something, soon everyone was doing the same.

“They're launching, my Lord. Eighty-two missiles, coming in a twenty-five lights.”

They were on the plot, the small objects outlined by their warp fields, with, like almost every propulsion technology in space, emitted huge quantities of gravitons. They were distinct from the forms released by hyperdrives and grabbers though, making them easy to spot.

“Another launch, my Lord. Eighty-two more.”

So the larger squadron is made up of their new attack craft,” thought the admiral, doing the math in his head. They wouldn't be quite as maneuverable as the space superiority version, but even if he had any warp fighters to match against them, the humans would still have the speed advantage. The Ca'cadasans needed to improve their fighters, and fast, if they were to have any chance in fighter to fighter combat.

The fighters had launched from beyond warp lance range. One light minute. And the missiles had taken less than three seconds to cover that gap. A score or so still fell to the wide spread fire of the lances. The rest bore in, and fifty-seven hit. Seven scouts went up in flares of plasma, the warp fields of the missiles driving through their hulls and rupturing the warp containment fields of their reactors. A dozen more slowed acceleration, and couple stopped boosting altogether. Five cruisers were hit and damaged, not enough to put them out of action, enough to slow three of them.

And then the second wave came in more of them were taken out by warp lances, and four more scouts taken out. This time three missiles struck a single cruiser, and it converted into plasma, sending a few large pieces out that struck other ships, causing more damage. And then it was over, and the warp fighters were looping back around to head for their own force. To rearm? That's what he would have guessed.

Lokasure sighed a breath of relief. That full force, the one that had existed before the Ca'cadasan missiles had hit it, would have been able to launch an attack of over five hundred fighters, launching between two and three thousand missiles in a volley. And there would have been plenty of reloads. Lokasure felt fortunate to have taken those weapons out of the enemy arsenal from the start. Still, they had enough to hit him, even if it was just a pinprick.

“How soon before we're in beam range?” he asked. One light minute was the maximum effective range, but it was preferred to get within a half light minute or less. The enemy was still dodging, and their new decoys were just too effective. The gate was busy launching swarms at the inner force, something he didn't want to interrupt. And unfortunately, he was in the way of his stealth ship, so anything it sent out was likely to hit him before it got to the enemy.

“Sixteen minutes, twenty-one seconds, my Lord,” announced the sensor officer, getting a nod from the tactical chief.

“Should we continue hitting them with missile volleys, my Lord?” asked the tactical officer.

To what result, he thought. If they had deployed those decoys before he had hit them they might have got off with minor damage. Fortunately for him they hadn't. When they got within close range missiles would not be as effective, easy to track, easy to kill. But beam weapons would hit them no matter what their maneuvers. Some might miss, but enough coming in would surely get hits. It would be a slow death, but it would amount to kills.

“Keep sending some at them, but no more than ten percent of our capacity,” he ordered, hoping that was the right decision. While the Emperor might feel free to let them use all the missiles they wanted, the admiral was sure that any saved for the battles down the road would be appreciated. And he might possibly need them for something more immediate.

* * *

“The captain wants a progress report,” said the voice of the damage control officer over the com.

Since Finn was receiving it the cast had to be going out to all and sundry working on the arrays. That was unusual, and meant the commander wanted the input of everyone working out on the hull.

“We can give her V in about ten more minutes, sir,” answered a chief petty officer who was the senior engineer on the job. There were officers out here, junior all, and none with the chief's experience. Intelligently, they all deferred to the expert.

“Can you give her any more, maybe down the road?”

“No, sir. We're doing what we can with what we have. Without more supermetals we can only do so much. V is the best we can do.”

Finn realized the news was not good. They would soon be able to duck into hyper, able to avoid missile swarms launched in normal space. The enemy, however, would still be able to get into VII, doing sixteen times their turn of speed, not even accounting for their greater acceleration. They would catch the small force in no time, and blow their fragments back into normal space by dropping missiles down on them.

Finn thought of something she had read. About when Duchess Lei's battle cruiser had been trapped in hyper, unable to open a hole back down due to the loss of some of their array. It took less energy to stay in hyper than to drive into the higher dimensions. Or the lower. The solution they had come up with was to cut off pieces of their ship, reducing its size and mass. Not something a ship's captain wanted to consider, but if it saved the ship and its crew it might be worth a shot. The only other possibility was to evacuate the crew to the mostly still intact battleship and let it escape.

“Ma'am,” said Finn, nervous at breaking into the conversation.

“And you are?”

“Petty Officer First Marcia Finn, ma'am. And I wanted to remind the captain of what Admiral Duchess Lei did to save her ship, trapped in hyper.”

Finn continued to make connections as she spoke. They needed the array functioning, didn't they? No matter what the final decision was.

“Let me pull that up,” said Captain Merkle. She was silent for a moment, and Finn wondered if she would find anything useful in that report.

“That opens up some possibilities,” said Merkle. “Thank you, Finn, for taking the initiative.”

Which could mean that the captain would order that plan put into effect, or not. It was up to her, and the petty officer had done all she could by giving the idea to the God of the ship.

* * *

“You think this crazy idea might work, Captain Merkle?” asked Admiral Garasra, looking into the holo at the ultimately stressed human officer, his own beak hanging open in disbelief.

“Probably not, sir. But what else can we do? Short of a large force appearing near us within the next twenty minutes, I don't see any hope. This gives us something to do, and the possibility of cheating death.”

“You can't evacuate to other ships?” asked the admiral, grasping at straws. He knew that the cupboard was bare out there. She had two battleships, both heavily damaged, one to the point that it was barely combat worthy. A pair of light cruisers, sixteen destroyers, all with varying degrees of damage. And the logistics ships, one empty, and neither with the acceleration to escape on their own. No, she was most likely to have to evacuate those ships as well.

“The battleships are already in trouble. We'll probably have to evacuate the crew of the most heavily damaged one to the other. And that one doesn't have the life support to take on all of my people as well. So we really have no choice.”

Garasra's tactical officer waved for attention, then raised five digits into the air. Garastra got the message, and looked back at the anxious captain in the holo, ready to give her some good news.

“Your pursuers should be receiving our gift in less than five minutes, Captain.”

“Your wormhole launches?”

Garasra nodded. All of his battleships had wormholes, all configured as launchers. With no other targets he had ordered continuous launches. Thirty-seven launchers, firing streams of sixty missiles every thirty seconds. He had a general idea where they would be after the two hour and eleven minute flight time. They were in pursuit, after all, and though they could zig zag a bit, that was slowing them down as compared to an opponent who was leading the movements. His launches, each with sixty of the smaller missiles, had been sent to bracket the enemy. He assumed that between two and ten would be direct hits, not having to change their vectors until the last minute. The other would have to change vectors at about two light minutes out, and would be tracked the whole way, but some should still get through.

The admiral thought he had the enemy strategy pegged. They obviously hadn't expected to destroy his battle force. Hurt it some, with little risk to themselves, while totally destroying the carrier force. From what he had heard from command, they had succeeded with four other battle groups, taking out all the carriers. In the future those ships would probably be accompanying the battle groups into the system, another change in strategy. If there was serious opposition they would still be in danger, but the protection would be able to handle that, wouldn't it? At least that would be the hope.

The icons of enemy missiles again appeared on the plot, one of their smaller launches. He wasn't sure what that was about, but he would take it. And then the icons of his own missiles appeared, the ones still light minutes out adjusting their vectors to target the enemy. The enemy started maneuvering furiously, launching counters, their primary attention no longer on the damaged ships they pursued. A minute and a half, and of the over two thousand missiles on the plot, over eight hundred were still maneuvering onto the enemy. And then the hundred and eighty that had gotten within twenty light seconds of the enemy turned on their drives to full, plunging in.

Almost forty of the enemy ships fell off the plot, destroyed, or damaged and now devoid of thrust. While those missiles were attacking another series of streams appeared on the plot, moving in to attack the enemy force that was still disorganized from the hits it had taken. Thirty seconds later another.

Garasra smiled. He had launched a full twenty volleys at them. Over twenty-two hundreds weapons coming in at a killing velocity. If only five percent of them hit, a very good outcome in this kind of fight, that would be over two thousand kills. On a force that couldn't number more than four thousand. They would have to break off after taking losses like that. They had to.

Only these were Cacas, not the most intelligent of beings, known to keep up the pressure even when a loss was a foregone conclusion.

* * *

“Pound them with everything you have, Admiral Lokasure,” growled Mrastaran over the com. “I want them dead, and your ships heading back for the gate.”

“But I....”

“I know what you were trying to do, Admiral. Commendable, thinking of the future, but you have a battle here, now, and you need to send everything you have at them.”

It would take more than an hour to come to a complete stop and start back toward the wormhole gate. Then almost four hours to get back to it. And the enemy had to have figured out the gate's general location. He could assume they would be firing on it as well, and would definitely have some launches coming in to that region about the time he got there.

“Start decelerating now, Lokasure. Keep firing on them, but stop the pursuit.”

“And if they get away?”

“Then they get away, and you have already won a great victory.”

Though not as great as it would have been before I lost over five hundred ships, thought the lower ranked leader.

“Keep firing at them as you decel. But slow down and get back. We have picked up enemy ships in hyper, heading your way.”

They weren't on Lokasure's sensors yet, so they had to be farther than twelve light hours away. It was fortunate that the Emperor had been thoughtful enough to place pickets out there to give him early warning.

“What do they have coming? And how soon before they get here?”

“Several thousand ships,” answered Mrastaran, his concerned face looking out of the holo. “Graviton emissions indicate they're ships from one of the two major alien allies of the humans. And enough capital ships to take you out without a thought.”

Lokasure digested that for a moment. All that bother to save what were essentially ships that would spend the next couple of months in the yards, if they survived. He reminded himself that the humans, and their allies, didn't think like Ca'cadasans. To them the individual was important. They would expend people for a victory, but they were careful to conserve as much strength as possible. Ca'cadasans were willing to throw bodies into the fire, like putting missiles into the tubes. The new Emperor was trying to change those thought patterns, but even he was having difficulty changing the perceptions of his commanders.

“We're estimating they will arrive in the system within six hours. But they could come out earlier, before hitting the two barrier, and launch on you from out there.”

And of course they would have wormholes, and all of those missiles would cover the distance at almost light speed.

“How soon before we get back to the gate,” he asked his own navigation officer.

“Approximately five hours, my Lord.”

So he would get back to the barrier with an hour to spare. Unless the enemy started bracketing the gate with launches from within the system. If they hit the gate he would be forced to jump into hyper to get away. If he could get away, with the alien force close enough to change vectors and come after him.

“More of their decoys took out most of our launch, my Lord. Do you want to send in larger volleys.”

That would be the way to hit them harder, possibly getting some strikes on their primary targets. But he might need those missiles now, if he didn't get away through the gate.

“Half volleys. They can't have many more of those decoys.” But he had thought that a little while ago, and they had kept sending out wave after wave of the decoys.

“Have we received any volleys from those ships recently?”

“Not for the last four minutes, my Lord. I assumed they had reached the end of their firing queue.”

“It if fine to assume, tactical officer. But when you do so, I want to hear your thoughts on the matter. Understand?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Even though the Emperor had commanded that valuable males not be executed for making simple mistakes, Lokasure was tempted to order the tactical officer thrown out an airlock, no matter what the Emperor would think. He had made too many mistakes in this battle. Clenching his fists, gritting his teeth, he calmed himself down. So the human had had four minutes to bring decoys across through the wormholes. How many had they brought, and would they start firing missiles again when their firing queue was again full? That is what he would do, but then he thought like a predator, always on the attack.

“All ships are now on a deceleration profile, my Lord,” said the navigation officer.

I should have just let those ships go, and hit them from a distance, thought the admiral. Well, as the Emperor had said, he would learn. Survivors always did. If he survived.

* * *

Commander Sheila Francois-Ramirez felt consciousness returning, the confused feeling of not really being sure where she was. She forced her eyes open, seeing the lights and panels of a strange craft in front of her. Taking a deep breath she winced at the pain in her chest.

What the hell happened? Last she knew she had been in her command chair on the bridge of the destroyer Charles Murphy, watching the plot as a missile bore in, her ship throwing everything it had at it. Then the hammer blow, the thought that she was dead, since a destroyer could in no way survive a direct hit by a missile. Then, blackness.

It obviously wasn't a direct hit, she thought. Otherwise she wouldn't be here. That she was in what was obviously an escape pod meant the ship had been heavily damaged, probably on the verge of a reactor breach. And someone on the bridge, another survivor, had seen to her instead of just running for the escape pods themselves.

I am grateful, she thought. The person would get her profound thanks, and a medal if she had anything to say about it, if they survived. After that thought she took stock of her surroundings, plugging into the pod computer through her suit interface. Fortunately the thing was fully charged. Someone aboard her ship had taken their duties seriously, and made sure this means of escape was at full capabilities. She had power for a month, more if the solar panels were extended. Food and water for essentially years, what with the pod recycling systems. The distress signal of course was not transmitting. Before the war with the Cacas it would have automatically engaged from the moment the pod left the ship. Since the Cacas were known to eat prisoners that practice had been relegated to the past. Now it was up to the judgment of the occupant for when they wanted to call for help.

She tapped into the rudimentary sensor systems of the pod. Enough to let her know where the fleet was. Decelerating while moving to sun-ward. She was passing them since her pod carried the momentum that had been imparted to it by the destroyer at the time of launch.

“Start full deceleration,” she ordered over her suit com. “I want us on a course to the fleet.”

“Acknowledged,” answered the pod computer.

Sheila realized she would never get to them. The pod would run out of power for its grabbers by then, and the pod would then be much closer to running out of life support. She would have to monitor it herself and make the decision when the time came.

There was a moment of panic as she tried to pull her helmet off and it wouldn't budge. A quick diagnostic showed that the nanoseal, which essentially made the helmet and torso of the suit one unified piece, was damaged. The suit was working on repairs, but it might be awhile.

The pod engaged thrust without her command, and she was thinking it might have gone into instant avoidance. Something clanged onto the outer skin of the pod. Sheila started, wondering if she was going through a debris field, then stared in disbelief as the outer visual sensors showed her what had impacted the pod. Impacted, and stuck.

* * *

Corporal Charles Han was on the verge of panic. He had waited too long, and only had a half an hour's power left. He should have gone into cryo much earlier. Terror at being asleep when he died had prevented him taking that action.

He could still go into cryo, his body cooled to near freezing, the chemicals injected slowing his metabolism to just barely working. But after a couple of days his suit would be dead, devoid of power. He would freeze solid, and while he could still be revived in a working med bay, his suit would only be noticeable to active sensors within a couple of kilometers. A needle in a field of haystacks, in the immensity of space.

“There is an object accelerating in our direction,” said the suit.

“What is it?” asked Han, his heart in his throat. If it was a Caca he definitely didn't want to attract its attention. Death was one thing. Knowledge that he was going to feed one or more of the big bastards was something else.

“It is a Fleet life pod. Heading in our direction. Do you want me to hail it?”

“Of course,” yelled Han, his anxiety rising that it might not find him and pass by. That would be the ultimate case of the Universe messing with him.

“No reply. Do you want me to attempt interception?”

“What are my chances?”

“Over fifty percent.”

That good, he thought. “Do it, now.”

“Adjusting course,” said the suit. A few seconds later it spoke again. “Brace for impact.”

Han wondered what kind of impact it was talking about, then found out as the pod appeared and grew in size within seconds. The suit collided with the pod, and the impact was tooth jarring. The corporal could feel bones snap, then consciousness left him.

Fortunately the suit was programmed for just such an event. One of the hands gripped a hold on the pod, then the other. The umbilical snaked from the suit and sought one of the feeder ports placed on the outside of all rescue pods for just such an occurrence. The umbilical mated with the port, and energy started flowing across into the suit, recharging all systems.

* * *

Well, this is just fantastic, thought Sheila as she monitored the vitals of her new passenger. I get someone to keep me company, and they're down for the count.

Actually, Corporal Charles Han had lucked out on two counts. One, the chances of his contacting her pod, or any pod really, had been astronomical. Two, the differences in velocities, while enough to hurt him severely, hadn't resulted in the kind of massive terminal deceleration that would have killed him instantly. He did have severe internal injuries, possibly including brain damage. The suit had stabilized him, just as it would in ground combat. Its internal systems would inject him with large quantities of nanites to start on the repairs. He would survive, though it would take some time in a medical facility to return him to duty.

I just want him conscious, thought the commander, looking at the man's face over the viewer, transmitted by the internal helmet camera that was used for communications. She could force a wake up in the future, but wasn't sure it would be in his best interest. Still, just the thought that she wasn't alone was comforting.

Even with the corporal onboard the pod had enough energy and life support to see them through the next couple of months. If they hadn't been picked up by then they probably never would. She would wait for two days and then engage the distress signal. Again, if the Fleet hadn't won the battle by that time and completely occupied the system, they wouldn't. And if any Cacas approached she would set off the pod self destruct. The corporal would not get a vote, but she was pretty sure he would agree with her.

Chapter Twenty

If we know that our own men are in a condition to attack, but are unaware that the enemy is not open to attack, we have gone only halfway towards victory. Sun Tzu

Merkle stared intently at the viewer that was showing the enemy gate, the grav lens making it as clear as it could in the darkness. The gate was at an angle to her, indicating that they were still firing at the admiral's force within the system. He could take care of himself, while she was just glad that they weren't unleashing waves of missiles at her. Would that change when they were ready to leave the system?

A missile wave was on the way in now, still several minutes from contact. She was still anxious that they might get one through and take out her ship. The engineers were working as fast as they could to make them ready for a hyper jump, but they could only do so much in a given time. She had all of her decoys deployed, hopefully enough. And...

“The warp fighters are making a run through the missiles, ma'am,” said the Klassekian com tech who had siblings aboard one of the fighter squadrons.

Merkle nodded, hoping that the new antimissile tactics worked as advertised. Most things given to them by research and development worked well, tested to perfection before deployment. Still, there had been failures, and she was praying that this would not be one.

“How are they coming on the hyperdrive arrays?”

That had been a risk as well. She could have settled for a lower warp, or gone ahead trying to get as much as she could out of them. She had decided on the latter, even though it meant the arrays were useless until the task had been completed.

“They'll have you V in three more minutes,” said the chief engineer over the com. “It will be at least a half an hour before we can eject the first section of the ship we are cutting away.”

And will that even be necessary? thought the captain. The enemy was retreating, after all, even though they were still firing. If they fired again after this coming wave the force would be able to jump into hyper V and avoid them. The enemy might be able to jump missiles in after them, but her force could then jump between dimensions to generate misses. Might as well carry it out, she though. The sections they were cutting away were really of no use to the crippled ship, and they could be replaced when the Northrup went to the yard for the rebuild she needed.

“Carry on engineer,” she said, watching the enemy launch approaching. These were all ship launched missiles, like the others. The gate launched were all going into the system, a blessing. The ship launches were taking longer to get to her because of the growing distance. On the other hand, they were gaining velocity with the distance, making them more effective.

The mass of decoys was drifting in space close behind. They were moving in the same direction, carrying the velocity of the ships at the time they were launched. The ships were still accelerating, though the captain would have to make a decision soon as to when they need to stop. They would be lucky with their damaged arrays to be able to jump at point two eight light. And they were approaching that velocity, hitting it within the next hour.

The icons of the warp fighters closed in on the missiles, and large swaths of them started falling off the plot. That was a new tactic as well, and one that promised a great return for the investment. And possibly a greater risk.

* * *

Commander Winifred Rodriguez really didn't like this kind of maneuver. It was precision flying, the type normally reserved for atmospheric airshows, not in two thousand ton ships traveling through warp. Some genius had thought this might be a good idea, and she couldn't even blame this one on R&D. And even worse, she didn't have the ability to com link her ships' computers to coordinate their actions. The Klassekians could send commands, even transmit data, but they didn't have the bandwidth to link fifteen navigation computers into a functioning whole. The only way around it was to space the fighters out so they had some wiggle room. More missiles would make it through, but hopefully not enough to compromise the defense.

“Right turn, ten degrees, now,” the com tech said, the Klassekian showing complete concentration on her words and transmitting them to her siblings.

The twenty-five birds had their forward and rear warp fields expanded, turning them into several hundred kilometer wide cones at the limit of their affect, versus the ten or less of their normal spreads. It gave them a greater reach, but unfortunately, because of the larger reach of space processed, it reduced their speed to a mere three lights. Not that it mattered, since everything else in the fight was moving slower than light.

The twenty-five fighters, nine space superiority and sixteen of the bomber class, were arranged in a large circle, side by side, a couple of hundred kilometers between the forward and read aspects of the fields. They were sweeping one way, then the other other, letting the expansion and compression fields disrupt the bodies of the missiles. Each fighter was getting scores on each sweep to the front, maybe ten to the rear. There was real danger here. If anything came into them from the side they could be in trouble. The warp bubble would handle small bits of matter, not at all like the hundreds of tons the forward and rear fields could destroy. Something large enough would spew atoms, just like anything else, but enough solid mass coming through at high velocity could spell doom. As could the ships to each other if one strayed into one of the fields of the others.

They could only make two turns through the missile field before they were out. Two forward sweeps, two to the rear, and over two thousand missiles were gone, and the plasma from their breaching antimatter added new hazards to the space the other weapons were traversing.

If she had a full wing she could have made short work of the missiles, though the hazard of collision would have been greater as well. And now they came to the most critical maneuver.

“First group turn. And watch your lanes.”

The fighters would be turning in space, getting on a heading to go back through the missiles. Of course, now they would be sweeping their forward and rear fields around, and that presented a terrible hazard to the other fighters. Winifred had worked out the maneuver by computer prior to the start of the mission, but things didn't always work out in real life.

“First group has turned,” called out the navigator.

“Start turning the second group, then close up.”

The commander stared intently at the plot, watching as the graviton signatures of the fighters registered.

“Fighters fourteen and eighteen. Watch your fields. Your...”

And it happened. The forward field of fighter fourteen swept across the body of eighteen, and that fighter came apart. There were, or course, no survivors. There couldn't possibly be with forces like that tearing at the fabric of the stricken fighter.

“All birds have completed their turns,” called out the navigator. “Forming up.”

The fighters that had made the second turn now had to move up to even with the others, so that they reduced the chance of fratricide on the next pass. Winifred closed her eyes and said a quick prayer for the souls of the crew of fighter eighteen. That was all she had time for, since they had reentered the missile field and all of her attention was called for.

“Orders coming across from Captain Merkle,” called out the com tech. “The space superiority birds are to continue taking out missiles as they come. Our squadron is to repair back to the Northrup to rearm.”

“Rearm with what,” growled Winifred. As far as she knew they had no more warp missiles. Which meant some genius had come up with something new. Which wasn't always good news.

* * *

Petty Officer First Marcia Finn sweated in her armor as she placed the small antimatter charge in the place she had hollowed out of the hull for it. It wasn't hot in her armor, but the knowledge that the small charge could reduce her to something that wasn't even worth remarking on was sobering. When this and the other charges went off a million and half tons of the ship would go spinning into space behind them, reducing the length of the vessel by several hundred meters.

Wish I had never come up with this idea, she thought. The enemy was actually heading away, and it was looking like hyper V would be enough to keep the missiles off. Still, she couldn't fault the captain on keeping her options open. The break away of the stern section wouldn't only reduce the mass and length of the ship, it would also provide more missile protection, thanks to the other charges they had placed within.

“Looks like something is taking out missiles,” said Spacer Second Yanatov, the youngest crewman on her team.

She though the spacer sounded like a whiner, and his voice grated on her nerves. She was too damned tired to argue him into shutting up, so she let it go. And looked back over the curve of the hull to watch the light show.

There were strings of light behind them, quickly flaring and dying. From the pattern, warheads going off in a series of lines, she had to think they were being serviced by the fighters. Another flare erupted, away from the missile mass, and with a sinking feeling she realized that at least one of the fighters had met its end. Not that it was much considering all of the other ships that had fallen in this battle, and might still fall. But it was another death, immediate, and it bothered her beyond its true impact.

More bright pinpoints, slightly larger than the last. The missiles were encountering the counters, then the decoys. Thousands of flashes, most of the remaining missiles falling. And then the announcement she had been dreading.

“Brace for impact.”

These missiles weren't closing very fast in the grand scheme of things, and the velocity of the ship was taking some of that closing speed away. A hit wouldn't vaporize the ship, though it would cause severe damage. Maybe enough to kill all of their acceleration. She couldn't see the lasers that were now reaching out for them, but more flashes showed them at work.

“Everyone get to cover,” she yelled to her crew, looking at the gap she had made in separating the stern section from the rest of the ship. It was large enough for her suit, she thought, so she forced her way into the gap and held on. If this section was hit it wouldn't protect her, but it was the only hope she had.

She heard Yanatov scream, then the man calling out in panic for anyone to come and save him as he drifted off into space. The ship shook slightly, the sign that the missile had detonated well off. Not far enough off for the spacers who had lost their hold on the ship and drifted off. Those were lost, with nothing available to go after them. It was a horrible end, drifting for eternity in the depths of space. At least they wouldn't be awake for eternity. The very thought made Finn shiver.

“How are you coming on your detail?” asked the damage control officer.

“Commander,” she yelled. “I just lost people. And you want to know how I'm doing on the job. Well...”

“Don't say it Finn. Don't say something that someone else might hear that will force me to take action,” the officer said in a lowered voice. “I know it hurts, but we need you on your game if we're going to survive.”

“Yes, sir. And sorry, sir.”

“No need to apologize. And I'll have you know I'm looking at the casualty figures, and you weren't the only one who lost people.”

Yeah, but these were mine, she thought, choking back her tears.

They were the commander's as well, and he of course knew all of them.

“Sorry.”

“Think about this later,” said the officer, his own words catching in his throat. “Right now you have a job to do. And, if you want to talk about this later, I'm here. If we make it.”

* * *

“We have the situation well in hand in seven of the eight systems we are advancing into,” said Grand Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda, looking out of the com holo. “Three of them were textbook, and there was very little opposition.”

“And you, of course, made sure they weren't setting up that star as a trap?” asked Sean, sure that Mgonda had done just that.

“I'm not about to let myself fall for one of those,” said the sober faced duke. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, I'm a dumb ass.”

“Good to know you're not taking it for granted,” said Sean. So far the intelligence that this new Emperor was not okay with destroying systems had proven spot on. Fine, if it was true. But the Cacas had their back against the wall. Sean wouldn't put it past them to lull the Empire into a false sense of security, then start blowing stars to kill battle forces without warning. “Not me either. And I think we need to re-figure how we're going to deploy from here on. I don't like loosing those carrier forces the way we did.”

Sean winced. That had hurt. nineteen carriers, their crews and almost all their fighters, blown out of space. One still fighting for its life, though things were looking bad for the Northrup. But the mines had come as just as much of a surprise, and they would have to start sweeping space ahead of the capital ships with dedicated destroyer sweeps. Be hard on the tin cans, but if it kept battleships in action, it was worth it. To everyone but the crews of those destroyers.

“Any word on how we're going to combat their stealth ships?” asked Mgonda.

“Chan is working on some new sensor suites, as well as a couple of other tricks that look hopeful. Intelligence doesn't think they have all that many of them, yet, and they aren't as stealthy as our own.”

“All it takes is a couple in the right place and time to throw a spanner in our engines,” said Mgonda, frowning.

“All I can tell you is to take your time and blast space with you sensors. It will slow you down, but it's not worth loosing ships to cheap shots.”

“Just like they planned, your Majesty,” said the Admiral, leaning forward, his face coming closer in the holo. “I hate dancing to their tune. Why the hell won't they come out and fight.”

“I have a feeling that they will unleash their fleet on us in the near future,” said Sean. “They're mimicking several Earth tactics from old wars. The falling back hit and run is one. But that is normally followed up by a major offensive to our weak points. I'm afraid that's coming.”

“I'll try to be ready.”

“Good to hear. But the thing about surprise attacks is that they come when you least expect them,” said Sean. “So keep your people on the alert. I know it's hard on them, but rather lack of sleep than death.”

“Agreed.”

“I will be keeping track of Northrup,” said Sean, not trying to put any extra pressure on the admiral, but honestly committed to seeing that fight to the end. “Dismissed, Taelis.”

The holo faded, leaving Sean alone with his thoughts again. He pulled up the holo of Northrup's battle, watching as the icons moved across space from enemy to his ships. Then he pulled up a close view of that region, zoomed in and filling the chamber, seeming to spread into infinity in the way of holo maps. All of Mgonda's forces were blinking blue, known enemy forces red, stars taken green while inhabited systems still under enemy control were orange. All looked like it was going according to plan, if slower than Sean liked. The enemy appeared to be weak on this front, and the Emperor thought that was a lie. There had to be ships out there, somewhere. Intelligence estimates had the enemy fleet strength at thousands of ships at the very least on both sides of the front, Mgonda's and Lenkowski's.

When will you move, thought Sean, his eyes moving from area to area. There were just too many stars, the problem with interstellar warfare. Thousands of systems inhabited by intelligent beings. Tens to hundreds of thousands with life bearing worlds yet to be exploited. And hundreds of millions of basically useless stars, still possible bases for the enemy. And then they could just be hanging out in open space, between the stars. Too many hiding places, and no way to search them all.

Sean gave up on trying to figure out where the enemy was hiding. He had tens of thousands of trained people considering that problem. They could do more with their many sets of eyes and questing brains than he could alone, but he couldn't keep himself from contemplation of the problem.

And there are never enough ships, thought the leader of the alliance. He had over a hundred thousand in the field, human and allies, not including those who were defending the Empire and its vital installations. And he still didn't have enough. More were coming, almost enough to make up for losses. But he was facing the winner's dilemma. The enemy, who was now on the hidden offensive, could concentrate at will, while he was forced to spread himself thin trying to find them. Which meant there were a lot of weak points the enemy could exploit. Only when were they going to move? The suspense was maddening.

* * *

The Supreme leader of the Ca'cadasan Empire, Mrastaran I, was also contemplating a holo map. His problem was the opposite of his opponents. He had too many systems to defend, and was not bothering with most of them. There were some vital systems, and he didn't have the ships to defend them either, though he could make the enemy pay for the privilege of taking them. He would still lose more ships than they, but it was worth it to make them cautious. He might also lose the commanders, but the ones he had assigned to those fleets were expendable.

I think it is time to unleash my twin hammers, thought the Emperor. The hammers he was thinking of were fleets of over ten thousand ships each, sitting in space outside of enticing target systems, on the other human admiral's front, where action had been scarce. He had two more fleets forming, much larger, but was holding them for an offensive that would push the enemy back. And then he would form more fleets, thrusting like a rapier with them until the enemy wasn't sure what to do next. And then, maybe, he could ask them for negotiations, with the threat of more death and destruction on the horizon.

In other news, four of his ambush forces were free of their systems, after destroying the outer forces and sending hard swarms into the inner forces. Only the one system still had a Ca'cadasan presence, at least anything more than a single stealth ship with two wormholes. That system was still a problem. They were moving toward their gate, having already stopped their forward momentum and started on the vector to safety.

Lokasure was the best of them, thought the Emperor. The male had tested high in intelligence, and had impressed very much on his interview. Mrastaran had big plans for him, possibly becoming a great admiral and leading one of the two grand fleets. Unfortunately, the attack on the carriers hadn't gone as planned. Something had got into the path of the missiles meant to take out the fourth ship, and it had formed up with all of the remaining screening ships and the two surviving battleships, moving off to leave the action, limping from heavy damage. And Lokasure had made a grave mistake in judgment.

He had gone after the enemy carrier, while turning his gate toward the system to fire on the enemy there. What he should have done was pick one or the other and concentrate on it. He still would have taken the carrier out if not for the new decoys the humans had deployed. That had been an unwelcome surprise, the only kind to be had in this war. Still, he had heeded the orders of his Emperor and turned away, and in an hour his ships would start back through the gate and safety. Well ahead from the battle cruiser force that was moving in hyper toward the system.

Mrastaran zoomed in on the enemy force on approach. It looked to be about a hundred capital ships, probably all battle cruisers. The other eight hundred odd vessels would be their light scout ships and screening vessels. Not insurmountable odds, but every one of the battle cruisers would be carrying a wormhole, and that would give them an immediate firepower advantage.

Lokasure was still firing on the enemy as he retreated, but nothing seemed to be getting through. They were still losing ships, a screening vessel here and there, and they were down to twenty-one warp fighters, though those appeared to be taking out too many missiles. Mrastaran really didn't care if Lokasure took out that last carrier. He had fought a battle, made some mistakes he could learn from, and could report back for his next assignment.

Suddenly the gate icon blinked, then disappeared.

“What happened,” yelled the Emperor, hearts in his throats.

“It looks like one of their stealth ships was near and took out the gate, Supreme Lord,” said the captain of his own stealth ship.

So the enemy had one or more of their stealth ships in the system. Better systems, more well trained crew. One or more? And then the voice of the Ca'cadasan stealth ship commander made it clear they were dealing with more than one.

“We have missiles coming in. I'm...”

And then the real time plot died, along with the ship that had been transmitting it.

“No,” growled the Emperor. One of his most promising subordinates was now trapped, his only out through hyperspace, with a much faster force on approach.

* * *

“Reverse vector,” ordered Admiral Lokasure, watching as the incoming enemy force, now on his plot, split into three. Those would all be less capable than the singular formation, but all of the capital ships would have wormholes, and probably some of the lighter scouts as well. Each of those smaller formations could still tear his apart in a missile duel.

He could jump into hyper now, but he doubted he could get up to the velocity where he could escape. They would pass him and hit him with everything they had. No, with the gate gone he was doomed, so he might as well finish off his first target.

“All ships in group alpha are to follow us in pursuit of the enemy carrier,” he ordered, looking over at his chief of staff. “Groups beta through theta are to jump and head out on diverging courses.”

That would give the enemy something to concentrate on, himself, while the majority of his force went their separate ways with the chance to escape. The Emperor might not agree with his decision, but he felt responsible for his males, and if anyone needed to die, he was the one. The other seven groups jumped, all starting to vector out. With luck most of them would get away, depending on what the enemy did. As long as someone got back to report to the Emperor, let him know what had happened, he would be satisfied.

* * *

“They're leaving,” said the chief of staff, standing to the side of the admiral's chair.

“Some of them, yes,” said Vice Admiral Cawrast Garasra, looking at the multiple icons that designated new enemy formations vectoring away from each other, obviously trying to run. The relief force was also on the plot, less than two hours out, starting the accel decel dance of moving through hyper for a jump into normal space. That force had split into three, each with thirty or more battle cruisers and over two hundred smaller vessels. Each group had over forty wormholes, their aces in the hole.

Unfortunately, one of the enemy groups was changing vectors into a chase profile back at the carrier. It was a suicide run, doing two things for the enemy. Attempting to take out the last target, and forming a target too enticing for the scout force to ignore. The admiral didn't give Northrup much of a chance, but they had defied the odds so far, and they might just continue to.

“Should we launch on them, sir?” asked the fleet tactical officer.

“No use. They will either be gone or destroyed by the time out missiles get there.”

At least we took out their gate, thought the admiral, eyes locked on the plot.

Chapter Twenty-One

There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter. Ernest Hemingway

“Missile impact in three minutes,” called out the tactical officer. “Next wave will be here two minutes after.”

Merkle nodded as she stared at the plot, the damnable representation of all that might be. Including the death of her ship and all aboard. She was tempted to order abandon ship, since she had almost no decoys left, and there were no more coming through the wormhole.

“Commander Rodriguez reports that her squadrons are armed and ready.”

“Give them the go ahead to attack.” Even if she didn't save her ship, she was determined to make the enemy pay. They had located the command ship of the group coming after them. That was the target. The coming scout force might take care of it, sure. But she didn't want to give that commander the satisfaction of seeing his quarry destroyed.

“We will be ready to eject the stern section in four minutes,” called out the engineer.

If that was the only thing she had going it would not be enough. But it wasn't all she had. The stricken battleship, too badly damaged to ever get into hyper without a long visit to the shipyards, its crew had been evacuated to the other battle wagon. Those crew still weren't safe. Nothing was, with ten Ca'cadasan superbattleships and over several hundred smaller vessels coming after them with all the acceleration advantages. They were still falling behind, since they had killed all their velocity toward the carrier when they were still attempting to retreat through the gate that no longer existed. But the velocity difference was falling, and soon they would start closing again.

“Missile impact in two minutes,” called out the tactical officer.

Merkle watched the plot, the sacrificial battleship centered, the time to impact from the enemy missiles on the numbers under the icon showing the massed missile swarm. There were over ten thousand missiles in that swarm, no sweat if they still had swarms of decoys and numbers of defensive ships. There were less than a hundred decoys in space, one battleship at seventy percent capability, two light cruisers and eleven destroyers. Not enough, even if every ship got hits with every weapon all the way in.

The missiles moved closer, the swarm resolving into individual missiles. Merkle felt her heart skip as sweat poured down her face despite the cool air of the bridge. She counted to herself, then looked over at the tactical officer. This was her idea, her responsibility, and she wanted to give the order.

“Engage,” she said in a hushed voice, the immensity of this decision weighing on her.

The battleship was oriented with its dorsal section pointed toward the missile. The timer went off in the ship, and the twin reactors and their antimatter feeder containers were ejected out, their grabbers engaging and pulling ten thousand gravities as they rocketed toward the enemy swarm. Five seconds into flight they detonated, spewing a cloud of superheated plasma that was all that was left of the devices after the antimatter breached. The cloud was in the way of the missiles, and over three thousand of them detonated as they hit the wall. Many came through with degraded sensors, probable misses. But not worth taking the chance on.

The battleship detonated five seconds before the swarm reached it, sending out another cloud of plasma, this one taking out most of the remaining missiles. Leaving a few hundred that the defenses had no trouble taking out.

“Warp fighters are on attack run,” called out one of the com techs, a Klassekian.

Now you get some of what you have sown, thought the captain, watching the icons of the fighters moving quickly into position, forming a ring around the enemy force. Then dropping out of warp.

* * *

Commander Winifred Rodriguez really didn't like what she had been ordered to do. However, she wasn't in charge of this shooting match, and the orders had come down. No use arguing, and she could see the reasoning behind it. Still, she was used to attacking in warp, and this time they would be launching from normal space, with all the risks that entailed.

Her fighters were carrying an unusual load. Hundred ton capital ship missiles, set for a short term profile of twenty thousand gravities. At that rate they would only boost for fifteen seconds at most, which according to simulations would be long enough. Simulations didn't always mimic reality though, and the commander expected to be hit with enemy weapons right after they jumped to normal space.

Each space superiority fighter, nine of them, had two capital ship missiles attached by hastily attached supports. The fourteen remaining bombers, her own squadron, each had three of the missiles. That was all they could carry and still maintain a warp bubble.

“Two degrees to port, and seven up,” called out the Klassekian com tech, giving them directions. The sensors could pick up the enemy force as diffuse graviton emissions, not enough for pinpoint accuracy at range. The closer they got, the clearer the image, which was how the warp missiles homed in on ships. The missiles closed the thirty light second distance in just over a second. The missiles they now carried would take many minutes from a standing launch to do the same. Hence they must be much closer.

“Two more degrees to port,” shouted the anxious com tech, “and one down.”

The carrier, of course, could track them on its sensors, as well as the enemy ships, and they could calculate the final position of each fighter. They didn't want collisions, but they also wanted a spread that would insure that at least some missiles would reach the center of the formation. The Klassekians aboard the carrier were transmitting the information to siblings. It had required some shifting of com techs, so that every fighter had a contact with the carrier that could relay the information in a timely manner. And it had required waiting for missiles to be ferried over from the now destroyed battleship, to be mated with the hastily constructed mounts.

“Two ships down to warp lances,” shouted the tech.

Another problem. They would be well within range of the ship mounted warp lances of the enemy. And two of his ships had just been dropped into normal space. If they were intact enough they could still launch, but there was always the possibility that they would emerge from warp as debris. Her own ship shook slightly, the sign of a near miss, and the commander expect them to sweep it back through them and end her own run.

“Entry in three, two, one,” counted the com tech. At one the pilot disengaged warp, and they emerged into normal space, sitting still, the perfect target for the defensive weapons of the enemy.

The star field appeared on the viewer, the icons of the enemy fleet on the holo. The target ship was outlined, one of the ten superbattleships. Hopefully the right one.

“Locking on and firing,” called out the pilot, weapons controls at his station.

Three icons disappeared from the plot. Three of her fighters, hit by warship class laser weapons. The ships were not boosting, since to do so would give the enemy an even clearer target from their emissions. The fighter shook slightly as it released its missiles from the mounts, and three new icons appeared as they boosted forward at twenty thousand gravities. Forty-five missiles were launched, flight time of ten seconds, and two more fighters fell off the plot. Much as the commander would have liked to see how the missiles did she needed to get the hell out of here.

“Go into warp and get us out of here,” she shouted, waking the pilot from his fascinated staring at the missile icons on the plot.

“Warp,” said the pilot, and there was the moment of disorientation as the ship went into the unreal bubble that separated from space and time.

“Two more fighters taken by warp lances,” called out the tech.

“Evasives,” shouted Rodriguez, and the pilot started moving them back and forth on random courses to avoid warp lances.

“We're one point one light minute from their fleet,” shouted the pilot.

We're safe, thought the commander, breathing a sigh of relief. Now, if only the sacrifice of nine of her fighters actually accomplished anything.

* * *

“We have warp fighters on approach,” called out the sensor officer.

What in the hell are they up to? thought Lokasure, looking quickly at the plot. If they had had more of the warp missiles, why had they waited so long to deploy them.

“Engage them with warp lances if they come within range.” Lokasure didn't expect them to do so, since they didn't need to for a warp missile launch. And then the second shock.

“They're entering warp lance range. Engaging.”

It was a difficult process targeting ships moving in warp, since they were essentially going faster than light. Still, it was possible, and Lokasure was regretting that he didn't have more ships equipped with the lances. And then the third shock.

“They're dropping into normal space at fifteen light seconds range.”

“Why in the hell would they do that?” growled the admiral. It seemed insane, but there had to be a reason. They wouldn't just throw away ships like that. But ships in normal space were not good targets for warp lance fire. It might shake them up a little, but it wouldn't cause the damage it would in dropping a ship out of warp. “Hit them with lasers.”

He wasn't sure if the laser would get there before they went back into warp. But he had to try, and the lances would be ready to reengage if and when they went back into warp.

“They've released missiles, my Lord,” shouted out the sensor officer.

“Warp?”

“No, my Lord. Normal space weapons. Fifty-five of them. Retasking lasers to target the missiles.”

Now it made sense. The warp fighters had weapons that they couldn't launch through their warp bubbles, and they needed to get close to reduce the flight time.

“We've taken out a dozen, six more,” the tactical officer shouted, doing a running commentary on the engagement. “Missiles coming in at twenty thousand gravities. Probable targets, our capital ships.”

Of course they would aim for our most powerful ships, thought the admiral. But there really weren't enough missiles to get all of them.

“Impact in five seconds. Thirteen more missiles gone. Firming up the targeting.” The tactical officer looked back at the admiral. “Us.”

Lokasure felt the emotion of total defeat come over him. There were still over twenty missiles coming at his ship, two seconds from impact. His force could still kill the enemy carrier, but he wouldn't be around to see it.

The ship shook hard as six missiles hit. A second later the hits to engineering caused one of the reactors to breach, and twenty-five million tons of warship converted to plasma.

* * *

“We got them, ma'am,” called out the tactical officer.

Thank God, thought Merkle, smiling briefly. She and her ship might still not survive, but this enemy commander wouldn't see it.

“We're ready to eject the stern section, ma'am,” said the chief engineer. “At your command.”

“Do it,” she ordered. No use waiting, and they had to have some time if things went wrong.

The ship shook, the final cutting charges separating the stern from the rest of the ship, almost.

“We have some sections still holding,” said the engineer. “We have people moving out to take care of it.”

“Next missile swarm one minute and thirty-five seconds to impact,” called out the tactical officer.

That was how much time they had. No more, no less.

* * *

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” mumbled Finn under her breath. The stern section hadn't flown clear, and two of the holds were in the section she and her team had worked. So it was up to them to clear it, and the clock was ticking.

“Let's get going, people,” she shouted over the com. “Unless you want to be on the target zone when they hit.”

Fortunately they had left the cutting lasers in place, in a hurry to get away. Finn thought they wouldn't have been able to do it if they had to set the equipment up again. The crew got to it, firing up the lasers and cutting away. Sparks showed at other places around the ring, other teams going at it.

How in the hell did we miss so many, thought the petty officer. The only thing she could figure was that the plasma of the explosions had spot welded some sections instantaneously. The thinness of the metal she cut through seemed to verify that theory. It really didn't matter. What mattered was they needed the section free, so it could boost away and save the lives of all the crew.

“Forty-three seconds to impact,” said a voice over the com.

Thanks a lot, thought Finn. She really didn't need the extra pressure. A moment later they had all of their welds cut. Great, but until the others did the same it didn't matter.

“Thirty seconds to impact.”

“We're free here,” called out the last of the teams. The stern section immediately sped away, no longer accelerating with the rest of the ship.

“Help,” yelled a voice over the com. “I'm on the stern section and can't get back to the ship. Someone help me.”

A chill went up Finn's spine. She felt grateful that it wasn't one of her people, then guilty at that thought. But she didn't have time to stand out here and think.

“Everyone back into the ship,” she ordered, firing her grapple and pulling herself along to the nearest airlock.

The stern section detonated as she was entering the lock, the last of her team to get to safety, the way it was supposed to be. She could feel the heat, and the radiation meter went off the scale. Nausea hit, and she stumbled out of the lock and into the ship.

“Get me to med bay,” said Finn in a weak voice. Then blackness took her.

Chapter Twenty-two

The best weapon against an enemy is another enemy. Friedrich Nietzsche

Captain Merkle watched on the viewer as the stern section exploded, sending out plasma and large pieces. In seconds the large pieces also exploded, and a huge cloud of plasma and debris was interposed between the missiles and the ships. The missiles were tight, taking up less than five thousand kilometers in diameter and within seconds of hitting the cloud. Some tried to change vectors as their sensors registered what was ahead, but missiles were not very nimble, and only two made it around. The rest plowed through, the majority exploding as they burned through the hot plasma.

Only a hundred or so of the missiles made it through, though they were all missing their sensor heads, eroded away by the plasma. Most went off onto random courses, unable to find a target. A few came in straight, heading for the last known target. They, and the pair that had gone around, were easy marks for the lasers of the remaining ships.

“Next wave impact in one minute and thirty seconds,” called out the tactical officer.

Of course, thought Merkle. The enemy was sending volley after volley. They weren't about to stop until their quarry was destroyed.

“Is the hyperdrive ready?”

“We're warming it up now,” said the chief engineer. “Give me a minute.”

“That's cutting it close, Commander,” said Merkle, the anxiety almost too much to handle.

“I know captain. But if we try to jump cold all kinds of things could go wrong.”

“Understood. But if the missiles get within ten seconds, we need to jump, no matter what.”

“Understood.”

Merkle stared at the plot, watching the missiles coming in. And another wave behind them. That was the last. The enemy probably figured that they couldn't withstand any more, and were saving whatever they had left for their last battle. The battle cruiser groups were now on the local plot, heading toward the VI barrier and their first jump down. The enemy groups were moving out, jumping as well on accel decel profiles. Most of those were doomed as well, but there were a few that could possibly get away. With the data on the final aspects of the battle. She wasn't sure what good that would do them, but she would prefer that the enemy not know the final outcome of the fight here.

She did a quick check of her missile defenses. Her ship still had half of its laser emitters feeding three rings. The close in weapons were dry, as were the counter missile magazines. She could still fire counters through her wormhole, and actually had two of the portals aboard, one taken from the sacrificed battleship. The remaining battleship was also out of close in weapon ammunition and counters, but had its wormhole to launch counter missiles. And the remaining screens were down to lasers, without any other weapons. All in all it wasn't enough. The next wave would kill them, all of them, every ship. Anything that did the unlikely and escaped would surely fall to the last.

“Missile impact in twenty-five seconds,” called out the tactical officer.

“Engineer?”

“Another couple of seconds, ma'am. We're getting some strange resonances from the upper array.”

The warp fighters swept through the missile waves, taking out many, but not enough. Those ships would not be going with her, but they had other vessels in the system they could base at temporarily.

“Impact in fifteen seconds.”

Get us into hyper, she raged internally. The battleship and screens were sticking to their posts, though all were capable of getting into hyper at a moment's notice.

“Impact in ten seconds.”

Merkle closed her eyes and said a prayer, sure that she was taking her last breath.

“Jumping,” called out the chief engineer.

The nausea of translation hit and the ship started shaking. Probably from those strange resonances from the upper array. The captain thought the ship might come apart, the shaking grew to such intensity, then it smoothed out without warning.

“We're in VII, ma'am,” shouted the triumphant chief engineer. “Boosting at five hundred and twenty gravities.”

“Congratulations, Commander,” said a smiling Merkle. The loss of mass and length had allowed them to make the jump to the highest attainable dimension. And it had given them the capability to boost at considerable acceleration. Still not enough to outrun the enemy, which already had the acceleration advantage, but hadn't gotten to the point where they were going too fast to jump into hyper.

“Enemy ships jumping into hyper, ma'am. Still on course to come after us.”

It would take them some minutes to get missiles to them, so they didn't need counters for some time. Which meant.

“Start sending missiles through at them,” she ordered. That would be one hundred and eighty missiles into hyper VII every thirty seconds. Until the launch tubes ran out and all needed to accelerate more missiles. Not enough to destroy this enemy, but maybe enough to hurt them. Enough to make them give up. She wasn't sure, but it was a chance. Of course a better chance could also present itself.

“How fast were they going when they jumped?” she asked her navigation officer.

“They were up to point two four light, ma'am.”

“Let me know when they pass point three,” ordered the captain. If they hit the point where they couldn't jump other possibilities opened up. “And give me a graphic of our relative positions when that happens.”

The graphic came up in a holo. The enemy would be more than a light minute behind, still out of beam range, just.

“Have they fired any missiles at us?”

“No, ma'am,” replied the tactical officer. “They had to be low on them, after all they had fired. So they must be hoping to get us into beam range and finish us off.”

I hope so, thought Merkle. Because if they launched more missiles her plan wouldn't work. And it was the only one she had.

“The Admiral's on the com, ma'am.”

Might as well let him know what's going on, she thought, Not that he could do anything to help her. At least he can take my final report, if it comes to that.

* * *

“And there's nothing we can do to help her?” asked Sean, looking at Mgonda.

“No, your Majesty. She will have relief in less than fifty minutes. But she will have to live or die from her own resources until then. And I must say, Captain Merkle has fought her force brilliantly.”

Yes, thought Sean, seeing promotion in the woman's future, if she survived. He was tempted to order her through a wormhole, but with her in hyper and the differences in velocities that was asking for trouble. But if she made it through she would most likely get a commodore's star and command of a carrier battle group.

“Will her plan work?” asked Sean, knowing the answer as soon as he asked.

“Nothing is guaranteed, your Majesty. Does she have a chance? Yes, but I really can't say how good it is.”

“Understood, Admiral,” said Sean, grimacing. “And I assume everything else is going well?”

“As well as can be expected, your Majesty. We have taken all of the objectives. Our only setback was the loss of nineteen carriers, so far.”

That had been a hard loss. Not so much the ships, though that was bad enough. The loss of the fighters was worse, along with their trained crews. He glanced over at the image of a ship floating on a holo to his side and smiled. That would be a shock to the Cacas, and he couldn't wait to deploy them.

“Keep me up to date, Admiral.” He dismissed the holo and turned to other business. There was always something, and if not for the people he had designated tasks to he would have been overwhelmed. Still, the buck stopped with him, and he needed to sign off on everything. Like this new proposal, which might or might not amount to anything.

* * *

Mrastaran brooded as he looked at the regional plot. Four of the five ambushes had gone perfectly, all the outer system targets destroyed, some damage done to the ships moving in. And everything had gotten away. So, four admirals had proven their worth, and would be given larger forces in the future, while others rotated into command of the ambush fleets.

But the best of them was still out of contact, and the Emperor was afraid he wasn't coming back. The problem with blooding commanders. You had to give them something to stretch their command skills to the limits, to test their potential. But that entailed a risk that they wouldn't return to make use of what they learned.

No help for it, he thought, grimacing. He still had four proven commanders to promote, and two major fleets forming waiting for their assignment. The Emperor already had the fleet commanders picked, but he needed battle force commanders who could think and take independent action.

“Get me the CNO,” said the Emperor, initiating the conversation.

“Supreme Lord,” answered the male, bowing forward in the holo.

“The enemy is almost in position,” said Mrastaran, smiling. “Send out the orders. The two ready fleets are to start moving. But they are not to initiate action until I give the order.”

“Understood.”

Thing were proceeding according to his plan. Now it remained to be seen whether it would be enough to set them up for the next act.

* * *

“They're up to point three one light, ma'am. Range, sixty-four light seconds.”

They were almost in the established effective range for beam weapons, though they would still fall off more quickly in hyper.

“All ships, jump down into VI.”

The lights dimmed, the nausea came, and suddenly they fell through the hole in space and were in the lower dimension. While the enemy fleet continued on in VII, soon passing them.

“Change vector in this direction,” order Merkle, outlining the course she wanted on the plot. They couldn't, of course, change their course completely for some time. They started boosting on a different vector that in time would bring them onto the ordered course.

“The enemy are decelerating at maximum rate,” said the navigator. “Estimate they will be able to jump in twelve minutes.”

And we'll jump down again when they do. Hopefully they will accelerate again up to over point three. Of course she couldn't count on that. Or they might see where she was shifting and give up. Because the vector she wanted led right into the oncoming battle cruiser force.

Ten minutes later the enemy force jumped down to VI, furiously decelerating so they could change vectors. That was fine with Merkle, pulling up the navigator's estimate on a side viewer. It would take them at least an hour to slow down and shift vectors, and the Northrup and her escorts would be much further from contact by then. And by the time the enemy got within beam range, the battle cruisers would be there.

If Merkle needed any evidence that the original alien commander had been aboard the battleship they had taken out, it was this. A smart commander would have given up and ordered his ships to scatter. There were still almost a hundred ships in that formation, and there was no way the oncoming human force could go after all of them. There just weren't enough wormhole armed ships, and destroyers and light cruisers without wormholes wouldn't stand a chance against the larger Caca ships in a beam fight. They might be able to get some of the enemy with missiles, which the enemy, so far, had shown no ability to launch. The smart bet was that some would still get away. But the Caca commander was single mindedly coming after her.

The enemy was still coming after her, creeping into beam range, when she jumped again. And again the enemy had to decelerate to follow. The battle cruiser force had appeared on the plot and were closing, keeping their velocity down to point three three light, letting Merkle know they were equipped with the new hyperdrives.

“We have contact with the battle cruiser flag, ma'am. Admiral Lei on the com.”

“Duchess,” said Merkle as the image of the Asian full admiral appeared on the com. “I'm surprised that I have you coming to my aid.”

Mei Lei was the overall commander of Mgonda's scout force, and probably too important, and busy, to be assigned a rescue mission.

“Luck of the draw, Captain,” said the woman, sitting in a command chair and stroking the fur of a long furred cat. “I just happened to be with the closest force. We're just about to launch missiles at the enemy. Ready for a show.”

The icons of missiles appeared on the plot, moving at the same velocity as their launching ships, point three three light. They immediately radiated stronger graviton readings and jumped down to hyper V, then accelerated ahead.

“We have missiles with the new warp drives?” asked Merkle in a voice brimming with excitement.

“We do. Not many, and not fully combat tested. So R & D has you to thank for giving us such wonderful targets. We will be alongside you in fifty-seven minutes. Do you have any people that need evacuation.”

“Yes,” said Merkle, nodding. Her own medical resources had been stretched, and there were some people who had been stabilized and placed in cryo. That was safe enough, and they could be fully repaired later, but she would still feel better if they were started on the way to recovery as soon as possible.

“We have missile impact,” called out the tactical officer.

Merkle glanced over at the plot, to see the wave of missiles intersect the enemy formation. A score of ships fell off the plot, then some more, and the rest seemed to have had enough. The formation started to split as ships went onto individual evasive maneuvers.

We've won, thought the captain, tears coming to her eyes. She felt triumphant. And she felt a deep melancholi. So many people had died on the other ships, joined by many from her own. But her decisive actions had prevented more from joining them, and for that she would always be profoundly grateful.

* * *

“How are you doing, Chief Finn?” asked a familiar voice by the side of the bed.

Marcia turned over, saw her captain, and tried to get into a position of attention.

“At ease, Chief,” said Gail Merkle, smiling down at her.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“You're going to be fine, Chief. And I expect you to work with the yard dogs on getting this old girl back into shape.”

“Yes, ma'am,” said Finn, then the form of address from the captain hit her.

“Chief?”

“Yep. Signed the promotion myself a few minutes ago. And well deserved. Oh, and you will be getting a medal or two to go with it. You've earn it. And you have my thanks and those of the officers and crew of the Northrup. Your actions, along with those of your team, went a long ways to insuring we survived. Now, I've got to move on and talk to the rest of our wounded.”

The captain saluted her, and walked away, leaving Finn with her own thoughts.

Chief, thought the spacer, a smile on her face. And the captain came to me to tell me personally. Well how about that. Her eyes followed the captain as she walked over to another bed, looking down at the unconscious man on it and mumbling something. Probably a prayer.

I guess we're going to say goodbye to the old lady, thought Finn, a feeling of sorrow coming over her. Merkle had given the orders that had saved them from the enemy. Surely command would promote her as well. And which ship would she choose for her flag? Surely not this old wreck.

* * *

“You're going to be okay, Commander Francois-Ramirez,” said the gentle voice of the nurse looking down on her. “Some light radiation damage, but we're going to take care of that right now.”

Sheila let out a sigh of relief. She had made it. Relief, joy, all the better emotions of the survivor. Later would come the guilt and regrets over those who hadn't. But right now she was going to go with the positive.

I made it, Henri, she thought, looking forward to the day when she could see her husband again. Perhaps she could use her survivors leave to go out to the Nation of New Earth to see him. And then another thought struck.

“How is my passenger?”

“The infantry trooper you took aboard your pod is okay. A lot of radiation damage, but we'll be able to fix that. That's one remarkable story. He was from another ship, so we really can't figure out how he found you. But luckily he did.”

There is a God, thought the officer with conviction. And he was looking out for us.

Epilogue

SEPTEMBER 2ND, 1004. CAPITULUM, JEWEL.

“And we're changing up the way we will deploy into new systems,” said Grand High Admiral Sondra McCullom, the Chief of Naval Operations. “The carriers and logistics trains will be forging into the systems with the battle groups. The might leave them open to battle damage it the enemy engages the battle group, but it won't leave them out there like fat targets.”

“I agree,” said Sean, looking around the conference table. “We tried to safeguard them, and all we did was set them up.” Faces fell around the table, and Sean was quick to interject. “The final decision was mine, like most. So the blame lies squarely on my shoulders. I don't want any of you beating yourselves up over this. The buck stops with me.”

“Your Majesty,” said Duke Taelis Mgonda, nodding. “No one blames you. We need to continue with stopping the blame game. It does no good. Let the damned politicians play that game. We're too good for that.”

“Here here,” said Admiral Lenkowski, his simulation sitting the chair next to that of the Duke. “I say we leave the past behind, after making sure it doesn't get repeated. We have an Empire to conquer, and the clock is ticking.”

Sean smiled as he looked at his two senior commanders. They had served well, almost always positive, with good suggestions. Fine tactical minds that almost unfailingly made the right decisions. He wouldn't trade them for anyone. He also spared a glance for Beata Bednarczyk, getting ready to kick off her own offensive on the other front. He didn't know her as well, but so far so good with that one.

“We still have a long fight ahead of us,” he said, looking down. “Many more lives will be lost. I can't say how long this will take, and the day this Mrastaran took the throne the inevitable victory became a much longer prospect. But don't anyone lose faith. We will win this thing.”

There were grunts of ascent, no one voicing any doubts. A look at the faces around the table showed that everyone believed what their Emperor had said. This was not a panel of yes men, and they would let him know if they thought him wrong. That was what he wanted, since he knew he was only human. A genetically enhanced advanced version, but still only human.

“So, everyone is in position, yes?”

Heads nodded, and there were no disagreements.

“Then at nine AM Capitulum time we will kick off the three pronged attack,” continued Sean, looking at the holo hanging over the table. One that showed the entire Ca'cadasan Empire, along with their axes of advance on all fronts. “This will not be the last offensive. It will not be the end, but with luck it will be the beginning of the end.”

The holos faded away, leaving Sean with the only live participant of the conference. He buried his face in his hands for a moment, feeling the fatigue of leadership that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Perhaps you Majesty should take a break,” said Admiral Sergiov, patting him on the back.

“With three major offensives about to kick off,” said Sean, looking up and shaking his head. “No. But as soon as these wind down I intend to take Jennifer and the boys to my compound in the islands. I think a little sailing might be good for all of us.”

* * *

SEPTEMBER 7TH, 1004. CA'CADASAN SPACE.

“The enemy is in the positions we want them to be in,” said the Chief of Staff, pointing to the large icons on the regional map. “As are our two fleets.”

“Then we will kick off the offensive tomorrow, while they are in a vulnerable position,” said Mrastaran. “If all goes well, we will see some of their forces retreating, allowing us to regain territory. If we are very lucky we might be able to surround and destroy enough of their force to give our next offensive an advantage.”

So many unknowns, thought the Emperor, sinking his face into a pair of upper hands.

“Perhaps you need a break, Supreme Lord,” said the Chief of Staff.

“With a major offensive about to kick off. There is no way I will step away from this post until this offensive is underway. After that I might take a week at the Imperial Preserve, before the next offensive takes off.”

And after that, who knows? Perhaps the human Emperor will see reason, and we can ask him to the bargaining table. Mrastaran had no aspirations for winning this war. But if he could preserve most of the Empire, even with major concessions, he would consider that a victory. Perhaps if he had been in charge at the beginning things might have gone differently. An invasion of human space, giving quarter to captives, then offering an honorable occupation. Maybe, though from the way the humans had been fighting even that might have been too much to ask.

The End

About the Author

Doug Dandridge is the author of over thirty self-published books on Amazon, including the very successful, Exodus: Empires at War series, the Refuge techno-fantasy series, The Deep Dark Well Trilogy, as well as numerous standalone science fiction and fantasy novels.  In a six-and-a-half-year period as a self-published author, Doug has sold well over two hundred and eighty thousand eBooks, paperbacks and audio books.  He has amassed over 6,000 reviews across his books on Amazon, with a 4.6 star average, and a similar number of ratings on Goodreads with a 4.12 star average. His first traditionally published series, Kinship War, is now out, and he has written a novel, When Eagles Dare, in Chris Kennedy and Mark Wandrey’s Four Horsemen series. He served in the US Army as an infantryman, as well as several years in the Florida National Guard in the same MOS.  Doug, who holds degrees from Florida State University and the University of Alabama, lives with his four cats in Tallahassee Florida.  He is a sports enthusiast and a self-proclaimed amateur military historian.

Books by Doug Dandridge

Science Fiction

The Deep Dark Well Trilogy

The Deep Dark Well:  An Adventure 40,000 years in the making.  Pandora Latham was a Kuiper Belt Miner from Alabama.  She’s used to landing on her feet, even when the next surface is through a wormhole, halfway across the Galaxy and 46,000 years in the Future.  Pandora must discover the secret behind the end of civilization, and the enigma of the Immortal Watcher, the last survivor of the Empire that once ruled the stars.  Her decisions will set the path for Galactic recovery, or a continuation down the roads of Barbarism.

To Well and Back:  Pandora Latham is back, working Watcher’s plan to restore Galactic Civilization.  But first she has to deal with the Xenophobes of the Nation of Humanity, back in the Supersystem with their sights set on making the Galaxy their own.  Pandora is angry at the hyper religious Nation, and you don’t want to make a woman from Alabama angry.

Deeper and Darker:  Pandora Latham is on the warpath.  Watcher, her lover, and the only man who can once again unite the Galaxy, is a prisoner of the Totalitarian government of the New Galactic Empire.  The Empire thinks they have the upper hand, but they have never faced someone like Pandi, and the peoples of the Galaxy that she has rallied to her cause.

Theocracy:   A young gunpowder era monk becomes the only hope for his doomed world as he is caught up in the game of empire between two more advanced cultures.

Theocracy Book 2: With the aid of Watcher, Patrick O’Brien and his partners, including some new alien allies, quest across multiple worlds in a search for the control center that could save his world.

The Exodus Series

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 1:  The introduction to the Exodus Universe.  Two thousand years prior mankind fled from the Predatory Ca’cadasans, traveling a thousand years and ten thousand light years to a new home.  Now the greatest power of their sector of space, things seem to be going well for the New Terran Empire.  Until the enemy appears once again at the gates.  And the years have not softened the aliens’ stance toward Humanity.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2:  The saga continues.  The Ca’cadasans attack at the moment when the government of the Empire is at its most chaotic.  There are other enemies as well, waiting for their chance to fall on the overwhelmed humans.  And a young man with no ambition for power finds himself in the position he most dreads.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 3:  Sean is rescued, but he is not about to go back to the safety of the capital without striking back at the Ca’cadasans who have invaded his Empire.  But will his decision put the lives of thousands at risk, as well as risking the safety of his own Empire, by depriving it of its leader.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 4:  Sean is crowned Emperor and attempts to organize the Empire for war against the Ca’cadasans.  But he finds that planning battles and winning battles are two different things. Defeat follows defeat.  Can anyone snatch victory from the jaws of defeat?  Or will the new Emperor fail before his reign even really begins.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 5: Ranger:  Cornelius Walborski enters the rigors of Ranger training, becoming one of the augmented warriors of the Empire.  But his first assignment, Azure, is one of the deadliest planets in the Galaxy, even prior to the coming of the Cacas.  Can Cornelius survive his first mission?  Or will a promising career end before it really begins.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 6: The Day of Battle:  Sean and the Empire need a victory before human morale goes completely into the black hole.  He develops a plan to bring the Ca’cadasans into battle in space of his choosing.  But the Cacas are not an easy opponent, and they have plans of their own, for the Donut.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 7: Counter Strike:  The Empire has weathered the Ca’cadasan onslaught, and now it’s the time to strike back with an offensive of their own.  A victory could win the war.  But will it?

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 8: Soldiers:  The Cacas have been ejected from Imperial space, for the moment.  But millions of citizens of New Moscow are still held captive in death camps in their former empire, processed for rations for the large aliens.  Sean is determined to save as many as he can, and the Fleet and Army are prepared to carry out his directive; free the prisoners at all costs.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 9: Second Front:  The exploration mission sent around the edge of the Ca’cadasan Empire has found the other Empire at war with the large aliens.  They are not as expected, and Sean must order his military to perform actions that could vilify him in the eyes of his new allies.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 10: Search & Destroy:  The Fenri, all but beaten, have not given up, and their new plan promises random death and destruction in the Empire.  The Cacas have launched a new offensive against the Klavarta, and their new commander is much more intelligent than the last.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 11: Day of Infamy:  The Cacas have a plan to end the war by taking out the capital system and the Donut at the same time.  Only the bravery of the Imperial military can prevent a disaster from which the Empire can’t recover.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 12: Time Strike: The Cacas have launched another invasion, and Sean had been approached with the idea of hitting them where it hurts, back in time.  But messing with the time stream is never a good idea.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 13: Retaliation: The Caca offensive has been turned back, and now it’s the time for the Empire to get some payback. But desperation will often breed deadly reactions, and this time is no different.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 14: Rebellion. The Cacas have come up with a horrifying new weapon that destroys entire star systems. Meanwhile, the religious cast of the Ca’cadasan Empire revolt against their Emperor.

Exodus: Tales of the Empire: Exploration Command:  Three novelettes concerning Exploration Command, the arm of the Fleet tasked with pushing back the boundaries of the Empire, and discovering the technology needed to win the war.

Exodus: Tales of the Empire: Beasts of the Frontier:  Three novelettes and three short stories about the dangers of the frontiers of the Empire.  The Cacas are not the only threat.  Sometime the danger is the wild, at other times, other humans.

Exodus: Machine War: Book 1: Supernova:  When a civilization is discovered that has a special ability that would be of tremendous benefit to the Empire, great excitement is generated.  When it is found that a nearby blue giant star is due to supernova in less than a year, destroying that world, excitement turns to a frantic race to save as much of that species as possible.  And enemies from the past, lurking in space, bring forth a new war to the embattled Empire.

Exodus: Machine War: Book 2: Bolthole:  The Machine Intelligences are back, with a vengeance.  While the Empire is busy fighting a war of survival against the Cacas, the murderous killing machines they had created hundreds of years prior are now ready to strike back.  And the Imperial stronghold of Bolthole is in their sights.

Exodus: Machine War: Book 3: Death From Above:  The Machines are on the move, and their great planet killers have the Bolthole system in their sights.  Only the courage and ingenuity of the organic defenders can save the only system that stands between the machine intelligences and the life forms of the sector.

Exodus: Machine War: Book 4: Retribution: The Empire goes on the offensive against the Machines, using their superior technology to take out system after system. And finding out along the way that they have a bigger problem than they thought.

Other Scifi

Diamonds in the Sand:  When a perfectly healthy scientist falls dead of an apparent heart attack, it is up to Sarasota Police Detective Lieutenant Gary Lariviere to find out what really happened.  The scientist was working on Nanotechnology, a secret desired by everyone from the Government to the Mob.  There are too many suspects, including the woman that Gary comes to love.  The Army had made Gary better than human, but had they prepared him for the terrors that had been unleashed by the new technology?

The Scorpion:  The Scorpion had been the world’s deadliest living terrorist.  Kestral McMann had been in on the kill.  Now The Scorpion is back as a mind upload, using clones to penetrate the tight security of an isolationist United States.  McMann is the only man who can stop him.  But can McMann survive the threat of his own side, and the insane President who leads the Nation, in time to stop The Scorpion from plunging the Great Satan back into the Stone Age.

The Shadows of the Multiverse:  Something has been periodically wiping intelligence from our Universe through the ages.  It’s back, and it’s up to three unlikely heroes, the Captain of a Battle Cruiser, a Physicist turned Archaeologist, and a Child, to save the intelligence of the Universe from Monsters from another Dimension.  Can they learn to use the powers of their unusual Quantum Minds to defeat creatures that have been playing the game for billions of years?

Afterlife:  What if you didn’t believe in the afterlife of the World’s Religions?  And what if science offered you the alternative, survival within the Virtual World of a computer, where your mental abilities are magnified and you can do anything you want?  And what if the World decided that your way was wrong, and declared war on you, meaning to destroy your reality?  What would you do?  Afterlife, a tale of survival at all costs.

We Are Death, Come For You:  When aliens strike the Tau Ceti colony, humankind knows that something bad is on the way.  They prepare as best they can, but will it be enough against superior technology?  The aliens are death worshipers, and only the extinction of the human race will satisfy their evil intent.  There are wonders of tech on the horizon, but can they be deployed in time?  Or will humankind have to depend on the smallest of their techs to save them?

The Monster: When a scientist test his new teleportation device on himself, he comes out the other side better than before. But something is missing, and the world has a new terror unleashed on it.

Fantasy

The Refuge Series

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 1:  A nuclear war in Central Europe opens the gates between dimensions, sending millions of Earth Humans into a land of myth, archetypes and fantasy.  The Evil Emperor of the Ellala Elves sees the humans as energy to fuel his transformation to immortality.  But the humans have brought their own weapons with them, as well as a race of Demigods who will battle the fantastic armies of Refuge.  The war is on, and only one side will ultimately survive.

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 2:  The Ellala have a plan to destroy the human military and capture the civilians.  And the humans find that their weapons will soon cease to function.  So, it’s use it or lose it for the Earth Humans, and they use it with a vengeance.  Tanks against Mages, Attack Helicopters against Dragons, and Nuclear Weapons against Death Gods.  And the other peoples of the planet come forth as allies to the humans that they see as the fulfillment an Ancient Prophecy.  But will it be enough?

Refuge: Book 3: The Legions:  The human invaders are now without their technologies, at least those using explosives and internal combustion engines.  But they still have knowledge of many other techs, especially the arts of warfare as practiced by the greatest infantry of the ancient world.  Will it be enough to stand up to the half lich Emperor and his magical forces?

Refuge: Book 4: Kurt’s Quest:  When the evil half lich Emperor sends his minions on a mission to find the Crown of the Lost Gods, an artifact which can control the minds of millions, it is up to Kurt von Mannerheim to stop them.  Along with his fellow immortal, Jackie Smith, the human Physicist/Mage James Drake, the Ellala Ranger Fenris and the Grimakan Priest Garios, they must head to the frozen north to foil the plan and ensure that the evil artifact never sees the light of day.

Refuge Book 5: Angels & Demons: Kurt is back with the Army of the Alliance, marching on the capital of the Elf Half-lich who is the enemy of everything good on the world. The Evil Emperor has little in the way of military power, but he had powerful other worldly allies. Can Kurt and his friends summon aid from their own Gods or will the Army of the Alliance be crushed so near to their goal.

Refuge: Doppelganger: Set thousands of years after the arrival, Kurt von Mannerheim, the Immortal Emperor of the Imperium of Free Nations, must give up everything to save his Empress, the Elfin Princess Gwenara Elysius von Mannerheim.  The world is at a crisis point as the Evil Tarakesh Empire, under its Immortal Emperor Heinrich Stuppleheim, prepares to overrun the world with its Nazi Ideology.  And Kurt must face a creature of legend that may prove too much for even his physical and mental abilities.

Other Fantasy

The Hunger:  Abused wife, drug addict, prostitute; Lucinda Taylor had been victimized by men all her adult life.  Left for dead by her pimp, Lucinda was turned by a passing vampire.  When he is destroyed she becomes a free agent, slaking her hunger for blood on the bottom dwellers of society, the type of men who once victimized her.  The crime boss of Tampa is her next target, and the City by the Bay is about to become a bloodbath.  But can Lucinda avoid those who are hunting for her; the Priest, the FBI man, and a pair of Vampires who would like nothing better than to send one Avenging Vampire forever into the dark?

Daemon:  A Steampunk Fantasy.  The world is dying, the victim of the magic used by society for the last three hundred years.  Daemon Corporation thinks they have the answer, stealing the life from other worlds, bringing from other dimensions the intelligences that inhabit them for sacrifice on Earth.  But something has come with them, a force that is killing the employees of Daemon Corp.  It is up to Forensic Mage Detective Jude Parkinson to find a way to stop the unstoppable, while keeping the head of Daemon Corp from silencing him to keep the dark secrets of the company out of the public eye.

Aura:  Triplets are born on a world where the magical Aura decides the fate of its owner.  Ariel is a girl with more than double the normal Aura, destined to become a mighty Priest or Mage.  Aiden has a less than normal Aura and is destined to be a soldier or laborer.  While Arlen has no Aura at all and is seen as an abomination in the eyes of the Church of Baalra the Dragon God, which has no power over those with Negative Auras.  Fate will rip the siblings apart, then bring them back together as they battle to defeat the Dragon God and leave the Evil Empire, before Ariel is taken as the Avatar of Baalra, his mortal vessel on Earth.

Books with other Authors:

Five By Five 3: Target Zone:  Novellas by New York Times Bestsellers Kevin J. Anderson and Michael A. Stackpole, along with Prometheus Award Winner Dani and Eytan Kollin, Baen Author Sarah A. Hoyt, and Exodus Empires at War Author Doug Dandridge, make this a must have book for the military science fiction aficionado.

A Fistfull of Credits: Fourteen authors write fourteen short stories set in the Revelations Cycle Universe.  Doug Dandridge, Mark Wandrey, Chris Kennedy, Chris Nuttall, Brad Torgerson, Jason Cordova, Kevin Ikenberry, Jon Del Arroz and others.

Tales of the Lyon’s Den: Another anthology set in the Revelations Cycle Universe. Doug Dandridge, Mark Wandrey, Chris Kennedy and many others.

Those in Peril: (The Phases of Mars Book 1): Alternate History of Naval Warfare. Doug Dandridge, James Young, Chris Kennedy and many others.

Lockdown: A Collection of Ten Terror-filled Zombie stories:  The name says it all.

Apocalypse: Fiction River: A number of tales in which the world ends, from the whimsical to the horrifying.

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