Exodus: Empires at War: Book 11: Day of Infamy (Exodus: Empires at War.) (22 page)

“And what changed your
mind?”

“The sight of our own
kind fighting valiantly changed my mind.  That, and the lies they told us about
this mission.  We thought we had come to hurt you, but their plan was to
totally destroy these worlds.”

“You know they mean to
exterminate our kind,” said Mei, wondering how much she could trust this being,
knowing she really couldn’t.  She glanced over at the Tactical Officer and
nodded, then back at the captain on the viewer.  “We are sending a Marine
platoon over to board your ship.  Cooperate, and I will guarantee your safety. 
Try to pull something, and they have orders to shoot to kill.”

“I understand.  And yes,
I finally realized that they meant to exterminate all of humankind.  We were
only kept alive so that the Masters would have someone to infiltrate your
military and governmental institutions when contact was again made.  I had
heard rumors, but had always dismissed them, thinking we were too valuable to
the Masters.  But when they tried to send across a device that would shatter
your world, in contravention of their own religious principles, I realized that
it was all a lie.”

Mei held up a hand to
signal the Com Tech to kill her transmission for a moment.  “Tell the Marine
officer that I want this one alive.  I don’t want any accidental discharges, or
shot while trying to escape.”  The Tech nodded and started the transmission to
the shuttle that was just about to enter the open bay of the freighter, where
the wormhole had resided minutes before.

She hated giving that
order, but she knew emotions would be high at this time.  After all, surrender
or not, laws of war or not, the captain and crew of this ship had been
responsible for millions of deaths and massive destruction, to this, the heart
of the Empire they had all sworn to protect.

“Sitrep?” she asked of
her Tactical Officer, looking at the plot.

“There are still over
three hundred enemy fighters working over Jewel.  We have eight hundred
fighters in the air, with more launching every minute.  Ariel and New Terra are
secure.  And ma’am.  A carrier just came through the wormhole near Central Dock
and is launching all their fighters.”

The battle wasn’t over
yet, but the enemy didn’t have much left, and that number was going down by the
moment.  Even as that thought entered her mind she found herself looking at
another building slip going up in a blast of actinic fire, heralding the death
of another capital ship before she had even been born.

*     *     *

“We need to get you and
the heir down into the shelter,” said the Chief of Detail as the aircar landed
on the roof of the Imperial retreat.  Low rumbling noises were still coming
from the south, where multiple mushroom clouds were starting their collapse,
while more rose into the sky.

The jungle below the
compound, looking down the mountain to the large river flowing through the
valley, the same waterway that ran through Capitulum, was alive with the calls
and shrieks of wildlife, terrified of the unknown sounds coming from down
river.  That and the streaks in the high atmosphere traveling at over a score
of the speed of sound, their deep booms actually shaking the trees below.

The heir
, thought Jennifer,
following the agents who were guiding the protective carryall.  She was still
having trouble coming to terms with the fact that Augustine, the child that had
been the heir an hour before, was no longer alive.  That his younger brother
was now the inheritor of Empire.  She would have problems even caring about the
aspect of the situation.  All she really cared about was that her child, one of
the twins she had borne and loved, was dead, before he had even started his
life.

The lift took them down,
through the three story dwelling and the four levels of basement, continuing
through the rock of the mountain until there were ten kilometers of solid stone
over the thirty meters of battleship armor that was the final protective layer.

“Let me have him,” said
Jennifer as the nurse opened the container, revealing the sleeping form of
Glen.  The baby stretched, yawned, then started crying as his eyes sprang wide
open.

“Perhaps we should let
the doctor look him over first,” said the Chief of Detail, moving into the path
of the Empress.

“Get the hell out of my
way,” she screamed in his face, trying to push the augmented man out of the way
and failing.  “That is my baby, I am a doctor, and I will see to him.  Now get
out of my way, or I will see that you are relieved of duty as soon as my
husband returns.”

The agent nodded and
stepped out of her way, looking over at the nurse and giving another nod. 
Jennifer was at the side of her son in an instant, lifting him from the carrier
and placing him against her, head over her shoulder.  She immediately caught
the odor of a baby who had eliminated into his diaper, and she carried him out
of the room to the nursery, where a changing table and supplies were located.

“I can change him, your
Majesty,” the Nurse offered.

“I will do it,” said
Jennifer, unwilling to let Glen out of her hands.  She lay the crying baby on
the table, then undid his diaper and wiped with the soiled garment.  Tossing it
in a waste hamper, she grabbed a wipe and went to work, then looked over at the
Nurse.  “Prepare a bath for him.  I think he needs more than a change.”  She
looked back down at the squirming, crying baby, realizing that he was probably
hungry as well.  She rubbed a finger over his face, trying to sooth him, as the
tears fell from her eyes.

You’re the only one I
have left
,
she thought, shaking her head. 
I will be damned if I let anything happen to
you.  They’ll have to go through me first.  I will let no one separate me from
you.

The nurse brought the tub
filled with warm soapy water, and the Empress busied herself with the care of
her child, just like any other mother, occupying her mind with the simple task
so she wouldn’t have to think about the one she would no longer be able to care
for.

Chapter Fifteen

Success consists of going from failure to failure
without loss of enthusiasm. Winston Churchill

H-4.

“Understood,” said the
large male, standing at the back of the bridge.  He looked over at the two
other males and gave a head motion.  All three males drew their weapons and
pointed them at the humans who manned the stations.  “Step away from the
stations.  Touch nothing.”

“What is going on?” asked
the Captain, holding up his hands and making sure not to touch anything.

“The other ship is gone,”
said the male.  “Or at least that is what headquarters thinks happened.  Their
wormhole collapsed.  Command wants to make sure that doesn’t happen here.”

“We have three ships
entering the system through one of the enemy wormhole gates,” called out the
Tactical Officer.

“What are they?” asked
the Captain, starting to move toward that station, stopping in his tracks as he
remembered the weapon pointed at him.  “Why are you pointing you weapons at
us?  Are we under suspicion?”

“There is some concern
about why the wormhole died that led to the other ship,” said the Ca’cadasan
male.  “It was like it was terminated on the other end.”

“We are loyal to the
Empire and Emperor,” said the Tactical Officer, looking back at the male.

“Be that as it may, you
are not to touch any controls.  The battleships will handle the tactics of this
battle from here on.”

“Can we at least continue
to look at the displays, so we can give you our input?”

“You may,” said the male,
giving head motions to the other two Ca’cadasans.  The male moved over until he
was standing behind the Tactical Officer, looking down on the tactical plot. 
“What do we have coming through their gate?”

“From their signature, it
looks like three capital ships, my Lord,” said the Tactical Officer, glancing
back at the huge male.  “We can’t tell at this point.”

“They will not be able to
influence this fight from where they are,” said the male, looking at the
Captain.  He closed his eyes for a moment, linking into the com net with the
other ships around him as well as command through the wormhole.  “You are to move
your ship into close proximity of the human station.  The battleships will
guard you on the way.”

“So we are allowed to
touch the controls?” asked the Helm.

“No one is to approach
the wormhole control panel,” said the male, as one of the other Ca’cadasans
moved to stand in front of that station.  “Otherwise, you are now permitted to
control this vessel.”

“Why do they want us to
move so close to the station?” asked the Captain, looking at the Ca’cadasan
with trepidation.  Their mission called for them to close, but to still stay at
a safe distance and launch fighters and missiles from range.  He looked at the
tactical holo, bringing it up in a zoom near the station.  The first wave of
missiles were still fifteen minutes from contact, and the station was still
quiescent.  He had no doubt that when it did fire it would be spectacular.  And
the thousands of small craft, fighters and attack ships, were moving into the
path of the missiles.  Some would still get through, and considering the size
of the station, some of those were sure to hit.  He didn’t think the same would
hold true for his ship, or even the task group of battleships that would escort
her.  Its firepower would have to be enormous.

“That is not for us to
ask,” said the male, a grimace on his face.  “We have been ordered to move this
ship next to the station.  Now start us on the way, before those ships out by
the wormhole gates are able to bring us under fire.”

Those ships had already
fired on them, missiles were on the way, but it would still take almost an hour
and a half before any of them got within attack range.  They were already
moving toward the station at point four three light, and would be there moments
after the missiles from the warships reached them.  After they weathered that
storm, the only weapons they would have to worry about would be those fired
from the station and its defense squadron, which would be enough.  Even as he
thought that another battleship came from the wormhole, exploding into space at
a velocity of point six light, pushing ahead of the freighter and joining the
score of ships already aligned ahead of
Fool’s Bane
.

Another battleship came
through, then another.  This was a part of the plan that the human crew had not
been apprised of, or else it was improvisation from command.  The Captain
wondered if an entire fleet was coming through, and it so, why did his ship
have to get so close to the station.  Surely if they sent enough ships through
they could take out the station before the defense fleet by the gates could intervene. 
But why put their only chance of escape so close to that monstrous behemoth of
firepower?  If the gate went, and it was awfully exposed in the current
configuration that allowed it to transit twenty-five million ton ships, those
battleships would have no escape from human space.  Unless they brought enough
over to actually win a battle here.

Is this the place where
the Empire will defeat the other humans in a final battle?
thought the Captain as
the force ahead of him kept growing.  A quick calculation in his head showed
that an unlikely scenario.  They would at most be able to get a couple of
hundred battleships through before they were within beam range of the station, and
the Captain was sure his vessel would be a priority target.  So there would be
a large force of Ca’cadasans, but not enough to defeat what the humans could
bring through.  Which meant this was a suicide mission, plain and simple.

“That’s the last one,” said
the Ca’cadasan male, looking over the plot.  There were now forty-five
battleships arrayed around the freighter.  Thirty-five directly ahead, starting
to cycle counter missiles at the weapons coming out from the station.  Ten to
the side and rear, completing the bubble.  The missiles coming from the station
would be approaching at a considerable fraction of light speed.  There were
sure to be hits, and casualties, but the formation was set to assure that none
would be to the freighter.

“What is the plan here?”
asked the Captain, staring at the Master.

“Just navigate your ship
according to our orders,” said the Master, returning the stare.  “We will
accomplish our goal, which is all that you need to know.”

The Captain looked away. 
He could read the signs.  Ca’cadasans were almost insanely brave, willing to
sacrifice their lives on the command of any superior.  But they still felt
fear, especially when the task ahead was one they were sure they wouldn’t
survive.  And this Master was sure he wasn’t going to survive this mission. 
Which meant he and his crew wouldn’t either.

“I’m devoted to the
Emperor,” he said to the Master.  “I will do whatever is necessary to complete
the mission.  But I would like to know what we are doing, in case something
happens to you and the ships around us, and it is up to me to finish the
mission.”

“Nothing will happen to
me,” said the Master in a growl.  “And if anything does, do you really think
your flimsy carcasses will survive.  Now don’t say another word.  Not if you
want to live to see the end of this mission.”

The Captain turned away. 
When the Masters talked that way, they meant it.  He sat back down at his
station and accessed the ship’s computer, making sure that the information was
coming through on a flat screen that was not viewable by any of the Masters
from where they stood.  And he started pulling up information on wormholes.

*     *     *

“Launching fighters,
now,” called out the Wing Commander from his personal ship.  The tactical plot
showed the rest of his wing leaving their hangars, five at a time from the four
egress ports, until all one hundred and eight of his fifteen hundred ton
fighters were in space and accelerating onto the proper heading.

“We need you to get up to
speed as fast as possible,” said Rear Admiral Lucille Mason over the com.

“I know, Admiral,”
replied Captain Javier Chavez, looking over his tactical plan.  Unfortunately,
his ships could only come out of the inertialess bubble drive at the exact same
velocity as they entered.  It would take over an hour to get up to an optimal
attack speed, one that would be useful upon exiting the bubble.  They didn’t
have that hour.  His profile called for accelerating up to point two light,
then erecting the bubble and forging ahead.  Half of his force would be going
after the enemy ships, popping out and getting in some shots before the enemy
ran away from them, then jumping back into inertialess drive to catch up,
repeat, and hopefully do enough damage to the enemy to stop their attack.

He had some new weapons
aboard his ship, missiles that had worked well in testing.  This was not
testing, and none of his crews had fired any live weapons.  From what he had
heard the next iteration would be even more accurate.  Right now they were like
throwing rocks at a moving vehicle and hoping for a hit.  But they were what
they had, and no matter what they couldn’t allow the
Donut
to be taken
out.

“I estimate we will be in
first attack range fifteen minutes before the enemy ships get within beam
range.”

And the rest of his wing,
as well as all the ships of the other wings, would go after the missiles of the
third wave.  The station would have to handle the first two waves on its own. 
On paper that shouldn’t be a problem.  Unfortunately, battles weren’t fought on
paper.

“Good luck and Godspeed,
Captain,” said the Admiral, now through the Klassekian Com Tech who was
obviating the growing delay as the fighters moved away from the carrier at over
a thousand gravities acceleration.

Time seemed to stretch
ahead in slow motion, even though it only took about eight minutes to build up
on the velocity they had already carried from their launch vessel.

“Erecting bubble,” said
the Pilot, as the electromagnetic bubble came to life and firmed up around the
ship.  Moments later the negative matter injected into the bubble surrounded
the ship, and it was cut off from the Universe around it.  “Going to maximum
acceleration.”

The acceleration readout
started rising, until it was registering twenty thousand gravities, none of it
felt through the negative matter screen.

“We’re on profile,”
called the Pilot, looking back at the Wing Commander.

“Feed him the navigation
information constantly,” the Captain told his Klassekian Com Tech, hoping she
was up to this kind of mission.  “I also want constant readouts on the other
ships in the wing.”

The alien shook her head,
her eyes wide.  She had been put through a crash course in how to be a spacer. 
A month, when the course for enlisted personnel was six, and they really
weren’t considered fully up to speed until after a year in the Fleet.  And she
had gone from her own culture, a thousand or more years behind the technology
of the Empire, to working with the most advanced tech known to humanity.  Which
made her an unknown commodity in the eyes of the Captain.

“Just do what they taught
you and everything will be fine,” said the Captain, holding up a hand.  “And
don’t be afraid to ask if you’re not sure.  I would rather you do that, than be
afraid of looking foolish.”

“Yes, sir,” said the
alien in her strange accent.

Chavez looked back at the
plot, watching as all of the ships of his command moved toward the enemy, on
the proper profile, all of them depending on the strange looking aliens to get
them to where they needed to be to do their job.

*     *     *

H-5.

“Lenkowski’s port flank
is in contact with the enemy, ma’am” called out one of the Warroom Officers,
looking up from the floor.

McCullom nodded as she
sent the implant command to the plot, bringing up the view of a star system to
the far side of the Kingdom of New Moscow.   Icons appeared on the plot,
clusters of them, over a thousand Imperial and allied ships.  There was a large
gap between them and another cluster of ships, the Caca fleet that was coming
into the system.  She zoomed in on the enemy force.  Information started to
display below individual icons that were now vector arrows.  Acceleration,
probable identification of mass and class, weapons fire.  All of this was based
on probability using the information available.  At a distance of light hours,
trying to scan ships based on their graviton emissions only, accuracy was
sometimes wanting.  It was a major problem in naval warfare, though it could be
used by a smart planner for advantage.  Which they were hoping would happen
here.

“Lenkowski’s force is
firing,” called out the officer who was following that battle.  Smaller icons
appeared, thousands of them, vector arrows pointing at the enemy force.  What
wasn’t showing on that plot were the several thousand missiles that had sped
from wormholes at high velocity, almost undetectable until they had closed to
within ten light seconds of their targets.  The enemy had still not opened
fire, and as minutes passed the Admiral had to wonder why.  Missiles were most
effective at distance, where they could build up their velocity.  It didn’t
make sense to not fire, unless they were low on missiles, which shouldn’t be
the case.  As far as Fleet intelligence knew, this force had not fought since
it had come across the frontier.