Exodus: Empires at War: Book 7: Counter Strike (38 page)

The Tactical Officer gave a head nod of
agreement, then stood up from his chair, fighting the increased gravity of
acceleration on spread legs.  He staggered over to the Admiral, who didn’t move
a muscle.  The Tactical Officer reached out, grabbed the older male by his
horns, and threw him out of his chair.  He let his weight fall on the other
male and brought both hands up, then pummeled the High Admiral in the head, all
four fists striking, two at a time.  The Admiral tried to grab the younger
male’s hands and failed.  The Tactical Officer grabbed the hilt of the
ceremonial dagger out of his leader’s belt sheath, brought it up in an overhand
grip, and plunged it down through the throat of the High Admiral.

“I am now in command,” the Tactical Officer
told the bridge crew.  He looked over at the Com Officer.  “Signal the force to
surrender.  And tell the humans we have given up.”

Moments later the incoming missiles started to
self-destruct, while the human force grew closer.

*    
*     *

Of the other two forces that had gone raiding,
one had fought an indecisive action with a human force and was compelled to
withdraw without hitting the developing world they had been tasked at
destroying.  The other made it to its target system, which was found to be
lightly defended.  They left a smashed world behind them, two hundred million
dead, all cities and industrial concerns crushed.  They left the system behind
and headed back to one of the Ca’cadasan bases at hyper VII.  Later, as they
closed on the base system, they found they were unable to jump back down when
half the force ran into the hyper barrier, the Galaxy taking revenge for their
actions.

Chapter
Twenty-four

There
is no instance of a nation benefitting from prolonged warfare.

Sun
Tzu

SESTIUS.  JANUARY 5
^TH
,
1002.

At least we’re not burning up in the heat
, thought Cornelius as
he clambered up the side of the mountain.  Like all the men in his platoon, he
was wearing an unpowered skin suit that gave him a bit more protection than
soft clothing, or bare flesh.  The suit would stop low velocity projectiles and
a moment of laser fire.  Against particle beams, it was not much protection. 
It had a passive cammo coating that helped it to blend in with its
surroundings, and when the pores were closed it trapped most of the body heat
within.  Everyone also wore a cloak that helped to hold in more of their heat,
making the Rangers as near undetectable as possible to heat sensors.

Of course, like all of them, that cloak was now
rolled up on his back, over his rucksack, since none of the men really wanted
anything interfering with their ability to climb the rock.  The pistol on his
side, a low velocity liquid chemical weapon, was snapped into place, his rifle,
similar to the pistol with the exception of its muzzle velocity, was strapped
over his back. 
And at least I don’t have to carry a rocket launcher, or any
of the heavier shit,
he thought as he wedged his fingers into a rock
crevice while looking for his next point of contact.  As an officer, he wasn’t
required to hump more than his personal equipment.  Of course, not being a
complete ass, he was carrying extra ammo and grenades that might come in handy
for the rest of the platoon.

It was cool out, this high up, but not as cold
as the higher snowcapped peaks that surrounded them.  The fort was built into
the rock of a plateau that allowed the Cacas good observation of all the
valleys around them.  And protected them from assault from anything but troop
carriers, which they could shoot down before they got within attack range of
the plateau.  Or so they thought.

Walborski shifted a foot, reaching up and
placing the toe into the rock.  Like his gloves, the soles of the boots
utilized nanotech to bind to the rock.  Still, he was careful to maintain three
points of contact at all times.  It was almost a thousand meters straight down
if they fell off the face.  No one wore antigrav vests.  If one was activated,
the enemy was likely to know they were there, which would compromise the
mission.  And no one expected someone equipped with one not to use it if he
fell, so the temptation was removed.  They did carry a light parachute below
their rucksacks, for their extraction if needed, but it was a risk deploying an
old fashioned chute in mountains so close to a rock wall, especially with the
winds that were rushing past.

Only a hundred meters to go
, thought the
Lieutenant, looking up at the two point men who climbed before him.  His
Platoon Sergeant had suggested that the LT let the entire first squad precede
him, but he wasn’t wired that way.  He wanted to be one of the first to the
top, after the scouts, so he could get a look at what they were dealing with

Off in the distance came the crack of
explosives, the rest of the company on their diversionary attack.  Hopefully
attracting all of the attention hereabouts.  From the noise echoing through the
mountains, it sounded like they were in the next valley, when it fact they were
two valleys over.

The first man climbed over the lip of the cliff
and crouched low, looking around for a moment, then waving for the rest of the
people to come on.  He disappeared as he moved further in, and the second scout
took his place, serving as the link between the first scout and the still
climbing platoon.

Walborski pulled himself up over the lip of the
cliff, aided by the scout, then turned to help the next man up.  The second
scout moved away, and the LT signaled for the man he had helped to stay in
place.  The man nodded, and Cornelius moved in a crouch toward the group of
rocks the scouts were sheltering behind.  The LT couldn’t understand while the
rocks were there.  He would have had them removed, and could only put it down
to arrogance, or laziness.  Both of the scouts were on their bellies, looking
around different sides of the rocks, their glasses trained on something. 
Walborski went to the left and tapped that scout on the shoulder.  The man
crawled back and Cornelius took his place, looking first over the scene with
his own enhanced vision, then bringing his field glasses up to get a closer
look.

There were a hundred meters of open ground
between where he was and the outer works of the fort.  A hundred meters of
killing field.  There were towers at each corner of the blockhouse that was the
fort, in each tower a firing slit that allowed whomever was in them to cover
all the approaches.

“We’re all here,” said Sergeant First Class
Rupert SanJames, his platoon sergeant, indicating the entire forty man unit had
achieved the plateau.  “Orders?”

“We wait,” said Cornelius, not really liking
that part of the operations order.  The longer they sat here, the more likely
they were of being discovered.  But without the go ahead, they were at risk
from the orbital assets.

Cornelius checked the old fashioned watch that
all Rangers wore, watching as the seconds ticked down.  Of course, there was no
guarantee that the Fleet would arrive on time, or be spotted by the enemy on
time.  But they needed to move while the enemy warships, what there were of
them, were leaving orbit, and the shuttles from the two transports up there
started on their way down.

“Get the launchers ready,” he ordered his
platoon sergeant, then watched as the older man went to the four Rangers
equipped with the weapons and told them to prepare.  The men in question
extended the launchers, getting them ready to launch, though still powered
down.

The deadline ticked by with no signal, and
Cornelius wondered if they would be sitting here until someone spotted them,
and brought down kinetic weapons from orbit. 
I don’t know why they think
those troop transports aren’t equipped with dropped penetrators.  If they were
my ships, they would sure have them.

Something flared bright in the air far above, a
smaller second sun in the sky.  A small tactical nuke that was the signal.  “On
my command,” he whispered to the men nearest him, who transmitted it in low
voices down both sides of the line.  SanJames was at his side a moment later.

“Don’t even think about it, LT,” said the
Sergeant First Class.

“What?”

“You’re an officer now.  Follow me is a good
motto, but you don’t need to be the first man into the open.”

“I’m their leader.”

“Then lead.  But don’t put your ass on the line
just to prove how brave you are.  These men know about your history.  You don’t
have anything to prove to them.”

And your job is to make sure I live long enough
to actually lead Rangers
, thought Cornelius, looking into the Sergeant’s eyes.  He
nodded.

“And don’t stick too close to me,” cautioned
SanJames, waving a finger in the air.  “It wouldn’t be good for the both of us
to be cut down.”

There was another boom in the sky, another
bright flash high up in the atmosphere.

“Aim launchers,” he ordered, watching as a pair
of the men went around the corners of the rock formation, lining up their
launchers and looking through their sights.  “Arm.”

The men, all four of them, hit he switch on
their launchers that sent power into their systems.  It was just a trickle of
power, which might have been detected, but the chance was slight in the moments
before they were deployed.

“Fire,” yelled Cornelius.

Both men in position pulled their triggers in
that instant.  Now the launchers would be very detectable by any systems the
enemy had.  The rockets were propelled out of their tubes by magnetic
propulsion, the same as used in mag rail weapons.  They shot out to twenty
meters, then ignited their engines and rushed at their target, pulling hundreds
of gravities of acceleration.  In less than one tenth of a second they struck
their targets, the towers.  The warheads detonated, small nuclear devices of
two hundred ton yield.

The blasts sheared off the tops of both towers,
killing whatever was in them.  The Rangers hunkered down behind the rocks, all
but the two rocket gunners, who rolled as fast as they could behind the rocks,
while the one of the remaining two stood and leveled his launcher at the front
of the fortress.

As soon as he had his target in sight he fired
his rocket at the heavy doors of the fort.  The rocket flew slowly toward the
door, programed to give the gunner time to get under cover, and no longer
threatened by the anti-rocket weapons that had been in the now truncated
towers.  This was a one kiloton warhead, which blasted the heavy alloy door off
its supports and into the fort.

The last rocket gunner counted to ten, then
raised up and put his warhead into the opening that was now revealed.  It too
went off in the thunderous blast, actually blowing out part of the door that
had just been blasted in.

“Now,” yelled Walborki, and the first squad
jumped over the rocks and ran full speed toward the breached entrance.  Nothing
fired at them while they ran, and one team entered the fort to secure the
entrance, while the other remained outside.  Second squad started off, the LT
with them, and made it halfway across the hundred meters without issue.  That
was when a particle beam reached out from the rooftop and hit one of the
Rangers, vaporizing a large hole in his torso.

The Rangers knew better than to stop, and
accelerated toward the door.  More beams struck out, most misses, one taking
off the arm of a Ranger.  Third squad opened fire on the roof, their liquid
chemical propulsion rifles sending high velocity rounds at the partially hidden
Cacas.  Each Ranger also launched a grenade, while the two dedicated grenadiers
fired bursts of full auto thirty millimeter on arching paths that brought them
down on the roof.

Walborski armed a hand grenade, then pitched it
onto the roof at the same time as two other Rangers.  All hunkered down for a
moment, while the much more powerful explosives of the hand grenades detonated
on the roof.  Then they headed into the fort, leaving third squad to handle the
remaining Cacas on the roof.

There was very little resistance on the first
floor, the mininuke having done its job.  Most the Cacas, without armor while
thinking they were secure, had been killed by the blast.  Those who had
survived were either badly wound from shrapnel, burned by fire or radiation, or
dazed out of their minds.  They were taken prisoner with ease.

First squad worked their way down to the next
level, where there was resistance, though not much.  Second went up to secure
the level above, then the rooftop, while third leap frogged first and went
further down.

In less than fifteen minutes the fort was
theirs, for a total of six killed and eleven wounded.  Light casualties for
such an operation, as they had killed forty-six Cacas, and captured another
thirty-one.  The cost still bothered Cornelius, unlike the casualties of any
other operation he had been in.  These were his men, and he had expected to
bring them all through.  SFC SanJames must have known something.  Or maybe it
was just his experience.

“Good job, Lieutenant,” he told Walborski, motioning
for the man with the com to unpack it and turn it on, since there was now no
threat of being detected.  “I think you’re going to go far in this human’s
army.”

“I wish we could have done it with a lesser
cost to ourselves,” he said, turning his haunted eyes on the Sergeant.

“Oh, give it a break, sir,” said SanJames.  “We
are the pointy end of the stick.  And we are expected to take our objective, to
fulfill our mission.  We are not expected to all return.  Some of your people
died today.  People I know, Linz, Garcia, Bogart, the others.  But we took the
objective, one that personally scared the hell out of me.  And we did it with
casualties far lower than any reasonably intelligent person would expect.”

“The Captain wants to talk with you, sir,” called
out the man with the com set.

“Give it here,” he told the man, taking the
compact set from his hand.  “What are your orders, sir?”

“Just sit tight for now,” said the senior
officer.  “If they have any transport up there, prep it.  The Cacas are on the ground,
and more on the way.  As soon as we know where they all are, we’ll assign
targets.  And Lieutenant, good job.”

The com went off, and Walborski handed the set
back to the man tasked to carry it.  He had a smile on his face as he looked
back at his Platoon Sergeant. 
Then we get back into the jungle, and the
hunt is on.

*    
*     *

MASSADARA SPACE. 
JANUARY 7
^TH
, 1002.

“Prepare to launch,” said the voice over the
intercom.  “All ships, prepare to launch.  Five minutes and counting.”

Captain Svetlana Komorov acknowledge the order,
sitting back in the command chair on her fifteen hundred ton inertialess
fighter.  Her small bridge crew of one other officer and two ratings looked at
each other with a bit of anxiety, normal before action, even though the next
four or five hours would probably be pure boredom.  She looked at the screen to
the tiny engineering control compartment, where a Chief Petty Officer and a
rating were monitoring the power source of the ship, its fusion reactor.