Exodus: Empires at War: Book 2 (33 page)

At three minutes the
Seastag’
s
missiles dropped their second layer of decoys, the first burning out and
coasting on at over seventeen thousand KPS.  The new decoys sent out static
like the first layer.  The ship fired a wave of twenty counter missiles.  Four
found a lock and drove for the same two missiles.  Two lost lock in the jamming
and one actually detonated close enough to take out a missile.

At four minutes the
missiles dropped the third layer of decoys as they drove in at almost
twenty-four thousand KPS.  The ship fired close in interceptors and took out a
second missile.  The interceptors lost lock on the other missiles in the static.

At five minutes the
missiles were moving at just below thirty thousand KPS, maneuvering in erratic
patterns to avoid the ship’s defenses.  One was hit by a defensive laser and
detonated four thousand kilometers from the ship.  Its radiation added to the background
against which the last missile maneuvered.  The missile closed within twenty
kilometers of the ship.  The on board tracking computer realized that this was
as close as it was going to get and detonated the warhead.

Five hundred megatons
of explosive power ignited off the port stern of the scout ship.  The blast
effect in space was negligible, but megajoules of heat and radiation hit the
stern of the ship in a wave.  Two grabber units, the port stern laser dome and
a trio of missile tubes were taken out.  Atmosphere gushed from already
weakened areas.

Suttler watched the
damage assessment on his panel, including the visuals of the scout ship’s
sides.  She was badly hurt, and he would have loved to hit her again.  But his
was a stealth/attack ship, designed to strike out of the darkness and fade
away.  They could pick up the heat signatures of other vessels moving toward
them.  It was time to fade into the immensity of space and begin the stalk anew
on another ship.  Looking at the battered hull of the enemy scout he had to
guess there were at least a hundred casualties on board, if not many more. 
Enough revenge for the courier.  And he had given the enemy something to think
about as they cruised about as if they had owned the system. 
Let them keep on
trying
, he thought as he licked his lips in anticipation.

*     *     *

It was over three hours
since they had been hit by the fighters, and pod leader Klesshakendriakka was
beginning to feel nervous about plunging further into the system.  They were picking
up dozens of objects on infrared, none radiating too strongly, and couldn’t
tell what they were.  But they were there and they obviously didn’t have good
intentions toward his ships or his people.

“We could fire some
probes ahead to get an idea, my Lord,” said the tactical officer.  “Best
estimate is that they’re still hours ahead at our current decel.”

“Order the lead ships
to do that,” he said, looking at his plot.  This system was supposed to be a
fiercely defended base from what their intel indicated.  So there should be
some capital ships ahead.  He actually would have expected the enemy to meet
them further out where the chances of a stray missile hitting the habitable
planet were minimized.  And what if the enemy ships were all out system, on patrol
or some other task.  They might just come in behind the Ca’cadasan force.  Though
they should get some kind of warning from the ships patrolling the zone beyond
the hyper limit if anything was getting near.

Maybe we’ve hit the
worst of it before the orbital defenses
, he thought with a relaxing breath.  It would
be nice if the system was a pushover.  Not expected, but then he could get back
to the fleet alive and take command of a repaired ship.  Or maybe a new vessel,
just come from the shipyards.  Or go home and breed with his wives, to bring a
new generation of warriors into the Empire.  If only…

“We’ve picked up
incoming missiles,” called out the tactical officer.  “Tracks being relayed
from lead vessels.”

Which still had their
sensor arrays intact, knew the pod leader.

“Do you have the launch
platforms recognized?” he asked, attempting to keep his voice calm.  If it was
more of the fighters they had to be close and maybe the missiles wouldn’t be
coming in too fast.

“No, my Lord,” said the
tactical officer.  “Wait.  They’re powering up and we’re picking them up on
infrared.  Twenty vessels.  Each about twice as large as ours.  Maybe more.”

“Are they heading for
us?”

“Give me a minute
please, my Lord,” said the nervous sounding officer.  “I’m attempting to do a
track from their emissions.  Missiles are identified as three hundred and
twenty coming in at five thousand gravities.”

Maybe we can survive
those
,
thought the pod leader, attempting to do saturation problems in his head.

“They’ve launched
another volley, my Lord,” said the tactical officer, looking over at the pod
leader.  “Three hundred and twenty more.”

Six hundred and forty
missiles
,
he thought.  Almost sixty missiles for each of his ships.  And the defensive
systems were not in top shape on most of those vessels.

“Order the pod to
target those launching ships and fire everything we have,” he yelled, watching
the two waves of red arrows that were twenty-six minutes away.  Green arrows
appeared on the plot as his eleven ships flushed waves of missiles at the
enemy.  They had launched over four hundred when the arrows stopped appearing.

“We are emptied, my Lord,”
said the tactical officer.  “The enemy ships are accelerating away to port at
two hundred and sixty gravities.”

Ten minutes passed as
the bridge crew sat nervously watching the approaching waves of death.  Fifteen
minutes, as the closing velocities increased.  At seventeen minutes the ships
started flushing their stores of counter missiles, trying to knock down what
they could at range.  The pod leader shook his head as at twenty-one minutes
over three hundred missiles made it through the defensive wall of counter fire.

Short ranged
interceptors took over at twenty-two minutes and took out another hundred of
the missiles.  Close in defenses took out another ninety, leaving ten missiles
for each of his remaining ships.  They came at a combined closing speed of over
point four eight c.  And when they hit, what was left of the Ca’cadasan
scouting force was plasma and debris floating through space.

The heavy cruiser force
continued on its way, accelerating to its next firing position for the fight
involving the invader’s capital ships.  They were able to blanket the enemy
missiles with a far more intact defensive fire.  Still a score of enemy missiles
got through to proximity hits, one to a straight on penetration that crippled a
heavy cruiser and left it a wreck.  Five more ships took damage, but nineteen
launch platforms were left for the next act of the play.

Chapter 15

A visitor from Mars could
easily pick out the civilized nations.  They have the best implements of war.  Herbert
V. Prochnow

“
McArthur
reports she is ready to translate to n-space, ma’am,” said the com tech from
her post behind the Captain.

Captain (acting
Commodore) Dame Mie Lei nodded her head and looked at the approaching hyper
limit on the tactical display.

“Commander von
Rittersdorf reports a lot of translation energy from the system, ma’am,”
continued the com tech.  “He thinks it’s the reverb from a number of recent
translations from the VII band.”

The Captain sat up a
little straighter as she heard those words.  Only two of her ships could
translate to and from hyper VII.  Rittersdorf’s
Dot McArthur
and her own
Joan de Arc
.  There weren’t that many hyper VII capable warships around
in human space, for there to be a
lot
of them moving toward this one
system.

“Tell him to be
careful, com,” she ordered, wishing she could do a face to face with the
younger Commander.  But they were too far apart in hyper V to contact in that manner. 
Coded text would have to do.

“Acknowledges, ma’am,”
said the tech.  “Translating now.”

Their own detectors
picked up the destroyer moving down to n-space in the static of grav waves. 
She hoped it was alright out there in normal space, and that she wasn’t leading
the convoy of helpless ships into a battle.

“Get the rest of the
convoy on com,” she ordered the tech.  “Last minute orders before we hit the
hyper limit wall.”

“Aye ma’am,” said the
tech.  “All ships on the circuit.”

“This is Captain Mei Lei,”
she said over the circuit, knowing the ships were close enough for the voice
transmission to get through to them all, if not video.  “There is unusual
activity from the Massadora system ahead.  You may think I am an old lady, but
I want to play it safe.  All ships increase decel.  Anyone who can come to a
stop before reaching the hyper limit is to do so, except for my two leading
destroyers.  I know the freighters won’t be able to come to a stop before the
limit so you will translate as close to the limit as you can and continue decel
on the other side, with the destroyers riding herd.  The other escorts and the
troop transports are to wait in V until we come and get you.”

“Ma’am,” said the tech,
looking up from her board.  “Everyone out there wants to talk with you right
now.”

“Tell them I’m busy,”
she said, watching the tactical.  Her ship could stop before reaching the
limit, but instead she let the ship decel at normal.  The velocity decreased by
the second, until they were almost to the hyper five limit.

“Translate now,” she
ordered.  The helm acknowledged with a nod and punched in his commands.  Space
stretched ahead, opening an almost perfectly circular hole through which the
star flecked black of normal space could be seen, highlighted by the red tinged
backdrop of the hyper V dimension.  Then
Joan de Arc
was through the
hole.  The Captain felt the momentary queasiness and could see the look of
nausea on the faces of some of the bridge crew.  The reaction of all sentient
brains to the movement between spatial dimensions.

“We have a contact,
ma’am,” called the tactical officer, looking at his board, then back at her. 
“It’s firing missiles.”

“Target?” she yelled
out, feeling her gut contract and wondering what she had dropped them in the
middle of.

*     *     *

Lt. Commander Maurice
von Rittersdorf felt his stomach turn as his ship reentered the normal
universe.  It took a second to clear his head, focusing his eyes on the
screen.  He felt a wave of anxiety come over him as he noted all of the dots and
vector arrows that were appearing on the tactical plot, even as he looked at a
rash of erupting white pinpoints that signified high energy blasts on the
visual scan.

“What do we have?” he
asked his tactical officer.  Lasardo seemed to have recovered faster than the
rest of the bridge crew, an asset in a tactical officer.  He was switching
attention back and forth between plots and screens, formulating a quick report
for his Captain.

“Lots of radiation
coming out of the system,” he answered, looking back at his Captain.  “Gamma
and neutron both.  Probably hundreds of antimatter detonations.”

“What about all of
those infrared signatures?” asked the Captain as the plot added in accel and
velocity figures.  Some of the dots changed to arrows as the ship’s computer
correlated its observations.

“There are thousands of
signatures in the system,” said the tac officer, frowning.  “Going to take a
while to figure out what they all are.”

“Estimate,” ordered the
Captain.  “I need to get a report to the convoy, and don’t have time for
perfection.”

“Thousands of vessels
in the system engaging in combat,” said the tactical officer.  “Everything from
strike fighters to battleships.  Ours and theirs, whoever they are.  So far I
can’t tell who’s winning.  And, oh, by the way.  The information is several
hours out of date.”

“OK,” said von
Rittersdorf, glancing anxiously at the plot.  “As soon as we’re able let’s go
back into hyper and let the commodore know what’s going on here.  Maybe she’ll
know what to do.”

“We have a contact,”
said Lasardo in a squeak. “Larger than a destroyer from her heat signature. 
About three light minutes out system.”

“Ours or…”

“We have missile
signatures.  A half dozen on their way.”

“Evasive,” ordered the Captain. 
“Move us and prepare defense systems.”

“Another six missiles
following the first salvo.”

“How long till we can
go back into hyper?” gasped the Captain as his ship began to accel
perpendicular to the hyper limit.

“We’re entering the
limit now,” called out the helm.  “It’ll be two point six five hours to kill
our velocity and begin to come back out.”

Damn,
thought the Captain. 
Almost
six hours to come back out to where we can go hyper.  And if I hyper out now we
run into the barrier and undergo catastrophic translation right back into N space.