Exodus: Empires at War: Book 7: Counter Strike (6 page)

“Seems like such a waste to have put them there
in the first place,” came the deep voice of Major General Lanbardran, the
Phlistaran commander of the One Ninety-fifth Heavy Infantry Division, which,
along with the Forty-third Armored Division, made up the Corps that had
attacked this planet.  “They are so fragile, and fleeting.  Just targets for
the enemy to knock down.”

Baggett agreed.  The satellites lacked even the
defenses of the larger forts, while their only real striking power was in the
missiles that they carried.  Even a near miss by a powerful warhead would take
them out.  But they had been all the Fleet had been willing to leave behind
when they bugged out. 
With the promise that they would return
, he
thought, wondering how much truth there was in that oath.

“The enemy is six hours from orbital
insertion,” said the Corps Commander, whose command was only at half strength
as it was.  “I intend to hit them hard as soon as they start landing
operations.”

That was the standard tactic to oppose an
invasion.  Shore batteries, missiles, lasers, particle beams, even projectile
cannons, waiting, powered down and in hiding, until the enemy ships started to
pump out their assault shuttles.  That was when the enemy would be at their
most vulnerable, with openings in cold plasma fields.  Still, those planetary
guns could only count on getting in a couple of shots before they were taken
out by kinetics.  Really, the only defense against an enemy fleet was another
fleet, and theirs was nowhere in evidence.

Baggett shook his head as he looked at the
display of ground assets they had.  Enough to sting that enemy, if not stop
them.  And he wondered how heavy the enemy response would be. 
Probably
heavy as hell
, he thought, looking at his secondary and tertiary command
positions, his out if they discovered this position. 
And if they knock out
the Corps and other division commanders, I get to move up rank again
, he
thought. 
Not that I really want corps command.  Hell, I really didn’t want
division command, not at the price the Major General had to pay.

“When can we expect fleet support?” asked Major
General Natasha Romanov, a distant cousin of the Emperor, but, from what
Baggett could tell, a woman who had gained her rank honestly.  It was a stupid
question, of course, since Nowitski had no answer, and everyone knew as much. 
But it was the same question that Baggett wanted to ask, and he was sure
Lanbardran as well.

“From the number of troop transports the enemy
has in their force, my intelligence staff estimates we will be facing at least
six heavy divisions, or as many as fourteen lighter formations, replied the
Corps Commander, ignoring the question.”

So at best we’ll be outnumbered four to one
, thought Baggett. 
About
proper odds to take a planetary surface, especially when they have the high
ground of orbit.  And there’s no telling what Marines the warships carry, and
how many they might be willing to deploy.  Probably all of them, if it allows
them to take the planet.

“I think we have done as much planning as we
can, since our next step will depend on the enemy’s,” said the Lt. General.  “I
have looked over all of your contingency plans, and approved them.”

Baggett nodded again.  He had tried to come up
with every response he could think of to every action the enemy might pursue. 
That was staff work that he did not have a lot of experience with, being as he
had been a battalion commander a year before.  It had been on the job training to
try and master the most basic of general staff training, and he was thankful
that the corps commander had looked over and approved his dispositions and
responses to enemy action.

“I will let you people get back to making your
last minute plans,” said Nowitski, looking out of the holo at each of the
division commanders.  “It has been an honor serving with you.  From this moment
on, we will go to landline and short range transmission only.  So I will only
contact you if it is vital to the battle plan.”

The holo died after the CO said those words,
and Baggett made a mental note to make sure that his division was also on tight
com discipline, at least until the battle was joined and the jammers came
online.  It wouldn’t do for the still distant enemy to get a fix on his
division’s transmissions, and hit them with kinetics as they were inserting
into orbit.

Chapter
Three

Thus it is that in war
the victorious strategist only seeks battle after the victory has been won,
whereas he who is destined to defeat first fights and afterwards looks for
victory.

Sun
Tzu

THE
DONUT
. 
NOVEMBER 22
^ND
, 1001.

“So what in the hell do we do with this thing?”
asked Cornelius, looking at the large container that held an explosive device
of a magnitude he really couldn’t comprehend.

“We sure as hell can’t disarm it, can we?” said
Jimmy Chung, standing beside him.

There was the Naval Commando, Petty Officer
Satrusalya, standing with them, as well as another Secret Service Agent and a
civilian who had been dragooned for his expertise on this part of the station.

“If we had negative matter,” said Cornelius,
shaking his head.

“But we don’t,” yelled Satrusalya, glaring at
the bomb.  “And it’s no use talking about what we don’t have.”

Chung’s eyes unfocused for a moment, the sign
of a link.  “We can get some more negative matter here.  But it will take a
while.”

“How long?” asked Cornelius, who had seemed to
have taken command of the group by dint of leading the assault that had gotten
them here.

“Fifteen minutes.  A half an hour.  Maybe more.”

“We aren’t going to have more than five
minutes, Government Man,” growled Satrusalya, glancing over at Chung.

Ten at the most
, thought Cornelius.

We need to get this thing off the station,”
said the PO, pointing to a hatch in the floor.  “Where does that lead to?”

“There’s a storage room underneath here,” said
the civilian, a Doctor Boudreaux.  “It fronts the bottom part of the station.”

“Then that’s what we need to do,” said the
Naval Commando.  “Drop this bitch into the bottomless pit, and let the hole
take care of it.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Cornelius, looking
around.  “Anyone got any idea of how to move this damned thing.”

“I think I can come up with something,” said
Boudreaux, moving to the hatch, which was more than large enough to accommodate
the bomb.  He started working the controls to the hatch while looking up at the
other men.  “I might need some cover, if the room under here has Cacas in it.”

Fortunately it didn’t, and the scientist moved
down the ladder that connected the edge of the hatch to the floor, a Ranger
leading the way, two Agents following.  Cornelius stood by the bomb and waited,
afraid to leave it, lest something come along and take it from him.  He tapped
into the com link and found that his fear was not unwarranted.  There were
still Cacas in the area, though busy with the Imperial Marines they were trying
to contain. 
Which doesn’t mean some of them won’t think of the bomb and
come to check on it.  Especially when no one answers their com calls from this
area.

The scientist came running back after climbing
the stairs, a stout device held in his hands that he didn’t seem to be having
any difficulty moving.  Following him were the other three men, each with a
similar device in hand.

“What are those?” asked Cornelius, as the scientist
attached his near the front side of the container.

“Antigravs,” said the man, supervising the
installation of the second unit near the front, while Satrusalya made sure the
other two were secured to the rear.  “They make it much easier to move objects
in the cargo areas.  Activating, now,” he said, pushing a button on the first
one he had attached.

The heavy bomb rose slightly into the air, now
a couple of centimeters above the floor.

“Help me get it to the hatch,” said Boudreaux,
grabbing the handle on the unit and lifting.

Cornelius grabbed another handle, and four men
pushed the bomb toward the hatch.  The antigravs took all the weight, but the
massive device still had all of its mass, and they had to maneuver it
carefully, not allowing it to build up too much momentum as they got it near
the opening.  It still overshot some, their combined strength unable to slow it
in time, and with some grunts they pushed it back till it was over the
opening.  The Lieutenant breathed a sigh of relief as he saw that the hatch was
just big enough to accept the bomb.  They could have always turned it on its
end, but that would have been a trial and error proposition, and one he really
didn’t think they had time for.

Four men went down and accepted the bulk of the
bomb handed to them.  They lowered it to the floor of the lower chamber, and
Cornelius jumped the five meters from hatch to floor, his augmented bones and
muscles easily absorbing the shock.  “What now?” he asked.

“There’s an access hatch over there,” said Boudreaux,
pointing up the chamber.  “We’ll have to put the bomb through lengthwise. 
Otherwise, it won’t fit.”

“And is that hatch an airlock, Doc?” asked
Satrusalya, frowning.

“I don’t think so,” said the scientist, his
eyes widening.  “Oh, crap.  What the hell am I thinking?”

“What’s the problem?” asked Cornelius, looking
from face to face.

“If we open that hatch, we expose this
compartment to space.  And none of us have suits.”

“Well, shit.  Is there another place we can
push this bitch out of?”

“There’s a hangar for maintenance craft about a
kilometer up the ring,” said Boudreaux.

“We don’t have time for that,” blurted
Cornelius.  “We’ve got to get it out of here, now.”

“If I can have one volunteer, I think I can
wrestle it out,” said the PO.

“Without a suit?” asked the incredulous
scientist.

“I’ve done it in training,” said the large man,
nodding his head.  “Not really pleasant, but doable.  And if we don’t do it
now, we won’t have the chance later.”

“I guess it’s my job,” said Cornelius with a
sigh, not really looking forward to doing what the man was talking about. 
“Everyone else out of the room.  Now.”

“Good luck, Ranger,” said Chung, just before he
jumped out the hatch and closed it behind him.

“What do you want me to do, PO?” he asked
Satrusalya, wanting to get this over with before his nerve broke.

“Help me wrestle this thing over to that
hatch,” said the man.  “We’ll need to turn it on end to fit it out.  I think
it’ll fit, but if not, we’ll have to widen it with the laser cutters we brought
along.  How are your nanobubbles?  Have you had a refill lately?”

“About a month ago,” said Cornelius, thinking
of the small diamonoid spheres that contained pressurized oxygen, floating
through his bloodstream.  They were standard equipment for all Imperial military
personnel, allowing them to supply their muscles and nervous systems with
oxygen in a hostile environment.  At full charge they could supply a human with
an hour of breathing gas.  And a month after charge they would still be at
ninety five percent capacity.  “The last time I used the system was in
training.  And we were under water.”

“Well, this is going to be very different from
water, Lieutenant,” said Satrusalya with a frown.  “In fact, the one thing you
don’t need to do is hold your breath.  With our augmented bones and muscles,
there’s not really much chance that you’ll rupture a lung.  But, just to be
safe, blow out everything in your lungs as soon as the air starts getting
sucked out.”

“Can we lower the pressure to a vacuum before
we open the hatch.”

“Probably,” said the PO.  “But it could take
some time.  This kind of room was never intended to act as an emergency
airlock.  It was intended to be opened to space in a more sedate manner, and
only when necessary.”

“We don’t have time for that,” agreed
Cornelius, grabbing hold of the antigrav handle.  “Order the system to start
cycling the air anyway.  Any reduction of pressure differential has to help.”

The other man grunted in surprised agreement as
he grabbed the handle of another antigrav.  “You aren’t so dumb, for a grunt,”
said the man with a laugh as they moved the massive container toward the hatch.

“I’m not sure about that,” said Sean, returning
the laugh as they moved the bomb along slowly, not wanting to let its inertia
get out of hand.  “After all, here I am on a suicide mission with a stupid
Spacehead.”

Both men laughed, the camaraderie of facing
death together drawing them closer.  As they neared the hatch, they started to
swing the bomb casing until its cylindrical shape pointed down.  And now it was
obvious that the bomb was not going to fit.  Not by much, only a few
centimeters on each side of the slightly oblong weapon, trying to fit it
through the circular hatch.

“We’ll have to open the hatch and cut,” said
the Commando, setting the antigravs to station keeping, a setting would keep it
in place no matter the forces pulling on it, as long as they weren’t too
severe. 
Can you hear me on your link?

Because we aren’t going to be able to talk to
each other when this chamber evacuates,
he thought. 
Loud and clear,
he sent to
the other man.

Then bond a handhold to the deck and hold on
, said Satrusalya,
doing the same himself, putting a handle shaped object that had been made for
just this purpose and setting the nanites on its ends to bond to the hull
metal.

Opening hatch now,
said the Commando,
reaching over and keying in the safety code that overrid the system that was
set to keep the hatch closed with unsuited people in the chamber.  The hatch
slid open swiftly and air started rushing out.

Sean opened his mouth, letting the air in his
lungs rush out as well, sliding his body along to the hole, the head of the
laser cutter in his right hand while his left kept a death grip on the
handhold.  He looked through the hatch for a moment, down at the distortion in
space that was the black hole.  The light of the stars behind it were bent
around, forming a ring of light circling the dead stellar mass.  It was the
most frightening thing he had ever seen, a mass that could swallow a planet,
even a star.

Most black holes were surrounded by deadly
radiation, the result of their accretion discs and the matter that constantly
fell into them.  This black hole had been swept clean of any and all debris
larger than molecular dust, and had very little in the way of radiation, other
than that produced by the natural virtual particles of Hawking radiation.  The
station itself was protected by electromag fields.

We could have erected a cold plasma field here
, he sent to the
Commando as he shifted back a little and fired up his cutter.

Not enough time
, sent back the other
man, his own laser cutting into the hard alloy of the hatch frame.

Fortunately, they did not have much cutting to
do, as the hard alloy of frame and hatch were very difficult to cut.  In a
moment it was done, and Cornelius got to his feet without the pressure of
flowing air to push him out.  Nor was there any air in his lungs, which hurt
like a bitch.  His vision was slightly blurred from the pressure of the fluid
inside pushing against the tissues.  His joints ached, a symptom of the bends,
the nitrogen in his blood bubbling out due to the lack of pressure around him.

Let’s get it out
, sent the Commando
over the link. 
Here, help me.

Cornelius nodded and grabbed hold of an
antigrav, pulling the weapon down, breathing a mental sigh, the only one he was
capable of at the moment, as the cylinder slid through.  There was a bit of
resistance, while both men pulled with straining muscles until it pushed
through the obstruction.

The bomb fell through, dropping away. 
Satrusalya had set the antigravs to then go to the opposite setting once they
were through, pulling them toward the greatest gravity source in the region,
the black hole.  In an instant the bomb was speeding toward the black hole,
where it would either be swallowed up with a blip of radiation, or explode too
far from the station to do any damage.

He was admiring his work when the Cacas blasted
through one of the doors and atmosphere came screaming back into the chamber. 
Enough to propel him through the hatch and into space, to start the long fall
toward the hole that would crush him out of existence.

*    
*     *

“That’s the third one, Doctor Yu,” said the
Marine General commanding station security.

The Director of the
Donut
Project looked
at the schematic that showed the device falling from her station toward the
black hole, an object a hundred gigaton explosive device would not even affect.

“Are, are the people who pushed it off the
station OK?” she asked, feeling rising anxiety at the fate of Jimmy Chung, whom
she had not been able contact for the last ten minutes.  Not that such was
surprising, since the station com links were overloaded with vital traffic.

“They took severe casualties, ma’am,” said the
General in a low voice.  “Both my Marines, and the ad hoc force we sent in from
the other side.”