Exodus: Empires at War: Book 11: Day of Infamy (Exodus: Empires at War.) (19 page)

“I have bad news, your
Majesty,” said the Chief of Detail after listening to his link for a few
moments, his face growing more troubled by the second.

Jennifer wanted to shout
for the man to shut up, to not tell her the lie she knew was coming.  Only it
wouldn’t be a lie.  It would be the truth, and something she desperately didn’t
want to hear, though she needed to know.

“Search and rescue found
the Prince’s carrier.  It fell out of the car.”

“And Augustine?” she
asked in a hushed voice.

“The carrier was
penetrated.  It looks like a particle beam hit it and burned through.”

Jennifer brought her
hands to her face, striking the plate that was in the way.  She lowered the
plate and stared at the man, praying that she had heard wrong.

“As you know, your
Majesty, the carriers are made to handle the destruction of the car that’s
carrying it, as well as any kind of concussion.  But a particle beam can still
burn through.”

The Chief stopped,
looking into the face of the horrified mother.  “I’m sorry, ma’am.  I don’t
know what else to say.”

And the man had rambled
to make it through the words he didn’t want to say.

“And the Prince?”

“It looks like the Prince
was vaporized, ma’am,” said the Chief, closing his eyes for a moment, then
looking at her with some of the most pain filled eyes the Empress had ever
seen.  “I am so sorry, ma’am.  We failed you.  We failed the Empire.”

The physician in Jennifer
wanted to tell the man that he didn’t fail.  That things just hadn’t worked
out.  But she couldn’t do that, not at this moment.  All she could think about
was the new life that had been snuffed out.  A young man destined to rule the
Empire, if they survived this war.  A war he knew nothing of.  And that hadn’t
meant a damned thing, since it had still killed him.

“Get my surviving son to
safety, Agent,” she finally said in a tone that could cut steel.  “We’ll worry
about everything else once that is done.”

*     *     *

H-3.

“We’re hitting the outer
atmosphere, sir,” reported the Assistant Engineering Officer who was the acting
tactical officer of the
Dot MacArthur.

“Keep her steady, Helm,”
ordered Captain the Duke Maurice von Rittersdorf, looking anxiously at the
plot.  He knew the Admiral had been joking about smacking his ships into the
planet.  Still, if he did that, he would never live it down.

The plot showed
Mabana
on his port side, about a hundred and fifty kilometers to the east, while
the
Paxton
was the same distance to the starboard.  The other six ships
of the squadron, all he had brought back from the front, stayed higher up, just
at the edge of the atmosphere.  They would fire down with their lasers and
particle beams, while the three he brought lower would use not only the beams,
but the close in projectile weapons as well.

The ship shook a bit from
atmospheric turbulence, not too bad, just enough to let them know there was
something out there other than vacuum.  He felt a thrill at doing something
very few captains ever got to do.  With grabber units a warship could actually
touch down on the surface, but most officers wouldn’t even try without good
reason.  And basically, there were very few situations that gave one good
reason.  This was the only one he could think of.

“Here they come,” shouted
the acting Tactical Officer.  The ship vibrated as she released particle beams
and streams of close in weapons fire at the swarming enemy craft.  This had
been part of the plan, to give the enemy a target they could not ignore.  Not
while the improvised antiaircraft platforms could slaughter them at will.  The
close in weapons were set to accelerate up to a fraction of their capacity, a
mere ten kilometers a second, the shells still set to explode on closest
approach to the target.

Rounds cracked out at
what still amounted to hypersonic speed in the gaseous envelope of the
atmosphere, detonating all around the enemy craft where they didn’t physically
strike.  In seconds they had cleared a half hundred enemy craft from the sky,
while most of the remaining moved way at their best speed.

“Keep after them,
tactical,” shouted von Rittersdorf as the ship shook from a couple of missile
hits.  The ten megaton warheads blew through the armor and did moderate damage
to the hull underneath, but it was nothing the warship couldn’t handle.  And
any weapons like those that hit his ship, moving fifteen kilometers above the
surface in rarified atmosphere, were weapons that were not hitting just above
the city.

*     *     *

“What the hell,” gasped
Visserman as she looked above her to see the warship move down into the
atmosphere.  At first she through it might be part of the enemy attack, but
very soon her sense got over the initial panic and she recognized it   A query
of her ship’s computer confirmed that it was a destroyer, and she could see
several more on her HUD in the distance.

What seemed like madness
made a lot of sense as she noted the destroyer was firing just about everything
she had at the enemy fighters over the city.   Lasers, particle beams, even
close in weapons systems.  Most of the shots missed, but there were more than
enough hits to keep the enemy busy dodging instead of attacking.  Some of the
misses hit within the city, those fired on a downward angle.  Particle beams
ripped into structures already heavily damaged, while exploding shells
detonated on roadways and the wrecks of vehicles.  And every second at least
one enemy fighter met its end.

Debra made damned sure
that her Identification Friend or Foe was active.  She didn’t want to get shot
down by her own side.  Next she pulled lower and away from the destroyer, not
willing to test her luck.  Close in weapon rounds were detonating all through
the air, and in less than a minute there were at least thirty enemy aircraft turned
into spreading clouds of debris, while a score or more fell to the earth
trailing smoke.  A few rounds exploded near her craft, going off prematurely, a
sign that they had picked up her IFF, but were traveling too fast to completely
avoid harming her.

In moments she was out of
the firing pattern of the destroyer that was still taking the enemy fighters
under long range fire from her beam weapons.  Shrapnel fell below on the city,
the shells all detonating before they passed the altitude of two kilometers. 
That meant that some still hit the tops of the megascrapers, causing minimal
damage to structures that had already been evacuated.

It seemed to her that the
Fleet had its shit together, at least here.  Now, if they could only plug
whatever route the enemy was using to keep pouring fighters into the twin
planetary system.

*     *     *

“It seems like a
certainty, your Majesty,” reported Grand Fleet Admiral Duke Taelis Mgonda over
the com holo.  “This large force is heading directly for New Moscow, and is most
likely going to bypass anything on the way.”

“And we think they have a
wormhole?” asked Sean, trying to keep his mind on the battle and not on the
fight that was still going on in the capital system.  There was nothing he
could do about that fight, and he wasn’t about to order a superheavy battleship
like
Augustine I
to slow down and leave formation so he could jump back
to the
Donut
, and from there to Jewel.  Though he wasn’t sure what
jumping to Jewel would mean, since from last report the Hexagon was badly
damaged and evacuated, and Central Docks would still leave him some fifty
thousand kilometers from the capital, with no way to get there through the
enemy assault.

“That would be the smart
way to bet, your Majesty,” said the man, one of the highest ranking combat
commanders in the Fleet.  And someone whose opinion Sean trusted completely. 
“They can’t have many of them, and we know where two of them are at this
moment.”

In the Supersystem
, thought Sean with a
grimace, nodding.

“But a major offensive
like this would call for having a wormhole, if they have any.”

“And they have what, two
thousand ships in that formation?”

“That’s what our scouts
are telling us,” agreed the Duke.  “A large force, but not as big as expected.”

The other two forces
moving in, one toward the Republic, one at the Empire, were larger.  And there
were some moderate concentrations of up to a thousand ships in New Moscow
imperial space.    But if they did have a wormhole in all of the larger forces,
they could reinforce any of them at need, moving forces in for an attack, then
pulling them out to support another thrust. 
And two can play that game,
thought the Emperor, sure that his side could still play it better.  After all,
the Cacas couldn’t have more than a score of wormholes total, versus the
thousands possessed by the Empire.  An example of that was the wormhole
equipped scout that had tracked this force they were discussing.  The enemy
couldn’t have enough to equip scout ships with them, meaning that information
only came as fast as ships could transit back to the fleet.  Sean and his
forces had not only the wormholes, but now the Klassekian com techs, equipping
thousands of scouts with instantaneous com.  What they knew he knew, as soon as
they did.

But our reinforcements
for New Moscow are now heading elsewhere
, though the Emperor, closing his eyes and
clenching his fists.  Ships were being rerouted all over space.  What had been
tasked as reinforcements for New Moscow were heading by whatever gate they
could find back to the Supersystem.  And the Elysium and Crakista ships they
had been counting on to augment his fleet were at home, under the orders of
leaders who were acting like pouting children.

“Do you want me to order
those ships rerouted, your Majesty?” asked the frowning Admiral.   “We can
still get more ships into the New Moscow system before those Cacas ships get
there.”

“And when will they get
there?” asked the Emperor, meaning the enemy.

“ETA is forty-one hours,
your Majesty.”

And we have no idea what
else the bastards are going to bring through into the home systems.  If we
don’t reinforce, they are likely to defeat everything we have they, and then
destroy everything at their leisure.

“I’d hate to lose New
Moscow a second time,” interjected Mgonda.

“I would too, Admiral. 
But I would hate to lose the heart of the Empire even more.”  Sean shook his
head, hating to make another of these calls that sentenced people to death so
that others could live.  But it was his call.  “Keep moving ships toward the
Supersystem.  New Moscow will just have to hold out until we can get to them.”

“And our soldiers on the
planet?” asked the Admiral.  “Should we order them evacuated as well?”

“No, Admiral.  They are
to defend the planet against anything that comes at them.  I will not abandon
New Moscow.”

“You can’t do everything,
your Majesty,” cautioned the Duke.  “Trying to do it all with not enough will
just end up throwing lives away for nothing.”

Don’t you think I know
that, Admiral?
thought
Sean.  There were political considerations here as well, something the
Admiralty might not want to think about, but something he must consider.  “Just
follow my orders, Admiral.  This is on me.”

Just one more defensive
fight, here and at home
, he thought, thinking of his Fleet’s dispositions.   They
had   been preparing for this day since the Cacas had been kicked out of the
Empire, over a half year before.  They had upgraded everything they could,
added as many new ships as possible.  If they could take out this attacking
force, they could go over onto the offensive, at about the same time as new
construction started rolling out.  At about the same time as their Klavarta
allies of the Nation of New Earth started fielding their own new units. 
One
more defensive fight, then we’ll see how you like it when the initiative is
ours.

But even as he thought
that he wondered if it was a pipe dream.  If the
Donut
were destroyed
they might not have another offensive in them.  If it were destroyed while they
were still in the early stages of engaging the Cacas, without their wormhole
weapons, they might not win this fight.  If the Fleet were hurt badly, and they
lost the source of their greatest technology, it could spell the end of the
human species.

And I’ll go down in the
history books of some other species as the last leader of the human race.

*     *     *

“Just hang in there,
baby,” said Cornelius as he sealed his wife up in the cryo bag.  She had
stopped breathing some minutes before.  Which meant she still had some minutes
before she started to sustain damage to her brain.  As soon as the bag was
sealed he hit the programming pad on the center of the apparatus.  In seconds
the interior of the bag started to freeze its contents.  In less than a minute
the body of his wife would be frozen, maybe not hard, but enough to stop all
metabolic processes.  It was old technology, used to bring the first refugees
to the Empire, and had been constantly improved through the centuries.  The
Ranger was very familiar with the bags, which had been used to save countless
lives through the centuries on the battlefield.  He had no doubt that the bag
would preserve his wife until she could be treated at a medical facility with
high tech nanosurgery that would make her as good as new.