Exodus: Empires at War #1
Date: 2012-10-20 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction; Space Opera; Military Fiction; Military Science Fiction; Space
Description: Humanity's worst nightmare has again come out of the Dark. Can a human race in turmoil survive? When the human race faces extermination at the hands of an expanding species the last survivors travel a thousand years to reestablish the race ten thousands light years away. It is now a thousand years after the birth of the New Terran Empire. The race has aggressively expanded during that time, with a fleet that has never lost a war against an alien species. But the signs are there, the old enemy is back, and the Fleet will face its greatest challenge in a foe fifty times their size. Science ficti

Exodus: Empires at War:

Book 8:

Soldiers.

by

Doug Dandridge

Dedication

This novel is dedicated to all of the Soldiers, Sailors and Marines who have fought and died through the ages for the freedom and safety of the people of their nation.  This includes, of course, the pilots and Airmen of the modern Air Forces.  Your sacrifices will be remembered.

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Copyright © 2015 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.

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

Acknowledgements:  I would like to thank all of my fans, especially those who sent emails or commented on blogs about how much they enjoyed the first four books of this series.  Your kind words gave me the impetus to continue through the not so kind words left in some reviews.  And special thanks to Ruth de Jauregui, who helped with the covers on all of the Exodus series.  Her changes improved all of the covers.

Books by Doug Dandridge

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Science Fiction

The Exodus Series

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 1

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 3: The Rising Storm.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 4: the Long Fall.

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 5: Ranger

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 6: The Day of Battle

Exodus: Empires at War: Book 7: Counter Strike:

Exodus: Tales of the Empire: Exploration Command:

Exodus: Machine Wars: Book 1: Supernova.

The Deep Dark Well Series

The Deep Dark Well

To Well and Back

Deeper and Darker

Others

The Shadows of the Multiverse

Diamonds in the Sand

The Scorpion

Afterlife

We Are Death, Come for You

Five By Five 3: Target Zone:

Fantasy

The Refuge Series

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 1

Refuge: The Arrival: Book 2

Refuge: Book 3: The Legions

Refuge: Book 4: Kurt’s Quest:

Doppelganger: A Novel of Refuge

Others

The Hunger

Daemon

Aura

“Marathon”

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Cast of Characters

The Capital

Emperor Sean Ogden Lee Romanov:  Born Year 971 (29 years old).  Fifth child and the third son of the late Emperor Augustine Romanov.

Empress Jennifer Conway Romanov:  Sean’s Wife and Physician.

Grand High Admiral Sondra McCullom:  Chief of Naval Operations.

Field Marshal Betty Parker:  Commandant of the Imperial Marine Corps

Grand Marshal Mishori Yamakuri:  Army Chief of Staff.

Prime Minister Countess Haruko Kawasaki.

Ekaterina Sergiov:  Chief of Imperial Intelligence Agency.

Countess Esmeralda Zhee: Member of the Lords’ Opposition Party.

Baron Emile von Hausser Schmidt: Leader of the House of Lords.

Capital Police Lieutenant and Imperial Naval Captain Ishuhi Rykio:  Former Naval Commando.

Fiona Ogden Lee Romanov:  Sean’s older sister.

The Fleet

Commodore Duchess Mei Lei:  Hyper VII battle cruiser squadron commander.

Captain the Duke Maurice von Rittersdorf:  Squadron Commander hyper VII destroyer squadron.

Ensign Lasardo:  Rittersdorf’s tactical officer.

Commodore Bryce Suttler:  Commodore commanding HIMS Seastag (Stealth Attack 421) and Stealth/Attack Squadron.

Grand Fleet Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda:  Admiral in command of Hyper VII battle force.

Grand Fleet Admiral Gabriel Len Lenkowski:  Commander: Battle Fleet.

Fleet Admiral Jerry Kelvin: Commander, New Moscow Assault Force.

Rear Admiral Lawrence Kelso:   Fleet Admiral Kelvin’s Chief of Staff.

Commodore Sheila Stepanowski:  Task Force Leader, New Moscow Fleet.

Captain Vladimir Schmidt:  Captain, HICS (His Imperial Czar’s Ship) Sevastopol.

Commodore Natasha Romanov: Commander of NTR Light Cruiser Orleans.

Commodore Mary Innocent:  Sean’s Intelligence Officer.

Commodore Natasha Sung:  Commanding Officer, exploration mission to the far side of Ca’cadasan Space.

Captain Beauregard Morris:  Inertialess Fighter Wing Commander, Zokoku I.

Fleet Admiral Jumar Akai:  Imperial Fleet Commander, Right Wing of Fenri Assault.

Admiral Theodosius Glaven:  Akai’s second in command.

Lt. Commander Nahuel Runningdeer:  Naval Commando.

Imperial Army

Cornelius Walborski:  Ranger Captain and two time holder of the Imperial Medal of Heroism.

Senior Marshal Beatrice Sanginawa:  Imperial Army Commander of Sector IV.

General Lucius Arbuckle:  Commander, Fifteenth Army.

Lieutenant General Samuel Baggett:  Heavy Infantry Corps Commander,

Lt General Walther Jodel, The Preacher:  Head of Special Ops in Sector IV.

Major General Hri’stanna:  Phlistaran Commander of the 512th Heavy Infantry Division.

Major General McPherson:  Commander 47th Heavy Infantry Division.

Major General Patrice Napoli:  25th Armored Division.

Colonel Pham:  Ranger Regimental Commander.

Lt. Colonel Montaigne:  Ranger Battalion Commander.

Captain Stella Artois:  Engineering Officer.

Captain Nora Kevista:  Flight Leader, F310 Pteranadon.

First Sergeant Renhard Fujardo:  Ranger Company Sergeant.

Sergeant Emanuel Sargasso:  Ranger.

Sergeant Slater: Ranger.

Corporal Ramirez: Ranger.

Ca’cadasans

Great Admiral H’rastarawaa:  Commander New Moscow Space.

High Admiral Lisantr’nana Mishrantaow:  Commander, New Moscow System.

General Jawa'therista:  Ground Commander, New Moscow Planet.

Fenri

Supreme Emperor Jrastrina Jastrinae:  Ruler of the Fenri Empire.

Supreme Fleet Leader Kalisana Jastrinae:  Commander of the Fenri Fleet.

Others

Sonia Rupert:  IIA Agent, former member of Imperial Protection Detail.

Devera Walborski:  Warrant Officer Medic and the wife of Cornelius.

Rebecca Walborski:  Sean and Devera’s adopted daughter.

Cat Jeffries:  Processing Camp Inmate, New Moscow.

Rory Caronones:  Ex-police Detective and Camp Inmate, New Moscow.

Elizabeth Caronones:  Rory’s daughter and Cat’s friend.

Pietrov Gorbunov:  Former New Moscow Army Colonel.

Sharon Vakhrusshev:  New Moscow Resistance Leader.

Timeline

2151 AD:  Hiro Yamamoto discovers subspace portal generator.  Opens subspace dimension to transport of human colonists.

2160 AD:  Alpha Centauri B4 colony established.

2173 AD:  Tau Ceti III colony established.

2208 AD:  Humanity has spread to eight inhabitable systems within 20 light years of Sol.

2250 AD:  12 million humans living outside of the solar system.

2254 AD:  First contact with Ca’cadasans on Epsilon Iridani V.  Human colony destroyed without warning or trace.  Incoming ship discovers colony destroyed and runs back to human space with news.

2256 AD:  Human colony at Altair V attacked and destroyed.

2257 AD:  United Solar System Fleet established to fight alien threat.

2260 AD:  Battle of Tau Ceti, humans meet Ca’cadasans with a five to one advantage in mass and are handily defeated.

2261 AD:  Construction started on the six Exodus ships to allow some of humanity to make it to safety outside of human space.

2264 AD:  Ca’cadasans, having destroyed all of humanity’s colonies, attack the solar system in force. Five completed Exodus ships attempt to leave the system under heavy escort.  Two are destroyed before they can make it into subspace.  Two enter subspace with pursuit, while Exodus III makes a clean breakaway into subspace.

2264 - 3260 AD:  The Long Voyage.  With several fueling stops and explorations, Exodus III travels along the galactic rim and toward the core, traversing 9,760 light years from Sol.

3261 AD:  Supersystem discovered, along with remains of ancient civilization that had once owned it.  First human colony founded on Jewel.  Year 1 of New Human Empire.

3268 AD (Year 8):  Humans make contact with traveling merchant ship from Elysium Empire. Discover thriving civilizations that sprung from the ancient civilization that used to inhabit the Supersystem.

3361 AD (Year 100):  Population 2,000,000+.  Establishment of the Fleet.

3460 AD (Year 199):  Beginning of Terraforming projects around super system.

3573 to 3579 AD (Year 312 to 318):  First Gardasian War, human victory.

3589 to 3592 AD (Year 328 to 331):  Second Gardasian War, human victory, Gardasian race absorbed into human empire.

3619 to 3621 AD (Year 358 to 361):  First Markanan War, human victory.

3669 to 3676 AD (Year 408 to 415):  Second Markanan War, human victory, Markanans absorbed into human empire.

3696 to 3698 AD (Year 435 to 437):  Kiniman War, Kiniman race absorbed into the human empire.

3724 to 3733 AD (Year 463 to 472):  First Crakastan War, human victory.

3744 to 3762 AD (Year 483 to 501):  First Lasharan War, human victory.

3772 to 3784 AD (Year 511 to 523):  Second Lasharan War, human victory.

3797 to 3801 AD (Year 536 to 540):  First Margravi War, human victory.

3803 to 3808 AD (Year 542 to 547):  War of Revolt, Imperial Victory, 150 million humans leave Empire to found Republic of Mankind.

3809 to 3814 AD (Year 548 to 553):  Civil War, Constance the Great triumphs over Cassius the Terrible (II).

3815 AD (Year 554):  New Constitution establishes Constitutional Monarchy.  (Bill of Freedoms added in Year 607).

3841 to 3846 AD (Year 585 to 590).  Machine Revolt.  Human built autonomous robots rebel against humanity.  Billions die before the revolt is stopped, Man in the Loop Law enacted.

3848 to 3853 AD (Year 587 to 592).  Second Crakastan War, human victory.

3873 to 3876 AD (Year 612 to 615):  Third Cracastan War, human victory.

3892 to 3897 AD (Year 631 to 635):  Second Margravi War, human victory, ends with alliance of Margravi and Klashak with human empire.

3913 to 3936 AD (Year 652 to 673):  First Galactic War (against Lashar, Crakasta and Fenri).

3984 AD (Year 723):  Donut Project approved and construction planning begins.

3984 to 4000 AD (Year 723 to 739):  Elysium War, marginal human victory.

4007 to 4008 AD (Year 746 to 747):  War of Man, humanity (Imperium) against humanity (Republic).  Political pressures bring an end to short, sharp war.

4009 to 4114 AD (Year 748 to 853):  The Century of Peace.  Empire involved in no extra empire or border hostilities.

4065 AD (Year 804):  Dissidents from New Terra Republic found the Grand Duchy of New Moscow.

4114 to 4131 AD (Year 853 to 870):  Second Galactic War, Elysium, Lashar and Fenri against Empire, New Terra and Margrave/Klashak, human victory.

4167 to 4180 AD (Year 906 to 921):  Third Galactic War, humanity's victory.

4206 to 4216 AD (Year 945 to 955):  Klang Consortium attacks New Moscow.  Empire of Terra and Republic of New Terra come in on New Moscow’s side.

4256 AD (Year 985):  Donut Generates first working wormhole gate.

4261 AD (Year 1000):  Empire celebrates 1000 years of existence and growth.  January 1, 1000 local Galactic calendar.

March 15th, 1000, Ca’cadasan invasion of Empire begins in earnest with the attack on Sestius and Massadara.

March 29-April 5th 1000, Sean leads rescue mission to Sestius.

April 27th, 1000.  Sean  crowned in Capitulum.

May 26th, 1000.  Conundrum system taken by the Cacas.

June 7th, 1000.  Klassekians discovered by Exploration Command.

December 27th, 1000.  Exploration missions launched to other side of Ca’cadasan Empire, Galactic Core and Greater Magellanic Cloud.

December 30th 1000 through January 2nd, 1001.  Cacas wiped out the planets Cimmeria and Aquilonia, killing over seven billion humans.

January 10th,1001.  Human counter strike takes out Caca station in Massadara space.

May 28th, 1001.  Crakistan Empire joins the Alliance against the Cacas.

July 6th, 1001.  Imperial Human forces attacks the Lasharan Homeworld.

August 30th, 1001.  New Terran Empire attacks into Fenri Space.

September 18th, 1001.  Combined New Terran Republic/Crakistan Empire force defeats Ca’cadasan force in the Xenia system.

November 18th-19th, 1001.  Battle of Congreeve.  New Terran Empire Fleet traps Ca’cadasan Fleet in an ambush and savages them.

November 27-28th, 1001.  Ca’cadasan commando force strikes at Elysium Home World and the Donut.

December 12th, 1001.  Sean and Jennifer wed, and Shape Shifters attempt assassination of the couple.

January 8-9th, 1002.  Imperial Fleet defeats Ca’cadasan forces in Imperial Space.

February 10th, 1002.  Renegade Machines are discovered in extra-Imperial space.

The Story So Far

In 2254 the human species had spread to eight star systems after the discovery of the Subspace drive, allowing humankind to achieve pseudospeeds of over eleven times the speed of light.  That was the year the human species first encountered the long lived Ca’cadasans, three meter tall horned carnivores whose empire had been expanding for thousands of years.  That was the year the aliens attacked the Epsilon Iridani V colony.  When the heir to their imperial throne was killed after the colony had surrendered, the Emperor ordered the complete extermination of the human species.  After a short, sharp war, humanity had no other option than to try and flee the killer aliens.  The six Exodus ships were built, each capable of moving fifty thousand humans in cryostasis, along with all the knowledge of the human species.  One ship is known to have gotten away through subspace, a dimension through which the more advanced hyperspace faring Ca’cadasans are not prepared to follow.  Four generations of crew navigated the Exodus III over ten thousand light years in a thousand years, reestablishing humanity in a system of eight stars in orbit around a black hole, the Supersystem.  Once the home of an extinct species that had helped raise most of the intelligent races of the area to technical civilizations, it was also the perfect region for the newcomers.  Over the next thousand years the New Terran Empire fights, wins and expands in a number of wars, improving their technology at breakneck speed, becoming the dominant military power of the region.  Humanity also improves its genome, becoming stronger, faster and smarter, and seemed destined to rule the Perseus Arm, given time.

On the thousand year anniversary of the empire, Emperor Augustine I is having prophetic dreams, the gift and curse of his line.  He has seen the ancient enemy returning, finding the human species disunited in its three governments, and utterly destroying them.  Augustine has fought to expand the military, running into obstructionism from the Lords House of Parliament.  It is an uphill battle in the Constitutional Monarchy the Empire has become.  Meanwhile, the Donut, a century long engineering project, is nearing completion.  The enormous station, built as a ring around a black hole, and using the swirling gravitational energy to generate wormholes, has begun to make the many portals that will be used to eventually link the Empire.  And spies have infested the Empire, a race of shape shifters who make most security measures moot, adding sabotage and espionage to the problems facing the Emperor.

Sean Ogden Lee Romanov, the third son of the Emperor, is a serving naval officer on a battleship in a relatively quiet sector, with no thoughts of ever assuming the throne.  He was a mediocre officer, despite his superior intelligence.  With two brothers ahead of him in the succession, and a still young father, the throne seems like the least his worries.  By this time the Ca’cadasans have made contact with some of the enemies of the Empire, and sent the information back to their leaders.  The ancient enemy has been found, and can now be eliminated.  Ships begin to disappear in Sector IV, and sightings are made of vessels that fit no known description.  Many people refuse to believe these are the Ca’cadasans, and some think that Empire must have fallen in the near past.  The Emperor continues to try to rally support for increasing the size of the human military, while Parliament fights him on the economic effects of such a move, and alien powers protest that the humans are planning territorial expansion.

There is an attempted assassination attempt on Sean, and a successful attempt on the Emperor and his two older sons during a tour of the Donut.  The assassin is an officer of the Imperial Protection Detail, causing distrust to grow among the agencies charged with the security of the Empire.  The same day as the assassination, the Leader of the House of Lords is killed in his home.  Sean is now the heir to the Empire, and the man who must be seated as soon as possible on the throne, but he is almost a week’s one way com range from the capital.

The Ca’cadasans now attack, sending large fleets into several industrial or base systems, and smaller forces to many other stars.  The Massadara system, a major Imperial base, is one of the systems attacked.  Sean is serving on one of the battleships that happens to be in that system, and is aboard the vessel as it heads into combat with the enemy.  Word comes to the system that Sean is the uncrowned Emperor, and his ship, against his protests, is ordered out of combat.  His ship, the Sergiov, heads out of the system before the main battle begins, a small Ca’cadasan force on its heels.  The main battle is joined, and, though it inflicts casualties on the Ca’cadasan fleet that is only about a decade ahead in technology, it is defeated, and the system falls.

The Sergiov is battered by the enemy, and Sean is rescued from the ship by Captain Mei Lei and her hyper VII battle cruiser.  The battle cruiser fights its way out of the system with the help of Commander Bryce Suttler’s stealth/attack ship, and, along with Commander Maurice von Rittersdorf and his destroyer, starts on the voyage to get Sean back to the capital and the throne.  The Ca’cadasans track the two vessels, and Sean escapes on the destroyer while Mei sacrifices her ship in a battle with the Ca’cadasan supercruisers.  The battle cruiser Jean de Arc falls out of hyperspace in a catastrophic translation, a low survivability event, but nonetheless manages to survive and starts the long journey home.

Rear Admiral Mara Montgomery is dispatched with her scout force to locate Sean and get him back to the capital, while von Rittersdorf plays hide and seek against the Ca’cadasans, trying to get the unseated Emperor to safety.  Von Rittersdorf catches one of the much larger Ca’cadasan ships in a brilliant ambush which destroys the enemy ship, while causing severe damage to his own.  Montgomery’s task force enters the system, and she dispatches the other two supercruisers, then takes the Emperor aboard her flagship.  Von Rittersdorf begins the long journey home in his crippled ship with escorts.  Sean learns that one of the nearby systems is under siege and, against the protests of the Admiral, orders her to take her ships to break that siege and evacuate the colonists on the frontier world.  Meanwhile, the Leader of the House of Lords advances plans to put an Imperial Cousin on the throne while the true heir’s whereabouts is unknown.  The Ca’cadasans invade and take the kingdom of New Moscow, and make serious inroads into the New Terran Republic, the sister governments to the Empire.

On Sestius IV Brevet Brigadier General Samuel Baggett fights the landing of the Ca’cadasans with his mixed command.  Farmer and ex-hunter Cornelius Walborski deserts the militia to get his pregnant wife to safety.  Though bleeding the enemy, Baggett is forced to fall back into the wilderness before the enemy ground warriors.  Walborski’s son is born, but his wife is killed while they are running from the aliens.  The farmer goes mad, and stalks the jungle with the skills he had learned as an assistant hunt master, killing many aliens in the jungle.  He meets the legendary Preacher of special ops fame, now a retired Ranger and current minister on the planet.

Montgomery’s task force takes the system and the planet, and evacuates all those that want to leave, just before a larger enemy force enters the system and forces it to flee.  Sean meets Dr. Jennifer Conway, who has lost her own fiancé’ in the invasion, and falls in love with her.  The scout force fights a running battle back to Conundrum base, rescued at the last moment by the fleet of Duke Taelis Mgonda.  Von Rittersdorf makes it to safety, while Mei Lei and her crew are rescued from hyper by another battle cruiser.  The XO of the Jean de Arc, Xavier Jackson, falls out of hyper while trying to rescue some crew who could not get off the ship.  Surviving the translation, he is rescued by beings from legend, the Ancients that everyone assumes are extinct.

On the Donut it is discovered that an ancient race known as the Yugalyth, another creature from legend, capable of changing its very body form over a period of days and duplicating any creature, is at large.  A Yugalyth agent imitates Dr. Lucille Yu, the station Director, and attempts to destroy the huge construct.  Dr. Yu uses quantum teleportation, an experimental technique that only succeeds in moving about half the material being teleported to its target, to teleport negative matter to destroy the bomb the creature put on the station attitude control board.  The new enemy is discovered, one which originates in the realm of the Empire’s close ally, Elysium.

The Knockermen, a reptilian race in the Elysium Empire, revolt against the dominant Brakakak.  The Brakakak eventually curb the revolt, but are forced to commit their entire fleet to searching out the rebels and breaking the rebellion.  The leader of Elysium and his family are forced to take refuge with the Terrans during the battle of the capital.

Sean comes back to the Supersystem by the wormhole gates that are now being deployed through Imperial space.  Chief of Naval Operations Gabriel Lenkowski gathers a fleet that transports Sean to the capital planet, where, with a large force of Marines, he lands during the coronation ceremony and stops the Lords from crowning his cousin.  Sean is now Emperor, Commander and Chief of the Imperial Military, and, given his wartime powers, the most powerful Monarch in a century.  His companions go off to other commands; Mei Lei to a battle cruiser squadron, one equipped with new wormhole launched weapons; von Rittersdorf to lead a new destroyer squadron; and Baggett to command of a heavy infantry brigade.  Cornelius Walborski, on the recommendation of Preacher, joins the Imperial Army with hopes of being augmented and becoming a Ranger.

The Ca’cadasans hit Conundrum, the HQ of Sector IV, hours after Sean jumps through the wormhole from there.  They take the system, and land troops to complete the conquest of the planet.  Sean is forced to engage in a hit and run war against an enemy that is still more advanced, and more powerful, than his own fleet.  He orders his units to refuse combat when possible, and only to fight when they can inflict maximum damage on the enemy.  Q-ships, militarized merchant vessels with quantum teleporters capable of sending antimatter into the interior of an enemy ship, bait and destroy Ca’cadasan raiders.  The Lords go on the warpath against Sean, demanding that he commit his fleet to a major battle.  His prophetic dreams indicate that one of the core worlds, the heavily populated industrial planets at the heart of the Empire, is a target.  But the dream does not tell him when.

Wormhole gates are dropped in occupied systems, then maneuvered to planetfall, allowing ground forces to insert.  This is done on most of the occupied worlds, allowing the units to engage the aliens in Guerilla warfare.  Preacher leads a Ranger brigade against the Ca’cadasans on the surface of Conundrum, and the campaign forces the enemy off the planet.  The Lasharans, religious fanatics, are again attacking the frontiers of the Empire, and Baggett’s unit, as part of a heavy infantry corps, is sent to take their home planet and occupy their primary temple, breaking their will.

The Ca’cadasans strike at the Cimmeria system, utterly obliterating the two inhabited industrial worlds located there.  Sean retaliates by sending forces through wormholes to strike behind the main enemy fleet and destroy their bases.  The Fenri Empire, old enemies of the humans, sign an alliance with the Ca’cadasans, and the New Terran Empire launches a spoiling attack on those aliens.  The logical beings of the Crakista Empire, seeing the Ca’cadasans as the greater threat, join the human cause, ordering their military to offer all possible aid to the humans.  Things are beginning to look up until the Ca’cadasans launch yet another assault, almost overrunning all of Sector IV.

Sean and Jennifer become lovers, a fact taken advantage of by the Yugalyth agents, who kidnap her and threaten to kill her if Sean does not place himself in their hands.  Sean agrees, and has himself equipped with a pair of small wormholes that allow him to kill the kidnappers when they think they have him in their power.

Cornelius completes Ranger school, finds a new love himself, and is assigned to the planet Azure, one of the deadliest in the Empire.  He and his men stalk the Ca’cadasans through a jungle that is an enemy to both, and encounters a new client race of the Ca’cadasans, the supremely competent hunters called Maurids.  Cornelius saves and is saved by a young girl, Rebecca, and completes the mission his company couldn’t, destroying a Ca’cadasan headquarters.  He returns to the capital system again a hero, one of the few to win the Imperial Medal of Heroism twice.  He marries, and gains a new mom for his baby son, and his adopted daughter, Rebecca.

Sean, in need of a victory, plans an ambush for the Ca’cadasan fleet in the Congreeve system, a frontier world made up to look like an industrial developing planet.  The Cacas, using the Knockermen, send in a strike force to take out the Donut.  And the Empire sends in a strike against the Fenri Empire, the new ally of the Ca’cadasans.  Cornelius attends Officer Candidate School and is well on his way to becoming an officer, while the Opposition Party of the Lords continues to cause trouble for the Emperor, threatening a No Confidence Vote in Parliament.

The strike into Fenri space is a success, taking the heart out of their fleet and capturing several of their industrial planets, sending the small mammalians into a frenzy.  The Fenri still have some power in their fleet, and organize an offensive that kicks the NTE naval force out of their space, stranding Baggett and his soldiers on the surface of one of the planets.

The Ca’cadasan strike force makes it to Elysium space, commandeers a Brakakak light cruiser, and takes the station in orbit around that Empire’s capital world.  The Cacas jump through the wormhole to the Donut, bringing thousands of troops and four Quarkium devices, intending to destroy the station.  The Knockermen destroy the Brakakak station with the device that they were given by the huge aliens.  And Walborski, heading through the Donut on a short leave to see his wife and children, finds himself involved in another battle.

Sean lures the Ca’cadasan main fleet into battle, springing his ambush, and ravaging the enemy fleet.  They turn into a tougher opponent that he planned on, and some of the enemy fleet escapes to head back to their base, leaving the Imperial fleet with a lesser victory than wanted, and higher casualties than expected.

Cornelius organizes a team to keep the Cacas from exploding one of their devices on the Donut, and only one of the bombs is detonated.  The station, though damaged, survives.  Meanwhile, Baggett’s force in Fenri space resist the ground assault with heavy casualties, until relieved by the Fleet, and the Fenri are all but knocked out of the war.  Natasha Sung is meanwhile closing in on her goal, the aliens who are also fighting the enemy at the other side of their empire.

The alliance fleet reorganizes and prepares to attack the Cacas, while they are still reeling from their defeat.  Using the cover of a supernova explosion, which covers the resonances of ships transiting hyperspace, Sean launched a multi-winged assault on the remaining Ca’cadasan forces in the Empire.  The fleets strike without warning, bringing the Cacas to battle and all but annihilating their forces.  The Caca commander orders his remaining ships to get away as they can, then is incapacitated during the escape.  The Great Admiral’s second in command does the unthinkable and surrenders the remaining fleet.

Prologue

NEW MOSCOW SPACE, JANUARY 25TH, 1002.

Narwhal was the stealthiest vessel ever built by any known power.  Her grabbers and her hyperdrive were tuned to especially tight tolerances, giving off as little in the way of graviton emissions as possible.  Her built in wormhole whisked away all but the merest hint of radiation, heat or other.  And she was the first dual drive equipped vessel in generations, carrying not only a VI dimension hyperfield generator, but also a subspace drive which could be used to sneak up to systems without the characteristic signal of translation from hyper to normal space  She needed all of that stealth capability for the current mission, scouting out a system well behind enemy lines.

And it would have to be a system crawling with enemy shipping, thought Commander Ariella Ben Gurian, the captain of the vessel.  Her Jewish family had given her a name which meant lioness of God, but she was feeling very sheepish at the moment.  Seeing over a hundred Ca’cadasan warships moving about the system while in a one eighty thousand ton ship tended to do that to even the most aggressive commanders.  And there was no telling how many more were powered down and out of detection range.

They had come out of subspace a week before, and spent the entire time creeping into the system, coasting at point zero one light.  If they were spotted it would soon be realized they were not a natural object, not moving at three thousand kilometers a second.  They needed to get through the system and out the other side, though, and with their stealth, being spotted was of low probability.

“We’re in range for a good view of the planet, ma’am,” called out the Sensor Officer.

“Then let’s see what we have.”

The holo changed, showing a blue and white orb, the one habitable planet in the system.  They were looking at a globe that was half dark, half light in its current orientation to the ship, which was coming in at a ninety degree angle from the orbit of the planet.  The night side was unusual in that there were no lights showing, on a world that had recently been the home to seven billion people.  There were rumors that there were still people on this world, New Moscow, once the capital of a small Empire.  Less than there were.  Probably less than a half billion.  But still there, and still alive, for now.

“Get some close up views from the day side,” Ben Gurian ordered the officer.  A moment later they were looking at the surface, a view equivalent to being in low orbit.  The gravitic lens adjusted, and the view clarified, showing the web of rivers, cities scattered around them, and the heavy transport net linking the habitations.

The lens focused to higher resolution, and one of the cities, a very large one, resolved on the holo.  Resolved to become ruins, the smashed remnants of a city.  Several large craters occupied the center and the west side of the former metropolis, the sign of either kinetics or large nukes, possibly antimatter.  Most of the tall buildings had toppled despite being made of superstrong alloys reinforced with carbon fibers.  Those that still stood leaned drunkenly, some of their supports still intact, most stressed to the breaking point.  The city was otherwise deserted, nothing moving on the rubble strewn streets.

The view moved up the river that was flowing over the fallen bridges, to a smaller city, also damaged, if in a different way.  Here were the signs of ground fighting, buildings holed, the smaller craters of bombs and shells.  Still, it was just as dead as the capital city.

“Keep looking,” Ariella told her Sensor officer, glancing for a moment at the tactical holo that showed the enemy shipping.  They were coming up on the closest approach of a pair of those vessels, supercruisers, four million ton warships that could take Narwhal in an instant.  It was the closest approach, thirty-one light seconds, unless the enemy ships moved their way.  There was no reason for them to do so, but reason didn’t always have anything to do with reality.

The scene kept changing as it moved over the surface of the world, the Sensor Officer adjusting the view based on a larger image being pulled in by another gravity lens.  More cities, towns, villages, small farms, all deserted.  Some wild areas, and the dinosaur sized wildlife that occupied them.  And then, on a wide area of field, they found what they were looking for.

“My God,” whispered the Captain to the deity of her ancestors.

The camp covered hundreds of square kilometers, and must have housed tens of thousands of tents.  The tents were not of human manufacture, and seemed large even for something the Ca’cadasans would use.  The view shimmered a moment as the Sensor Officer adjusted the focus on the grav lens, and the inhabitants of the camp became recognizable.  Humans.

“What’s the estimated count?” asked the Captain.

“At least a million,” said the Tactical Officer, who was monitoring the take and feeding the data into the ship’s computers.  “Maybe two.”

The ship continued to coast into the system, her grav lens telescope looking over the surface, finding more of the camps, some larger than the first.  And, with many of the camps, some large structures with smoke pouring from the stacks.

“That matches up with what we got from the Republic,” said Xavier Patton, the Exec.

“Yes,” said the Captain in a flat voice.  “It does.”  Death camps, with food processing centers nearby.  The Ca’cadasans were turning human beings into rations, processing them and storing them for future use.

“How many do you estimate are on the planet, Xavier?” she asked, her eyes glued to the image of the largest camp they had found, one that must have had ten million or more within its fences.

“Seven hundred million,” answered the Exec in a hushed voice.  “Maybe eight hundred.  And they have to be processing them at a couple of hundred thousand a day.”

And this is what command sent us here to find out, she thought, looking over at her Com Officer, who was busy making sure that all of their information was getting back to headquarters through the wormhole.

There had been rumors of people being rounded up, and not just slaughtered and eaten in place.  Which made sense, since the Ca’cadasans couldn’t have eaten that much meat, and most would have gone to waste from spoilage.  It made her wonder how many other planets might have the same activity on them.  In the Republic the Cacas had set up camps on every major world they had taken.  They hadn’t followed the same pattern in the Empire, where the casualty rates among the planet dwellers had been much higher, and there were fewer survivors to bother with.

Now we just have to hope that command can do something about this.  I don’t know what, but they don’t pay me to consider those possibilities. No, they paid her to sneak into enemy held systems and view atrocities like this first hand.  This would be one system she would be glad to leave, though she had suspicions that command would keep her here as an observer to whatever they had in mind for the last humans of the Kingdom of New Moscow.

Chapter One

The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.

Edmund Burke.

CAPITULUM, JEWEL, JANUARY 30TH, 1002.

“Attention,” yelled out the Command Senior Master Chief of the Fleet, watching as the men and women in the chamber, all of whom outranked him, surged to their feet.  “Emperor on deck.”

The Emperor Sean Ogden Lee Romanov, Sean the First, came through the door behind the most senior enlisted man in the Imperial Fleet.  Resplendent in his naval uniform, the eight stars of a supreme commander on each shoulder board, he looked over the room for an instant, recognizing all of the faces standing around the table.  They included two officers of service leading rank, Grand High Admiral Sondra McCullom of the Navy, and Grand Marshal Mishori Yamakuri of the Army, both with seven stars on their collars.  Standing to the side of McCullom was Field Marshal Betty Parker, a five star, the Commandant of the Imperial Marine Corps.  Across the table from them stood a pair of Grand High Admirals, six star rank, his senior fleet commanders, Grand Fleet Admiral Gabriel Len Lenkowski and Grand Fleet Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda.  Next to Len was Senior Marshal Beatrice Sanginawa, the newly appointed Imperial Army commander of Sector IV.  Down the table was Lord T’lisha, the Phlistaran Head of Intelligence, right next to Ekaterina Sergiov, the Chief of the Imperial Intelligence Agency.

The last person at the table was the lowest ranking.  Lt. General Walther Preacher Jodel was the Chief of Special Ops in Sector IV, in command of the joint force of Army Rangers, Marine Force Recon and Fleet Commandos that operated against the Cacas.

All of the faces looking back at him showed their shock, the same disbelief he felt.  Eight hundred million of them, he thought as he waved everyone back to their seats and took his own.  Men, women, probably tens of millions of children.  Maybe more than that on other planets.  There can’t be too many more than a billion, can there?  Out of, what, fifty billion citizens of the kingdom?

“This is really, unbelievable, your Majesty,” rumbled Lord T’lisha.

“What’s so unbelievable about it,” said Lenkowski, turning a baleful eye on the civilian.  “We know the bastards are the next best thing to obligate carnivores.  Why would they waste the protein.”

“We have a tremendous problem, ladies and gentlemen,” said Sean, looking again from face to face.  “We have about a billion humans at serious risk of death, and we need to save them.”

“I really don’t see how, your Majesty,” said Grand High Admiral McCullom.  “If we try to take the planet, the Cacas are just going to kill them all.”

“We might be able to get strike teams in to take out the Caca guard force,” said Grand Marshal Yamakuri in disagreement, shaking his head.

“And how do you think we’re going to sneak a fleet in to take out their ships, so we can get your grunts onto the surface.”

“That’s the Fleet’s problem,” said the Grand Marshal.  “Just get us there, and we’ll do it.”

“I don’t...”

“I don’t want to hear how we can’t do it, Sondra,” said Sean, staring down the commander of his Navy.  “What I want to hear is how we are going to do this.”

“They aren’t even our people,” said Senior Marshal Saginawa.

“They’re human, Goddammit,” yelled Mgonda, slamming a hand on the table.

“We let enough of our own people die for tactical considerations,” shot back Saginawa, who was a native of Cimmeria.  “What’s less New Muscovites than lived on my homeworld, more or less?”  As she said this last she aimed a short glare at the Emperor.

Sean felt a combination anger and guilt flow through him.  Yes, Cimmeria, and her sister world, Aquilonia, had been sacrificed, along with the over seven billion people who had lived there, because it would have been disastrous to have made a stand at that time.  The Cacas would have wiped out any force he could have deployed there, and that would have weakened the Fleet to the point where the later victories would not have been possible.

“I am sorry about your homeworld, Beatrice,” he said in a calm voice, forcing down the rage, and the thoughts of sacking the Army Group commander.  She was good at her job, and had every right to be angry at the man who had made the decision to let her world die.  He truly didn’t believe she would give less than her all to any operation, despite her feelings, and that was all he could ask.  “The strategic situation at the time demanded that action.”  Or inaction.  “That is not true at this time.  In fact,” he said, looking around the table.  “The situation at this time calls for the exact opposite.  The enemy is weak, at this time and place.  And the time is ripe to wipe out another of their fleets.”

“That’s not the problem, your Majesty,” said Lenkowski, looking over at his fellow admirals.  “We’ll go in and kick the Caca’s asses.  I don’t doubt that.  The problem will be getting in, clearing the orbitals, and landing enough of a force to take their camps, before they kill all of the civilians.”

“I think we can handle that part,” said Preacher, a smile on his face.  “After all, I have twenty thousand of the toughest troops this side of hell under me.”

“And how do you plan on getting them onto the planet?” asked Yamakuri, doubt written on his face.  “Not that I doubt the quality of your people, General.”  He looked over at Parker and McCollum.  “Even the Fleet and Marine pukes.”

There was some muted laughter at the table over the good natured ribbing of the other services.

“Remember the advantage we have, your Majesty,” said Preacher.  “In a word, wormholes.”

*     *     *

PLANET NEW MOSCOW.

“I want all of the humans processed before the spring comes to this hemisphere,” ordered Great Admiral H’rastarawaa, looking across the camp where they were housing the despised creatures.  The stench of their unwashed bodies offended his sensitive sense of smell.

That gives these lazy males seven months to process these useless sacks of protein, he thought, looking at the males and females of the species that cowered under his glare.  There were very few younglings visible.  The humans kept them hidden.  Not that it did those mouths any good to hide.  The cart of bodies being wheeled out of the camp contained humans of all sizes, from adults down to infants, being sent to the processing factory.  Another cart came rolling in, containing the vegetable matter and grains they were feeding the humans, food that was mostly less than garbage to the Ca’cadasans.

“Yes, my Lord,” said the underofficer, rendering a small bow.

He thinks that the humans of the large Empire will be coming here, thought the Great Admiral, turning to walk away from the crowded camp, heading for the entrance.  And he may be right.  But until they do, we will continue to do our duty.

The males in the headquarters came to their feet as he entered.  With fist to chest he returned their salutes, then moved into the Commandant’s office, which was temporarily his as long as he was here.  The Great Admiral plopped down in the chair behind the desk, his eyes moving to the holo that showed the New Moscow system.  What a pitiful collection of ships, he thought, watching the icons of his warships moving through the system, mostly in orbit around the star or one of its planets.  In the entire kingdom of New Moscow there was only a fifth of the tonnage that had come here to actually take the polity.  A mere two hundred and forty-one superbattleships, less than half of them in the system.  Almost seven hundred smaller vessels, again, only half in this system.  And he wasn’t sure if he would be receiving reinforcements or not.

If not for that idiot, M’tinisasitow, we wouldn’t be in this mess, thought the other Great Admiral, who had been assigned to this post as soon as forward base had found out about the male’s surrender.  They knew that he would not follow the example of the cowardly male, though H’rastarawaa hoped he would also not have to die at his post.  But if he did, he did.  It was all a part of his duty to the Emperor, something that other cowardly male seemed to have forgotten.

There was always the chance that he would be reinforced.  Just as there was always the chance that the humans wouldn’t come to this kingdom.  He thought both chances were remote, and that there was a higher probability that he would be reinforced than there was that the humans wouldn’t come.  And when they come, they shall find none of their own to rescue.  I will see the camps vaporized first, hit with kinetics from orbit, or blown to atoms by nuclear warheads underneath them, before I will see the first child of the humans taken from the camps.  The camps on the other worlds had the same orders.  If they were to lose this territory, then the humans who had lived here would not be around to enjoy their freedom.

The howl of a siren split the silence.  What now? thought the Great Admiral, getting to his feet and running from the office to the outside.  At first he saw nothing, but he heard some screams and shouts over the siren coming from the compound.  And the angry buzzing of particle beams.

“What is the situation?” he demanded over the com, cursing under his breath when a reply wasn’t forthcoming immediately.

“Some humans tried to fight back when we came to harvest the tender meat, my Lord,” came the voice of an underofficer working the interior of the great camp.  “When we shot them down there was a general uprising.  We are putting it down at this moment.”

“Waste as little meat as possible,” ordered the Great Admiral, thinking of what particle beams could do to hundred kilogram bags of flesh.  “Any killed are to be rushed to processing immediately.”

“It shall be done, my Lord,” said the underofficer.

“And maybe we should start issuing your people stunners,” said the Admiral, thinking about the implications of such an order.  It might embolden the humans to greater resistance, but he didn’t think that would do anything for them except get them to the meat processing plant sooner, and with much more intact protein.  He switched frequencies on the com and was soon talking with the camp Commandant.

“I’m not sure that is a good idea, Great Admiral,” said the male, who held the rank of Low Admiral.

“What you think really doesn’t matter, Low Admiral,” growled the Great Admiral, anger rising at the challenge of a subordinate.  “Issue your guards and harvesters stunners immediately.  Only the reaction force is to have particle beams.”

“And if humans from outside the camp attack?”

“There are no such humans,” said the Great Admiral after a short barked laugh.  “The only humans here are under our control.  This will never again be a human planet.”  He would see this world burned to a cinder before the humans got it back, even in violation of the edicts protecting worlds.  The priests can go to the hells if they think I will let the vermin reestablish themselves here.  I would rather suffer a thousand years tormented by demons in punishment.

The big male was still outside, looking into the camp, when the first cart of the badly burned bodies were rolled out.  Most of the human cadavers were missing twenty or more kilograms of mass, vaporized away by the particle beams.  Among those bodies were a few smaller forms, some with only a torso or lower body remaining.  Not only had the humans not protected their children when the adult protectors had been burned down.  They had also lost the ones they had been trying to guard.  The Great Admiral gave a satisfied snort as he looked over them, the tantalizing smell of cooked meat coming to his snout.  If we can just get this over with, and ship all of this protein out of here and back to forward base, perhaps command will order our recall.  He smiled at that hopeful thought, knowing he would rather meet the humans as part of another conquest fleet, rather than the commander of an outnumbered occupation force.

*     *     *

KINGDOM OF NEW MOSCOW SPACE.

This deployment was much easier than the last.  Commodore Natasha Romanov still wished that they were deploying back to the Republic, where she could again connect with friends and family, what were left of them.  Unfortunately, they were at war, and for the duration her ships and her life were not her own.  The light cruiser Orleans, her flagship, was still in top condition despite being on station for over a year.  With modern technology, especially nanotech, wear and tear was not a common phenomenon.  Battle damage, yes.  But most modern systems were self-repairing and maintaining.  Skilled technicians were able to take care of the rest.  They could recycle food, water and air as long as they had power.  As long as they were resupplied with antimatter, they were good to go for as long as the crew was alive.

They had been resupplied before moving, which resupply included another light cruiser and three more destroyers, all Imperial ships.  They joined her flagship and the five Republic destroyers already assigned to her force.  This was the first time she really worked with Imperials, who she had always seen as competitors, if not enemies, in the past.  She was finding them very competent, at least those she had communicated with, which were mostly the command staff of the ships.  The lower decks, as they were called, were, according to the scuttlebutt, already bandying about her name in jest, since Romanov was a very aristocratic moniker in the Empire.  Even their damned Emperor had a Romanov somewhere in his name.

“We’re in position, Commodore,” called the Imperial destroyer Klein over the wormhole com.  The ship was sitting six light years to rimward, filling in the detection net of that part of the Kingdom of New Moscow.  Three more ships were still moving into position.  On the last deployment, in the slot between New Moscow and the Republic, they had crept into position, all the while worrying that an enemy might come along and hit the screen while it was still detectable.  This time there were task forces in position closer to the Ca’cadasan Empire, scouting groups that were gathering intelligence on the enemy forward deployments.  Those groups would be falling back for operations in New Moscow, and her squadron, as part of a larger task group of sixty ships, would be called upon to provide the early warning line when the Cacas came back.  And no one had any doubt that they would be coming back.

Romanov watched the plot as the last of the ships moved into position, the Imperial light cruiser Neu Schwanstein taking up the forward position along with two destroyers, the other six destroyers arrayed in an oblong around Orleans.  As soon as the last one moved into position she was on the com to the task group commander.

“We’re ready, Admiral,” she told the middle aged woman, Rear Admiral the Countess Constance Romanov, who she thought might be a very distant relative.  “All plugged in and ready to go.”

“You’re the first,” said the Admiral with a frown.

“We’ve had practice,” said Natasha, a smile on her face.

“Then I expect you to set the example for the rest of us.  I’m sure most of my crews are going to get bored with this duty very quickly.”

Natasha nodded.  Most naval duty consisted of patrols, which meant looking for possibilities of things happening, while updating the data on the systems visited.  But at least on patrol the crew was doing something other than routine maintenance.  They were navigating, doing sensor sweeps, flying side missions, basically running the ship, much like the British fleet during the Napoleonic Wars.  The real danger here was boredom, and the very real risk of people getting lax on communications discipline and letting the Cacas know they were there.

“We’ve never had a lapse of discipline, Admiral, and I don’t expect to have one on this deployment.”

“That’s good to hear,” said the Admiral, the frown never leaving her face, making Natasha think that the woman’s basic personality was set to angry.  “I’ll hold you to that, and expect the same kind of discipline while you are under my command.”

“Yes, ma’am.  We won’t let you down.”

The Admiral nodded, and immediately cut the com.

Well, this should be a pleasant deployment, thought the Commodore, making a point in her mind to communicate through her com officer in the future.  It really wasn’t fair to that officer, but rank indeed had its privileges.  And not talking to sour assholes when it was possible to get out of it was one of them.

Chapter Two

The world is a dangerous place to live; not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who don't do anything about it.

Albert Einstein.

IMPERIAL ARMY ASSAULT TRAINING CENTERS, SECTOR FOUR, FEBRUARY 16TH, 1002.

Lt. General Samuel Baggett stood on the reviewing stand and watched as his first division, a Phlistaran formation, passed, battalion after battalion of half ton sentients encased in multiton armor.  It was probably his most heavily armed division, the 512th Heavy Infantry, despite it lacking the number of main battle tanks of other heavy divisions.  Phlistarans in armor were among the most fearsome soldiers in the known Galaxy, and there was one armored battalion attached.  But because of the transport penalties of such sentients, and in the interest of balance, their divisions were structured a bit differently than those of humans.

The first company of the fourth battalion passed by, the four armored feet of each trooper pounding the street in unison, rifles held at salute in the two powerful arms thrusting out of the torso.  Helmeted heads turned toward the stand, retracted face plates showing fearsome toothed snouts and the incongruously gentle brown eyes.  The company commander held a ceremonial blade high, while the guide on  bearer raised the flag, then lowered it as the General returned the salute.

They’re like flippen cavalry of old, thought Baggett, recalling the charges the Phlistaran division in his old corps in Fenri space.  Like armored knights.  Each had the snouts of heavier weapons thrusting over their backs, like the antipersonnel turrets of light armored vehicles.

Phlistarans gave the illusion of invincibility.  Unfortunately, there was no such thing as invincible, no way to pile enough armor on a living being.  While they were fast moving and hard hitting, the ultimate shock troops, they were also big targets.  On the Fenri campaign they had caused the enemy no shortage of death and destruction, while suffering horrendous casualties themselves.  One reason he preferred human units was their staying power, which was mostly based on their ability to get low to the ground and present the smallest target possible.

The next three companies marched by, heading down the road on the way to the shuttle field.  Five more battalions marched by, then came the one armored battalion of the division.  Most vehicles were not made for Phlistarans.  Because of that, even almost wholly Phlistaran units had other sentients assigned to them for vehicle operation.  In this case, the three companies of main battle tanks and two of lights were manned by Malticons, diminutive humanoids, barely a meter and a half tall and the physical opposites of the Phlistarans.  The thousand ton main battle tanks were enough to make up for that.  Even the two hundred ton light battle scout vehicles were fearsome killers that made the small aliens fearsome killers in their own right.

After the armor passed came the three battalions of artillery and antiair vehicles, also manned by other aliens.  Flying overhead was the combat aviation arm of the division, thirty-two sting ships and another forty general purpose vehicles floating slowly along.

As the last of that unit passed by there was a break before the next division marched into sight, this one the human 47th Heavy Infantry Division, from the planet New Glasgow.  Are those bagpipes, thought the General, the sound of the pipes coming to his ears before he picked out the instruments being played by the Scottish descent troopers.  Baggett stifled a laugh at the incongruous juxtaposition of ancient martial instruments and advanced battle armor.  He had heard that they often went into battle to the sounds of the pipes, though it that case it was canned music, and not actual people playing.

This division marched on, seven battalions of infantry, two of armor, and four of artillery and antiaircraft support.  After a short break came the last division of the corps, the 25th Armored.  This was a feast of the big boys, four battalions of one thousand ton main battle tanks, two of five hundred ton mediums and another two of the lighter scout tanks.  Each brigade also had a battalion of heavy infantry, enough to support the tanks.  This was not a division suited to defensive postures, but more to overrunning the enemy.  Which was just what he wanted.

After the last battalion of the last division passed by Baggett stepped off the reviewing stand, motioning for the other division commanders to proceed him to the briefing room.  All were arrayed in their dress uniforms as suited a parade.  They would spend enough time in their battle armor when they got to the assault area.

“Take seats,” commanded Baggett as he walked into the room after his subordinates had gotten to their places around the table.  Baggett took his own chair at the head of the table, looking at the officers assembled in the chamber.  Three division commanders, all major generals, along with his own assistant division commander, as well as six brigadiers, holding the positions of three assistant division commanders and three staff officers.  A dozen colonels, the brigade commanders.  All of the senior commanders of his corps, who would later disseminate the information to their own commands, when the time came.

The holo came to life over the table, and most of the men and women in the room leaned forward in their chairs, the four Phlistarans putting their elbows on the table so they could shift forward on the peculiar benches that served as their seats.

“New Moscow, ladies and gentleman,” said Baggett, pointing at the system with his controller and causing one of the worlds to blink, then zoom in.  “Our next target.”

There were a few murmurs in the room, but mostly stunned silence.  The kingdom of New Moscow was not a favorite among many of the citizens of the Empire, having migrated from a polity that had itself split from the Empire five centuries before.  It was like they were considered people who couldn’t work out the problems of the governments they found themselves under, and were continually looking to run to something better.

“And what’s the mission, if I may ask?” asked Major General Hri’stanna, the commander of the 512th Heavy Infantry in his rumbling voice.

“It’s a rescue mission,” said Baggett, wondering if that was accurate.  More like an attempt at a mass rescue.  And if we do half of what the Emperor expects of us, it will be a miracle.

“And who are we rescuing?” asked Major General McPherson in his Scottish brogue.

Baggett didn’t say a word, but instead sent an order from his implant, causing the holo to change views.   It started with what looked like a high altitude view of a large square, at the range impossible to determine what it was.  The view moved in, until it resolved into a multitude of smaller squares arrayed among the larger one.  Then it zoomed again, and the figures of living beings could be seen moving among what were now obviously tents or other forms or temporary shelter.  There was some kind of a conveyance moving through one of the streets, being pulled by a group of the forms, and the view zoomed in on it, revealing its identity.

“Son of a bitch,” cursed Major General Patrice Napoli, the commander of the armored division.  “Those fucking assholes.”

The cart was piled high with bodies, most fairly intact, some missing parts as if they had been hit by a powerful beam weapon or high velocity projectile weapon.  Staring eyes looked wide into the nothingness their owners had entered, while a pair of Ca’cadasan guards walked on either side of the cart.

“This is the rescue mission, ladies and gentlemen,” said Baggett, fighting his rising anger.  He had seen this before, but it still drove him to a killing fury.  People, his species, being confined until they could be harvested as food.  “Hundreds of millions of humans, in over a hundred of these camps, some very large, some small, that cover the surface of the world.  As soon as the Fleet and the Army has the assets in place, we are going to take this world away from the Cacas and rescue these people.”

“And if the Cacas kill them first?” asked Hri’stanna.

“Then we at least free them from their fate, and deprive our enemy of food.”  Baggett looked out over the assemblage.  “But we’re not going to fail.  Failure is not an option.  That comes directly from the Emperor.  We will land on New Moscow, and we will take the planet away from the Cacas.  And free these people, so that they might join with their brother and sister humans in opposing this hated invader.”

There were a couple of muted cheers, with more staring in silence, which Baggett did not mind.  This wasn’t a group that was going to be roused with a rah rah speech.  They had been in the service too long, and seen too much.  That was OK.  As long as they did their jobs, he really didn’t care.

“I have downloaded all of the information we have on this planet to your personal databases,” he continued.  “I have noted our primary objectives, our generalized deployment, and leave it up to you to come up with workable plans for your units.”

“How much of this can we bring our own subordinates into?” asked a colonel of heavy infantry.

“You can tell your XOs and company commanders,” said Baggett, waving a finger.  “You can ask the advice of your sergeant majors and first sergeants, use their accumulated wisdom.  But no further.  Understood?”

Heads nodded, most with expressions of understanding at the need for operational security.  There were some frowns from those who liked to bring in their lower ranking officers and NCOs into the process.

“It is very important that the enemy not get wind of this operation,” said Baggett, turning off the holo.  “If they get any idea this is coming, they will kill every human on the planet, and we will be wasting even more lives for no purpose.”

“So, how are we going to get our people onto the planet before they kill everyone?” asked Colonel Maj Barrett of the 25th Armored Division.  The Colonel looked more like a vid star than a tanker, small, petite and with the kind of face that took the breath away.  She was a twenty-eight year veteran of the service, having served longer than her corps commander.  By chance she was serving under Baggett, and sometimes chance worked out in one person’s favor.   She was smart as a whip, and probably would have already achieved flag rank if not for her penchant for questioning higher authority.

“Higher command is working on that, Colonel,” said Baggett, looking into her blue eyes for just a moment before forcing his gaze to move on.  “They have some ideas, and are working with the special ops people on getting us onto the planet before the Cacas can do anything about it.  But I have not heard back from them.

“We’re not going in on this one alone, people,” he said, pulling the holo back up.  “We are being organized into the Fifteenth Army, and will have three more heavy corps assigned along with our own.  We will have enough troops to take the planet and hold it.  I have been told the Fleet presence will be strong enough to kick the asses of the Caca naval forces.  Other than that, I really don’t know what we’re going to do.”

The General had his suspicions, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that whatever they were going to do would take a level of timing that made the most complicated dance routine look simple by comparison.

*     *     *

“What the hell is this shit, sir,” groused Sergeant Emanuel Sargasso, looking with disdain on the powered armor, one set of many, that stood in the center of the room.

“These are the steeds we are going to ride into battle,” replied Captain The Baron Cornelius Walborski.  “You boys are constantly complaining about how you have to hump everything on your backs,” he told the gathered Ranger company.  “Now you get to let mechanical muscles carry the load.”

The one hundred and sixty-eight men looked at their company commander as if he had lost his mind.  He knew exactly what they were thinking.  These men were Rangers, special ops, the best unconventional fighters the Imperial Army had.  They were used to going into battle with almost no tech.  No com equipment, no sensors, not even energy weapons or magnetic rail guns.  They moved quietly with no electronic signature to give them away, and killed quickly from the shadows.  And now they were being shown medium armor combat suits, something that would defeat their entire purpose.

“We’re going on a different kind of mission this time, men.  And the suits are not really for us, but so we can aid the people we are going to rescue.”  And that’s all I can tell you guys about the mission we are going on, at least for now.  Walborski didn’t like that part of the tasking order either.  He was used to being frank with his men concerning a mission.  They all had high level clearances, and were used to being trusted by their leaders.

“So, what’s the mission, sir?” asked Renhard Fujardo, the company first sergeant.

“We’re going to be rescuing a bunch of civilians from the slimy clutches of the Cacas,” said Walborski with a smile.  “And that’s about all I can tell you.  I’m sure you will guess more during our training, but I caution you to not talk about your assumptions.  You’re smart people, and it’s not something I can stop you from doing.  But the intelligence types might become just a little upset if they hear talk coming from any of you.”

“And we’re going to wear, these, things, into combat?” asked one of the soldiers.

“For a part of the mission,” agreed Walborski, nodding.  “For more than half of it you will be acting as Rangers, moving and fighting in the accustomed way.  But for part of it you will be using this combat armor.  Believe me.  Without the protection of body armor, you will not survive, and without the equipment you will be carrying along, the people you’ve come to rescue will not make it out.  So just settle down, do what you’re told, and when the time comes you will know everything I do.  And hopefully quite a bit more.”

Cornelius looked over the men, seeing looks of confusion, disapproval, even anger on many of the faces.  Most of the men had come right out of infantry training and into Ranger school.  The last time they had been exposed to the armored suits was years, in some cases over a decade, in their past.  Even the ones who had served tours in standard infantry units had not actually used a suit since they transferred into Ranger training.  Their commanding officer was in the same boat.

“The suits have all been measured for your particular body size and shape,” he told his men, looking over the armor and seeing a blinking cursor over the one that was his.  “Follow the cursor to your armor and try it on.  Supposedly it is fitted perfectly, but we all know how that goes.”

There was some laughter as the men started moving around the room, headed for their own suits.  Cornelius walked to his and backed into the suit.  He lacked the skull outlet that all regular infantry carried to interface with their suits.  Instead, the helmets would interface with the Rangers’ own implants through close range carrier signals.  His suit closed up around him and sealed, and he felt the mental connection coming up.

Instantly his senses were coming through the suit sensors.  His own senses had been augmented to the point where they were on par with any natural creature that humans knew of.  But now he was seeing in not just the visible and near sides of the electromagnetic spectrum, but also in radio waves, like a passive radar.  Sounds were coming in beyond the range of sonar.  He moved his arms in the suit, his own augmented reflexes making the movements much faster than an ordinary trooper could have managed.

“OK,” he said over the com.  “Everyone settled.”

The acknowledgements started coming back, an overwhelming babble.  With a thought he cut out the vocal feed and started counting the responses on his HUD.  “We’re going to go for a little shake down run,” he announced, smiling as he thought about all of the groans which must now be filling the airwaves.  “So let’s get going, you mugs.”

All of the men followed him out of the room and into the bright light of the F3 primary.  Walborski looked at the temperature on his HUD, noting that it was as hot as Sestius ever was, not quite up to the standard of Azure, but close.  But the environmental controls on the suit were functioning to standard as well, and it was comfortable within the armor.

Walborski started off on the run, looking down the long path that led through the training base.  He knew he was in as good of shape as any of these men, but that most of them were still in his class.  Setting the pointer on the HUD on a target thirty kilometers away, he set his pace at fast, his armored feet slapping the hard surface of the road.

They went the first couple of kilometers at a sedate ten kilometers an hour, catching the catcalls and jeers of other special ops troops that were working or exercising outside their barracks.  Other Rangers, by the battalion, Marine Force Recon, Fleet Commandos, all proud men who thought they were better than the others.  Some of them would be going on their missions without armor, and were looking down on a unit that was now equipped with what the ordinary grunts wore.  Some of them would soon find out that they also were going to be wearing the suits.

“Let’s show these mugs how to run,” he called over the com, then increased his pace, hitting twenty kilometers per hour, up to thirty, then passing forty, still under what they could hit without the suits.  A curve was coming up, and a glance at the rear view of his HUD showed that most of the men were looking at that curve, anticipating the change of direction.

Cornelius picked up the pace, up to sixty kilometers an hour, running in a straight line, off of the road at the curve.  There was a five meter tall fence straight ahead, and Cornelius pushed the pace again, then took the last step and leapt into the air, clearing the fence easily and landing lightly on his feet, despite the weight of the armor.

“You’ve got the target on your HUD,” said Cornelius over the com, sending them the data.  “Last one there buys a round.”

That got them going.  Immediately a couple of men passed the Captain, pushing their suits for all they were worth.  Cornelius smiled, knowing what was ahead, which would not show up on his soldiers’ HUD until they were very near.

“You OK, sir?,” called out one of his platoon leaders as he passed, using his own command circuit to override Cornelius’ com block.

“I’m fine, Lieutenant,” he answered with a short laugh.  “Just getting old.”

That elicited a laugh from the other officer, who continued on at a fast pace.  Cornelius watched as about half of this company passed him, then picked up the pace to stay in the middle, looking at his map as they approached the first obstacle.  He went ahead and dropped the com block, listening to the back and forth between the men.  And then came the yells of surprise as they reached the canyon.

Cornelius laughed as he made his way through his men to reach the canyon that loomed like a knife slash through the hills, trees growing up to the cut.

“What the hell’s stopping you,” yelled Cornelius, running up to the slash and jumping in, letting his suit fall until his sensors told him he was twenty meters from touchdown.  His grabbers took over, slowing him to a hard but sustainable touchdown.  As soon as he hit he jumped, taking off over the rocks at the bottom and coming back down thirty meters further on, aiming for an open area across the jumble.

The men started jumping down, remembering what kind of capabilities they had in these suits.  The Captain reached the other wall and went into a hard jump, soaring into the air, cutting in his grabbers as soon as he reached the point where he was on the verge of falling back, then up and over the lip of the canyon and into the woods beyond.

“What a bunch of slugs,” he yelled over the com, running through the thick woods, dodging trees, for the most part, slamming into several with hits that would have stretched him on the ground if he hadn’t been armored.  His audio sensors picked up the sounds of the first group of his men hitting the top of the canyon and running on, crashing through the brush like a bunch of dinosaurs.  If this had been a combat situation, they would have let any enemy for tens of kilometers know they were coming.

Ten kilometers further was the river, three hundred meters across, deep and swift.  Cornelius could have flown over it, but decided this obstacle called for something different.  “No flying over the river, guys.  You have to cross it otherwise.”  With that he dove in, engaging his grabber units to pull him along underwater.  He hit forty kilometers per hour in seconds, and crossed the river in half a minute, surfacing and coming out of the water just as the first of his men jumped in.

Cornelius could track them crossing the river by the wakes they were stirring up.  Some forgot to use their grabbers, both slowing them and creating more of a disturbance on the surface.  The Captain pulled a sonic stun grenade from a suit pouch, activated it, and tossed it into the river.  Three seconds later it went off, sending a shock wave out in all directions that rippled the water.

Several suits shot out of the water, their wearers remembering their grabbers under the duress of sonic shock.  Walborski studied them carefully, too many rising too far above the water, easy targets for whomever was waiting.  We’ve got a lot more training to do before I’ve got people who can fight in armor.  He knew they wouldn’t ever be as quiet or stealthy in armor, despite its systems, as they would be when operating in their usual fashion.  Still, his expectations were that they would be much better than regular grunts.  And they would meet his expectations if he had to run them into the ground.

After half of his men made it across before he turned away and started through the woods himself.  He had just attended a week of training in the suits, part of the effort to let the teaching trickle down.  Even so, he was having problems slipping the suit through the thick woods, something he normally prided himself on, thanks to his work as a game guide on New Detroit.  This was a more serious business than helping rich lords find their trophy animal.   This was going to be life or death, and not just for them.

The last obstacle was just ahead, and about thirty of the men had already hit it, and been hit back.  Suits stood in frozen positions all up and down the bare slope of the hill.  There were soldiers at the top of the hill, sighting down their laser rifles, set on ultra-low power, taking sighted shots at every suit they could see.  As the lasers hit the medium suits the training programs kicked in, and the armor froze in place for exactly thirty seconds.

A few more Rangers stepped onto the slope, coming out of the woods before they noted their frozen fellows.  One ducked back into the woods, the other two stopped in place, and a moment later there was another pair of statues standing on the hill.

The Captain engaged his stealth field, his suit fading into the background as its electromag shield bent the light around it.  His own systems, set for instructor mode, didn’t react the same way to any laser hits.  His HUD told him when a laser contacted his field, but he didn’t freeze up the way the others did.  When thirty seconds had passed the frozen suits started coming back to life.  In most cases, as soon as the suit started to move it froze up again as it was hit by another beam.  Cornelius walked up the hill under his invisibility field, taking a couple of hits, only one a sure strike at his suit, the other terminating with the suddenness of a sweep that was aimed at something else.

Moments later some blurs came out of the woods, showing up on the Captain’s sensors from their infrared signature.  Most stayed low to the ground, taking advantage of what cover and concealment there was, just as they had been trained.  Most made it a third of the way, some even half way, before they were hit.

Walborski listened in as the company began to shake out into its individual platoons and squads, plans made, orders given and received.  Men started to move in groups, making their approaches under stealth, some quickly moving in and out of sight while others came up the sides or back of the hill, moving slowly, taking advantage of all the cover.

The first man to make it up and tried to grab one of the infantrymen and drag him from his position.  The suit blocked him from that action, so he started picking up small rocks and tossing them at the grunt.  This was enough distraction that some more men made it up through that soldier’s field of fire.  That opened the floodgates, as soldiers got in the way of the men in their firing positions, taking the beams and freezing in place.  Cornelius smiled as he watched the action.  His men had figured out the situation, and were gaming it for all it was worth.

In five minutes everyone was crowded together on the top of the hill, their objective.  All knew that if this had been real most of them would have been killed, but they had satisfied the requirements of the exercise.   The smile still on his face, the company commander walked to the top of the hill.

“So,” he said, looking around at the suits that seemed all the same, the name of the wearer appearing over them on his HUD.  “who was the last man up the hill?  Who owes us all a drink?”

“You were the last, sir,” called out First Sergeant Fujardo, laughing.  “You owe us a round of drinks.”

Cornelius cursed under his breath, just loud enough for it to be heard over the com.  Inside he was feeling fulfilled.  His plan had worked.  Buying a round of drinks would have hit any of his people hard in the wallet.  Him, not so much.  He was wealthy, and the multiple rounds he had planned to buy wouldn’t cause him any difficulty.  And it was all to the benefit of their morale, building unit cohesion.

“OK, everyone,” he said.  “On the road this time, to the club.  And good job.”

Chapter Three

Man's nature is not essentially evil. Brute nature has been known to yield to the influence of love. You must never despair of human nature.

Mahatma Gandhi

NEW MOSCOW SPACE, FEBRUARY 25TH, 1002.

“Nothing detected in the system,” called out the Tactical Officer, looking back at the Pod Leader.

“Helm.  Put us on a least time profile for the habitable planet,” ordered the Pod Leader, looking at the tactical holo that showed the six supercruisers of his command.   If this had been a defended system, he would have felt some trepidation in bringing such a weak force, a mere twenty-four million tons of warships.  One enemy battleship squadron could blow them out of space, though they would have done some damage to the human force as well.  Which would be a slight consolation for their own deaths.

“We are picking up signals from the planet,” called out the Com Officer, as the central holo focused in on the blue and white globe that was in orbit around the K class star.

This had once been a developing world in the Kingdom of New Moscow, the home to a hundred million people.  The Ca’cadasan fleet had come here early in the conquest, blown all of its defenses out of space, and killed the majority of the human population, dropping kinetics from space and following up with an infantry landing. Then they had left the system, and probably a million survivors, behind.  The plan had been to come back when the race was ready to colonize the system, and the humans could provide rations for the nascent colony.

Now it looked like that wasn’t going to happen, and the plan had changed.  Command wanted this system cleaned, all human life wiped out.  Since it had a native ecosystem, that left out the option of simply bombarding the planet until it was lifeless.  There would still be a bombardment, and then a landing.

The Pod Leader hated this kind of mission.  He sat his command chair and scratched at the base of a horn, his singular nervous habit.  He had a shortage of Marines to start with, and was sure he would lose some more before all was said and done.  Orders were orders, and he would not leave this system until he was sure all the humans had been eliminated, since the next occupier was sure to be human as well.  And leaving humans to be rescued was a future victory for the New Terran Empire.

“Keep scanning for enemy vessels,” he ordered his Sensor Officer, pointing a pair of right index fingers at the male.  “I don’t want anything sneaking up on us.”

The Sensory Officer acknowledged, and the force forged into the system, a day and a half out from the planet.

A sleep cycle and three meals later they were sliding into orbit, all sensors now focused on the planet, picking up any electronic emissions and heat traces that might be human made.  There were few of the former, and many more of the latter than expected.  Targeting systems locked the targets, and the first of the kinetics dropped from its launching ship and sped to the surface.  Seconds after launch a brief streak of fire appeared in the atmosphere, followed by an eye hurting pinpoint of light blossoming on the ground, the one megaton kinetic hitting what was supposed to be a human encampment of considerable size.

The second target was selected, and another ship launched, repeating the performance on a second camp, while the force prioritized targets and sequenced the next launches.  This shouldn’t take long, thought the Pod Leader, watching the probe projected view from the surface as it followed a mushroom cloud climbing into the atmosphere.

“We’re picking up a transmission, my Lord,” hissed the surprised Com Officer.  “Pinpointing, now.”

“We’re picking up twenty-four point sources on the surface,” shouted the Sensor Officer over the other male.

“What the hell are they?” asked the Pod Leader, watching as the sources appeared along the breadth of the equatorial continent.  Before the Sensor Officer could answer, he knew.

*     *     *

“Fire,” yelled Brigadier General Margo Tumboni over the com, watching the plot that was showing the six enemy ships in orbit around the world.  The Imperial Army officer had worried for a moment that the enemy vessels wouldn’t all come close enough to engage with her thirty-six shore guns.  Fortunately, the enemy had come in as fat and arrogant as normal, and now they were about to pay for it.

The signal went out by fiber optic cable from the underground command bunker, reaching the transmission station on a mountain fifty kilometers away in microseconds.  The signal went out from there, and, as prearranged in the fire plan, twenty-four of the one thousand ton portable guns brought up all their systems, a process that took less than two seconds.  While the defensive fields were stabilizing the targeting systems locked on to the nearest targets, and the guns fired.

Each weapon system carried a powerful gigawatt range laser, and particle beam capable of sending out protons at point one light, and a two hundred millimeter mag rail cannon.  All basically fired within twenty milliseconds of each other, locked firmly onto a single target.  In this case, three of the orbiting supercruisers, eight guns on each vessel.

First to hit were the lasers, striking the cold plasma fields of the warships, weakening and disrupting the defensive outer screen.  An instant later the particles beams struck, putting twenty kilograms of protons into each gun’s target.  About fifty percent of each beam sliced through the electromagnetic field, striking hulls, cutting deep into the armor and surface machinery, tearing along the length of the ship.  Eight of them to a ship, they destroyed between twenty and fifty percent of the surface installations on the bottoms of each supercruiser.

The magrail cannon rocked the huge gun back on its stabilizers, sending the two hundred kilogram supermetal penetrator, with its ten megaton antimatter core, into the ships at point zero three light.  While not that great a velocity in terms of space combat, it still covered the twelve thousand kilometers to the target in one point three seconds.  The penetrator punched through the electromag screen as if it wasn’t there and dug deep into the armor just before the antimatter warhead detonated.

Each gun got off a second shot of each onboard weapon before the ships could respond.  What they left were two vessels among the three targets, both with severe damage, still combat capable, but at only fifty to sixty percent capability.  One had converted to plasma from a lucky hit, showering the surface below with fast moving debris and radiation.

The guns powered down, all except for their propulsion systems, which moved them away from their firing positions as fast as possible.  Shoot and scoot, it sometimes gave the gun a chance to relocate and engage again.  Nine of the guns went up seconds after they started to move, four more a moment later.

That was when the twelve guns which hadn’t shot before brought up their systems and fired on the three ships that had yet to be engaged.  They also got off two shots before scooting, and four of them didn’t make it.  But while they were being hit the eleven remaining guns of the first group came back online and fired again.

*     *     *

“Destroy all of them,” yelled the Pod Leader, shaking a pair of right fists at the holo.  “By all the Gods, kill them all.”

“We’re picking up graviton emissions from the vicinity of the planet’s moon,” called out the Sensor Officer, while the ship bucked from the release of a kinetic weapon and all surviving laser domes fired.

“Show me,” ordered the panicked Pod Leader, wondering what kind of a trap he had stuck his copulating member into.

The holo changed over to a planet-moon system view, showing ten vector arrows that were coming around the other side of the satellite.  All were accelerating in the five hundred gravity range, and a second later the mass figures came up underneath.

“One is in the one and a half million ton range, two in the just under million ton, and seven in the two hundred thousand ton range.”

So, they faced one of their heavy cruisers, two lights and seven of their scout ships.  Less than six million tons, what would have been an easy kill for his force before they had been chewed up by the shore batteries, that were still firing on his ships.

“Get us out of here,” he yelled at the Helm Officer.  “Maximum acceleration.”

“T’kakash will not be able to keep up,” said the Navigator, talking about the most damaged of the ships.

“They will just have to do as well as they can,” said the Pod Leader, changing the holo to look at the entire system, wondering what else might be waiting for them.  He looked over at the tactical officer as the ship shook again from another ground launched penetrator.  “Engage those ships.”

The Pod clawed its way from orbit, heading out at five hundred gravities, one of the ships falling behind at its slower acceleration rate of less than three hundred gravities.  The enemy ships moved into sight as his own vessels fired a volley of missiles their way, a hundred weapons accelerating at eight thousand gravities.  A moment later the human ships let loose with their own volley, one hundred and six missiles accelerating at an incredible ten thousand gravities, a rate these Ca’cadasans had never before seen.

Both forces fired second and third volleys, each pushing toward the enemy in separate waves that were fifteen seconds apart.  Due to the range the missiles could not build up to a deadly closing speed, and most were killed by defensive beam weapons before they had covered half the distance.  Both forces exchanged lasers and particle beams in a close in knife fight.  At this point the Ca’cadasans still had the advantage.  They still had the majority of their beam weapons, and their ships had the greater mass, better able to handle the transfer energy.

Two of the supercruisers were battered by the energy from protons and photons.  A light cruiser and two destroyers shuddered as transfer energy blasted armor and pieces of hull from their bodies.  And then the surviving missiles came in.

Of the twenty-one missiles remaining of the human first wave, eighteen were blown out of space before they could strike.  Two detonated within attack range, their heat and radiation pouring into three of the supercruisers.  One hit, a hundred megaton warhead detonating directly on the stern of the Ca’cadasan ship.  The kinetic energy was negligible, but the antimatter warhead was anything but, and the heavily damaged ship spun away, its acceleration falling to almost nothing.

Fifteen enemy missiles made it to within attack range, eleven of them falling victim to close in weapons.  Two were proximity strikes, sending waves of heat and radiation into a human light cruiser and four destroyers.  Two of the destroyers of that group were hit head on by two hundred megaton warheads that shattered both vessels, sending large chunks of ship out on diverging paths.

When the exchange of missiles ended, two of the supercruisers were still heading out, with two cripples falling behind to be swarmed by the six surviving human ships.  The Pod Leader stared at the holo, happy to have escaped with his life, sure he would get free of the system to report this trap back to his commanders.

“We’re picking up graviton emissions,” called out the Sensor Officer, switching the holo to a far view.  “Two vessels, in the fifteen million ton range.”

That was two of the enemy battleships, and there was no way they were going to win that fight.  Even as he watched, forty vector arrows left the icons of the enemy vessels.  And these were distant enough at a light hour for them to achieve a significant attack speed.

*     *      *

“Good job, Commodore,” said Rear Admiral Benji Yamamoto, looking at the face of the large woman whose force had weathered the close in fight with the Cacas.  “I don’t think we’ll see any of the bastards back here.”

“We can certainly hope so,” said Commodore Susan Smith of the New Moscow Navy.  Her ships had been among the few hundred that had made it out, escorting liners and freighters full of refugees, people who would someday want to return to this space.  But her thoughts ran more to the point of believing that the barring of this space to the Cacas would not be a sure thing until their Empire was utterly defeated.

“You go ahead and take all of your ships back to base,” ordered the Admiral, mentioning the system where the repair ships, tankers and missile colliers were located.  “Get them back into shape.  We’ll keep a watch here.”

Smith nodded, looking at a side holo that showed the planet, which still had thirteen of the large shore guns on the surface.  That, and three battleships, should be enough to keep the million or so survivors on the world unmolested.  The Cacas were in retreat in this part of the kingdom, and no one really expected them to make a recovery for a year or so.  And by that time, the Empire planned to take the offensive to them once again, and not give them back the momentum.

*     *     *

CAPITULUM, JEWEL, FEBRUARY 28TH, 1002.

“So that’s settled then?” asked the Baron Emile von Hausser Schmidt, the leader of the Majority Party of the Lords.  He looked the question at Archduke Percival Marconi, former leader of the Opposition Party, whose voting block was now solidly in Schmidt’s, and the Emperor’s, camp.

“As far as I’m concerned, the Emperor’s appropriation request can be passed without comment,” said the Archduke, nodding back at the Baron.

“Not so fast,” cautioned Countess Esmeralda Zhee, leader of the Opposition Party and a sworn enemy of Sean I.  “I’m still not sure we shouldn’t cut our spending.  After all, the Cacas are beaten, driven from our space, and the space of our ally, the Republic.  And since there is no way we can invade them, I see no reason to throw away money like this.  It’s a lost cause.”

“And if they come back, Countess?” asked Schmidt, glaring at what he thought of as a very stupid woman.  “What do you propose to do then?  Throw bad language at them?”

“We sent them out of the Empire with their tails between their legs,” argued the woman, crossing her arms over her chest and returning the glare of the Baron.  “Why in the Galaxy would they ever want to return here?”

“You know they still occupy New Moscow?” asked Marconi, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples.

And I know how he feels.  Schmidt had beaten his head against the wall of stupidity the selfish noble woman had erected against all reason.  It was frustrating dealing with someone who only thought of herself and her own desires, which description fit most of her party.  Marconi had once been the head of the Opposition, but he, at least, had retained a sliver of respect for the Empire he served, and that had been enough to sway him to the Emperor’s side when he had been exposed to an actual military operation.  Zhee would never go to the front.  The chance of death or injury would be a major inconvenience as far as she was concerned.

“I really don’t care if they occupy those upstarts,” said the Countess, her nose rising in the air.  “What have they ever done for us?”

“They’re human beings, Countess,” said Schmidt, choking off what he really wanted to call her.  “And while the Cacas occupy their space, they’re only a short hop from our borders.”

“And we have the largest fleet in the region already,” continued the woman, as if Schmidt had never spoken.  “And a young genius in charge.”  She said that last in a sarcastic tone.  Everyone knew how she felt about the Emperor, and she made sure that they were constantly reminded of that fact.

“So you will try to block this appropriation in the Lords?” asked Schmidt, cutting to the chase.

“Of course.”

“And you will once again fail,” replied Marconi.

“I owe it to our own to keep trying to stop this madness of continual spending on the military.”

“Very well.  Try as hard as you want.  On the popular vote of this committee this appropriations bill will be submitted to the Lords at the next session.  On to the next order of business.”

This measure what about creating new peerages in order to reward those who had proven deserving of them, mostly from actions of heroism in the war.  Again, the vote was unanimous to present the entire list to the complete House, the only dissenting vote again Zhee’s.  And again Schmidt simply blew her off.  Her dissent really didn’t matter.  But he could see how it might become a problem in the very near future, when the threat of the enemy was not as immediate as it had been.  And then he would be forced to ask for a very different vote in the House of Lords.  A vote of impeachment, followed by a trial for treason.

Chapter Four

Aside from the occasional genocide, oppression, evil and torture, etc., it is inarguable that public policy could be implemented more rapidly in an autocracy.

David Harsanyi.

CAPITULUM, JEWEL, MARCH 3, 1002.

“His Majesty, the Emperor Sean Ogden Lee Romanov, Sean I.  And the Empress Jennifer.”

Everyone around the table stood, bowing toward the door where the broad shouldered young man, wearing the dress uniform of a Fleet flag officer, stood with his arm around the beautiful redheaded woman who was his bride.

Sean escorted his Empress across the room, heading for the high table, the multitude of noblemen and women, officers, scions of the Commons, bowed slightly as they passed.  The people at the high table bowed deeper as he seated Jennifer, then took his own chair at the center of the table, looking out over the room.

“Everyone please take your seats,” said Sean in a voice that was amplified throughout the huge dining room without sounding like it was being reproduced.

The people sat back in their seats, picking up wine glasses, chatting quietly in the manner that made the entire room fill with murmurs.  Sean’s sensitive hearing picked up bits and pieces as he looked over at Jennifer settling in her chair.  Snatches about himself, Jennifer, her pregnancy.  Not all of it complimentary, the speakers forgetting that Sean possessed augmented hearing, if they had ever thought about it.  Sean recognized some of the voices, and catalogued those in his memory for future use.

The wait staff started to bustle out of the kitchen, some with chilled bottles of wine to refill glasses, others with platters stacked with bowls of the soup that was the first course.  Sean and Jennifer were served first, bowls of steaming seafood chowder made with fresh caught fish and sea life sending a savory odor into the room.

“This is really good,” said Jennifer as she dipped her spoon into the bowl once again.

Sean blew on his spoon for a moment, then sipped the soup from it.  The rest of the room set to their soup at that moment, and Sean smiled at the obvious follow the leader motions of the room.

Someone started pinging their spoon on their mostly empty wine glass, getting the attention of the room, and the talking died down to first a low murmur, then silence.  A young ensign, looking to be just out of the academy, stood at one of the Fleet tables, holding a wine glass in her hand.  Her voice cracked as she spoke, raising the glass into the air.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Emperor.”

“The Emperor,” said the hundreds of voices in the room, raising their glasses and taking large swallows in the honor of their ruler.

Sean lowered his own glass, setting it back on the table, his eyes still scanning the assemblage.  He caught a face staring at him out of the corner of his eye, and turned his gaze quickly to find Countess Esmerelda Zhee staring at him with an angry expression.  I almost wish I could make her go away was his thought as he returned the gaze, matching her anger with an even expression.  He still wasn’t sure why she held such animosity toward him.  She was a political enemy, but most people didn’t let politics rule their entire life the way this woman did.

The second course came out, again a specialty of the Emperor’s private chef.   This was also fish, and was followed by a course of prime rib, then a pasta.  After that, for anyone who still had room, a desert.

As the plates were being cleared away and more wine poured, Sean went over his speech in his head.  The holos were out in force by now, floating around the room, ready to record his words so they could be rebroadcast around the Empire.  It was theater, plain and simple, a way to give the straightforward words some punch from the pomp and circumstances surrounding the event.

“Your attention please, ladies and gentlemen,” said Sean, standing and letting the sound system once again amplify his voice so that it sounded to everyone in the room like he was at their table.  The sound in the room dropped to a whisper, then down to nothing as every face turned his way.

“As you know, we have kicked the Cacas out of the Empire and Republic both.”

The room erupted into cheering, glasses were raised and clinked together, everyone celebrating the victory.

“But this doesn’t mean we have won the war,” he continued, raising his hand to quiet everyone.  “I wish it did.  I truly wish the fighting was over, that we had taught the Cacas a lesson and that they would never return to our space.  That we could return to a stance of peace, or at least as much of one as our normally feisty neighbors would let us.”

There was some light laughter at that last line.  The Empire had been at peace with most of the neighbors for quite some time.  The exceptions had been the Lasharans and the Fenri, neither the most reasonable of species or nations.  The other nations hadn’t been as belligerent, mostly because of having had their asses handed to them in past wars.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible as long as the Ca’cadasans are still around as an organized Empire.  Maybe after we have totally destroyed their fleet and knocked out their manufacturing base, we can have peace with them.  But make no mistake.  They want us gone.  Destroyed, extinct.  And they are not going to stop until we are.”

There were some murmurs at that, and Sean found himself looking at Zhee again, who was again giving him her glare.  She had her own political agenda, and the reality of the Universe had nothing to do with it.

“They still have a presence in New Moscow, and we need to get rid of that presence, get it out of our backyard.  And they will be reinforcing there in the near future, intelligence tells me within ten months.  From there they will again attack our Empire, and the Republic.  Instead, I plan to beat them to the punch and hit them with an operation in the next five months.  Due to operational security, I can say no more about that.  Just know that we will kick them out of New Moscow space, and from there we will plan our own thrust into their space.”

Sean really hadn’t given out any information that the Cacas couldn’t guess at themselves.  Instead, he had just used disinformation to further his cause.  This information would get out to the spies the Cacas had scattered around the Empire, and when more and more Imperial ships started poking around in the Kingdom of New Moscow, they would associate them with the offensive they knew was coming in five months.  And then, when the real offensive kicked off in less than two months, they would be surprised.

“Plan on us being engaged in a war of survival for a century or more.  This is something we as a people are not used to.  The human species is used to fighting short, sharp wars, no longer than a couple of years.  But this foe is too big, there is no possible strategy to knock them out of the war with one hammer blow.  Or even with a dozen.  This is going to call for some sacrifices.  More among the aristocracy and the wealthy class than others, since they can afford the sacrifice more than the working class.  But they will be called on to sacrifice as well.  Sometimes that sacrifice will entail property, or work hours.  Sometimes it will call for their lives.  Lives sacrificed now and in the near future will pay off in lives saved further on.”

Sean stopped for a moment, his eyes roaming over the crowd, taking in the mostly attentive expressions.  Many of them were in one of the services.  Others would soon be going into one or the other.  Not all of them would come back.  In fact, that might be true for most of them.  If they lost this war, that would be true for all of them, to be followed by the rest of the human species.

Sean stood for a moment, thinking, dismissing the rest of his memorized speech for the moment.  He decided to instead go with his heart for the last.

“You all know that I didn’t plan to be in this position, to become the Emperor on the eve of the greatest war our species has ever faced.  I expected my father to rule for many more years, maybe for another century.  And when he died, my brothers were next in line, while I had planned for a naval career.  Circumstances beyond my control gave me the crown.  Other circumstances brought war to our doorstep before I could even ascend the throne.  I would have preferred to have been the Emperor to have led my species, and those others who inhabit our Empire, into a golden age of peaceful expansion.  Instead, I find myself leading us into this fight.  My heart breaks every time I think of what we have to face.  But I am determined to win, and I think that if the rest of our species can muster the courage and determination that we can win.  So,” he finished, grabbing his wine glass and raising it into the air, “to victory.”

The room erupted into a loud and long cheer, a celebration that would go out over the media to the entire planet and beyond.  Sean dropped back into his seat, and Jennifer put her arms around him.  And Sean hoped that the disinformational part of his speech would do what was intended.  That the Cacas would be caught off guard when his forces rolled into New Moscow space and kicked them out.  And that the offensive would catch them enough off guard that they could rescue most of the people the Cacas had in their death camps.

*     *     *

“So, what do you have for me?” asked Special Agent Sonia Rupert of the Imperial Intelligence Agency.

“Not a whole lot,” said the Maurid known as Striped Wolf to the agent.  The strong and smooth moving alien was mostly several shades of orange, like a large tabby cat, though in form it was closer to a canine, though not quite enough to mistake it for a real wolf.  One look at its large cranium and intelligent eyes would disabuse anyone of the notion that it was an animal.  “My masters kind of left me to my own devices as they fled your space.”

“Do you expect them to get back in touch with you?”

The creature stood there on all fours for a moment, then shifted to a bipedal stance, its front feet unfolding into hands.  Its rear extremities stayed in the configuration of feet, though they also could become hands at need.  “I hope you don’t plan on trying to use me in a manner I don’t wish to be used, just because I am not in touch with my masters.”

The Maurid flexed her hands, revealing the razor claws that were her primary natural weapons.  Sonia stared at those claws in fascination.  She was augmented herself, with the same kind of strength and speed as a Ranger or Naval Commando, if not the same mass.  Her lesser mass made her a little weaker and a little faster.  But here was an unaugmented creature that she was sure could rip her apart without much effort.

“I would not think of capturing you,” she told the creature.

“And I know that’s a lie,” said the Maurid, showing her sharp teeth in an intimidating smile.  “I know I would consider such an action, if it was in the best interests of my mission.  You are not stupid creatures, so I am sure that you think the same.  Which doesn’t mean I would do such a thing, or that you would, but it doesn’t hurt to be just a little cautious.”

“OK.  I can say that such has been discussed at levels above mine.  And it has been vetoed by my Director and the Emperor.  You have been useful to us in the past, and we suspect you will be at least as useful to us in the future.  If not, we have no doubt that you will not reveal anything you don’t want to reveal.”

“Very well,” said Striped Wolf with another smile.  “Since I am stranded here, I have no choice but to trust you.  But while we are talking about this, I really could use some more supplies.”

“Anything else for your comfort?”

“I have all the comforts I can desire, with the exception of a male of my species.  Which, I am afraid, you cannot provide.”

“I wish we could help you there,” said Sonia, who had been celibate herself since starting this mission, not having time for a love life, or proximity to anyone she would want to have sex with.  “You have my com address.  I expect you to get in touch with me if you hear anything of interest.”

“Of course,” said the Maurid, sitting back on one of the rocks in an almost human posture, this time unfolding a rear extremity into a hand and stroking her fur.  “And thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not forcing me to try and run back to my so called masters.  That in itself is a gift beyond measure.”

“You really hate them that much?”

“I really hate them that much,” she said, showing her fangs in something which could never be mistaken for a smile.  “The sooner you make them go extinct, the better.”

*     *    *

Capital Police Lieutenant Ishuhi Rykio, also known to some as Captain Rykio of Imperial Fleet Intelligence (Reserve), looked out of the window of the transport that was taking him over the Sutter Range, which bounded the city of Capitulum to the southwest.  He had thought about taking the train, which actually would have gotten him the scene faster than the subsonic transport that was built for city patrol.  The train traveled at a thousand kilometers an hour, the transport at six hundred.  But the transport gave him the advantage of looking at the scene from overhead while coming in, getting the overall layout of the area.

They crossed the midline of the range, falling into a valley that was sparsely lined with luxury homes that took advantage of the high view.  Ishuhi’s implant, connected into the planetary database through the police net, gave him basic information on each residence as it entered his line of sight.  Size, layout, cost, names and occupations of residents.  A glance at the small river down the center was labeled as soon as he looked at it, and with a thought he brought up the speed and temperature of the water.  Most of this was information that any civilian implant could give on this, the capital planet of the Empire.  With the exception of the residence info, which would have been limited to the name of the primary owner, unless there was a privacy block in place.

The transport crossed over the end of the small valley and onto the plains beyond.  This was farming territory, a plain that stretched a hundred kilometers to the next range and four hundred from north to south.  There were innumerable cities and towns on that plain between the farmlands, the names of them all, the roads and streams, even individual farmsteads, popping up on the implant overlay to his vision.

Ishuhi still found it strange that actual farming and ranching was a going concern on such a crowded planet, the only one in the Empire allowed to ignore the conventions against overpopulation.  There was still a forty percent mandate for land wilderness, while most of the oceans were maintained in a wild state.  Every other planet was legally mandated to have fifty percent wilderness, the human race still dealing with the memory of a homeworld they had almost killed.  But people, especially those with disposable income, still wanted to eat real food.  Millions of tons a day came in from other worlds, since the farms couldn’t produce enough for a population of over twenty billion.  The protein vats and algae farms could still produce enough to feed half the planet, and did, for the poorer segments of the population.  Natural food production was still a lucrative paying industry, especially on a world where much of the aristocracy spent at least some of their year.

The transport banked, and the rail line came into sight.  Coming out of a black hole in the side of the mountain, the continuation of the line into the city.  A high fence, humming with the noise intended to chase wildlife away, rose on both sides of the double track.  There were no trains on the track at the moment, all having been switched to one of the higher speed underground rails while the investigation went on.

And there was the investigation scene, a couple of kilometers up from the tunnel, a kilometer down from the first station on the plain.  Multiple aircars were parked outside the fence, which had been opened up so people could come and go.  The flashing lights of an ambulance strobed, and the Lieutenant stared at that vehicle for a moment, wondering why it was even here.  The thing they had found would not be traveling in that vehicle, but in the Fleet Intelligence retrieval van which was still on the way.

“Welcome, sir,” said the uniformed cop to the officer as he stepped out of the transport.

The words said welcome, but the attitude the Lieutenant was picking up was one of warning off an outsider.  He nodded to the cop and walked past him, heading for the actual scene of death.  He was thinking of shutting down the scene, chasing all of the civilians away while he waited for the military response, but decided that he would get a look at what they had first.  It wasn’t as if the local police hadn’t seen all there was to see.

“Lieutenant Rykio,” said a woman in plain clothes, walking up to him with her hand held out, the expression of someone who knew her crime scene was about to be taken from her on her face.  “I’m Lieutenant Matthers.”

Ishuhi’s implant interfaced with hers, sending the query through the police net so both could verify the identity of the other.

“Could you show me what you have?” he asked, pointing to the spot down the tracks where so many people were gathered.

“Of course,” she agreed, leading the way.  “I have to tell you, I thought this was just an accidental death when I was first called in, after the track alarm activated.  They don’t happen often, but they do happen.  Then we saw what we had, and I knew it was one of them.”

Ishuhi was sure he knew what them meant, and as they approached the remains splattered over the tracks, he had to agree that it probably was a case of them.  Those were not human organs on the track.  They were the wrong color, the wrong smell.

“Have you done a scan on them?”

“Forensics have scanned them with both remotes and nanites,” she said, puffing up like she was insulted that he would have to ask.  “Not human, or any other species we’re used to dealing with.”

The information had filtered through the planetary databanks within moments, and been matched within the imperial security secure database.  Which had brought him here.  He looked over the remains a moment later, including a head that was miraculously intact, sitting on the grass on the side of the tracks, dead eyes staring straight ahead.  The head was human, though he was sure that the brain would turn out to be anything but.

The Lieutenant, acting in his role in Fleet Intelligence, sent a signal to the office on the planet.  A moment later his orders came back, including the directive recalling him to active duty and putting him in charge of the investigation.

“I hate to tell you this, Lieutenant,” he said, sending her his code change over the net.

“You’re taking over,” she said in a resigned voice, then widened her eyes as she saw that he was now operating in a new persona.  “Captain Rykio.”

“This is now an Imperial Fleet investigation scene,” he told her, his eyes looking into hers.  “Please remove your people from the scene.  I still want you to secure the perimeter while we’re waiting for my people to arrive.”

The policewoman nodded, then stormed off, the set of her shoulders tight.  Ishuhi commiserated with her.  No one liked to have their toes stepped on.  But this had gone from an investigation of an accidental death, with the possibility of foul play, to an investigation of a possible spy ring.  From this moment on it was really not important who this person, or thing, was, or what they were going to do.  What was important was where they came from, and where they could find the rest of the Yugalyth colony, before the shape shifters went to ground again and hid out.

Minutes later the first of the Fleet air vehicles landed and disgorged the security troops who would secure the area.  Soon the civilian police were leaving the area, most of them cursing the Fleet under their breath for taking their case.

“Captain Rykio,” stated the Lt. Commander who came to attention in front of him.  “I have two tracking teams here.  Orders?”

“Program your chemo and genetic sensors for both the human and Yugalyth samples around the tracks.  Then I want you to try and track them back to the point of origin.”

“Any idea what this one was doing here, sir?”

Ishuhi looked over the tracks, trying to reconstruct what had happened in his investigator’s mind.  He really couldn’t come up with reason one of the creatures might have needed to get to the tracks.  And why now?  Why here?  And why didn’t it realize that the train was coming?

“Nope, and we can figure that out later, if it becomes important.  Right now, I just want to locate this nest of roaches and wipe it out.”

The Lt. Commander nodded at the reference.  Roaches had followed humanity into space, even making the journey from the homeworld on the Exodus III.  They weren’t really that much of a problem anymore, not with modern pest control techniques, but there were still enough outbreaks that people understood the reference.

“I’ve got one squad of suits to do a high scan, and a squad of Commandos to follow along the ground.”

“Make sure the suits are fully stealthed,” he cautioned the other officer, who was also augmented as a commando, just as Ishuhi was.  “I don’t want them to get wind of us tracking them.  We have an opportunity here, and hopefully we can get rid of these things once and for all.”  He really didn’t believe that.  These things had gotten too entrenched into the area.  Stomp on one nest and another sprung up.  Nevertheless, he had to try.

Moments into the search they found what might have chased the Yugalyth onto the tracks, or at least over the fence.  The body of a Mardog, a wolf like pack predator that was the bane of these woods.  The beast had been shot by a laser, then partially eaten, probably by pack members.  Ishuhi thought that the alien must have run from the predators, taking a shot at one before another knocked the pistol, which they found a short distance away, out of the Yugalyth’s hands.  Forcing it to run to the only place it knew it could get away.  To the fence and over.  It was just bad timing that a train was already coming, and there was no way it could stop in the hundred meters it had.

Sometimes things just happened, circumstances, random occurrences that were the downfall of the best laid plans.  This seemed to be one of those cases.  And the Yugalyth had passed through the woods recently enough that they could still backtrack them.

“We’ve found something,” called out one of the commandos over the com.  Ishuhi was about four hundred meters back, and seven kilometers of rough terrain up from the tracks.

“What have you got?” he asked, looking through the eyes of the commando and seeing the open maw of a small cave.  At least small from the outside.  “I’ll be up there in a moment.  Hang tight.”

By the time he got there two more of the commandos and two spacers in combat armor were under cover on the ground, looking at the dark opening into the granite cliff.  The opening itself was about a meter and a half tall by two wide, and was partially covered by brush.  Ishuhi looked through the viewpoint of a man still in the air, grunting as he saw what looked like a normal rock cliff and vegetation.  He ordered the man to shift, and as the view changed he could finally see the opening, realizing it was naturally camouflaged, and, for all that, still very hard to spot from the air.  And unlikely to be spotted from the ground.

“Send in a couple of probes,” ordered Ishuhi, looking over at the nearest suited man.

A pair of small disks lifted from the back of the suit and sped toward the cave opening.  They slowed for a moment, then slid into the opening, their passive sensors straining at full power to scan the interior of the cave.  The entrance continued as a narrow tunnel for about twenty meters, then opened up dramatically, the ceiling rising to forty meters, while the cave widened to thirty meters.  The cave continued back to disappear into darkness, and the sound of dripping water came back over the audio sensors.

“Anything alive in there?” asked Ishuhi, thinking about what he knew about caves, then searching the database.  Sure enough, caves on almost every world were well known as lairs for animal life, and a world like Jewel, with its well developed land ecologies, as well as some Earth based life, should have no empty caverns that hadn’t been usurped by intelligent life.

“Not that we can tell,” said the man who was monitoring and controlling the probes.  “Nothing on the infrared.  No animal sounds, not even bats in the far background.”  The spacer was silent for a moment.  “Orders, sir?”

Ishuhi lay behind cover and thought for a moment, then noticed that his ears were telling him that the woods were silent around him, when they should have been alive with bird and tree dwelling animal analogues.  Something had either taken them, or chased them away.  And if he had to bet money, he would have said that the animals near this cave had been taken.  The Yugalyth used the biomass of other creatures to make more of them, and he thought that was what had happened here, and in the cave.

He looked back through the sensors of the probes, trying to look into all of the shadows on the walls and not succeeding.  “Send out a pulse of actives,” he ordered, and the probes both sent out waves of radar and sonar that covered the walls, bouncing back to the receiving set.  Now the cavern was revealed, nine other openings leading into side tunnels, and one at the top leading up in a chimney.

Ishuhi was about to order the probes to start investigating the side tunnels when one of them went off line, and the second showed that first one falling from the air, metal splashing from the front sensor cluster where it had been hit.  The second probe swung in the air, searching frantically for the source of the shot, then blacking out as well.

“Crap.  Send in nanites on a spread.  Let’s see what they can find.”

Two of the suits released a cloud of nanites, the microscopic robots shooting straight through the entrance of the cavern, spreading out as soon as they got through the narrows.   As they started their spread a laser stabbed out and took the center from the cloud.  They had just spotted the shooter when an electromagnetic pulse slapped the nanites out of the air.

“Let’s get some more people in here,” ordered Rykio over the com.  “I want the entire mountain side searched before we commit to searching the cavern.”  He thought that secondary force could work to make sure the Yugalyth didn’t pop up from some unexpected position, while a company of engineers could do what they were best suited for.  Search and destroy in a fortified, underground position.

Chapter Five

It was men who stopped slavery. It was men who ran up the stairs in the Twin Towers to rescue people. It was men who gave up their seats on the lifeboats of the Titanic. Men are made to take risks and live passionately on behalf of others.

John Eldredge

IMPERIAL ARMY TRAINING FACILITIES, SECTOR IV, MARCH 14, 1002.

“Come on, you lugs,” yelled Cornelius over the com, watching as his company ran over the obstacle course, relearning how to use the armor to get through obstacles while searching for and engaging targets.   Most were using the suits as well as people just out of basic infantry training, quite an improvement over their original performance.  But not where they needed to be in order to have a chance of carrying out their mission and actually saving the survivors.

The first squad, first platoon went over the first wall, only using enough grabber power to reduce their overall weight to what they would have weighed without the armor.  The men grabbed quickly at the slight handholds and pulled themselves up and over, stopping momentarily at the top to engage the targets that were trying to engage them.  Twelve of the thirteen men made it over, one slowly falling back on automatic grabbers after being hit by a beam.  The Captain replayed that kill on his HUD, noting that the man had done nothing different than any of the ones who had made it.

Just the luck of the draw was the Captain’s guess.  It was the same in real combat.  Some men were better than others at moving, at staying under cover, and spotting the enemy.  And they could still die because they happened to move into the sight of an enemy, while a lesser soldier survived the battle.  There had been several times when he moved right, when he might have moved left, or vice versa, and survived because of that.

First squad, or at least its surviving members, continued on across the open, dodging, swerving, taking advantage of what little cover there was.  They were getting quite proficient at turning their stealth on and off, levitating at points, crawling at others, anything to get them though the danger zone, which all did, getting to the next obstacle.

Second squad came charging, going over the wall, losing two of their men to enemy fire.  Walborski cringed at their simulated deaths.  These were his men, he knew all of them well, and he wanted them all to come back from this mission.  They wouldn’t, but he still wanted them to, and he tried to figure out a better way for them to attack that kind of obstacle.  They could go far around it on this training course, which would not do them a jot of good if they ran into a long wall on the mission.

At the end of the obstacle course they deployed the survival suits, minimal packages of light armor that could protect one from several seconds of laser fire, or a brushing hit with a particle beam.  They quickly got the manikins into the suits and attached them to the battle armor they were wearing, then lifted into a low flight and got them out of there.  A couple of men were killed along the way, dropping to the ground as frozen statues, their cargo doomed as well.

That afternoon they worked without the suits.  They would perform part of the mission in soft uniforms, at least some of them, and they wouldn’t be sure who would be doing that until they were actually into the mission.  For the time being they practiced moving and hiding, then shooting and scooting, taking advantage of their strengths as special operations warriors.  Moving quickly, hitting targets with first shots.  They practiced hand to hand combat against Caca shaped robots, learning and relearning to take advantage of the greater mass and slower reaction time of the aliens.

That evening they went on a night patrol, trying to avoid high tech systems as they struggled to get through automated defenses.  Some of the men excelled at this, others were just victims.  And Cornelius kept note of who was who, and who would be assigned these roles would be up to him.  After that run through they took a quick meal and hit the racks for six hours of sleep before starting another training day.  It was a brutal schedule, and everyone knew why it was.  Every day they delayed, more innocent people died.

That night Cornelius had one of his dreams, what many people would have called nightmares.  Katlyn was still with him, at least at the beginning of the dream.  Again he lived through her death, and again he killed the bastards that had taken her away from her.  He woke up from the nightmare, sweat pouring down his face, his muscles shaking.  He knew what the feeling was.  It was not fear.  It was rage, pure and simple.  He did not fear the Cacas, he didn’t fear his own death.  He hated the Cacas, and if his life was the price he paid to kill more of them, he would pay.  The only thing he did fear was the loss of the people under him.  I should have stayed an enlisted man, he thought before he closed his eyes and forced himself back to sleep.  At least then he only had to worry about himself, and the Cacas he had in his sights.

Two days later the company was aboard a large shuttle heading up to orbit.  Their ride had arrived, and they were out of planet side training time.  They would still be able to take in simulators and hangar deck training on the way.  But the next time their feet hit the ground they would be at the launching point before going through the wormhole to New Moscow.

*      *      *

NEW MOSCOW.

Cat Jeffries tried to hide in the shadows as the monsters walked through the camp, looking for the next harvest.  Her dirty clothes were coming apart on her thin body, though she could no longer feel the dirt on her after so long without a bath.  She frantically searched for that nonexistent sanctuary, but there was really no place to hide, since the Cacas checked the tents as they went, and the outsides were set up so that there were really no areas to get away from their sight.  One of the huge creatures, much bigger than the adult humans who seemed very large to the child themselves, walked between the tents and pointed with a pair of right index fingers, picking who would die, and, by default, who would live.

The Caca pointed at a woman, who sighed and sat back on the ground, a hopeless expression on her face.  Another of the Cacas, one Cat thought of as the weapon bearer, walked up to the woman and put a hypervelocity dart through her forehead.  The woman fell dead in an instant, all of her muscles going slack at once and her body slumping over.  Another Caca reached for the body, grabbed the woman’s hair, and jerked her off the ground, swinging the body into the cart that was being pulled by four large humans.

The leader pointed again, and the weapon bearer put another dart through the head of a man who looked like he had been overweight, until he had been reduced to the starvation diet of the rest of them.  The powerful gatherer grabbed the body by an arm and threw it into the cart.  The third victim decided he would not go quite as easily, and turned to run, knocking down a couple of people as he started into a run.  He couldn’t outrun the dart, which plowed through the back of his skull and dropped him limp to the ground in mid stride.

The leader looked around a moment, his eyes falling on Cat for a moment, the slit pupils looking at her like she was a side of beef.  Which to the alien she probably equated to.  She cringed as she waited for the Caca to point at her and shout, but his eyes moved on to another target, and the weapon phutted again, taking another bag of protein.

After taking a dozen more bodies the cart was pulled out of the camp.  During the day several others were pulled through, not in sight of the child, but within earshot.  Cat thanked God every time the harvest missed her, especially where and when she didn’t have to see it.  When night fell other carts came into the camp, these filled with grains and vegetables that the Cacas didn’t eat, along with a broth made with some unknown substance.  There were various rumors of what it might be, but no one really wanted to know for sure.

People sat around outside the tents, talking in whispers, needing to get their fears out in the open while afraid they might be overheard, and that things might get worse for them.

“When will the Imperials come?” was the most asked question, one to which no one had a good answer.  The next most common question was whether they might be able to stage an escape by themselves.  The only problem with that was no one wanted to be the sacrificial lambs that absorbed the Caca fire while others got away.  And the odds were not good that they would get away for good.  A few might be able to hide, but no one was stupid enough to think they would be among them.

Cat thought that she just wanted someone to take care of things for her.  She hadn’t seen her parents since the first day of the invasion, when the Cacas had landed and so many were fleeing for their lives.  She didn’t think her parents would have left her alone on purpose, which meant they were probably dead.  She had no adults around her who thought of her as their priority, not like family would have.  So she kept waiting for someone to do something, and every day was the same.

*     *     *

IMPERIAL ARMY TRAINING FACILITIES, SECTOR IV.

“The damned robot’s overheated again,” cursed the engineering NCO.  The robot in question was fifteen meters into the earth above the cavern, with another ten meters to go, stuck.

Captain Stella Artois looked over the schematics of the robot on the HUD of her suit of heavy battle armor.  She immediately found the problem, a cooling system that had clogged.  This was the second unit with the same problem, something to be expected when they tried to work an old dependable unit into a new role.

This isn’t what I wanted to do, thought the small blond, who was made large by the half ton of armor encasing her body.  She had decided on engineering as a career because she had wanted to build bridges, bunkers, dams, things that could be translated into a civilian career in an ever expanding Empire.  She had known there might be some combat involved, but now she and her company were to be dropped right into the middle of the shit.  Of course they didn’t ask me what I wanted to do, she thought as she sent the report of the problem up the line to the techs who would try and correct the problem.

Seven of the ten robots completed their mission, cutting all the way to the surface and rising past the ground and into the air.  The suited engineers shot up the openings after the robots cleared, moving into deployment.  And we have no idea what we will be deploying into, thought the Captain, looking around the empty plain that surrounded their training area.  Wherever they went, she was sure it would not be empty, and she wasn’t all that sure what would be filling that space.

*     *      *

JEWEL.

The nanites went in first, flooding the cavern and providing sensor data and cover for the probes that came next.  Those machines moved through the tunnel taking in the feed from the microscopic robots, which winked off line as the EMP blast hit them.  The probes, with much better shielding, weathered the pulse and started lashing the large cave with sensors, picking out the five human sized forms who had taken up firing positions covering the entrance.

Particle beams reached out and hit two of the probes, while the remaining four, under remote control, fired back with wide beam lasers that caused severe burns to the creatures they touched.  Two more went down at the same time as the first squad of infantry came through the entrance, spreading out and taking the defenders under fire while the next squad moved through.

One of the defenders survived to back into a tunnel and get away, while the two squads of infantry secured the cavern, allowing the rest of the platoon, a squad of engineers, and a dozen of the naval commandos into the cave.

“Keep up the pressure,” called Captain Rykio through his com as he pointed toward the tunnel where the lone survivor had retreated.  A squad started that way, one team of two leading the way, the rest following in a spread so they wouldn’t all be caught by an explosive device.

More probes were launched from outside and came flying through the entrance, then vectored to one or the other of the side tunnels.  Swarms of pizos and nanites took off after them, setting up a search pattern that would swarm through the entire complex.  They had a good idea of the general layout from the deep radar probing the engineers had conducted, but there were still bound to be some surprises.

The cavern ended up going kilometers into the earth, hundred meter long tunnels ending in large caverns with multiple exits, a veritable maze that eventually ended.  That was when the artificial tunnels started, going deeper into the mountains, until Ishuhi feared that it might exit on the other side of the range, and all of this search and destroy exercise would be for nothing.

They finally found what they were looking for at the end of one tunnel that sloped down at a steep angle for ten kilometers, ending in a room that had been barricaded.  Eleven of the creatures that only looked human held that barricade, and had a heavy particle beam and a mounted grenade launcher.  As soon as the feet of the Imperial Army troopers came within sight they were taken under fire.  The heavy beam burned through the armor of the first two men, taking their feet off at the ankles and sending enough heat into their lower legs to incinerate them up to the waist.  Those suits continued to float on their upper grabbers as the armored bodies bobbed up and down, attracting more fire.  Meanwhile the next pair of troopers flew just over the floor on their stomachs until they had a clear line of fire under the feet of their dead mates.

The particle beams struck, killing four of the defenders, but not getting through the shield of the heavy beamer.  One shot from the heavy beam hit one of the troopers in the helmet, burning through in an instant and converting the head underneath to vapor and burned bone chips.  The second trooper fired a grenade into the barricade, the explosion shattering part of the barrier and killing two more of the Yugalyth.  The soldier then slid backward and out of sight, while the heavy particle beam continued to fire down the tunnel, scoring hits on the dead, digging runnels in the wall and floor.

The Yugalyth stopped firing when no targets appeared for the next few moments.  The next thing that came at them was one they didn’t have time to react to, as a hyper velocity missile flew barely over the floor, ducked beneath the floating dead troopers, and slammed into the heavy particle beam weapon before the gunner could react.  The barrier blew apart, sending pieces of bodies in every direction, and the rest of the squad of infantry overran the position and continued on.

*     *     *

“Captain Rykio,” came the call on the com.  “You’ve got to come see this, sir.”

Ishuhi ran down the tunnel, excited from the images the infantry officer was sending his way.  The bodies had been taken down by that time, the barrier partially cleaned up, and he hurried by on his way to the center of the lair.  He passed more bodies on the way, Yugalyth who had tried to keep the invaders away from the one who created them all.

And there it was, in plain sight as he entered the large chamber.  It looked in no way human, and not like any alien he had ever seen.  There were scores of partial bodies thrusting out of the alien at the center, what would have been operatives if given time to develop properly.  An entire squad of infantry was arrayed around the creature, weapons at the ready.

Ishuhi stepped in front of the creature, careful to stay out of reach.  He looked into the multiple eyes of the creature, its huge mouth growling like an animal beneath it.  The Captain had seen one of these before, one of the only human alive to have done so.  The last he had seen had resisted until it was incinerated by the particle beams of the commandos he had brought into the operation.  But this one was alive, and looked to be under control.

“Do you want to live?” he asked the creature, his eyes locked on its many orbs.

“It matters not to me, human,” said the creature in a rasping voice, coming from a speaking apparatus not made for such.  “The mission is all that matters.  And the survival of our species.”

“And if we could come to an accommodation with you?” he asked, thinking about what Fleet Intelligence might think of it.  “Would you be willing to work with us?”

Ishuhi wasn’t sure command would go for this, and he was pretty sure that the Emperor would raise holy hell in the recruiting of such intrinsically evil creatures.

“I would be willing to work with you, as long as you allowed my genome to survive.  For my people to survive.”

The Captain was not sure if he believed that, but if he could at least make it think he was going to deal with it, he might be able to get it into captivity, where they could study it.

“Can you separate from your constructs?”

“They are my children,” said the Yugalyth in a halting voice.  “They are not ready.”

“Can you separate from your children before they are ready?  Or must we destroy them in place, and cause you physical pain?”

“I can separate from them, and they will survive, if you let them.”

“Then do so, and we will also capture them.”

*      *      *

NEW MOSCOW SPACE, MARCH 17, 1002.

Commander Ariella Ben Gurian watched as they dropped the wormhole, one of two they carried aboard the Narwhal, into space.  As soon as they dropped it they lost control over the device, a small, one centimeter wide ring of machinery holding the negative matter that kept the tiny wormhole from collapsing completely.

“That’s our part of it,” she said to her Exec, watching the plot that showed the wormhole, and only because they knew where to look for it.  She studied the rest of the plot, trying to find any evidence that they had been seen, and letting out a half held breath when she realized that nothing had made them and that they were still safe.

The tiny construct turned in space, then began to accelerate as the particle beam feeding in from the other end started accelerating it away, toward New Moscow planet.  It boosted at thousands of gravities for about ten minutes, then coasted most of the way to the planet, not generating any kind of graviton signature, impossible to detect as it approached its target world.  At the proper distance it turned in space and started its deceleration, going into a shallow orbit while it turned again and the instruments looking through the hole scanned the planet, looking for a landing area that met the requirement.

After ten orbits the small device again reoriented and sent out enough particles to drop into a reentry path.  The tiny grabber units took over as it hit the outer edge of the atmosphere, putting out such a tiny graviton trace that it could not be picked up against the background of the massive body of the planet.

Winds buffeted the device, its grabbers pulling it along against the little bit of resistance its tiny cross section generated.  The controllers back on the planet that anchored the other end of the hole looked over the ground as it dropped below the clouds.  They left the device in a hover for about fifteen minutes while the tactical staff looked over the world, making their selections.  At the end of that time they dropped it closer to the ground, flying it into the cover of a deep woods in low rocky mountains.  The walls of the canyon rose up on both sides, and they let the device again hover for fifteen minutes while they scanned the area until they were satisfied that there were no enemies, or the enemy’s devices, around.  It also found the caverns that had been expected in that area.  Expected didn’t always mean realized, and a feeling of relief passed among those manning the control room when they were found.

The device aligned itself in the canyon and started to unfold, more structure coming through the hole and expanding the ring, until a gate a meter wide stood under the trees.  A small probe came through the mirrored surface and slowly cruised around the area, double checking, making sure, before anyone was put at risk.

The first man through was an Army Ranger, an actual specialist from a Recon unit, eyes constantly on the move.  He sent a signal through the hole, then stood aside as the rest of his squad came through.  In minutes they had made sure the entire woods was secured, then signaled for the rest of the company, which followed.  Some of them stayed above ground, providing security, while the rest of the company took shelter in the caves.  And the first unit to invade the surface of the planet was there.

Chapter Six

If you will have a person enslaved, the first thing you must do is convince yourself that the person is subhuman. The second thing you have to do is convince your allies so you'll have some help, and the third and probably unkindest cut of all is to convince that person that he or she is subhuman and deserves it.

Maya Angelou

NEW MOSCOW, MAR 19TH, 1002.

“The humans are probing us in strength,” said the Low Admiral in charge of intelligence.  “We believe that they are preparing for an offensive into this space.”

“How soon?” asked Great Admiral H’rastarawaa, looking up from the holo he was studying that showed the processing figures for the humans.  They were falling behind on the projected finish date, and, except for just going ahead and killing them all, and wasting the protein, there seemed to be no way to catch up.

“My source within their empire is telling us four or five months.”

The Great Admiral gave a head motion of understanding, pulling up a holo of the kingdom and the region around it.  New Moscow was in the center of a globe that reached out in a radius of just over a hundred light years, containing just under a million stars.   A little more than five hundred of them had been inhabited, and most had been emptied of human life by now.  There was a hundred and fifty light years of uninhabited space between the outer border of the New Terran Empire and New Moscow almost directly along the antispinward direction of the arm.  There was a space of almost two hundred light years from the nearest border of the Republic and New Moscow on an angle that cut across the arm.  That space wasn’t totally uninhabited.  There were several alien species who had yet to leave their systems, if not even their home planets.  And some small human colonies made up of people who for one reason or another wanted to be out of the jurisdiction of any of the larger polities.  They were not in good locations for such purposes, as they would soon be encroached upon, most probably by the Empire.

Except the Ca’cadasans would get around to them first, if they had their way.

“Do we have any way to interdict these probes?”

“Sometimes we can,” said the Low Admiral.  “Often we can’t, since they cross into this space in such numbers that the interdiction force would be swamped.  Unless we can get some of the ships garrisoning the major systems released.”

The Great Admiral thought about that for a moment, looking at the blinking icons that indicated encounters with the enemy.  One of the major problems with tracking them was that they didn’t know how many snuck through.  There was no way they could station ships around the periphery of that globe in a dense enough picket to pick up everything.  They could be sending a hundred ships a day through the periphery into New Moscow space and not pick up more than half of them.  And once they were in that space, it was again a crap shoot to pick them up.

“I don’t want to uncover the major systems, yet,” he told his subordinate.  “Not until we finish processing the humans.  We’ve picked up a few ships scouting out this system, too far out to attempt an intercept.  Which means there were others we didn’t pick up, especially if they’re using those damned stealth ships of theirs.”

“And when they finally come calling?”

“By then we will either have received reinforcements from home, or we will be long gone from here, and the humans are welcome to the temporary occupation of a world they are no longer extant on.”

*     *     *

KLANG CAPITAL WORLD, MARCH 20TH, 1002.

“The humans are here,” announced the General, running into the throne room to stop before his King, staring at the big, horned male.

King Thrashanja of the Klang looked up, his fierce eyes staring from out of his mane wreathed face.  The monarch wished he could turn his anger against the humans, to drive them from his world.  If that were possible he would have already done it, before the human force had destroyed the combined warlords’ fleet that had attempted to defend their monarch’s capital.  Now their cruisers and raiders were so much drifting debris and plasma, as the purpose built warships of the enemy had pounded them from long range.

And where were their allies while this was happening?  The Ca’cadasans had promised the Klang undying friendship and loyalty, and had reneged on every promise they had made.  It was just like a carnivore to do such, to the mind of the king of fierce herbivores.

“They are on the surface?” he asked in his rumbling voice.

“They are at the entrance of the palace, my Lord,” said the General, going to one knee.  “The guards are prepared to resist with their lives, if you so order it.”

The Monarch lowered his head and shook his horns from side to side, negating the suggestion of the officer.  He didn’t see what good it would do to resist, except to get even more males killed, when the damned war had already killed over half of the adults of that gender.  Some of the clans had sustained almost total losses of their adult males, while many others were reduced to a couple score of breeding age.  Their people would be weak for most of a generation, and the memory of this defeat would continue through the ages.

“Do not attempt to stop them,” he told the General.

“Then I cannot guarantee your safety, your Majesty.”

“No one can guarantee my safety,” said the King with a grin that held no humor.   “But you can guarantee your own deaths, and that will serve no one.  No, let them in, and we will see what they do.”

The General saluted and turned, marching with heavy steps from the throne room.  The King sat there on his throne, looking at the entrance the male had left through, waiting for something very different to come back.  He wondered if he would even be alive at the end of the next hour.  The humans weren’t exceptionally cruel, not like some species.  But they could be ruthless, and his people, under the command of his warlords, had done great harm to their empire.

The sound of metallic boots hitting the stone came to his ears, a number of them marching in unison, coming closer by the second.  Moments later the first of the humans appeared, slightly larger than normal in their medium combat armor, which still made them smaller than a full grown male of the Klang.  But the King knew what kind of capabilities those combat suits, much more advanced than any his own people used, possessed.  A human in one of those suits could kill a dozen fierce males in hand to hand combat, though they really wouldn’t need to do that with the weapons they carried holstered at their sides.

Three of the humans in the medium suits that were worn by their Fleet personnel came through the door before the first pair of Marines advanced into the room, their suits towering over the other humans, a meter and a half tall, about the size of a male, though much stouter.  Those warriors carried rifles much the size of what one his warriors would have deployed with, but they were much more powerful, particle beams that could have penetrated multiple armored Klang with a shot.  Another pair followed the first, then another, until a full squad of fourteen was marching behind the Fleet officers.  The last being to enter was one that caused the King to widen his eyes as he stared at the massive creature.  Walking on four legs, with another set of limbs coming from the torso that towered over the humans, the huge creature was familiar to the King, who had seen pictures of the Phlistarans from battlefields across his kingdom.

“King Thrashanja,” said one of the officers through a suit speaker that translated her speech into perfect High Klang.  “I am Captain Marsha Gilligan, the Admiral’s flag staff captain.”

The King nodded toward the female, remembering that both genders of humans were equal in almost every way.  The men were stronger, the women quicker, and they counted both among their warriors.

“What is to be my fate, Captain?”

“That is up to you, your Majesty.  Tell all of your warriors to lay down their arms, and we will retain you as the titular king in our occupation government.”

“I cannot promise that every male in my kingdom will obey such an order.  Some are under oath to other lords, who, though they have given their fealty to me, may have other ideas.”

“But you can give the order, and those who obey will survive to carry on their line.  While those who don’t will be destroyed.”

“And my people?”

“We will occupy you at first, for a generation or two, until we know that we can trust you.”

“Hard terms for my people to accept,” said the King.  “We are a proud folk, and not so willing to bend our necks to outside conquerors.”

“We cannot trust your people,” said the Captain, raising her face plate and looking at the King with cold blue eyes.  “Our Emperor is not willing to trust your people.  So we will occupy your people.  That is his order, and the Fleet is willing to do whatever is necessary to implement his command.  If we can do that with minimal bloodshed, then we will do it that way.  If we have to occupy planets stinking from the rotting bodies of your people, we will do that as well.”

“And if I order my soldiers to attack you right here and now?”

“That would be a mistake, wouldn’t it, Sergeant Major.”

The Phlistaran stepped forward, his faceplate retracting and showing the fearsome visage of a supreme predator, something to strike fear into the strongest herbivore.  “I am normally a peaceful being,” rumbled the terrifying creature in his deep voice, showing his alarming teeth as his lips moved.  “But I will fill this room with blood if you even attempt to threaten my Captain again.”

The King shivered as he listened to the massive Marine, believing every word he said.  He could imagine this creature sans armor tearing through a score of his warriors.  With the advanced armor he carried on his form, he would have had no trouble defeating most of the palace guard.  And there were a thousand more Marines within five minute call of the palace.

“I will order my people to stand down, if you give me your word that they will not be harmed.  And that includes slave labor, or any kind of incarceration.”

“What I can promise is that we will only detain your warriors, and for the time necessary to make sure they are not a threat.  Otherwise, they will not be harmed, physically or mentally.  On that you have the word of my Emperor.”

The King thought for a moment, knowing that he had little choice, but still loath to give up so easily.  This Emperor had a reputation as a warrior, and, if word was to be believed, honesty in his dealings with aliens.  He was not known for weakness, and would probably be a harsh master if that proved necessary.  Which meant it was up to Thrashanja to make sure it didn’t prove necessary.

“Call for my scribe,” the King ordered, standing from his throne.  “I will issue the order.”  He looked down at the Captain.  “And what is to happen to me?”

“You will stay in the palace as both figurehead and hostage, your Majesty.  Along with your females and children.  And, hopefully, one of your sons will again rule an independent kingdom, one which is allied to our Empire.”

First, they had to defeat the Ca’cadasans, which Thrashanja knew would not be an easy task, and might even prove beyond the humans.  But after the way those aliens had treated his people, he hoped to see the humans triumphant over them.

*     *     *

FENRI EMPIRE CAPITAL WORLD, MAR 21, 1002.

“Why can you not stop the humans?” whined the Supreme Emperor Jrastrina Jastrinae of the Fenri Empire.  “They are halfway to the capital, and you have not even been able to slow them.”

“Oh Supreme One, oh blessed of the gods, who is nearly a god himself, the humans confound us at every turn,” said the Supreme Fleet Leader Kalisana Jastrinae, himself a member of the Imperial family, as were all Fenri is high leadership positions throughout the Empire.  Kalisana didn’t believe any of the song about the Emperor being blessed of the Gods, or being a near god himself.  Neither did the Emperor, truth be told, as was true for most of the adults of the species.  They followed the forms because they were the forms, and because it helped to keep a sense of awe in the slaves of the Empire, without which the polity could not function.  “Their mighty fleets overwhelm us at every encounter, and their masterful warriors route ours in every ground battle.  Our warriors are doing their best to just slow them as much as they can.”

The Emperor stared at the Supreme Fleet Leader for a moment, causing that worthy anxiety that he might be asked to take his own life, in the manner of his people’s warriors when faced with failure.  He knew the Emperor knew as he did that the New Terran Empire outclassed them in tech and the competence of their warriors, as well as possessing superior numbers.  The Fenri prided themselves on their martial ability, but when it came down to it, the humans were just better, and the aliens in their service had picked up much from the primates.  If anyone was to blame, it was the Ca’cadasans, who had tricked them into attacking the humans after promising the Fenri maximum support, which had never materialized.  At least when they had kept the humans busy on another front the Fenri had not had to face the enemy in such numbers.  Now that the Ca’cadasans had been defeated on their primary front, more human ships had been assigned to their invasion force, and more of their allies had appeared in Fenri space as well.

“We must stop them,” hissed the Supreme Emperor, standing up from his throne and pacing back and forth.  “We must.  We must have a victory.”

“I can give you a victory, your Majesty,” said the Supreme Fleet Leader.  “If I am allowed to uncover some other potential targets, and concentrate on one, I should be able to defeat one human force.  I know it will mean giving up some other systems without a fight, but we will lose them anyway with our current strategy of trying to defend everything.”

“What do you wish to give up?” asked the Supreme Emperor, plopping back in his seat.  “And where will you stand?”

“Where I would suggest we make a stand is here,” said the Supreme Fleet Leader, pulling up a holo of the central region of the Fenri Empire, where one system was blinking.  “We can crush their force between several of ours, not allowing any to escape.  And though we might lose heavily as well, if we can completely destroy that force, I believe we can slow the humans, make them think before they commit again.”

“And we lose these three systems here,” pointed the Supreme Emperor, dawning understanding on his face.  “And you swing our combined fleet into each one in succession, defeating them in detail.”

“Truly, your Majesty,” said the Supreme Fleet Leader, showing his sharp predator’s teeth in a grin.  “And if we can isolate a large force of their troops on each of the planets’ surfaces, we can also bring defeat to them.”

The Supreme Emperor stared at the holo for a few moments more, making up his mind, while his cousin wondered if he had thought up a strategy that would sway the ruler enough to keep his head on his shoulders.  Finally the Supreme Emperor looked up at him with a smile.

“Is the Ca’cadasan task force still in the system?”

“Yes, your Majesty.  I do believe they are.”

The Supreme Fleet Leader thought of those supposedly allied ships that had done nothing for their allies, so far.  There were eight of the twenty-five million ton superbattleships, the same number of four million ton supercruisers, and sixteen of the five hundred thousand ton scout ships.  A force that could add quite a punch to the Fenri fleet if they were allowed to deploy.

“Then I want the Ca’cadasan Ambassador in my audience chamber within the hour,” said the Supreme Emperor in an imperious voice.  “If they can’t at least do this for us, I will tell them that I will switch over to the human side.”

“Will you really do so, your Majesty?” asked the Supreme Fleet Leader, not really wanting a yes that would put them on the side of the people that had been killing his fleet to date, but sure that the Emperor would do exactly as he threatened if the Ca’cadasans didn’t actually start living up to their treaty.

“I will do anything to win, to preserve my dynasty,” said the Supreme Emperor, flashing the smile his people normally gave just before a kill.  “And if they are not the one I need to survive, the humans will do.”

The Supreme Fleet Leader stayed silent.  He suspected that the humans would not be so eager to make a deal this time.  After all, they held the upper hand, and their young Emperor seemed the sort who would go for the jugular, if it got him a permanent solution.  And the only permanent solution the Supreme Fleet Leader could see that the humans might attempt was the total conquest of the Fenri, and the absorption of the Empire into their own.

*     *     *

“What have you got for me?” asked Sean as he fell into the seat at the head of the conference room table.  This meeting was far below the Hexagon, the headquarters building of the Combined Chiefs of Staff and their staffs in the capital city of Capitulum.  Sean felt as exhausted as he had in a long time, attending constant meetings, Parliament, Cabinet and Military.  It seemed like he never got enough sleep, and even his strong young body was beginning to rebel.

“First Fleet is continuing its infiltration into New Moscow space, your Majesty,” said Grand High Admiral Sondra McCullom, as a holo sprung to life over the table showing that sector of space.  “Ostensibly, all ships are moving to recon systems in preparations for our planned offensive four months hence.  In reality, all will be in position and powered down within the week, and Battle Fleet will begin its deployment.”

“And the main forces current location?”

“Sitting in interstellar space about twenty light years outside of the borders of the kingdom.”

“And Operation Ground Warp?”

“On Schedule,” said the Chief of Naval Operations.  “Wormholes have been dropped in every major system and maneuvered into position.  The second wave will be starting in tomorrow, and will be in their deployment positions by week’s end.”

“And your end, Mishori?  Betty?”

The Chief of Staff of the Army looked over at the Commandant of the Marine Corps for a moment and caught her nod.  This was their part of the game, the ground action, and though there would be numerous Naval Commandos assigned as well, the bulk of the forces would be theirs.

“We already have one recon company on the ground,” said Mishori.  “Army Rangers, the C Company, Third of the Three Eightieth Rangers, as well as two platoons of Marine Force Recon.  They are scouting the periphery, looking for possible shelter sights.  Another Ranger company and a platoon of Naval Commandos will follow.”

The holo converted to a view of the planet, the wormholes that were already down blinking.

“Those other recon unit will be infiltrating by wormhole in two days,” said the Army Chief of Staff.  “Nine Ninetieth Platoon of Naval Commandos, and A Company, First of the Three Eightieth Rangers.  We raised this unit from volunteers who all specialized in covert movement and reconnaissance.  Once they’re on the planet, they’ll start getting the lay of the land from the ground, and will transfer to suits for the assault, like the other Ranger units.”

“Who’s in charge of the company?”

“Someone of your acquaintance, your Majesty,” said the Grand Marshal.  “The Captain Baron Cornelius Walborski.”

“The boy sure is getting around,” said Sean with a frown.  “I think we may be pushing his luck a little too far.  After all, two impossible missions in a row might be a little much for any soldier.”

“He is a soldier,” said the Grand Marshal, nodding to the holo that now showed the portrait and record of Walborski, one of the few double Imperial Medal of Heroism recipients in the history of the Empire.  “He knows his duty to the Empire, and is not afraid to put his life on the line.  I see great things for him in the future, if he doesn’t get himself vaporized before then.”

“That’s my fear too,” said Sean, shaking his head.  “I see him rising to general some day, if he doesn’t get in the way of a particle beam before then.”

“You could order him off the mission, your Majesty,” said Mishori, nodding to the holo.  “That's your prerogative.”

“It’s not something I’m willing to do at this late stage,” replied Sean, shaking his head.  “It would disrupt the command structure of that company.  Besides, I can’t be seen playing favorites, even if Walborski is one.”

“Understood,” said the Grand Marshal.  “And appreciated.”

“I don’t want us deviating from the timetable for any reason,” said Sean, looking away from the holo and around the table.  “If something isn’t in place, we’ll just have to go without it.”

“And if the Cacas have something in place we didn’t expect?” asked McCollum.

“Then we still go.  Those people on those planets don’t have unlimited time, and I’m not about to take any more away from them.  Understood?”

There were nods around the table, and though Sean could see that most were not happy with that decision, it was his to make, and he had now made it formally.  All he could hope for was that ninety percent of the plan worked, and that they got most of the New Muscovites out of captivity before they were turned into food.

*     *     *

NEW MOSCOW SPACE, MARCH 27TH, 1002.

“Separating ship, now,” called out the Helmsman, taking a glance back at his captain before hitting the panel that released the ship from the docking clamps.  With a shudder through the hull as the Stealth/Attack ship Seastag’s just under  two hundred thousand ton form dropped away from the eight million ton hyper VI battle cruiser that had carried her this far.

“We’re moving away at ten gravities, Captain,” Commodore Bryce Suttler reported to the commander of the ship that had ferried him and three of the other eight vessels of his squadron into this space.  The other four ships were being released by yet another battle cruiser, this one about a light hour to the side, at the same distance from the New Moscow primary as his group.

“Acknowledged, Commodore Suttler,” came the voice over the tight beam com.  “And good luck.”

Suttler shut down his feed into the com and concentrated on what lay ahead.  New Moscow was teeming with shipping, none of it friendly, or at least none that was displayed on the tactical holo.  The Commodore looked over at his Tactical Officer, Lt. JG Simona Castro, making sure she was keeping a close watch on their surroundings.  His last TO had been with him since the commissioning of the ship, and had been kicked upstairs with a promotion to another Stealth/Attack vessel.  With the war there was a lot of that going on, both because of the many new hulls coming online, and the losses.

After looking over the tactical holo for a few moments, Suttler decided to go with their initial plan, which meant he would not have to send any signals to the rest of his vessels.  They were already on a course into the system at point zero one two light.  In two days, with minimal deceleration, they would be in place, and each ship would drop off the pair of wormholes they carried, which would be sent onto the planet’s surface to join those already dropped by the smaller Stealth/Scout ships.

And then they would set up for the primary mission, if everything went as expected and they weren’t detected.  If one of his ships was detected they would still go for that mission, but the difficulty level would increase exponentially.

Chapter Seven

Innocence is thought charming because it offers delightful possibilities for exploitation.

Mason Cooley.

SECTOR IV HEADQUARTERS, MAR 28TH, 1002.

“How’s the prisoner doing this fine day?” asked Commodore Mary Innocent, Sean’s personal intelligence officer, of the head of the Marine guard detail at the entrance to the Cacada quarters.

“He’s doing fine, ma’am,” answered the Lieutenant, the expression his face warring with his professionalism.

Innocent knew how he felt.  She herself had lost family to the Cacas.  The majority of citizens in the Empire had, even if they were distant.  Almost everyone in the military had also lost friends, classmates.  They had many reasons to hate the big aliens, and it had to gall the Marines to watch the alien prisoners living in luxury.

“I need to see the Great Admiral,” she said, looking at the high security door.

“Yes, ma’am,” said the Marine, closing his eyes for a moment, linking with the security center and sending the request through.

Innocent had the highest clearance possible, and she had no doubt her request would be fulfilled.  There was always the chance that someone else was already talking with the Great Admiral, and that she might have to wait.  But a moment later the officer opened his eyes and looked at her, nodding once.

“You’re cleared to go in, ma’am.  A Marine guard detail will accompany you for your safety.”

“Thank you,” she replied, waiting for the door to open.

The meter thick portal slid open, revealing a long corridor and a pair of Marines in battle armor.  Both were armed with holstered particle beam pistols, the holsters specifically coded to each Marine so only they could draw them.  Both also held large sonic stun rifles specifically made to bring down the big carnivores.

They walked down the long corridor, over a hundred meters into the body of the huge station that was a rear base of Sector IV.  It ended at another thick door, which opened once the Commodore and her guards were in front of it.  Innocent could almost feel the eyes on them, the security scan of the long hall, ensuring that nothing happened to the prisoners housed here, or that those beings didn’t get away.  There were many more of them now scattered across the Empire, many in accommodations that were not so welcoming as the ones she was walking toward.

Walking through the door, she found herself entering a large room, this with a security desk in the exact center, another Marine Lieutenant sitting alongside a Gunnery Sergeant.  Two more battle suited Marines stood against the walls with stun rifles in hand.

“The Great Admiral has been informed of your coming, ma’am,” stated the officer, pointing at one of the doors.  “You can go in, but please be careful.”

Innocent smiled at the other woman and headed for the door, while one of the guards in the room moved over to a box by the portal and stuck a large key into a hole.  He turned the key and the door slid open, the second guard covering the opening with his stun rifle, while her two assigned Marines took up positions by her.  The guard by the door nodded, and one of Innocent’s men, a Sergeant, went forward ahead of her.

The room beyond had been built to specifications to house a high ranking Cacada.  The ceilings were high, six meters, beyond the reach of even a jumping Cacada, protecting the sensing and defensive devices from any possible manipulation.  The room itself was ten meters on a side, with pieces of furniture that looked much too large.  The colors clashed to her human eyes, and there were strange odors in the air.  The Great Admiral, Miierrowanasa M’tinisasitow, sat on a throne like chair against one of the walls, dressed in the uniform of a Ca’cadasan noble.  He eschewed the uniform of his rank, and had none of the men around him that would normally serve as his staff and guards.

He betrayed his own people by surrendering, thought the Intelligence Officer, looking at the big male who had a defeated look about him.  Ca’cadasans didn’t surrender.  They had a long history of fighting to the death, no matter what.  And this male had been in charge of the only large Ca’cadasan force that had ever surrendered to an enemy.  True, he hadn’t actually issued the order.  He had been knocked unconscious at the time, and his next in command had issued the orders.  But the Great Admiral had been the male in charge, so the responsibility ultimately was his.

The Great Admiral was still an impressive specimen, his wrinkled snout full of sharp teeth, his reddish fur covering a muscular torso from which the four arms sprung.  Horns reached a half meter above his head, giving the being the look of the demonic.  He stood up as he saw the humans, towering his full three meters.  The two and a half meter tall females that were there to serve him looked small in comparison, and they crouched down in anxiety at the presence of the humans.

At least the females are too stupid to blame him for the defeat, she thought, looking over at one of the semi-intelligent beings.  All had the dull eyes of merely intelligent mammals, with less muscularity than the males, and the characteristic three sets of breasts showing that they were mammalian, or at least as close as a totally alien evolutionary tree could come to.

“Please sit, Great Admiral,” she suggested as she stepped forward.

A flash of anger appeared in the Ca’cadasan’s eyes.  Though politely phrased, he recognized an order, and his kind still thought themselves the superior to every other sentient species in space.  Part of that had to do with their longevity.  This male had lived over fourteen hundred years of a greater than two thousand year life span.  That lifespan, and its slow metabolism, was actually the thing that made them inferior to species like humans when it came to speed of thinking.  Their brains were built for planning over long periods of time, and not for coming up with solutions on the spot.

The Caca sat back in his chair, and the two Marines lowered the barrels of their rifles a bit.  There were still four females standing near the throne, and though they had never been seen to be aggressive, and according to the males were not unless they were defending their children, the Marines were taking no chances.  Looking at the females, who outmassed her by more than double, Innocent was glad that they were being cautious.

“And what can I do for you today, Commodore?” asked the Great Admiral in an ironic tone.

“We’re getting ready to move on the Kingdom of New Moscow,” she said, matter of fact.  “I was wondering if you might have some advice for us?”

“Don’t depend on my people to surrender again,” said the Great Admiral, showing his teeth in a very predatory grin.  “Whoever is in charge there would have already received orders from above making it clear that surrender is not an option.”

“You think they will fight and die, then?”

“Oh, no.  Since I am sure that you will outnumber our force so as to make victory impossible, I have no doubt they will retreat when it becomes apparent that they can’t win.  If you leave an opening for them to escape through, they will use it.  If not, they will stand and die, and take as many of you with them as they can.”

“And what of the humans still alive in the Kingdom?”

“If you hope to rescue them, I would give up that hope,” said the Great Admiral, again showing his teeth.  “The commander there would see his captives as resources, and will not be willing to give those resources back to you.  They will leave the dead behind, those they are not able to take with them for further processing.”

Innocent stared at the male for a moment, almost wishing she could order her guards to kill him.  They would not obey that order, of course, since they already had orders from a higher authority to keep this Caca alive.

“You really don’t care about the harm you cause, do you?” she finally asked, glaring into the eyes of the Great Admiral.  “You’ve just rampaged across the Galaxy, smashing whole civilizations along the way.  Killing the birthplace of humanity.”

“Of course we care,” said the Great Admiral, an expression Innocent had come to consider pained crossing his face.  “We gather the other intelligent species into the embrace of our Empire for their own good.  Without us, they would either destroy themselves as they reach their nuclear stage, or they would go out and conquer other species, just as yours have.”

“And we work with the species under us,” she argued back, planting her hands on her hips.  “And have organized the greatest alliance this arm, full of intelligent species, has ever seen.  We are not conquerors, like you are.  And we will prevail.”

“Our Emperor has said otherwise, and the entire resources of the Empire will be mobilized to crush you.”

“And our Emperor has decreed that we will crush you,” she said, letting a smile cross her face for a moment.  “I guess we will just have to see which one of us prevails.”

She turned to walked away, then turned back for a moment.  “You know, we sent a mission to locate the other power you are fighting with.  We are weeks away from that contact, and once we do, our wormholes will allow us to aid them, and to take aid from them.  At that point, you will face an organized two front war.  Think about that.”

She could see from his expression that she had hit home.  Regardless of the little she had gotten from him, she decided that that expression was enough of a victory for the day.

*     *     *

KINGDOM OF NEW MOSCOW SPACE, MARCH 29TH, 1002.

“That looks like their last ship, sir,” said Lieutenant SG Lasardo, the tactical officer of the hyper VII destroyer James Komorov, and a man the Captain trusted implicitly.

Captain the Duke Maurice von Rittersdorf acknowledged as he stared at the plot.  The ship coming out of the system, currently on a deceleration profile that was consistent with a jump to hyper just beyond the limit, was a supercruiser, four million tons of Caca warship.  The big boys, escorting the troop transports, had left normal space hours before, and would be of no help to this one.  Still, it out massed his eight destroyer squadron by more than double.  His orders were to observe, and avoid action if possible.  With one caveat.  He was also ordered to inflict damage to enemy units in situations that didn’t compromise his primary mission.

His ships were all dead in space, powered down as much as possible, matter-antimatter reactors cold, electromag shields inactive.  The ships were well insulated, and the heat inside was almost unbearable, despite the superconducting cooling system shunting heat to the unoccupied portions of the ship, and all crew suited up with battle armor environmental systems online.  It was difficult to hide in space without special effort, and the mission called for that kind of effort.

His ship and one other, the Gregor Stoyanovich, were the exceptions, as they had multipurpose wormholes, mostly used for communications, but also serving double duty to whisk away much of the heat.  Some would say it was unfair to the other vessels, but von Rittersdorf was not about to let the entire crews of two vessels swelter when there were ways around it.

“Com.  Tight beams to other ships.  I want to take this bastard when he comes within closest approach on our missiles.”  He looked back over at Lasardo.  “You got that, Guns?”

“Aye, sir.  Running simulations now.”

The primary mission had been to observe this system at the far center of New Moscow space, to see what the Cacas were up to in a system they had seemed so heavily invested in.  And now they had pulled out all of their ships, packed up everything they could take along, and destroyed everything they couldn’t.  The Captain looked at another holo that showed a view of the night side of the habitable planet, once the home of a billion and a half people, now totally dark.

“Firing solution plotted,” called out Lasardo.  “Optimal range in eighteen minutes.”

“Send that info to all ships, then get me the Duchess on the wormhole.”

Moments later the face of Rear Admiral Mei Lei, the commander of this task group of Scout Force Battle Fleet, was looking out at him.

“It looks like they’re taking off, ma’am,” said von Rittersdorf, giving the holo image a slight bow.  “We’re tracking the last ship and getting ready to light her up before she makes hyper.  If we’re lucky we might be able to get some prisoners.”

“That is good news, Maurice.  I trust that you will not put your command at undue risk in the process, but more information is always good.”

Both knew that was part of the job, taking risks.  Sometimes von Rittersdorf thought he had taken the wrong track by going into the Scout Force.  But, then again, screening battleships during fleet actions, when missiles were flying, and the primary mission was keeping the capital ships alive at all costs, was not the safest of tasks.  His current job was to gather information, and the Fleet had a tradition of fighting for that intelligence.

“I’ll make sure we come back,” he said, thinking that he would indeed make sure most of his squadron returned from this mission, if it was within his power.

The Captain watched as the timer counted down, anxious that the sensors of the enemy not pick them up.  If they did, his destroyers were still committed.  But the enemy would be able to get in some more shots as well.  At close range missiles were not as effective as at longer distances, and he did not want to get into a beam fight with this target.  He would probably still win, just because he presented more targets for the enemy to engage.  Each of his targets, however, could take much less beam energy before systems started to fail.

“Powering up missile tubes,” announced Lasardo in a hiss just above a whisper.

The Captain smiled.  This was a critical moment, powering up the tubes and the next steps they would take.  But he found it humorous that the Tactical Officer would speak in such a soft voice, as if afraid the enemy might hear.  Indeed, they could yell and cheer and play loud music over the bridge speaker system and not be heard across the vacuum.  However, that enemy might be able to pick up the slightest trace of heat, and that was the risk.

“Target locked into missile targeting systems,” said Lasardo, his eyes focused on the holo that showed the enemy in relation to all of the destroyers.  They would not all fire at once, but instead on a time schedule that would get all of the first wave there at the same time.

“Fire when ready, Mr. Lasardo,” ordered von Rittersdorf, nodding to the officer.  His ship would fire first, despite being slightly closer to the enemy than all the others, their missiles set to a profile that would allow the others to catch up.  Which would also make them the first target the enemy picked up.

“Range, three light minutes,” called out the Sensor Officer.  “Enemy range to hyper limit, two point six light minutes.”

“Firing,” yelled out Lasardo, his voice cracking with nervous tension.

Komorov shook slightly as she launched six missiles from her forward tubes, accelerated up to point zero one light by the powerful magnetic accelerators of the tube.  The grabbers powered up an instant later and turned the ship so that her four port tubes could fire, then turned at five hundred gravities to the starboard to release the loads of those tubes.

The other ships released their first volley at almost the same time, fourteen missiles each, one hundred and twelve of the destroyer class weapons.  All were the newest version of the dual purpose missile, capable of use in both normal and hyperspace.  Like all destroyer class missiles they massed fifty tons fully loaded.  Unlike the older missiles, five tons of mass was taken up by the hyperdrive unit that was recessed into the body of the missile until moments after firing, when it rose into place to start generating a hyperfield.  The missile could be fired without the hyperfield generator, and would gain a bit of boost from the reduced mass.  Or the generator could be jettisoned at any time, though command preferred that the missile be fired without, since each five ton generator carried a couple of hundred kilos of expensive supermetals.

The warhead was also interchangeable.  Each ship carried three different types of warheads; heavy unitary, medium unitary and multiple.  They only had the number of warheads that would fit their load of missiles, and missions dictated what they carried.  Still, it could sometimes take some thought during an engagement to choose the proper load for the early volleys.

The electromag fields came up on the ships, the laser rings took several seconds to charge from their crystal matrix batteries while the matter/antimatter reactors throttled up, which took more time.  In less than a half minute all of the ships were sending lasers at the target, while their particle beam accelerators continued to pile up the velocity of the protons they would soon release.

The Caca ship took some time to react, not surprising as they had been caught flatfooted, totally unprepared for the attack.  It took over a minute to raise electromagnetic fields and get their counter missile systems online.  By then the first volley was a third of the way to the target, accelerating at a short range boost of ten thousand gravities, also something new for destroyer class missiles, and something they were only capable of maintaining for a little over ten minutes before their drives burned out.  And all they needed for this engagement.

“Enemy is launching missiles,” called out Lasardo as the red icons appeared on the tactical holo.  “Forty incoming, acceleration eight thousand gravities.”

At the moment they couldn’t tell which ship or ships were the targets.  All were locking on their defensive weapons as if they were the targets, though at the longest range of the counter missiles it would not matter, as long as they achieved hits.

The enemy launched their own counters, taking out thirty-one of the incoming weapons.  A moment later the human counters started taking out the enemy missiles.  Both sides released a second volley, and von Rittersdorf chewed on a fingernail as he watched that second wave come in, while the first was entering final approach range.

The viewers showed antimatter warheads detonating in space in pinpoints that had to be stepped down by the visual systems to be bearable to the human eye.  The explosions came closer each second, visual evidence for both the effectiveness of the defenses and the approaching lethality of the remaining weapons.

First, there were a couple of near misses, the three ships that were now definitely the primary targets of the enemy volley.  Komorov was not one of those targets for some reason.  Probably because the enemy considered her a ship not in the command loop, since she was the closest of the vessels.  More near misses occurred, and two of the destroyers started venting atmosphere as large pieces of hull were blown off into space and radiation and heat and transferred into the vessels.

A near miss to a third destroyer was followed quickly by a hit that detonated against the port bow of the vessel.  It was a shattering hit, blasting the vessel apart and sending pieces spinning on their way, just before the breach of antimatter converted the largest section to plasma.

The enemy ship faired much worse as thirty-three missiles came through the defensive fire.  Twenty eight of those were proximity detonations that sent heat and radiation into the hull of the supercruiser.  Three were very near misses that blotted surface installations from the hull and sent raging energies deeper into the vessel.  Two were hits, or close enough to not matter.  The missiles were not travelling at a high enough velocity to impart a killing level of kinetic energy.  The inertial compensators were able to take up much of the load, though enough got through to disrupt most of the electrical systems aboard.  The two hundred megaton unitary warheads did the most damage, and when the bright flares of the blasts faded the enemy ship was seen to tumble end over end, a derelict.

“Order deceleration of the second wave,” ordered the Captain, looking to save the weapons while he could.   There was really no use in wasting the weapons on a ship that was obviously no longer in shape to resist.  That still left the second enemy wave coming in, and Komorov appeared to be one of the targets this time.

The destroyer went into a maximum evasive pattern, the Helmsman punching in the programmed semi-random series of maneuvers that moved her from side to side, up and down, adjusting her acceleration and changing her velocity, using her full capacity of over five hundred gravities to make herself the most difficult possible target to track.  After ten seconds or so the Helmsman switched to another program, not allowing the pattern to become predictable.  The Sensor Officer monitored the jamming suite that was masking the destroyer’s own electronic signature, while sending out signals that mimicked other sources.  She launched decoys that sent out signals that appeared to be a destroyer, setting them into maneuvers that were similar to those the Helmsman was monitoring.  The decoys also deployed holographs that looked from a distance like the ship they were mimicking.

The Tactical Officer monitored the defensive programs that were prioritizing the incoming targets, switching off targeting with the other ships to assign the best interception through that portion of the approach envelope.  As they closed the targets were handed off to the target vessel, with made the last ditch attempt to stop the enemy missile.

Half the enemy wave was stopped at counter missile range, a few direct hits, most struck by the shrapnel or radiation burst, converting to bright pinpoints over a light minute distant.  Another fifteen died under hits from lasers, the combined fire from all of the destroyers.  The five that made it through weathered the fire of close in weapons, two more going down in explosions that filled near space with radiation.  Three continued in on final approach, two tracking onto the James Komorov.

The Captain watched those incoming weapons on a trio of holos that hung in the air in front of his chair, repeats of other projectors.  One showed the overall tactical situation, the two red arrows of missiles almost touching his ship, one other on top of the second target.  The second holo showed a close in view of Komorov, with the two arrows a couple of light seconds away, closing at point three light, seven seconds from impact.  The third showed a view from the ship, the forward view of one of the approaching missiles shown as an incoming streak, resolution impossible at its velocity.

He could feel the tension on the bridge, everyone doing their jobs despite the terror that lived within them.  Everything they and their ship could do was being done, and they still could die within seconds.  Despite all their skill, all the technology of their ship, they would have been hit, or at least sustained major damage from a very near miss, except for blind luck.

One missile juked to port, just as the other came in from the other direction and was hit by a close in defense beam.  The explosion of the missile caught the first one, which had been on course to get through the defenses of the Komorov.  It tumbled as it came apart, the antimatter in the warhead breaching contain an instant later.  Komorov shook as some of the plasma kicked into the bow, warning klaxons going off from several hull breaches.

The Captain looked over the damage figures as they came through, breathing out a sigh of relief.  The damage was superficial, and there were only two injuries.  They had gotten off light.  The other ship had escaped with even less in the way of harm.  Shaking his head, saying a calming mantra to steady his nerves, he looked over at the Com Officer.

“I want Marine boarding parties readied as soon as possible,” said von Rittersdorf, looking at the enemy ship on the holo.  “Send a couple of scouts to look her over closely, and if it looks safe enough, we’ll board and see if there are any survivors.”

Of course, there would be no way to make sure the enemy ship was safe, and any Marines he sent aboard could be going to their deaths.  They needed intelligence though, and if he could he would have gone with them.  He couldn’t of course.  His duty station was on the bridge, so all he could do was sit and worry about his people while they went about their tasks.

“We’ve got some,” came the call over the com a couple of hours later.

“As soon as we get them aboard, we’re heading in,” he told the Helmsman, looking back at the holo of the planet.  He was pretty sure he would find what he was afraid of.  But his orders stated that he had to be sure.

“Time to orbit, thirty-one hours,” stated the Helmsman.

And Battle Fleet would be starting the offensive in fifty-three hours.  Not that this mission would have any bearing on that operation.  Or at least he hoped.

Chapter Eight

The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.

William Shakespeare.

CAPITULUM,  JEWEL, MARCH 30TH, 1002.

Sean looked over at the love of his life, as she sat in the comfortable chair on the porch.  The stars were out in profusion tonight, back dropped by the glowing nebulae, the ones that came from supernovas that the astrophysicist say couldn’t have possibly happened.  The stars hadn’t been massive enough, and they hadn’t left behind the characteristic neutron stars or black holes.  There were rumors that the Ancients, the space faring civilization that had once ruled this space, had done something that the Universe didn’t approve of.

Jennifer was pregnant with his heir, a boy, according to the physicians.  She glowed the way that pregnant women did, the health of hormones.  For some reason the artificial wombs that the people in the past thought would free them from the drudgery of pregnancy had not worked out.  Children could be born in them, but there was something wrong with them.  Not quite as bad as clones, but not anything that sane people would want to chance.

He noticed the pensive look on her face, and was sure that she was thinking about Glen again.  She had been engaged to the Marine captain before he had met her.  The man had died a hero, leading an attack that allowed other soldiers and Marines, as well as a large group of civilians, to escape.  He had been decorated, posthumously, but the woman had never forgotten about him.  It aggravated him that he was still on her mind, while it made him feel guilty to recognize that aggravation.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, really just to break her out of her depression, not really wanting to know.

Jennifer sighed, looking up at the stars.  Sean followed her gaze, picking up the slight shimmer of the electromagnetic shield out of the corner of his eye.  There were two strobing vehicles up there on a patrol pattern, and he knew there were more further up.  There were also decoys, other verandas attached to the massive palace, in case of an attack.

“Sometimes I wish I wasn’t in this position,” she said, looking down for a moment, then over and into his eyes.  “Empress, I mean.  Not that I regret being your wife, or the mother of your child.  But I sometimes wish I could have a normal life.”

“Me too,” admitted Sean, nodding, then getting up and walking over to her chair, setting down on the end and putting a hand on her knee.  “I really never expected to be in this position either.  I thought I would serve out my time in the Fleet, maybe get to a low flag rank, then go on to be an ambassador, while one of my brothers assumed the throne.”

“And then we never would have met,” said Jennifer, looking back down at the floor of the veranda.

“And both of us would most probably be dead,” he finished, scooting up in the chair and laying down beside her, putting his arms around her.  “I know that this invasion is a terrible price to pay for the happiness of two people.”

“The invasion was coming no matter what,” she said, putting her finger on his lips to quiet him.  “That doesn’t make it wrong that we met and fell in love.”

Jennifer sat there for a moment, just looking at the star field.  She wiped a tear from her eye, then looked back at Sean.  “What are we going to do about the machines?”

Sean felt his chest tense up, at the mention of the newest threat to the Empire, which was also a very old threat indeed.  The news had come from Exploration Command base outside of the Empire that the Machines, the murderous constructs that had revolted against humanity four centuries before, thought to have been destroyed, were still around.  And they had grown powerful enough to cause serious problems.

“I guess we will have to take care of our garbage,” he said after a moment.  “I’m going to send some ships out there to reinforce the Command.”  And with that he forgot about that problem, for the moment.  Sondra had already been informed of his wishes were that new theater was concerned, and it was up to her to put the force in place to prosecute that war.

“Your guests are here, your Majesty,” announced the Major Domo, the man in charge of all the other servants in the palace, who also fulfilled the duty of the Emperor’s prime servant.

“What guests?” said Jennifer, sitting up, an ambivalent expression on her face.  Normally, guests meant someone political.  Not that she hated them all, and in fact found some of them admirable and likeable people.  But the evenings always seemed to devolve into strategy sessions, where she was welcome, but still felt excluded by her lack of knowledge.

“Your Majesties,” said the teenage girl who came charging onto the veranda, stopping in her tracks ten meters away and bowing.  Her long brown hair swirled around her head as her wide brown eyes twinkled at the royals.

“Rebecca,” called out Jennifer in delight, moving a little so she could get up from the chair.

“Thought you might like these guests,” said Sean, rising with her.

“Your Majesties,” said Devera Walborski, walking up behind her adopted daughter, holding her adopted son in her arms.  Devera had married Cornelius Walborski, one of Sean’s favorite soldiers, a man who had helped save the most precious station in the Empire, the Donut, as well as engaging in other acts of heroism.  And she had taken the child of Cornelius’ late wife as her own, as well as adopting Rebecca, a child Cornelius had rescued on the planet Azure after the Ca’cadasan invasion of that planet.

“He’s getting so big,” said Jennifer, holding out her hands to take Cornelius Junior from Devera.

Food was brought out to the veranda, and the party sat down at the glass table to enjoy the common food of steaks and potatoes, with a salad on the side.  The fresh baked bread had an aroma that brought water to the mouths of everyone, even Junior, who was given a specially prepared meal intended for his young eating habits.

“Are you worried about Cornelius?” asked Jennifer after the plates had been taken away and the after dinner wine and dessert was served.

“Of course,” said Devera, closing her eyes for a moment while an expression of pain played across her face.  She opened her eyes and looked into those of the Empress.  “But he’s good at his job, and he wants to do it, though I wish he would get some of the hate out of his heart.”

“Maybe when it’s over,” said Jennifer, frowning as the other woman shook her head.

“I don’t think it will ever be over,” said Devera, a tear coming to her eye.  “This war is going to go on for decades, if we lose.  Probably a century if we win, if not longer.”

Jennifer looked over at Sean, who felt his heart sink.  He had really not wanted to go here tonight.  But it looked like he was not going to get his wish.

“She’s right,” he said, looking at Devera for a moment, then into Jennifer’s eyes.  “We have a decade of fighting ahead just to turn back their invasion.  They have too much, and they will keep throwing it at us until they don’t have any more to throw.”

“And then they’ll have to give up, right?”

“No, my dear.  I don’t think they will.  They will rebuild, and renew operations against us as soon as they can.  And we will be forced to go on the offensive against them and destroy their industrial base, which means invading and conquering their huge empire.”

“And if we don’t invade them?” asked Jennifer, her eyes widening.  Sean had never really talked to her about this.  Like many people in the Empire, she thought if they defeated this enemy once they would go away, at least for a century or two, before they reinitiated hostilities.  That they would act like other powers acted, no matter how vicious the war, and return to a long state of tense peace.

“If we don’t invade them, if we allow them to rebuild their fleet, they will keep coming at us until one of us no longer exists.  The only outcome that leaves both of our species extant is for us to win.”

“And we won’t totally destroy them?” asked Jennifer, doubt on her face.  “We won’t hate them so much that we totally destroy them when we have the chance.”

“I don’t know,” said Sean, shaking his head.  “I really don’t know.  If I have anything to say about it, we won’t.  You have my sacred word on that.”

“You promise?  I don’t want us to get a reputation for genocide.  We should be better than that.”

“They want to kill all of us,” said Rachel, her child’s face twisting in anger.  “They killed my mom and dad, and my little brother.  Why shouldn’t we kill all of them.  Every single one of them.”

“You shouldn’t hate like that, Rebecca,” said Devera, putting a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.

“I know I shouldn’t,” said the child.  “But I do.”  The little girl looked at Sean.  “I want the war to go on long enough for me to get in it.  I want to have my finger on the firing button of a warship, sending missiles into their ships, spilling them into space.”

The table was silent after that outburst, even Rebecca seeming to realize she had said something that offended the adults.  Sean looked at the child, that sinking feeling returning.  This was a generation of children that was going to grow up with war, a conflict unlike any other generation had faced.  They would grow up hating another sentient species.  And when the day came that the war ended, if by chance it ended in their favor, whoever ruled at that time might give the order.  The Ca’cadasans would go into the long night, and humans would have to live with the guilt of being the cause of their extinction.

*     *     *

ASSAULT SHIP HIMS KHARKOV, IN TRANSIT TO FLEET RALLY POINT.  APRIL 1ST, 1002.

Captain Nora Kevista pulled her joystick to the side, sending her F310 Pteranadon orbit to atmosphere fighter into a spin, its grabber units pulling the maximum acceleration its inertial compensators could handle.  Still, twelve gravities of that acceleration made it through, reddening the vision of the pilot and causing her back seater, Warrant Three Joey Jasper, to grunt his discomfort.

The hyper velocity missile coming their way missed, barely, though the second missile hit her wingman, blasting his aircraft into pieces that would burn up when they hit the atmosphere.  Nora cursed at the loss of the other aircraft.  Now she was on her own with this insertion, the atmosphere coming up almost too quickly.

“Putting on the brakes, Joey,” she yelled over the intercom as the Pteranadon deceled, then pushed into a belly first profile that used the outer atmosphere to kill even more velocity.  This is real flying, she thought, as the responsive fighter obeyed her wishes.  There was still a lot of computer control involved, the fighter itself helping her to control what human reflexes couldn’t.  Still, it was more of a test of skill than the space fighters the Fleet flew.  Exercising that skill was the primary reason she had gone into Imperial Army Aviation.

“Something’s locking on,” called out the back seater as the alarms sounded in the cockpit.  Nora put the craft into a dive before it was optimal, then pulled back and looped in the thin air.  I’m going to make it, she thought, just before the cockpit lit up with bright light and all of the controls went dead.

“The exercise is over,” said Colonel Wingate Smithers, the wing commander of the air group aboard the assault ship HIMS Kharkov.

“Shit,” cursed the Captain as the cockpit rose on the simulator, and the ground crew swarmed up to help her out of her chair.  Now we get to go through another reaming out, she thought with a grimace.  Of course, when they were flying into the atmosphere of New Moscow there would be no more reaming outs for the kind of mistake she had just made, only the oblivion of death.

*     *     *

PLANET NEW MOSCOW.

“It’s clear, sir,” said the scout, coming back through the wormhole to report back.

“And the cave?” asked the Ranger Captain, glancing back at the rest of his company, standing in their battle armor with their equipment strapped all over the suits.  This part of the mission called for those suits, both to bring them onto the world and to carry the equipment which even the strongly augmented men would have trouble carrying.

“Clear.  The excavating robots did a good job.  Hard to believe there was only a squad of engineers involved.”

“OK,” said Captain The Baron Cornelius Walborski.  “First squad, move through, and make sure the entrance is secured.  Second squad follows.  Lieutenant Jemmison, you follow through with your platoon HQ, and I’ll bring the company HQ in after.”

The acknowledgements were shouted out by the highly trained, highly motivated men.  All Rangers were elite, but these men were scouting specialist, the best of the best, and Walborski was proud to command them.  It had taken them a little time to retrain to the suits, and after making planet fall they would handle the first part of the mission without the armored strength enhancing battle panoply.

Walborski waited for the last man of Jemmison’s platoon to push through the mirrored surface, then took the step himself.  He was now an old hand at wormhole travel.  Still, the slight nausea fought with the total disorientation which seemed to stretch him out over time and space before he came to be back in a single location.

“Get the men squared away, Top,” he told his First Sergeant, a small man of Filipino extraction named Renhard Fujardo.  He looked around the large cavern, carved from the rock by the lasers of the construction robots the engineers had employed.  It was about a hundred meters wide, and forty high, with numerous smaller tunnels leading off.  “I’m going to give the place a once over.  Tell the officers and senior NCOs we’ll meet here in an hour, after they make sure their areas of responsibility are secure.”

The Top Sergeant nodded and turned away.  There was none of that saluting in the field nonsense in the Rangers, and they were considered in the field at this point.  Cornelius moved to a far wall and opened his suit, climbing out as soon as everything was fully extended.  He felt better moving around without the cumbersome armor, despite the advantage in strength.  He was faster and much more agile without it, and that made him feel safer going into combat than any amount of armor protection.

He turned and reached out to touch the wall, feeling the almost perfectly smooth surface under his hand.  The stone had been fused by laser, then sprayed with a nanoseal, creating an ultrathin layer than was diamond hard.  The cavern was now much stronger than the granite overhead, making it a very effective shelter, which was what it would be used for in the near future.

The Captain linked into the computer system that ran the com and environmental systems of the cavern.  It was totally shielded, only accessible through a series of short range nodes scattered throughout the complex.  He looked over the cavern, which extended beneath most of this range of mountains, and whistled at the size of it.  Of course it had been a natural system of magma vents, formed when the range had from volcanic activity.  The engineers had just expanded it, but what an expansion.  There were sixty-three of the hundred meter wide caverns, connected by hundreds of tunnels.  More than enough room for the rest of the regiment when it arrived, and for the other troops that would be assigned to this location.

Walborski found what he was looking for after a few seconds, and jogged toward that tunnel entrance, getting his body used to the gravity field of the planet, just slightly above Earth normal.  It would only take his men minimal time to get used to it, at most a day, and then they would move around on the surface like they were natives.

The tunnel sloped up, leading into a room that had a ladder on one wall heading up to an opening in the ceiling.  Cornelius went up hand over hand, four hundred meters, breaking a sweat but not tiring.

“Sir,” said the Ranger who was manning the observation post on the upper slope of the mountain.  The man was dressed in a high tech ghillie suit, one that used no electronics, but did a very good job of camouflage with nanomaterials.  The observation post itself sat under a shelf of rock, and there was plenty of cover to duck behind.

“Anything to report, Ramirez?” he asked the man, settling down on a rock seat and pulling his glasses from their case.

The Corporal looked down at the plains he and his squad had been watching for the last week, coming in with the engineers and gathering the information as only living eyes could without giving off an electronic signature.  They had cameras mounted on several points of the mountain which gave off almost no signature, only enough to be picked up from meters away.  But people were still better observers, able to pick out patterns where computers struggled.

“They guard that camp like it contains an army threatening their own rear, sir,” said the Corporal.  “Almost all of their attention is turned inward, making sure no one escapes.  Even the patrols out on the plains seem to be more concerned with escapes than anything coming at them from outside.”

Cornelius nodded as he swept his glasses over the camp from one side to the other.  It would make sense that the Cacas would feel secure here, in a system guarded by their fleet.  He wasn’t sure if any of the Cacas that escaped from the last offensive in the Empire had carried the news of the assault carried out by wormhole gates.  These Cacas would know about the gates, and about how the humans had used them on planets they had already occupied.  But it was possible that these hadn’t guessed at the way humans could use them to invade other planets.

“Patrols random or set?”

“As far as I can tell, mostly set, though they can throw a random monkey wrench in the mix.  But rarely.”

“Let’s just hope they stay set in their patterns when we strike.”  Cornelius started looking over the plain, which was not a totally flat region by any means.  There were numerous gulleys and small valleys, cut by the multiple streams that ran from out of the mountains.  Most of the plain had been farmland, but there was a smattering of Terran native woods forming wind breaks around the fields, and to the north a rolling forest of native vegetation.

Cornelius’ quick mind started sizing up the possibilities, how he could get his men close to the camp, how he could evacuate the people there.  It would not be easy, but he saw a lot of possibilities.  Of course, it would not be entirely his call.  As a lowly company commander, he would be given an area of operations for the day, and could make up his plans as they fit into those of the rest of the regiment, and the fire support plan.  But he could present his ideas to the Colonel, and from what he knew of Montaigne, the man would listen.

Turning the glasses back to the camp, he felt his rage rise as he saw several wagons full of bodies rolling along one of the internal paths.  He wanted to go charging into that camp with the force he had, to rescue those poor captives who were being treated as cattle.  He wanted to charge in himself, alone, and kill the first Caca he came to with his bare hands.  He knew he could do none of those things, that the only thing he could do was to stick with the plan and wait for the proper time.  But he would enjoy the killing in this one.  Just as he knew his soldiers would.

“I want you and your squad down at my HQ in an hour.  One of my other squads will take over the duty.”

“I’ll let the Sergeant know,” said Ramirez, who was only a team leader for his group.

Cornelius put away his glasses and crawled away from the opening, standing as soon as he was clear and heading for the hatch down.  He knew he had a lot of study to get in before the mission.  Pictures to look at, vids to review, people to talk with.  And patrols.  Those would go out immediately, and they would face just not the chance of detection from the Cacas, but the deadly life forms of this world as well.

Can’t be any worse than Azure, or probably not even Sestius, he thought, climbing down the long ladder.  He dismissed that thought in an instant.  There were some really big and fierce creatures out there, and it wouldn’t do well to underestimate them.  Just as it wouldn’t do to underestimate the Cacas.

*     *     *

Cat stared at yet another set of carts being pulled from the camp by harnessed humans, and wondered when the nightmare was ever going to end.  She recognized one of the adults on the second cart, her dead face staring up to the sky while blood seeped through her curly blond hair.  Ms. Thomas had been a teacher in Cat’s school, and kind but firm woman who seemed to really love her students.  And now she was just another slab of meat on her way to the processing plant.

“When is this going to end,” whispered the child, putting her face in her hands.  She didn’t want to die, but this waiting was worse than death.  Her family had already been taken, those who hadn’t been killed in the invasion.  She might still know some people in this massive camp, but she had not been able to find them.  And the Cacas came and harvested, looking at a list, then killing selected humans, with no seeming rhyme or reason to it.

“Cat,” said a small voice in an almost whisper.  “Is that you?”

Cat looked up, feeling a smile stretching her face for the first time in months.  Her face almost seemed to forget the interplay of muscles needed to present such an expression, one she had used to produce with regularity before the coming of the Cacas.

“Elizabeth?” she said, hardly believing her eyes.  Elizabeth  Caronones had been her classmate for the last three years.  And, while they weren’t best friends by any means, they were friends, and had played with each other on occasion through all of those years.

“Cat,” said the other girl, a smile on her face.  She looked up at the pale skinned man who stood next to her.  “Daddy, this is Cat.  Cat was in my school, and she was in Ms. Thomas’ class with me this year.”

“How nice to meet you, young lady,” said the man, whose eyes only lay on her for a moment before resuming their darting back and forth, as if he were charged with watching the entire crowd.

Cat thought there was something strange about the man, but she didn’t know what.  He seemed nervous, hyper vigilant, or at least more so than was normal for the camp, where everyone was just a bit paranoid.

“Where’s your family, Cat?” asked Elizabeth, grabbing onto her hand to get her attention.

“I, don’t know,” said the child, shaking her head, closing her eyes tight, still refusing to go to the place where her family was dead, even as she knew they were.

“Can she stay with us, daddy?” asked Elizabeth, looking up at the man, who turned his cold eyes on Cat.  “She has no one, and you can protect her, just like you do me.”

The man looked like he was thinking for a moment, then nodded his head as a strange smile graced his face.  “Of course, little Beth.  In fact, I think she will come in handy.”

Cat really didn’t like the sound of that.  She also didn’t like being alone, with only her own wits to rely on.  She was only a child, with no one to look after her, and everyone else looking out for their own, or maybe even only themselves.  She was always hungry, since the Cacas only made a lackluster effort at grain and vegetable distribution, and made no effort at all to see that everyone got fed.  After all, these were just cattle to them, so why worry about the health and wellbeing of beasts in the slaughter yard.

“My daddy was a policeman,” said Elizabeth, grabbing Cat by the arm and steering her the way the pair, father and daughter, had been going.  “He knows how to handle people.  We always have enough to eat.”

And I wonder how you do that? thought the other child, looking up at the tall man once again.  She dismissed that thought in an instant.  If it filled her stomach, what did it matter?

“Call me Rory,” said the man, glancing down at the child.  “Or Mr. Caronones.  It doesn’t really matter which.”

It was hectic as usual at the food distribution point, with people jostling and shoving in line, while a few of those appointed to maintain order tried their best to keep things orderly.  The men and women who unloaded the stacked boxes looked as tired and hopeless as ever, going through the motions more than anything, but still getting the produce on the table for people to get at, while a couple of stern looking men, people who looked like they hadn’t missed any meals, watched carefully so that no one took too much.

Mr. Caronones pushed past people to the front of the line.  Some protested, others made as if to grab him, but a stare of his cold eyes silenced them all.  He proceeded to the front and starting picking up food from the table, handing some down to his daughter, then to Cat, before taking what he wanted.

Cat was delighted to find that she had an apple, a banana and a small bag of wheat, as well as a real bottled water.  She ignored the stares of others who would be lucky to get one piece of fruit when it came their turn.  She had been hungry long enough.  Why shouldn’t she have a full stomach this night?  That the meager rations wouldn’t have filled her before the present turn of events didn’t even register.  Her stomach had shrunk, and anything she could put in it was welcome.

As night closed down on the camp and everyone went to their tents, Mr. Caronones led them deep into the camp, to a large tent where a lot of men and women were talking.  He sat outside, out of sight, listening.  Cat couldn’t hear much of anything, and wondered if the man had augmented hearing.  Such was not uncommon among the police, and she wouldn’t be surprised if he did, but she still had to wonder what they were doing here.

After a time the man closed his eyes, face taking on the concentrated look of someone in link, while Elizabeth held onto Cat’s arm as if afraid she might disappear.  Some minutes later the Cacas came, grabbing the people in the tent and executing them on the spot.  The carts came and the bodies were hauled away, the Cacas not wanting to waste any of the protein.  Mr. Caronones looked at one of the Cacas, who nodded at him slightly and moved off.  Later that night another packet of rations was delivered to the man in his tent, and Cat was pretty sure she knew what was going on.

There was a term she had learned in school, in history class.  A strange word, and one which she had never expected she would ever need to know.  Collaborator.

*     *     *

Great Admiral H’rastarawaa really hated this place, but found it necessary to come here to make sure progress continued at the pace he had set.  Even the males who worked here came to hate it.  Not from any sympathy for the humans.  More from their own beliefs.  Though the large carnivores were natural born killers, death on this scale, this personal, was something even they were not used to.  Here they saw the dead, smelled the dead, realized that these creatures who they were converting to food were actually intelligent beings.  After a time it weighed on those assigned the task, and they slowed.  So here he was, to let his males see that even their supreme commander was willing to see and smell the horrors.

“We are working as fast as we can, my Lord,” said the ship commander level officer assigned to the running of this factory.  Lines of bodies, hanging from their feet by the belt that moved them through the cooking rooms, lined both sides of the walkway.  The heat rose from the opening of the chamber those bodies moved into, infrared convection cookers that would thoroughly heat the protein in the time it took to pass through them.

“That is not good enough, Captain,” said the Great Admiral to his subordinate.  “Do you want me to assign another male to this task, and give you duties more suited to your delicate sensibilities?”

The other male blanched at the pronouncement.  The Great Admiral knew the Captain would rather have just about any other duty.  But the veiled threat in what the Great Admiral had said was that he would be given an assignment that came with a reduced rank.  And no male would be able to put up with that.

“I will make sure that the line works to capacity, my Lord,” said the Captain, crossing his upper arms in salute.  “You can depend on it.”

The Great Admiral looked over at the nearest of the lines, moving through at a rate that would process eight thousand bodies in a day, enough to feed a conquest fleet, with the slow metabolisms of the Cacada, for that day.  The two lines would process sixteen thousand humans a day, though not all of the aliens were equal in their amount of protein.  The males were much bigger than the females on average, and had more protein and less fat.  There were also the smaller forms of children on that line, and even a couple of infants.

For a moment the Great Admiral thought about ordering that only adults be harvested, but without the adults, the children would probably die, and that would waste their protein.  But if they had to evacuate the system in front of an invasion by the human Empire, the adults they hadn’t processed would have been wasted in favor of other bodies that could not provide the same amount of nutrition.

The Great Admiral led the way down the walk, taking a turn before they got too close to the cooking chamber, then taking the walkway around it.  On the other side the bodies came rolling along the track out of the chamber, where they were dropped by the clamps into the padded trough below.  Here, robots pulled each body out and carried it to one of the disassembling tables to the side, where a stationary robot moved quickly to process the body, removing the bones to drop onto another conveyor, which carried them to a grinder to process the calcium.  The robot placed protein into a container that held a hundred kilos.  When the container was full, it closed up automatically, sealing in the protein in, and dropped through a hatch to a temporary storage chamber.  When one of the containers was full another slid into place, over and over, as the Ca’cadasan military machine made sure that its obligate carnivore males were fed from a species that possessed compatible proteins.

There were twenty-five processing plants on the planet, with a combined capacity of three hundred and seventy thousand humans a day.  And over seven hundred million humans on the planet in their camps.  Which meant that it would take over five years.  There was no way the humans in the Empire were going to give them that long, unless his command received major reinforcements.

I want a meeting with all of the factory administrators scheduled for tomorrow morning, he said into his link, making sure his aide received his wishes and could schedule to his desires.  There had to be another way to process the humans they had here.  Some field expedient they could use.  And perhaps a meeting of the minds could come up with one.  Otherwise, it would be a waste of a biological resource, and according to his religion that would be sinful.

Chapter Nine

The whole course of human history may depend on a change of heart in one solitary and even humble individual - for it is in the solitary mind and soul of the individual that the battle between good and evil is waged and ultimately won or lost.

M. Scott Peck.

NEW TERRAN REPUBLIC, APRIL 2ND, 1002.

“Are you ready, Admiral?” asked President Julia Graham of the New Terran Republic.  Her nation had only been free of partial Ca’cadasan occupation for a little over a month.  The systems that had been taken were either completely dead, or total wrecks in which the few survivors were still trying to recover from the shock of the Caca processing plants.

“We are ready, Madame President,” replied the reptilian face looking calmly out of the wormhole com.  She knew the Crakista female as Admiral in Charge of the Combined Republic Crakista Joint Fleet.  She did not know the being's real name.  She had heard it once or twice, but could not repeat it with her merely human vocal apparatus.

“I wish I could give you more time, Admiral,” she told the alien female, who had proven a better tactician and strategist than any of her own flag officers.

“We both know that is not possible, Madame President,” said the Crakistan Admiral, her face showing no emotion, as was their nature.  That there was some emotion under that mask the President was sure.  But as a race they had turned their backs on emotion, and approached the Universe in a logical manner.  Which did not mean they had no empathy.  “We both know that every day that passes means more tens, even hundreds of thousands of humans will be processed as food for the Ca’cadasans.  And we both know that we cannot just stand by and watch intelligent beings turned into rations for an enemy.”

Graham thought of the camps she had toured just after they had liberated the capital system.  Not all of the captives had been processed.  Tens of millions had been killed by the Cacas as they left the system, and several hundred thousand had somehow gotten away.  She had talked with some of those survivors, heard them describe the horrors of the camps in which they were treated like cattle, harvested as quickly as the Cacas could move them into their factories and render them into rations.

“You are correct, Admiral.  As always.  I just wish we had more ships to give you.”

But she didn’t have more ships.  She had given the force all she could spare, after cutting out the task forces she needed to help get her nation back to work.  She had a fleet to rebuild, which meant that she needed to rebuild her industry, which meant that she had to delay building ships while she built the factories and yards she needed to make them.

“We have what we have,” said the Admiral, a hint of a smile showing on her mostly immobile face.  “According to our simulations, we should have enough for our part of the mission.”

Graham nodded as she looked over at the holo that showed the area of operations.  The near side of the Kingdom of New Moscow, with every known or suspected Caca base or ship concentration blinking among the star field.  Also on that field was the force the Admiral would lead into that space on a lighting assault that would push the Cacas toward the center, and the combined allied fleet that would strike from the Empire.

There were over five thousand ships in that force, battleships, carriers, battle cruisers, cruisers, destroyers, the auxiliaries needed to keep those ships supplied.  It should be more than a match for any force the Cacas had in that space.  It seemed overwhelming, and that was what worried her the most.

“Very well, Admiral.  Kick those bastards out of human space for me.”

“That I will, Madame President.  And may our trust in each other grow, and in the growing lead to a brighter future for both of our species.”

*     *     *

SECTOR IV HEADQUARTERS.

“You wished to talk with me, Great Admiral?” asked Commodore Mary Innocent as she walked into the prison cum audience chamber.

“I did, Commodore,” replied the big male, sitting up straight in his seat.  “I wished to tell you something about us.  Something that might help.”

“Why the change of heart?” asked the human Intelligence Officer.  “I thought you had said you would die before you gave us anything of military value.”

“This will not be of military value.  But it may help our, understanding.”

Innocent motioned to one of her Marines guards, and the armored woman walked over to a wall and grabbed a human sized chair that had been placed there for just this purpose.  Mary took the chair once it was in place and tried to make herself comfortable.  “I’m all ears, Great Admiral.”

“Then I want to tell you about my people.  And about how we came to be the way we are.”

“And this will help us, how?” asked Innocent, almost chomping at the bit to hear what he had to say, but not wanting to show too much enthusiasm.

“I am hoping it will help us, in case you win this war.”

“And you think we will win?” she said with a smile.  “You are always telling us how your mighty Empire will be too much for us.  Are you having second thoughts?”

“Oh,” said the male, crossing his lower arms over his chest.  “I still think the odds are in our favor.  I believe that when our next wave arrives, you will find that mine was not the most powerful fleet we could raise.”

“And what you are about to tell me?”

“It may help you to decide what to do if the time comes where you are in the control chair,” said the Ca’cadasan, pointing an upper right index finger at the Commodore.

“Then tell me what you want to say,” she replied, planting an elbow on one knee and placing her chin in her hand, leaning forward.

“We have always been carnivores,” said the male, his eyes taking on a distant look.  “And as such we have never been the most peaceful of species.  Still, we had entered period of relative peace.  Our planet was enjoying the longest period of peace and prosperity in our history.  We had solved our environmental problems, there was plenty of food for all, and we had an abundance of wilderness to allow our young males to hunt and grow into adulthood.  The religion that dominates our society was on the rise, and we worshiped the nature of our world.  We were even on the way into space.  And then…”

“Yes?” said the Commodore, her mind trying to picture these aggressive aliens as peaceful.

“The aliens came.  They were like insects, though their skeletons were internal.  They were a hive mind.  Individually, not that bright.  But as a collective, as smart as any.  They were obligate herbivores, having no use for animals.  They had none, the only resource they needed the vegetation of a living world, which their singular digestive systems could handle in all the many myriad forms across the Galaxy.  They had eaten their own world bare, and had moved out in a globular pattern from their home world.  They entered our system in enormous sublight vessels, the best their technology could produce, generations ahead of anything we could make.  We could not pronounce the name for themselves, and simply called them The Plague.”

“And you fought them?”

“Of course we fought them,” said the male, his eyes glaring.  “It is what we do.  But they had the technological edge, and the advantage of the orbitals.  More than we could handle.  They wiped out over ninety-five percent of our population.  They established themselves on the ground and stripped large areas bare of vegetation.  When they had filled their ships they left our system, out to the next target.  They left over half of the beings they had brought with them here, establishing themselves in the underground cities they built.  These continued to strip the planet, and it looked like our story was over.  That was over twenty-five thousand of your years ago.”

“But your story, it didn’t end.”

“No,” said the Great Admiral, sitting up even straighter in his chair.  “It didn’t.  The first of our Emperors, Msse’rrazon, arose, and organized what was left of our people.  Every male became a warrior.  We attacked the enemy in their lairs, losing half of the males that were left.  But we overran them.  We won back our planet, and then worried that they might return in their ships.  A supreme effort was made to reverse engineer their tech, to get us onto even footing with them.  Over three centuries we rebuilt our infrastructure, struggled to restore our ecosystem, including the animals the invaders had destroyed, the source of our food.  We increased our numbers as much as we could, until we were as ready as we could be.  And then the aliens returned.”

“I take it that the second invasion didn’t go so well for them.”

“No,” said the male, showing his carnivore’s teeth.  “It did not.  We destroyed their ships in the outer system, then started to build up our own interstellar capabilities.  And we went hunting, destroying The Plague wherever we could find them.  Until we had wiped them from the Universe, eventually finding and destroying their home world, or what was left of it.”

“You, killed off an entire species?” asked Innocent in horror.  “Genocide?”

“The Galaxy is a better place for their absence,” said the Great Admiral with a very human head shake.  “Our religion forbade us from destroying a species like that, but revenge was hot in our hearts, and the captains on the spot made the decisions to annihilate the aliens wherever they found them.  But we had taken a step onto a path we could not retreat from.  We had become a race of warriors.  No longer would sons be raised to be scientists, engineers, technicians.  They would all be raised to be warriors, until they were too old to serve, at which time they would fill those other jobs.”

“And you lost the flexibility of young minds.”

“Yes, and many of those minds that would have been of great worth to our people never developed.”  The Great Admiral looked into the internal distance for a moment, then back at the human.  “I am considered intelligent among my people, in the top one percent of males, maybe higher.  I could have been a scientist, one who helped to advance my people.  But now males with minds like my own are groomed to become flag officers, to make up for the deficits of our other males.”

“So you started on the path to Empire, and found no way to get off?”

“We did.  We could not trust any of the other alien races we had found, not with the safety of our own species at stake.  And our military society needed scientists and technicians, engineers, which we found among the first species that we conquered.  The more we conquered, the more soldiers we needed, to keep the new subjects in line.  There was always the fear that any species that got free of us would seek revenge, and so we could not let any go.  But we did not destroy species, or the life forms of other evolutionary paths.  We conquered a hundred species, and only found it necessary to destroy three of them.”

“And those three?” asked Innocent, suppressing a surge of anger at the thought that hers had been intended to become the third such species.

“One was insane, a genocidal species that killed everything in their path.  The Plague.  We were forced to destroy them.  The other was more accidental than anything else.  They were a very advanced race that wanted nothing more than to be left alone, but we couldn’t afford to leave them to their own devices, not when there was a possibility that they might attack us.”

So you went after them and they had no choice but to fight back, thought the Commodore.

“We bombarded their planet through their defenses, which proved formidable.  In the end, several of our most powerful weapons made it through at destroyed all of their population concentrations.  Before we knew it, they were extinct.”

“And us?  Why did we need to be destroyed?”

“You killed the heir to the Empire, after your colony had surrendered.”

“And what the hell was he doing on that planet in the first place?” asked Innocent, not believing they could have been that nonchalant with the heir to their Empire.

“It is traditional that the heir to the Empire serves with a conquest fleet.  You had surrendered, which among my people means that you had given up all thought of resistance.  So the young male was sent to the surface, to accept the formal taking of the planet, so he could have the appellation conqueror added to his name.  But one of your people killed him, and the enraged Emperor ordered your people destroyed.”

“That’s not how it works with our people,” said Innocent, sitting up straight and staring at the Ca’cadasan.  “Just because the authority says something, doesn’t mean that everyone will just follow orders.  We’re a race of individualists.”

“And we obey the orders of those above us.  If I had been conscious, every one of our ships would have either broken off and gotten away, to regroup later, or would have fought to the finish.  The Admiral who took over was a coward, more concerned about his own survival than his honor, and ordered the fleet to surrender so that he might live.  And because of that males who would never have surrendered did so, to the shame of the Empire.”

“So you didn’t want to come to this state of being,” said Innocent, still not sure why she was being told this story.  “But here you are, and we’re locked into a death struggle with you.  And what do you think telling me this will get you?”

“Some understanding, if you do prevail.  Some insight into my kind, and a recognition that we are not evil.”

Innocent stared at the male for some minutes, aghast at what he had just said.  The Cacas had wiped out whole worlds, and caused over twenty billion deaths in the Empire.  They were killing and eating humans, another intelligent species.  If that wasn’t the definition of evil, she didn’t know what was.  She wasn’t sure how this understanding of them would help if the humans found themselves with their boot heels on the throats of the big sentients.  Probably less than this male hoped.

“Thank you, Great Admiral,” she finally said, getting up from her chair.  “I will make sure my Emperor gets this information.”  She kept her face devoid of emotion while she spoke, though she was sure she would order every one of the creatures killed if it was in her power to do so.

*     *     *

NEW MOSCOW, APRIL 4TH, 1002.

The sun on New Moscow, at least at this latitude, was not particularly hot.  Not compared to hellholes like Sestius or Azure.  Still, even a high mountain would seem hot in the Ghilley Suits that the Rangers were wearing on this recon.

Cornelius had decided that he needed to be on this initial recon.  At least that’s what he told himself as he crawled through the gully at the head of the squad.  As a company commander he would not be able to go on every patrol.  That was the one thing he still had problems with as an officer.  His men were good, but he was better.  That was not braggadocio.  It was fact.  His men moved like a breeze through the brush.  He was moving through the woods like the stillness that was no wind.  He beat every single one of them in sparring, or on the range.

He knew, however, that he couldn’t do the mission on his own.  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his men to get the job done.  It was that he couldn’t stand the thought of sending them to their deaths.  Preacher had warned him that an officer’s task was not easy.  He shared all the dangers of his men, but shouldered almost all of the responsibility.

What passed for birds on this world continued their warbling cries and songs in the trees above, a good sign, one that his men were moving as part of the forest.  Larger beasts grunted in the near distance, herbivores clipping vegetation from the trees.  There would be carnivores out there as well.  They made the Captain the most anxious of anything on the mission.  He had studied what was known about them.  That was not the same as knowing them, understanding how they hunted, where and why.

The gully continued out into the plain, about three meters deep by four wide, zigging and zagging across the flatlands that had been wild grasslands interspersed with farmlands before the Cacas had come.  Cornelius crawled up on the side of the gully facing the camp, swinging his rifle back on its straps to lay across his back as he pulled his glasses from their case.

The camp leapt into clarity through the binoculars.  Cornelius was aware of where the sun stood in the heavens, making sure that he was not reflecting any light that might be seen from the camp.  The lenses were treated to be non-reflective, but the Captain did not like to take chances he didn’t have to.  Swinging the glasses away from the camp, he followed the web of gullies that ran across the plains, picking out what looked like the best approach routes, where to place his snipers, and the heavy support units from the heavy and medium infantry.

Some hissing ahead and to the right caught his attention, and one of the other Rangers, crawled up beside him with his rifle in hand.  It was an air weapon, firing a dart of tranquilizers that was supposed to work on the native life, without making either the noise of a chemical weapon or giving off the electronic signature of more advanced rifle.  A large predator moved on its four limbs in their direction, sniffing the ground with a flat, large nose set with wide nostrils.  Horns stood along its back, and rose to their full height as the creature roused itself to fight.

The Rangers were wearing a chemical spray on their Ghilley suits and undergarments that was supposed to blend them in with the vegetation of the forest.  It worked against most animals on this world, but had not been tested against all of them.  And he didn’t think this predator had been one it had been tested on.

“Wait a moment, Slater,” he told the other man in a whisper.  The beast looked up at the sound and seemed to zero in on them, then took a few steps their way, its soft pads soundless on the hard ground.

Cornelius was sure that they could down this creature, even if the tranquilizer darts had not been tested on its species.  Enough darts and it would go down, maybe in death.  But he didn’t want the Cacas to see a predator fall for no reason and stay down, and if other predators, or scavengers, came along, that would attract even more attention.

Both men watched the creature carefully as it continued to sniff the air.  Walborski signaled the men behind him in the gully to stay still, still hoping that the predator would lose interest.

A group of small herbivores trumpeted in the distance, and the head of the predator rose and turned that way.  In a motion it lowered itself to the ground and slunk off, heading for prey it was familiar with, and not something strange that offered unknown risks.

Cornelius turned his attention back to the mission, waving for two more men to come up on the side of the gulley and get a take of the area.  All of the men were augmented as much mentally as physically, and they took in every detail, stored every memory.  Later, back at the base, they would be able to send those memories through their implants into the computers that would help to develop an appreciation of the area.

On the way back to the mountains and the tunnel entrance that led back up to their base  Walborski was thinking about what he had seen, his mind envisioning the battle that was to come.  No matter how he replayed it in his mind, he could see no way they were going to carry this off without massive casualties among those they had come to rescue.  There was no way they could herd millions of civilians across the open areas while lasers, particle beams and explosive projectiles flew between the battling forces.

The attack came out of nowhere, heard by the rustling of the leaves in the trees before it was seen.  The Rangers reacted like the men they were, turning toward the sound, their weapons ready.  A half score of the creatures came flying out of the forest, hard for the eye to track as their chameleon like fur blended the jaguar sized creatures into their surroundings.

One hit Slater in the chest, its hundred and fifty kilo mass knocking the big man down onto his back.  Only the swift reflexes of the Ranger saved his throat as he interposed his arms in the way.  Two of the beasts went down with darts in them, while one took the molecular blade of a human through the side of its neck, severing its spine.  One Ranger was the target of two of the animals, and though he handled one of them, the other was able to get its jaws around the man’s throat and tear it out.

Cornelius grabbed one of the animals with his left hand gripped into the fur behind its neck.  The creature still blurred before his eyes, and his fingers almost bounced from the flesh before he could get his grip.  With a hank he pulled the creature from the ground and plunged his monomolecular blade into the side of the predator.

The animals were smart, and realized quickly that they had taken on more than they could handle.  Seven of them took off with howls, running into the forest, their camouflage blending them into the trees while they were still pushing through the first layer of underbrush.

“I think Quang is gone, sir,” said Slater, kneeling down beside the Ranger who lay on his back with his throat torn out, blood pumping into the air.

“Not if I can help it,” said the Captain, pulling his Ghilley suit from his body, then picking up Quang.  The brain was what they needed to be saved.  If the brain died there would be no coming back.  Troops in armor had the luxury of cryo systems which could preserve that organ, but Rangers did not.  They did have nanobubbles in their systems, more than an unaugmented human did, which would continue to release their oxygen to the brain, but without life there was no blood pumping through the organ to provide the sugars needed for continued metabolic function.

“Twenty-five minutes,” he told Slater.  “He’s got twenty-five minutes until there’s no chance of recovery.”

“It took us fifty minutes for us to get to this point on the way out,” said the Sergeant.

“Then I’ll have to move a bit faster,” he told Slater as he picked up his dying man and slung him across his shoulders.  “The rest of you follow at normal speed.”

“We could send someone with you, sir,” said another of the men.  “It’s not safe to go it on your own.”

“I’ll make less noise alone,” said the Captain, turning, making sure he had the weight settled properly, then taking off in a jog.

It felt cooler without the suffocating heat of the Ghilley suit.  Still, the sweat rolled down his face, while branches and leaves smacked him, a few drawing blood.  To his sensitive ears it sounded like he was one of the great beasts of Sestius bumbling through the jungle, though he knew he made little that could be heard more than twenty meters or so into the jungle.  He worried that he might be giving off enough heat without the insulation of the suit to be picked up through the canopy, though the odds were slight.  The greater danger was that something from that jungle would hear him and come to investigate, hoping for an easy meal.  He doubted it would find one, but anything that slowed him down reduced Quang’s chances of resurrection.

He realized he wasn’t going to make it at his current speed and sped up, going from jog to run in a couple of steps.  The body on his shoulders weighed on even his great strength, while his lungs battled to pull enough air in to feed his muscles.

I’ve run farther and faster before, he thought as he gritted his teeth and increased his pace to a sprint.  A branch smacked across his face, temporarily blinding him, and he stumbled a few steps while he tried to clear his vision.  It came back quickly, if a little blurry, and he increased his pace once again.

Something came jumping out of the jungle behind him, and a huffing sounded from the gully as some creature ran after him.  Cornelius spun as he ran, back peddling, to see one of the things that had torn out his man’s throat coming after him.  Hoping there were no more, he tossed Quang to the ground, drew his knife, and braced himself for the creature.  It gathered its legs underneath and leapt for the Ranger, who moved at a speed like nothing it had ever seen to punch his knife into the ribs of the beast while falling back.  He completed the move with his legs thrusting into the stomach of the predator, lifting it over as he pulled his knife from its body in a draw cut.  The beast let out a plaintive howl and landed down the path, lying on its side, struggling to breath.

Cornelius was tempted to leave it such, to die in agony for having the effrontery to delay him in his mission to save one of his men.  The old hunter in him wouldn’t let him do it, and he hurried over to the side of the predator, cursing himself for a fool the entire way, and buried his blade in its skull.  The beast shuddered once, then lay still, and the Captain sheathed his blade and picked his man back up into the shoulder carry.

Taking a few stumbling steps, Cornelius regained his balance with the dead weight on his shoulders and started off at a jog, increasing to a sprint in a few seconds.  With every quick step he prayed.  That nothing else would get in his way.  That he would not be discovered by Caca surveillance, which he was sure there had to be in these woods.  That he would get Quang to base in time for him to be recovered.

His breath was ragged as he climbed out of the gully and headed the last fifty meters into the tunnel.  People were there, guarding that entrance, and the hands of other Rangers help to lift Quang from his shoulders and lay the man in one of the emergency cryo units that were stored there with the portable aid station.

Cornelius fell against the wall as his man was frozen, to await recovery by nanotech.  He slid down the wall until he was sitting, letting his body cool as he took in deep breaths, too winded to talk.  His eyes were locked on the cryo unit, fully expanded to handle the body that lay within it.  He wasn’t sure what the result would be.  Full recovery?  Or none?  Or something in between, a partial recovery in which most of the man’s personality survived, but many of his memories were missing?

Twenty minutes later the rest of the squad came through, and it looked like there had no compromise of their mission.

Chapter Ten

Genocide is not just a murderous madness; it is, more deeply, a politics that promises a utopia beyond politics - one people, one land, one truth, the end of difference. Since genocide is a form of political utopia, it remains an enduring temptation in any multiethnic and multicultural society in crisis.

Michael Ignatieff.

CAPITULUM, JEWEL, APRIL 5TH, 1002.

“I really don’t care what the bastard had to say,” said Sean in a roar, glaring at his Intelligence Chief.  “You really don’t believe any of that crap, Mary?”

“We were monitoring him while he was speaking, your Majesty,” said the Commodore, her eyes dropping under that glare.  “As far as we can tell, he was speaking the truth.  As far as he knew.”

“And what of it?  Are we supposed to take pity on him and his people, because they were once the victims?  While they try to erase us from the Universe, just because their psychology was different than ours?  Just because they wanted some damned heir to have conqueror appended to his name.”

“He still thinks his people will win, your Majesty.  But I think we have sown the seeds of doubt in his mind.”

“It would be nice if we planted those seeds in all of their minds,” said Sondra McCollum, looking over at her Emperor.

“Though in a way it’s better that they remain the arrogant bastards they have been,” said Sean, looking down at the table.  He chewed his lip for a moment, then looked up at his Intelligence Chief.  “It serves us better if they proceed from arrogance, and continue to make the mistakes we know they are capable of.  If they get smart, our troubles increase.”

He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, then over at the holo that showed the theater of operations.  “We kick off the operation in three days.  I wish it could be sooner, so we could save those lives that will end in those three days.  But my military people assure me this is the soonest we could move with any great chance of success.”

“That is true, your Majesty,” said McCollum, looking him straight in the eyes with an unflinching gaze.  “I don’t like the idea of those innocents dying any more than you do.  I’ll have nightmares about the children for the rest of my life.”

Sean nodded.  All of them had seen the vids and stills sent back from New Moscow, first the shots from space, followed by those from the ground.  The heart-rending scenes of people in the rags of clothing that even modern fabrics could become after time and lack of care.  All were thin, the look of starvation on their faces, unlike the well fed populace that all remembered of New Moscow.  Worst of all were the children, huddled within the protective arms of adults when there were any who cared for them.  Or sitting off alone, frightened with no comfort, trying to become as inconspicuous as possible.

“I wonder how the Cacas would like it if we visited the same thing on them,” said McCullom.

Commodore Innocent cringed at those words, and Sean knew what she was feeling.  If the war went on the outcry for revenge might reach the point where even he couldn’t control his Fleet, or the soldiers that they deployed.  There would be counter atrocities.  Many of them, and humanity would have to live with those as well.

“I’m willing to kill as many Cacas as necessary to win this war,” he told the two officers.  “Even if that includes every one of their warriors.  But I will not countenance the slaughter of their children merely because it’s possible.”

But he couldn’t be everywhere at once, or watch everything.  And he wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t commit an atrocity or two against the Cacas if he thought he could get away with it.

*     *     *

FENRI SPACE, APRIL 6TH, 1002.

“The enemy force is just where we predicted they would be,” announced Flag Captain Mara Savatoni to her Admiral.

“That’s what worries me,” replied Admiral Theodosius Glaven, the commander of the right wing, the hammer, of the attack force.  “When did the Fenri become so damned predictable?”

“Maybe when they found they had to defend more than they were capable of doing,” said the Flag Captain.  “They have to hold all of these systems.  Without them, they lose almost a quarter of their industrial capacity, over a third of their shipbuilding industry, and leave us just one step away from the capital.  Why wouldn’t they attempt to defend all of them, sir?”

“It still bothers the hell out of me,” said the Admiral, looking at the tactical holo that showed the fifteen hundred ships of his fleet moving across the hyper barrier into the Shrivas system.  Another concentration of ships showed on opposite side of the system, the seventeen hundred vessels of Fleet Admiral Jumar Akai, coming across the barrier on that side in a wide spread meant to keep any enemy ships from escaping.  Inside the system, mostly clustered around the habitable planet, were eight hundred vessels of the Fenri defensive force.  There were maybe two hundred other ships scattered around the system.  They still outnumbered the entire Fenri force three to one, in mass five to one.  Each of the two Terran Fleets, which included three hundred allied ships, individually outmassed the enemy over two to one.  It looked like a foregone conclusion.  And that bothered the introspective Admiral the most.

“Orders coming in from Admiral Akai,” called out the Flag Com Officer.  “While he moves his force in and completes his blocking position, we are to move in on a least time profile for the planet.”

“Any sign of hidden enemies?” asked Glavin, looking over at his Staff Tactical Officer.

“No, sir.  If they’re hiding, they’re doing a damned good job of it at quite a distance.”

“Very well.”  He looked over at his Com Officer.  “Send command out to all task groups.  Least time profile to the planet.  Accel at four hundred and eighty gravities.”  Not all of his ships were the most modern, and four hundred and eighty gravities was the maximum of some of his older battleships.  He looked back over at his Tactical Officer.  “I want a close watch kept on any anomaly that might creep onto the plot.  I really don’t like this, and I won’t be happy until we’ve crushed their fleet.”

The tactical officer acknowledged, and the Admiral lay back in his command chair to study the central plot.  The ships sat still in orbit around the planet, seen through the visual sensors that reconstructed their images across the distance, showing them as they had been over two hours before.  Some of the vessels were moving, out from the planet, detectable by their graviton emissions.  But not enough of them.  This is damned peculiar, thought the Admiral.  The enemy had to know they were there from their translation signature.  And now from the graviton emissions of their acceleration.  Even if there wasn’t anything they could do to stop the Imperial force, he thought they would at least try to reach an advantageous position to take as many of the Terran force with them as possible.

The Fenri might have been bastards, slaving conquerors who had destroyed entire civilizations on  their rise to Empire.  But they had never been accused of being cowards, to freeze in fear at an oncoming enemy.

An hour and a half later his force was forging ahead at point four five light, over twenty light minutes in from the barrier.  It would take over two hours to come to a stop before heading back out, and four and a half hours from there to get back to beyond the barrier, at which point they would still have to decelerate down to point two light to jump into hyper.  No matter what, they couldn’t get out of the system and into hyper in less than eight hours.

“It looks like that’s all there is, sir,” reported the Tactical Officer.

“Then why aren’t they responding?” asked Glavin.  About a hundred of the ships were still on the move, from their signatures all destroyers and smaller.  They were seeing the images of cruisers and battleships still in orbit, and now receiving returns from radar and lidar.  The most combat capable ships in the enemy force were still sitting there, not even generating electromagnetic fields.  He had  to wonder if the vessels had been abandoned, if the crews were down on the planet in the face of opposition they knew would kill them all.  Again, not something he had expected from the Fenri.

“Get me Admiral Akai on the com,” he ordered, his chin in his palm, elbow resting on the arm of his chair.

The face of the five star flag officer appeared on a holo hanging in the air in front of his chair.  “What is it, Theodosius?” asked the higher ranking Admiral.

“I have a bad feeling about this, Admiral.  The further I get into the system, the more it has the feel of a trap.  I really don’t like what the enemy ships are doing.  It makes no sense.”

“We’ve caught them flatfooted, Theodosius,” said Akai with a predatory smile.

“But we shouldn’t have caught them flatfooted.  They had to know this was one of our primary targets.  They should have either had a better defense plan in place, or just abandoned it so they could use the ships elsewhere.”

“I’ve never thought much of the Fenri,” said Akai, scowling for a moment.  “Oh, they’re brave enough.  But their leadership truly sucks.  They have some decent tacticians in command of small task groups, but their strategists are horrible.”

“My Tactical Officer has estimated that your force would take over three hours to extricate from the system and get back into hyper, sir.  And over eight hours for my force to do the same.”

“And your point?”

“Neither of us is capable is getting out of the system if an enemy moves in hyper to come in behind us.”

“And I doubt that will happen, Theodosius.  We’ve got these assholes just where we want them.  Anything that comes out of hyper would be smart enough to see what they face and get the hell out of here.  Don’t be such a worrier.  We have…”

“We have translation into hyper.  Five thousand contacts at ten light hours.”

“What,” stammered Akai, his eyes looking away from Glavin to some other holo.

“They’re coming in behind you, sir,” shouted Glavin as he watched the arrows appear on the plot, in hyper II and on a least time profile for, what?  “Tactical.  What are they up to?”

The officer in question was working his board furiously, inputting the data he wanted and reading the results.  “I think they’re going to come out right at the hyper II barrier, fire missiles, then duck back into hyper I as they pass the II barrier.”

“Sir, you need to move your ships closer together, to give them the best defensive formation possible,” Glavin told the other Admiral, who did not have to listen to anything he said.  He looked over Akai’s formation, already sure that they would still be dispersed when the enemy missiles reached them.

An hour later the enemy force came out of hyper, right at the hyper II barrier as predicted.  Every ship in that force fired, and an overwhelming grouping of missiles headed toward Akai’s force, followed by a second and then a third volley.  As soon as that volley left the tubes the ships translated into hyper I and started pouring on the vector changing acceleration.

“We can’t get out of the system before they come up behind us and launch, sir,” said the Tactical Officer.

“Then we don’t try to leave the system,” said Glavin, looking at the tactical holo that showed the enemy force curving around the system through hyper I while the three volleys of missiles headed toward the other Terran force.  “All ships are to head inward at maximum fleet acceleration.  We will blow past the planet and destroy all of its infrastructure, while we engage the following volleys at the most advantageous position possible.”

Missiles were most effective over distance for one reason, and one only.  The longer they had to boost, the faster they were on the approach.  Greater velocity made them both harder to intercept, and able to impart a more devastating kinetic impact.  If they were chasing his ships, and his vessels were up to a high percentage of light speed, it would reduce the approach speed of the missiles, making them easier to engage and less devastating if they happened to generate a direct hit.  It did nothing to reduce the effectiveness of the carried warhead, but you couldn’t have everything.

An hour later the enemy ships were translating in, three thousand of them a light hour out from the hyper I barrier, two thousand right on the barrier.  All fired multiple volleys of missiles at Glavin’s force, then the further force translated back into hyper while the nearer accelerated in at maximum, on the trail of the smaller Terran force.  And chillingly for everyone aboard that force, over thirty of the ships forging inward were not Fenri, but Ca’cadasan.

Moments later the images of the ships in orbit around the planet changed, turning from battleships and cruisers into merchant ships, miners, ore freighters, many vessels that were barely space worthy.  And Glavin now saw how masterfully they had been suckered into this ambush.  They could lose a third of the Terran invasion force in this battle, unless there were some miraculous maneuvers.  Thanks to the wormhole com, the rest of the fleet would know what had happened.  There would not be another ambush like this, but there would still be the threat of the combined Fenri fleet defeating the widely separated forces of the New Terran Empire in detail.

*     *     *

SECTOR IV.

“And here we have the most recent maps of the surface of New Moscow,” announced the Lt. Colonel of Intelligence, her serious face looking out over the auditorium that seated all of the battalion commanders, brigade commanders, division COs, as well as the three lt. generals and full general that commanded the upper echelons of the army tasked with taking the planet.

“Note the hardened bunkers in these barracks, most of which are built close to the camps.”

Baggett did note them, and in his mind they were one of the things that made this entire mission a gold plated bitch.

“Why can’t we hit them with kinetics before going in?” asked a battalion commander from the Phlistaran division of Baggett’s corps.  “It would be a lot easier than trying to take them by ground assault.”

“It is thought that the use of kinetic weapons powerful enough to defeat the bunkers would prove much too harmful to the human civilians, many of whom are within a few kilometers of the target zone.”

The big Phlistaran Lt. Colonel nodded his massive head.  It was easy enough to forget, when your own species massed a half ton and was covered in armor plate, that humans were much more fragile.

“Surely we can hit them with something that leaves the captives untouched,” said a human brigade CO.  Baggett was glad to see it wasn’t a man with one of his divisions, since to him it seemed like a very stupid statement.  The Intelligence Officer must have thought so too, but couldn’t say such to  full bird colonel.

“Give them a demonstration, Huan,” ordered General Lucius Arbuckle, the Army commander.

The almond eyed woman gave the four star a slight bow, then started punching up commands on her flat comp.  The holo changed to view one of the bunker complexes.  It was laid out much like a human camp of that type would be, with a high berm wall and weapons towers on each corner.  Within the camp were a couple of administrative buildings above ground, three large heavy structures that were the entrances to underground garages.  Six smaller structures were arranged closer to the center, the entrances to the underground bunkers that housed barracks and armories.

“The surface structures are of course armored,” said Huan, her laser pointer landing on one of the administration buildings.  “Nothing that a modern infantry borne heavy weapon couldn’t handle.  The entrances to garages and bunkers are something different altogether.”

The holo showed a simulation of an infantry launched antitank weapon striking one of the admin buildings and blasting a large hole in the side.  The same kind of weapon then struck one of the bunker entrances. There was the same kind of explosion, but not more than superficial penetration.  One then hit the door, blasting a hole through.

“Now, unfortunately, blowing a hole through the door will not cause any significant damage to the underground structure.  To do that will take something much more powerful.”

The holo showed another weapon coming in at slow motion, striking the hardened structure, and seeming to blot it out in a flash of bright fire.  When the fire cleared, there was a large hole, almost the whole side of the structure, showing.

“This would do enough damage that there would be significant casualties down below, possibly total.”  The holo zoomed out to show the camp at a distance, along with the edge of the human enclosure.  The fireball rose from the strike, spreading out, burning through vegetation while it rolled toward the enclosure.  Tents flared into fire and dissolved to nothing, while representative humans became torches that fell to the ground, twitching for moments before going still.

Baggett knew this was only a simulation.  But it was a realistic simulation, hitting him right in the gut.

“As you can see, a weapon that would destroy one of the bunkers would also cause significant damage to the nearby camp, and its inhabitants.”

“What about dropping individual bunker busters on each one?” asked another officer.  “You know, localize the damage to the underground region?”

The holo moved in again, the enemy camp miraculously restored.  A bunker buster round, a long rod penetrator, came down on the top of one of the structures and disappeared in a spray of dust.  An explosion rose through the hole, the sign of the fury of what was going on underground.  This time the explosion was contained enough where the human camp was not damaged.

“Unfortunately, it will take seven of these to take out the one camp, and we have limited orbital support at the initial stages of the mission.  So, while we might be able to do some damage, we will not be able to take out the entire camp.  So, if we drop a heavy nuke or antimatter weapon.”

The holo changed again, another flash, this one much larger than any previous.  Again the fireball rose, and the heat wave rolled out, and a large section of the human camp burned, while the rest was battered with the blast.

“So, ladies and gentlemen, as you can see, we really don’t have much choice in the matter,” said General Arbuckle, standing and sweeping the room with his gaze.  “We are going to have to take these camps by close assault, or at least bottle up the troops inside them so they can’t interfere with our evacuation of the civilians.”

“We’re going to take casualties,” said Major General Kristoff Parker, one of the division commanders of the other corps.  “More than I want to think about.”

“That’s what they pay us for, boys and girls,” said Arbuckle with a tight smile that held little humor.  “We’re soldiers, and it’s our job to do the bleeding, so the civilians don’t have to.  Make no mistake about it.  There are going to be casualties.  Among us, hopefully more among the Cacas, but also among the civilians we are there to rescue.  All I can ask anyone here, and all those under your command, to do is your best.  Now let’s get to our dispositions.”

“Yes, sir,” said Huang, as the holo changed again to a view of the major hemisphere of the planet.  “Each of these camps will have a combined arms battalion assigned to its assault.  Each assault force will comprise a full battalion of infantry, an armored company, and a company of armored engineers.”

Twenty-five of the camps started blinking on the globe, leaving three that weren’t.  “The rest of the Army will be held in reserve so that they can be reinforced if necessary.  We will use two wormhole gates at each camp.  A company of Rangers or Force Recon will also be on site for each camp, and will coordinate with the assault team commanders. ”

“What about the three camps that aren’t blinking?” asked Baggett, staring at that section of the map.

“Those camps will be handled by special ops.  We’re trying something new there.  Hopefully it will go as planned.”

Baggett knew how that went.  Some genius had come up with another plan, one that would bring glory to his part of the service if it worked.  And which would result in a bloodbath if it didn’t.

*     *     *

Seastag sat in space fifty-four million kilometers from New Moscow, three light minutes.   Or, more accurately, it was in an orbit of the star at that approximate distance from the planet, watching as the world caught up to the straight line that would occur between it and the sun in two and a half days.  It sat there like a small asteroid, radiating almost nothing.  Unlike an asteroid, it was also reflecting nothing.

Commodore Bryce Suttler sat in his command chair, looking at the tactical holo that showed the enemy shipping that was not coming closer than two light minutes to any of the ships under his command.  Four squadrons of Stealth/Attack ships, eight vessels to each squadron, for a total of thirty two of the craft.  Each had deployed two wormholes to the planet, while Seastag and three other vessels, Grampus, Orca and Cachalot, held the semi collapsed framework of a wormhole ship gate on their hulls.  Each gate had all the carbon alloy framework and negative matter it would need to expand into a full sized ship portal.  All it would take was time, and hopefully he could deploy all of the gates before they were noted by the enemy.  It all depended on so much that was beyond his control.  That was something that every naval officer was faced with in his or her career.  They never had to like it, but they did have to acknowledge it.

The tactical holo also showed the location of all of his vessels, transmitted through the wormhole com net.  Unlike any time in history, ships could sit within enemy territory and communicate with each other, without that enemy knowing.

Sixty-two hours before this part of the operation went down.   Sixty-two hours.  The time couldn’t go by fast enough, when, despite their stealth advantages, they could still be discovered by fluke chance on any tick of that clock.  The wait was nerve wracking, and though he wouldn’t have believed it, the action would have to be a letdown after the tension of waiting.

Chapter Eleven

Regard your soldiers as your children, and they will follow you into the deepest valleys; look on them as your own beloved sons, and they will stand by you even unto death.

Sun Tzu.

NEW MOSCOW PICKET, APRIL 6TH, 1002.

“Oglethorpe is picking up multiple contacts in hyper VII, on a direct heading for New Moscow,” called out the Com Officer on the bridge of the light cruiser Orleans.  “Range, four light years in normal space.  Estimated pseudospeed, thirty-eight thousand light speed.”

“How many contacts?” asked Commodore Natasha Romanov, pulling herself out of the bed of her day cabin and ordering the tactical holo to come alive over her desk with a thought.  She zoomed out on the holo until the first of the red vector arrows that indicated enemy shipping appeared on the three dimensional display.  She zoomed further out until she reached the edge of the net’s sensor range for vessels in hyper VII traveling at their velocity.

“They’ve counted a hundred and forty-seven so far, ma’am.  A hundred and sixty-three.  More keep coming. Ma’am.”

“I’ll be up in a moment,” she said as she pulled on her shipboard skinsuit.  It took a moment to pull on and seal the boots, then pull her belt on and click it closed.  Then she was out the door at a run heading down the corridor to the bridge.

Unlike Imperial ships, Republic vessels didn’t station Marines at the entrance to vital command centers or the commander’s quarters.  They did have automated ID systems that saw she was someone authorized entry, that she was not under duress of any kind, and the door opened for her.

“We’ve counted over five hundred of the vessels, ma’am,” reported her Tactical Officer as she headed for her chair and flung herself into it.

“I assume we’re letting the net commander know what’s going on?” she asked her Com Officer.

“Yes, ma’am,” said the Com Officer, looking back at the Commodore for a moment before turning her attention back to her board.

Actually, the information was not just going to the net commander, since it had to first be transmitted by wormhole com back to the headquarters of the Republic Navy, which sent it to the Imperial communications net and then on to the Imperial Fleet cruiser which commanded this screen.  All of those would be monitoring the incoming coms, and every major command in the sector would know about the Cacas as soon as everyone in the screen did.

The ships in the screen did what they were supposed to, nothing but sit there and keep track of what was coming through their space.  They had the capability to launch missiles that could translate from normal space into hyper VII, but the command had not come down to do so.  Higher command must have thought it was more important to remain unseen and unknown than to try to pick off some few of what looked to be a massive enemy force.

An hour later the last enemy ship had passed, and the final tally had been sent up the line.  Over three thousand vessels, the great majority of them warships.  Eight hundred of the huge superbattleships, another eight hundred of the supercruisers, along with sixteen hundred of the large scout ships.  All headed for New Moscow as far as they could tell from their current heading.

“Where in the hell did they get a force like that?” asked the Tactical Officer, looking back at the Commodore.

I wish I knew, was her thought.  They thought they had routed the enemy force in this space, except for what remained in the remains of the Kingdom of New Moscow.  And as far as they knew, the Cacas hadn’t had any fresh forces close enough to deploy this quickly.

“How long until they reach New Moscow?” she asked her Navigation Officer, well aware that the operation concerning that world was kicking off in two and a half days.

“Five days, ma’am,” said the Navigation Officer.  “Which means..”

Which means they’ll get there while the operation is still going on, thought the Commodore, and well before the battle fleet arrives.  And that could spell disaster for the civilians.

*     *     *

PLANET NEW MOSCOW.

“There,” said the Intelligence Officer, looking through the tiny wormhole as the operator maneuvered it through the camp.  The wormhole was actually hanging in the air, twenty meters above the ground.  It was only a centimeter across, floating on a micro-grabber that was not detectable against all of the background noise the Cacas were generating themselves.

The view had been grim, row after row of tents with starving people sitting on the ground in front of them.  It was not yet curfew, so the inhabitants were forced to be out in the open.  They watched as the meager rations were served. And people wolfed down the insufficient food.  The Cacas were only interested in keeping the people alive so they would still be fresh meat when they were processed.

They had been looking for certain people, those who had been members of the military prior to the invasion.  There were not as many as predicted, and after watching the Cacas move through the camp and harvest the people the Imperial operatives could guess why.  The Cacas had everyone marked, and anyone who was reported as a trouble maker or agitator was killed and taken for processing.

But now they had spotted one who had been a colonel in the New Moscow Army, Pietrov Gorbunov, who appeared to be laying low and not letting himself be marked for early termination.  The same kind of surveillance was being done on all the camps, hoping for the best.

“Get the operatives ready,” said the Intelligence Officer.  “I think we have a go.”

Moments later the four members of the resistance that had been assigned this mission came into the chamber, looking wide eyed at the scene being shown on viewer.  The three men and a woman were all thin, if not quite on the same level of starvation as those in the camp.  They wore the same dirty rags of clothing that the inmates of the camp wore, dirt was caked under their fingernails and in the crevices in their faces.

“We located Gorbunov in this camp,” said the Intelligence Officer to Sharon Vakhrusshev, the leader of the party, and a former intelligence operative for New Moscow.  “That was one of the people you named as a possible contact.”

“Yes, it was,” said the woman in a voice that vibrated with nervousness.  She looked over the man’s face on the viewer in the scene it had captured of him before it panned the area around the man.  “I can only hope he hasn’t changed, that he still has the spirit to resist.”

The Commander nodded as she looked at Vakhrusshev.  All of these people, what there was of an underground, had escaped the clutches of the Cacas and somehow survived on the planet.  It was asking much to ask them to give themselves into captivity, even if it was supposedly a hidden deployment.  If the Cacas decided to check their chips they would be found to have none, and that would raise questions that would probably lead to their deaths.  And if the man they were being sent to contact had sold out for the chance of a longer life, they would also be dead.

“Is the mission still a go, Senior Agent?”

Vakhrusshev looked over at the other people in her group.  All were augmented, and even if not in full flesh, they were stronger and faster than unaugmented humans.  Rangers or Naval Commandos could be sent in if the New Moscow team refused to go, which was their right, as they were not under the Imperial chain of command, and they were volunteers.  The biggest problem was that Imperial special ops would look out of place with their muscular, well fed bodies.

“It’s a go,” said the Senior Agent after getting the head nods from her people.

The Intelligence Officer nodded, then looked back at the rating who was operating the wormhole’s propulsion systems.  Once the team was through they would be out of touch with them while they moved the wormhole back to its pre-assault placement.  They had working implants, and would be carrying transmitter amplifiers that would be off until needed.

The rating moved the wormhole down closer to the ground, slowly, going for one of the few places in the camp that was not under direct surveillance.  A short burst of jamming that could be mistaken for random static hit that area, and the wormhole expanded quickly under an inflation of negative matter under a magnetic field.

“Go,” ordered the Intelligence Officer to the team, and one of the men took a running leap into the wormhole, which was expanded just enough to take his horizontal body.  The wormhole on the other side had unshielded negative matter holding it open, and there was real danger of contact with it.  And matter contacting negative matter canceled each out, which could have disastrous consequences for both the agent and the wormhole.

The viewer showed the man coming out of the wormhole and hitting the ground in a roll, coming back to his feet and rushing into the nearest tent.  The second man followed, then Vakhrusshev, followed by her last man.

The wormhole closed up to its original centimeter diameter, then moved to the edge of one of the tents.  It hovered over the ground for a moment, then hit the dirt with enough force to raise a tiny dust ring.  The wormhole ate into the ground, while the hole within the chamber rotated on its frame until it was aimed into a side cavern that was not being used.  Dirt started spewing from the end and it dug its way down, till it was ten meters under the earth.  At that point it expanded to an opening two meters across, this time the hole held steady by the expanding framework that came through from the other side.

Now began an hour of work, the rating, part of the Naval Engineering Corps, moving the hole back and forth until he had excavated a series of ten by ten meter chambers under the camp. At that point he moved the wormhole to the side and parked it, his work done for the moment.

*     *     *

Sharon Vakhrusshev took a few moments to orient herself after she had run into the tent.  There were people in the tent, two men, three women and a pair of quivering children.  Boris and Estefan had grabbed the men, holding them in place.

“We’re not here to hurt you,” Sharon told the people while Chang came into the tent behind her.  “We need to contact Colonel Gorbunov.  We understand he stays in this area.”

“Why do you want Pietrov?” asked one of the women.  “What has he done to you?”

“Nothing.  It’s what he can do for us.  But I need you to tell me that you will not breathe a word of this to anyone.  Especially the Cacas.”

“We’re not collaborators,” said one of the men, struggling to throw Boris’ grasp from him and failing against the much stronger man.  The man stopped struggling after it was clear that he was not going to break free of the iron grip of the agent.  “What good would it do to collaborate anyway?  Get us a couple of more days of life in this rendition of hell.”

“I can’t tell you much, but I need to talk with Pietrov.  It’s vital that I talk with the man.  If you want to have any hope of getting out of here.”

“I can lead you to him,” said the man Boris was holding.  “He’s only a couple of tents over.”

“Then let’s go.  You stay here, Estefan, and watch these citizens.”

Sharon felt exposed as they walked out of the tent and down the path under the watchful eyes of so many people.  It was getting close to curfew, when they would be forced to get into a tent or be found out.  Many people had already retreated to the tents, but there were always some diehards who had to push it to the limit.

“Pietrov,” said the man as they came to the entrance of a tent, tapping on the door-post.  “I have some people who want to meet you.”

“Bring them in,” said a voice from within, and Sharon ducked through the entrance to see a man sitting on a cot looking at her with wary eyes.  He was the only adult in the tent, which was otherwise occupied by children, fourteen of them, from a toddler up to a few adolescents.

“Colonel Gorbunov,” said Sharon, giving the man a short bow.  “I am Senior Agent Sharon Vakhrusshev of the New Moscow Intelligence Directive.”

“I didn’t know that New Moscow still existed, Senior Agent, much less that it still had an Intelligence Directive.  And what can I do for the mighty Kingdom of New Moscow?”

“You can help us get ready for an event that will free our people from these monsters.”

“And how are you going to accomplish this miracle?”

“Not just me.  And I’ll tell you how we’re going to pull off this miracle.”

*      *      *

KINGDOM OF NEW MOSCOW SPACE.

“Estimated time to New Moscow system, one hundred and ninety-five hours, Admiral.”

Grand High Admiral Gabriel Len Lenkowski nodded to the Fleet Navigation Officer as he sat back in his chair, looking at the tactical holo that showed the entire region of operations.  The New Terran Republic force was sweeping through their area of operations, meeting little resistance, liberating systems that had mostly been emptied of human life, keeping the attention of the Cacas in that region focused on themselves.  There were two planets in that region that still had humans, about seventy-five million of them total, also waiting their turns for processing.  In ten hours the ground assault would go in, well ahead of the fleet arrival, much like that planned for the systems in the central region.

And hopefully we will find that our assault doctrine is working as planned, he thought, looking at the overall sweep of the battlefield that was the Kingdom of New Moscow.  If not, I don’t know if we’ll have enough time to make corrections.

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

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

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

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

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

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

*     *     *

PLANET NEW MOSCOW.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Twelve

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

Frederick the Great.

NEW MOSCOW SPACE, APRIL 6TH, 1002.

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

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

*     *     *

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

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

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

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

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

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

*     *     *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*     *     *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*     *     *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Walborski had a moment to think about his missing man.  He did not know Quang well, but from his record he was a good man.  The Captain had gotten him back in time for nano-reconstruction and resurrection to salvage his basic personality and much of his most salient memories, those which had been backed up throughout his brain.  Now he faced a year or more of relearning and programming before he was once again a functioning adult, if still not a Ranger.  That would come later, if the man decided to volunteer again.

The Colonel rapped his old fashioned pointer on the table as he stood at the front of the room looking over everyone with a stern face.  The talking died down to a murmur, then silence.

“Thirty-three hours, gentlemen,” he said, then nodded to a couple of the engineering officers.  “And ladies,” he continued with a grin.  None of them were used to having women in on a combat briefing, unless they were Intelligence or some other support branch.  But the combat engineers and anti-aircraft, not to mention the armored company, each had some female officers, just like the rest of the Imperial military.

“In thirty-two hours Third Battalion will deploy through the wormholes.  In thirty-two and a half hours First and Second Battalions will deploy to the outside and make their way to their start off points.  At thirty-three hours to the second, Company C, Second of the One Eighty Eighth Armor will deploy through the wormhole, and the enemy will have the first sign that something is up.  Company D will deploy moments later.”

A holo of the camp and surrounding areas came up, something that everyone in the room was familiar with.  Supposedly it had been updated with the latest information, but as far as Walborski could tell, it was exactly the same as what he had seen the day before.

“As far as we can tell, the Cacas are still sitting there fat and sassy,” said the Colonel, pointing to the holo map with the rod in his hand.  “If everything goes as planned, we should achieve complete surprise.  However, all of us are veterans, and we know that nothing ever goes exactly as planned.”

There were some chuckles around the room.  Every officer and NCO in the room was a combat veteran.  There were no newbies just out of the academy on this mission, with the exception of a couple who had seen action as enlisted men before they were offered commissions.  This was not the kind of mission to break in new officers.

“We are going to keep close watch over the next thirty-three hours to make sure there are no signs that they know we are here.  Of course, if we are found out, it changes nothing.  We still go in, on schedule, no matter what.  Seven hundred million people are depending on us.  So remember, to keep your men at hand, and don’t let them do anything that might tip our hand.”

“What about everyone else involved in this cluster?” asked Lt. Colonel Montaigne.  “From the latest intelligence we have received the Fleet is out there running ships into each other.”

Walborski glanced over at the Lt. Commander in charge of the Naval Commando company, who was glowering at Montaigne.  There had always been a fierce rivalry between the two services, particularly since the Fleet got the lion’s share of the military budget.  But ships cost a lot more than ground forces did

“We have no control over the rest of the units involved in this operation,” said the Colonel, shaking his head.  “All we can handle is what we have control over.”  His eyes locked with Montaigne’s for a moment.  “And we really don’t need an Interservice rivalry at this point.  Just see to your battalion, Colonel Montaigne, and we’ll let high command worry about the big picture.”

Cornelius had to admit that Colonel Pham had a point, but then again so did his CO.  There was so much riding on this thing going off according to plan.  It was foolish to think that everything could go off perfectly, and that they would get all of the civilians out.  In point of fact, at least three hundred and fifty thousand of those civilians would die before the assault started, and there was nothing they could do about that either.  Walborski thought that one fact would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.  Images of the children in the camp came to him whenever he closed his eyes, and the sight of the carts full of bodies.  It was too much.

“Everyone make sure your men and women know the mission inside and out.  I hope that all of us make it through, but we all know better.  Your second in command must be ready to take over in case something happens to you, and the person behind them if they go down.  Platoon sergeants must be ready to take over for platoon leaders, senior squad leaders after that.  Executive officers for company commanders, senior platoon leaders after.  Every officer and NCO in the Regiment must be able to take over for the man above them if something happens.”

Cornelius was beginning to wonder what the purpose of this pep talk was.  Everyone in any combat unit knew about the delegation and transfer of command during combat.  He looked into the Colonel’s eyes and then he knew.  The man was terrified.  He looked around the room.  They all were scared out of their wits.  He could feel the fear dwelling in his own heart, and knew it was the same as theirs.  It wasn’t fear of going into combat.  It wasn’t even fear of dying.  It was fear of failure.  An entire nation was depending on them and the other soldiers, preparing for the assaults on all the camps, on a half dozen planets.  If they failed, the nation of New Moscow was gone.

Oh, there were other survivors, the few million refugees who had escaped into Imperial space.  The ships that had led that evacuation were here, in New Moscow space, or waiting to come through the wormholes.  For them this mission was even more vital.  They had already been beaten once, and now they were being given a second chance.

“Religious services will be held for all denominations five hours before mission start,” said the Colonel, his voice steady despite his fear.  “After that, all of your soldiers will be fed and you will perform last minute equipment checks.  We will have a last minute command call three hours before the commencement of combat.  Hopefully there will be no major changes.  But if there are, we will plan for them at that time.  Dismissed.”

Cornelius got up from his seat along with the rest of the attendees.  There was some muted conversation, but no one approached Cornelius, whom some still considered a Maverick who had been promoted too quickly, probably because of Imperial favor.  That was fine with him.  He was the junior company commander of the battalion, and like most Ranger officers he spent most of his time with the unit he was in charge of.

“Walborski,” said Colonel Montaigne, walking up to him with his exec, Major Colquitt, in tow.  “You’re set to guard our right flank.”

Walborski nodded.  He hadn’t liked the assignment from the start.  His company was more or less both the flank guard and the reserve.  The CO had explained to him that since his company had taken the brunt of the risk in scouting out the objective, they would get the least risky mission on the assault.

“You know what to do if the rest of us don’t make it?”

“Yes, sir.  But I doubt that anything like that is going to happen.”

“The odds are against it,” agreed the Battalion Commander.  “But odds sometimes have nothing to do with reality.  We both know that.  So I want you to be prepared, body and soul, for what could happen.  I want you prepared to finish up the battalion’s mission if there’s no one else around to command.  Understood?”

Cornelius nodded.  He wasn’t sure if he even believed in a soul, but he knew he had some kind of spirit, even if it was only the biochemical reactions of his brain.  He had the spirit of a warrior, and he knew he would never quit as long as there was a breath in him.  That he would never quit as long as there was still a mission to perform.

*     *     *

SECTOR IV ASSEMBLY WORLD, APRIL 7TH, 1002.

“Are your people ready, Samuel?” asked General Lucius Arbuckle, looking up at the lower ranking flag officer who was standing in front of his desk.

“Yes, sir,” agreed Baggett, whose Corps would be assaulting almost half the camps on the planet.  “As ready as we’ll ever be.  Though I must admit that some of my commanders are just a little worried about unleashing so much firepower among the civilians we are supposed to save.”

“It scares the hell out of me too, Samuel,” said the higher ranking general.  “Oh, for God’s sake, have a seat, Samuel.  You’re not some shave tail who needs to snap to attention at the sight of a star.  You’re a goddamn corps commander, after all.”

“Yes, sir,” said Baggett, sitting in the comfortable chair and trying to sit at attention, which was difficult to do in the plush seat.

“When we’re alone, Samuel, you can go ahead and call me Lucius.  You’re basically third in command of this circus we call an army.”

Baggett nodded.  He was the junior corps commander, which put him right behind Lt. General Emani in the Army chain of command.  There was one other corps commander who had him by a couple of months in rank, but she would be coming with the reinforcements from space, and would not be planetside from the start.

“We’ll just have to do the best we can,” said Arbuckle with a frown.  “I’ve kind of fretted over the possibility that we might be killing millions of civilians myself.  But there really isn’t much of a choice.  It’s either that, or just stand by and let them all die, and that is unacceptable to all of us.”

Baggett sat there silent for a moment, letting what his commanding officer said sink in, before asking the tactical question that had been keeping him awake at nights.  “What do we do if the Fleet doesn’t take out their space based assets?  If they retain any planet aimed particle beams or kinetics, we could lose most of the civilians.”

“That concerns me as well, Samuel.  But basically it’s not our problem, except that it is if the Fleet doesn’t do their job.  Let’s not borrow anxiety where we already have our fill.  The Spaceheads will do everything they can to take care of their part of the mission.  They know what’s at stake, as much as we do, and some of them will be New Muscovites.  So I expect they will do everything within their power to make sure we don’t have weapons fire coming down on us from orbit.”

“Yes, sir.  It’s just..”

“I’ve read your record, General,” said Arbuckle, leaning back in his chair.  “That mess in Fenri space would have driven most commanders mad.  It was not your fault that you didn’t have space support at a critical juncture.  It really was no one’s fault, not even Fleet’s.  They didn’t have time to do a pickup, and anyone they had evacuated just would have weakened your position on the planet.  And staying and fighting would have invited a defeat that would have weakened the relief force.  Believe me, I wouldn’t have liked it either, but I’m also not sure I could have done as good a job as you did at that point in my career.  Going from brigade commander to command and control of an entire corps during a disaster like that.  Very impressive, and what convinced command that you were ready for higher command.”

Baggett sat and looked at his commanding officer.  He had also read Arbuckle’s record, the public portion that was used for press releases.  As a subordinate he didn’t have access to the private, official use only report.  But what he could read was still impressive, and he realized that Arbuckle hadn’t been chosen for this mission out of a hat.  The man had a perfect combat record, and scores from the General Staff College that were near perfect.  That training was missing from Baggett’s record, he had come up through the ranks too quickly to be assigned to the yearlong course designed to finish Imperial Army flag officers.  Maybe someday that lack would be rectified, but he had been marked as a battlefield commander, and the Empire needed such at this time.  Not flag officers sitting in classrooms.

“What we do need to worry about is taking out the Caca shore batteries,” said Arbuckle, leaning forward.  “Two of your brigades are tasked with that job, and if they fail, we could lose some ships to ground fire.”

“My people will do everything they can to take out those weapons, Lucius,” said Baggett, sitting up in his chair.  “They will give their all to make sure that those weapons don’t take our ships under fire.”

The Commanding Officer nodded his head, looking steadily at his junior corps commander.  “You just worry about your part.  Let Fleet handle Fleet.  They’ll be there, the Marines they’re scheduled to drop will be there.  As long as everyone does their jobs, all will go as planned.  Maybe not exactly.  That would be asking too much.  But well enough to work with.

“Anything else, General Baggett?”

“I just hope I can get through the battle without another damned promotion,” said Baggett with a small chuckle.

“Don’t you worry about that.  I have no plans of dying on that damned planet.  And I will do everything in my power to make sure my plans for returning work out.”

Chapter Thirteen

Soldiers generally win battles; generals get credit for them.

Napoleon Bonaparte.

CAPITULUM, JEWEL, APRIL 8TH, 1002.

“I am so happy you are staying behind this time.”   Jennifer looked at her husband with her liquid blue eyes and flashed him a breathtaking smile.

The pair were sitting in the blue small dining room, one of the cozier private chambers in the palace, just off of the huge kitchens that serviced the state dinners that were frequent events in the massive complex.  A much smaller kitchen was part of the state kitchen, where the Emperor’s private chef labored to prepare the meals his charge enjoyed.

Sean looked up from the plate of poached eggs that had taken most of his attention to look at his lovely wife.  Her face glowed with the beauty of her pregnancy.  She was showing now, what had been a small belly bump out to a noticeable size.  Natural pregnancy was still the norm, since babies raised in artificial wombs tended to exhibit personality problems, no matter their care.  Not as bad as it was with clones, which were all murderous psychopaths.  But enough of a chance at serious problems relating to others that no mother would risk anything but a natural pregnancy, despite the ten and half month ordeal that modern humans had to go through till childbirth.

“I can’t afford to be away from the capital at this time,” said Sean after he swallowed his egg, his eyes glancing for a moment at the flowering garden outside the large window.  Brightly colored hummingbirds flitted from flower to flower, thrusting their beaks into the blossoms to extract sweet nectar.  The Emperor thought it was hard to believe that a war was going on with a bucolic scene like that he was looking at.  But that war was so far away that even the light from the battles being fought would take thousands of years to reach this system.  “I think Lenkowski and the people under him can handle the situation.”

“They always could,” said Jennifer, looking at her husband from under hooded eyes.  “You’ve just never wanted to admit that.”

“I should be with the Fleet when they go into battle,” said Sean, tossing his fork onto his unfinished eggs and standing up.  “If not for the crisis confronting Parliament, my feet would be on the flag bridge of the command ship of my fleet.”

“Why do you have to be so stubborn,” cried Jennifer, getting up from her own chair and leaning on the table to glare at Sean.  “You have a military chain of command to handle the war.  You are the civil leader of the government in time of war.”

“I will not be a figurehead ruler,” growled Sean, slamming a hand down on the table.  A pair of Secret Service agents poked their heads in the room for a moment, making sure that everything was OK, before leaving them alone to the argument that the guardians had become used to.  Sean stared at the door for a moment before turning back to his wife, whose face was reddening in anger.  “I never wanted to rule this damned Empire, but since I am in that position, I will rule it.”

“You’re so damned stubborn,” yelled Jennifer, standing straight, her hands going to her back to gain the extra support.

Just like you are, thought Sean with an inner smile.  They argued, like all loving couples, only sometimes their arguments concerned matters of state.

“You’re just like Glen,” she said, her eyes throwing sparks.  A moment later she realized what she had said, as Sean turned away and walked with slumped shoulders to the window.  “I’m so sorry,” she said, hurrying over and putting her arms round him, pressing her body into his back.  “I didn’t mean to throw that in your face.”

“Sometimes it feels like you settled for me, after you lost your Marine,” said Sean, clasping her hands with his.

“Yeah, I settled for the most powerful man in the most powerful star nation in this sector of the Perseus arm.  I love you Sean, no matter what your hurt little boy feelings tell you.  Just like your people love you.”

Sean turned in her arms until he was facing her, his own hands clasping her back.  “What’s the crack about little boy feelings mean?”

“You’re not the completely self-assured monarch you want the Empire and the Galaxy to think you are.  You’re still not sure if you’re doing the right things.  But someone has to make the decisions, and you are, unfortunately, that person.”

Sean nodded, knowing that she was right.  He hadn’t trained for the position like his brothers had.  It was never expected that the throne would be his, and yet it had fallen to him.  And he had to make decisions that might later haunt him.

“I am afraid,” he told her, holding her body tight.  “Now, more than ever.  My military is about to embark on a rescue operation such as the known Universe has never seen, and I’m terrified of the outcome.”

“Those people would die if you did nothing,” she said, returning the embrace.

“And they may die from the action I am taking.  And they aren’t even my subjects.”

“They’re people, no matter who they swore allegiance to.  Or even if they swore allegiance to no one.  They’re still human beings, and many of them may die because of your actions.  But if you don’t act, all of them will, will you hear me, die.”

“We’ve never tried anything like this before,” said Sean, shaking his head.  “This isn’t a standard operation.”

“Neither was your last operation, or the one before that.  You’re forging new ground here.  That is where your military genius resides, in the ability to listen to others and decide on the most audacious outrageous plans possible, keeping your enemy off guard.”

“And eventually a plan will not work out to our advantage,” he said, his eyes looking out on the garden again and its horde of hummingbirds.  “Eventually I will lose.”

“And you told me that all commanders lose, sooner or later.  That the true commander is one who can recover from a defeat and lead his people on to another victory.  So chin up, my boy.  Things will work out the way they will work out.”

“Your Majesty,” came a call over his personal com.  “Could we have some moments of your time.”

“Of course, Admiral McCollum.  Where are you?”

“At the Hexagon, your Majesty.  I and my staff can be there in fifteen minutes.”

“No, you’ve got too much going on right now to leave your headquarters,” said Sean, kissing Jennifer on the forehead.  “I’ll be there in fifteen myself.

“Duty calls,” he told his wife, kissing her again, this time on her lips.

“When will you be back?”

“Not until tonight.  I have meetings all day.  If only that damned bitch Zhee wasn’t such a pain in the ass.  It’s not like she’s actually accomplishing anything, except give me a headache.”

“Make sure your valet gets a swipe at you before you leave the palace, you big lug,” she told him, putting a finger to the tip of his nose.  “You have an image to maintain in public, even if you are a slob in private.”

*     *     *

“So that’s the gist of it, your Majesty,” said Grand High Admiral Sondra McCullom, looking over from the holo that presented the Fenri front, all of the Imperial and allied assets highlighted in green, known enemy forces in red.

Sean stared at that map himself, wondering what else could go wrong.  The war had seemed to be won on that front, his forces driving on the Fenri capital world, picking off important systems on the way.  Now it appeared that one entire flank had collapsed, and the other two prongs were in retreated before they were cut off.

“I take it we haven’t left any of our troops behind in our retreat?”

“No, sir.  Your orders were followed to the letter, and no people were left behind.  We lost some ships implementing those orders, but…”

Something else the military can blame on me, thought Sean as he felt his face heat in anger.

“It was the proper order, your Majesty,” said McCullom, reaching out and putting her right hand on his forearm.  She gave it a squeeze.  “It was in the best tradition of the Fleet.  It does no good for anyone’s morale to let Imperial military forces be captured.  Or pounded into dust from orbit, unable to defend themselves.”

“How bad was the bill?” he asked his Chief of Naval Operations, not really sure he wanted to hear the answer.

“We lost eighty percent of our force coreward flank.  It could have been worse, much worse,” said the Admiral hurriedly as she saw the stricken face of her monarch.  “It was a very skillful ambush, almost carried out to perfection.  It was a miracle that Admiral Glavin got out as much of his force as he did.  Admiral Akai lost his entire wing, and his life.  But Glavin was able to get out of the system, fighting against tremendous odds.  His fighting retreat was instrumental in saving as much of the central force as we did.”

“And how much was that?  The central force, I mean?”

“They were able to extricate about seventy percent of their force.  We lost three of the systems we had taken from the Fenri, but the force was able to regroup at the Slavastra system.  Unfortunately, Fleer Admiral Johanson lost her life in the battle.”

“And Admiral Glavin?” asked Sean, thinking the man who saved almost a third of the attack force from total destruction deserved some kind of reward.

“He was punished for his actions, of course,” said McCullom with a smile.  “We promoted him to Fleet Admiral and put him in charge of the central force.”

“And where do we go from here on that front?” asked Sean, his quick mind calculating where his forces were already stationed, and coming up with little in the way of fast and ready reinforcements.

“Grand Fleet Admiral Mgonda is recommending that we attempt to maintain our present position while we reinforce him for the continuation of the offensive.  Now, where we are supposed to get these reinforcements, on the eve of the operation in New Moscow, I really don’t know.  We’re stretched very thin at the moment.  What with the continued occupation of a good portion of Lasharan space, our campaign against the Ming, anti-piracy patrols, and the continued repair and refitting of vessels damaged in the large operation against the Cacas, and we just don’t have the ships.  If we could get some more support from our allies, we might be able to reinforce Mgonda enough for him to hold what he already has.”

“The Crakista have already committed over half their fleet to the alliance, as have the Klashak and the Margravi,” said Sean, shaking his head.  “They also have other commitments.  I’ll see what I can get Elysium to ante up, but we’re already hearing squawking from their diplomatic corps about the losses they sustained against the Cacas.”

Sean laughed a moment at his own choice of words.  Elysium was led by the avian Brakakak, a species descended from flightless carnivorous birds.  And they did tend to make a squawking sound when they were alarmed or surprised.

“I think Mgonda will have to hold on with what he has until we finish liberating New Moscow,” said Sean, looking intently at the holo.  “What about the situation in space to spinward of the Empire.”

“I have to assume that you’re talking about the singular people the Exploration Command has discovered?” asked McCullom, changing the holo to a view of the space in question.  Of course McCullom, due to her position, knew where Bolthole was located in that space, but because of security it was not shown on the holo.  The Klassek system was, of course, showing as a blinking icon on the map.

“Yes.  From what I understand, they possess an ability that could be of great use to us in this war.  Not that we wouldn’t evacuate a breeding population at the least if they didn’t have that ability.”  That had always been the policy of the Empire.  Intelligence was considered precious, and they would go to almost any lengths to make sure that an intelligent species survived, no matter their immediate worth to the Empire.

“I agree, your Majesty.  From what the reports say, their quantum communications ability could be just what we’re looking for as concerns our inertialess fighters.”

“Which has yet to be proven to work in a warp bubble,” said Sean.  The news of the discovery of a species of aliens who were quantumly entangled, at least the siblings from the same litter, had galvanized the thinkers at Fleet command.  The connection was said to be instantaneous, and work through all the dimensions of hyperspace.  But a warp bubble appeared to cut its interior off from the rest of the Universe.  What that meant to a quantum entangled brain could only be speculated on, since there were no warp bubble inertialess fighters in that region of space to test them with.  “But even if they don’t prove to be useful for communications in the fighters, they still have a talent we can use.   I hate to be so cold blooded about it when their entire world is facing destruction from that close blue giant.  But we don’t have enough wormholes to equip all of our ships with.  I’m not even sure it’s desirable to give all of our vessels their own wormhole, since we still seem unable to move a wormhole through a wormhole.  So these sentients would solve many of our com problems.”

“And you’re saying, your Majesty?” asked the CNO, raising an eyebrow.

“I want every resource we can spare from Exploration Command and Fleet Sector I mobilized  rescue these people.”

“That will mean weakening our regular patrols in that Sector.”

“Then shift some ships from the other bordering sectors.  I want as many of those people saved as we can manage.  And I want adults of the same sibling groups when possible.”

“Yes, sir,” agreed the Admiral with a frown.  “That will mean sacrificing some of the young we could otherwise save.”

“I know it’s a rotten way to do things, but we need to consider both the good of their species and the benefit they can be to the Empire.  I realize we could save more children than adults in the hull space we can deploy, but we need those adults, now.  That doesn’t mean not rescuing the young, but I want at least half the bodies on the rescue ships to be adult sibling groups.  Is that understood?”

“Yes, your Majesty.  Completely.”

And at least we’ll be rescuing more of them than otherwise, thought the Emperor.  So they win, even as we win.  So why do I feel so dirty ordering sentient beings into what will basically be indentured servitude to humans?

*     *     *

“Any progress to report?” asked the Admiral in charge of Core Sector Intelligence.

“We’ve learned that the Yugalyth are definitely working with the Cacas,” said Captain Ishuhi Rykio, sitting at his desk where he had been composing the report he was going to send the Admiral in a couple of hours.  “It seems that our friends the Knockermen introduced the Cacas to the shape shifters during their little operation to take out the primary space station over the Elysium capital.”  He didn’t need to add that in that same operation the Donut had almost been destroyed.

“We were afraid of that,” said the Admiral, her face looking out at him from the holo.   “It seems that Elysium Intelligence has come to the same conclusion.  There are still some Knockermen in revolt in their Empire, one of the reasons they have not been able to commit more ships to the alliance.  But as far as a threat to us?  Not really.  But the Cacas?  That’s a different story.”

Ishuhi nodded as he thought over the implications of the shape shifters working with the major threat to the Empire.  It was bad enough that they had other operatives within the Empire, humans and aliens both, people willing to sell out their own species for some temporary comforts.  But to have the shifters working for them as well, that was a counterintelligence nightmare.  There were rumors that Imperial Intelligence also had double agents within the ranks of the Caca spy rings.  Of course he knew better than to pursue those rumors, since, in his position, he didn’t have a need to know.

“Our interrogators believe they will be able to get a good neural scan of the mother in a few more days,” he told the Admiral.  “We’re sure it isn’t telling us everything it knows, just enough to keep us from causing it undue pain.”

“Not that you’re likely to get much of use out of it with torture,” said the Admiral, nodding.  “Our experience with them so far is that they have a high pain threshold, even if they don’t like it.  And we could never really trust anything they gave us under torture.”

“It’s not telling us so, Admiral, but I believe this wasn’t the only mother in the Capitulum area.  I couldn’t tell you how many there are, but even a couple are too many.  The way these things reproduce, there could be thousands of operatives running about by now.”

“And as long as they don’t try to penetrate sensitive areas, we can’t scan them close enough to pick out the imposters,” agreed the Admiral.  “We’ve asked the Imperial Judiciary to suspend privacy rights for the duration of the war, but so far they aren’t listening.  And his Majesty doesn’t want to turn us into a tyranny if he can help it.”

The former police lieutenant thought about that for a moment.  For the past five centuries, since the reign of Constance the Great and the change over from a parliamentary body of law to a constitutional monarchy, privacy had been one of the paramount rights of citizens.  The suspension of privacy rights could only be ordered by the Supreme Judiciary, on evidence of major criminal conspiracy; or by the Emperor during time of war.  They were at war, but even so the Emperor did not wish to suspend the rights of privacy for fear that the Empire might never recover.  No Emperor had ever invoked that power since the establishment of the Constitution, and Sean did not want to be entered into the history books as the first.

“So what do we do?”

“We can blanket the public ways of the city with micro drones and nanites, and scan for these things on the hope that we turn up their genetic markers,” said the Admiral with a scowl on her face.  “Not much of a chance, I know.  These things seemed to be designed to escape detection.  But maybe we can get lucky.  Stranger things have happened.”

The holo faded, leaving the Captain alone with his own thoughts.  Biomedical was still working on a way to detect the creatures reliably from a distance, with little success.  There were theories, but so far nothing that had borne fruit.

But we have more than enough samples of these things to work with, thought the Captain, remembering all of the children they had captured when they had taken the mother.  He was sure that all they needed was time. The only problem was not knowing how much of that commodity they had.

*     *     *

“Your Majesty,” said the Countess Esmeralda Chee, bowing before the redheaded woman who had entered the room.  Fiona Ogden Lee Romanov’s almond shaped eyes, the color of sapphires, sparkled as the tall woman returned the bow with a shorter one of her own.  She looks just like her mother, thought the Countess, recalling the appearance of the Empress Anastasia.

“Not Majesty, yet,” said the woman, who had that ageless look that said she could be anywhere from forty to a hundred and forty.  “And my brother has been crowned and seated, so I really don’t see how I can ever sit the throne.”

“And would you, if it were made available to you?”

“I would,” said the woman, smiling.  “I hate to speak ill of the Emperor, but I do not think my brother is suited to be ruler.  Not like father, or Dimetre.  Or even Henry, when it comes to that.  But he is healthy, and married, and has an heir on the way, so I really don’t see the throne opening up for me.”

“But if it did open up, you would be willing to take it?”

“Of course,” said the Princess.  “It would be my duty to do so, if only to assure that the Empire is not thrown into confusion in these troubled times.  But why even ask, since it is unlikely that anything will happen to Sean?”  The woman’s eyes narrowed, and her gaze became focused.  “Why are you asking me these questions?”

“Code alpha sierra one one four three zulu papa,” said Chee in a flat voice.

The eyes of the Princess went from laser focus to unfocused as soon as the last word left the Countess’ mouth.  She stood still, not a muscle moving, while Zhee smiled.  It works perfectly, she thought.  The programers did a wonderful job.

“You will forget everything we have talked about today concerning the succession,” she told the woman in the flat, commanding voice she had been trained to use with the deep programed.  “You will only remember that you met with me today and we made pleasant small talk.  And when you hear the triggering code, you will step up and take charge of the Empire, but only under my control.  Do you understand?  Nod if you do.”

The Princess nodded, her eyes locked on the wall straight ahead.

“Oscar charlie november three three six,” said the Countess.  As the last word left her mouth the eyes of the Princess focused again, and a smile crossed her face.

“Look at the time,” said Fiona, checking her implant clock.

This was another critical point.  If the Princess noticed that time had gone by that she couldn’t acount for she might start asking questions that would require additional programing to squelch.

“I’ve really enjoyed our little talk, Countess.  And look forward to meeting with your party in the near future.”

Zhee watched as the woman walked out of the chamber, led by her Major Domo.  The first part of the plan was in place.  Now all they needed was a plan to remove Sean from the equation.  They didn’t have that plan, but she was sure they would be able to come up with one.  After all, if the young fool was going to keep putting himself in dangerous positions, the odds of something happening to him were good.  And with a little push here and there, they might even approach certainty.

Chapter Fourteen

If our soldiers are not overburdened with money, it is not because they have a distaste for riches; if their lives are not unduly long, it is not because they are disinclined To longevity.

Sun Tzu.

NEW MOSCOW, APRIL 9TH, 1002.

Walborksi walked in a crouch to the last position, the one from which he would observe the opening of the operation, then lead.  The modified medium suit weighed over two hundred kilos in this gravity well.  A normal soldier couldn’t have carried the suit and its equipment, which was where the augmented warriors came in.  There were some problems with that, of course.

Cornelius lay down next to the last of the snipers in his unit.  Both were in the medium combat armor they would wear into battle.  That armor was powered down, and the Captain had his visor up to at least catch a little bit of the morning breeze on his face.  The sweat was rolling down his back as the suit caught his body heat and had no environmental systems to deal with it.  As they didn’t want to give off any electronic signals the enemy might detect, everything was off.

The sniper and his assistant looked over at the company commander and gave him a thumbs up.  The sniper lay behind his weapon, a beast that had taken the strength of two normal men to move into place.  That had been done through the night by men who had moved equipment into position without suits, so they wouldn’t have to carry all of that weight as well.

Cornelius pulled out his unpowered field glasses, which depended on fine optics alone to bring in clear images from across the distance.  He scanned the camp once again, something he couldn’t stop himself from doing despite the depression it caused.  It was still the same, a mass of people in a huge fenced in area with a hundred thousand or more tents as the only shelter.  Humans still huddled in the camp, looking cold, frightened and starving, while Cacas moved through the camp killing selected people and throwing them into the carts, which were pulled by dejected looking humans.

This is the last day, you bastards, he thought, focusing in on one of the guard towers that looked over the camp.  After today, they’ll all either be free, or dead.  That last part really scared him.  He was a soldier, as were all of his men.  They had signed up for this, but the civilians in the camp hadn’t.

His shoulder blades itched, and he couldn’t reach the area to scratch.  He felt uncomfortable in the armor, and was sure that his men held the same opinion.  He still wished they could have attacked without armor.  But the weapons to be employed this day were capable of causing mass casualties among unprotected soldiers.  They might cause those casualties among the civilians as well, but there was little they could do about that that they hadn’t already done.

“Any minute now, sir,” said Corporal Schmidt, the sniper.  That man was once again checking his targets, then looked over at the Captain.  “Any minute now.”

Cornelius nodded, checking the time on his internal implant.  The implants were of course activated, at least their basic functions.  As long as they didn’t use them to tap into a net, which at the moment they didn’t have, there was no way they could be detected.  His timer said there was still an hour and forty-five minutes to go, and he wished he could cause the time to advance.  Lacking that power, like every sentient being he had ever heard of, time was going to advance at its own rate.

Now everything depended on the Fleet’s part of the operation going off on time.  The first act of that play was up in two minutes.  And if it didn’t go off on time, the second act would be stillborn, and the third act would come in without knowing that the others hadn’t gone off as planned.  And if that happened, the ground element would just have to sit in place, until orders came down to do otherwise.  The problem was that every minute the tens of thousands of troops sat in their positions the odds of discovery increased.

Nothing to do about it but wait, thought Walborski, putting his glasses back to his face and sweeping them back over the camp, his heart beating fast as he waited to see the alarm go off down there, the Cacas to react before the operation got off the ground.  If that happened, this might turn out to be a good day to die, and for the civilians the last day of their lives.

*     *     *

Captain Stella Artois stood in her heavy engineering combat suit in the cavern ten meters below the floor of the camp.  She was starting to feel claustrophobic, both from being packed into the multiple caverns with a battalion of Rangers in armored suits and her engineering company.  Added to that was the helpless feeling of being trapped in a half ton of armor that her own muscles couldn’t move.  It had taken four Rangers sans armor to pick her up and carry her to this point.

It has to go off soon, she thought, checking the timer and cursing under her breath when it showed that she still had an hour and forty-five minutes trapped in the damned unresponsive armor before she could power up.  Of course the Fleet was beginning their part of the operation in two minutes, and not for the first time she wished she had opted for the Navy instead of the Army.  At least they got to sleep in comfortable quarters, eat good meals, stay more or less clean, and didn’t have to wait in armored coffins.

And we really don’t know if any of this is even going to work, she thought for the hundredth time.  They still had to try, as they were the only hope the prisoners above them had.

*     *     *

Cat dropped the last of the devices she had been given into the dirt by the inner fence.  She knew she should have gotten it there sooner, but the Cacas had been patrolling the area unexpectedly, and this was the first chance she had gotten.

She didn’t know why she was dropping the small devices out by the perimeter fence, and they never told her what they were.  She knew enough about modern tech to know they were electronic devices of some kind, and that they were powered down.  The people who had given them to her had hinted that something was going down this day, without giving her any idea of what it was.  Only that it was important, and the only thing she could think of that would be important to any of them was freedom from the Cacas.

She looked up at the noise of a Caca unit moving through the camp, six of the carts behind them, two already fully loaded.  One of the Cacas was checking his scanner and pointing out people, so several of the soldiers with him could terminate them and toss them into one of the carts.  As always in a situation where everyone had lost hope, there was no struggle, no attempt at escape.  They simply stood there or sat, and stared hopelessly at their captors until a dart was placed between their eyes.

Cat looked at the conquerors with hate filled eyes, hoping she would be around long enough to see them get theirs.  She was still glaring when the leader looked up, pointed the scanner at her, and shouted out a command, pointing a lower left index finger at her.

Cat had not given up hope, not since she had been enlisted in the underground.  She wanted to live, just so she could see retribution come to the ones who had killed so many of the people she had cared about.  As one of the soldiers started walking her way and raising his pistol she spun to the right and ducked between a couple of tents, then took off at a run.

The Cacas shouted behind her.  Some darts ripped through the material of a tent, just missing her, though a cry from another tent indicated that they hadn’t missed everything.  Go to hell, you assholes, she thought as she negotiated a right turn beyond another tent and took off down a walkway that was crowded with people trying to get to the morning ration delivery.

An adult would have been dead meat at this point.  A child, especially a smart, athletic and frightened to death one like Cat, could take advantage of the crowding.  She twisted and turned, sliding between adults, at one point punching a man in the groin, anything to get through the crowd and get away from the Cacas who wanted to turn her into unprocessed rations.

One more dart sped by, plowing into the back of a woman in front of Cat.  She dodged around the falling body and worked her way deeper into the camp, until she found a place where she could scoot into some shadows and hide.

She knew the Cacas would now be looking for her, though she didn’t know how much effort they would make in finding her.  There was nowhere to go, and eventually they would spot her.  Her stomach grumbled, and she realized she would not be having a morning meal today.  Now all she could do was hope that whatever was supposed to be going down would do so soon, so that she might have a chance to live beyond this day.

*     *     *

“We’re picking up movement in hyper I, sir,” called out the Tactical Officer of the Seastag.  “Estimating eighteen hundred ships.”

And the Cacas only have three hundred ships in their outer system picket, thought Commodore Bryce Suttler, his knuckles white as he gripped his chair arms and waited for his part in this most unconventional plan.  The three hundred ships in the outer system picket were not really his concern.  The almost two thousand in the inner system were another story.  If he had to deal with all of them, the operation was over before it began.

“Resonances match Imperial ships,” continued the Tactical Officer.  “Estimated time to translation, fifteen minutes.”

“Command confirms that those ships are Force Alpha,” said the Com Officer.

The timer showed one hour and forty five minutes before the inertialess fighters were to strike, and his ships were supposed to open fire at the same time.  If all the ships were still in place at that time his part of the offensive would be short and brutal.  Which didn’t mean they wouldn’t open fire, since the ground forces were depending on them.

“Update on targeting?” he asked his Tactical Officer, who was also running the overall targeting profile for the entire stealth/attack force.

“All targets locked in.  Firing solutions at one hundred percent.”

Suttler nodded.  One hundred percent was just about impossible to achieve, but anything over ninety nine point five percent was assigned that perfect tag, since it didn’t get any better than that.

“Wormhole gate status?” he next asked the Navigation Officer, who had been assigned the task of monitoring what was probably the most vital part of the space component of the operation.

“Frames are ready for expansion,” called out that officer, who was monitoring the status of the four units that were being carried by the quartet of ships that had been assigned them, including Seastag.  “Negative matter reservoirs are filled to capacity.  All parameters met, deployment is a go.”

“We’re picking up graviton emissions from six hundred and four of the ships near the planet,” called out the Sensor Officer.  “Accelerations varying in the range from four hundred and fifty to five hundred and thirty.  Vectors consistent with headings for the outer system.”

It would take those ships about thirty hours to make it to the hyper barrier on a least time profile.  If they met the incoming Imperial force on a least time profile a battle would occur in fifteen hours.  But more importantly for this mission, the enemy ships would be over ninety-seven million kilometers from the planet.  Over five and a third light minutes, well out of energy weapon range, and even fifteen minutes or more by fastest missile acceleration, since the missiles first would have to kill the outward velocity of the launching vessels.

Suttler looked at the tactical holo.  Not only were the ships in orbit accelerating on an outward vector, but the great majority of the ships in the system were moving onto a similar path that would reach the incoming Imperial Fleet at about the same time.

“What do we have left?”

“Two hundred and twelve ships, sir,” said the Sensor Officer.  “Only sixty-eight of them are warships, twenty-eight of them superbattleships.  The rest are cargo ships and troop transports.”

“Assign priorities to those targets,” ordered the Commodore, looking at the holo.  “Secondary and tertiary.”  He hoped he wouldn’t have to fire on those targets.  They should be the prey of the inertialess fighters, which, if they were on time, should be leaving their warp bubbles at the same time his force was scheduled to open fire.  He was locking them in just in case.

*     *     *

Lt. Commander Nahuel Runningdeer looked once again at the target.  His Naval Commando platoon, one hundred and twenty strong, was spread out all along this section of  the mountain range that overlooked the line of shore defense weapons.  It was obvious from the way those weapons were fortified that the Ca’cadasan had built these defenses with the intention of staying.  Other emplacements were of a more temporary nature, mere mobile weapons platforms hidden away.  The main advantage of that kind of defense was they were hard to locate until they fired, and then they could move.  But these fixed defenses packed a much heavier punch, contained in a more massive defensive structure.

This target was made up of massive half domes that contained particle beams and lasers, sheltered by hundreds of meters of armor, plasticrete and carbon reinforced alloy, the exception being the aperture of the beam weapon of the emplacement.  There were four of the domes set in a pattern across two square kilometers of land.  The secondary domes of electromagnetic field projectors surrounded that field, while outside of that field were emplacements for anti-aircraft and missile defenses.  It was estimated that there were several hundred Caca infantry in each of these defensive fields, the defenses against ground assault.

Runningdeer looked over at the heavy launcher they had hauled to this overlook, and the two packages that sat next to it, containing the warheads in their shielded containers.  Everything was powered down so their electronic signals couldn’t be detected.  There were infrequent air patrols over the mountains, and even more sparse ground sweeps.  The Commander was sure they could avoid being sighted by either type of patrol, but the mission parameters called for extreme care.

The Commander checked the time once again, something he had been doing for the past couple of hours, and saw that there was still an hour and forty-five minutes to go.  He looked over his launcher once again, for the hundredth time, making sure nothing was bent or dinged or otherwise made unoperational.  Of course he could find nothing wrong with it, but he didn’t want it to malfunction when it was needed.

“It’s going to work, sir,” said Petty Officer First Marconi, one of his missile team, and the one that should have been using the launcher.

“I know it is,” replied the officer, who had insisted that he take the shot.  “I just wish the damned clock would tick down.”

The Commander looked up at the clear sky, and the sparkling stars that sat in it.  He could pick out several of the orbital platforms up there from reflected sunlight.  They were more of a danger to the ground forces than this defensive station, while it was more of a threat to Imperial shipping.  But the orbiting platforms were not his problem, while the defensive station was.  He checked the time once again, swearing under his breath that it had only advanced another half minute.

Move your ass, he thought of the time.  But of course it didn’t listen to him, and ticked down in the manner of timers in this kind of gravity, slowly, one tick at a time.

*     *     *

“Everyone’s a go in my division,” said Major General Klash’tar, the commanding officer of the Phlistaran 512th Heavy Infantry Division.  His division had been reinforced by a full brigade of the 25th Armored Division, while two of his battalions had been traded to that unit to make it, along with the reinforcement of the 47th Heavy Infantry Division, a more infantry heavy unit.

“No checks down at all, Klash’tar?” he asked.  It was almost unheard of to get near to one hundred percent, but it could happen.  He wouldn’t blame the commander to not mention one or two suits that had been down checked.

“None have been reported to me,” said the Division Commander, the view behind him of scores of armored Phlistarans shifting in place, obviously ready to take the bit between their teeth and go.  “If there are any, I’m sure the armorers are hard at work getting it corrected.”

Baggett almost asked if everything was topped off, but stopped himself before the question could leave his mouth.  Klash’tar was a good officer, and he knew what to do.  His soldiers were well disciplined.

“We go in less than two hours,” he told the Phlistaran.  “You know the mission, so I expect your Division to perform to standard.”

“They will, sir.  Don’t you worry.”

Baggett nodded and switched the feed to another unit, this one a pair of human heavy infantry companies along with a company of heavy main battle tanks.  The mirrored surface of a wormhole stood in front of the first rank of infantry, not large enough at the moment to pass a tank.  But at the signal it would expand, as it would on the other end.  The sun was going down on the location on the planet they were on.  It would be coming up at this moment on the part of New Moscow where these people were heading.

“You ready, Colonel?” he asked the Battalion Combat Team commander.

“Ready and raring to go, sir,” announced that officer, his voice fraught with tension.

Of course he’s scared, thought Baggett, pulling up the officer’s face on the holo.  This kind of assault has never been done before.  There is so much that can go wrong.

It was too late to worry about all the things that could backfire, and all the damage such events could cause.  He spent the time productively instead, talking to his commanders, making sure that none of them had last minute questions.  And wishing that he could be with the first wave to hit the planet.  He knew that last thought was stupid.  He was a Corps commander, not a platoon leader, and what they needed on the ground first off were combat troops.  He and his command team would come across when there was space available through the wormholes, and not before.  He just hoped that things hadn’t gone completely to shit by that time.

*     *     *

“The first ships will translate to normal space in one hour and forty-three minutes, Admiral,” said Rear Admiral Lawrence Kelso over the holo.  Kelso was the Emperor’s Chief of Staff, and had been assigned to the assault fleet as Sean’s liaison.

Fleet Admiral Jerry Kelvin, looked at the tactical holo and verified that the force was arrayed how he wanted it.  He looked back at Kelso, who he had made his own Chief of Staff as soon as he had come aboard the flagship.

“How are the specials doing?” he asked Kelso, who had been put in charge of the new wrinkle they were deploying, one more thing for the newly promoted fleet admiral to worry about.

“The frames are holding up just fine,” said Kelso, a smile on his face.  “I guess the real test will come when we translate back into normal space and deploy them.”

Kelvin thought about that for a moment.  The frames were, at the moment, separated, attached to the pair of ships that would join them when they were ready to deploy.  In tests the ships had been able to join and deploy the frame within minutes.  But the system hadn’t been tested coming out of a jump.  Deployment depended on the ships coming out in near proximity to each other.  If they came out of hyper too far apart, it might take ten minutes or more to join the ships, and those would be minutes wasted.

“I hope this works, Admiral,” said Kelvin, feeling the trepidation that most commanders felt when deploying what was basically unknown technology in a first battle situation.   “With what we’re going to be facing, we’re sure to need for it to work.”

Right now the holo, updated from information coming through the wormhole com, showed that they would be facing about four hundred enemy vessels soon after translation.  They wouldn’t be within energy weapons range, which was a very good thing.  But about half of the enemy ships would be able to hit them with missiles within twenty minutes or less.  And within six hours the missiles launched by the ships coming out from the inner system would come streaking in.  They would possibly be overwhelmed.   That would still serve the primary purpose of the force, which was to distract the enemy ships from the inner system, focusing their attention on the oncoming invaders instead.  But unless his force defeated them, they would head back in and take care of the force that would be in orbit around the planet supporting the ground forces.

His own force might hurt the enemy enough that they couldn’t win the next battle in the inner system.  But he would prefer if his force, including himself, were still around at that point.

*     *     *

“Let’s do a last systems check, people,” ordered Captain Beauregard Morris, checking the timer, then pulling up a diagnostic holo of the overall systems of the fifteen hundred ton fighter.  The rest of the crew acknowledged and pulled up their own screens.  They would do the individual checks of the systems they were responsible for, while he would do an overall check of how the systems were interfacing.

Zokoku 1 was the only ship he was sure was going to be there in one hour and forty some minutes.  He believed that the others would be there as well, but as they were all separated from the Universe in their individual warp bubbles he had no way of knowing the conditions of the other ninety-nine ships in his wing.  They could have run through an uncharted meteor swarm and most of the other ships could be gone, plasma traveling at high velocity in the general direction the fighter had been going.

Morris shook his head as he traced the command circuit for the forward laser ring.   It did no good to worry about the things he didn’t have control over.  That way lay madness.  He had to believe that when they came out of the warp bubble the other ships would be there as well, and he would again be able to command his wing.

All systems checked out.  Now there was nothing to do but wait, wishing for the madness to ensue when they were flying through an enemy force that was trying to destroy them.  That was the craziest thought of all.

*     *     *

“What do we have?” asked Great Admiral H’rastarawaa, sitting in his command chamber on the large station that orbited directly over the primary continent of New Moscow.

“Eighteen hundred enemy ships,” said High Admiral Lisantr’nana.  “I expected more.  I don’t think I will have any problem handling them.”

The Great Admiral looked at the tactical holo that showed the less than two thousand enemy ships moving through hyper I toward the system.  He noted that most of the Ca’cadasan ships in the system were also now represented by vector arrows pointing toward the blinking icon that represented where the enemy force was being predicted to come out of hyper.

The Great Admiral thought for a moment, wondering what the proper response would be.  If ninety percent of the warships he had responded to this threat, he would be uncovering the other approach routes to the inner system.  But if he didn’t send enough force to stomp on the invader, he was risking the ships he sent.  And since he didn’t know that reinforcements were coming, he needed to preserve his fleet as far as possible.

And if something else comes at us while the fleet is engaged with this enemy force, we still have all the humans on the planet as hostages, he thought.  They didn’t dare strike at the planet as long as he had the lives of over seven hundred million humans to bargain with.

“Go ahead and take care of them as fast as you can, Lisantr’nana,” he told the other Cacada.  He killed the holo and brought up the com link to the General in charge of the surface force on the planet.

“My Lord,” said the General as soon as he saw who was on the holo.  “What are your orders?”

“I want you to prepare to wipe out the camps at my order,” he told the officer.  “I do not want you to do this at this time, but the preparations need to be made.  How long will that take?”

The General scratched the base of one horn while he thought.  “It will take time to kill all of the vermin if we approach it as males killing them with personnel weapons.  We can do it faster with heavy weapons, but the most efficient way to destroy them is with kinetic weapons from space.  After that, detonating multi-megaton warhead within the camps would be the most efficient manner.”

“Prepare the warheads, just in case,” he ordered the General, thinking about the possibility of his orbital platforms being taken out.  Not that he thought that possibility was likely.  He looked at the tactical holo once again, thinking about what the most probable outcome of this day’s battle would be.  He licked his lips as he thought about the reward he would receive from the Emperor for the defeat he was about to inflict on the humans.

Chapter Fifteen

You must all be aware that modern war is not a mere matter of military operations. It involves the whole strength and all the resources of the nation. Not only soldiers, but also all citizens without exception, take part.

Chiang Kai-shek.

NEW MOSCOW ORBIT, APRIL 8TH, 1002.

“Zero,” shouted out the Tactical Officer as the timer ticked down the last second.

Suttler stared ahead at the tactical holo.  It was time for them to fire, but the other elements of the operation had yet to appear.  He could look over at the tactical holo and see that the incoming fleet was still in hyper, coming close to the barrier, when it would have to jump, or crash into the limit and fall catastrophically into normal space.  They had to come through very soon, or their part of the mission was over before it began.  The inertialess fighters were also close to their entry point, at least according to the holo, that showed the projected position of the small vessels.  Unfortunately, that projection could have little to do with reality.

“All ships,” ordered the Commodore over the com.  “Prepare to fire on my command.”

“The Admiral is asking when we will be ready to deploy,” said the Com Officer.

“Tell him that we are still waiting for the other deployments,” said Suttler, staring at the holo as if he could will everything to come.  To deploy everything at the moment would be to reveal where they were, and that would soon be followed by an overwhelming attack.

“The decoy fleet is starting its translation,” called out the Sensor Officer.

The vector arrows of the leading edge of the incoming force changed color slightly, denoting their translation into normal space.

“We’re picking up the graviton emissions of a hundred ships coming through,” continued the Sensor Officer.  “More are coming through each second.”

So they had the decoy force coming through, but still nothing from the fighter force.  And the ground forces were ready to go, probably chomping at the bit, in danger of discovery the longer they waited.

Suttler was ready to give the order despite the absence of the inertialess fighters when the first of them appeared.

“We have twenty one sources appearing at four light seconds,” called out the Sensor Officer.  “Velocity is point nine zero light, acceleration, one thousand gravities.  Twelve more, sir.”

“Fire,” yelled Suttler over the open com, the command going out to all of the vessels in his command.

Seastag shook as her particle beam opened fire at the first platform on her targeting list.  The particle beam was one of the modifications that had been made to all of the stealth/attack ships in his force.  The particle beam was of similar class to those used by twenty million ton superbattleships, but were accelerated on space stations in orbit around the central black hole of the Supersystem.  The ships went into almost full acceleration to maintain station against the push of the point nine nine five light beam of antiprotons coming out of the noses of the vessels.

Kilograms of antiprotons hit the platform that had to mass about three hundred thousand tons, pointing its weapons at the surface of the planet below.  It was caught totally flat footed, weapons powered down, cold plasma field dead.  Not that the field would have done much good.  The antiprotons slammed into the hull of the platform, imparting considerable kinetic energy that blasted the already exploding antimatter deep within the satellite.  With a series of brilliant flashes the platform tumbled out of orbit, breaking up as it spun and flew away from the planet.

Within five seconds thirty two of the platforms were gone, only nine remaining.  Those nine started to turn in space, their cold plasma fields coming up as they tried to get into an orientation where they could hit the now visible stealth/attack ships.  None completed the turn, as the particle beams ripped through the cold plasma fields and struck the hulls with almost as much force as had been generated in hitting the satellites without the defensive screens.

As soon as the first beam was on its way each of the ships started to launch their missiles.  Again, the ships had been modified, and another wormhole had been added to each ship, these  linked to other stations where the missiles were pre-accelerated up to point nine light before shooting from the portal.  As they left the ships the launching vessels imparted the targeting information to the weapons, which immediately began turning their vectors and headed for their priority targets.

The Cacas were caught completely off guard, many of their ships crippled before they could get off a shot, some blasted to plasma.  All major orbital platforms were gone, only the quartet of space docks and the two forts, including the massive primary, still there.  The docks were fairly harmless, but were still targeted, while the forts were tough nuts to crack with their defensive weaponry.

Suttler cringed as he watched two of his ships disappear from the plot, hit by enemy fire.  Stealth/attacks were destroyer sized ships, and were incapable of handling much in the way of damage.  A third ship disappeared, and Suttler held his breath as he made sure all of his special ships were still there.  He counted all four, and went ahead to send the command for their next maneuver, the deployment of the wormhole gates that would bring their reinforcements to them.  In minutes he knew that the ships that had been lured away would send volleys of missiles back at his force.  They had maybe fifteen minutes before the missiles reached back to the planet, and there was no way his command could weather that storm.  And there were still enemy ships, including superbattleships, in close proximity, and they were starting to power up their weapons and load missiles.

*     *     *

“Hi ho,” called out the Pilot as Zokoku 1 dropped its hyper bubble and the sphere of the planet appeared in front of the fighter.

Morris smiled as he checked their positioning on the plot.  He wasn’t surprised that they were where they were supposed to be as related to the planet.  After all, they had one hundred percent accuracy in determining where something as big and steady as a planet would be at any given time.  Where the enemy was, was another matter, since they could move unpredictably.

It took several seconds for the tactical plot to update, and for all the ships in the wing to link in over the tactical net.  And the targeting information loaded into the plot and each ship was assigned the most opportune target.

“Setting ship on new vector,” announced the Pilot, accelerating the fighter onto the revised setting at twelve hundred gravities.  A Caca superbattleship centered in the viewer, the HUD updating with its velocity, acceleration and vector as compared to their own.

They were seven light seconds to the target, a little under eight seconds at their current speed.  The Caca ship didn’t open fire on the swiftly maneuvering fighter until they were four seconds away.  They launched four of their antiship missiles a second later, the weapons streaking off at ten thousand gravities, separating their multiple warheads less that fifty thousand kilometers from the target.

Fifteen of the twenty-four warheads, each in the fifty megaton range, slammed into the superbattleship at point nine three light.  The remaining warheads detonated in proximity kills, sending their heat and radiation into the enemy ship, or what remained of the enemy ship after the hits from the other warheads.  What was left of that ship was several hundred fairly large pieces and an expanding plasma cloud.  Internal antimatter breached and turned over half the intact pieces into more plasma.

Zokoku 1 shook first from some near misses, then from the turbulence of the plasma she passed through as the superbattleship exploded.  Warning klaxons sounded as red areas appeared on the ship’s schematic.

“Forward grabbers down,” called out the Pilot.  “Rear grabbers still online, but two are heading into overheated status.”

“Engineer,” called out Morris, looking over at the tactical holo and noting with a sinking feeling that only fifty-eight of his ships had made it through the attack.  The second wing appeared at that moment, and they were not in quite as advantageous placement as his wing had been.  “Can you get the grabbers back online?”

“I would have to say no to the forward grabbers, sir,” said that officer from the rear of the small ship.  “They’re gone.  As far as the stern units, I’m could try to reroute the cooling systems, but I’ve got something else to worry about at the moment.”

Morris looked over at the damage schematic and felt his stomach sink yet again.  The forward electromagnetic field projector was blinking red, and looking at the output figures, he could see that it was only operating at one quarter capacity.  And the output was dropping.  At their current velocity it was the same as plowing through a hard radiation field as they hit slow moving particles at their own fast speed.  When the forward electromagnetic field dropped to nothing, they would be taking a deadly dose of hard radiation.

They had killed an enemy capital ship, probably at the cost of their lives.  In the cold equation of war, it was a bargain of a deal.  But when he considered that it was his life in the balance, it was not a deal he would have taken if he had a choice.

*     *     *

Suttler looked again at the tactical holo and did not like the story that it was telling.  The second wing of the inertialess fighters had passed, and there were still enemy ships in proximity to the planet.  Unfortunately, some of the fighters had attacked on vectors that took them into a profile of some of the mostly harmless support ships.  It really wasn’t their fault.  They only had seconds to act, and they were limited by the targets that they could vector in on, which meant that many of the fighters found themselves only able to attack the support ships.  That left three supercruisers within energy weapons range of Suttler’s ships.   And fifteen ships, including four superbattleships, moving into that range.

The space fort was also a concern, but it happened to be one hundred and eighty degrees around the planet, and it would be several minutes before it had a firing arc from its geosynch orbit.  It was launching space fighters, which could put ordnance into the stealth/attack ships if they could find them.  That was not so difficult now that the ships were firing away with everything they had.  And when the fort got within firing range it was going to get worse.

“Deploy the gates,” he ordered over the com as his ships continued to duke it out with the supercruisers.  They were supposed to be bombarding ground targets by now, but they couldn’t take their attention off the enemy warships that were threatening their own existence.  Under normal circumstances it would be a completely one sided fight.  With their enhanced particle beams and missile launchers it was a fight the smaller ships could win, and the supercruisers were taking a pounding.  But the equation would change when the other ships entered the battle.  Even now the Caca force built around their heavy capital ships was knocking down the missiles being launched at them, and an energy weapons duel seemed obvious.

“Gates are deployed,” called out the Tactical Officer.

“The Admiral is asking what he should send through first,” called out the Com Officer.

The plan had been for missile defense vessels to come through first, cruisers and destroyers, since it was thought that the first threat would be the missile volleys of the main Caca force on the outward heading.  But now the threat had changed.

“We need battleships,” yelled Suttler, turning toward the Com Officer.  “We need ships that can take on those superbattleships.”

“The Admiral is acknowledging, sir.  First ships should be coming through in seconds.”

True to his word, within seconds three of the now expanded gates had the noses of capital ships poking through them.  It didn’t take long, even for ships coming through at less than three kilometers per second, for two Imperial superbattleships, twenty million ton vessels, and one standard fifteen million ton battleship, to enter the space around the planet.  Moments later a fourth ship, another standard battleship, came through.  The four ships immediately oriented themselves and sent volleys of missiles toward the oncoming enemy, while they locked on and fired their lasers and particle beams on the nearby supercruisers.

A second set of battleships came sliding through the gates, while the near supercruisers were all put out of action.  That was when the oncoming enemy sent out their first volley of missiles, enough to overwhelm the defenses of at least one ship if they targeted in that way.

A third set of battleships, this also including one of the twenty million ton behemoths, came through the gate and started moving to interpose themselves between the portals and the enemy.  The orbital fort moved enough under its grabbers to enter the fight, and the twelve battleships found themselves in a close in fight with an object that outmassed all of them together, while they continued to fire missiles at the enemy warships.

*     *     *

“Captain to all crew,” said Vladimir Schmidt over the shipwide intercom as HCS (His Czar’s Ship) Sevastopol headed for the mirrored surface ahead.  “We are about to reenter our home space, on a mission to save the last of our people.  Many of you feel that we lost all honor by leaving the Kingdom during its time of crisis, despite our orders to do so.  I too felt that shame.  Now we can redeem ourselves in the eyes of the Galaxy, and in the hearts of our people.  We will not fail.  To paraphrase the Spartans, at day’s end we will either be carrying our shields, or we will be on them.  Our people will either be free, or dead.  There is no third alternative.”

The cold plasma shield was at full strength, laser rings fully charged, particle beam accelerators pushing their loads of protons or antiprotons up to their maximum velocity, missile tubes were loaded.  Targeting information was flowing in through the com net, preparing them for the battlefield.  There was a feeling of fear permeating the bridge, but it was overwhelmed by the emotions of eagerness and anger.

The nose of the fifteen million ton battleship touched the mirrored surface of the wormhole traveling at two and three quarters kilometers per second.  Transit took less than a second for the two and a half kilometer long capital ship.  The battleship popped out of the gate at the same time as two Imperial superbattleships.  Moments later the second of the New Muscovite ships came through, a former Imperial mothball ship now called Czarina Ekaterina, crewed by refugee spacers.

“Target that supercruiser with all beam weapons,” ordered Schmidt, pointing to one of the close icons.  “All missile tubes are to fire a volley at that farther force.”

Sevastopol shook from a pair of particle beam hits from one of the supercruisers, its own beam weapons ripping through the hull of the smaller ship.  One of the superbattleships joined in, blasting away at that one supercruiser, while four more restored battleships with New Muscovite crews came through the gates and added their fire to the mix.

“Com for you from the Commodore,” called out the Com Officer.

Schmidt nodded, and the holo came alive with the image of Commodore Sheila Stepanowski, aboard Ekaterina.  “Vladimir.  That fort will have a firing arc on the gates in six minutes.”

“I see that, Commodore,” agreed the Captain, switching his side holo to a schematic view of the enemy fortress, which was using its own grabbers to boost outward and around the planet at a least time approach to a firing solution on the gates.  It was in the process of launching the small Ca’cadasan space fighters, scores at a time.  And it was spitting out missiles that moved onto a curving orbit that would take them to the gates in less than a minute.

“We will attack that fortress, Captain,” ordered Stepanowski, her eyes narrowing.  “If it is not stopped, we will be.  Move your ship as close as you can to that fortress, taking out every missile and fighter that you can on the way in, and engage the fortress.  We will follow and support you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, looking out over the bridge.  “You heard the lady, people.  Helm, put us on a heading toward that fortress, least time.  Tactical, assign all secondary weapons to missile defense and knocking down fighters.  Missile tubes are to fire at enemy ships until we have line of sight on the fortress.  All beam weapons, fire on the fortress as soon as we can target it.”

Acknowledgements came back and the bridge crew rushed to set the orders into motion.  Schmidt looked over the holo, noting that all of the battleships, twelve of them, were moving on a course that would take them to the direct confrontation with the fortress, while four more battleships popped through the gates and moved into positions to protect those portals.

Sevastopol shook as a missile from the fortress exploded a kilometer off the port side, hit by the lasers as it swept by on its way toward the gates.  Fighters swarmed over the ship, firing low yield missiles at the big ship.  The battleship started launching its own squadrons of short range fighters, sending the small ships out into a swarming dogfight where they had no protection other than their speed and maneuverability.

“We’ll have a firing solution in fifty-three seconds,” called out the Tactical Officer.  The main viewer showed the massive station from a composite of other feeds.  The brilliant flashes of warheads detonating from hundreds to scores of kilometers away flared in the viewer as the station’s defenses took out incoming missiles.

And they’ll have a firing solution at the same moment, thought the Captain, watching as the schematic showed the line of sight developing around the curvature of the planet.  The battleship turned to its side, presenting its largest aspect to the fortress, allowing all of its beams weapons to come into play at the same time.

“Firing,” yelled out the Tactical Officer as line of sight developed.  The four laser rings put out their maximum strength x-ray beams, pentawatts of energy hitting almost instantly, while a quartet of particle beams struck a picosecond later.  Half of each beam was bounced or deflected from the fortress’ electromagnetic field, the half reaching the armor burning its way deep into the nanocarbon reinforced alloy.  A second later the return fire hit Sevastopol, and the ship shook from the transfer impact of its lasers.

Warning klaxons sounded, a laser ring went offline, as did one of the side grabbers, and several sections of hull were breached.  The ship kept its weapons firing full strength at the fortress, locked into a duel that could only lead to its own destruction.  The Captain was beginning to think they had only come back to home space to die here, when the first of the Imperial Superbattleships moved into line of sight and added its own more powerful beam weapons to a battle.

That attracted the attention of the fortress, which was now forced split its fire.  Moments later the second superbattleship and Ekaterina moved into firing position, adding their fire, and eight more ships were on the plot, moving into the battle.

*     *     *

“Command.  What is going on?” yelled Great Admiral H’rastarawaa over the com as the warning klaxons sounded.

“My Lord.  We are under attack.”

“By what?” yelled out the Great Admiral in shock.  He was two light hours within a system, and the only enemy that was he knew of was coming at them from that distant barrier.

“My Lord.  Unknown ships just appeared out of nowhere and took out our defensive satellite net.”

“Unknown ships?  What by all the Gods are you talking about.”  The Great Admiral looked over at the tactical holo, noting the thirty or so red icons that were blinking on the display, smaller vector arrows moving away from them at ten thousand gravities.  Even as he watched a hundred vector arrows, larger than those of the missiles, popped into existence.  Seconds later smaller vector arrows separated from them, and many of his ships in orbit blinked and then faded from the display.

Their stealthy ships, he thought of the first group of vessels, but he hadn’t a clue what that second set of ships was.

Four more icons appeared as vector arrows, these very large vessels with ridiculously low velocity figures below their icons.  There was no way they were stealth vessels, and they couldn’t have just appeared there, at such a slow speed.  Even as he watched two things happened.  Vector arrows appeared from the four icons, heading out to his other close ships, while four more of the large icons appeared.

The Great Admiral reached out and touched one of the icons, and the holo zoomed in on the object, showing one of the human capital ships.  But his eyes went immediately to the shining object behind it, which another capital ship popped out of.  It’s one of their wormholes, he thought, zooming out the holo until he could see four of the gates as tiny dots.  He reconnected to the fortress com system an instant later.

“I want this station moved toward those wormhole gates.  Launch fighters and missiles, objective the gates as well.”

“But, my Lord,” said the Fortress Commander, appearing on the com holo.  “I have ordered propulsion to keep us distant of those warships.”

“You are to move closer.  I want to be able to hit those ships and those gates with beam weapons.”

“I don’t think we will last very long, my Lord,” said the Fortress Commander.  “Shouldn’t we wait on the near ships to get closer, or the force on the way out to launch missiles and head back.”

“They are bringing battleships across in those gates, you fool,” growled the Great Admiral.  “If we wait, they will have a blasted fleet in orbit, and they will destroy us at their leisure.  Now follow my orders.”

The Fortress Commander acknowledged and dropped off the com.  The Great Admiral felt the slightest of shudders as the massive station launched its first volley of missiles, and seventy vector arrows appeared, accelerating around to drop down slightly and move around the curve of the planet.  The fighters had not appeared yet, but they would take time for their crews to arrive and launch them.

“Send a grav pulse to High Admiral Lisantr’nana,” ordered the Great Admiral to the Com Section.  “I want him to turn around and come back to the planet.  I want…”

The station shook again, this time in a different manner than it had during launch of its own missiles.  Vector arrows showed on the tactical holo, disappearing as they were hit by counter fire.  The station shook heavily as one got through, and the lights dimmed in the Great Admiral’s quarters for just a moment.

“I’m sorry, my Lord, but that last missile was a hit, and it took out our grav pulse communicator.”

“Then send a com to our other ships.  One of them can contact him.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said the Com Officer.

“And then get me the Ground Commander.  I want to know what’s going on down there.”  The Great Admiral looked at the tactical holo again, this time feeling more confused than ever.  The only reason for this kind of assault was to free the captives on the planet, otherwise they just would have come in from a standard approach, and saved this little surprise for some other time.  But there seemed to be no assault ships, no transports, and no shuttles launching to land troops.  Which meant they had either screwed up royally, or they had something else planned.  But what?

*     *     *

Fleet Admiral Kelvin’s stomach turned as his flagship translated back into normal space.  Fortunately, he had never had much trouble with translation, and it only took a moment to get his wits about him.  Immediately he looked over at the tactical holo that showed the disposition of his fleet, half already in normal space, the other half still in hyper, getting ready to translate down.

Constance the Great was centered in the holo, his flagship.  Constance was one of the new super heavy battleships, and as far as the Empire knew, the most powerful ship in space, with more firepower than even the Ca’cadasan superbattleships.  She massed twenty-seven million tons, and carried four wormholes, two connected to particle beam accelerators, two to missile accelerators, to augment her normal weaponry.  Because of that she couldn’t use a wormhole gate herself.  In fact, every ship in his command that carried a wormhole, less the stealth/attacks, was with him at this time.

He checked for the location of the eight special ships, all blinking a slightly brighter green.  All were standard hyper VI battleships, and all had been equipped with the force multipliers.  Two of the pairs were in close proximity and were moving toward their teammates as he watched.  The other pair?

“Crap,” he said under his breath.  One pair was at twelve light seconds apart, the other sixteen.  Both of those pairs would take fifteen to twenty minutes to link, time which would be wasted.  He expanded the holo and saw that the enemy force, picked up by its graviton emissions, was on its way toward him.  He was heavily outnumbered as things stood, and they would swamp him with missiles in as little as a couple of hours.

The first of the pairs drew within range, matching velocities to perfection, since anything else would spell disaster.  Control was assumed by one of the ships for both vessels, its computer balancing the pull of their grabbers to keep the ships locked in the planned arrangement.  Hooked up, the half frames on their hulls extended until they had made contact.  Another couple of adjustments and the arms on one half frame slid into the other.  Spacers exited the ships in armor and checked the connection.  It took some more time, but it was better to waste time than have the frame come apart at the wrong moment.

As soon as the spacers were out of the way the small silver dot was moved to the center of the frame encased in its smaller transport frame.  With a rush of negative matter that was pulled outward by the powerful magnetic field of the main frame, the silver dot expanded in seconds until it filled the frame, and a wormhole ship gate was now in place, falling into the system at point two light, the same as the transporting vessels.

It would still take some minutes for the ships on the other side to build up the addtional velocity so they could come through the hole and not fall back in immediately after entering the system.  They would cut back on their grabbers before they came through, and hopefully the enemy wouldn’t even know they were there until some number of them had made it.

Chapter Sixteen

Soldiers, when committed to a task, can't compromise. It's unrelenting devotion to the standards of duty and courage, absolute loyalty to others, not letting the task go until it's been done.

John Keegan.

PLANET NEW MOSCOW, EARLY MORNING, APRIL 8TH, 1002.

“What the hell are we waiting for?” asked the sniper, peering through his scope at his first target.  The scope was still unpowered, but was still a moderately powerful magnifying instrument despite that.

“Calm down, Schmidt,” ordered Walborski, staring at the compound through his own glasses.  “We can’t kick this thing off on our own.”

Something flared in the sky, high up, where it had to be above the atmosphere.  Cornelius recognized it as a massive explosion in vacuum as seen from a distance.  He looked back down in his glasses and saw several of the Cacas looking up as well.  They knew something was going on, but were probably still confused as to what it was.

“Power up,” came a voice over the command net that hadn’t been up an instant before.  The enemy would probably pick it up in seconds, but the jamming that came up at the same time ruined their chances of getting any information from it.

Cornelius ordered his armor to power up on his implant, and in less than a second all systems were up and running, while the diagnostic program took another second to report back that all was a go.  His faceplate HUD came up, and he saw that all the suits in his company were now online.  The com frequencies were filled with static, except for the swiftly rotating frequencies the Imperial military was now communicating on.

The Captain felt a wave of confusion from the information overload his suit was feeding to him.  Not only through his heads up display, which was limited in its ability to show information by the need of the faceplate to also show the real world around him.  Also through direct feed into his visual and audial centers.  He was getting a feed from every single one of the men in his company, with emphasis on his officers and senior NCOs.  And information passed down from battalion and regiment, who were filtering the feeds of the wakening net.  A regular infantry officer who had come up through the suits would have had specialized training in handling this information tsunami, along with the experience to pick and choose what was important while ignoring the rest.  Cornelius and his officers had the benefit of two months of training with the suits, and no combat experience.

Cornelius was still struggling with the information, getting some control, when the first stage kicked off.

“Fire,” whispered the command over his link to the battalion net.

“Fire,” shouted Cornelius over his company net, and as far as the Cacas were concerned all hell broke loose.

The particle beam weapon in the sniper’s hand, powered up at the same time as his suit, spat a bright red beam at his target, one of the guard towers around the camp.  The beam ripped through the tower walls and into the suited Caca within, carbonizing half the large body under the armor.  As soon as he had serviced that target the sniper moved his weapon in search of targets on the ground, while his spotter scanned with a wider aperture for Cacas in need of killing.

Within three seconds of the command to engage going out every tower on the perimeter of the camp was destroyed by the two battalions in assault formation around it.  Over five hundred guards joined them, while hyper velocity missiles flew out to spear the doors of the barracks and garages at the guard camp.  With the destruction of the doors the easy way to the surface was gone, though selected rangers kept them in their sights in case some made it out later.

Engineers launched a number of platforms while the Rangers were taking care of the guards.  Fifty discs shot into the sky, gaining altitude before turning on and connecting to the net, providing wide coverage com and sensor capabilities.  Another six hundred smaller discs rose a couple meters above the ground and shot into the minefield, their sensors locating the mines so the remotes could land near them and neutralize the deadly weapons.

The Rangers continued to fire at targets as they presented themselves, and most of the Cacas were so confused that they wandered into line of sight of a soldier.  But not all, and the Rangers knew there would still be Cacas in the camp among the populace.  And that they needed to be neutralized, fast, before they could start taking out too many of the civilians, or decide that they needed to round up hostages to surround themselves with.  There was, however, something missing from the assault.

“The gate is open,” called out the Regimental Commander, and Cornelius looked over to the large gully where the frame of the wormhole had been erected to see the barrel and front of a heavy tank poking through.  The one thousand ton monster sped through the hole on its grabbers, followed by another, then a third.  The tanks ran out onto the plain, providing targets for the Cacas that most would be ill equipped to deal with.  As soon as the entire platoon was in place they started forward in a shallow v.

“Rangers,” yelled Walborski over the com.  “Follow me.”  He jumped up in his armor and engaged the grabbers, speeding to the outer side of the tanks, where his company was stationed to prevent Caca reinforcements from hitting that flank.

Fire started coming in, automated positions that had placed to take out escapees now turning to strike at the incoming enemy.  These were light weapons, made to kill unarmored civilians, and any hits they did generate did nothing to the medium battle armor suits, and less than nothing to the tanks.  Suits and tanks moved rapidly, a hundred kilometers an hour.  Unfortunately, the mass of civilians in the camp were obscuring what targets were left.  The battalion and their armor support stopped at the fence line, engineers taking down the barrier so the civilians could be extricated.

*     *     *

“Power up,” came the command over the awakening net into her implant.  Captain Stella Artois opened her eyes, which she had closed to try to get away from the almost panic she was feeling from being trapped in her suit, which was trapped in the underground cavern.  With a thought she brought the suit computer online, then ordered all systems to the on position.  Her HUD came up, as well as the direct feed into her implant, and she became aware of every one of her suited engineers, as well as the engineering robots each controlled.  Her own pair of robots came online and reported in as ready and able to operate according to their maximum capabilities.

With another thought she powered up the small recon robots that were waiting just below the surface.  They pushed their way through the last layer of earth and broke free, floating into the air on antigrav and feeding their information back into the net.

Stella immediately made the decisions that she was paid to make, picking out the optimal pathways upward, assigning her people to each task, her brain working a hundred times faster than normal through the link with her suit comp.  Seconds later the digging robots started tunneling up through the soft dirt, making a three meter wide hole a meter a second.  In ten seconds the first of the bots broke the surface, their operators right on their tails.  The bots jumped into the air to make room for the troops to follow, calling out on their speakers for the refugees to back off and move away from the holes, which were all situated in the walkways of the area between the tents.

Most the Cacas within the huge compound were caught off guard.  The sounds of the attack on the outside of the camp were just reaching them, along with the confused babble over the com net, which was partially drowned out by jamming static.  Add to that the bright points in the sky that could only be signs of some kind of impossible space battle, and the average male didn’t know what to think.  They didn’t know what was going on.  When the robots, about twice the size of a human in heavy battle armor, came popping out of the ground and rose into the air, many males stood there staring in shock at something that couldn’t possibly be there.  The few hundred within sight of the robots who did react fired on them.

Unfortunately, the Cacas within the compound were equipped with light armor and weaponry, all it was thought they needed for controlling the unarmed humans.  What shots, mostly moderate velocity pellets, that did hit the robots bounced from their armored hides.  The robots were not authorized to fire back, for fear that they would slaughter the human captives while killing some of the Cacas.  The first Caca died as one of the civilians, a member of the underground operating in the camp, fired a slow moving short range shape charge round into a Ca’cadasan soldier.  The chemically powered weapon, made of non-metallic carbon fibers, had been almost impossible to detect.  Within seconds over three hundred Cacas across the camp were killed, holes blown through their armor and into their flesh.

The robots, three hundred and sixty of them, two for each controlling engineer, fanned out over the compound, activating their electromagnetic field generators and placing a weak shield over the camp.  Now lasers came on line, and rocket launchers rose into place over the backs of the robots, while tracking systems looked for weapons that the enemy might fire into the camp from above.

“Up,” yelled Captain Artois as she watched the first company of the armored Rangers rise up through the holes.  Her own people moved into position, clumsily.  Each heavy battle armor suit massed a half ton, and every engineer carried a two ton device with them.  As the last of the Rangers rose to the surface, her force started the rise behind them.

The scene that greeted her eyes was one of almost total chaos.  Three of the Ranger companies were in the air, heading outward in all directions, several firing down at targets below as they moved.  The other company was on the ground, trying to organize the civilians and get them to the holes in preparation for evacuation.  She checked her link and made sure that all of the drop units were engaged, so that everyone who stepped into one of the holes would float to the bottom, and not fall the fourteen meters straight down.

“Everyone spread out and get those units in place,” she ordered, moving her own suit to a point only a score of meters from the hole she had come up from.  “The sooner we get them in place, the sooner we can protect these people.”

Acknowledgements came back, and she moved her own unit into place after shooing away some children away who seemed to be paralyzed in place just where she wanted to go.  The kids scattered, and she landed with her unit, separated it from her suit, and activated the two tons of electronics and crystal matrix batteries.  Several dishes rose from the unit, and it started to hum, projecting another electromagnetic field underneath that being deployed by the robots.  After that she stood back, checking in with the rest of her people to make sure everything was going according to plan.

The first of the specialized anti-air suits rose out of the ground, the forerunners to the entire company that would be deployed to the camp.  These suites were fifty percent larger than the heavy suits the engineers were equipped with, with a large boxy construction on the back.  Each trooper carried a heavy particle beam rifle that could use the suit’s targeting systems to hit aerial targets.  The boxy construction on the back carried a dozen hypervelocity anti-air missiles.  The gunners boosted into the air and headed for positions from which they could cover all the air approaches to the camps.  One landed twenty meters away from the Captain and activated his defensive suite.

Now all we have to do is weather the Caca attack that will come at us eventually, thought the Captain.  That, and evacuate fifteen or twenty million people from this target.

*     *     *

Cat looked up at the sky as she noticed the people around her staring upwards.  She had been trying to lay low, hoping that the Cacas wouldn’t be looking for her.  That was a forlorn hope, and she knew it.  She had been picked for harvest for some reason, and she had escaped, for the moment.  The Cacas couldn’t afford to let any resistance be successful, lest the populace gain some hope and resistance grow.  They knew that resistance really couldn’t get the civilians their freedom, but harvesting parties could be overwhelmed by numbers and males killed.

Dropping the units at the perimeter before had been an extreme risk, but one she had been willing to take to strike back.  Now that her mission was completed, she had decided to try and fade back into the population.  There was no use in getting killed for no purpose.

The child saw the small dot of brilliant fire in the sky, a point that was too painful to look at for any period of time.  Around it other pinpoints sprung into existence, and people were pointing and talking excitedly.  Cat looked at the crowd, wondering what the hell it all meant, when she saw a trio of Cacas, two looking at the sky, one directly at her.

She readied herself for death.  There was no way she could get to her feet and run before they brought their weapons to bear.  The sadness of not living another day overwhelmed her fear, and she felt as if she didn’t have the strength to resist.

The one looking at her raised his weapon, and she closed her eyes, not  wanting to see her death coming.  Suddenly there was shouting, both humans and Cacas, and she opened her eyes to see what looked like a human in a huge combat suit rising from the camp a hundred meters away.  She then noticed that the ground was shaking, and realized it had been for a few moments.  More of the robots rose into the sky, and the Cacas from all over the camp started firing on them.  Everything they hit the robots with bounced from their armor, but the robots didn’t shoot back.  Instead, they rose high into the air and moved out in all directions, only a few staying within sight.

The Caca who had been threatening to shoot her looked back and raised his weapon again, taking aim as if he would kill her if it was the last thing he was going to do.  A sharp explosion sounded close, answered by a smaller blast behind the Caca.  The penetrator came bursting through the front of the Caca’s thin armor with a spray of gore.  The remaining pair of Cacas turned quickly, obviously searching for the human who had killed their leader.  When that assassin did not immediately appear the Cacas started firing at random into the camp, weapons on full automatic, blasting people down like scythes reaping wheat.

Cat, realizing that they might be rescued after all, was on her feet in an instant.  She didn’t want to be killed by the Cacas when freedom was right on the horizon.  She turned and ran, moving away from the Cacas and toward the perimeter of the camp, ten kilometers away.  She didn’t see the battle suited humans rising up into the air and killing the Cacas she was running from.  Instead, she ran away from her rescue.

*     *     *

“You’re loaded Commander,” said his assistant, tapping Nahuel Runningdeer on the shoulder.

“Acknowledged,” said the Lt. Commander, looking through the sight of the launcher.  As soon as the net came up they had taken one of the munitions from its shielded case and placed it in the launcher, which was still powered down at the moment.  On the still dark horizon to the west the flashes of massive warheads detonating in space were brilliant points.  Some expanded for a moment, and once something truly huge flared and lit up the still dark valleys below.

The sun had already risen in the east, and the tops of the mountains glowed orange from the reflection of the local star on their snow topped peaks.  The lower parts of valleys were still pitch black.  His target area was now lit with the twilight of the coming day, and he wondered how long it would be before the battery cleared for action and started firing at the human ships that had to be overhead.

“That one,” called out the spotter, looking up from his scope and pointing to one of the domes.  Runnigdeer could feel the attraction of the electromagnetic field being generated by the battery on every piece of metal on his body.  Even the launcher, which had a minimal metallic component, was pressing into his hands as that field tugged at it.  And now one of the domes that housed an energy weapon was rotating while its top aperture opened.  Getting ready to fire, or in the lingo of naval warfare, clearing for action.

He wanted to wait for the weapon to finish opening, giving him the best chance of a shot.  But if he waited too long and it fired, the warhead would be detonated by the beam before it could enter the dome.

“You can engage now, sir,” said the spotter, obviously nervous at the hesitation of the platoon leader.

“I know,” was all he said, but he went ahead and powered up the launcher, pretty sure that the new heavy jamming coming over the com circuit would cover its signature.  He looked through the sight, locking it onto the target, holding fire just one more instant.  The aperture reached a point where it didn’t look like it could open any further.

“Firing,” said the Lt. Commander, warning his people so they could look away.  All had selective ear plugs in that allowed them to talk with each other while hopefully protecting their sensitive hearing from what was about to happen.

The other men ducked down into the depression and covered their eyes.  Runningdeer held his breath and squeezed the trigger, one eye stuck to the sight, the other shut tight.  The range indicator showed that target was at a distance of twenty-three thousand and fifty-one meters, kind of close to what he was about to hit it with.

Almost by surprise the weapon fired, sending the hypervelocity missile out at a speed of a thousand kilometers per second.  It looked like a streak of light, if a beam of light could curve.  The missile dropped down and followed the ground at a height of a hundred meters, the wind of its passage actually tearing trees up from their roots to be pulled behind as the wood of their trunks was torn to shreds.  The missile then curved up and came down on the aperture of the beam weapon, flying into the opening and detonating inside the dome as it hit the first solid object it contacted.

The missile had come in too fast for any of the battery’s defensive systems to react.  By the time the weapon had reached the target it was too late.  The antimatter warhead’s containment field failed at impact, and the small amount of antiprotons in the rocket flew into the matter around it.  With a flare of light twenty megatons of explosive were released.  Fire flew to the aperture, flaring out in a blinding wave.  The carbon fiber reinforced dome resisted for an instant before blowing outward.  The thermal wave torched every tree within kilometers.  The blast wave following behind it tore those trees from the ground and threw them as splinters for further kilometers.

Fire flared from the apertures of two of the other domes, a sign that the blast had reached through the underground fortress into those weapons emplacements.  Two of the domes were still intact, and one fired a red line up into the sky, a particle beam.

“Reload,” yelled out the Commander, raising himself back up from the cover and turning the weapon toward one of the intact domes while the hot wind of the blast wave blew over his face.  They were much too close to the blast, even with the cover they had, the Runningdeer knew he would have some burns on his face after this mission.

“Up,” called out the loader, and Runningdeer turned the sight toward the dome that had just fired.  The sight looked through the rising base of the mushroom cloud, and the Commander locked onto the second target, then sent that missile into the dome.  Dropping the launcher he rolled back under cover, feeling the skin on his face blister from the heat and radiation.

The second mushroom cloud rose into the air, joining with the first.  The ground rumbled from the explosion, and a second vibration could be felt below it from a blast in the distance, while another mushroom cloud rose in the distance sixty kilometers to the north.

*     *      *

“Go, go, go, go, go,” yelled the battalion Sergeant Major over the com.  The gate to the front of the troops was large enough to handle a heavy main battle tank.  It was wide enough to handle twenty soldiers in heavy battle armor at a time, shoulder to shoulder.  The gate had just opened, dilated by the negative matter at the same time as the portal was opened on the other side.  The first line of troops lifted their suits off the ground, their armor reflecting the light of the rising F class star that was just showing over the horizon.

Lt. General Samuel Baggett stood off to the side in his own heavy battle suit, watching as the combat team deployed to New Moscow through the gate.  His link was showing him the scenes from all of the combat teams going through the gates simultaneously, and he could switch his view from group to group across all of the planets his troops were on, or to his own command, or to the feed from the Fleet over the planet through the wormhole com net.

The second group went through right on the tails of the first, then the third, and on until the entire company had gone through.  The first of the tanks followed, the one thousand ton Tyrannosaur IV lifting on its grabbers and sliding forward, hitting the mirrored surface and disappearing from this planet.  The next tank was right on its tail, then the third, fourth and fifth, until the entire platoon was through.  The next company of infantry flew through, then another platoon of tanks, these also heavies, followed by the third company.  The battalion HQ was through next, then a company of six medium tanks, Allosaurs, the newest armored vehicle in the Imperial armor inventory, six hundred tons of fighting machine.  The engineering company was rushed through next, followed by the heavy weapons company and the fourth company of infantry.  The last thing through on this attack vector was the antiair company, more vehicles.

Baggett watched those last vehicles go through, then started switching com views to monitor all of the other combat teams.  All went through without a hitch, and one worry was off the corps commander’s mind.  He looked around the plain where the gate had been deployed, which was set up with tents; hospitals, messing facilities, sleeping areas.  Everything needed to handle a large influx of refugees for a short time.  And the Phlistaran battalion that was one of his reserve units, standing a couple of hundred meters from the gate, chomping at the bit to get into the action.

“They’re all away, sir,” reported Baggett to General Arbuckle, looking over at his own Sergeant Major and nodding.

“I’m heading through in a moment, Samuel,” said the commander of the army.  “See you on the other side.”

“Yes, sir,” said Baggett, waving at the gate and moving his own suit forward.  The one hundred and sixty people of his headquarters unit followed behind, heading into the battle zone.

The trip through the portal was as disorienting as usual.  One second the light of the rising F class star was lighting the landscape, the next the more mellowed light of a rising K class dominated the horizon.  Most of the camps were in a three time zone stretch of the major continent, and it had been thought that the more hours of daylight they had the better.  The light of the sun was not needed for military operations, the suits were all weather capable, night being a weather condition.  But the civilians didn’t have night vision, natural or technologically enhanced.

He zoomed in on the fortress/military camp that was their target.  It was five kilometers north of a camp containing up to fifteen million humans, much to close to use nukes or kinetics on.  But it still needed to be taken out, before its troops could deploy and start killing the human prisoners.

“Find a good place for us to set up, Sarge Major,” he ordered his senior NCO while he squatted in his suit to get a good view of the developing action.

“Yes, sir,” replied the NCO, waving some scouts out to look over the terrain.  They already had a pretty good idea of the best places, but most soldiers wanted to see the spot with their own eyes before deciding on where to set up.

Baggett watched as the tanks and infantry moved across the tree covered plain, staying low and moving fast.  One company of the heavies and the medium tank company were moving forward, while the other heavy unit was rushing up to the camp with one company of infantry to take the perimeter and establish their own blocking force.

“How’s it going in the camp, Brigadier?” he asked the brigade commander who was supervising the overall operation of liberating this camp.

“We’ve taken the far perimeter and placed our people within that side of the camp, sir,” said the Brigadier in her contralto voice.  “All is a go in the center of the camp as well.  We’ve had some resistance there, and some casualties among the civilians, but the Cacas in the camp should be neutralized in the next couple of minutes.”

“Very good.  Keep me informed.”  Baggett switched to the division command circuits and checked up on the overall situation, which seemed to be going as planned, which in and of itself was worrisome.

The enemy camp was a boil of activity, as hundreds of Cacas came running out of the barracks, many in battle armor, but not all.  A door slid open on one of the heavily fortified garages and a large battle mech stepped out, eight meters tall and walking on four meter long legs, its weapons moving to track on the prison camp.

The Empire had given up the use of mechs, large manned machines that looked much like big battle robots.  The Cacas still used them, almost to the exclusion of tanks.  The machines weighed a couple of hundred tons, and were heavily armored, but were not in the same class as a real tank.

As the first one walked to the edge of the military base, lining up its heavy beam weapons on the camp, the first of the main battle tanks broke through the last line of trees, two kilometers from the perimeter of the base.  Infantry swarmed around the tank, firing their weapons at the top of the four meter tall, two meter thick wall that surrounded the base.  The first of the Cacas that reached the top of that wall, many of them not in armor, were blasted off by the angry red beams of infantry carried proton weapons, or the bright flaring explosions of microgrenades launched by the dedicated grenadiers.

The Tyrannosaur fired, rocking back slightly on its grabbers as its magrail main gun accelerated a supermetal penetrator at three hundred kilometers a second.  It looked to Baggett as if the round had teleported instantaneously to its target.  The center portion of the mecha, where the Caca rider was housed, exploded outward, vaporized alloy mixed with the reddish steam that was what remained of the crewman.  The mecha rocked on its legs for a second, then fell over backward from the force of the hit.

A pair of mecha were next, both moving toward the wall and seeming to totally ignore their murdered comrade.  They met the same fate, blown apart by a pair of main battle tanks.  The next up turned its attention toward the tank platoon, a different strategy with the same result, as the mecha fell to the ground with its midsection vaporized.

The infantry advanced in their heavy suits, staying low to the ground, their stealth systems making them very difficult to spot.  The tanks flickered in and out of view in a similar fashion, while decoys and electronic warfare packages interfered with the exact acquisition of targets.  His own side was having similar or lesser difficulties, and the fight devolved into the two sides trading fire, the Imperial soldiers getting the better of it with their superior ground combat vehicles and targetting.

They were fulfilling the mission of keeping the Cacas from firing on the camp, and the firepower differential was in the Imperial Army’s favor.  Baggett looked up at the sky, wondering when their air support and reinforcements would come.  The Imperials had about one hundred and twenty thousand troops, including his own reserves on the other side of the wormholes.  The Cacas had over four hundred thousand ground combat troops on this world, many dug into hardened positions, many moving from bases into dispersion points.  And many of those troops would be coming for his positions in the very near future, while he was handicapped by having to keep the civilians under his care alive.  The civilians who did not have the armored protection of his soldiers.  And the ships up in space could not provide him fire support either while they were still engaged in their own battle.

*     *      *

“What the hells is going on?” growled General Jawa'therista as he ran into the command bunker control chamber, pulling on his harness.  He had been spending time with the female he had been assigned to mate with, since the Emperor had decided that he was worthy of passing his genotype down to even more progeny.  He did not appreciate the interruption of his pleasure.

“We are under attack, my Lord,” said the shocked looking officer, standing by the holo tank that showed the surface of the world.  Separate side holos showed the scenes from many of the camps, all of them showing what looked like human combat suits battling his people.  A close look at a couple showed that his people were not winning.

“Where are they attacking from?” he asked the duty officer, who held a rank of brigade commander.

“Everywhere, my lord,” answered the officer, taking a deep breath and trying to calm himself.  Several of the side holos disappeared into static.  One of them firmed into a blurry picture, then faded back into static.  The ground shook, and another holo popped up, showing the fireball of a mushroom cloud rising off the ground.  The text below the view indicated that the cloud was rising over what had been a planetary defense battery.

“They are hitting us in space as well.”

But, how? thought the General.  How in the hell did they invade us without us seeing them coming?  That’s impossible, isn’t it?

“We’re receiving a com from the Great Admiral, my Lord,” called out one of the com techs.

“Send it to me,” ordered the General, his mind still reeling in confusion as he tried to decide what he should do.

“General,” said H’rastarawaa as he appeared on the holo, his image scattering slightly in the static the enemy jamming was causing.

“What are my orders, my Lord?” he asked his superior.

“I want all of the humans on the planet killed.”

“We are fighting the humans now, my Lord.  As soon as I can get the troops in place I will do my best to kill them.”

“I don’t mean the soldiers, General,” growled the Great Admiral.  “They are here to free those prisoners, the one we have been processing.  I want them dead.  Use every means at your disposal to kill the human civilians that the human soldiers are attempting to free.  Any that you have a good chance of reacquiring, take.  We may be able to use them as hostages.”

“Yes, my Lord.”  The General hesitated for a moment, then looked back at the Great Admiral.  “Are we going to win, my Lord?”

“Don’t you worry about that,” said the Great Admiral in what amounted to almost a scream.  “Just follow your orders, and do your part, and at least the humans won’t win.”

The holo blanked, while the ground shook again.  The General thought about the Great Admiral’s use of words.  The humans would lose if the people they came to save were destroyed.  Which didn’t mean any of the Ca’cadasans would get out of the fire they were now in.

“Get me all brigade commanders on the com,” he ordered the duty officer.  “I want all of their forces on alert and ready to move.”  I may not make it out of this, but I can assure myself that the humans fail as well.

Chapter Seventeen

Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin they think of firelit homes, clean beds, and wives.

Siegfried Sassoon.

NEW MOSCOW SPACE, MID MORNING. APRIL 8TH, 1002.

“First gate is deployed,” called out the Fleet Tactical Officer.

Fleet Admiral Jerry Kelvin looked over at the holo that showed the two battleships in that pair, Hood and King Robert The Bruce, joined together by a four kilometer wide, three kilometer high frame.  The frame itself was ten meters in cross section, and made of the strongest alloys known to human science.  Still, if the battleships were to pull apart with even minimal force that frame would come apart like rotten wood.

The battleships themselves, older models, had been modified to become predominantly defensive platforms, structured to defend themselves and the structure in their charge.  That structure now sported a mirrored surface, a wormhole, leading back to one of the Fleet bases where the rest of his ships were waiting.

“First ship coming through, sir,” said the Tactical Officer Moments later.

The nose of a ship poked through, moving at the velocity of point four light, grabbers powered down.  It took the two and a half kilometer long warship an immeasurable amount of time to transit the gate.  Its grabbers were powered down, its electromagnetic field off, depending on its material shielding to protect the crew, so it was basically an object smaller than most asteroids and radiating just a little more energy.  Since the force was moving at point two four light, the ship shot well ahead.  While from this side it seemed like a simple and straight forward maneuver, from the other side it had been a delicate and anxiety producing exercise in precision piloting.

The battleship coasted, gaining distance from the force every second.  The fleet was still boosting at five hundred gravities, and would eventually catch up, while the newly come ships were unknowns, not even there as far as the enemy was concerned.

Ten seconds after it came out of the hole a second battleship flew through, and coasted away.  Within five minutes there were fourteen battleships added to his order of battle.  At that time the second gate was opened, and a series of cruisers, heavy and light, started coming through.  Those were the ships that had been approaching the gate at the time it had opened.  The battleships that had been originally first in line had to shoot past the gate on that side, decelerating so they could eventually come back and transit the gate later.  The gate opening had missed the time table, and now some of those ships might miss the battle.  The fleet could change its maneuvering at a later part of the mission.  And it would still be another five minutes before even the closest of the far pairs would  be joined.

“Headquarters is reporting they are sending capital ships over to Gate 3,” reported the Fleet Com Officer.  Gate 3 was the second gate to open, the one now punching out cruisers.

Kelvin nodded, wondering if they would get enough ships through in time to weather the first missile storm.  He looked at the tactical holo and thought he probably would.  But the margin was getting closer every minute.  And every delay, every misstep in sending the ships through, was an increase of the odds against them.  And the fate of the group that was fighting for its life near the planet depended on that enemy not coming back in force.

*     *     *

Sevastopol shook again as a particle beam ate into her forward hull.  Damage klaxons sounded throughout the ship.  They had been going off for the last five minutes, since the battleship had first exchanged fire with the huge orbital fort of the Ca’cadasans.  The fort that outmassed them by a factor of eight to one.

“We’re getting pounded, sir,” called out the Chief Engineer from the main reactor control room.  “One of those beams just punched into one of our reserve fusion reactors.”

Captain Vladimir Schmidt looked over the damage schematic of his ship, pulled up on a side holo.  It was a mass of blinking red.  He paid particular attention to engineering.  The matter antimatter reactors were absolutely the best protected machinery on the ship, below ten meters of composite hull armor, then sheltered behind their own armored bulkheads.  That armored capsule included the storage area for the antimatter that powered the ship, which also had more redundant armor protection.  There was a very good reason for having all that protection in place.  Matter antimatter reactions were essentially the total conversion of material to energy, giving the ship the most efficient source of power known to the science of the time.  It was also highly dangerous, and the breach of massive amounts of antimatter could reduce his ship to a fast moving cloud of plasma in an instant.

“Electromagnetic projectors are at fifty percent over that section of engineering,” called out the Tactical Officer, who was balancing a score of duties at the moment, taking the information from his tactical crews and trying to allot resources to fight the ship in the most manner possible.  “Suggest rolling the ship.”

“Do it,” yelled the Captain as the ship shook from another hit.

The Helmsman powered the grabbers to spin the ship around its long axis, turning a different portion of the hull toward the enemy.  The ship was broadside to the enemy, allowing the use of all of its energy weapons on the same target, but also presenting more of the surface of the ship to enemy fire.  It was a tradeoff, but still a better design that the laser dome energy weapons system of the Cacas.  The fort was bristling with lasers and particle beams, but could only bring a little over sixty percent of its weapons to bear on any single target.

Sevastopol fired a spread of missiles, ten weapons leaving their launch tubes at almost three hundred kilometers an hour, cutting in their own boost of five thousand gravities as soon as they were free of the ship.  The range to the target was seven thousand kilometers, twelve seconds flight time.  Due to that flight time, the missiles were only approaching at a little over eight hundred kilometers a second, standing still as far as the targeting systems of the combatants were concerned.

The first missile was hit by defensive fire only three seconds out of the tubes, detonating with a force of a gigaton, sending more radiation and heat into the launching vessel than the target.  The second was hit at four seconds, the next at six, until only two missiles got within two thousand kilometers of the enemy, where they were detonated by the station’s lasers.  They still caused some hull damage from the flood of radiation and heat, but not much.

The station sent its own spread of missiles in return, concentrating all of its fire on Sevastopol to the exclusion of the other five ships that were engaging the fort.  Fifty missiles came in at eight thousand gravities, nine seconds flight time.

Tactical tried their best, and the ship knocked down twenty-one of the missiles as they came in.  The other battleships took out another twenty-three, firing every defensive weapon they possessed in an integrated missile defense network.  Close in weapons hit the remaining six at close range, saving the ship from a direct hit.  Still, they took out most of the electromagnetic projectors on the bow side of the ship facing the station, as well as one of the forward laser rings.

Schmidt cringed as the casualty figures came across his link.  There had been over a thousand fatalities, most of them completely destroyed, some of the low percentage of recoverable not able to be recovered at this time.  The clocks of those people’s continued existence was ticking away, and there was little he could do about it.  There were also more than two thousand injured, many seriously, to the point where their suits were putting them into cryostasis to keep them intact until they could get medical care.  Search and rescue groups would of course be trying their best, but since most of the casualties were outside of the protected central capsules of the ship, it was hazardous to even make the attempt of getting at them.

Sevastopol shook again, and the Captain was starting to think he might have to order abandon ship.  No, by God, he thought, an eye still on the damage schematic.  We came here to free our capital, and save our people.  His ship could still fight, and he was determined that it would.

Another missile detonated off the stern, a mere kilometer away, and kicked the ship in an end over end tumble along with a spin.  The Helmsman fought the motion, bringing the grabbers in to counter the motion, bringing Sevastopol back onto an even keel.

“Laser rings C and D have both lost emitters,” yelled the Tactical Officer over the klaxons.  “Rings are at seventy five percent capacity.”

One of the other battleships took a direct missile hit, the gigaton warhead detonating against the hull and vaporizing its way deep into the ship.  The capital ship went into a spin for a few moments as it flew away from the blast, then broke across the middle into two large pieces that spun off on their own courses.

Schmidt stared at the wrecked vessel in horror, his fear warring with relief that the battleship had been an Imperial vessel, and not one from the small New Moscow fleet.  He fought the guilt at that relief, then pushed the thought from his mind.  There were more important things to think of at the moment.

The station itself was taking a beating.  There was scarring all over the hull, gashes caused by beams, pitting from missile fragments.  Several of the lasers domes were dead, melted or smashed, while a particle beam projector had been swallowed up by a large crater.  The view was blurry, looking through the cold plasma field of the fortress.  That damage was visible was a sign of its serious nature.

The battleships were all heavily damaged as well.  The super battleship Enterprise, an Imperial vessel, was the most intact, both because it had entered the fight relatively late, and because of its more powerful defensive systems.  That ended as a volley of missiles targeted the ship, and a half dozen got through the defensive net to detonate close to the vessel.  Two of the laser rings, those on the stern, died, their nanomaterial skin ruptured in several places, the internal glow dying.

“Com from the Commodore,” called out the Com Officer.

“Put her on.”

The face of Commodore Sheila Stepanowski appeared on the holo to the right front of the Captain.  Her face was streaked with sweat, her eyes wide, and the bridge behind her shuddered as Czarina Ekaterina shook from a hit.

“We’re getting pounded here,” she told the Captain.  “If we keep doing what we’re doing, that thing will still be up here ruling the orbitals while we’re nothing more than debris.”

Schmidt nodded.  He was sure that the ships coming through the gate could eventually take care of this monster, but there was also the close enemy force, which was now only ten light seconds away from the gates.  Those ships were throwing everything they had at those portals, realizing that if they could shut them down the could win the battle of the orbit.  And that if they didn’t shut them down, they were doomed as well.  The force the two battleships were a part of could do nothing to aid in that part of the fight.  They were on the other side of the planet from the gates, blocked by the mass of the world.  The important part was that they were also keeping the fort out of the action.

“I’m having my Tactical Officer send a firing plan to your Tac,” she continued.  “We’re going to bust through that cold plasma field and hit them with every antiproton beam we have.  Then we’ll follow it up with missiles.”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied the Captain as he pulled up a schematic that showed what they knew about the state of the enemy fort.  The targeting information sent over from the commander’s ship pointed to one spot on the fort.  The cold plasma field was strong at that point, as it was everywhere.  They could blast through the field, but it was self-repairing, and more cold plasma was being injected into the field every time it was depleted.  They were still getting through, just as the fort was getting through the fields of the ships.  But the beams were being attenuated enough that the damage was being reduced by half.

“Firing,” called out the Tactical Officer.  The ship shuddered slightly as the lasers were fired and missiles were released.  Seconds later the particle beams fired, sending their positively charged antiprotons toward the same target area as the lasers were striking.

The lasers of seven capital ships, two superbattleships and five battleships, flashed instantaneously across six thousand kilometers of space.  All hit a small area, about twenty meters across, of the cold plasma field.  The beams slashed through the field and hit a similarly small area, burning into the hull, causing a large breach.  The cold plasma was superheated and radiated heat in all directions, including back into the station.

Now the particle beams ripped through the weakened defensive field and into the hull of the fort, flashing into energy as the antiprotons interacted with the matter of the station.  A large portion of the hull, fifty meters across, flashed into superheated plasma, while thirty meters farther around the circumference the armor crumpled and exploded outward in millions of pieces.  The following antiprotons hit the hole and flew into the station, blasting apart chambers, corridors and the bodies of Cacas.  The missiles, sixty weapons launched from all of the ships, followed close behind, aiming for the same point.

*     *     *

“I want us through those ships,” yelled Great Admiral H’rastarawaa at the officers on the bridge.

“We’re trying, my Lord,” replied the Station Commander from his position behind the tactical station.  “But these are major warships, and it is taking time to kill them.”

The deck underneath shook slightly from a hit.  The holo with the schematic of the station showed red areas where enemy weapons had pierced the hull or destroyed surface installations.  The station was down to seventy percent of its defensive weapons on the facing side, and the Great Admiral was tempted to order a turn to present an intact side to the enemy.  He held back on that temptation, thinking that it would be better to wait, when he could hit this enemy with the full strength of that side of the station.

“We got one,” yelled out one of the males at the tactical station.   One of the holos showed a ship flying from a brilliant flare that had to be a missile detonation.  Moments later it broke into two pieces, both flying off in different directions.  There were other holos hanging above the station, each showing one of the ships they were fighting.  All showed heavy damage, with the exception of one of the larger enemy vessels that had just entered the fray.

“Destroy that ship,” shouted the Great Admiral, wanting to take part in the battle and not remain bystander.

The station shook as it sent off a full spread of missiles, all aimed at the large ship, which was lashing the fort with beam weapons.  Only six got within proximity of the superbattleship, the bright flare obscuring the ship for several seconds.  When the flare died down the ship was still there, but the two laser rings on the stern were cracked and dark.

“Now hit that one,” he ordered, pointing at the holo of the other superbattleship.  If we can kill both of those monsters, we can break them.

The station shook again, much like other hits.  What followed was nothing like the other hits, as the station shook like it was on the ground in the middle of a major quake.

“What was that?” he asked, seeing one part of the schematic of the station turn an angry blinking red.  A portion of the hull was red, and an expanding area under the armor.  Reaching a hundred meters into the station, and a hundred meters wide, it grew as he watched, doubling, tripling, showing massive damage to the interior of the fort.

“Major damage to sector twenty-seven,” called out one of the crew at the damage control station.  “We have lost all contact with that sector.”

The annihilated zone spread, until it hit the reinforced bulkheads that separated that sector from the bordering ones.  Even there it burst through in a couple of places.

“Twelve are coming through,” yelled out a terrified voice.

H’rastarawaa looked away from the damage schematic to the tactical holo, which showed a dozen vector arrows within two seconds of the station.  One disappeared, followed by two others that were caught in the blast of that one intercept.  Two others tumbled away, detonating moments later and sending heat and radiation into the fort.  Three hit directly into the target area, a three gigaton detonation that not only burst through hull in many places, but pushed a fast moving wall of plasma into the opening made by the particle beams.  That wall broke through the armored firebreak around sector twenty-seven and flared into the surrounding areas, destroying cubic kilometers of the interior and killing thousands of Cacas.

The last four warheads were caught in the explosion and detonated themselves with hundreds of meters of the hull, adding their fury to the onslaught of the fort.

The deck actually threw males into the air as it rebounded.  The Great Admiral flew from his feet and hit the nearby console.  A sharp pain shot through his lower left arm, and he knew that the bone in the forearm had broken.

The command center was in the most shielded portion of the fort.  Not only was it the best protected by armor, with extra shielding in its sector, and even reinforced bulkheads.  It was also the best protected by inertial compensators, and even with that extra absorption of the shock the impact had been terrible.  As it was, almost half the bridge crew was put out of action.

Around the rest of the station it was much worse.  In the hangar areas, where three quarters of the station’s fighters were still in the process of being prepped and readied, the shock wave threw the hundred ton vessels around like they were made of hollow plastic.  Many flipped over, others were thrown against the wall.  Pilots were killed in their craft, or still making their way to the ladders leading to their cockpits.  Crew were thrown around all over the station, breaking limbs and skulls.  Liquid conduits broke and sprayed water and coolants over walls.

When the blast flare cleared, the station, though still superficially intact, was for all intents and purposes dead.  Most of its internal systems were gone, totally destroyed.  That which was repairable no longer had the healthy personnel to fix it.  And the battleships that were still hammering the station with beam weapons were not about to let it come back online.

*     *     *

Sevastopol shook from one last hit, a particle beam that ripped through some of her armor near her centerline.  The beam punched through the weakened outer armor and underlying structure, through part of the cooling system underneath, barely missing one of the side missile magazines by fifteen meters.  The powerful beam vaporized its way through the armored side of the amidships central capsule, one of the three areas of the ship holding the more heavily protected resources, including quarters, messing facilities and one of the medlabs.  Said medlab was directly in the path of the beam, which burned through the hull and incinerated twenty-six medical personnel and almost a hundred evacuated injured.  In a flash they were all gone.

Captain Vladimir Schmidt felt a bit of relief as the beam was off by the one hundred and forty meters it would have needed to hit the bridge, which would have killed him and his command crew.   Relief turned to anger as the path of the beam sank in.

“Captain,” called out the shaken Com Officer, who had also realized that they were alive by stupid luck.  “The Commodore is on the com.”

Schmidt nodded, and the face of the Commodore appeared on a side holo.  The bridge behind her had a beat up look, and he realized that Ekaterina might have been hurt even more than his own command.

“Schmidt.  Our plasma torpedoes are offline.  I want you and all the other ships to fire a spread of torpedoes at that fort, so we can move on and take care of further business.”

“Gladly, ma’am,” replied the Captain, motioning for the Helm Officer to align the ship for that action.  “Tactical Officer.  Prepare the plasma torpedoes for firing.”

“Yes, sir,” said that officer, turning to input the command into his board.

Like all older ships, meaning something that had been common up to a couple of years ago, Sevastopol carried two plasma torpedo tubes front and rear.  They were termed Finishers by crews, as they were normally only employed at very close range to finish off already badly damaged vessels.  Plasma was carried preheated in one of the reaction chambers, then shifted to the second one, where the temperature was raised to several million degrees.  On receiving the firing command, the containment capsule was ejected into the chamber behind the plasma and the whole mass, a ton of plasma plus the capsule, was fired through the acceleration tube.  The weapon lacked range because the following capsule could only project its magnetic containment field for a couple of minutes before burning out, and the plasma would cool rapidly as it was exposed to space.

It exited the ship at point zero zero six light, a mere eighteen hundred kilometers per second, taking three and a third seconds to splash into the target.  The two, one ton spheres of plasma hit the side of the fortress that was already heavily damaged from missile and particle beam strikes.  The torpedoes of three other ships join the assault seconds later, and eight tons of million degree plasma splashed into every opening of the hull it could find, making some new openings through parts that had been weakened but not completely torn through.  The plasma ravaged through the hull, burning into intact areas where living crew still sheltered, vaporizing machinery and Ca’cadasans, and thousands of their slaves, whose only crime was to be dragged along by their masters to this time and place.

Moments after the torpedoes hit the target area was mostly molten or vaporized alloy, while a good quarter of the previously intact interior of the fort was now gutted.

The battleships turned away, all but the most heavily damaged of them, which was left behind with the task of continuing to hammer the remains of the station until it was obvious that nothing could have survived.

*     *     *

Suttler clenched the arm of his chair as another battleship came through the gate attached to his own ship.  There were now fifteen battleships stationed between his gate ships and the enemy.  He was still waiting for the light cruisers and destroyers that were needed to deepen the defensive screen.  In the meantime The battleships were doing a good job of blocking the enemy force which was trying to get at the gates.  That enemy had to know it was a losing battle if they couldn’t stop those gates from discharging ships.

The gate attached to his ships discharged another vessel, this one of those cruisers he was waiting for.  Next through was scheduled to be an assault ship, not something he needed, but definitely the kind of support vessel the soldiers on the planet would soon need.

The volley of missiles, over a hundred and fifty of them, came screaming in at point three light.  That was still slow for missiles, but fast enough to present a challenge to the defenses of the guarding ships.  Counter missiles took out over half of them on far approach.  Lasers took out sixty more, before the fourteen remaining boosted past the battleships, looking for the target they had been programmed for.  Ten of them were destroyed by the close in weapons of the battleships that hit them with a crossfire.  Several of the ships hit their companions, though the fast firing weapons cause only minor damage to a heavily armored vessel.   The warheads detonated close enough to three of the battleships to cause significant hull scaring on the sections facing the explosions.

One of the missiles that had made it through the close in defensive fire was kicked over by the blast particles and went spinning out of control.  Three made it through intact, their sensors scanning for the targets they had been set to look for.  Two located the same target, while the third couldn’t find what it was looking for and instead locked onto the largest vessel in the area, an eight million ton assault ship.

The lone missile that homed in on the attack ship almost made it through untouched.  The assault ship, the Kharkov, picked up the missile at the last moment.  The ship was not equipped for ship to ship offensive operations, but the defensive suite was comparable to that of a heavy cruiser.  Short range lasers fired, while the missile juked and swerved, its jamming systems coming up to full power.  Close in weapons took over, sending a wave of explosive shells toward the missile.  One shell hit the missile body, shredding it, and the warhead followed suit.  The weapon detonated five kilometers off the bow of the ship, sending its blast of radiation into that part of the vessel.

The ship shuddered from the breech of its lightly armored hull, and one of the forward hangars blew open, throwing orbit to atmospheric craft out into space, destroying a quarter of the ship’s complement of support craft.  Kharkov limped on, trying to get into position to support the people on the surface while streaming atmosphere from multiple hull breaches.

The last two missiles came in on the same target, one of the stealth/attack ships with an attached gate.  The ship was almost helpless, unable to bring its own defensive weapons to bear due to the portal being in the way.  A battleship was in the process of transiting the gate, the fifteen million ton Queen Elizabeth III.  Half of the ship was through, but it was still in no position to defend itself or the gate.  Still, the forwardmost laser ring was able to get in a pair of shots.  One hit a missile square on the nose from a hundred kilometer range, detonating the missile at a distance from which the radiation load was minimal.  The second missile was hit by the stern, causing it to go into a tumble that caused it to detonate a kilometer from the gate.

The battleship would have handled that close a blast with little problem except for some surface damage.  The gate itself was much more fragile, and the frame couldn’t handle that heat.  Two hundred meters of the outer portion of one frame side boiled away into vapor, destroying the connection that kept the magnetic field operating that held the wormhole open.  The wormhole collapsed, shearing through the section of the ship that was still transiting the hole as if it didn’t exist.  The forward end of the ship separated from the hole and flew out into space at two kilometers a second.  One of the missile magazines had been cut in two, and a warhead breached containment a moment later, causing a gigaton class explosion that ripped through that part of the ship.  Thirty more warheads went off in sympathetic detonation, a brilliant flare that blinded every visual sensor for thousands of kilometers around.  The safety systems had engaged a microsecond before, sending more warheads out into space sealed in protective cases, their emergency com systems blaring for a pickup by a friendly ship.

The forward section of the Queen Elizabeth III disappeared in a cloud of fast expanding vapor, taking what was left of the gate portal framework and the stealth/attack ship Grampus with it.  Fortunately for that area of space, there were not many particles left above the size of a molecule, so all the other vessels in the area were able to weather the blast.

The stern fared no better, and it was much worse on the whole for the surrounding area than that of the front.  The wormhole pinch that severed the vessel in half cut through the front section of engineering, where the matter antimatter reactors were housed.  Two of the containment vessels were ruptured at the front end, releasing their antiprotons into the region.  The forty gigaton blast ripped the rear half of the battleship apart, and the other containment capsules ruptured in the blast, adding their antimatter to the fury, boosting the forty gigaton blast up to three hundred gigatons.  Warheads breached containment microseconds later, adding almost two hundred more gigatons to the small star that birthed in the middle of the gathered force that had been waiting for transit.

Later analysis would show how fortunate it was that the rear, antimatter rich section of the ship exploded in that system almost a thousand light years away.  If it had gone off thirty thousand kilometers from the inhabited planet, the radiation wave could have killed a hundred million of the humans on that world.  As it was, it caused heavy damage to dozens of the nearer vessels, moderate damage to scores more, and lighter hull scaring to hundreds of more.  Four thousand crew, beside the five thousand four hundred who had been aboard the battleship, died in the blast, while tens of thousands more were injured.

The worst of it was the destruction of the gate, which should have been allowing all of the ships in this gathering to transit into the battle zone.  Now they were separated from the battle area by a thousand light years, with no way to get there in any conceivable time frame that would be helpful to the ship fighting for their lives over New Moscow.

When the forward part of the ship detonated Seastag was sitting two hundred kilometers away.  Seastag was far enough from the blast zone that there was little in the way of physical effect, just a slight shake that lasted for less than a second.  She was hit by heat and radiation, and warning klaxons went off on the bridge.

“We’re losing magnetic containment on the gate,” called out the Assistant Engineer, his voice panicking.  “That radiation wave has disrupted the superconductors.”

“What can you do about it?” asked Suttler, hoping there was something, or the force would have lost half of their gates in minutes.

“I can get a crew out and route new superconductor cable through it.  It will take some time, but I think we can save the gate.”

“Odds of the gate collapsing before you fix it?” asked the Commodore as he watched a light cruiser come through the gate, one of the specialized missile defense ships they had been waiting for.

“I really can’t give you better than a good guess,” said the Assistant Engineer, who was in charge of this task while the Chief Engineer handled the engines that were providing power to the gate.  “But I would say eighty percent.”

“Get on it then,” said Suttler, looking over at the Com Officer.  “Get me the Admiral on the com.”

Moments later the face of Vice Admiral Patrice Ngumo, the flag officer in charge of this stage of the operation, appeared before him.  Suttler explained the situation and gave his recommendation.

“We’ll keep moving ships through that gate, Commodore,” agreed the Admiral, a worried look on her light brown face.  “I know it’s a risk, but it’s more of one to leave it idle while you fix it.”

“Very well, Admiral.  We’ll try to get it done as fast as we can.”

“We have missile launch, sir,” called out the Tactical Officer.  “Two thousand one hundred contacts.  Range, sixteen light minutes.  Acceleration eight thousand gravities.  ETA approximately two hours, twenty-one minutes.”

That was a huge mass of incoming missiles, but not insurmountable, especially if they got sufficient ships in place before they got there.  One thing in their favor was that the enemy fleet was still moving outbound, and the missiles had to overcome that velocity first before they could come inward, giving them a little more time.

“Second launch,” called out the Tactical Officer.  “Same density and acceleration.”

That was different, since the missiles could adjust velocity for a short period of time, so the entire wave came in as one.  And the ships were not the only target in their zone.  In that region of potential targets was the planet they were here to liberate, and all of the humans on that planet.  A couple of dozen misses that happened to hit the planet would render that world lifeless.  Some of those in armored suits would survive, but none of the unprotected humans had a chance.

“Third launch,” called out the Tactical Officer.  Twenty seconds later it got even worse as the Tactical Officer announced the fourth and final launch, and eighty-four hundred weapons were heading their way.

*     *     *

“Turn…..”  The static that was blotting out the signal from the Great Admiral blotted out the rest of that sentence.  “…fire.”

“Get a better signal,” ordered High Admiral Lisantr’nana to his Com Officer.  “I need to know what is going on.”

What he did know was going on was more enemy ships were appearing around the planet every moment.  He was picking up their graviton emissions, but could not tell where they were coming from.  He wasn’t sure what to do.  The enemy force, the larger force, was still ahead, and he was accelerating toward them.  He was planning on launching on them in another couple of hours, giving the other task groups in the system the time to coordinate their attacks.

“That is the best I can do, my Lord,” said the frightened Com Officer.  “There is too much static.  The enemy is generating jamming across all frequencies.”

“Fool,” screamed the High Admiral, storming over to the com station and smacking the officer in the head with a powerful lower arm.  “I need to know what the Great Admiral wants.”

The High Admiral stormed back to his command chair and threw his heavy body into it.  He sat there for a minute.  The Great Admiral should have sent a message through on grav wave, but no such communications had arrived.  And standard radio was being jammed beyond recognition.

“We will continue out toward the larger enemy force,” he finally ordered.  “It must be dealt with, and I mean to do just that.”

“What about the planet, my Lord?” asked the Tactical Officer in a soft voice, glancing over at the Com Officer, who was cradling his injured ear.

“Fire a couple of volleys their way, with missiles set on recognition target seeking.”  The High Admiral thought for a moment longer.  “Make it four.  I want to swamp that force with too many missiles for them to survive.”

“What about the station, my Lord?” asked the horrified Tactical Officer.  “What about the planet?”

“I doubt the station will be there by the time those volleys arrive,” said the High Admiral. “I couldn’t give a Gods damned for that planet.  Let it burn, and I’ll apologize to the Gods at a later date.”

Chapter Eighteen

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

Euripides.

PLANET NEW MOSCOW, MID MORNING, APRIL 8TH, 1002.

Walborski squatted with his men in place, just outside of the fighting position the engineers had dug, waiting for their next orders.  He looked up at the sky, wondering where their air support was.  Taking the perimeter of the camp was the easy part of the task.  Now they had to hold it, while simultaneously protecting and evacuating the civilians in the camp, while the Cacas were sure to throw other forces at them.

The first lines of refugees were coming out of the camp.  He looked back at the nearest line, two kilometers away, zooming in with his suit vision to see the poor scarecrows stumbling along, guided by some of the people from Second Company, keeping them on the path through the minefield, all of which should have been cleared, but there was no use taking chances.

It was six kilometers from the camp to the jungle covering the lower slope of the mountain range.  These people would be herded through that distance and into the caves that had been built for the troops, giving them some shelter as they were led through the wormhole.  It would take days to get everyone out of the camp and through the gates.  And that whole time the Cacas would be trying to stop them.

Of course, defending and protecting the refugees was only part of the plan, and Cornelius was kind of irked that he and his men had been assigned this duty.  Smashing the Cacas was the job of other units, mostly heavy infantry and armor.  Their job was to be hunters, not set in a fixed position, targets.

“Look at that, sir,” came the voice of the company First Sergeant over the com.

Cornelius turned to the direction of the cursor on his HUD and swore under his breath. There were several bright flares in the sky, with the look of explosions beyond the atmosphere.  Really big, powerful blasts that were still expanding as he watched.  Another expanded with light that would have damaged his optic nerves if he hadn’t the protection of his faceplate.

The Captain looked back at the line of refugees, sure that he was going to see something he really didn’t want to.  Sure enough, many of the civilians had stopped and were looking at those explosions.  Within moments there was yelling and screaming as civilians put their hands over their now blinded eyes.  The people guiding them tried to prevent any more of them from looking, to no avail, and soon the line was made up of mostly blind humans with no idea of their heading.

“Gonzalez,” he shouted out to his second platoon leader.  “Get your platoon back there and help to guide those stupid fuckers.”  Walborski chided himself for calling people names who did what just about any untrained human would do, look at the most noticeable thing around.

The LT took his suited men and flew toward the line, skimming low over the ground.  One of the men hit the sensor area of one of those mines that was not supposed to be there anymore.  The disc flew up into the air, to the waist height of the Ranger, throwing out its monomolecular wire snares on the end of a floating ball, while the disc spun, hitting the soldier with what were essentially sweeping blades.  An unarmored soldier or civilian would have been sliced in half, then sliced again as the disc spun in a swift circle.

The strands wrapped around the soldier, whose suit protected him from the cutting action, its armor tough enough to stand up to even the molecule wide cutting wire that had no real mass behind it, unlike a knife or sword blade.  Another soldier hit the disc with a blast of fast moving protons that blew it apart, and the Ranger who was wrapped up pulled out his own monomolecular knife and cut the strands that were wrapping him.  The rest of the platoon continued on, sweeping back and forth to trigger any mines that might still be hiding.  They landed next to the line of civilians and started to organize them, tying a nylon rope to the leading soldier from the other company, and linking other climbing ropes so they could lead the blind civilians.  Others, still sighted, were coming out of the camp and were being led around the unfortunates who had looked up and stared at the sky.

More bright points appeared in the sky, and Cornelius turned his attention back to that phenomenon.  Someone up there was pounding the hell out of someone else, or both the other, at energy levels that a grunt couldn’t even really comprehend.

The ground rumbled, and a mushroom cloud rose in the distance.  That was a force that the Ranger Captain could understand, since he had used such weapons in the past.  A second mushroom cloud rose at what his suit indicated was a little further away and about fifteen kilometers further north.

“Incoming,” yelled the voice of one of the men on outpost duty over the com.

His HUD showed the objects arcing through the air, and his suit comp quickly identified them as mortar rounds, coming from a launcher about twenty kilometers away.  The targeting indicated that the first line of civilians was what they were aiming at.

“Air defense net activated,” he yelled out over the com, watching as the suits assigned to that duty acknowledged and slaved their weapons to that net.  Those suits took over and aimed the particle beam rifles of their wearers at the objects as they flew in.  The beams came on at just the proper moment, a pair of beams crossing high in the air and intersecting on the rounds, which detonated with terrific force a thousand meters up.  The close sky filled with explosions, the defensive net working as planned.  But eventually a round would get through if the mortars kept firing.

“Tango A-1,” he said into his com.  “This is Ranger Charlie Actual.”  At the same time he sent the targeting information that was coming in over his suit comp to the contact.

“Ranger Charlie Actual.  This is Tango A-1.  I have received your coordinates.  Will engage the target with HE.”

One of the massive tanks that sat in hull down position, having dug itself in so that only the turret was sticking out, turned that turret until it was pointing toward the designated target.  With a loud hiss it sent the high explosive shell through the barrel of its accelerator cannon.  It travelled at nowhere near the velocity of the penetrators they had fired earlier, but then they didn’t need to.  It still took less than a second for the shell to arc over the horizon at a low angle, bursting its small antimatter charge directly over the target, the mortar unit that was trying to murder civilians.

There was a flash at the horizon as the twenty kiloton shell detonated, sending most of its energy into the ground.  It still raised a mushroom cloud that climbed high into the atmosphere.  The two tanks directly beside the leader fired their own guns, their shells bursting a kilometer to either side of the initial blast.  Making sure.

“We have movement,” called out one of the outposts, which was ten kilometers closer to that enemy than the defensive line.  “Estimate three hundred battle suited Cacas, along with twelve combat mechas.  Advancing at forty kilometers an hour.”

“Bug out and get back here as soon as we get you some cover,” he told the men.  Then got back on the circuit with the tanks.  “You got that, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir.  Firing.”

All five of the tanks fired, sending their shells into the long line of enemy identified on their battlefield tactical holos.  Two of the shells reached their target, detonating in twenty kiloton blasts that destroyed the suits, and their wearers, who were within two hundred meters of the blast.  Those out to five hundred meters sustained some damage to their suits, not enough to put them out of action for the most part, but enough to degrade their combat capabilities.  The other three were taken out by the defense net of the enemy, exploding well before they reached their targets. The closest was only ten kilometers from the Imperial line, and the blast wave washed over the men in their fighting positions.

“We can’t afford to have those shells detonate so close,” shouted Cornelius over the com, looking back to see the line of civilians laying on the ground as the hot wind of the blast wave kicked up dust around them.  He didn’t think any had been injured, but a closer blast would have resulted in many wounded, as well as some killed.

The Cacas came into line of sight of the Rangers, whose suits allowed them to see through the swirling dust that now encompassed the battlefield.  The Cacas had their own suits to full stealth, shimmering behind invisibility fields that were partially disrupted by the dust hanging in the air, projecting holos of suits around them, even deploying decoys that mimicked the heat signature of their armor.  The suits of the Rangers were doing the same, as were the tanks with them, while portable electromagnetic field generators erected an augmented field around them.

“First platoon, fire at will,” commanded Cornelius over the com.

Forty-three Rangers opened fire at the same moment, particle beam rifles, heavy beamers, grenade launchers in the hands of the rangers.  The Cacas fired back, their suits running along the ground at a hundred kilometers an hour, dodging from side to side.  The mecha ran with them, keeping up easily.  They were hard to hit, and the particle beams that could convert half an unprotected sentient to steam and ash were only effective against the medium suits of the Rangers with either a sustained contact or multiple contacts of individual beams.  The Cacas were wearing their equivalent of heavy suits, slightly tougher than the ones the Rangers were wearing.

Angry red beams cut through the dust, crossing at places.  The Rangers were entrenched in fighting positions the engineers had dug with their heavy suits.  Most held their weapons above the berms, tracking their targets by the HUD on their faceplates.

Beams returned from the Cacas, striking berms, flaring into wider beams as they hit electromagnetic fields and were slightly attenuated.  One Ranger screamed out as a beam struck one of his gauntlets, vaporizing some of the armor and superficially burning the hand underneath.  Mecha fired with their more powerful beams, high velocity autocannon joining in.

Now the Rangers had real targets, their targeting systems tracing beams back to suits and highlighting them through the static of jamming and the other spoofing systems.  The tanks were able to locate the mecha, locking them in.  The targeting information came in through Cornelius’ suit.  He waited a moment while the targeting information firmed up, letting the Cacas get closer as he assigned assets and set up his fire plan.

“All units, open fire,” he yelled into the com, raising his own rifle over the berm and letting his suit comp assign it a target.

Beams struck out, multiples crossing through the center areas of a score of suits, rupturing the armor, burning through to vaporize the Caca underneath.  The tanks all fired on the command, sending hyper velocity penetrators through five of the mecha, blasting apart their operator section, spraying molten alloy and gore out the rear.  Each tank also fired their twin mounted heavy proton cannon.  The tanks swept the oncoming Cacas with these heavy beams, each ten times more powerful than the heavy beamers used by the squad heavy support troopers.  Where one of those beams hit a portion of the suit the armor converted to vapor, along with the being underneath.

Grenades exploded over advancing Cacas, while mortars fell from the sky, launched from the tanks.  The exchange of fire went on for a minute, the Rangers under cover, the Cacas out in the open, some squatting to make of themselves less conspicuous targets, some falling to their stomachs into a prone position.  The Cacas got the worst of it, losing over a hundred troopers during the exchange, while the Rangers lost nine.  All twelve of the mecha were taken out by the fast firing tanks.  Several had gotten hits to two of the tanks with their own particle beams, with the result of burning shallow craters into the tough armor.  The heavier combat vehicles had won their part of the battle with ease, and the tanks concentrated on the enemy infantry.

Something exploded up in space, a blast that made the ones that came before look like fireworks.  The Rangers looked up as the firing slackened for a moment, the men wondering whether that explosion presaged a victory or defeat in space.  The Cacas looked up too, and it must have been enough to cause most of them to break.  In seconds they were on their feet, some pausing to fire before they took off, others just running as fast as their mechanical legs would take them.

“Sustain fire,” ordered Cornelius, rising up in his position and aiming for the back of a Caca.  They were again obscured by their stealth systems.  The rest of the Rangers joined in, firing away, mostly missing, but still getting some hits.  Walborski smiled in satisfaction as one of his shots connected with a Caca and held, burning through the armor and blasting the body forward as some of it converted to steam and blasted out of the hole like a rocket.

“Got the bastard,” said the officer under his breath.  He truly hated the Cacas, and would never turn down a chance to kill one.  Because every one of the bastards he killed was one he didn’t have to take care of later.

The hypervelocity missile seemed to come out of nowhere, moving too fast for the degraded sensor systems to pick up in time for any kind of defensive reaction.  It slammed into the turret of the tank furthest south, hitting right where the main gun joined the body of that turret.  It burst through the armor, killing the tank commander in his compartment and rocking the tank back with the imparted force.  Each tank had three separate armored compartments, making the crew as a whole very hard to kill.  The commander and gunner were in one compartment at the front of the turret, the assistant commander and tactical tech in one to the rear, while the driver and sensor tech were in yet another at the front of the tank hull.  The round, from a vehicle mount, came through the forward part of the turret armor and blasted a jet of molten alloy straight through the light combat suit of the commander.  The molten metal bounced around the compartment, destroying electronics, injuring the other tanker in the compartment.

Cornelius looked over his casualty figures with a sinking heart.  He had lost ten killed, including the tank commander, and had less than twenty injured, most superficially.  More important than the injured were the damaged suits.  They had caused over a hundred Ca’cadasan dead, as well as the twelve knocked out mecha.  But each of his people, with the exception of the tank commander, had been someone he knew, someone he trained with.  Even the tank commander had been on the same side, a Malticon who served the Empire at the cost of her life.

“We have eight objects incoming,” called out the tank platoon leader.  “Aircraft, coming from the southeast at one point four kilometers a second.  Altitude, five thousand meters.”

Cornelius looked at the objects on his HUD, eight aircraft coming up on the camp from a range of forty kilometers.  Those icons blurred for a moment as their own jamming fought the sensors that were trying to lock them in.  In fact, the entire atmosphere was filled with jamming from both sides, obfuscating the returns on the thousands of sensor platforms that were searching the surface and the sky.

Box launchers rose on all of the tanks.  The aircraft were now at thirty kilometers.  The box launchers rotated, spitting out a pair of hypervelocity missiles each.  The missiles streaked off at over a thousand kilometers a second, aiming at the spot where the fighters were calculated to be a microsecond after launch.

The missiles were impossible to avoid, if they were on target.  They were also impossible to adjust onto the target, unable to turn due to their high velocity in anything near the turning radius of the highly maneuverable fighters.  The fighters were too close for their own target acquisition and defensive systems to engage, but for the most part they were not needed.  Ten missiles flew up through their formation.  Two struck targets, and the fighters dissolved into expanding clouds of plasma.  Eight were clean misses.  The six fighters continued to speed in, as the tanks lowered their box launchers.

“Why have you ceased fire?” asked Walborski in frustration as the fighters flew overhead and into the airspace of the camp.  Their grabber propulsion made no sound, though the roar of the aircraft rushing at eight times the speed of sound followed behind them.

“That was a quarter of our AA missiles,” replied the Malticon platoon leader.  “We may need those for later.  And the suits in the camp will now engage them.”

Even as he spoke missiles rose from the camp, fired from the heavy suits of the weapons company scattered throughout the huge facility.  These were slower moving weapons, capable of tracking onto their targets, but also vulnerable to the laser systems of the aircraft.  At least ten missiles exploded in midair as the lasers of the aircraft took them out.  Three of the aircraft followed suit, hit by the missiles, or the shrapnel from proximity kills.

Objects dropped from the aircraft, headed for the camp.  Particle beams took out half of the objects, blasting them out of the sky.  But three hit, probably fifteen kilometers inside the camp, and balls of fire rose into the sky.  The com net came alive with panicked calls, soldiers calling for medical help for the thousands of civilians who now writhed in pain on the ground from the horrible burns they had received, while ten thousand or more dead piled on the ground.

Where’s our air support? thought the Captain as he watched his HUD for other incoming air vehicles.  They were supposed to already be in the air, contesting the sky with the Cacas.

“Incoming missiles,” called out someone on the com net, and the icons of a trio of weapons, streaking in at fifty thousand kilometers an hour, up high at a range of two hundred kilometers, showed up on the tac net.  And Cornelius was sure these would be carrying something much more deadly than conventional firebombs.

*     *     *

“Get those people moving,” said the tense voice over the com net.

Captain Stella Artois sent her acknowledgement back over the net to the Ranger regimental combat team commander, along with every other officer on the net.  She looked over at the nearest hole leading down to the artificial caverns below.  People were disappearing down the hole, stepping over the opening and then floating downward.  Five or six at a time could go down to the relative safety of the caverns.  Relative, in that the ten meters of earth over the cavern was just that, soft earth, held in place by a thin layer of nanogel that had hardened to a carbon fiber reinforced plasticrete.  That was fine for keeping the caverns from collapsing.  It would not do much against bombs or missiles coming down from above.

Artois linked into the suit of one of the medical people who was standing by the wormhole.  They were moving people through as fast as possible, six or seven at a time.  That cavern was full of people trying to push forward and get to the safety of another planet in a different star system.  The refugees were shuffling forward, trying to get from a mass thirty people in width to that of the narrow gate.  And the caverns leading in were also packed, with a traffic jam to rival that of an old Earth rush hour.

What the hell can we do? thought the Captain.  She thought about recalling her first and second platoons, which were on their way to the east and west sides of the camp to build fighting positions for the Rangers.  And if we can’t get these people out of here, it’s all a waste.

The Captain sent in a com request to the Brigadier in charge of the other end of this evacuation, then sent a conference request to the Ranger commander on site.

“What’s going on, Captain?” asked the Brigadier.

“We need to stop the evacuation through the gate in the center of the camp, so we can expand it to accommodate more people.”  She sent her own figures and calculations through the com.  “As you can see, we would not be able to evacuate several hundred people while we do the expansion, but we will increase the evacuation rate by four or five thousand an hour.”

“Do  have the means to expand the gate?” asked the Ranger commander.

“Oh yes,” said the Brigadier.  “We’ll need to get more frame structure in place.  That will be your job on that end, Captain.”

“Yes, sir.  And there’s another bottleneck we need to take care of, but I can have some of my people handle that.”  She explained how the entrance leading into the gate cavern was also a bottleneck, or would become one when the gate had been expanded.  The gate room would empty quickly, and not refill quickly enough.

“Go ahead and get that done,” said the Brigadier.

“But keep your focus on the fighting positions my men need,” said the Colonel.  “If the enemy breaks through, it doesn’t really matter how many we can evacuate per hour.”

“What about moving the gate from the caverns under the mountain to the open area outside the camp,” suggested Artois while she still had the two senior officers on the com.  “We could expand it as well, and get more civilians out per hour at that point too.”

“I don’t think so,” replied the Colonel, who had operational control at this point.  “Bringing the gate out in the open just makes it a potential target.  We’ll keep it where it is for now, and pack the refugees into the caverns prior to evac.”

“Yes, sir,” said Artois.  A large flash caught her attention, and she looked up to see an enormous blast out beyond the atmosphere.  Her suit visual system stepped it down twenty fold, and it was still painful to look at.  Which meant to people with no protection?

“Do not look at that light,” she yelled over her suit speakers, slaving the speakers of very suit in the camp to her com with an override.  “Close your eyes, and do not look at the light.”

Of course, for a good number of the camp inhabitants it was too late, and some looked anyway, curiosity getting the better of them.  Now they had the added problem of blindness in hundreds of thousands of people to deal with.  Their blindness could of course be cured with nanotech, but not at the moment.

The heavy suit floating near her position pivoted in the air, the launcher on his back rising into position, then firing a small missile into the air.  All of the nearby suits, out to a couple of kilometers, fired as well.  Six aircraft streaked overhead, a tremendous roar following them.  Missiles exploded in the air, hit by the lasers of the planes.  Some of those beams touched into the camp and more civilians were killed.  Three of the aircraft exploded in the air, their burning hulks turning in curving paths that would take them to landfall outside the camp.  Objects fell from the remaining three aircraft before they flew out of the camp and into the distance.

The six bombs fell, three exploding at a thousand meters above the camp as particle beams struck them.  The other beams were clean misses, and the bombs fell to the ground to explode into waves of flame that spread in a circle around each weapon, enough to cause thousands of casualties.  And now they had another problem, and not enough medical personnel to handle them.

*     *     *

The Lt. General stood in a hasty fighting position dug by the engineers, forty kilometers from his command post.  Baggett had moved to observe the attack of a combat team of the First Brigade of the 47th Heavy Infantry Division.  Normally he would have just observed through a link with the brigade, but the static, both from dedicated jamming and the roiling of the atmosphere from the high altitude bursts of nuclear and antimatter weapons, made that problematic.

The fortress they were attacking was within eight kilometers of one of the camps, much too close to use heavy weapons on.  The enemy had no such constraints, and the fortress had to be pressured quickly before it could start firing its own heavy weapons into that camp.  Which meant they had to eliminate it as soon as possible.

“We could definitely use some air support for the assault,” said the Lt. Colonel in charge of the combat team.

“I know you could, Colonel.  And as soon as we have it, I’ll allot some to you.  But until then, we have to take that fort in order the neutralize it.”  Before it thinks of lobbing mortars and missiles into the camp.

“We’re kicking off in one minute,” the Team Commander told his Corps Commander.

Baggett grunted as he looked across the five kilometers they would have to cover to get into the fortress.   His men were heavily armed, heavily armored, but the Cacas were in reinforced bunkers sheltering under strong electromagnetic fields, with heavy weapons of their own.  The bodies of a couple of the scouts, their suits cracked open by particle beam and high velocity weapons, lay on that open area.  He looked over the bunkers that held the perimeter of the fortress.  There were sixteen of them on this flank.  His HUD tagged them with what they knew about them.  Those bunkers contained over twenty heavy particle beam weapons, nine high velocity guns, plus the rifles from any number of troops.

Mortars and artillery were set in the central portion of the fortress, the keep, and could range any spot around the perimeter for up to a hundred kilometers.  Those were the weapons most concerning where the safety of the refugees was concerned.  At the moment they were firing sporadic volleys as the Imperial Army lines.  Almost all of those shells were destroyed by laser defenses before they could hit their targets.  It was obvious that the enemy wasn’t firing at their best rate of fire.  That would come, of that Baggett was sure.

To take the fort the Team Commander had his own organic battalion, four companies of heavy infantry and a heavy weapons company, as well an engineer company and two companies of tanks.  It seemed like enough force for the job, but it remained to be seen if it really was.  While a small fight in the overall battle for this planet, and the war as a whole, they would learn important lessons from this confrontation.

“Now,” yelled the Lt. Colonel into the com, and his heavy weapons company, as well as a battery of artillery to the rear, fired a couple of ranging rounds, then went into rapid fire.  Scores of shells burst over the fort, most taken out by the laser domes in the interior of the facility.  A few hit, causing some superficial structural damage.  The mortars were firing a round a second, going through their thirty round magazines in half a minute, putting six hundred rounds on the fort in that time.  The larger artillery tubes, firing armor piercing guided munitions, shot a round every two seconds, with three minutes of sustained fire per gun before they had to reload.

The fortress was obscured by the explosions and the smoke they generated.  About half the rounds were landing in front of the bunkers, throwing up earth and helping to obscure their line of sight.  Two seconds after the barrage started the tanks and infantry came over the low rise and started toward the fortress.  The tanks floated a quarter of a meter above the ground, infantrymen and engineers dispersed among the twenty-eight heavy vehicles.  All had their full stealth packages activated, their electromagnetic fields bending light and making them essentially invisible, while holographic projectors created the images of many more blurry suits and tanks.  Small robots floated along with them, radiating heat to create more decoys.

The enemy opened fire, mostly shooting at decoys, but, due to the laws of averages, hitting some real targets as well.  The enemy artillery now opened fire at its fastest rate, raining hundreds of shells down on the advancing human forces.  Suits were knocked back by weapons fire, or blown upward by artillery.  In the first minute the casualties started to mount.  Sixty-five suits put out of action, one tank, which seemed to be an artillery magnetic, dropping to the ground and stopping.

The human force returned fire into an enemy position using much the same deception technology as they were.  But they had the positions tagged on their systems, and could look by the decoys to the real targets.  Rifle and heavy beam fire was mostly ineffective, unless it hit a firing port, which was mostly a matter of luck.  The area between the forces was filled with the buzzing beams of protons, and the shining lasers made visible by the heavy dust in the air.  It looked like hell on earth, with the combatants both trying their best to kill each other and to avoid their own deaths.  Here and there an eye hurting flare showed where the crystal matrix battery pack of a suit had popped under a hit to that portion of the battle armor.  Those were sure death, since the suits used level three batteries, those with the second to most powerful charge of that type of power unit, and also almost as unstable as four.

A tank fired, its high velocity gun sending a penetrator into a bunker.  The supermetal penetrator burst through the wall of the bunker, killing those directly in its path and destroying the heavy beam weapon that had occupied that compartment. The other tanks opened fire as well, blasting holes in bunkers with about half the hits.  The heavy guns of the fort returned fire, putting one round through the driver’s compartment of one tank, blasting into the turret of another that blew the hatches open with its fury, killing the crew in both of the upper compartments.

By the time the assault had gotten to within five hundred meters of the fortress perimeter the force had lost three hundred suits and nine tanks.  Historically, that would have been the breaking point for many assaults, but these men and women were professionals who realized that to retreat now would be to waste the lives they had already lost.  They continued forward, the tanks continuing to fire at point blank range into the bunkers, engineers now bringing their own weapons into play, plasma projectors that would send superhot gases through firing port, hypervelocity rockets, heavy grenade launchers.

Baggett watched the assault, wincing at every casualty, wanting to cheer as each bunker was neutralized.  The infantry and engineers swarmed over the bunkers, over half of them continuing into the fort to assault the artillery and air defense domes, to battle it out with Caca infantry who fought from positions, or for those who had been chased from the bunkers, out into the open where they were quickly eliminated.  The engineers used explosives to break into the still resisting bunkers, and plasma weapons and particle beams eliminated the Cacas still manning them.

Baggett tapped into the feed from one of the engineers.  There was a crack on the side of the bunker made from weapons fire, and one engineer slapped an explosive device over that crevice.  The device bonded immediately to the surface of the bunker, and everyone backed off to about thirty meters.  “Fire in the hole,” yelled the engineer and the device detonated in a brilliant flash.  It was a shape charge, its temporary magnetic field forcing the jet of plasma into the target area, blasting a meter wide hole in the armored bunker.

The second engineer of the team ran up to that hole, taking advantage of the shock value of the explosion, aiming the nozzle of his portable plasma cannon into the openning and firing a two second blast into the interior of the bunker.  The plasma, burning at a hundred thousand degrees, flew through the hole and expanded into that chamber of the bunker.  The short screams of the Cacas within came through the com channel.  It was a painful death, but mercifully short.  An infantryman followed with a concussion grenade, which exploded as soon as it hit the heat of the plasma.

The other bunkers were dealt with in much the same manner, those that still had Cacas within them.  The engineers were moving to take care of the other lines of bunkers from the rear when the Cacas, realizing that they were about to be trapped and only possessing a few firing ports to the back of each position, came charging out of their coffins.  The Imperial infantry reacted almost immediately, laying down fire on those exits, multiple beams striking each Caca and burning through their suits.  Partial bodies in suits fell in those doorways and blocked them.  The Cacas still inside had to push them out of the way, giving the infantry even more time to push beams of fast moving protons into those enemy soldiers.  They were joined by the fire of plasma cannon in the hands of the engineers, and most of the Cacas died before they could get out of their bunkers.

Some did get out, while others came up from underground bunkers where they had sheltered as a reaction force.  The battle devolved into close combat, suited soldiers on both sides blasting at each other at point blank range.  A human shot a Caca from five meters, the particle beam blasting through the armor, superheated steam rushing out of the breach.  A Caca put a particle beam pistol against the stomach of a human, blowing a hole through the soldier’s abdomen.

Watching the take from individual troopers, Baggett found him quivering in his own suit, his mind flying back to the close in fights he had engaged in as a junior officer.  Against the Lasharans, the Cacas, even as a general officer against the Fenri.  This time he was an observer, something that made him feel a duplicity of emotions.  Guilt that he was not sharing the battle with the troops, but was an observer in relative safety.  And relief for the same reason.

In places the fight turned into true hand to hand, the larger Cacas attempting to use their larger size and greater organic strength against the humans.  The human suits were stronger, though, and the humans faster.  A few Cacas won their individual battles, at least the first one, before they were swarmed under by the humans.

“We’re in,” yelled out one of the platoon leaders who had made it into the central control bunker of the fort.  “We’re in.”  The voice of the officer was weak with fatigue, and Baggett knew this unit would have to be stood down for a rest.

Shit, he thought as he looked over the final casualty figures.  The infantry and engineers had lost over half their numbers killed.  Most of the rest had sustained some physical injuries and suit damage.  The armored companies had lost eight tanks destroyed, with another seven damaged, well over half their force, with almost a quarter of their crew dead.  The Cacas had lost over three hundred soldiers, almost everyone that had manned the fort.  Only a handful had been captured.  The General looked up to the sky, wondering what the result would have been if they would have had air support.

The conclusion he came to was that fortifications like this would be death traps for the attacking force.  The only way to take them out was from space, and those assets weren’t available at this time.  And any that happened to be close to the refugee or prisoner camps would have to be paid for the old fashioned way.  In blood.

*     *     *

“Why are you here?” asked the armored Caca guard to the leader of the six beings who stood in the hallway.  The creatures, Maurids, were on all fours with the exception of their leader.  All wore nothing but the utility harnesses they normally used to carry the tools they might need.  Maurids had bodies covered with a tough fur that was almost wirelike in its consistency, and would only wear specialized clothing when needed.

“The General called us here,” said the spokesman of the Maurids, standing on his hind legs to his full two meter height.  His rear hand/feet were in the closed configuration of his kind when used for fast locomotion, just as all of the hand/feet of his compatriots were.  His forward hand/feet were opened for use as manipulation units, and he gestured with them as he spoke.

“The General is not here,” said the guard, looking off in the distance for a moment in the manner of a male going into com link.  “He is not even on this base.”

“Then we will wait for him,” said the leader, an orange striped male who was the largest of the group.  “He wanted to discuss a mission with us.”

“And what is this mission?” asked the guard.  “And how did you get in here in the first place?  We are in a lock down situation.”

The Leader looked back at his compatriots, three males and two females, all experienced scouts who had worked all their lives for the Cacas.  But we were told to wait on the humans to come, and to aid them however we might.  Even at the cost of our lives.  “All I know is that I received orders over my com link to come here, and that the General would meet us when he could.  As far as the mission, that is secret, Soldier, and not one we can disclose to such as you.”

The guard showed his teeth in anger at that last and glared at the Maurid.  All Cacas thought they were all superior to every other member of every other intelligent species.  So even this slow witted male thought he was better, smarter than any other creature they might interact with.  Which was a serious weakness that most of the Cacas disregarded.  Casas, thought the Leader with a tooth showing smile.  He understood the term as it was translated into one of the human languages, and he thought in the use of that one little term the humans showed their genius.

“We have no orders for you.  I cannot let you through.”

“We are willing to wait,” he told the male, standing as if daring the male to ask him to leave.

“I am not able to contact the General or his staff to ask him what to do,” said the male, a look of confusion on his face.

And that is what we are counting on, thought the Leader.  They had checked the com channels before they came up with this spur of the moment plan.  And had hoped that the guards of this com center would not have priority contact with the leadership.

“You can wait over there, away from this entrance,” said the guard, pointing toward a small chamber down the hall.

And not where we want to wait, thought the Leader.  He nodded at his other people, his own muscles tensing., starting to turn, his eyes still locked on the Caca.  The Caca was wearing some armor, but not the powered variety, and only providing minimal coverage to his torso and upper arms.

The Leader flew into his turn, moving with the fluid speed of his kind.  His off hand opened to full extension, his razor claws rotating out from their sheaths.  Before the guard could react the Maurid had completed the almost three hundred and sixty degree spin, his four finger claws slicing through the fur and skin and muscle into the large artery in the side of the Ca’cadasan’s neck, continuing on into the windpipe.  The guard tried to react, but lacking the nerve conduction speed of the Maurids he could not even get his mouth open for a shout before his lungs were no longer capable of providing air to his vocal cords.

Two other Maurids dove forward, grabbing the lower arms of the male in their iron grip, while the Leader grabbed the wrists of the upper arms.  The three lowered the big male to the floor, keeping him from triggering any alarm, hoping anxiously that the Caca hadn’t sent a link alarm through his implant.  If he did, their mission might be over before it began.

The Maurids, looked around, sniffing the air, waiting for the alarm.  When it didn’t come the leader gestured toward the door and one of the females moved quickly to it.  She pulled a device from one of her pouches and placed it over the mechanism that controlled the door lock.  The device went to work on its own, imputing the code they had programmed into it, then verifying the identity of a Caca authorized to enter the room.  The Leader grabbed the particle beam pistol from the dead guard, while another male took his magrail rifle.

The door slid open and the Maurids charged in at full speed, their heads turning swiftly in all directions to take in the room.  The com panels were across the thirty meters of the room, manned by a half dozen Cacas who were trying to keep communications flowing through all the static and jamming that was crowding the airwaves.  There were two armed guards against the wall, both turning with open mouths as they fumbled with their weapons.

The Leader aimed and fired his pistol at the guard to the right, the red beam intersecting the head of the Caca perfectly through its center.  That head exploded it a blast of heated tissue and bone, propelled by the superheated steam that the beam had produced.  The male with the magrail rifle fired a burst on full auto that caught the Caca in the arm and continued into his chest, then swung the weapon upward into his head.

The four Maurids who were not armed with anything but their natural weapons took off across the floor, running like great cats, rear legs coming up and pushing off as the front limbs reached forward.  In less than two seconds they were landing on four of the Cacas, biting down with their strong jaws as they slashed with their claws.  The two they hadn’t hit struggled with their weapons, one pulled out a monomolecular knife and sliced through the spine of one of the attackers.  That Maurid fell off his bleeding victim, his rear legs no longer functional, gouts of blood pumping from severed arteries.

The Leader lined up the head of that Caca with his pistol, anxious that he might hit the equipment behind the male.  He squeezed the trigger for just a second, killing the Caca, then turned his weapon on the last remaining male as that one backed away, confusion and fear on his face.  A second shot and that male was no longer a problem.

“Get those bodies out of those chairs,” the Maurid Leader told his people, walking over to the male who had been critically injured.  He looked down at the male, whose eyes were already glazing over.

“You will be remembered when our people are free,” he told the male, kneeling and taking one of the male’s forward hands.

The male gave a weak nod, and then blew out his last breath.  The Leader lowered his head and said a prayer for the passing of a warrior of his people.  “Let’s get some confusion spread,” he said to his followers, throwing himself into a seat and starting to work on the com panel.

Two of his followers did the same, while a pair now equipped with particle beams moved to the door, one going out to set up an ambush while the other watched the entrance.  The Maurid Leader slid a chip into one of the slots on the board he was sitting at.  It took a few moments for the program on the chip to interface with the communications system, establishing an avatar that would appear to be a fully screened and cleared Ca’cadasan.

The atmosphere was filled with static, both purposefully generated and that made by all of the radiation producing explosions that had been going off for the past half an hour.  The center linked to all the Ca’cadasan commands through radio, of course, but also had a backup system that used a superconducting cable system that ran deep under the ground to at least the major command and control bases.

“I have new orders for you from the General,” said the Maurid Leader to the officer, a Brigade Leader, who appeared on the holo over his board.

“We were just about to start shelling the three nearest camps to us,” said that harried looking officer.

“You are not to shell those civilians,” said the avatar over the com.  “We have other plans for them.  You are instead to concentrate on attacking the military forces of the enemy.”  And hopefully they will wipe your sorry asses out.

The Brigade Leader looked confused for a short time, and the Maurid Leader worried for a moment that the Ca’cadasan might demand to speak with the General himself.  The program was set up to provide that avatar as well, but it was running a risk that a senior officer that knew the General might be able to catch the simulacrum in a lie.

“Very well, my Lord,” said the Brigade Leader, a frown on his face.  “We will attack the human infantry nearest to us.  I hope this will add to whatever plan you have for our victory.”

The holo died, and the Leader switched to the next headquarters on his list, hoping he could play this game long enough.  The Leader did not expect to be able to hold this center long.  He was sure that none of his people would get out if this alive.  He hoped it was worth the sacrifice, and that the humans were the saviors the Maurid people had been waiting for.

*     *     *

Said General was raging at the Com Tech at the base he had been touring when the attack came.  Moments after the attack the com net dissolved into a mass of static.  After that contact had become sporadic at best.

“We should be able to get through to the com center, my Lord,” said the apologetic Cam Tech, grimacing with embarrassment.  “There’s too much jamming to get through a strong com signal, but the cables are still intact.  Wait.”

A holo screen showed the face of a Caca male, the text below stating that it was a com tech at the communications center.  The General didn’t recognize the male, which in and of itself was not remarkable, as there were a lot of males on the planet.

“My Lord,” said the voice of the male, who obviously seemed to recognize him, which was not surprising given the rank marking on his horns.

“This is General Jawa'therista,” growled the planetary commander.  “What by all the hells is going on?”

“We are having problems with the communications net, my Lord,” said the male on the holo.

“And are you having problems with the cable network?” asked the General, his eyes narrowing.

“No, my Lord.  The cable network is still up, of course.”

“Then I want you to connect me to all the base commanders on that network.  I will take their holos in the conference room.”

“We are unable to fulfill that request at this time, my Lord,” said the Com Tech.

“Then get me the commanders of each base, one by one.  I will talk to each of them in sequence.”

“I cannot fulfill that request at this time, my Lord.”

“What the hells is going on there?  I demand that you put me through to my commanders.  I can’t get through to the Great Admiral at the moment.  I must talk to my commanders.”

The holo went blurry with static for a moment, what should have been an impossibility for the underground cable system.  It firmed up for a second, then went completely blank.

“Something is going on there,” growled the General, turning to the Brigade Commander who stood beside him in the room.  “I need to get there.”

“I beg my Lord to not leave the base,” said the Brigade Commander.  “It’s too dangerous out there.  Let us send an air scout force to the base and see what’s happening with the com center.”

The General stared at the other male for a moment, wondering if the male was showing good sense, or cowardice.  This base was well protected, under a mountain, but the Brigade Leader was also cut off from most of the shore batteries that this center commander.

“I want three aircraft,” he told the Brigade Leader.  “A transport for myself, and two fighter aircraft.  And I want them now.”

“Yes, my Lord,” said the lower ranking male, bowing.

The General stood there and stared at the tactical holo in the room while the other male saw to getting the transport and escorts.  The shore batteries, garrisons, fortresses and camps were all indicated, still in the green of friendly forces.  He didn’t know how true those dispositions were.  He knew many of the camps had been taken, and wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that all of them were now in the hands of the humans.  Some of the human forces were also marked on that globe, though he wasn’t sure of those either.  It was not the manner in which he would wish to run planetary battle, but it was what he had.

“Your transport will be waiting in five minutes,” said the Brigade Leader, coming up to the General.  “I wish you would reconsider, my Lord.”

The General waved that protest away with the wave of his hands.  He would get to the place where he could exercise command, and he would have the heads of the obstructionist incompetents who could not put him in touch with his other commanders.  He looked forward to that last.

*     *     *

“We have liberated all of the camps, your Majesty,” said Senior Marshal Beatrice Sanginawa, the commander of the Imperial Army in Sector IV, and the overall ground force commander of the operation in New Moscow space.

“And how are we doing with the evacuation?” asked Sean, sitting in his chair in the Hexagon conference room where all the principals involved in the operation were seated, at least holographically.

“We’re starting on it,” said the Senior Marshal, a troubled look on her face.  “It may take a little longer than we predicted.”

“How much longer?”  The initial plan had called for three days to get everyone off the planet.  Eventually, many of them would be coming back, if things worked as planned.

“Five days to a week,” she said, looking down at the table.  “There were, complications we didn’t foresee.  There were more survivors than we thought going in, and the estimates of getting them through the gates were, well, too optimistic.”

Sean looked over at the tactical holo that showed the overall area of operations.  The Republic had taken their objective, with a seventy some percent success rate.  They had lost some civilians on every one of the planets they had taken.  And they had lost one planet entirely, over thirty million civilians.

The Emperor didn’t like those numbers from his allies operation.  But he realized that things happened, and that the Republic had done the best they could.  He couldn’t blame them for a fail, when they had saved almost a hundred million people.  Some of his other operations hadn’t gone off as well either, and his forces had also lost a planet, along with thirty million, while saving another ninety million.  But they had over seven hundred and sixty million humans on New Moscow, three and a half times the number of people they had saved on the other worlds combined.  This was the nation of New Moscow, the heart and soul, a seed that could grow a new kingdom.

“What do you plan to do about it?” he asked the Army commander, pinning her holographic image with a stare.

“We have people working on the problem,” she told him, returning the gaze.  “We still have to fight a battle on the planetary surface, and the Fleet,” the woman’s eyes glanced over at Sondra McCullom, who was actually in the room at the Hexagon, “through no fault of theirs,” she said hurriedly, “is not able to provide us with the support and logistics we need.  So we’re going to have to work out the means of getting what we need to the surface of the planet ourselves.  Which means we are going to have to use the wormholes.”

“And if you don’t get the support you need?”

“Then, your Majesty, we will be forced to continue fighting the Cacas all through the evacuation, and I can almost guarantee we will lose a hundred million or more of the refugees.”

“And that is unacceptable,” said Sean, looking back at the holo.  “A million is not acceptable, but I know we will lose more than that.  A hundred million,” he shook his head.  “No way will I allow that to happen.”

The Senior Marshal looked away, unable to meet the eyes of her ruler.  Sean felt bad for the woman, and he would make it up to her, someday.  But at the moment he needed her on the hot seat, using her brain to come up with a solution.

“What can the Fleet do about it, Sondra?”

“We are already doing everything we can, your Majesty,” said the Chief of Naval Operations.  “We were not expecting to lose a gate so early in the operation.”

“But you can get more logistical support and reinforcements to the ground forces?” he asked.  When she didn’t answer immediately he knew she didn’t want to say what she knew he wouldn’t like, even though he had proven in the past he was not a shoot the messenger type of ruler.  “Look, I can’t blame you for something like losing a gate to enemy fire.  I wish you had added some more redundancy into the equation, but there’s nothing we can do about it at the moment.  So, what’s the solution?  What about bringing the logistics support in through the gates that are riding along with the invasion force moving insystem?”

“We could do that, your Majesty,” said McCullom, shaking her head.  “But it will still take over twenty-eight hours to get any of those ships into orbit, and we will have to guard them through a battle.  I really don’t see how bringing them in right now is going to help.  Maybe once we get the gates in orbit.”

“So, no matter what we do, we will probably still be fighting the Cacas on the surface when this force,” he pointed to the Caca fleet that was coming in from outside New Moscow space, “arrives at the hyper barrier and attacks our fleet.  Which, if I understand it, outnumbers us to the point where we have little chance of winning the battle.  Which means,” he said, trying to keep his voice under control and only partially succeeding, “we will still be struggling to evacuate a hundred and fifty million or more civilians while their fleet is inserting themselves into orbit and bombarding us from space.”

He looked back at the holo, focusing on Lenkowski’s force, which would be able to challenge that Caca fleet.  But they would not get to the hyper barrier of the system until well after the enemy fleet was bombarding the planet and landing troops on the surface.

“So we have four days before this force enters the system,” said Sean, highlighting the large Caca fleet, which, though it wasn’t the size of the one he had defeated at Massadara or Conundrum, was still a powerful force, “which means we have three days to figure out a way to either get all the civilians out of New Moscow, or have something in place that can defeat the Cacas.”

“We only have the ships we have, your Majesty,” protested McCullom.  “We should have stationed a larger blocking force.  It’s too late to bother with that.”

Sean looked over at the holo again, taking in ship deployments, calculating the transit times, his superior mind crunching the numbers much faster than most.

“What about moving these ships in from these star systems,” he said, pointing to large task groups in the Republic area of operations.

“That still wouldn’t completely redress the balance of forces,” said McCullom after looking at the holo for a minute, then pulling up some information in her personal flat comp.  “And those are not our forces to command.”

“But it will help,” insisted Sean, looking from face to face.  “I’ll get in touch with the President of the Republic immediately,” he said next, dismissing the meeting with that statement.  “Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.  Now get to work on something else while I partially plug the hole in our order of battle.”

*      *      *

“I’ll issue the orders immediately, your Majesty,” said President Julia Graham over the wormhole com.

“You do realize that you are putting those units out on a limb?” asked Sean, his anxious face looking out of the holo.

“Part of the game, isn’t it.  I really don’t like sending my forces into that kind of situation.  But you were there for us when we were being rolled over, and if it gets some more of those civilians away it’s worth it.  And it’s the right thing to do.”

“Thank you, Julia.  I appreciate it.  And I’m sure the people of New Moscow will appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, Sean.  Just use my people well.  I don’t expect for all of them to come back, but if they don’t, please don’t waste them.”

“I can guarantee that we will treat them the same as we do our own.”

The holo blanked, and President Graham realized that the Emperor of her larger ally had more on his plate than anyone should have to deal with.  Well, I’ve got the same, she thought.  She never thought she would be the President of the Republic during its direst hour, when her people faced a merciless enemy in a war of annihilation.  Again she thought of the camps she had toured on her own capital planet after they had recaptured it from the Cacas.  That image alone would have pushed her into making this decision.

“Admiral,” she said as the holo came back to life, showing the reptilian face of the commander of her joint battle fleet.  “I have a new mission for you.”

Chapter Nineteen

Survival is a privilege which entails obligations. I am forever asking myself what I can do for those who have not survived.

Simon Wiesenthal.

NEW MOSCOW SPACE, MID DAY, APRIL 8TH, 1002.

Suttler watched the viewer as a ship came out of the gate attached to his ship.  The gate had been down for almost twenty minutes, the wormhole dilated to a couple of meters across, while the engineering crew had hastily laid down some new superconductor cable to replace the section which had been damaged by the heavy radiation influx.  It had been tense, watching the Assistant Engineer and his twelve people, along with some robots, lay in that cable while a space battle was going on around them.  The force had only had two gates to bring ships through during that time period, and they were far behind the buildup time table.  But now they were back to three gates, and while they would never catch up, at least they wouldn’t be falling behind as fast.

The near enemy force had been sending missile volley after missile volley at the human force, damaging many of the ships that were gathered around these wormhole gates.  They have to be running through their magazines, he thought.  The Caca ships had no way of resupplying their missile magazines at this time.  When they fired off all they had on board they were no longer capable of attacking from long range.  And he couldn’t see them coming in close for a beam to beam fight.  Not when they had been getting pounded in return throughout the exchange.  There wasn’t an intact warship in that group, and he could only imagine what kind of damage they had taken to their laser and particle beam systems.

The destroyer finished its transit and moved away, curving its vector to get into place to defend against the massive missile storm heading in from further outsystem.   That force was still on a vector to meet up with the human task group coming in from the outer system.  They still outnumbered that force, and obviously wanted to defeat it before turning back in and fighting the human task group in orbit.  Or maybe they would just continue out of the system and save themselves.

Another ship came through almost immediately.  Another destroyer, another specialized missile defense ship.  The destroyers were coming through faster than capital ships.  They were more maneuverable, and command seemed willing to risk faster transits with the smaller screening vessels.

He looked over at the tactical holo, which showed all of the Imperial ships that were now in orbit around the planet, most in the one large group in far orbit that surrounded the three working gates.  There were two score capital ships among that group, now joined by almost the same number of smaller screening vessels, and the one assault ship.  Many of those vessels had sustained damage already, some severe, especially those who had taken on the massive orbital fortress.

The next ship to come through was a surprise to the Commodore, who had been expecting more screening vessels to deal with the incoming missile storm.  Obviously someone higher up the chain of command had decided that another assault ship was needed by the ground forces.  While it was probably a good decision as far as those ground forces were concerned, Suttler was a naval officer, and to him the most important part of this operation was the naval battle to control the space in the system.  If the naval component failed, the whole operation failed.

The assault ship completed its transit and boosted toward the planet, moving to take up its own launch station.  The assault ship that had come through earlier, the damaged vessel, was still moving into position, a pair of destroyers riding herd.

“Watch it,” called a voice over the com net.

Suttler’s head whipped around, focusing on the tactical holo that showed a dozen missiles from the most recent volley breaking through the defensive screen.  And all of them were ranging on one of his ships, one with its own gate, which was currently transiting a fleet carrier.

“Get them,” he whispered under his breath as two of the missiles disappeared from the plot, detonated by defensive lasers.  Moments later another pair disappeared, then three more.  Two disappeared when the wave was within five seconds of hitting its target.  Suttler was beginning to think they might get them all when one more disappeared, until the last two made it into final approach.  One of those missiles was taken out by the underpowered close in defense systems of the stealth/attack.  The other came in unerringly, hitting amidships on the vessel, just forward of the gate on the same side it was housed, detonating with a blinding flash.

The gigaton class warhead vaporized the ship in and instant, the explosion reaching out to completely destroy the framework of the gate in the same instant.  The tip of the nose of a heavy cruiser was poking through at that instant.  It caught the brunt of the blast, blowing through its armor and into the body of the ship.  The wormhole disappeared a microsecond later, which was all that saved the crew in the forward half of the ship.  The ship continued forward in the space it was in, no longer transiting a wormhole that wasn’t there anymore.

Suttler stared at the disaster, his eyes squinting to handle the brightness of the explosion that was already stepped down a hundred fold.  Hundreds of people died in that blast, a tragedy in and of itself.  But even worse, they were already behind in getting ships across from their deployment points into the battle, and now they had lost half of their deploying capability.  In the long run that could lead to the death of millions, and the loss of this battle.

*      *      *

Captain Nora Kevista sat in the cockpit of her F310 orbit to atmosphere fighter, the Pteranodon, waiting for the permission to take off.   Her flight mates were up on her console, three faces looking out of the screens while the status of their craft were indicated on the bars beneath them.

Nora anxiously waited.  They should have already been sent into action, but when Kharkov was damaged right after coming through the gate the entire timetable had gone to hell.  A third of the wing had been destroyed or damaged when the hanger they had been housed in had been damaged by that blast.

Kharkov shook as she was hit by something coming up from the planet.  The Captain had no idea what it was, as that information was not coming over her system, but if it was enough to send vibrations through the eight million ton vessel, it had to be something big.  Let us off this big bitch, she thought, wanting to shout over the com.

“Alpha tango seven two one,” came the call over her com.  “You are cleared for launch.  Good luck Nova.”

Hot damn, thought the Captain, checking to see that her flight was also ready.  “We’re on, Joey,” she told Warrant Three Thomas Joseph Jasper.

“About time,” said the sensor/weapons officer, sitting in the second cockpit behind her own.

“Here we go,” she replied as the counter on her dash went from three to zero in what seemed to be slow motion.  The fighter flew out of the hanger, its three flight mates around it, all under control of the ship until they were well clear.

Something hit the assault carrier moment after they left, a bright flash by the bow.  A destroyer that was moving between the carrier and the planet was firing back, trying to interpose itself and its defensive systems to protect the injured vessel.  A particle beam shot up from the planet and hit the electromagnetic screen of the destroyer.  The beam was spread by the field from a meter wide to five meters, still pushing through the screen, but striking the armor of the destroyer in a more attenuated beam that still pushed the energy into the hull.  But, being a wider beam, it lacked the penetration of a weapon that would have put twenty-five times the energy per meter that this beam did.  It still blew through much of the armor, being a battleship grade weapon, and the destroyer spun on its long axis to turn part of its still intact armor toward the planet.

Shuttles were leaving the carrier on the tails of the fighters.  Much larger craft, with heavier armor, they were carrying double squads of heavy infantry.  Hundreds of smaller capsules, each carrying an individual infantryman, were being fired out of the ships by acceleration tubes, veering onto a course that would bring them down close to their landing zone on the planet.

And then she had no time for anything but her own entry into the atmosphere, which she was approaching at twenty kilometers per second.  That was almost slow motion as compared to space flight, but for something about to come slashing into the thick gas blanket of an inhabited planet, it was fast indeed.

Nora twisted her stick, moving her ship out of the way of a beam that was firing up from the planet and being swept in an arc in an attempt to destroy the incoming fighters.  All of her flight mates followed suit, and the beam missed them.  A fighter in another flight, part of her squadron, didn’t move in time, and the particle beam swept through the aircraft and turned it into an expanding cloud of plasma.

The fighter starting bucking as it hit the outer atmosphere, the outer skin heating up quickly, rising to over several thousand degrees.  She applied her grabbers, decelerating at five hundred gravities for several seconds, bringing her speed down to ten kilometers per second.  She banked on her grabbers, her wingman pulling in close, the other team of the flight closing up on each other and taking up station several hundred meters to her starboard.

“Transitioning to atmospheric flight,” she called out over her com, hitting the panel which caused her craft to covert from a reentry vehicle to a true air combat fighter.  The wings swept out from the fuselage, adding their lift and maneuverability to her profile, while staying in close enough to not interfere with the hypersonic flight.

“Bogies, south by southeast, range three hundred kilometers, bearing, due north,” said Joey from the rear.  “Missile launch, missile launch.”

The scope showed six missiles leaving the three Caca atmospheric fighters.  The return was blurry, all of the jamming interfering with the sensors of her aircraft.  They were still very high in the upper atmosphere, on the edge of space, and they were catching the jamming of both ground and space based platforms.

“Tracking,” said Joey, and Nora looked at her holographic screen to see several of the incoming weapons firm up on the plot.  They were high velocity weapons, capable of boosting or turning at hundreds of gravities.  While not in the same class as warship weapons, in atmosphere they were still very effective.

“Firing,” called out the back seater as the missiles, traveling at Mach thirty, came within fifty kilometers.  The aircraft bucked slightly as it released a pair of counter missiles, which streaked out at a similar acceleration as the incoming weapons.  Two missiles also left each of the other craft under her command.  The missiles were not really set to intercept.  Instead, they flew a pattern that brought them in a wall in front of the incoming missiles.  At a kilometer range, less than a fraction of a second from contact, the counter missiles sent out a hundred small balls each, which exploded a fraction of a second later, putting up a wall of shrapnel that the incoming weapons had to negotiate.  Five exploded as they hit that wall, one making it through by dumb luck.  An instant later the lasers on the human fighters hit that weapon with enough power to blow it out of the sky.

“Let’s get them,” yelled Nora into her com.  She and her wingman vectored to the right, the other team from the left, coming into an approach that scissored in on the trio of Caca fighters.  Each fighter launched a missile as the Cacas tried to maneuver away, dropping altitude and turning in a manner that would get them the largest payoff in gaining distance.

Three missiles found targets, blowing two Caca aircraft out of the sky.  The third veered at the last second and launched a multitude of decoys, the missile chasing that Caca homing in on those sources instead.  At the last second it turned away from the decoys and back onto the real target, just in time to catch a counter missile.  The Caca straightened out and hit the acceleration, disappearing into the static filled atmosphere.

“Good job, people,” said Nora, setting her craft to drop lower and slower, looking for more targets.  She felt some relief from her anxiety.  She had never faced the Cacas before, and had no idea what their aircraft were going to be like.  She found them to be not as responsive as her own, but still nothing to be dismissive about.

“Let’s go get us some more.”  That was their job, shooting enemy aircraft out of the sky so the ground support craft could operate without interference.  It would help if they had some more of their own flying this mission, but they had what they had, and the job was still theirs.

*     *     *

Sevastopol shifted into a geosync orbit high above the planet.  The ship had been battered into almost hulk status from the fight with the orbital fort.  Three quarters of her crew were dead or wounded, most of her secondary weapons were gone, and she was in no shape to either battle it out with other capital ships, or to help form a missile screen to guard other vessels.  In both of those tasks she would be more of a liability, something to protect.  But she still had two laser rings and a particle beam accelerator, and there were ground targets that desperately needed servicing.

“Do we have a target?” Captain Vladimir Schmidt asked his Tactical Officer.  He was looking at a globe of the planet that showed all of the known concentrations from both sides.  Known being the operant word.  They had very good data on their own troops on the ground, but not so much on the enemy.  Some positions, like barracks, fortifications, airfields and shore batteries,  were there as firm targets.  They didn’t know if some of those positions were still there, or the state them if they were.  And they had little idea of where the enemy mobile units were, except where communications with scout assets placed them for a certain limited duration.

A particle beam rose up from the planet, moving so fast it seemed to just appear.  It missed the battleship, a testimony to the effectiveness of the jamming systems the Imperials had deployed through all the layers of the battlespace.  The ship was able to trace the beam back to its point of origin on the ground, and sent a particle beam and a pair of lasers back in return.  It was difficult to tell if the counter fire had any effect, but it did show whatever was on the ground where the battleship actually was.  The next beam that came hit the battleship, slashing through its weakened electromag field and penetrating armor that had already been scarred or melted by other weapons earlier in the battle.

Sevastopol fired again, and a trio of beams came up and hit her again.  This time two of the beams penetrated through the armor, blasting into the ship all the way to the rear central capsule, barely stopped by its armor.  The ship shook like a beast in agony from spears driven through its body.

“We have a target lock,” said the Tactical Officer, his voice almost shaking in tension.  “They’re not close to anything of importance.”

“Give them everything we got,” ordered Schmidt, wincing as another beam struck his ship.

The tubes on the port side of the ship, the six that still functioned, facing the planet, spit out six missiles toward the target.  All of the hundred and fifty ton missiles accelerated at five thousand gravities for a second, building up their velocity well beyond what they would achieve by merely falling into the gravity well.

A beam reached up and hit one of the missiles, vaporizing it on contact.  One more was hit by an anti-aircraft missile that struck through the side, sending pieces of weapon flying out to fall in random directions.  The other four hit the ground, coming down like streaks of fire thrown at the planet by an angry god.  Each was without a warhead, depending completely on their velocity, mass and the kinetic energy they generated.  Each generated twenty megatons of force that was focused into the ground, blasting through the plasticrete and armor into the positions below.  A quartet of mushroom clouds rose into the sky, coalescing into one that pushed into the stratosphere.

The Captain waited for another beam to rise from the position they had hammered.  When nothing happened for a minute he knew they had taken that battery out, and could go searching for another target, or let the target come looking for him.  His ship would be at extreme risk during this kind of operation, but it was his homeworld, and he was willing to take that risk to free it from those who had come to destroy it.

*     *     *

“That’s the last one, sir,” said Rear Admiral Kelso, looking out of the holo from the station he was manning in CIC.   “We’re a little behind, but maybe we can catch up.”

Fleet Admiral Jerry Kelvin shook his head, thinking about the part of the problem they really had no control over.  Everything had been presupposed on a tight timetable, the ships on the other end actually pre-accelerating toward the gate based on the velocity they wanted to be at when the portal was opened.   Almost a hundred ships had maneuvered at the last minute to miss the gate frame, since it didn’t have a transmittable portal at the time.  And it wasn’t like they could just try again now that the gate actually was open.  No, all of those ships would have to spend twelve hours or so to slow to a stop and turn around, then another twelve hours to come back in the proper velocity to transit.  Those ships would not be participating in the battle of which they were a necessary component.

He only had two thirds of the battleships he should have had, and a mere nine fleet carriers.  He wondered if they could even generate a missile storm large enough to panic that enemy, much less hurt them badly.  There were a few ideas he was willing to try, but since they were new, he wasn’t sure how well they would work.  And how well they worked could be the difference between winning or losing this battle.

At least we have the ships still in the line coming through, he thought.  All the battleships that were coming through had already transited.  Now two of the gates were sending through battle cruisers and heavy cruisers, while the other two were transiting light cruisers and destroyers.

“Where are those missile colliers?” he asked Kelso, who he expected would have some knowledge of where the support ships were located in the other systems.

“About fifteen minutes from the gates,” said Kelso, activating an overlay on the bridge central holo tank that showed the large freighters that were carrying their resupply of missiles.

Kelvin walked over to that holo and looked at the orientation of the missile supply ships.  He linked in with the ship’s computers and fed in the distances and acceleration figures, ordering the system to show a representation of what he was thinking about.  The courses were calculated, and he smiled at the result.

“Send a request to the Admiralty,” he told Kelso.  “Show them this short study and tell them I recommend this use of the reserve missiles.”

“They may want to hold them back for our defense of the system,” said the other Admiral.

“And we will not be here to defend the system if we don’t use them.  So send them the information and my recommendation.”

Kelvin stared at the holo, once again set to show the tactical situation in the system as it stood at the moment.

“We have missile launch,” called out the Fleet Tactical Officer.  “Three thousand missiles, velocity point two light, acceleration eight thousand gravities.”

And so it begins, thought Kelvin, looking at those red vector arrows that were pointing his way.   As he watched another wave separated from the enemy fleet, then a third, fourth, and fifth.  Of course they would come in as one wave, adjusting their accelerations to adjust their positions, so that they would come as fifteen thousand missiles.  While that might not totally destroy his command, it would do enough damage to weaken him to the point where he couldn’t possibly win.

*     *     *

“We have contacts,” called out the Tactical Officer, while the vector arrows appeared on the holo.  “Three hundred plus contacts, velocity point nine light.”

“Where in the hells did they come from,” shouted High Admiral Lisantr’nana, his face a mask of shock.  The objects hadn’t been picked up over a distance, like would be expected from stealthy craft.  The profile of those kind of ships was a faint return at a distance, then a firmer one closer in, then much of the same until the contact was firmed.  If they ever got a firm contact at all.

These things had gone from not even being there to becoming firm contacts in an instant, as if they had teleported there.  Since teleportation on that scale was clearly impossible, there was something else going on here.

Were the rumors true, he thought, looking at the vector arrows, most of which were pointed in a direction that would take them far astern of his force.  But a hundred of them were aimed right at his fleet.  The rest seemed to have missed the mark.

“Intruder one accelerating at twelve hundred gravities,” called out the Tactical Officer, the vector arrows of the attack force that were coming at the Ca’cadasan on a clear intercept blinking.  “Range, thirty-seven light seconds.  Estimated mass, twelve to fifteen hundred tons.”

So they were some kind of attack fighter, but how had they gotten to within clear sensor range without being seen?  And why were two of the forces so far off on their attack?  Even as those thoughts were going through his mind those two forces disappeared once again.

“We have missile launch,” called out the Tactical Officer.  Over two hundred new vector arrows appeared on the plot, forging ahead at ten thousand gravities.  Moments later two hundred more appeared.

How many do they carry? thought the High Admiral.  He had four hundred weapons heading his way, due to arrive about thirty seconds.  Would there be more coming, or was that all?

“All units are to fire on the missiles,” he finally ordered, going with his instincts that the fighters couldn’t be carrying that many more ship attack missiles, if any at all.  “Only fire on the fighters if you have a ninety-five percent hit chance.”

The fleet opened fire, putting out a short wave of counter missiles, then switching to lasers and particle beams.  Missiles exploded as they were hit, brilliant flashes against the star fields.  A hundred and sixty came through, taken under fire by the close in projectile weapons.  A few of the fighters went up as well as some ship or other locked them up with tight fire control.  The close in weapons knocked down another fifty-three missiles, the sheer volume of fire cutting through their jamming and hitting weapons on evasive maneuvers by statistical chance.

One hundred and two missiles reached engagement range, and suddenly the plot blossomed with six hundred and twelve objects as their warheads released from the body.  Four hundred and thirteen hit one hundred and forty-one ships, their fifty megaton antimatter warheads detonating with bright flashes that blew pieces of hull and armor into space.  A few of the smaller vessels exploded into plasma, a pair of cruisers broke up, and even one superbattleship lost all acceleration as it grabber ring was shredded.  Over a hundred ships were damaged to the point where their combat capabilities were significantly degraded.

Now all of the defensive fire switched to the fighters that were boosting, changing their vector to fly over the Ca’cadasan fleet.  They were easier targets than the missiles due to their size, but they also had better electronic warfare systems and stronger defensive screens.  The fighters fired their lasers as they maneuvered, getting in some couple of hundred hits that caused small but sometimes significant damage.

Sixty-one fighters made it over and away, moments later again disappearing from the plot.

“That really hurt them,” said the Tactical Officer, a predatory grin on his face.

The High Admiral glared at the male, his own mind running over the balance of damage between his own force and the fighters that had just blown past them.  He had destroyed just over sixty thousand tons of enemy warship, and by his best estimate, about two hundred or so humans.  In return, he had lost over ten million tons of warships destroyed, and almost five thousand males killed.  Added to that were many more millions of tons of warships that were now damaged, along with many more thousands of casualties.

He stared at the tactical holo for a few moments more.  He didn’t know where those other two wings had gone.  And he no way of knowing when they would return, though he was sure they would.  That depended on their acceleration rate, something he had no information about.  He was sure they would appear when he least expected them, and he would lose more ships.

“Order the fleet to reduce acceleration to four hundred gravities,” he told the Com Officer.

“That will increase our approach time to the enemy fleet,” said the Tactical Officer, turning with an expression of shock on his face.

“But it will muddy their guess on our position whenever they come out of whatever they come out of,” said the High Admiral, making a guess based on their attack pattern that they had to predict where their targets would be in the future.

If they did hit him again, it would probably be another sting, like that first attack.  But like most intelligent creatures, the High Admiral did not like being stung.

*     *     *

“Dammit,” growled Grand Fleet Admiral Lenkowski, sitting back in his chair on his flag bridge.  He had just watched the attack of the inertialess fighters in more or less real time through the wormhole com that projected information into the flag bridge’s central holo tank.  “More than two thirds of the damned attacked missed.”  He slammed a hand on the arm of his chair.  “Missed.”

The holo no longer showed the fighters, which had disappeared from the scan after they had raised their warp bubbles and gone accelerating away from the enemy.  Or, in the case of the two wings that had missed their targets, decelerated so they could come back on a return attack.  They might have fired their missiles anyway, which would have fought to change their vectors and attack the enemy ships.  The Admiral was just as happy that they hadn’t, since those missiles, from all projections, would have come in at a crawl from a rear angle on the ships, an easy target.

Lenkwoski had a view of the battlespace that no commander in history had ever enjoyed.  Every ship with a wormhole in the New Moscow system was transmitting its tactical information into that com net to Naval Headquarters in the Hexagon, and from there to his flag.  With graviton tracking they could tell where every boosting vessel was in real time.  With the exception of those fighters in their warp bubbles.

“The enemy ships are reducing their acceleration,” called out one of the Assistant Tactical Officers manning a side station.  “Down to four hundred gravities.”

“Shit,” said Lenkowski.  “That asshole in charge of their force is not stupid.”  It looked as if the Caca had deduced that the ships couldn’t track them when they were transiting warp space.  And he was adjusting his acceleration so they would come out well ahead of his force.  The fighters would have no shot at the enemy ships.  And there was nothing he could do about it.

Len slammed a hand down on the chair arm once again, cursing the tech that allowed him to observe so much, while unable to do anything about it.

“What’s our ETA to the system?” he asked, sure that he would get the same answer.

“One hundred and fifty-seven hours,” stated the Navigator.

“Get me on the com to all ship captains,” ordered the Admiral, looking over at the Com Officer.  “I want all ships to boost to point nine seven light.”

The Com Officer looked at him with surprise, while everyone on the bridge turned to stare.  Everyone knew that going above point nine five light would risk damage to their cellular structure from the particles that would push past their electromagnetic screen.  It would also cause a degradation of their internal nanite cellular repair systems, adding to the damage.

“Medical is to prepare nanite boosters and to keep them in protective isolation until we decelerate back down to point nine five light.”

“Sir,” said the Chief Medical Officer of the flagship on a side holo.  “Everyone is going to get a little sick in about twenty-seven hours.  And very ill just after forty-nine.”

“Then we’ll just have to deal with it.  Our brothers and sisters are about to get into the fight of their lives, and I want us right there with them as soon as possible.”

Len sat back in his chair, realizing that a lot of people were going to second guess his decision.  He was sure there was a lot of grumbling going on at this moment.  As long as his people continued to do their jobs, he could deal with that.

*     *     *

“I’m not sure Len is thinking clearly about this one,” said McCullom, standing by the Emperor’s chair as they both looked at the trio of holos that showed the operation in several scales.  The one to the right showed the planet, with the ships in orbit battling it out with the small force of Caca ships that were still fighting, and the representation of friendly versus enemy territory on the planet.  The one to the left showed the entire New Moscow system, with the location of every ship that was boosting shown as a vector arrow, those that were not boosting but still known as icons, while the inertialess fighters were represented by blinking icons showing their predicted location.

We could have used those aliens, those Klassekians, with those fighters, thought the Emperor, turning his attention toward the central holo that showed the entire area of operations.  The fighters missed because there was no way to communicate with them, to let them know that the target was not at the point it had been predicted it would be.  With the quantum connectedness of the aliens, they might have been able to contact them, and adjust their vectors and acceleration.

“Len is doing what he thinks he needs to do to get his people into the battle as soon as possible,” said Sean, looking up and over at his CNO.  “Can you think of anything that might work as well.”

“No, your Majesty.  But he is risking the safety and health of his personnel.”

Sean studied the profile of his senior naval officer.  She had been in command of Home Fleet before she had been promoted to CNO.  While technically a combat command, Home Fleet had not in fact engaged in any combat action for over a century.  Len had been CNO for over a decade, but before that he had commanded the Sector III Battle Fleet, facing both the Lasharans and the Fenri.  He had seen a lot of action in that post, and had had to make some hard decisions, something the CNO had not had to do.  And that was one reason she was now the CNO, which was more of an administrative position than a combat command.

“His job is to win battles and kill Cacas,” he said, narrowing his eyes.  “That is his only concern.  His only concern.  That’s the kind of person I want in command of my battle fleet.”

Sondra looked at him for a moment, her mouth hanging open, then nodded her head.  “You are correct of course, your Majesty.”

“It’s best to let the commander on the spot choose his course of action,” said Sean, in the same kind of lecturing tone he had heard at the academy.

The CNO smiled.  “Even with wormholes that let everyone, including the Chief of Logistics, look over that commander’s shoulder and second guess him.”

“Especially with those wormholes,” said Sean, who had on several occasions had to rein himself in when he wanted to second guess a commander on the spot.  He sat there for a moment, then pulled up another holo that showed the disposition of Home Fleet.  That massive formation was at only half of its pre-war strength, and Parliament was constantly raising hell that it had been weakened to that point, since it was the last line of defense, supposedly, for the core systems.

“Can we take some task forces from Home Fleet and gate them to the New Moscow system?”  Sean changed the main holo over to one that represented the wormhole gate system as it stood at the moment.  There was a gate in the capital system, right next to the Central Docks.  That led to a gate ring, a set of ship gates protected by forts and squadrons of ships, in orbit around the black hole at the center of the Supersystem.  Those gates led to different systems around the Empire, but, unfortunately, none to the system they needed to go to.

A light hour away was another gate ring, currently holding eleven portals widely separated so that nothing could take more than one out at a time.  The distance between the rings was also there for that purpose.  If an enemy came through a gate, the other rings would be too far away to attack except with missiles launched at range.  That ring had a gate they could use, one that linked to one at the Sector IV Fleet Base.  From there it was another hop to one of the systems that was a marshalling yard for the fleet that was sending ships to the near planet force.  Sean traced that path, the shortest to get more ships into the system.  There was no direct link into the systems that was supplying ships to the outer force, and even if there were, it would still take almost twelve hours to accelerate those ships on a path that would move them through the fast moving gates in the New Moscow system.

“We can get ships there within twelve hours,” said Sondra, following the path the Emperor was tracing through the holo.  “But Parliament will raise hell.”

“Let me worry about Parliament, Sondra.  They aren’t your worry, especially since you have already achieved the highest rank you possibly can, so their approval is not all that important.”  Sean glanced at the holo again, then looked at the deployments to the planet that were already in the queue.  Thanks to the destruction of two of the gates, it would take over eight hours to get the rest of the ships through.  That would still mean a four hour period where no ships would be available for transit.

“What if we start sending ships over from this second ring?  Not all of them, just a couple of squadrons.  Then we move the same number of squadrons over from this ring.  And then when some of the ships come over from Central Docks, we can station them at that first ring.  That way we don’t weaken the defenses of either of those rings, and still get the ships where we want them to be, with no delays in deployment.”

“That could work,” said the CNO.  “Though I’m not really sure why we’re so worried about the defense of those rings, as far behind the lines as they are.  It’s not like the Cacas have any strike forces likely to force a gate further out.”

After what they almost did to the Donut, I’m not about to take any chances, thought Sean, running the figures through his mind and seeing what he could send.  He still didn’t think it was enough, but it would have to do.

“The crews are going to be surprised,” said McCullom, pulling up a com holo so she could order the movement.  “I’m not sure they’re going to appreciate the orders on such short notice.”

“They’ll just have to deal with it,” said Sean, returning the central holo to a view of the operations area.  “They’re Fleet, and they must be ready to go where we want and do what we say, no matter the consequences.”  Just like it will be my job to agonize over every one of their deaths.

Chapter Twenty

It was my duty to shoot the enemy, and I don't regret it. My regrets are for the people I couldn't save: Marines, soldiers, buddies. I'm not naive, and I don't romanticize war. The worst moments of my life have come as a SEAL. But I can stand before God with a clear conscience about doing my job.

Chris Kyle.

PLANET NEW MOSCOW, MID DAY, APRIL 8TH, 1002.

“The first of the reinforcements are coming in from orbit, Samuel,” said General Lucius Arbuckle over the com.  Static still crackled through the transmission, despite the best the Army could do to cut through it.

“That’s great news, sir,” replied Lt. General Samuel Baggett.  “We can use them.”

The plan had called for the third corps of the army to be delivered from orbit, along with a division’s worth of support troops, and two divisions worth of Imperial Marines.  Unfortunately, only two assault ships, carrying a total of two brigades of heavy infantry, had arrived.  And while the Fleet was finally in a position to provide orbital fire support, the Cacas had gotten most of their troops out of their barracks area and into the field.  Most of their aircraft were either in the air or deployed to hidden landing fields.  And with all of the static being generated by jamming, the Fleet was having a time of trying to locate even the targets they knew of.

“How is the evacuation going?” asked the Army Commander, who must have a pretty good idea already of how it was going.

“Slowly,” said Baggett.  “I’m afraid we miscalculated on how fast we could move the refugees.  I don’t think we took into account how sick and weak they might be.  The logisticians seemed to have thought they were dealing with healthy soldiers who could move quickly and surely to the gates and through.”

“I know,” said the General in a voice that dripped with fatigue.  “I know.  And all we can do is keep plugging away and get as many as we can through the gates.  We…”

Baggett turned as he heard the warning siren that signaled an air attack.  In time to see a missile come tracking in on one of the camps, moving at what had to be Mach twenty.  Missiles rose from the ground, fired from the heavy suits of a weapons unit, or, in the case of one, a specialized antiaircraft vehicle.  The missile was hit, though no one could be sure which counter weapon had struck.  With a flash it went off in the sky, a mere five kilometers to the south of the camps edge, at an altitude of four thousand meters.

Baggett’s faceplate darkened, protecting his eyes from the flaring light.  The civilians had no such protection, and hundreds of thousands were blinded, which was not the worst by any means.  No, that came when the thermal wave struck the camp and two hundred thousand civilians sustained severe burns.  Fifty thousand were killed quickly from the damage, while the rest screamed in agony.

“The bastards just fired at the camp, sir,” said Baggett, zooming in on the camp with his suit optics, grimacing as he saw the casualties.  People crying, holding their hands over ruined eyes.  A woman lying motionless, her clothing burned from her body to expose the horrific searing marks on her skin.  A child stared sightlessly into space, her eyes ruined scar tissue in her face, her hands reaching for the woman, who must have been her mother, trying to find the comfort that would never be there again.

“I need more med staff here, sir,” he told the General.  “We’re going to be overwhelmed taking care of these people.  And I need more air defense.”

“And we’re short on both, Samuel,” said the General in a soft voice.  “I’ll get you what I can, but I can’t promise much.”

“I understand.  But we’re going to have a lot of deaths here if we don’t get some help.”

The General killed the com.  Baggett couldn’t blame the man.  It took one tough son of a bitch to look at suffering that they couldn’t do anything about without feeling totally inadequate.

“General Klash'tar,” said Baggett over the com, connecting to the commander of the 512th Heavy Infantry Division.  “We think the enemy has a fire base somewhere around this location.  I want you to assign some of your people to seek it out and neutralize it.  As soon as possible.”

“How high a priority?” asked the Phlistaran Major General.

Baggett sent a shot of the mass of casualties in the camp.  “Does this answer your question, General?”

“Yes, sir.  We’ll find the bastards, and terminate with extreme prejudice.”

Baggett cut the com, still staring at the camp.  That helpless feeling was still dominant in his consciousness.  He had to do something.

“I need air transport, and I need it now,” he said to his Adjutant over the Corps com net.  If I can’t do anything myself, I can at least be there to watch the results of others doing something.

*     *     *

“Target’s in sight,” reported the Commando Scout over the com.

“We’ve got it,” replied Lt. Commander Nahuel Runningdeer, landing on the side of a mountain that overlooked the valley the gun was operating in.  Now that there were really no worries about the detection of electronic signals the commandos were in their light battle armor.  Not with a major land to orbit battle going on, with both powers trying their best to jam all the sensors of the other side.  Naval Commandos did not receive as much training on unarmored land operations Rangers or Force Recon.  They received more training in armored operations in space, which could also translate into using the armor on the ground, like now.

A couple of thousand meters below was what they had come to kill.  It was really impossible to get a good look at it with all the holographic projectors it was using to simulate the landscape around it.  Then it fired, a brilliant flash at the end of the hundred meter long barrel.  The very air around that barrel caught on fire from the velocity generated friction of the massive round the gun had fired.  A tunnel of fire appeared leading into the sky, seeming to instantaneously materialize.

There was another flash in the sky, the antimatter loaded round hitting its target.  Moving at point zero three light, or nine thousand kilometers a second, the target had less than a second to realize the round was coming its way, much too little for any kind of effective response.

The gun moved an instant after the shot was fired, its supports rising back into the body, lifting on its grabbers and scooting away at several hundred kilometers an hour.  The decoy it had deployed, a small bot that radiated heat and electronic noise, stayed in place a kilometer to the other side of where the gun had been sitting.  While the gun was still moving a laser beam came thrusting through the dusty air to hit the decoy, which exploded in a ball of fire and sparks.  Moments later a trail of fire much like the shot of the gun in reverse came down to hit a hundred meters from where the gun had been.

“Down,” shouted Runningdeer into the com.  The kinetic hit with a force of multi-megatons, a brilliant flash, a blast wave that leveled trees for kilometers in every direction, while the fireball of a mushroom cloud rose into the air.  The Commandos all hugged the ground, getting behind what cover there was to take.  Their armor handled the blast and the radiation from the hit that was several kilometers away, and the Lt. Commander was very happy that they had the use of the suits again.

The gun moved a couple of kilometers and settled back on the ground, its supports shooting down like piston driven pilings.  The gun elevated, its massive two thousand ton turret turned.  A moment later two particle beams shot from the projectors to either side of the railgun.  They only fired for a fraction of a second, before the main gun spoke again, sending another stream of fire into the air.

“Why the hell did they build such a thing and bring it here?” asked one of the commandos

“The Cacas didn’t build it,” answered Runningdeer, gesturing toward the case that contained his missile, while picking up the launcher.  His com was showing him that the other missile team was also about the same stage of preparation.  “They captured it from the New Muscovites, who had built it for ground defense, but never got to use it.”

The entire device massed over ten thousand tons, and harkened back to the rail guns of the pre-space age.  It used powerful warheads to let it hit well above its weight, doing more damage than any kind of dedicated particle beam or laser platform.  Each of its antimatter warheads, massing five tons, carried the equivalent explosive power of thirty megatons.  While not considered massive as far as naval weaponry was concerned, the mass of the warhead hit with considerable kinetic power to penetrate into the armor before the explosive detonated.  The shells themselves were a considerable concern to the Commandos.  If the attack went as planned, and the warheads remained stable, there would not be a problem.  If several of them breached containment and five or six hundred megatons detonated in this valley, they were all dead men.

The gun moved again, and the Commander hurriedly prepared his weapon, watching as his assistant loaded the missile, knowing that the clock was ticking, and this weapon was hurting the Fleet he had sworn to serve.  He hefted the launcher onto his shoulder and sighted down on the gun.  The gun looked like a blur in the sight, a bad painting of a landscape dominated by felled trees. From space or high in the air those holographic projections were probably perfect.  Here, on the ground, not so much.

“On my command,” said Runningdeer over the com, his finger pulling the first trigger of the launcher and setting the target.  “Fire.”  He pulled the second trigger, sending the hypervelocity missile toward the target.

The Cacas couldn’t have even known it was coming.  In a fraction of a second both missiles struck, one just before the other.  Both penetrated the heavy armor on the gun, not all the way through, but enough to aid the warheads in their task of killing the weapon.  Forty megatons of explosive force erupted at a distance of five kilometers from the missile gunners.  The Commandos all ducked down, covering behind the rocks while the wind of the blast wave blew past.

As the blast wave decreased Runningdeer looked up from his position.  He smiled as he saw the result of his attack.  The turret was cracked open and was rising into the air, tumbling over and over.  The hull was also ruptured, and everything that could burn was burning.  And the shells onboard hadn’t breached containment, yet.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” the Commander ordered his people.  In seconds they had lifted in their suits and were flying out of the valley, running away just in case those shells decided to breach after all.

*     *     *

“Keep those people moving,” yelled Captain Stella Artois to the soldiers in her company.

The other companies of her battalion were still helping to construct hasty fortifications for the Rangers, leaving her people as the only ones, beside a couple of squads of medics, to assist the civilians into the drop shafts so they could get to the gate.  The people could get there by themselves, that wasn’t the problem.  Holographic signs floating in the air, pointing to the egress points, would lead them there easily enough.  At least those that could see.  But the real problem was the stampede that would occur if the people weren’t forced into some kind of orderly formations toward those points.

Everyone in the camp wanted to get out of it, and now.  All knew that rescue had come, but they were still in danger until they got off of the planet.  So they wanted to get the hell off of it, now.

A large man pushed past a woman and her kids who were next in line to go down a drop shaft.  The woman was already smaller than average, and her time in the camp had made her thinner still.  Her kids looked malnourished as well, on the edge of starvation.  The man had obviously been much larger in the past.  He had no shirt, and the rolls of skin over his torso and the backs of his arm showed that he had once been fat.  Now he was lean, but still larger than most of the people in sight.  The man grabbed the woman by the shoulder and threw her back.  She landed on her back and her toddler ran for her, crying.

The man was just about to step into the drop shaft when Stella slapped an armor gauntleted hand on his shoulder and squeezed.  The man grunted in pain, and tried to turn, his right hand closed up in a fist.  Stella flexed her mechanical muscle and flung the man away, to land on his back ten meters away.

“Wait your turn,” Stella cautioned, looking at the man with her faceplate raised.  “Ma’am” she said to the mother.  “Are you hurt?”

“Only my backside,” said the woman.

A lot of people had stopped to see what was going on.  But a lot were not paying attention at all, their only thoughts still to get off this planet.

“I want to talk to your superior officer, soldier,” growled the once obese man, getting up from the ground and dusting off his pants.  “I’m an important man on this planet, and I will not be abused by a damned grunt.”

“First of all, Mr?”

“Koveleski,” said the man, glaring at her.

“Mr. Koveleski.  I am the officer in charge of this egress, and I am an engineer, not a grunt.  And from where I stand, it doesn’t look like you’re such a big wig at the moment.”

“Big words, standing in a multi-million ruble combat suit,” said the man, a sneer on his face.

With a thought Stella ordered her suit to open.  The seals along the arms, legs and torsos of the suit became existent as the nanotech opened them.  The suit peeled back, and Artois stepped out of it in the skinsuit that all soldiers wore underneath.

“I’m not in the combat suit now, asshole,” she said, staring into the man’s eyes.

Koveleski stared back for a few moments, then dropped his eyes and started back to the line.

“You can get in the very back of the line,” yelled Stella, pointing toward the last of the people in this particular column, several hundred meters back into the camp.

“That’s, not fair.”

“Just like it’s not fair that a big man tossed a small woman aside so his cowardly ass could get off world,” she replied.  “Now you can either get at the end of the line, or you can refuse to get in the line, and the line will grow longer without you.  The choice is yours.”

The man looked back, hesitating.  A loud boom sounded, something exploding in the distance, and the man made up his mind, walking quickly to the end of the line, looking back every couple of steps with sullen a look on his face.

Bastard, thought Artois, walking back to her suit, backing into it and letting it close up around her.  She looked at the other people in the line that was moving forward as quickly as they could handle them down below.  All were scared, with the fear of people who just hours before had no hope, and now having some were afraid they might lose it again.

And in many ways these were the lucky ones, who only had to trudge a short distance through the camp before they were evacuated, unlike those who had to walk the kilometers into the mountains and go through those caverns to get off this world.

We need more people to help organize this shit, she thought again as she stepped off in her suit.  I know we have other priorities here, but dammit, we came here to get these people off alive, and if we fail in that, we might have well have not come.

*     *     *

Cat Jeffries thought she knew the camp well.  After all, she had spent months here, navigating through the well laid out rows of tents.  She knew it as well as anyone.  What she wasn’t used to was navigating the area with all the people flowing like a flood toward the edge of the camp.  A lot of the tents had been pulled down, trampled, new paths made through the rectangular blocks.  The smell of smoke was heavy in the air, along with the odor of burnt flesh.  The after effects of the bombs that had dropped on the camp over an hour before.

Now, whenever anything overflew the camp, or they even heard the sound of something fast moving cleaving the air, she cringed and looked for a place to dive for cover, just like everyone else around her.  Not that there was any place that would protect her from fire bombs, or even worse, nukes.

Cat pushed between a couple of adults.  One started to yell at her before he saw that she was just a kid, but still made a comment about where her parents were.  They’re Caca shit, asshole, thought Cat as she glanced back at the man.  The next pair she pushed between acted a little more violently, one trying to grab Cat by the shirt, getting a couple of fingers on the fabric and pulling.  The child twisted in the grasp and got her teeth on the hand, biting down.

Is that the edge of the camp, she thought, looking at the two soldiers that stood by a break in a fence.  They were giving civilians bottles of water, one handing out the containers while another was pulling more out of a large cart that was sitting on the ground behind him.  Cat could see that the cart had floater units on the sides, and she figured the soldiers had brought the wagon here from off world.  The child accepted a bottle of liquid, then reached onto a table that had a line of nutrition bars.  Everyone going by was grabbing one, and Cat wondered if there would be enough for all of them.  Everyone was starving, and all would need the calories to keep going.

And then she was out of the camp, walking on the ground that had meant death to walk upon just that morning.  She looked over at the nearest tower to the opening, or, she amended in her mind, the remains of that tower.   All that remained were the supports and one small section of the wall that had made up the guard post.   She could smell the odor of burnt materials, along with the cloying odor of something rotting in the heat of the sun.  Couldn’t think of a better asshole for it to happen to, she thought, realizing that the smell was from the remains of the guard.

“Keep moving,” said one of the soldiers beyond the fence.  “Follow the people ahead of you, and don’t deviate from the course.  The mines have all been deactivated along this path and for twenty meters to each side.  Though we went over the entire field, we cannot guarantee there are no mines off the swept area, so do not chance it.”

The soldier repeated the warning in Russian, for those who might not understand English.  While the overwhelming majority of the people in the Kingdom spoke the Teranglo that was the linguae franca of the Empire, there was a small minority that only spoke the Russian that was the official language of New Moscow.

It was hot as hell out, now that it was getting near to noon.  There was a line of thunderheads to the east, a sign that things were going to cool down, but at the cost of everyone getting soaked.  Thunder crackled in the distance, or did it?  Cat stared at those clouds as she moved with the line, wondering if the noise was really thunder, or something else.

A couple of large vehicles sped by to the west of the line, skimming above the ground on their lift units.  Cat couldn’t remember what they were called, only that they provided lift and propulsion without reaction mass.  She couldn’t guess what was in those vehicles, until a couple of lift carts flew by with a suited soldier in the front guiding it.  People sat or lay in the back.  People who didn’t look very healthy, more malnourished than most, some bandaged from injuries.  She envied those people for a moment, until she thought of having to wait for a space wherever they had to wait.  No thanks, she thought.  She would rather walk on her own two feet toward the gate that would get her off the planet.  At least that way she had some control over the situation.

There was the angry buzzing that had most of the people looking in alarm to the east.  An angry red beam connected from that direction, hitting the line of people up ahead.  A dozen civilians basically exploded as the beam touched them, and earth flew into the air as the death ray swept along.  Everyone hit the dirt, trying to get what cover they could, and another beam came in and scorched the backs and clothes of some of those people, not really hitting them, but still putting enough energy into them to cause series injury.

Cat heard more of those beams, with a slightly different sound, and she rolled over to look at the west, to see more beams connecting a line of soldiers with something she couldn’t see.

“Everyone stay down,” shouted one of the soldiers.  “Stay down, and we’ll get you moving as fast as we can.”

Some suited soldiers flew low to the people who had been burned and started treating them.  Moments later the sounds of explosions erupted to the east.  Cat continued to lay there and watch, seeing the blast of dirt from misses.  Some more beams came flying over the line of refugees, and it was obvious to her that they were not the primary targets here.  Just as it was obvious that if the Cacas broke through that line of soldiers, the civilians would be next.

*     *     *

“Here they come,” yelled one of the forward observers, his suit rising into the air as he flew in a crouch back toward the line, staying centimeters from the ground.  The Ranger dodged back and forth as he flew, dodging a couple of beams that tried to take him out of the air.

Walborski looked at the tactical display on his HUD that showed about four hundred Caca soldiers heading his way.  They were moving fast, over a hundred kilometers an hour.  He knew they had to be flying, which was unusual for Cacas.  While their suits had flight capabilities, they never seemed to be that good at maneuvering them.  And they made very large targets in the air.  Along with them were a dozen tanks.  Not mecha this time, but real tanks.  His company sensor array was showing him that those tanks were in the six hundred ton range, much smaller than the heavies he had, even if there were only four of them.

“Prepare to open fire,” he said into the com, assigning targets over his tactical system.

The holographic projectors were down for the moment, the Captain not wanting to show the enemy where his lines were, though they probably had a good idea.

“Incoming,” shouted out one of the tank commanders.  The tanks were monitoring their own sensor net, which included drones that were in the air above the line.  Now their sensors were showing hundreds of rounds in the air, most of them arcing like artillery, though there was a mix of low flying attack drones.

“Take them out,” called Cornelius to his own men.  Unfortunately, that would show the enemy where they were, unless.  “Bring all deception systems online, now.”

The jammers went to full power, blasting out their electronic signals to cover what the suits and vehicles were putting out.  The holographic projectors sent out images on dummy positions, just what the approaching troops would see themselves, while the real positions were hidden under three dimensional window dressing.  And the exterior electromagnetic field generators, big cylinders interspersed along the line, also came on.

“Fire mission,” said Cornelius over the com.  “Suppressive and counter battery.”  He sent the information over the com to the fire control center that had been set up in the mountains, who would relay the information to the three batteries of artillery that were set up within range of Cornelius' defensive position.  What he got back was not what he wanted to hear.

“We can give you two tubes and a rocket launcher right now, sir,” came the reply from the tech manning the com net.  “That’s all we can spare.”

Which means we’re being attacked in other places, thought Walborski, watching as the heavy weapons suits that had been assigned to him launched their mortars, throwing in some anti-drone missiles as well.

The enemy opened fire at five hundred meters.  Hundreds of particle beams came ripping in as explosives burst in the air, a few getting through to blast dirt into the sky.  Some of the beams made it through their positions and hit the line of civilians a couple of kilometers back.

Damn.  Where in the hell were those engineers when we needed them, thought the Captain, trying to wait for the last second to open fire and give his positions away.  He had requested that the engineers come in and dig positions two kilometers farther out, in the interest of protecting the civilians.  These positions would have become his fall back line.  Instead, he had some hasty positions his unit could dig with their medium suits, even closer to the civilians.

He heard some panicked calls over the com net, soldiers further back screaming about particle beams hitting the civilians.  That decided it, and he could wait no longer.

“Fire,” he yelled into the com, and every particle beam rifle, grenade launcher and tank gun fired at the same instant.

Four of the enemy tanks went up in fireballs before they could engage their own camouflage routine.  Fifty or more troopers were burned out of the air, and the rest landed and went low, going into prone and kneeling positions that would minimize their profiles.

The fight went on for over ten minutes, a long time for modern warfare.  At the end Cornelius only had two of his supporting tanks left, and was missing thirty-nine Rangers from his company.  Twenty-two killed and the rest injured to the point where they had to be evacuated. Eighteen more were wounded, but remained in their positions.

The Cacas, due to being the attacker and being much larger targets, as well as having slightly inferior combat suits, lost about half their attack force before they broke and ran.   When the attack was over he sent another request to the engineers, asking again for new positions to be dug.  This time they listened, and within five minutes a platoon of heavy excavation suits were on site and digging new positions two kilometers out, while Cornelius and his men provided security.

A short time later some aircraft were tracked flying toward the camp.  Cornelius prepared his men to add to the integrated air defense unit.  The six icons appeared on everyone’s HUD, every vehicle screen, as they prepared to fire on the aircraft, hopefully before they didn’t do too much damage.  The icons swept closer, and Cornelius looked back at the line of Refugees moving again to the mountains.

The aircraft were coming in at under a thousand meters and dropping lower as he watched them on his display.  The heading was to the southern part of the camp, so they would be coming over his area.

“They look like ground attack aircraft,” said the voice of the officer in charge of air defense.

No shit, thought Cornelius, bringing his own rifle online.

“Altitude, four hundred meters, speed, four hundred kilometers an hour.”

They were definitely on a ground attack mission, flying that low.  And while the target wasn’t a sure thing, he was sure that the civilians would be in the danger zone.

“Altitude, two hundred meters, speed, two hundred kilometers an hour, range fifteen kilometers.”

Those aren’t attack craft, thought Walborski as the contacts dropped completely off the track.  They’re transports.

Fourteen more contacts appeared, following much the same path as the first.  Before they disappeared the six original contacts came back on the plot.  As they flew away another fourteen showed up.

The Cacas were delivering troops to an assembly point.  Probably more than one, so they couldn’t be hit with concentrated fire before they moved out.  From all the Captain could tell from the plot they were somewhere in a three hundred square kilometer area.  They might be able to bring down a kinetic on them, but one powerful enough to take out that whole area would probably also harm many of the civilians on this edge of the camp.  And a mass of smaller weapons would have limited effectiveness.

“Launch some drones,” ordered Cornelius after linking in with the NCO that was now the reduced tank platoon commander.  The acknowledgement came back, and moments later a pair of third of a meter wide discs rose up from the tanks, oriented themselves, then headed out at four hundred kilometers an hour.  In about a minute and a half they were slowing on the approach to the area that Walborski was interested in, while another group of transports approached the area.

A tank raised its box launcher and sent off a missile, streaking out at Mach twenty and homing in on one of the transports.  That aircraft must have detected the launch, and it dove for the deck.  The missile lost lock and regained on one of the transports that was flying away.  It streaked off after that target, ignoring the decoys all the transports were now dropping and flying in unerringly into one of the now empty transports, blasting it out of the sky.

The drones made it to their target area, scanning ahead with light amplified visual sensors and other passives.  Some Cacas and suits became visible, while the sounds of many others moving in the background were apparent.  All of the Cacas were in the heaviest battle armor they used, almost as deadly and well protected as human heavy suits.  The drones held steady in the sky on full stealth, boosting silently on their grabbers.  They were sending their information back by whisker laser, and detection was unlikely.

“Send out an active pulse from one of the drones,” ordered the Captain.  He wasn’t getting the information he wanted, and drones were expendable.  Their purpose was to gain information, not to survive.  One of the drones gave out an active pulse of radar and lidar, and suddenly the ghost images of several hundred Cacas appeared on the plot.

The Cacas opened fire at that point, blowing that drone out of the air, crisscrossing beams that caught two of the other three and blasted them away.  The last drone backed off, using only its passive sensors, trying to keep track of the Cacas that had been revealed by the active drone pulse.

More transports came in, these landing five kilometers to the south of the first company.  And they kept coming.  Obviously the Cacas were preparing for an attack in force, and all they had facing them were soldiers in medium suits.

The dark clouds of a storm continued to rush in from the east, lightning flashing through that sky as the rumble of thunder followed behind.

*     *      *

The General cursed as he watched the plot that showed four unknown aircraft coming in from above and to the rear.

“Can we evade them?” he asked the pilot, looking through the rear port of the transport as if he would be able to spot them better that way.

“We’re running full ECM and stealth, my Lord,” shouted the Pilot, checking his board to make some adjustments to those systems.  “I’m afraid they have a sensor lock on us, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

The two gunships turned away, angling up and around to come at the attacking fighters from the front.  The General thought that a brave maneuver, and foolish as well.  The gunships were ground support craft, and the diving fighters were obvious air superiority craft.  But then again, what else could the gunships do?  They were there to defend the transport, and flying along beside it while providing the attackers more targets was not going to accomplish that mission.

The gunships fired, ripples of dual purpose missiles and a pair of particle beams each.  The fighters dodged the particle beams and took out the missiles with their own lasers and several counter missiles.  Two of the fighters launched hypervelocity weapons that streaked in a fraction of a second toward the gunships, blasting them out of the air with the kinetic energy they propelled into the aircraft fuselages.

The fighters all turned as one, dropping further down and moving into the rear.  One fired a missile, streaking in on the stern of the transport.  The stern laser reached out with the speed of computerized fire control, hitting the missile on the right forward body and vaporizing just enough of that body to send the weapon corkscrewing off target, to fly into the ground, raising a ball of fire.

The fighters moved closer, almost like they were toying with the transport they could fly circles around.  The General stared at them on the viewer, knowing that they were his death, and there was only one way he could avoid it.

“General, what are you doing?” asked the Pilot as the General hit the door release and the hatch on the side of the transport slid open.  He didn’t answer, but simply activated his full stealth package and jumped from the aircraft, letting gravity and wind pressure pull him away from the transport.

He looked up to see the transport explode, the deaths of the Pilot, Copilot and Flight Engineer masked by the heavy concussion and fireball of the blast.  The fighters flew over, the wind of their passage pulling the General up and toward them for a moment before he continued his fall.

The General continued his fall, watching the approaching ground, refusing to use any active sensors that might give him away.  At the last moment he activated his grabbers, killing his velocity a mere hundred meters up, then turning them off again as he hit the canopy and crashed through branches and leaves.  He landed on the hard ground, his suit taking up the impact.

Where in the hell am I? thought the General, looking around, then pulling up the location on his inertial system.  Satisfied with where he was, he got to the next order of business, and starting thinking about where he needed to go to link up with some of his own forces.

*     *     *

The Maurid Leader set the device on top of the communications board and activated it.

“Hurry,” he told the others.  The sounds of particle beams sounded through the thick door, followed by an explosion.  He only had the pair out there now, and good as they were, he was afraid they were not going to be able to hold out long.

The other two of his group put devices on more of the board and activated them, slaving them to the one the Leader had set.  The Leader pulled another device from his harness and set it.

“You know we are not going to get out of this alive,” he told his subordinates.

“We knew that going in,” said the female.  “It’s for the race, and that’s all that matters.”

And I hope the humans are the deliverers were have been praying for, thought the Leader.  Or we might bring retribution on our people for nothing.

The sounds outside stopped, and the Leader knew that the Ca’cadasans would soon breach the door.  “Take up your defensive positions,” he ordered, crouching behind a heavy cabinet with his particle beam pistol in hand.

The others got into their cover and held their weapons at the ready, pointing them at the door.  The sounds of something doing something to the door came clear to their sensitive ears.   The sounds ceased, and the Leader knew the explosion would be coming, now.

The blast pushed the door in, tearing off the lock and one of the hinges.  The door flew inward, catching on the one hinge and swinging against the wall with a clang.  The roar of the explosive was deafening to the sensitive ears of the hunters.  The odor of chemical explosives was overwhelming to their noses.  The Leader’s eyesight was blurred for a moment, and his hands wanted to betray him and drop his weapon to the floor.

The doorway only allowed two Cacas through at a time, or one in battle armor.  That first one came through, his eyes searching for targets.  He did what the Leader was hoping, not shooting as he entered on risk of destroying the communications equipment in the room.

Three particle beams converged on the Caca soldier, all hitting within centimeters of each other.  They burned through the armor in a second, converting the torso of the Caca within to steam that blasted through the hole like a rocket, propelling the dead soldier and his suit from the doorway.  A second Caca tried to come through the same way, but this time he collapsed in the doorway after he was killed.  The room was filling with foul smelling smoke and steam from the particle beam kills, and all the Maurids were coughing and gagging.

A pair of stun grenades came flying into the room next.  The Leader tried to hit one of them with a beam, missing and scarring the wall above the door.  The stun grenades detonated with blinding flashes and thunderous noise, as well as a cloud of nauseating vapor.  Another Caca pushed through the door, and this time the beams from the Maurids all missed as the creatures tried to fight through blindness, deafness and severe illness.  The Caca raised his own rifle and burned half of one of the Maurids to ash and steam.  A second sidled into the room at the back of the first, firing at another Maurid with a magrail rifle and killing her instantly.  The first aimed at the Leader, while the second stepped forward.

“The officer will want this one alive,” said the second Caca.  “He will want to interrogate him and see why he betrayed us.”

The Leader could not see, but he heard enough to know that he did not want to be captured alive.  He raised his pistol, held down the trigger, and stood up from his crouch.  The Caca with the magrail fired at him, now in fear that the crazed Maurid would kill them.  The magrail rifle spat a hypervelocity pellet that hit the Leader in the torso, severing his spine and dropping him to the floor.  As his vision faded he knew that the devices would soon go off, as soon as his heart stopped beating.

Moments later the five devices on the com board detonated, small antimatter bombs that totally demolished the entire communications chamber, killing the two Cacas, even damaging the superconducting cables that ran under the chamber.  The Ca’cadasans had captured the com room that contained the equipment that they needed to link their units through the jamming.  But it would be days before they had replaced the equipment.

Chapter  Twenty-one

Our pleasures were simple - they included survival.

Dwight D. Eisenhower.

CAPITULUM, JEWEL, AND TRANSIT POINTS, APRIL 8TH, 1002.

“I need to be there,” said Sean over the com to Jennifer as he walked through the corridor to the gate room of the Hexagon.

“You are not going to go into that war zone,” yelled Jennifer, her face in his mind through the com link.  “Do you hear me?”

“I am not going into the war zone,” he replied.  “No, ma’am.  I am going to one of the assembly systems, though.  I want to see the refugees with my own eyes.”

“Will that really do any good?  Can’t you let your people handle this?  Let someone else deal with the shit this war is generating?”

“I need to be there,” said Sean, glancing at the woman walking beside him, his Chief of Detail, Karillia Sverdlov.  The small woman walked alongside the Emperor, her eyes constantly in motion, while her eyes had the half focused look of someone in link.  Four of her detail walked ahead, twenty meters down the corridor, while another five followed behind.  Sean knew there were other agents of the detail who had already gone ahead, and more that would follow a little later.  “Don’t you understand.  These people will be coming through those gates scared and disoriented.  And they will need someone to reassure them that their nation will live again.  I really can’t think of anyone better suited to give them that reassurance.”

“Just don’t do anything stupid, and come back to me.”

“When have I done anything stupid?”

“You mean like allowing yourself to be captured by terrorists and shape shifters so you could pull off a one man rescue of a commoner,” she said with a mental laugh that came over the link.

“And what else?  And don’t you dare answer that.”

They came to the doorway to the gate chamber, newly fortified after the attack on the Donut.  One of the walls of the corridor facing the door had firing ports, and the Emperor knew those positions were manned.  A fire team of Marines in heavy armor stood guarding the door, along with a Fleet duty officer and a rating with the scanner.

The young rating ran the scanner over everyone in the party, looking embarrassed as she did the same to the Emperor.  But regulations were regulations.  The scan included the newest strategy for detecting shifters, communicating with the nanites already within their systems to get a deep DNA profile.

“They’re clear, sir,” said the rating, and the officer saluted, then motioned for the Marine sergeant in charge of that detail to open the heavy hatch into the gate room.  The door slid open, and the one gate in that chamber was revealed, its mirror surface shining under the bright lights of the room.  Three more armored marines stood in the room, along with three ratings and an officer behind a control panel that could be used to call up myriad defensive systems, or shut the gate down entirely.

The Emperor looked with approval on the setup.  Not that they had to go through such a setup for security, but that it was in place, since it was now necessary for the protection of the Empire.  This may eyes, including the people who were watching from other rooms, this much firepower, assured that no one was just going to sneak on by to cause trouble.  Since similar security was in place on the other end of the hole, he expected that nothing would be pushed through the portal that wasn’t supposed to be.

Sean returned the salute of the officer, who, as the leader of the detail, was the only one who was required to turn his attention from the task at hand.  The rest continued to focus their attention on their charge, the wormhole gate.

“You’re cleared to transit, your Majesty,” said the officer.  Sean nodded with a smile, watching as the first quartet of his security detail went though.  A moment later Karillia looked up at the much taller man.

“We can go through now, your Majesty,” she said, gesturing to the portal.

Sean walked through, once again experiencing the feeling of disorientation, the seeming to be stretched across time and space, to be everywhere at once.  The next he was aware he was stepping onto the floor of the gate room in Central Docks, another high security area.  There was an entire squad of Marines in this chamber, and three of the mirrored portals, the one leading back to the Hexagon, and two to elsewhere.

They went through the same procedure and appeared in a much larger room, this one a long, wide hallway with gate portals across every side on two levels.  Only the lower level gates were active, thirty to a side.  Each had a pair of Marines standing to their fronts, while another squad stood in a central location as a reaction force.  Naval oversight of this chamber was housed in a chamber that overlooked the room high on one of the end bulkheads.

“Welcome to the Donut, you Majesty,” said the Commander in charge of this chamber, walking quickly toward Sean as she rendered a hand salute.  “We have an escort to the chamber that contains your egress portal.”

Sean smiled back as he returned the salute, his eyes running over this chamber and all the people in it.  As he watched for a short minute he saw over fifty people transit out of the room, while forty came through from the other ends of their portals.  The chamber was a buzzing beehive of deployment and redeployment, and his security detail was taking great interest in everything that moved.

“Lieutenant Pah will lead you to your next embarkation point,” said the Commander, as a small Asian man stepped forward with a pair of armed ratings.

The Commander looked like she wanted to say something, but hesitated.

“Did you want to ask me something, Commander?” asked Sean, raising an eyebrow.

“Not really ask,” said the officer, an embarrassed look on her face.  “I, just wanted to tell you how proud the Fleet is to be serving under you, your Majesty.  We are so glad that you are the one in charge.”

Sean nodded, feeling the heat of embarrassment flushing his own face.  He turned away and followed the younger officer down the length of the chamber, heading for the tram station that would take them the thousand kilometers to the gate room he would need to transit to get to the next stop.

*     *     *

Here they come, thought Commodore Bryce Suttler as he watched the missile storm on the tactical plot.  Eighty-four hundred red vector arrows appeared on that plot, screaming in from out system at point seven one light.  Not the fastest possible attack speed, but the best the weapons had been able to develop over a twenty plus light minute flight path.  Still, over eight thousand weapons was a large attack wave, not one they were guaranteed to be able to weather.

If only we had all of the gates operating, thought Suttler as he turned his attention to what stood between the two remaining gates and the planet.  Normally the ships would be worrying about themselves, trying to protect the capital ships that were the striking power of the Fleet.  Now the priorities were the gates, without which continued reinforcements couldn’t come through.  And the planet, on which hundreds of millions of civilians still awaited rescue.

In between them and those missiles were a hundred and forty-three destroyers, about half of them the new antimissile class, sixty-one cruisers, again about half the new classes, and thirty-eight capital ships.  The four assault ships that had made it through the gates were closer in to the planet.  They didn’t add much to the missile defense screen, and had another purpose.  The twelve older destroyers and three heavy cruisers were there to defend the assault carriers, themselves priority targets.

“Range, thirteen million five hundred thousand kilometers,” called out the Tactical Officer.  “ETA, sixty three seconds.”

Of course the range and ETA were to the ships on the edge of the screen, four hundred thousand kilometers further out.  Which meant that any leakers would hit a little under two second later.

“Screen is firing counter missiles,” said Tactical, and the plot blossomed with thousands of green arrows.  Seconds later, thousands more were added, until over twenty thousand counter missiles were on the plot, accelerating at fifteen thousand gravities toward the oncoming missile storm.  They could only endure at that acceleration rate for minutes, but that was all they needed.

For centuries counter missile doctrine called for accelerating the weapons through tubes to give them the maximum boost, while attempting to vector them in for a close kill.  The density of missile storms in this war had demanded a change in doctrine.  The new doctrine was to put as many weapons into space as possible, with no thought for maximum accuracy.  Mass proximity kills would be the new standard, and the new ships carried their missiles in cells so they could put the maximum into space in the shortest amount of time.  Launch cells were not a new idea, but they were an idea whose time had come again.

Counters went in the kill.  Thousands detonated in moments, killing a thousand missiles.  Thousands more detonated over the next ten seconds, and less than four thousand missiles made it through.  The second wave of counters struck out at those leakers, taking out another thousand.

The lasers on all of the ships now went into action, firing at missiles that were fifteen light seconds away.  Most were still misses, but laser rings pumped out a cumulative thousands of shots a second.  Two thousand made it through, to run into the line of plasma torpedoes that lay in wait.  That took out another five hundred, and fourteen hundred came on at eight light seconds, eleven seconds flight time.

The ships let loose with everything they had, lasers, particle beams, tube launched counter missiles, tens of thousands of fast firing projectile weapons.  More missiles detonated, flaring suns bright against the star fields.  Four hundred made it through, seeking for the targets they had been programed to kill, the capital ships of the enemy.  First they had to get through the screens, and the destroyers and cruisers boosted to interpose themselves between missiles and targets while firing everything they possessed.  Some caught damage from friendly fire as projectiles came ripping in after missing targets.  That was a price the Fleet was willing to pay, pinpricks of damage to prevent ship killers from making it through.

Two hundred made it through the final barrage, and thirty-eight screening ships died in blasts of fury that converted them to plasma, while fifty more sustained damage from near hits.  Thirty-seven missiles made it through the screen and started seeking the battleships, which put up their own final defensive fire.  That fire was almost good enough.  Almost.  And only three battleships were destroyed, another half dozen damaged.

Suttler leaned back in his chair with a sigh of relief.  They had weathered the storm much better than he had thought they would.   That thought brought the associated guilt.  They had lost over eighteen thousand spacers and Marines.  Men and women who had wanted to live, and not become the numbers necessary to safeguard the invasion force.  He knew the important thing was that the gates survived, and the assault ships.  More ships would come through the gate, including the vessels needed to resupply those ships which had almost shot themselves dry of counter missiles.

I can’t wait to get off this damned gate duty, was his next thought.  He much preferred the task of stalking enemy ships from stealth, his own ship his only responsibility.  Well, soon this task would be over, and he could be back about it.

*     *     *

NEW MOSCOW SPACE.

Fleet Admiral Jerry Kelvin stared at the plot that showed thirty thousand enemy missiles heading his way.  It would take another hour for those missiles to reach his force, but he was almost ready to pull the first of his mind screws on that enemy.

“Send out the grav pulse,” he ordered his Com Officer.  “And bring our fleet to five hundred gravities acceleration.”

The pulse went out, the coded transmission that told all the ships what to do.  His own force, the one the enemy already knew about, increased its acceleration to the maximum of its own battleships, some of them near the edge of their safety margin.  And the other ships, the ones that had been shooting from the gate for the last couple of hours, started their own deceleration, changing their vectors depending on how far out they were from the main force.  It would take just under an hour for those ships to join formation with the main force.

Kelvin could wish that he had the other ships that were supposed to come through the gates, the ones that had missed their windows.  It would take those ships more than four hours at this point to decelerate to a stop and start on their way back to the gate, another more than six hour trip.  They would not participate in this battle, though they might be useful in the next.  When they can be here to die along with the rest of us when that large Caca force gets here.

All of his ships were now present on the tactical plot, all boosting along at their required rates, all now radiating heat at a prodigious rate.  The enemy would be seeing the graviton emissions immediately, and their heat emissions hours after that.

He switched the plot to one that showed everything known to several days travel out.  Grand Fleet Admiral Lenkowski’s force appeared on that plot, as well as the much smaller force from the Republic.  And, closer than both, the massive fleet of the enemy, the one being tracked by ships in normal space and transmitted through the wormhole net.   That was the force he had to worry about.  That was the one he would be forced to engage days before Lenkowski’s reached this system.  The Republic force would arrive in time to add its weight of fire to that fight.  And Lenkowski’s would appear well after his combined force was rubble in space.

First I need to fight this battle, he thought, zooming in on the plot to look at his ships.  And the surprise on that plot that was still hidden from that enemy.

*     *     *

“My Lord,” called out the Tactical Officer, breaking High Admiral Lisantr’nana from his thoughts.  “You have to see this.”

“What?” growled the High Admiral, jumping up from his seat and stalking over to the tactical station.  He glared at the officer for a moment, before his eyes were drawn to the display.  “What in the hells are those?”  There were now hundreds of additional vector arrows on the plot, all of them pointing back at the enemy fleet.  But they were not colored the green of friendly forces.  In fact, they were the brownish orange that signified unknowns.  “Put it on the main holo.”

The new icons appeared on the central holo, and the High Admiral walked over to stare at the display.  Figures were coming up under the vector arrows as the ship’s comp systems digested the data and made their appraisals.

They’re actually heading our way and decelerating, thought the High Admiral.  And they’re too damned big to be missiles.

“We’re assigning designations to those ships,” called out the Tactical Officer.  “One hundred and fifty-four battleships, One hundred and twenty-two of their cruiser class vessels, and two hundred and sixty-three of their scout/escorts.”

“That’s over five hundred ships,” blurted out the Navigation Officer.

And where did they come from? thought the High Admiral, staring at the plot in disbelief.  “How does this change the balance of force?” he asked, turning toward the Tactical Officer.

“We still have the superior force, my Lord,” responded that officer.  “They will hurt us more than we thought before this reinforcement, but we will still destroy them.”

The High Admiral thought that over for a moment.  Even if he could defeat this force, he still had the one back at the planet to deal with.  Which meant he had to preserve as much of his fleet as he could.

“Where the hells did they come from?” he shouted to his bridge crew.  “And how do we know that’s all of them?”

There was no answer to either of his questions, and he felt dread at having to deal with the cunning humans, who always seemed to outthink his people.  But we are supposed to be the superior species, so how can they possibly be that much smarter than we are.

He looked at the plot once again, this time feeling more confident.  The humans might be the smarter species, but his people had never lost a war.  And he wasn’t about to lose this fight.

Chapter Twenty-two

The soldiers that didn't come back were the heroes. It's a roll of the dice. If a bullet has your name on it, you're a hero. If you hear a bullet go by, you're a survivor.

Bob Feller.

PLANET NEW MOSCOW, MID DAY, APRIL 8TH, 1002.

“We’re going forward in one minute, General Baggett.  Or as soon after that as the drop occurs.”

Baggett looked up at the huge shape in combat armor that stood towering over him.  “Thank you, General Klash'ta,” he said to the other officer, the commander of the 512th Heavy Infantry Division.  One of his brigades would be leading the attack, along with a tank battalion.  A battalion of Marines and two human heavy infantry battalions would attack along another axis with a second battalion of tanks, while a third brigade force dug in on a ridge line to the north would keep the Cacas from retreating.  Or so it was hoped.

“Intelligence is still giving us an estimate of two brigades of Cacas,” continued the Phlistaran officer.  “Fortunately, the only fortifications they have are the two firebases.  Their infantry only has the hasty fortifications.”

Baggett nodded as he watched a line of Phlistaran infantry trot by, though cavalry might have been a better term.  The Phlistarans looked awesome in their heavy combat armor, each massing as much as a small vehicle.  All carried oversized particle beam rifles in the hands attached to the large arms that thrust from their upright torsos, while the barrels of multiple heavy weapons thrust from the turrets mounted on their long, broad backs.  The only negative was that they were big targets, but to compensate they carried heavier armor on the forward sections of their torso plates and on the flanks of their bodies.  They were still not invulnerable, they were not tanks, but they were truly formidable soldiers.

“I wish I could go forward with them,” Baggett told the lower ranking general.

“I too would like to charge,” said the Phlistaran, his faceplate retracted to show his fearsome jaws and incongruous gentle brown eyes.  “Alas, it’s the price of getting older and accepting command, that we can no longer put our lives on the line by charging into enemy fire, but must order the young to put their own lives at hazard.”

Baggett thought on those words as he waited for the time to tick down.  He was now a flag officer, and it was his job to stay alive so he could command.  He could take some risks, like leading from the battle zone and coming forward to observe.  But that was about it.

“The eagles are on their way,” called out another voice on the com.

“Open fire,” yelled Klash'tar into his com.  “All units forward.”

“Forward,” yelled the Phlistaran Brigade Commander.

At the same moment the artillery opened fire, and a wing of ground attack aircraft came streaking over at low altitude.  Everything had been planned so nothing would fly through the artillery, and the guns would not target areas where the infantry was moving.  Baggett watched his plot with concern nonetheless, because things were known to not always go according to plan.

About half the incoming rounds exploded in the air before they reached their targets, and the enemy fire bases also opened up, sending about half of their fire at the Imperial artillery positions, the rest to the ground in front of their fighting positions.

Balls of fire rose into the sky ahead as the ground attack aircraft dropped their ordinance, then pulled up and away while releasing rockets that streaked at targets further into the Caca positions.  A quartet of craft exploded in the air as defensive weaponry took its toll of the attack.  The other ground attack craft faded under stealth fields and flew away, two limping from minor hits.

The infantry started forward at a trot, their own forms hard to follow under the stealth fields of their armor.  The tanks moved with them, buttoned down, all weapons ready and sensors probing ahead.  Artillery came down just ahead of them, many of the shells carrying bomblets that spread over the ground and took out the minefields.  Enemy shells followed, dropping more self-burrowing mines to take the place of the ones that had been taken out.  Drones flew in from both sides, attempting to penetrate the jamming and visual stealth of the other side.  And drones fell out of the air, smashed to bits by beam weapons or rockets.

The enemy infantry fired first, giving away their positions as they took a toll of the Phlistaran infantry.  That infantry went from a trot to a gallop, surging ahead at over a hundred kilometers an hour, the tanks increasing speed to keep pace.  Particle beams fired from the Phlistaran rifles, the cannon on their backs firing more beams and explosive shells.  The tanks fired their particle beams and lasers almost continuously, while their main guns spoke every couple of seconds.

Baggett followed the action on his HUD, cringing internally as Phlistarans fell off the plot, their life signs fading.  Tanks disappeared as well, some gone completely as their crews died with them, others with the icons of the tankers’ battle armor still there, showing their survival.

The human brigade was also going forward, attacking the line on another axis, and they suffered nearly as many casualties, though their ability to stay lower to the ground aided them somewhat.  Some bright flashes appeared behind the enemy lines, and the ground rumbled as kinetics came down from orbit to hit the enemy fire bases.

And then the Phlistarans were in among the Caca lines, and it was in many cases hand to hand combat, as the big enemy carnivores battled the even larger friendly hunting species.  Baggett switched his view to that of a Phlistaran private, watching as the big creature speared a Caca with a particle beam, then hit another with the butt of his rifle.  The second Caca fell back, then raised his own weapon, but the Phlistaran was on him in and instant, battering him with his rifle, stomping on his with the blade sharp armor of his hoofs, killing the Caca in a close and personal fight.  The feed died suddenly, and the General knew that the big private had died with it.

The Caca line bent but held, and their own armored vehicles came out of hiding to hit the thousand ton Tyrannosaurs in the flanks.  A score of the big tanks went up in balls of fire as the heavy kinetic rounds punched through their flank armor.  The big tanks got their revenge a moment later, and over thirty of the enemy tanks died.

Ground attack came in again, this time higher than before, rippling missiles into enemy weapons emplacements behind the lines.  Again they lost some of their number, but bore in to do their duty at the risk of their lives.  Another pair of kinetics hit, raising clouds of dust as their blast waves flew outward.

The battle looked like pure hell, and Baggett, watching through the eyes of another trooper, this one human, felt his own limbs quiver as he remembered fights he had been in, and the terror he had felt.  The fight had devolved to every being for himself, no quarter asked or given.  Anyone without a suit wouldn’t have lasted a second, while those with the armor were still hard pressed to survive.  Both sides were firing beams into each other so close they couldn’t miss, vaporizing tough armor and tender flesh alike.  There was definitely no quit in humans or Phlistarans, nor was there any in the Ca’cadasans.  It looked to be a matter of who could give until the other couldn’t take anymore, and it was looking like both sides would be destroyed in this fight.

“We’re coming in,” called out the voice of a human over the com.  Baggett looked up, his visual systems having great difficulty piercing the smoke and dust that hung over the battle site like a pall.  He switched the view to link into one of those soldiers coming down, shot from one of the assault ships overhead.

Baggett switched the view to a company commander, freshly ejected from his entry capsule.  The ground swayed beneath the soldier as his canopy lowered him, taking off more of his velocity.  Then the ground steadied as he ejected the canopy.  The view changed as the captain looked around at his men and women, ditching their chutes in the air and engaging their grabbers.  The ground was shrouded in dust, the bright flashes of particle beams cutting through.  The artillery had stopped firing, for the moment, so that the troopers could come through without hazarding friendly fire.

In an instant the dropping troopers were opening fire, hitting the Cacas from above and behind.  The battle swung in that instant as the front line Cacas panicked.  Baggett had to give it to them, many still tried to disengage in some kind of order.  Those were killed in the crossfire, and the rest went running for imagined safety.  The ground support aircraft swept in and hit them from behind, while the two land assault brigades came from their separate axes of advance to hit the enemy in flank and rear.

In minutes it was over.  Less than a hundred Cacas were still alive to surrender, many of those too injured to struggle on.  The firebases which had threatened the camps were no more, and one of the largest concentrations of enemy ground troops that they knew of had been destroyed.

One of them, thought the General, monitoring another situation that was developing, threatening to blow up in his face.

*     *     *

Captain Cornelius Walborski monitored the take from the remaining drone, watching as the enemy soldiers formed up in their assault formations.  They didn’t have any tanks or mecha this time, and really didn’t need them with what looked like an overwhelming force of infantry.

And I have less than a hundred Rangers left.  We’re outnumbered and outclassed.

Most of the Cacas were in their versions of heavy suits.  About a third were in the medium suits that most of the alien ground troops used, but those were not of great concern.  His own men were all augmented, better trained, superior soldiers in every way.  But they were facing heavy infantry, whose better armor gave them a lot of advantages.

Raindrops started falling, big heavy drops that presaged a cloud burst.  Thunder sounded, lightning flashed, and the area around the Rangers looked like twilight despite being early afternoon.  Cornelius looked up at that incipient storm and came to a decision.

“Everyone, out of your armor.  First, put it on its back on the ground.  Once you close it up, set it to maximum power jamming and get into your ghillie suits and web gear.”

Most of the men had to guess what was going on, as, with glances toward the heavens, they lay their suits down and opened them, climbing out.  Each man had an efficient but low tech cammo suit in a bag on their armor, as well as web gear with ammo and equipment and their standard Ranger weapons.  It had been thought ahead of time that as unlikely as their fighting without suits might be, it was still a possibility, as was scouting sans armor.

“Everyone gather over behind the tank,” he told his men over the com link that was still active in their implants.  He waited for a few moments for the men to all suit up and get there.  All had quickly and efficiently armed and equipped themselves, and came out of the twilight to gather around their Captain.

The men were hard to see, even close up, and with a man with augmented dark vision looking directly at them.  The ghillie suits were made of a passive cammo fabric that used a chemical process to blend them in with their surroundings.  They also held in body heat, unless the wearer opened their special venting to let it out.  The rain started coming down even heavier, and they became even more difficult to see.

“OK,” said Cornelius to his gathered men, about three fifths of the company he had come to this planet with.  “We have what looks like a battalion of enemy, most of them in heavy suits, coming down our throats.  There is no way we’re going to stop them standing in a defensive line in our medium suits.  Plus, we are Rangers.  Our strength is in striking out of the dark, and nature has given us the dark.”

The rain started coming down even heavier, hard cold drops, the perfect cover for the kind of operation he intended.  He looked at the faces of the men closest to him, and smiled back at the feral grins on their faces.  “What we are going to do is to move through this storm, into the enemy formation, and kill the bastards.  We will move forward in half squads, and try to be mindful of your fellow Rangers.  But above all, kill as many Cacas as you can.  And good hunting.”

The men moved away, forming into their half squads of from four to six men.  Cornelius hadn’t included himself in those groups.  He had planned on going it alone.  But when he turned to walk away he found himself facing his top sergeant.

“You’re going to need some backup, sir,” said the older man, who had been in the Army for over twenty-five years.  “You may think you are superman, but you can be killed just as easily as the rest of us.  So I will be coming with you to make sure you aren’t killed due to arrogance or stupidity.  Understand, sir?”

“Roger, Top.  Just make sure you let me lead.  You may be the more experienced, but I’ve got the skills.”

“Yes, sir.”  The Top Sergeant looked up at the sky as a true cloud burst let loose.  “So, let’s be about it while the weather is still favorable.”

Cornelius nodded and smiled, then turned and walked out in a crouch, his eyes wide and drinking in every bit of light there was to find.  He strained his ears, but the world had mostly dissolved into the sound of water drops raining from the sky.

Walborski had slithered forward about a kilometer when he heard the movement of heavy objects to his front.  Actually, he felt the vibrations of their walking through the ground before he actually heard them, and he was sure that no matter how sensitive their audio receptors they were not going to hear him or his men.  He waved his hand to Top, who was only a couple of meters away.  He could barely see the NCO from even that close a range, and was hoping that the enemy would never spot them until they got within a similar distance.

Something exploded in the darkness, a muffled crump and a flash that mimicked the lighting that was going off almost continuously in the clouds.  Cornelius smiled for a moment, then grinned as a dozen more blasts sundered the night.  Those were his men, throwing heavy blast grenades into the enemy wherever they could see them.  Each grenade had the equivalent of a ton of explosive in it, and would throw darts of hardened supermetals at high speeds, capable of penetrating even the armor of a suit if they hit right.

The Captain went to a knee as he picked up the shadowy figures of suited Cacas.  They had their stealth systems engaged, and would have been nearly invisible under normal circumstances.  The rain outlined their forms, and though Cornelius could only pick out the forms of the trio nearest him clearly, he could see the indistinct silhouettes of more beyond.

Cornelius pulled a grenade from his webbing and twisted the cap off, then hit the trigger three times before throwing it with all his strength toward the Cacas.  In the rain most of them couldn’t even see the small object that came flying into their formation, until it had gone off with a deafening roar.  Three of the Cacas went flying through the air, tossed by the explosion, while several others fell into the mud.  Walborski aimed his rifle at one of the Cacas who was struggling to get up from his knees, aiming for the faceplate that was one of the weak points on the armor.  He squeezed his trigger once, the chemical rifle phutting out a round, most of the sound captured by the suppressor on the front of the barrel.  The round hit the faceplate, the microshape charge shooting a splinter of supermetal through the armor and into the head of the Caca.  The large soldier went down in a quivering heap.  Cornelius wasn’t sure if he had killed the creature, but the injury he had inflicted would put him out of action.

Walborski spent the next fifteen minutes stalking and killing, using up all of his grenades, then closing for the kill.  On a couple of occasions the spooked Cacas fired at ghosts, their proton beams hissing through the rain.  On at least one occasion one group of Cacas fired at another, and a lively firefight developed in which at least a half dozen of them were killed.

Empty of grenades, now he stalked them in earnest, shooting them at their weak points from close range.  Stabbing them with his monomolecular knife at the joints.  He was like a ghost in  the dark, coming from nowhere, leaving a dead or dying Caca behind.  He hoped that his men were doing the same, and the Cacas refusing to move forward seemed to point to that result.  The augmented reflexes of the Ranger meant that he moved faster than the Cacas, had better reaction time, more precise hand eye coordination.  While he couldn’t stand up to them in an open battle, in this type of fight he had all the advantages.

As the rain started to slacken a bit the Rangers withdrew, leaving terrified Cacas to their rear.  Walborksi and his Top Sergeant made their way back to their own lines.  Over the next half hour the rest of the Rangers returned, or at least those who were going to return.  Eighteen of his men didn’t come back, and he was sure that what was left of them littered the mud in front of his positions.

When they had counted down the probables, the number of dead and wounded Cacas topped three hundred.  Most important, their attack had been blunted, and they had slunk back to their jumping off point.  He was sure that they would be coming back, though.  And with the storm starting to break up, he wasn’t sure that the same tactic would work on them again.

*     *     *

Cat had only been in the jungles around the capital city a couple of times.  And both of those had been field trips with her classmates, with plenty of armed forest rangers to escort them.  Now she was walking in the line of refugees through that jungle, her rags of clothes soaked through to her skin from the rainstorm they had just endured.

There were animal calls through that jungle that brought chills down her spine.  She couldn’t tell if they were predators looking for a meal, or harmless arboreal forms that fed off the leaves of the forest.

“Keep moving,” said an armored soldier standing on the side of the gully.  The soldier was in the medium battle armor that the ones called Rangers were wearing, and not the heavy suits worn by the engineers.  He held a particle beam rifle in his gauntleted hands, and continually looked over his shoulder at the jungle behind.  “Don’t keep the people behind you bunched up.  Walk quickly.”

Cat looked at the empty water bottle in her hand.  She had sweated the entire way out to this point, even during the rain, and despite the humidity she had a raging thirst.  At least her hunger was at bay.  The meal bar she had eaten had enough calories to last an adult for several days.

“Can we have some water?” a man ahead asked the soldier, standing in place and looking up, stopping the flow of traffic as people had to walk around him, into the path of the next line over.  “We’re dying of thirst here.”

“The caves are just a short distance ahead.  You can get water there, before you go through the gate.  Now keep moving.”

The man stared at the soldier for a moment, then turned and kept walking with slumped shoulders.  Cat thought the man walked like she felt, exhausted.  Worn out from the privation of the camp.  She didn’t think anyone was in shape to walk the twenty or more kilometers they were being forced to move.  It’s almost like they’re trying to kill us, since the Cacas didn’t get around to it, she thought, then cursed herself for such thoughts.  The soldiers had come to save them, and many of them had already paid in blood for the people of New Moscow’s freedom.

*     *     *

“I think we were way too optimistic on how fast we could evacuate these people,” said Colonel Marcie Thunderfoot, the officer in charge of the Fifteenth Army Engineering Brigade.  “At the rate we’re moving them now, we’ll be lucky to get fifty million a day off planet.  So we can get all of them off in two weeks, if nothing else goes wrong, and I’d hate to count on that.”

General Lucius Arbuckle thought about that for a moment.  They had planned on getting the civilians off the planet in about ten days, except for those who might want to stay and try to rebuild the system as the major military base and staging area they needed in this space.  That presupposed that the Fleet would take and hold the system, and support the Army in taking the planet.

But now, with the threat of a larger Caca force moving in, the evacuation took on a new significance.  If the Fleet lost control of the system for even days the Cacas would be bombarding this planet, and would most probably kill the hundreds of millions of civilians still here.

“We need to expand all of the gates on both ends,” said the engineering officer. “Double their capacity.  Or, even better, triple it.  Then we can get more of the civilians to safety.”

Which means shutting down all of the gates while we move some of them, and increase the size of the framework for the others.  The General agonized over the decision.  Even if they worked as fast as possible, and nothing unforeseeable came up, they would still have all the gates down for hours, the ones they needed to move for up to five or six hours.  And that would translate into millions of people who wouldn’t get off in that time.  And they still wouldn’t get them all off, while, when the Cacas came, they would have to move the gates again to remove them from line of sight of orbital bombardment.

“Leave the gates where they are, for now,” ordered the General.  “We’ll keep getting them out as fast as we can, and trust that the Fleet will handle their part of it.”

Chapter Twenty-three

The rules of survival never change, whether you're in a desert or in an arena.

Bear Grylls.

NEW MOSCOW SPACE.

“We have two hundred and sixty-one objects,” called out the Tactical Officer.   “Range, two point three light minutes.  Velocity point nine four light.  Acceleration, nine hundred gravities.”

High Admiral Lisantr’nana turned quickly in his seat to stare at the tactical plot, which showed the new objects as vector arrows.   If they had been smart, and just coasted in from wherever they came from, we wouldn’t have spotted them so soon, he thought.  They had only picked up the objects from their graviton emissions.  They could possibly have gotten within fifteen or twenty light seconds if they hadn’t been putting out gravitons from their grabbers.  He looked at the vector arrows and realized that only one of the groupings was actually pointing at his force.

“Which are the most danger to us?” he asked his Tactical Officer, already pretty sure of the answer, but wanting to verify his assumption.

“That group there, my Lord,” said the officer, indicating the force closest to outsystem.  It was a large group of over a hundred, just like the one closest to the system star.  The one in the middle was made up of just over fifty craft, and the High Admiral thought that must have been the wing that had attacked them earlier.

“Open fire with all defensive weapons on that force,” he ordered the officer.  “I want them blown out of space before they launch.”

The Tactical Officer acknowledged while the Com Officer sent out the order.  The ship shuddered just a bit from the launches.  Moments later several thousand green vector arrows appeared, heading for the enemy ships at fifteen thousand gravities.  All of the ships that had a clear shot fired their lasers, followed by particle beams.  At the range of two light minutes they were not very accurate.  Still, some of the enemy vector arrows fell off the plot, then more, before the craft started going into quick evasive maneuvers.  That did not save all of them, and eighty-four continued on to greet the missile storm coming at them.

Many of those missiles disappeared, taken out by the defensive lasers and the few counters each craft carried.  But over twelve hundred got into attack range, and nine hundred and fifty made it to final approach.  It was too much, with over nine missiles targeting each fighter.  The fighters still took out several hundred, but at the second of contact all but four of the attack craft disappeared, killed before they could launch.  Those four launched, from one and a quarter light minutes.  Sixteen missiles, easily picked off by the defenses of a fleet.

“Target that closest group,” he then ordered his officer, pointing at the smallest, the wing that had been previously mauled.

“We won’t generate a lot of hits of those craft,” cautioned the Tactical Officer.

“Do it anyway.  The more we kill here, the fewer we will have to face in the future.”

Another storm of counter missiles went out, these at a target almost four light minutes astern of the fleet.  The missiles were fired on an interception course, accelerating to come in ahead of the enemy.  The Admiral realized as soon as they were fired that none of them were going to kill the enemy.  They were going too fast, and the counters, while having enough acceleration to eventually catch them, if they didn’t transit into whatever strange place they had come from, lacked the endurance.  A moment later it didn’t matter.

“They’re gone, my Lord.  Both groups have just disappeared off the plot.”

“Did they turn off their grabbers?”

“No, my Lord.  We were tracking them from their heat as well, and they had been decelerating for the last couple of minutes.  The heat signatures are still there, since we won’t see the cessation of those for several minutes. .”

“What do you have on visual?”  As the Admiral asked that, he realized he should have asked what they would have, since they wouldn’t see the actual event of disappearance for minutes now.

“We have some blurry visuals on those ships, my Lord.  I’m not sure what we’ll see when we get to the point where they disappeared.  Perhaps with some enhancement we might see what happened.”

“Very good,” said the High Admiral, sitting back in his chair.  He zoomed out the central holo so he could watch the missile storm approaching the enemy fleet.  So he saw the enemy launch at the same time the Tactical Officer shouted out the warning.

*     *     *

“Missile contact in twelve minutes,” called out the Fleet Tactical Officer.

Fleet Admiral Jerry Kelvin stared at the plot that showed the enemy missile storm, over twenty thousand weapons, heading for his force.  Statistically he was sure most of his command would survive, though the death and destruction that would visit his fleet was something he really didn’t want to think about.

“Launch all weapons,” said the Admiral, looking over at the Tactical Officer, then at the Com Officer.

After listening to the Com Officer start relaying his orders he looked back at the plot, at the thousands of enemy missiles that were coming in at point seven eight light.  And now it was also filling with green vector arrows, thousands of them as well, as the ships of his fleet started launching through all of their tubes.  As soon as the first volley was off, they fired another, and another, until ten volleys were in space.  That left only a few volleys in their magazines, something counterintuitive when facing a force as large as the one coming at them.

At the same time as the missile launch the nine hundred attack fighters launched by the six fleet carriers with the fleet powered up their grabbers and boosted ahead at eight hundred gravities, the limit of the larger attack craft that made up half the swarm.

“Missiles are on the way, sir,” reported the Tactical Officer, turning from his board to look back at the Admiral.  “Signals have been transmitted by grav pulse to the other weapons.”

“Time till we launch?”

“Thirty-five minutes, sir,” said the Tactical Officer with a worried look on his face.

There were three of the super heavy battleships, each carrying two of the wormhole missile tubes, with launch capacity only limited by how many weapons could be sent through from the other side.  And the missiles would come through at whatever velocity they had been pre-accelerated to by the magnetic launch tubes on the other side.  The Admiral wanted to save those weapons as an ace in the hole and a final surprise.  Which meant his three largest ships needed to survive the coming storm.

“Fighter wings are reporting in,” called out the Com Officer.  “They are moving into position and getting ready to launch.”

“Missile contact in eleven minutes.”

And our missiles will reach them in an hour and a half, thought the Admiral.  They’ll would know for over an hour how much they hurt the human force, while the humans would not know how effective their attack was until they had been savaged by the enemy.  Many of those humans wouldn’t be around to find out what happened.

Kelvin sat in his chair and stared at the holo over the next five minutes, watching as the enemy storm approached the fighter screen.  He could feel the tension on the bridge, the smell of fear as brave men and women faced their mortality in the form of weapons launched by beings who wanted them dead.  Who did not care that these spacers had plans for their lives, families, dreams.  Who only saw them as obstacles to their own plans, and obstacles that needed to be removed.

He could only imagine what the feelings were like on the fighters who were about to contact those missiles, and on the screening ships and cruisers, whose mission was to do whatever they could to protect the heavy hitters of the fleet from harm, so they could do more of the same to the enemy.  They knew the mission, which didn’t mean that any of them wanted to die performing that mission, any more than the crews of the capital ships did.

Please, dear God, he prayed silently.  I ask not for safety for myself, but for the people that serve under me.  It would be too much to expect for all of them to make it through.  All I ask is that no one dies because of poor planning on my part, because I dropped the ball.  I ask that this plan will work as well as possible, and most of my people make it through.

The Admiral opened his eyes to stare at the plot, watching things in real time as missiles and ships maneuvered through use of their grabbers.  The missiles were within a light minute of the fighters now, and those craft went into action, using everything in their arsenal to disrupt the missile storm.

Every fighter, attack and space superiority, turned up both their jamming and their stealth systems to full power.  Electronic signals lashed the sensors of the missiles, which boosted their own ECM suites to full.  Normally they wouldn’t do this until they were much closer to the target, and doing so at this time gave the ships they were about to attack more information about their capabilities and jamming patterns.

Now all of the fighters launched every missile they carried.  None carried anti-ship weapons, having been loaded with anti-missile birds instead.   Over ten thousand of the small counter missiles launched, immediately seeking targets.  Many never got a lock through the jamming of the missiles.  Others were hit by the defensive systems of the incoming two hundred ton weapons, small laser rings built into the body to give the missiles more of a chance of getting through just this kind of defense.  At the same time the fighters were attempting to lock onto the missiles and get some hits with their lasers.

Four thousand missiles were destroyed in the outer defense, while almost two hundred fighters went up in small bursts of plasma as missiles targeted them instead.  Sixteen thousand missiles made it through, right into the face of the ship launched counter missiles that now screamed from their launching vessels at fifteen thousand gravities.  The fleet lacked the specialized missile defense ships, they being needed elsewhere, like above the planet, so the screens were not able to put up the numbers that the new ships would have been able to.

Thirty thousand counters tried to stop the incoming weapons.  They ended the flights of almost seven thousand missiles in bright bursts of fire, leaving over nine thousand to move into attack range, where the lasers and particle beams started to pick up and prosecute targets.  Or, in many cases, where they thought weapons were going to be, their ships’ targeting systems spoofed by the missiles’ ECM systems.  Still, they took out another two thousand weapons, while counter missiles fired from close in took out two thousand more, leaving three thousand to reach the final approach stage, where the close in systems took over.

Only a thousand missiles made it past that final approach stage, one twentieth of the initial storm.  The defense had been amazingly successful, taking out that many missiles.  But one thousand weapons, all carrying gigaton range warheads, was still a frightening prospect for the ships targeted.  One hundred and twelve missiles actually hit, killing one hundred and three ships, mostly destroyers and cruisers, though three battleships joined the plasma cloud that was spreading through the fleet.  Most of the rest were near misses, what were called proximity kills, warheads that detonated close enough to a ship to send significant heat and radiation into the hull.  In some cases it could result in a kill, and a battle cruiser, three light cruisers and nine destroyers exploded from the damage caused antimatter breach.

And then it was over, and the fleet, battered but not destroyed, was still heading in.  All of the super heavy battleships survived, as did all of their wormhole tubes, though two had sustained some hull damage.

Now they assess the damage they did, based on how many of our ships are still emitting gravitons, and react accordingly, thought the Admiral.  It didn’t take long, only a couple of minutes, until that reaction materialized.

“We have missile launch,” called out the Tactical Officer, as the first of the red vector arrows appeared.  After the multiple volleys were fired they had a count of the missiles coming in.  Thirty thousand, and the Admiral had to wonder if they could weather this storm as well, or if his fleet would be mere wreckage after they arrived.

*     *     *

The Crakista known as The Admiral in Charge of the Republic Battle Fleet stared at her own holo as the mixed force moved through hyperspace.  Since the majority of her ships could only achieve hyper VI, that was the dimension they were traveling in.  Now she was second guessing herself, wondering if she should have sent her hyper VII ships ahead in the higher dimension.  There weren’t many of those, and they didn’t include any battleships or heavy cruisers, only a couple of score battle cruisers and a hundred and fifty odd light cruisers and destroyers.  And if she ordered them to translate into VII now, it would take more than a day to decel down to where they could make the transition.

The warm blooded reptiloid did not feel any guilt from her decision possibly not being the best she could have made.  Her people didn’t feel guilt.  Or, more accurately, they subsumed any guilt they felt under the calm they had trained into themselves.  Her people felt emotions, and in fact felt them deeper than most other intelligent species.  Almost killing themselves off in a world war gave them reason to explore how to control those emotions, and now they were known throughout the region as being emotionless.

And that is definitely not true, she thought, watching the battle in the system over wormhole com, observing as the human force absorbed the Ca’cadasan’s first missile attack, and now tried to prepare for a second one that would be hitting them in just under four hours.  We want to live as much as anyone else in this fleet.  And the fear of ending before we accomplish all that life has to offer lives just as deeply in our minds as it does in those of the humans.

The Admiral looked around her flag bridge, still mostly manned by her own people, with the addition of fourteen humans who were liaison with the Republic’s contribution to the force.  She could read the lines of tension in those humans, the fear for their own safety, and the even greater fear for the safety of other humans, both Imperial military and the civilians of a rival power.  Glancing at several of her own people, she could read the tension within them as well, something no human could do with someone of her species.  They hid it well, but it was still there.

“ETA?” she asked, something she had already calculated, but still desired confirmation of.

“Fifty-one hours,” called out the Navigator.

So if I tried to get my hyper VII ships there sooner, they might arrive a couple of hours before the rest of us, she thought, her tail twitching in a sign of negation.  They would not get there in time to influence this battle, and would arrive a couple of hours after the enemy relief fleet.  Too late to be of use now, and maybe too weak to really tip the balance later.  Since it was the only thing they could do, she pushed the worry down, concentrating on what they could do.  Even if all they could do was grant the evacuation effort on the planet some more hours, so they could save some millions more of the human civilians.

*     *     *

Suttler did not like the way things were going in the battle of the outer system.  His part was going just fine.  They had eliminated all enemy resistance in the orbit of the planet and beyond, all the support ships had come through the wormholes, and were now in place to defend the planet.  It still wasn’t a large enough force in his opinion, but no one had asked him his opinion.

Now the fleet heading toward the planet had been hit by what had looked like the best the enemy could do.  Except now they had launched an even larger missile storm.  And the wave of missiles coming in from the human fleet just didn’t look large enough to do much harm to that force.  If only the inertialess fighters had accomplished something, thought the Commodore, replaying the scene of the tactical holo in his mind over his implant.  Only one wing had been able to attack on the first pass, and had had the shit shot out of it.  The same was true of the second attack pass, only they had come back into normal space too far to immediately strike.  And that wing had been destroyed.  What was a real shock to the people watching that part of the battle from afar was that it had failed so completely, when such attacks in the past had been devastating to the Cacas.

Has our new wonder weapon already become obsolete? he thought.  That was an eventual aspect of war that everyone had to deal with, on both sides.  Technological innovations worked well for a time period, sometimes devastatingly well.  And then the other side developed countermeasures.  Of course, this failure had not come about because of enemy action, but due to the failure of the fighters to find their targets while in their warp bubbles.

There has to be a way around that, thought the Commodore, who had applauded the deployment of the fighters in past battles as a game changer.  So far, no one had come up with a way to communicate with the fighters while they were in the bubble.

And the enemy should be getting their next surprise right about now.

*     *     *

“We have missile launch,” called out the Tactical Officer.

The High Admiral leaned forward in his chair and stared at the tactical plot, watching as more vector arrows appeared, with impossible velocity figures beneath them.  There seemed to be hundreds of the arrows, closely bunched.

“How many?” asked the High Admiral with a sinking voice.

“Nine hundred, my Lord.  Not an overwhelming number.”

Not by themselves, but added to what is already coming at us, thought the High Admiral.  “What is their launched velocity?”

“It’s.”  The Tactical Officer stammered for a moment while he stared in disbelief.  “Point nine light.  Acceleration, five thousand gravities.”

“Estimated velocity when they reach us?”

“Point nine eight light, my Lord.”

“That’s impossible.  What would be their velocity if they came at the same time as the other missiles?”

“Point nine five light, my Lord.”

While it wasn’t technically impossible that the missiles couldn’t reach point nine eight light or above, there were many practical considerations that made it unlikely.  At point nine eight light the missiles would have more than five times their mass at rest, as compared three point two two at the standard max of point nine five light.  At point nine nine it was over seven times rest mass.  The missiles still had enough capacity to move themselves even at that mass, but they would move more slowly, to the point that they would become easier targets.  And the time dilation would change by the same factor, meaning that missiles traveling much faster than point nine five light would also have less subjective time for their own comps to calculate.  Even worse for the missiles was the velocity generated radiation, which would degrade the effectiveness of the seeker heads.

“Then that is when they will strike,” said the High Admiral, sure that he was correct.

More vector arrows bloomed on the plot, a little ahead of the wave of missiles already headed their way.  “Number?” blurted the High Admiral.

“Twenty thousand, my Lord,” said the disbelieving Tactical Officer.  “I don’t know where they came from.  They just appeared out of nowhere.  Like they had been coasting, and just turned on their grabbers.”

“And they will get here at the same time as the other wave?”

“Yes, my Lord.  They will.”

So now the wave of missiles headed their way had almost doubled, and nine hundred of them would be coming in at a maximal attack velocity, hardest to target, hardest hitting.  What other tricks do they have? thought the High Admiral.  Should I launch another wave at them, while I have the time, or wait until I can assess the damage from my first strike?

He finally decided to wait.  He had already sent off two massive volleys, and a third would just about run his magazines dry.  While there was another force to fight after he destroyed the enemy fleet to his front.

Chapter Twenty-four

The only thing that makes battle psychologically tolerable is the brotherhood among soldiers. You need each other to get by.

Sebastian Junger

PLANET NEW MOSCOW, LATE AFTERNOON. APRIL 8TH, 1002.

Cat felt like her legs were going to give out as she walked through the tunnels.   At least they’re cool, thought the child.  The temperature had to be five degrees cooler under this cover.  It was revitalizing in a way, but not enough to completely overcome the weakness of months in the camps.

The walls of this tunnel were obviously of artificial construction, the rock fused and polished.  Hopefully enough to handle a heavy weapon.  The look of them made Cat feel safer, that and all the military around them.

The line through the tunnel ended at a large cavern, where several openings fed more people into the chamber.  There were people with flatcomps here, talking to refugees as they entered and inputting information into their devices.

A woman in a soft uniform sans body armor approached her, looking down at Cat.

“Where are your parents, young lady?”

“They got harvested in the camp,” she replied, feeling deep despair at the thought of her parents killed by the Cacas, even if she had never actually seen them taken.

“I am so sorry,” said the woman, who seemed genuinely caring.  “What’s your name?”

Cat gave her all of her information, the woman, wearing an Imperial Navy uniform, entering all the data into the comp.  Other people were finishing with their interviewers and headed for another line, this one eight people wide, that was shuffling forward into the silver mirror set in a heavy frame.

“What’s going to happen to me?” Cat asked, looking up at the woman, who was pulling a small strap from a pouch and running it over her comp.

“We’ll find a family to take care of you.  And you’ll be given the choice of living in the Empire, or coming back here as soon as we have this space secured.”

Cat thought about that as the woman put the band on her left wrist.  She had no doubt that it was a tracking device of some type, with her personal information on it.  And she was not sure she wanted to live in the Empire.  Not after hearing mostly negative things about it while growing up.  But these people had come here to save them.  While Cat wasn’t a military strategist, she did know enough to realize the Imperial Fleet would have been better served to have just bypassed this system, or at least have taken on the Cacas with a straight out invasion.  Instead they had risked disaster to try to save as many civilians as possible.

“We need to get you off planet,” said the woman, gesturing to the line.  “The band will identify you as someone who needs special help.  Have you ever been through a wormhole before?”

Cat shook her head as she stared at the silver mirror, which seemed to ripple as people moved through it.  Each refugee stepped into the mirror, then seemed to be sucked in, moving like they were jogging forward.

“Of course you haven’t.  Well, you just step into it and you will step out on another world.  It’s a little scary at first, but nothing to worry about.  Now off you go.”

Cat nodded, then ran toward the line and got in the back.  The line moved quickly, with more people coming in from behind so that it never ended.  When it came Cat’s turn she hesitated for one moment, and people behind her started calling for her to go.  She stepped forward, putting her right foot into the mirror.  As soon as her foot sunk in she felt like some force was pulling her forward, and she knew that there was nothing she could do to stop it.

The child stepped out on an open field filled with people.  A sun shone down from the sky, the light a bit different from what she was used to.  She felt slightly lighter on her feet, the gravity less.  There were people in uniform all around, and aircars, including ambulances, around the edge of the field, which looked to be a large tract of grazing land.  In the distance the towers of a city rose toward the cloudless sky.

A group of people walked through the crowd, centered around a young man in an ornate uniform.  Directly around the man was a group of men and women in civilian clothes, all moving with the grace of dancers, or some of the warriors the child had seen on New Moscow, men not in armor who had been at the caves.  Around the security was another layer of protection, soldiers or Marines in medium powered armor.  She didn’t know who the man was, only that he must have been someone very important.

“That’s him,” said a woman, pointing a finger at the man.  “That’s the Emperor.”

New Moscow was a kingdom, an Empire in all but name, and unlike the Republic, people knew how to respond to those of higher class.  While not as subservient as the citizens of ancient Empires, they still engaged in the protocols.  Now tens of thousands of people took a knee and bowed their heads in respect for the Monarch.  He may not have been their ruler.  In fact, they didn’t know if they still had a ruler.  He was, however, the ruler who had ordered his military to free them from certain death.

People started to shout at the man, thank you, bless you, other acknowledgements of thanks.  Cat took a knee with them, looking down at the ground, feeling the tears flowing from her eyes.  Everyone around her was cheering, but she could not find the voice to say anything.  She wasn’t sure how long she was down there, until she realized someone was standing over her, looking down at her.

Cat looked up, her eyes widening as she saw who it was.  Blue eyes in a tan face looked down on her, a warm smile stretching his lips.

“And who are you, child?” he asked, holding out his hand to help her to her feet.

“I am Cat, your, your Majesty,” said Cat.

“I like cats.  They’re one of my favorite animals.”  The man looked around a bit, then back down at the child.  “Where are your parents, Cat?”

A small woman standing beside the man aimed a flat comp at her, looking at the screen.  She moved closer to the Emperor and whispered in his ear.

“I am so sorry.  But we will get the Cacas back.  Believe me.”

She did believe the man.  She wasn’t sure why.  She had seen the power of the Ca’cadasans, who had crushed the pride of the Czar’s military without effort.  But for some reason she believed that the military of this man would return the favor on the hated aliens.

What looked sort of like a man on a horse approached at a trot, the refugees hurrying out of its way.  She realized that it was not a human, but some kind of scale covered alien with a large snout full of teeth.  It wore a naval uniform fitted to its form.

“Your Majesty,” said the creature in a rumbling voice, bowing.

“Yes, Commodore.”

“We’re processing these people as fast as possible, but many of them are coming through in worse shape than we thought.”

“I understand, Doc,” said the Emperor, and Cat noticed the emblems of medical corps on the being’s collar.  “Just make sure they aren’t going to die of something unrecoverable.  If they’re too sick to move, put them in cryo and get them out of here, so we can keep bringing them in.”

“Yes, sir.  We’ve found quarters for about a million of them in the city, but we’ll have ship most of them to other venues.”

Cat couldn’t stop staring at the creature.  She thought that if the Emperor had creatures like these in his military, beings larger even than the Cacas, he couldn’t lose.

“What’s going to happen to me?” asked Cat, reaching up and taking the Emperor’s hand.

“What do you want to happen to you?”

“I want to grow up to fight the things that killed my parents.”

“Then that is what you will do.  But first you need to grow up, and learn to be an adult.”

The Emperor patted Cat on the head, then walked on, leaving her to stand there on the field, the huge Commodore looking down at her.

“Come with me, child,” said the Commodore.  “We are gathering the children without parents in the city.  We’ll get you a family to stay with, until we can figure out something permanent.”

“You need to walk slow, sir,” said Cat, fascinated with the immense size of the being.

“I’ll do you one better, child,” said the creature.  “Have you ever ridden a horse?”

“A couple of times.”

The being knelt down on both sets of legs, grabbed her with his arms, lifting her onto his back.  “Hold on tight,” he said, and started off at a trot.

For the first time in months Cat finally felt safe.

*     *     *

SECTOR IV.

Sean watched the Commodore in charge of Sector IV Fleet Medical go trotting off with the child he had just met seated on his back like he was a horse.  He smiled at the sight.  Phlistarans loved children, even those not of their own species.  They were consummate parents.  So he wasn’t too surprised that the flag officer was playing horsey with a parentless child.

He had a thought while watching them recede into the distance.  A lot of people had said that an assault by Phlistaran infantry was synonymous with an old time cavalry charge.  Now he started thinking about new possibilities.  Probably wouldn’t work, but it’s worth kicking over to Army Command.

“This is probably the only part of the operation going according to plan,” said Rear Admiral Jacob Coker, the Fleet Commander in charge of this stage of the evacuation.  Ten of the gates on New Moscow led to this world, the developing planet of Hang Dou, a world with almost two hundred million people living on it.  The Army had staged out of here, all of the Rangers and a brigade of the heavy infantry.   It was planned for a hundred and fifty million of the refugees to evacuate to here, which would put some strain on the food and medical systems of the planet, not to say the available shelter.

There were superfreighters in orbit  filled with millions of tons of food.  Twelve medical battalions were on the surface, augmented by a hospital ship.  And every large venue on the planet had been converted to temporary quarters, while the semi-permanent structures used for military deployments had been placed within kilometers of each gate.

“I think the reason for that is that the evacuation has not gone as planned,” said Major General Carla Manuel, the liaison for the Army.  “Not meaning any disrespect, Admiral, but if as many people as we thought were coming through we would be swamped right now.”

“No blame on anyone,” said Sean, looking from one officer to the other.  “Nothing like this has ever been attempted before, definitely not on this scale.”

“But, if we don’t get them all off the planet fast enough, and the Cacas take it back,” said Coker, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

“That is not going to happen,” said the Emperor, patting the Admiral on the back.  “No matter what it takes, we are going to get those people to safety.  They’ve been through enough.”

Sean looked back over the field, at the wormhole that was still transiting almost a score of people every five seconds, and the mass of people moving away from it in a semi-orderly fashion. Most of them were still confused, though he thought relief must have been the dominant emotion.  I will get you out of this, thought Sean, standing there and watching the evacuation.  That I promise, on my crown and my throne.

*     *     *

PLANET NEW MOSCOW.

“I need you to get two platoons of your people over to the southeast perimeter,” said the voice of the Ranger Colonel over her com.

Captain Stella Artois grimaced as she looked at the location the Colonel was ordering her to go.  Or at least two of her platoons.  Not that I would let over half my command go there without my presence, she thought.

“I already have a squad in that area reinforcing their fortifications.  Do you want us to fortify them to an even greater extent?”

“No, Captain.  Captain Walborski’s company is about to get rolled over by the enemy.  I need your people to act as heavy infantry and reinforce them.  I’ve sent everything I can to them, but it probably won’t be enough.”  The man on the other end of the com coughed.  “I don’t have time to debate this with you Captain.  You have your orders.  Now follow them.”

The com went dead, and with it any hope Stella had of questioning the Colonel.  He was correct.  She was under his command, as were her people.  All had been trained as heavy infantry before attending engineering training.  And all knew that they could be called upon to fulfill that function again.

She made an immediate decision on which two platoons would go.  She wanted them to come back, so it only made sense to send two that were at full strength.  And her command section as well.  That would give her just over a hundred troopers, all in heavy armor, many with heavy weapons.  She sent out the orders, indicating a rally point.  The Colonel hadn’t said that the attack was in progress, only that it was imminent.  If she was going to lead her people into battle, she wanted them deploying as a unit, and not fed in piecemeal.  That done, she lifted her suit five meters into the air and flew over the heads of the civilians that were flowing toward the lift shafts so they could get out of the line of fire.

*     *     *

“We have movement,” said one of the tank commanders over the com, their sensors linked into the drones and ground units they had recently deployed.  “Estimate nine hundred hostiles, including fifteen large contacts, most probably mecha.”

The sky was clear, natural twilight coming to this part of the planet.  Due to those conditions the last method of attack would not work.  The Cacas would spot them on their night vision from their movement, even if their ghillie suits would have stopped most of the infrared from impacting on those kind of sensors.  No, this time they were in for a stand up fight, and there was nothing the Captain could do to keep it from happening.

Cornelius attempted to contact the air support net, hoping to get some ground attack craft to hit the Cacas before they started their assault.  All the bands were busy with back and forth talk, or the static of jamming that the Cacas were putting out at heavy volume.  When he finally got through all he was told was that nothing was available at the moment, but would be sent his way when available.

At least I have some on call artillery at hand, he thought, looking over the positions of his men.

He still had what was left of his company, plus two platoons of Rangers that had been seconded to him from two other companies.  All were dug in as well as they and the engineers could set them.  His two vehicle tank section had also been reinforced by two more heavies and a pair of medium armored fighting vehicles, all also dug in.  He had also been given sections from three of the platoons in one of the heavy weapons companies assigned to the regiment.  Each section was twelve strong, all soldiers in heavy combat armor.  One section was equipped with four heavy pulse lasers, fearsome crew served weapons that came with power packs that required the lifting power of the other two members of each team.  One was a rocket section, with six hyper-velocity launchers.  The last was a mortar section, with three automatic heavy mortars, each throwing thirty magazine fed warheads in the two hundred millimeter range in a minute.  It was a powerful defense, but one he was sure was not going to stop a reinforced Caca battalions, especially not if they were mostly equipped with heavy suits, which was what the sensors were showing.

The engineers had helped to dig the positions, then sprayed nanite hardening solution on the earthworks.  The nanites were still working at fusing the earth into stone, and were well on the way on most of the positions.  Cornelius would have preferred to have another hour for the earthworks to truly set, but it looked as if his opponent wasn’t going to give it to him.

“To all of the men, and women, under my command,” said Cornelius into his com.  “We are not going to let these bastards through.  No matter what, we are going to stop them here.  We will stand shoulder to shoulder if need be.  They must face us, the best soldiers of the best army in the history of the Milky Way Galaxy, if not the Universe.  Remember that.  Watch out for your brothers and sisters, and they will watch out for you.  You will never be alone.  If today is our day to die, we will die in the company of heroes.  So do not give an inch.”

“We have incoming,” called out one of the tank commanders.

“Everyone to cover.  And when you have a target, give them hell.”

The shells started to drop around their positions.  Everyone that could covered up as best they could, while lasers and particle beams flailed the air, detonating most of the shells before they could land.  The earth was pelted by shrapnel, but pieces of jagged flying metal could not penetrate their suits, much less the tanks.

Some of the shells released guided devices as they arced in, those that weren’t picked off before they could deploy.  The devices identified targets by energy emissions or visual patterns, and boosted on small grabber units to their targets.  When they hit their shape charge warheads blew holes through suits, or shot deep into tank armor without full penetration.  The first soldiers started dropping off Cornelius’ plot, and he ordered all of his own indirect fire weapons to reply to the enemy.

The heavy two hundred millimeter mortars fired a round every two seconds, the light organic mortars fired their light shells even faster, while the on call artillery chimed in.  Earth spurted into the air six kilometers ahead, while many of the shells exploded in the air, victims of the Caca artillery defense.

Now the Cacas charged forward at full speed.  Their commander must have realized that his men were at a disadvantage in this kind of duel, being out in the open.  The mecha trotted forward at the same speed as the infantry they could have outdistanced, preferring to stay in the mass.  Scores of Cacas were still blasted into the air, or penetrated by smart bomblets.  Some of those thrown into the air got back to their feet once on the ground and plugged on.  One of the mechas intercepted a two hundred millimeter mortar which vaporized the upper portion, along with head and most of the torso of the operator.

The shells continued to rain down on both sides.  The human heavy mortars ran through their ammo, and it took some time to reload, but the smaller mortars and artillery kept up the barrage.  Some fighting positions took hits on their forward berms.  Those that had hardened sufficiently showered rock chips all around, while the softer ones blew torrents of dirt into the air.  A couple of positions took direct hits that killed the medium suited Rangers in place.  A heavy weapons position took a hit that destroyed its launcher, but failed to do more than stun the soldiers in their heavy armor.  Tanks were hit, one of the mediums losing its turret to a penetration, a heavy sustaining some damage to its left side turret laser cross.

The tanks fired, sending their heavy projectiles at superfast velocity toward the mechas.  Half the shells hit, the others missed when their guns’ targeting systems were spoofed before the shot.  The tanks reloaded and fired again, followed by a volley of the rocket launchers.  Enemy rockets returned, and two heavy tanks died when they each took multiple hits from hyper-velocity weapons.

Now the emplaced heavy weapons opened up.   First the pulse lasers, firing a burst of laser power sixty times a second, each burst more powerful than an infantry rifle.  A half second of bursts ate through the armor of a suit and into the body below, and scores of Cacas were blasted out of this life before the rest even knew what was going on.  Many of the rest opened up on the laser positions, and the Rangers with heavy particle beam rifles chose that moment to open fire themselves, taking advantage of the enemy distraction.  The tanks opened up with the particle beams between shots to take out mecha.  One mecha got in a lucky shot with its own beam weapons and fused the turret of a heavy tank, locking it into place, then firing a volley of hyper-velocity missiles at close range into the point where turret met hull.  With a fearsome blast a rocket punched through, followed by another, and the turret separated from the hull of the tank in a ball of fire that propelled it high into the air.

“All units fire,” ordered Cornelius into the com.  The front of the Caca wave was now within three hundred meters of the human line and moving forward quickly.  Almost a hundred went down before they got much further, caught in multiple crossfires of heavy weapons and infantry rifles.  Grenades popped over both lines, strings of firecracker sized explosions that were capable of penetrating armor, most times causing serious damage, but also able to kill.

Now it was hell on earth, both sides trying their best to kill the other at close range.  Cornelius sighted down his rifle at what looked like a Caca squad leader trying to rally his men.  The particle beam would have hit the creature in the chest, but he jumped in the air at the last moment and caught it in the leg.  It landed heavily and fell on the obviously wounded leg, and a pulse laser took the head off the creature.  An incoming beam struck the rock hard parapet protecting the Captain, and a flurry of rock chips struck the Ranger in the side of the helmet.  His faceplate rang, and half of his HUD went offline.

Then the Cacas were into the line, and the Rangers rose out of their fighting positions to meet them.  Now it was close combat, the hell where most shots hit something, and a hit was almost sure to damage, or kill.  Cacas and Rangers fired beams into each other at point blank range, and a hundred soldiers combined from the sides died in ten seconds.  One Caca sprung onto the top of a heavy tank and placed a large charge there.  Before he could jump off a pulse laser in the hands of a heavy infantry trooper killed him, blasting a hole through the side of his suit between the arms on that side.  The device he planted went off an instant later, killing everyone in both turret compartments of the tank.

“Not a step back,” yelled Cornelius into his com as the Cacas started to overwhelm his force.  A beam struck his left arm, not full on, but enough to melt alloy and burn his flesh beneath.  The Ranger screamed out in agony, then activated his augmented nervous system’s pain block.  The arm still worked, though weakly, but enough to steady his rifle, and he no longer felt the distracting pain.  He rolled on the ground and back to his feet, shooting the Caca through its face plate.

“Retreat,” yelled one of the new platoon leaders, and Rangers started to turn to run.  Not all of them, but enough.  The men were not cowards, but anyone would think about retreat in a situation that seemed certain death.

“Belay that order,” yelled Cornelius in his best command voice, killing another Caca with a well-placed shot at the same time.  “Stand your ground.”  The men, including the platoon leader, all turned back and continued the fight, just as he knew they would.

Cornelius turned in time to see the largest Caca he had ever beheld, probably massing a ton and three quarters in his battle armor, come charging at him.  Most of the Cacas could run fast enough due to their stride, but were slower of limb than the humans, especially those augmented like the Rangers.  This one moved faster than normal, and was sweeping his rifle down into firing position so fast that the weapon took the Captain’s shot.  Alloy splashed, and the Caca brought the now nonfunctional weapon down in a butt stroke to knock the humans rifle away.  His lower fists struck in a double punch to Cornelius’ chest, knocking him back, then swinging the butt of the rifle up in a strike to the human’s head.

Cornelius flew back from the power of the stroke, his suit sensors going completely offline for a moment before coming back up.  He landed on his back, stunned, aware that the Caca was coming at him in his rifle raised as a club.  Moving at the last moment, he avoided the rifle, which hit the ground with a crack as it broke through at the point it had been hit by his beam.  The Caca stepped back and pulled a wide blade from a sheath at his side and advanced again.

Armored suits could run fast, a hundred kilometers an hour an more, because the suit could run itself faster than the human limbs underneath.  It could move the upper limbs much faster as well using the same principle, using the nerve to suit interface to read commands.  The one thing it could not do was act faster that the nervous connections between brain and interface.  But the Ranger’s augmentation made those nerve impulses, in Cornelius’ case, four times faster than the human norm.  Now he went into overdrive, a condition he couldn’t maintain for more than a few minutes, and his nerve impulses sped up to an even higher rate.

Jumping to his feet, he launched a side kick into the stomach of the Caca, and felt like he had hit a wall of steel.  He ducked away from the sword, only to be hit by another lower limb, then the next in a combination that knocked him back to the ground.

The Captain realized his error at that moment.  In true hand to hand he could have really hurt the Caca, even though it was stronger than he was.  His greater than human strength, especially in overdrive, would have allowed him to seriously hurt the Caca with his blows.  His suit, which possessed five times the strength of a strong human, only struck with five times strong human strength, despite his own organic power.  The Cacas heavy suit was possibly stronger than thirty humans, and there was no way he was going to hurt the being with kicks and punches.

And he also realized that he was trying to fight an individual battle in the middle of a firefight.  That in itself was a losing proposition, since it took all of his awareness to handle this one foe at close range, and this was not a fighting ring.  The first Caca that could get a bead on him would blast a particle beam through his suit.  I need to finish this, fast, was his thought as he dodged another swing of what had to be a molecular blade, then dodged three hands strikes that came in rapid succession.  What he didn’t notice was the left leg that thrust out and hit him in the shoulder, knocking him back and almost off his feet.

Cornelius extended the monomolecular blades from the forearms of his suit, then moved quickly, sliding his feet over the ground and thrust the left hand blade at the join between upper and lower right arms.  The blade, which could cut through steel as easily as flesh, barely penetrated, and Walborski had to jump back to avoid the swipe of the sword, which he was sure would badly damage his own armor, and maybe even slice through.

As the blade passed he thrust his left hand blades into the joint at the elbow of the right upper arm, and felt the satisfaction of penetration.  He jerked the blade out and followed with one to the left upper elbow at the inner joint, getting another penetration and smiling as blood spurted from the hole.  The Caca roared and brought the sword down, but the blade slipped from his hand and went flying.  With a motion Cornelius retracted his blades and pulled his particle beam pistol from its holster.  He aimed the pistol from the hip and sent the beam into the armored faceplate of the Caca, one of the weak points.  He kept the beam focused for several seconds, while the Caca tried to duck away.

Damn, he thought as the creature was able to get an arm in the way.  The pistol was just not powerful enough.  His curse turned into a whoop of joy a moment later when the Caca retracted his face plate.  The shot must have damaged the optics of the helmet, forcing the Caca to expose his face, which was the break the Ranger was waiting for.  A quick shot and that grimacing face was gone, converted to steam and ash, and the formidable Ca’cadasan warrior fell to his back, his limbs twitching.

Cornelius ducked down, using the body of the Caca for cover while he caught his breath and took an appraisal of the situation.  His HUD was functioning, or at least most of it, now that the self-repair nanites had gone to work.  What he saw almost made him stop breathing.   He only had about seventy effectives left.  Less than thirty of his original company, and the replacements had been hit just as bad.  The heavy weapons platoon that had been seconded to him was at squad strength, and all of the tanks were gone.  There were at least three hundred Cacas still on the field, and no telling how many more on the way.  Even as he looked two of his people, replacements, men he didn’t really know, fell off the plot.

With a growl the Captain was back on his feet, looking for Cacas.  The battle line stretched along eight kilometers, the space between along the side of the field between the camp and the jungled foothills.  That was a lot of area for so few troops, even fewer now, and it took him a second to find a target through the smoke and dust, the burning tanks and particle beam heated suits spoofing his sensors.  He finally found one to shoot, and sent that one to whatever afterlife the Cacas believed in.

We’re going to lose this one, thought the Captain, moving forward low to the ground, looking for the next target, then finding a squad of the enemy moving up.  He aimed at one, knowing the others would target him immediately, and prepared for what he was sure was going to be his last battle.  I knew I wasn’t going to live forever, he thought as he started to squeeze the trigger, his mind already picking out his next three targets.  I wanted to go back home, to see Devera and Junior again, and the squirt, Rebecca.  But I’m a soldier, and I knew this came with the territory.

Before he could pull the trigger the Cacas turned to the south, swinging their weapons that way.  Particle beams flew through the air, and one of the Cacas went down, the others looking for cover.  He followed his target in his scope and got off the shot before that being could make it to cover, hitting him in the lower torso.  The Caca fell to the earth and tried crawling away, until Cornelius put a two second blast into his back.

What the hell is going on? thought the Captain, turning to the south to see a line of heavy suits flying low over the ground, firing away with particle beams and grenade launchers, here and there one shooting off a rocket from a backpack launcher.  And the Cacas went into full retreat as the attack moved in, their victory turning over into defeat in a heartbeat.

*     *     *

Captain Artois looked over the tactical display as she landed among the people who had made it to the rally point before her.  Thirty some had not made it there yet, and she looked over the map on her HUD as she waited.

It looked like the Cacas were about to overrun the Ranger position.   Other Rangers were attacking from the north, the company holding those positions sending a platoon to hit the flank.  The Cacas were sending some of their troops that way, and it looked like the Ranger assault was going to be repulsed with heavy casualties.  And to the south, by the jungle?  Nothing that she could see except maybe a squad of Cacas as flank security.

“That’s where we’re going,” she said to her platoon and squad leaders, as she sent a map of her intentions to every soldier in the company.  “We’ll fly low to the ground and loop around into the jungle.  And once we’re set, we’ll hit them in the flank with the whole company.”

The acknowledgements came back, and she lifted her suit off the ground to a height of about a meter, then flew quickly to the assault point.  She knew there was no time to lose.  Any delay, and the Ranger line would be broken.  Moving through the foliage of the jungle, which was almost devoid of animals, those that lived there having run away, she thought about what she was going to do.

I’m no damned infantryman, she thought, landing twenty meters back in the jungle and waiting for the rest to assemble.  I just want to build things, or sometimes blow them up.  I didn’t want this shit.

But she realized that she had signed up for it, when she had accepted her commission.  They had never guaranteed that she would not have to throw her precious body into close combat.  Only that it was unlikely in her specialty.

“We’re all here,” called out her Exec over the com.

“Everyone check weapons.  We move in one minute.  And please, check your targets before firing.  I don’t want any friendly fire incidents if we can help it.”

Again the acknowledgements came back, and she watched the clock tick down on her HUD.  When it hit zero she gave the order, and one hundred and thirty-eight heavy suited engineers came crashing out of the jungle in a two kilometer long line and hit the Cacas in the flank.

At first the aliens didn’t even know what was happening, many of them killed by shots from their sides that were their first indication an enemy was among them.  One entire platoon of Cacas, moving up to reinforce the attack, was wiped out in less than a minute, though they did kill some of the engineers.  Stella cringed as she watched her troops fall off the plot, the men and women she was responsible for.  They were killing more of the Cacas than they were losing, thanks to the surprise they had been gifted with.

About a kilometer into the attack the aliens started to realize that they had a menace on their flank, and some of them started to turn to meet the advance.  Most were still caught up fighting the Rangers, and turning to meet the flank attack just meant they were turning their own flank to another enemy.

“Keep moving,” the Captain yelled into the com.  She had yet to fire her own rifle, all of her attention taken by keeping her company in a formation, keeping the two reserve squads under her command.  They had swept four kilometers in when the HUD showed the Rangers to the north breaking through the Caca defense that had been weakened to send some of their troops against hers.

The beams were flying fast and furious at the end, just before the Cacas broke and ran, the few that were left.  Stella was just about to congratulate her people when one of the last Cacas to fire caught her in the chest with a particle beam.  She screamed in pain as the beam, which didn’t fully penetrate the thickest part of her heavy suit, sent flash burns into her chest.  She was still screaming as the suit injected her with pain killers and nanites.  She was unconscious when the medics got to her.

*     *     *

Cornelius knew he should be shooting at the Cacas that were running away from the fight.  After all, any they killed here were fewer they would need to hunt down in the coming weeks.  The Captain was just too tired, fatigued to the bone.  He was physically sapped, but also worn down on an emotional level.  He lay there in a prone position, too tired to get up, looking over his command on his HUD.  The Captain was almost in shock at his loses.  Out of the company he had brought to this world, he had fifteen survivors, and six of them were too badly injured to fight without some hospital time.

“You OK, sir?” asked his Top Sergeant over the com.

He monitoring me, just like he’s supposed to, thought the officer of his tough noncom, one of two NCOs to survive.  And I should have known that old bastard would survive.

“This was no fight for Rangers, Top,” he replied to the First Sergeant.  “They should have had heavy infantry here.  This was their type of fight.  We’re hunters, not line soldiers.”

“We’re soldiers, first and foremost, sir.  We go where they tell us, and do what they need doing.  And if we die in the process, that’s just part of the deal.”

“And how many times have you fought a battle like this?”

“Like this?  This is the first.  And I hope the last.  But if the Army tells me to do this again, I guess I be putting on one of these suits a reprising my role.  But I much prefer to be the hunter as well, sir.  I prefer to be the one initiating the action, not the punching bag.”

Walborski forced himself up from the ground, looking over the field that was filled with the suits of the dead, holding what was left of their bodies.  Maybe they’ll let us hunt down the stragglers, thought the Captain, shaking his head.  He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to do that.  He had just wanted to kill Cacas, and now he thought he might have had a stomach full of killing.

*     *     *

“They’re on the run in my sector, sir,” reported Baggett to his commanding officer.  “On all fronts.”

He raised his faceplate for a moment, then lowered it immediately, taking in a deep breath.  I should have known better, he thought, looking out over the field that was covered in ruptured suits, Caca, Phlistaran and human.  The stench had been unimaginable, the rotting smell of three similar but slightly different biologies.

“We’ve got them on the run all over the planet, Samuel,” said General Lucius Arbuckle, a core of fatigue running through his voice.  “But stay alert.  Intelligence estimates that there are at least twenty thousand of the bastards still out there.  I don’t think they’re going to be doing much but hiding, but I also wouldn’t be surprised if they staged some raids.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You did good, Samuel,” said Arbuckle.  “This one was a real bastard, but you did a great job.”

“I guess.”

“Try not to take the blame for the people you lost, Samuel,” said the older man.  “I know you will, because God knows I will.  But don’t go overboard.  Get some rest, get some food and booze in your stomach, and learn from the experience.  We’re going to need you further on down the road.  This war is not over by a long shot, and I’m afraid we’re going to see a lot more battle fields before it’s over.”

The General dropped out of the com, leaving Baggett alone with his own thoughts.  He looked up at the sky.  The Army’s part of this operation was all over but the mop up.  Now it was up to the fleet to handle their part.  He hoped they did, because he had been on the receiving end of one enemy attempt to retake a planet he was standing on.  And he didn’t want to go through that again.

Chapter Twenty-five

We shall draw from the heart of suffering itself the means of inspiration and survival.

Winston Churchill.

NEW MOSCOW SPACE, EVENING, APRIL 8TH, 1002.

“Impact in twelve minutes,” called out the Tactical Officer.

The High Admiral gritted his teeth and watched the tactical plot, which showed over fifty thousand objects bearing down on his fleet.  Not an insurmountable swarm, but one that was going to maul his command.  Most of the objects were coming in at point eight-three light, a velocity that made them dangerous enough, if not the most dangerous weapons possible.  That would be reserved for the nine hundred missiles that were coming in at point nine five light, while still accelerating.  They would hit just a couple of seconds after the main swarm, while his ships’ computers were coming off their defensive cycle, at his most vulnerable.

The wave had already blown past the fighter screen he had placed out ahead of his ships.  They had accounted for some thousands of the missiles, while losing a couple of hundred of their own craft.  He wished he had the same fighter capacity as the humans, with their dedicated carrier ships, another shortcoming they would have to make up in the near future.  But not one they could compensate for at this time.

The fleet had been sending out counter missiles for the last ten minutes, whittling down the swarm, though not enough to suit him.  If he had his way the counters would take out seventy-five percent of that swarm, though forty percent was a more realistic figure.  He was thinking fifty to sixty percent, when the missiles brought their jamming up to full power and spoiled that hope.

“Some of their missiles have left the plot, my Lord,” called out the Tactical Officer.  “And we had nothing near enough to hit them.”

The flagship shook from missile launch, all tubes cycling as fast as they could put out the ten ton long range counters.  In five minutes they would switch over to the two ton short range weapons, and tried to acquire and destroy missiles with those interceptors all the way in to two minutes out.

“What the hell are they?” he demanded of the officer.

“I think they are dedicated jamming devices, my Lord.  When they disappear there is a massive spike in jamming that last for ten seconds or so.  When that jamming dies, another two score of the devices detonate and refresh the jamming.”

The High Admiral watched the screens over the tactical station, one which was being watched by the officer in charge and the eleven males that worked with him.  Each screen showed a section of the swarm, and every ten seconds about half the missiles on each viewer faded as the jamming birds went off.  They slowly faded back in, until at the ten second mark the missiles were all back on the screen, their acquisition degraded still by the normal electronic warfare systems of the missiles.  Unfortunately for the targeting systems, all of the missiles were moving in maneuvers to make it difficult to calculate where they would be by the time counters got to them.  The missiles covered by the jamming came back onto the plots in unpredictable positions, and so it went on around the entire swarm.

“Is there anything we can do to defeat them?”

“I cannot see how, my Lord.  Maybe with more preparation, some research into their systems versus our own.  But in the next fifteen minutes?”

And more of them are going to get through because of this, thought the High Admiral, looking back at the main tactical holo, relieved that his ship was in the center position.  He was the most important being in this fleet, and his ship, because it carried him, the most important vessel.  The entire tactical defense plan was based around defending this ship.  But if his fleet was smashed, even if the flagship survived, he would still be hunted down and destroyed by the humans, who now had quite the considerable fleet around the planet.

The missiles passed the engagement envelope of the long range counters, and the vibration patterns of the launches changed as the launchers switched to the shorter ranged weapons.  Thousands of missiles dropped off the plot, then ten thousand, while the lasers of the ships opened up, trying their best to hit fast moving objects that were doing their best to not be targeted.  Beams struck, and warheads detonated in flares of brilliant antimatter fire.

A different kind of jamming came up now, as a new type of dedicated missile flared with a gigaton of energy each, this time strobing a super-bright flare of light and static that hit sensor systems like a hammer.  The missiles forged on, thousands of them dropping out every minute, until the calculation that seventy-five percent might make it through seemed too low.

The missiles entered the one minute range, and the lasers and particle beams became more accurate, striking hundreds of missiles despite the jamming and the evasive maneuvers.  At thirty seconds the missiles pulled their last trick.  Where there had been fifteen thousand missiles, now there was an expanding cloud of smaller warheads coming at the fleet, more than a million.  Most of the warheads were tiny, one megaton devices that would pop like super firecrackers on the hulls of the target vessels, degrading their sensor, weapons, electromag screens and armor.  Their carrier missiles each released four hundred of the units as they bore into their targets, two million of the devices.  They only contained rudimentary targeting, computation and boost systems.  About a half million of them were destroyed before they reached their target, contributing to the cover of the other missiles, at the same time interfering with the target acquisition of many of the incoming warheads.

The High Admiral felt a shiver run up his spine as he watched the damage reports coming in.  None of his ships were destroyed by the sub munitions, but over half sustained major damage to their systems, while almost all of them took some hits.  A moment later the first of the multiple warheads, two hundred megaton devices, struck, and ships did drop off the plot by the hundreds.

Three seconds later the fastest of the missiles came in, now traveling at point nine six light, with enough kinetic energy to shatter a twenty-five million ton superbattleship with a direct hit.  Three hundred and five of those missiles did hit, and two hundred and ninety-seven ships blinked off the plot, converted to clouds of plasma.

“That was the last of them, my Lord,” called out the Tactical Officer, his eyes wide with fear even as he breathed out in relief.  The flagship had been hit by several of the submunitions, and one of the multiple warheads, and had taken the heat and radiation of a near miss by one of the powerful unitary weapons.  It had lost about a third of its grabber power, half of its laser domes, and would only be able to traverse hyper VI without a visit to a major shipyard.

We survived, thought the High Admiral, walking away from the station with a leaden step.  But most of his fleet didn’t.  He had a mere seventy-three ships left, and most were too badly damaged to get into hyper, or boost at more a couple of hundred gravities.  They were a damaged force incapable of giving a good account of themselves in a battle, and the humans had more ships in the system, enough to totally destroy what he had left, even if he wiped out the human force his missiles were now streaking towards.

“Orders, my Lord?” asked the Tactical Officer, looking from the High Admiral to the Helm Officer.

“Order the force to scatter,” he said with a sinking heart.  “All ships to make it to the hyper barrier at best acceleration.”

“And the ships that can’t boost, my Lord?”

“They will just have to stay and die.  Evacuate all crew off of them, then rig the vessels to detonate when boarded.”

He walked over to stand before the central holo.  We will not get out of here.  The humans have won this fight.  The only way we will be avenged will be if other Ca’cadasans destroy them.  And I pray to the Gods that the day will come, soon.  He stared at the holo, watching his own second strike approach the enemy force he had targeted.  Or maybe I can get a bit of revenge right now.  Strike them, my beauties.  Blow them out of space.

*     *     *

“Missile impact in fifteen minutes,” called out the Tactical Officer, and Fleet Admiral Kelvin stared at the plot showing the massive wave of enemy missiles coming at him.

It seems like only minutes since I watched our own missiles take out the enemy force, he thought, his mind straying to the icons of the enemy ships, now less than a hundred, trying to flee the system on a number of different vectors.  No ship was making over four hundred gravities, and most were doing much less, including twenty-two that were basically coasting in space.  Now I’m watching the enemy’s attempt to erase me and my command bearing down on me.

His own force was coasting, as it had been for the last twenty minutes, having deployed the special missiles that had moved ahead at a mere couple of hundred gravities until they had gotten to the release point, just beyond the fighters that were stationed ahead of his fleet.

This incoming missile wave was even larger than the one he had survived hours before.   That one had hurt, and he was sure the enemy hoped that this one, fifty percent larger, would hurt more.  Of course, he had some more surprises deployed to face this one.  He just hoped the performance of said surprises wasn’t a surprise for his side as well.

“Missile three minutes out from the fighter screen,” said the Tactical Officer.  “They should be entering the Field any second.”

That was what the surprise was known by, the Field.  Not an energy field like the electromagnetic screens their ships used, this was more like a mine field.  There were five million of the objects coasting forward in space just a little faster than his fleet.  There were no graviton emissions, almost no heat signature, nothing to really give them away to the sensor heads of the enemy missiles.  Scattered among the one megaton yield bomblets were over a hundred of the new jamming missiles, also powered downed, along with five command and control platforms.

They waited until most of the missiles were within their mass before the warheads turned on their boost, acquired targets as best they could, and took off, all under the control of the specialized platforms, controlling them by grav pulse.  An instant after they boosted the jamming missiles all detonated, sending out a wave of electronic and visual static that blinded the sensors on the great majority of the enemy seeker heads.

The min-warheads moved to their targets, most of which were still flying a straight path.  Almost ninety percent of the bomblets lost lock when the jamming came up, and were blinded to an even greater extent when the missiles’ own ECM came up.  Still, thousands of missiles were hit, and ten thousand more were destroyed as the bomblets flashed fire as their antimatter went off.  Plasma and particles impacted on tens thousands of missiles, and if the particles were large enough the missile itself provided all the kinetic energy needed to destroy itself.

The remaining missiles forged ahead with no fear, no regrets over the destruction of their brothers.  There were targets ahead, and they still had a function to fulfill.  Next up was the fighter screen.  All of the fighters that had survived in the previous screen had gone back to their launching ships and rearmed, then moved back to their positions, while hundreds more had come through gates, to raise the number in the screen to over two thousand.  Now those two thousand fighters launched their missile defense weapons, over twenty thousand counter-missiles.  An instant later every craft began firing their lasers, aiming for every missile that got through their counter-missile barrage.

Almost twenty thousand made it through, leaving over five hundred fighters killed in their wake.  They immediately ran into a wave of counter-missiles launched from the warships, and several thousand more that had been launched through the gates on their tails.  They took out over half the remaining missiles, leaving over nine thousand to hit the lasers, then the close in defenses.

Kelvin held on to his chair arms tight, watching the tide sweep in that could still destroy his command.  The fear on the flag bridge was palpable, everyone feeling helpless in the face of the swarm.  They might be in control of the fleet from this room, but there was nothing they could do to actually affect the outcome of this battle.  That was up to the tactical and sensor departments of the individual ships.

Close in systems took out two thirds of the remaining missiles, leaving just under three thousand weapons getting to final approach phase.  That was still enough to totally destroy the fleet.  As they watched the close in systems continued to kill missiles, and now they were blowing up close enough to send waves of heat and radiation into the force.

“Launching final countermeasures,” called out the Tactical Officer, sending the command by grav pulse.  New icons bloomed on the holo, hundreds of them, then disappeared as they detonated to fill space with jamming.  An instant later several hundred more icons appeared, these broadcasting strong graviton, electronic, and heat signatures, while at the same time sending out radar and lidar pulses.  Half the surviving missiles locked onto these new targets and turned into them at the last moment.  One thousand warheads detonated with tremendous flashes, wasting most of their explosive power against five hundred ton objects that were of little importance.

Nine hundred and some odd missiles were still entering attack phase, aiming for whatever ship they had targeted.   Over two hundred hit, and a hundred eighty-seven ships, from destroyers to superbattleships, converted to plasma.  The rest were near misses, the more common proximity kill, and another forty-three ships joined the hits as total destructs.

Kelvin looked over his fleet moments after the attack.  His flag had escaped unscathed.  He wasn’t sure if that was fair, but he would take it.  He still had over half his fleet, though many of those ships were heavily damaged. Forty percent of his original force worth of ships were still combat effective, he had destroyed the only major enemy force in the system, and there were still some reinforcements heading his way, as soon as the ships that had missed transit had come around and gotten back in line.

And we still have another enemy fleet heading our way, and we’re low on the weapons that won this last engagement.

“Admiral Lenkowski is on the com, sir,” said the Com Officer.

“Give it to me in my day cabin,” he told the officer.  Now I get my congratulations, he thought as he got out of his chair and headed off the bridge.  And the bad news.

Epilogue

KINGDOM OF NEW MOSCOW SPACE, APRIL 10TH, 1002.

“Thirty-seven hours to the system, my Lord,” announced the Navigator, looking back from his console.

High Admiral Jarrassand’ra Kiritopath gave a head motion of acknowledgement and continued to stare at the plot.  Only thirty-seven hours to the system, which he had to hope was still in the hands of his people.  He had thought sending his fleet in after the defeat of the combined invasion force was a bad idea.  But the outer force commander had not been interested in what he had to say.  As soon as the first ships came in, fleeing from the border regions of the largest of the human polities, he had ordered every ship available to head to this New Moscow, which the commander hoped the Ca’cadasans still held.  And so the High Admiral had followed the orders of the Great Admiral in charge of the forward base, and had assembled the force within hours before boosting this way.

The High Admiral looked at the system in relation to the overall plot of the area.  He had to admit that continuing to hold here would give them a continued toehold in human space, one far enough from the major human polity to be away from the main fleet bases of the enemy, but close enough to be reinforced quickly from the Empire.  As long as they have the ships to send to us, he thought.  Those ships had not been evident at base when he had left, and he hadn’t heard of any forthcoming from deeper in the Empire.

“Is there anything we can do about those ships that have been shadowing us?” the High Admiral asked his Tactical Officer.

The enemy vessels had been in extreme sensor range for several days, staying close enough to keep track of the Ca’cadasan force, but far enough out to be able to avoid anything sent their way.  He hadn’t believed the reports of the humans catching up technogically with his people until now, but those ships were fast, able to traverse hyper VII, and with acceleration to match anything he had.

“I don’t see how, my Lord,” said the officer.  “And I don’t think they are anything more than a nuisance.”

The High Admiral turned back to the plot with a grunt.  Of course they were nothing more than a nuisance, unless they were sending data back to their fleet.  The rumors of them being able to make wormholes had run rampant back at the forward base.  The High Admiral didn’t know how much truth there was in that, but if the claims were even half true, whatever enemy force was in this space could know the entire composition of his force.

Well, we’ll find out if they know about us in thirty-seven hours, he thought.  And even if they did, if a friendly force was there to greet him in the New Moscow system, it wouldn’t matter.  His force would be much larger at that point, and he would have a fortified system to fight in.  The High Admiral dismissed the feeling of impending doom and concentrated on the victory he would win once he was in that system and the humans came calling, not knowing what they were up against.

*      *      *

Lenkowski stared at his own holo as his force sped toward the New Moscow system.  They were up to point nine seven light, as fast as he dared to push it.  A wave of nausea went through his gut, a sign of the extra rads he was taking.  Unfortunately, at the same time they were taking more rads, the nanites in their systems were being broken down, and with them their ability to heal.  The docs told him that everyone should survive once they slowed down and were re-injected with the nanites in storage behind their isolation fields.  Still, there would be some mighty sick people aboard until that happened.

Thirty-seven hours, he thought, looking at the enemy fleet on the plot.  They’ll get there in thirty-seven hours.  And the Republic force won’t make it for forty-five hours, and my own force for eighty-five.  Which means they’ll be on their own in the system for eight hours before even the insufficient reinforcements of the Republic arrive.

He worried about those people who would be fighting a superior force right after fighting the battle to win the system and the planet.  There was nothing he could do about it.  Everything that was going to get to the system was already on the way, including the reinforcements coming through the wormhole net.

If we had more of the new weapons it would be one thing, he thought.  They had used up all of the newest toys in the battle to take the system, and it would take time to get more from the factories out to the fleet.  His ships had some of them, but there was no way he could get them to those other ships any faster than he could his own force.  His wormholes all reached back to the Donut, and it would take time to ship the weapons from his ships that didn’t have wormholes to the ones who did, then through piecemeal to the station, where they would have to be loaded onto ships before transiting the ship gate net.  They might get there in time, but the odds were against it.

Kelso will just have to fight smart, him and that Crakista admiral when she arrives. He knew that Kelso was a good officer, a master tactician who had earned his rank.  He knew nothing about the alien, except that the Republic had trusted her with its battle fleet.  Which he hoped meant she was a smart officer as well.  Because she would have to be smart if they were going to win that fight.

*     *     *

SECTOR IV.

Emperor Sean Ogden Lee Romanov stood on a hill overlooking the field, surrounded by his security, watching the people who continued to come through the wormhole gate.  A good portion of the remainder of the Kingdom of New Moscow, flooding the field as they were directed to the vehicles that would take them to their shelters.

There were men and women, mostly of indeterminate age.  There were some children along with them, but due to the present structure of human society based on current biology, they were normally less than ten percent of the population unless it was a developing or frontier world that wasn’t under population restriction.  There seemed to be much fewer than that percentage out there.  Of elderly, which only accounted to less than five percent of human society on any world, again due to the human aging process in the improved population, there were even fewer than expected as compared to the children.

Sean felt sick to his stomach as he thought about that dynamic.  In the brutal confines of the camps, the survival rate of the young and old must have been the lowest of all within the compounds.   But soon New Moscow, once it was restored to its people, would again be filled with children as the people attempted to rebuild their nation.

“We’ve gotten over three million out through this gate so far, your Majesty,” said Major General Carla Manuel, standing a half meter from the Emperor, watching the same scene unfold.  “From that figure, we can estimate that one hundred and twenty-five million have been evacuated so far.”

From what?  Seven hundred and fifty million.  Sean shook his head as he looked down on that crowd.  His augmented eyes, part of his genetic heritage, zoomed in as he looked from face to face.  He could see the genetics of human race on those faces.  People tracing their ancestry to legendary places from old Earth.  Africa, Asia, Europe, the Americas and the Pacific islands.  And mixtures of all of those people.

Sean himself was a mixture of all the best old Earth had to offer, the genes of his ancestors enhanced.  His skin tone was the dark tan of the many ethnic groups of humanity blended together, his almond shaped ice blue eyes a mixture of several continents, his dark red hair a rarity among any peoples.  He had the Africa American strain of the Streeters, the pure African of the Mgondas, the Chinese heritage of the Lees, and the European genetics of the Ogdens and Romanovs, all in his line.  He was supposed to be the best that humankind had to offer.  And he was still a flawed ruler, and people died because of his inadequacies.

“We have a message from the Capital, your Majesty,” came a call over his implant.

Sean acknowledged with a sinking feeling, wondering what else might have gone wrong.  He linked into the com, which was coming through the wormhole network with a priority code.

“Your Majesty,” said the voice of Grand High Admiral Sondra McCullom.  “We’ve just received news from Commodore Sung.”

The Emperor felt his heart speed up.  Natasha Sung was in charge of the mission to contact the other enemy of the Ca’cadasans, the one they were said to be fighting on the other side of their Empire.

“They’ve made contact with the people they were sent to find.  And you aren’t going to believe who they are.”

THE END

Appendix A: Glossary

Aether Paddles:  Grabbers.  Units that utilize the space warping powers of energized superplatinum to grip the actual fabric of space and pull their attached object along.  Used in everything from battle armor to large ships.

Augmentation:  Also known as Enhancement.  Retroactive genetic and biological engineering of humans.  Through the use of nanotech enhancements are made to the human genome, resulting in faster and stronger people with the sensory systems of the best found in nature.  Upgraded glandular systems.  Ninety-five percent of augmented also have reduced lifespans, though some exceptional genomes do not experience this, and pass their traits down to their descendants.

Bolthole:  Imperial industrial system in the process of being established a thousand light years outside the boundaries of the Empire.  Planned as a unassailable arsenal and last refuge of the Empire.

Capitulum:  Capital City of the Empire, home of the House of Lords and the Imperial Palace.  3 billion citizens living in 375,000 kilometers of city.

Catastrophic Translation: The movement of an object from any of the hyper dimensions to normal space through hitting a hyper barrier or losing its protective hyperdrive field.  The result is a translation in which matter is disrupted, resulting in the probably destruction of the ship and all aboard.

Class III Systems: Mostly agricultural worlds, 763 worlds in 748 systems, with a combined population of 88 billion.

Class V Systems:  Economically important and military systems, 307 planets with 5.5 billion citizens.

Cloning:  Reproduction of organic material by the artificial stimulation and growth of cells.  Cloning of food and body replacement parts is widespread, but the reproduction of a complete sophont is illegal in any of the human polities, due to the fact that clones are somehow different.  Human clones completely lack a conscience, no matter their upbringing or training.  It is unknown why.

Com Net:  Network established on all Imperial planets allowing all citizens access to communications and data services anywhere on the planet.

Core Worlds:  Class I.  The oldest and most developed of the planets of the Empire, with populations in the billions.  Population is restricted, as are births, and by law fifty percent of the land area of the world must remain pristine wilderness.  98 inhabitable planets in 91 systems, within two hundred and fifty light years of the Central System.  380 billion citizens.

Cyborgs:  Living beings with integrated mechanical and electronic systems, such as fiber optic nerves and communication implants. Technically, all humans in high tech society are cyborgs, incorporating as they do data and com implants, and nanite augmented immune systems.  True cyborgs have much more intrusive implant architecture, including biomechanical nervous and muscular systems.  All enhanced soldiers, such as Rangers, Naval Commandos and Marine Recon have passive implants such as bone reinforcement.

Developing Worlds:  Class II systems.  294 inhabited planets in 277 systems, with a population of 185 billion (21 billion alien) citizens.

Dole, The:  Living wage payments to the great majority of citizens of the Core Worlds.  Supervised robotic factories produce the products needed to sustain society to the point where employment is not possible for most Core World citizens.  The Dole allows them to survive with some luxuries such as in house entertainment, but not much else.  Citizens who wish to improve their lot compete for the jobs that are available.

Donut, The:  Massive century long engineering project, an enormous space station in orbit around the Supersystem central black hole, using the swirling gravitational energy of a sixty solar mass charged hole to generate wormholes.

Exploration Command:  Subdivision of the Fleet tasked with exploring new worlds, making scientific discoveries, and expanding the Empire into unexplored space.

Fleet, The.  Term of respect an endearment for the naval forces of the New Terran Empire, a force which has never lost a war, and is responsible for guarding the people of the Empire.

Frontier Worlds:  Class IV.  8,462 planets in 8,147 systems, with a combined population of 6.9 billion citizens.

Gravitons:  Messenger particles of gravity, detectable in all levels of space, including subspace and hyperspace. The manipulation of gravitons is responsible for artificial gravity and the use of hyperspace and subspace.  Gravitons can be tracked through all dimensions of hyper.

IIA:  Imperial Intelligence Service.  Imperial Security Service responsible for intelligence gathering beyond the boundaries of the Empire.  By Imperial decree they are allowed some investigative powers within the Empire, mostly those involving threats to the government.

IIB:  Imperial Investigation Bureau.  Imperial Security Service responsible for counterintelligence and criminal investigation within the boundaries of the Empire.

Imperial Alien Systems:  7 aboriginal systems with 3.2 billion beings.  Ten alien protectorates of 89 systems, 262 billion aliens.

Implants:  Electronic devices attached by nanotech to the brains of Imperial citizens, allowing them to contact com and data services, as well as emergency services.  Range from basic to Governmental that allow access to classified databases and vital command and control services.  By Imperial Privacy Laws the tracking feature of implants can be disabled by citizens concerned about being monitored.  Convicted criminals have this feature removed.

House of Commons:  Second House of Parliament, made up of elected members of the common people, based on the population of the planets of the Empire.  2,647 total members.  All appropriations and infrastructure bills originate in this house.

House of Lords:  First House of Parliament, made up of hereditarily appointed nobles, as well as high ranking members of the major churches of the Empire.  961 members.   All military bills, intelligence bills, and treaties originate from this house.  Prime Minister comes from the Lords.

House of Scholars:  Third House of Parliament, made up by appointed and elected members of scientists and academics.  Most members are from first tier Universities, with a small number appointed by the Lords and the Emperor.  400 members.  All science, technology, medical and educational bills originate in this house.

Hyper Barrier:  Effect of gravity wells on objects traveling through hyper.  Vessels striking the barrier are translated out of hyperspace catastrophically.  The radius of the barrier depends on the mass of the object generating it, black hole, star, planet or smaller object. For a black hole the barrier can be thirty light hours or more from the center mass.  For a planetoid it might be light seconds.   The higher the dimension of hyper the further out its barrier.  Star systems typically have a hyper I barrier of from three to five light hours, depending on the mass.

Hyperdetection:  Ability of spaceships, particularly warships, to detect other ships moving in hyper.  The larger the ship and the higher the level of hyper, the longer the range another vessel can be detected at.  Extreme range of a battleship sized vessel moving in VII is up to seven light years.  Translations also send out a hyper signal well beyond that of traveling ships,

Hyperdrive: Graviton projection device capable of opening holes in the dimensions leading from normal to hyperspace.  Also projects a graviton field around the ship while it is in hyperspace, protecting the crew and vessel from the effects of that space.  Each succeeding dimension takes 4.2 times the power to open and remain in than the one below it.

Hyperspace:  Upper dimensions of the Universe, corresponding to the same space time coordinates of the visible Universe, through a nesting of graduated smaller dimensions.  Allows ships to travel at below the light speed limit and still traverse normal space at faster than light speeds.  Hyperspace is a realm of energies and particles unknown in normal space, and is in fact inimical to normal matter.  Hyperspace does not exist within the moderate gravity wells of heavy objects.

Hyper I:  9.11 to 1 ratio, .9 c pseudo speed 8.2 light.

Hyper II: 40.9 to 1 ratio, .9 c pseudo speed 36.8 light.

Hyper III: 163.44 to 1 ratio, .9 c pseudo speed 147 light.

Hyper IV: 654.2 to 1 ratio, .9 c pseudo speed 588.78 light.

Hyper V: 2,616.9 to 1 ratio, .9 c pseudo speed 2355.2 light.

Hyper VI: 10,467.6 to 1 ratio, .9 c pseudo speed 9,420.8 light.

Hyper VII: 41, 870.4 to 1 ratio, .9 c pseudo speed 37,683.36 light.  .95 c pseudo speed 39,776.9 light.

Hyper VIII: 167,481.6 to 1 ratio.  Only electromagnetic signals can be transmitted through VIII, and only for a very limited range.

Inertial Compensators:  Devices, normally paired with grabber units, utilizing superiron to convert inertia to heat, then using the properties of superlead to project the heat into space.  Inertial compensators allow ships to pull high gee loads, while giving off enormous amounts of heat, making them as visible as small stars to the enemy.

Inertialess Fighter:  1,500 ton attack fighter that uses a negative matter warp bubble that reduces inertia essentially to nothing, allowing extreme acceleration and the ability to attain velocities faster than the speed of light.  There are two weaknesses to the process.  The fighters are totally cut off from the Universe and cannot see where they are going, and the craft must leave the bubble at the same velocity as when they entered or they will suffer an inertia rebound.

Jewel:  Capital planet of the Empire, based in the Home system and in a mutual orbit with the terraformed planet New Terra and the moon Ariel.  Home to twenty billion citizens.

Klassekian:  Alien species inhabited a planet in extra-Imperial space.  Klassekians are born in litters of from six to twelve siblings, all interconnected through quantum matter in their brains.  His connection allows them to transfer information instantaneously across any distance and through all known dimensions.

Mag Weapons:  Weapons from civilian hand to vehicle mounted cannons which fire a solid or explosive projectiles through a magnetic tube that accelerates them to the desired velocity.  For hand weapons this is in the one thousand to five thousand meter per second range.  Tank cannon can fire rounds at up to a thousand kilometers a second.

Nanotech:  Ubiquitous technology used in almost every industrial and operational aspect of the Empire.  Nanites process raw materials, construct alloys and fibers at the atomic level, and weld and join larger constructs.  All citizens have a multitude of nanites in their bodies, making them immune to almost any conceivable biological contagion, as well as healing minor injuries and allowing the digestion and utilization of native foods that would otherwise not provide any nutrition.

Negative Matter:  The exact opposite of matter, and not found in our Galaxy.  Made by an industrial process that is very energy intensive.  Negative matter repels itself and matter, and is capable of generating antigravity.  Negative matter cancels an equal amount of regular matter in a very unspectacular disappearance.  Negative matter is necessary for the maintenance of wormhole gates.

Particle Beams:  Streams of high energy protons or antiprotons.  Infantry and hand weapons project up to a gram of matter at low relativistic speeds.  Heavy infantry and ship borne weapons project matter at much higher speeds.  Protons strike targets with high kinetic energy that translates into force and heat.  Antiprotons explode on contact with matter.

Secret Service:  Imperial Security Service responsible for the protection of the Imperial Family and members of Parliament.

Special Ops:  Army Rangers, Naval Commandos and Marines Recon operatives, biologically augmented and trained to fight without the use of armor or electronic equipment.  Augmentation includes the removal of all human scent emitting glands.  This allows them to escape the detection of most high tech sensors, and strike from the shadows.

Sonics:  Stun weapons that act on the nervous system of the target, disrupting its actions and in most cases dropping it into unconsciousness.  Civilian self-defense weapons come equipped with a transmitter to alert local police to the use of the weapon, though this has often been bypassed by criminals.

Subspace:  A single dimension separate from hyperspace, with correspondence to normal space coordinates, and with a 12.47:1 normal space to subspace ratio.  At .90 c within subspace pseudo speed is 11.22 light speed.  Subspace is not inimical to matter, and though energy is needed to enter and exit, none is needed to remain.

Subspace Com:  Unit capable of sending vid through subspace at 12.47 light speed.  Only useful in normal space, though not within the close gravity wells of stars and planets.

Supermetals:  Artificially produced high numbered elements that take advantage of an island of stability in the periodic table.  Produced in enormous industrial plants that utilize the entire surface of frozen moons and small planets, using the temperature differential to cool the high temp nuclear furnaces.  Superiron, superlead and superplatinum are the three metals produced, with super platinum both the most useful and most difficult to make.

Supersystem:  Central Systems in orbit around the black hole.  Home system and seven others.  Sixteen habitable planets, four habitable moons, as well as assorted asteroid belts and habitats.  102 billion citizens, 6.6 billion of them aliens, with 26 percent of all Imperial space industry.

Translation:  The act of moving in and out of the dimensions of hyper.  Accompanied by a burst of
gravitons that can be detected for from many light hours to several years.

Wormhole:  Bridge through space and possibly time allowing objects to transit.  Extremely rare in the natural universe, produced by the Donut for use as com links, portals, and weapons deployment.

About the Author

Doug Dandridge is the author of over twenty-five 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 two and a half year period as a self-published author, Doug has sold over one hundred and twenty-five thousand ebooks, paperbacks and audio books.  He has amassed over 1,800 reviews across his books on Amazon, with a 4.6 star average. 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 five cats in Tallahassee Florida.  He is a sports enthusiast and a self-proclaimed amateur military historian.

About The Prometheus Saga

The Prometheus Saga is the premier project of the Alvarium Experiment, a consortium of accomplished and award-winning authors. The Saga spans the range of the existence of Homo sapiens. The stories do not need to be read in any particular order; each story is an entry point into the overall story.

The Prometheus Saga stories & authors are:

“The Pisces Affair” by Daco Auffenorde. CIA operative Jordan Jakes meets Prometheus when the Secretary of State becomes the target of a terrorist attack at a head-of-state dinner in Dubai. Visit Daco at www.authordaco.com.

“On Both Sides” by Bria Burton. When a mysterious woman vanishes during the American Revolution, young Robby Freeman searches for answers from a cryptic sharpshooter who deserted Washington’s Continental Army. Visit Bria at www.briaburton.com.

“Ever After” by M.J. Carlson. Two mysterious women convey the same Cinderella story to Giambattista Basile in 1594 and Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm in 1811. How different cultures retell this story reveals humanity’s soul to those who listen. Visit M.J. at www.mjcarlson.com.

“The Blurred Man” by Bard Constantine. FBI agent Dylan Plumm's investigation of a mill explosion puts her on the trail of the Blurred Man, a mysterious individual who may have been on Earth for centuries. The case turns deadlier at every turn, placing Dylan in the crosshairs of shadowy antagonists even as she unravels a centuries-old mystery. Visit Bard at www.barwritesbooks.com

“Crystal Night” by Charles A. Cornell. Berlin, 1938. On the eve of one of history’s darkest moments, a Swedish bartender working in Nazi Germany accidentally uncovers a woman’s hidden past. Can he avoid becoming an accomplice as the Holocaust accelerates? Visit Charles at www.charlesacornell.com.

“Marathon” by Doug Dandridge. Prometheus, posing as a citizen of Athens, participates in the battle of Marathon alongside the playwright Aeschylus. Visit Doug at www.dougdandridge.net.

“The Strange Case of Lord Byron’s Lover” by Parker Francis. Writing in her journal, Mary Shelley recounts a series of perplexing events during her visit with Lord Byron—a visit that resulted in the creation of her famous Frankenstein novel, but also uncovered a remarkable mystery. Visit Parker at www.parkerfrancis.com.

“Strangers on a Plane” by Kay Kendall. In 1969 during a flight across North America, a young mother traveling with her infant meets an elderly woman who displays unusual powers. But when a catastrophe threatens, are those powers strong enough to avert disaster? This short story folds into Kay’s mystery series featuring the young woman, amateur sleuth Austin Starr. Visit Kay at www.kaykendallauthor.com.

“East of the Sun” by Jade Kerrion. Through a mysterious map depicting far-flung lands, a Chinese sailor in 1424 and a Portuguese cartographer in 1519 share a vision of an Earth far greater than the reality they know. Visit Jade at www.jadekerrion.com.

“Manteo” by Elle Andrews Patt. In 1587, Croatan native Manteo returns from London to Roanoke Island, Virginia. Can he reconcile his strong loyalty to the untamed land and people of his home with his desire for the benefits the colonizing English bring with them before one of them destroys the other? Visit Elle at www.elleandrewspatt.com.

“First World War” by Ken Pelham. 40,000 BC: As the last remaining species of hominid, Homo sapiens and Homo neanderthalensis, fight a desperate battle for ownership of the future, the outcasts of both sides find themselves caught in middle. Visit Ken at www.kenpelham.com.

“Lilith” by Antonio Simon, Jr. In this retelling of the Adam & Eve story, a hermit’s life is turned upside-down by the arrival of a mysterious woman in his camp. As the story of their portentous meeting carries forward through the millennia, only time will tell if Lilith is a heroine, a victim, or a monster. Visit Antonio at www.DarkwaterSyndicate.com.

“Fifteen Dollars’ Guilt” by Antonio Simon, Jr. 1881: After a close brush with death in a steamship disaster, Prometheus encounters another survivor who gripes about how aimless his life has become. Prometheus helps him find his calling, inadvertently setting in motion the assassination of President Garfield. Visit Antonio at www.DarkwaterSyndicate.com.

For additional info about the stories and authors, visit the official website: The Prometheus Saga

Five By Five 3: Target Zone

TARGETS ARE LOCKED!

Five short novels by five masters of military SF capture the excitement, and hell, of fantastic future war—on and off the battlefield. Stories of terrifying monsters, dangerous aliens and staggering cosmic dreadnaughts march alongside far-flung courtroom dramas and cautionary tales involving man and his devices.

Michael A. Stackpole—The Star Tigers are commandeered by a powerful alien overseer on a covert mission to a world long abandoned by an ancient species. There, the ruins of a forgotten war will tip the balance of their war, unless the Star Tigers can prevent it.

Sarah A. Hoyt—Lucius Dante Maximilian Keeva is a well-respected leader of the Usaian Revolution, but treason in the ranks can cost him everything that makes life worth living—unless he takes justice into his own hands and breaks every military regulation in its pursuit.

Doug Dandridge—Faced with an enemy more than two hundred times her own size, Cinda Klerk has two options: hide, and let it destroy the planet she is supposed to protect, or find a way to even the odds and kill the enemy, even at the cost of her ship and crew.

Eytan Kollin and Dani Kollin—As the Unincorporated War envelops the entire solar system, a father must come to the rescue of a daughter he never raised. But he'll have to convince her to save herself first.

Kevin J. Anderson—In the war against an alien menace, Earth’s greatest military commanders risk themselves on the front lines, but with an escape hatch: If the situation goes terribly wrong, they can switch places with a safe soldier far from the battlefield. But the cannon-fodder volunteers don’t consider that such a good deal.

Set your cross-hairs on the Target Zone.

Excerpt from Goliath:

“We have a translation, from the hyper VII dimension down to VI,” called out the Sensory Officer, Ensign Emile Schmidt, in his soft New Berliner accent.

“Ours, or theirs?” asked Lt. Commander Cinda Klerk, watching the tactical holo and dreading the answer.  She was not a large woman, in fact, the captain’s chair still felt too big when she sat in it.  And she had the kind of face that attracted men, which she saw as a detriment to her career, not letting her fit the image of the warrior woman.

“Theirs,” answered Schmidt, a look of anxiety, no, fear showing on his face.  “And it’s a big one.  Twenty million tons or more.”

It would be, thought Cinda, the captain of the HIMS Joel Schumacher, one of the only two hyper capable warships in the system.  She was the largest ship assigned to the Compton system.  There were two more ships, both non-hyper vessels of similar class.  Schumacher was the most massive of the three ships due to her carrying the extra mass of a hyperdrive.  At a hundred thousand tons she was not the smallest hyper capable vessel in the Imperial Fleet.  The couriers and fast attack ships were much smaller, as were attack fighters, though only the fast messengers were capable of reaching hyperspace on their own.  Still, they were facing the prospect of a visit by a twenty five million ton battleship, over two hundred and fifty times her own mass.

And we’re more suited to going head to head with pirates, thought the Cinda.  That was exactly what her ship had been envisioned to take on, either hunting them, or protecting merchant traffic.  It was ludicrous at best to station her in a system as a defense against an opponent whose smallest warship was in the six hundred thousand ton range.  Especially with the special orders that came down from the Emperor himself.

Cinda pulled up a side holo and stared at the comp representation of the enemy that was en route.  An image originally taken thousands of years before.  They haven’t changed, she thought, looking at the figure of a tall, furred biped, standing on two strong legs, double shoulders extending from the torso supporting four arms.  The head was the horror, a medium muzzled, red eyed carnivore with sharp teeth showing in a grin, two large horns growing from the top of the skull.  The creature stood three meters tall sans the horns, and looked very much like the demons of some human religions.

“We’re receiving a gravity pulse from New Kiev,” said the Com Officer, a young man who looked like he had just walked out of the doors of the academy.  “Her captain is ordering us to support them in an action against that warship.”

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.

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 Walbroski enters the rigors of Ranger training, becoming one of the augmented warriors of the Empire.  But his first assignment, Azure, is one of the most deadly planets in the Galaxy, even prior to the coming of the Cacas.  Can Cornelius survive his first mission?  Or will  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: 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: 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.

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 Archeologist, 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 worshippers, 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?

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: 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.

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