Exodus: Empires at War: Book 7: Counter Strike (33 page)

RUBY, SUPERSYSTEM.

“It’s on, Sam,” said Lt. General Lishnir, the
Phlistaran commander of the Third Heavy Corps, which exercised command over
Baggett’s division.  “We need to get you deployed to Massadara post haste.”

“I thought we had another week,” protested
Baggett, sitting up in bed, looking at his clock and realizing that he had only
gotten three hours sleep. 
No rest for the wicked
, he thought. 
But
I’m a good boy.  Or at least that’s what my momma used to say.

“Looks like the star had other ideas,” said the
Corps Commander.  “I just hope we have enough resources after this is over to
keep that blast from sterilizing the nearest inhabited star systems.”

Baggett nodded, thinking of the damage those
fast moving charged particles would cause to the beings of a living world. 
Since the nearest inhabited system was seven light years from the star, they
had eight or nine years before the radiation wave reached it.

“Dagni will be disappointed,” said Baggett,
thinking of his Assistant Division Commander.  “She just got cleared for suit
training, but not for combat.”

“Do you need her?” asked the Lt. General.

“Of course.  And more importantly, the division
needs her.

“Then bring her along on deployment, but keep
her back at HQ, preferably with your logistics train.  But start your boys and
girls through the wormhole within the hour.  It will take quite some time to
get your entire combat strength through.  Twentieth division will follow as
soon as your last combat trooper is through.”

“And when do we fight?”

“You hide for now.  And strike as soon as the
first Fleet vessels make it into the system.  And Samuel.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Once you start, don’t stop.  For anything. 
You give them hell, and kick their slimy asses off that planet.  You take it
back for the Empire.  It’s ours, and they need to learn that.”

“Yes, sir,” said Baggett with a smile, putting
on the skin suit he would wear under his armor.  “That’s a command I will be
very happy to obey.  As will my boys and girls.” 
And I’m finally in the
main fight.  No more sideshows, Sam.  This time you get to pay the bastards
back for Sestius.

*    
*     *

“You’re going back to Sestius, Hunter,” said
Major General (brevet Lt. General) Walther Jodel, The Preacher.

The Hunter
, thought Second Lieutenant the Baron
Cornelius Walborski, trying to keep the smile off of his face in front of his
old mentor, and the current commanding officer of all special ops forces in
Sector IV.

“How much training time will I have with my
platoon, sir,” said Walborski, almost slipping up and calling the man
Preacher.  He wasn’t sure how well that would go over, a brand new second Louie
calling a general by his nickname.

“One day,” said Preacher with a grimace,
raising a hand to derail any protest.  “I know.  It’s not really enough time to
learn your command, or for them to learn about you.  But they know your rep,
and I can bet they will be very glad to get an experienced Ranger to lead them,
and not some shavetail whose only experience is some training.”

“Yes, sir,” said Cornelius, still not sure
about leading forty Rangers, some of them long term NCOs.

“Look, Hunter.  From what I read, you led Chief
Petty Officers on the
Donut
, who all gave you glowing recommendations in
their after action reports.  The Naval Commandos are a rough bunch, and if they
thought well of you, I don’t see how your own could think less.  Just lead like
you did on the
Donut
and you’ll be fine.”

Sestius
, thought Cornelius. 
The Freeholders are
still holding out there.
  His thoughts ran to his farm, his wife, his
future.  And then, her death in the jungle at the hands of the Cacas. 
And
now I get to play in that jungle again.  Not quite as bad as Azure, but bad
enough.

“Can do, sir,” said Cornelius, snapping off a
picture perfect salute.

*    
*     *

CONUNDRUM SPACE.

“We have new orders from headquarters, sir,”
said the Com Officer.

What the hell now
, thought Suttler,
coming to an instant awake state in his cabin.  “What do they want us to do
now?”

“Mostly just watch, sir,” said the officer. 
“And listen to hyper.  They want to make sure that hyperspace is just a screwed
up as they thought.”

Bryce sat up in his bed.  “The supernova went
off,” he exclaimed.  “Kind of early, wasn’t it?”

“Command acknowledged that point, sir.  They
said it couldn’t be helped.”

Bryce almost laughed when he heard that last
statement. 
Of course it couldn’t be helped.  It’s a damned supernova.  Not
like we had any control over it.

“They also want us to keep tabs on the
reactions of the Cacas, sir.  And any signal intercepts we can achieve.”

“Very well.  Do it.” 
And I bet the Cacas
shit in their pants when they find they can’t track shit in hyper.  And I’ll be
happy to watch that bowel movement.

Chapter
Twenty-two

A
pint of sweat, saves a gallon of blood.   George S. Patton

THE
DONUT. 
DECEMBER
22
^ND
, 1001.

“I hear we’re getting a new second Louie,” said
Private First Class Everett Linsk, looking up from his cards.  “I wish they
would just let you lead us, Sarge.”  He pointed with his cards at Sergeant
First Class Rupert SanJames, the man who had been their platoon sergeant for
the last six months.  They had been missing their officer all that time, since
the new platoon leader they had just received at that time had stepped in front
of a Caca particle beam.

“This one might just surprise you, Linsk,” said
the Sergeant in question.  “I heard that Preacher has the highest opinion of
him.”

“Great.  So the Preacher likes him.  What the
hell is that supposed to mean?”

“He was a militiaman on Sestius when Preacher
was there,” said SanJames, pointing a finger at the PFC.  “And a Sergeant on
Azure.”

One of the other men whistled at that.  “That
was some bad bush on Azure,” said the man, Corporal Quan Lee.  “Everything on
the planet trying to eat everything else, including us.”  Lee looked down at
his cards for a moment, then gave the Sergeant First Class an intense look. 
“What’s the name of this guy, anyway?”

“Cornelius Walborski,” said the SFC with a
smile.

“Shit a brick,” exclaimed Lee.  “Looks like we
hit the jackpot this time.”

“So who the hell is he?” asked Linsk.  “The
name doesn’t ring a bell.

“Just the only man to win an Imperial Medal of
Heroism as a civilian slash militiaman, then another as a Ranger.  And he was
on Azure alright.  Took out an entire Caca command post by himself, with a
little help from a nuke tipped rocket.”

“Fuck me, you say,” blurted out the PFC.

“I think my wife would take exception to my
doing that, Ranger,” said a soft but strong voice from the doorway.

“Attention on deck,” called out the first man
to turn and see the new platoon leader standing there.

Damn, but he’s quiet
, thought SanJames,
jumping up to attention.

“At ease,” said the officer with a smile.  “I
don’t really hold with that chicken shit so called courtesy when we don’t have
to.  And that means, when I’m the only officer here, I’m just like the rest of
you.  Only what I say goes.  Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” said every man in the room, all ten
of them.

“And what’s your opinion on cards, sir?” asked
Linsk, his eyes looking over the uniform of the officer.

SanJames was making that same inspection,
seeing the double award of the Imperial Medal of Heroism, a few lesser medals,
and the emblem of knighthood hanging around his neck.  The most important thing
to the SFC was the combat infantry badge over his left breast pocket, that and
the Ranger tab on his left shoulder.

“I’m fine with cards, as long as you deal me
in,” said the officer, gesturing to the empty chair at the table.  “No better
way to get to know the people under me, I say.”

“Watch out, LT,” said Lee with a smile.  “Linsk
cheats.”

“Then he’s my kind of man,” said the Lieutenant
with a broadening smile.  “A man that doesn’t play to win has no business
looking after the backs of his brothers.”

The night whiled away, the enlisted men
drinking with their new officer, the bonding beginning, about the only bonding
they would get, since the battalion was shipping out by wormhole in the
morning.

*    
*     *

CONUNDRUM SPACE.

“We are experiencing problems with hyperspace,
Great Admiral,” said the Low Admiral in charge of the conquest fleet’s
logistics.

“What do you mean, problems?” asked the High
Admiral, not liking the sound of that at all.

“Ships are disappearing off the track while
entering and leaving the system.”

“Destroyed?” asked the Great Admiral, a queasy
feeling in his stomachs.

“Not as far as we can tell, Great Admiral. 
Incoming vessels are still coming through, but we are not tracking them by the
usual means.  Hyper seems to be reverberating with graviton noise.  Nothing
that moves can be tracked through it.”

“By the Gods,” hissed the supreme leader of the
fleet.  “Then we will not be able to track the human ships?”

“Nor they, us,” said the lower ranking male,
giving a head motion of agreement.

“I don’t really care if they can track us,”
growled the Great Admiral.  “Because we are not leaving our systems while this
phenomenon is going on.  Not until we know what is going on.”

“We are running a database search right now,”
said the Low Admiral.  “Hopefully, we will come up with a solution.”

The holo went blank, leaving the Great Admiral
with his own thoughts.  He called up the holo of the distribution of his fleet,
looking anxiously at the icons of his ships that were being accounted for as in
transit. 
But are they still in transit?  Or has something happened to them.

“My Lord,” said another voice over the com. 
“We have just had a catastrophic translation at the hyper VII barrier.”

“One of ours?”

“Actually, my Lord, it involved seven different
vessels in a formation, based on the dispersion of the signals, which were
damped almost to indetectability.”

What in the hell is going on?  Some ships are
coming in just fine, while others are unable to translate down before they hit
the barrier.  Is this some new human weapon. 
A chill ran up his
spine as he thought that. 
If the humans have a weapon that powerful, we are
doomed.

“Great Admiral,” came the voice of the Low
Admiral over the com.  “We have found precedent.  From the early days of the
race plying hyperspace.”

“And what was it?  Speak up.  I need to know,
now.”

“There was a supernova near the edge of the
early Empire, about a hundred light years out.  None of our worlds were
endangered, but several inhabited planets were sterilized, one with intelligent
life.”

“And what does this have to do with our current
situation?”

“Ships of that day had trouble tracking other
vessels in hyper for almost a week after the explosion.”

“Anything else?”

“No, my Lord.”

Then this is only a temporary phenomenon.  A
supernova, one which we did not know about.  But this is human space, so they
had to know it was coming.  But did they know the effects of such a blast on
hyper.  The smart way to bet is yes, which means they will have something
planned.  But what?

Several hours passed before more information
came.

“One of the outgoing ships has returned,” said
the officer in the com center of the flagship.

“Why did it do that?”

“They stated that when they tried to translate
up into hyper VII from VI, something prevented the translation.  They thought
that was unusual enough that they deceled and returned.”

“So we aren’t able to get into VII at all.” 
And
I wonder what happened to ships that are still in hyper VII?  They simply can’t
translate out, which would explain those ships that ran into the barrier.  Or
something worse.

“Orders, my Lord?” asked the officer.

“I want all ships to move into the system, as
soon as they can,” ordered the Great Admiral, imagining a human fleet popping
into existence at the hyper I barrier and bringing all his ships under fire
before they could react.

“How far should I order them in, my Lord?”

“Fifteen light minutes should do it,” answered
the Great Admiral, thinking that he could launch as soon as they appeared on
visual, which would still be a quarter hour after they saw his ships, but still
hours before the enemy missiles would arrive.  “And station some light units
right at the barrier.  I need someone to tell any incoming ships what’s going
on.” 
Except, if they’re already in VII, they aren’t coming here until this
disruption is over.  A week?  Or longer?  Whichever, it can’t be good for us.

*    
*     *

SAURON SYSTEM, DECEMBER
24
^TH
, 1001.

“Permission to come on board, Captain?” asked
Sean, stepping out of the shuttle onto hangar deck three of the heavy cruiser
Manila
,
his new flag.  The ship had all of the command and control capabilities of the
Augustine
I,
the superheavy battleship that had been his flag on the Congreeve
operation.  What it lacked was the combat capabilities, which was fine with the
Admiralty, as they did not desire for their Monarch to go into the thick of
things, like he had at Congreeve.

“Permission granted, your Majesty,” stated the
Captain, the only response possible when dealing with the supreme commander,
who could walk onto any ship of the fleet whenever he wanted to.  The skipper
of the ship saluted the Monarch, waited for the return of his salute, then
offered his hand to the Emperor.  “Welcome aboard, your Majesty.  I am Captain
Bertha Littletree.”

Sean shook the tall woman’s hand, taking in her
coppery skin tone and straight black hair. 
Native American descent
, he
thought.

“Your Steward and your pet are already aboard,
your Majesty.  I hope you will find your quarters satisfactory.”

“I’m sure I will,” said Sean, nodding his
head.  He already had a good idea what the quarters were like, since he had
given the orders for their configuration himself.  The cruiser was built as a
cruiser squadron flag, the lead ship of six heavy cruisers.  As such, she had a
commodore’s stateroom, which had been fine with the Emperor, who didn’t see the
need to have opulent quarters for himself aboard a warship.  The Secret Service
and the Fleet had insisted on some modifications, which were supposed to be
minor, and specifically intended to increase his security.

“I’ll look at my quarters later, Captain.  For
now, you can get under way whenever Len gives the signal that his force is
boosting.  And I would like to see the command center, if I might.”

“Yours to command, Majesty,” said the Captain,
motioning for a man to come over.

“Good to see you again, Jacobs,” said Sean,
accepting the bow of the ex Senior Chief who was now his shipboard Steward.

“Your Majesty.  It will be my pleasure to
serve,” said the man, straightening from the bow.  “And welcome, ma’am,” he
said, giving a short bow to Special Agent Mays, the head of the Emperor’s
security detail.

“I take it the Marines are already aboard?”
asked the Secret Service Agent, speaking of the company of Sean’s personal
bodyguard that would be traveling with him.

“Yes, ma’am.  And I’ll lead you to the control
center now, if that is your wish, your Majesty?”

“It is, John,” said Sean, following the Steward
off the hangar deck and toward the nearest lift bank.  “And how is Killer.”

“All legs and tail, your Majesty,” said the
smiling man, who was also the cat sitter of the expedition.  “Last stages of
kittenhood.  And I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”

Of course he will
, thought Sean, not
really sure how he thought of the imprinting that was used on the cat to bond
him to his master.  To Sean, who had grown up around dogs and cats all his
life, it seemed like cheating, when the loyalty of a pet was supposed to be
earned through pleasant interactions. 
But I have to admit, it’s good to
have the little guy come running when I enter my quarters.

After a short lift ride they arrived at the
augmented flag bridge, with over fifty com stations arrayed around the large
central holo tank.  All stations were manned, and all of the crew and
supervisors were on their feet when the Emperor entered.

“At ease,” said Sean, looking around the
bridge, his eyes stopping on Rear Admiral Kelso, his Flag Captain.  “Tell your
people to not bother with that ceremony from here on out,” he told the older
man.  “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but they have better things to do.”

“Yes, sir,” agreed the Admiral.  “And your
station is through that door to the front.

Sean nodded and headed that way with a smile on
his face.  The room he entered, about twenty meters cubed, did not seem all
that impressive at first.  Until he linked into the computer and the room came
alive, projecting the Universe around him in breathtaking detail.

“Get me Len,” he said into the interface,
asking for a com opening that was provided immediately.   “Your people ready,
Len.”

“Ready and willing, your Majesty,” said the
Grand Fleet Admiral.  “All systems seem to be operating to specs.  Including
the wormholes.”

Sean nodded, glad to hear that last.  That had
been a major worry with this operation, that the turmoil caused by the
supernova might also have an effect on the wormholes.  Either making them
hazardous to traverse, or even collapsing the holes altogether. 
Mathematically, it had seemed safe enough.  The Emperor was happy to see that
it had also worked in the real world.