Exodus: Empires at War: Book 8: Soldiers (Exodus: Empires at War.) (36 page)

Damn
, he
thought as the creature was able to get an arm in the way.  The pistol was
just not powerful enough.  His curse turned into a whoop of joy a moment
later when the Caca retracted his face plate.  The shot must have damaged
the optics of the helmet, forcing the Caca to expose his face, which was the
break the Ranger was waiting for.  A quick shot and that grimacing face
was gone, converted to steam and ash, and the formidable Ca’cadasan warrior
fell to his back, his limbs twitching.

Cornelius ducked
down, using the body of the Caca for cover while he caught his breath and took
an appraisal of the situation.  His HUD was functioning, or at least most
of it, now that the self-repair nanites had gone to work.  What he saw
almost made him stop breathing.   He only had about seventy
effectives left.  Less than thirty of his original company, and the
replacements had been hit just as bad.  The heavy weapons platoon that had
been seconded to him was at squad strength, and all of the tanks were
gone.  There were at least three hundred Cacas still on the field, and no
telling how many more on the way.  Even as he looked two of his people,
replacements, men he didn’t really know, fell off the plot.

With a growl the
Captain was back on his feet, looking for Cacas.  The battle line
stretched along eight kilometers, the space between along the side of the field
between the camp and the jungled foothills.  That was a lot of area for so
few troops, even fewer now, and it took him a second to find a target through
the smoke and dust, the burning tanks and particle beam heated suits spoofing
his sensors.  He finally found one to shoot, and sent that one to whatever
afterlife the Cacas believed in.

We’re going
to lose this one
, thought the Captain, moving forward low to the ground,
looking for the next target, then finding a squad of the enemy moving up. 
He aimed at one, knowing the others would target him immediately, and prepared
for what he was sure was going to be his last battle. 
I knew I wasn’t
going to live forever
, he thought as he started to squeeze the trigger, his
mind already picking out his next three targets. 
I wanted to go back
home, to see Devera and Junior again, and the squirt, Rebecca.  But I’m a
soldier, and I knew this came with the territory.

Before he could
pull the trigger the Cacas turned to the south, swinging their weapons that
way.  Particle beams flew through the air, and one of the Cacas went down,
the others looking for cover.  He followed his target in his scope and got
off the shot before that being could make it to cover, hitting him in the lower
torso.  The Caca fell to the earth and tried crawling away, until
Cornelius put a two second blast into his back.

What the hell
is going on?
thought the Captain, turning to the south to see a line of
heavy suits flying low over the ground, firing away with particle beams and
grenade launchers, here and there one shooting off a rocket from a backpack
launcher.  And the Cacas went into full retreat as the attack moved in,
their victory turning over into defeat in a heartbeat.

*    
*     *

 Captain
Artois looked over the tactical display as she landed among the people who had
made it to the rally point before her.  Thirty some had not made it there
yet, and she looked over the map on her HUD as she waited.

It looked like
the Cacas were about to overrun the Ranger position.   Other Rangers
were attacking from the north, the company holding those positions sending a
platoon to hit the flank.  The Cacas were sending some of their troops
that way, and it looked like the Ranger assault was going to be repulsed with
heavy casualties.  And to the south, by the jungle?  Nothing that she
could see except maybe a squad of Cacas as flank security.

“That’s where
we’re going,” she said to her platoon and squad leaders, as she sent a map of
her intentions to every soldier in the company.  “We’ll fly low to the
ground and loop around into the jungle.  And once we’re set, we’ll hit
them in the flank with the whole company.”

The
acknowledgements came back, and she lifted her suit off the ground to a height
of about a meter, then flew quickly to the assault point.  She knew there
was no time to lose.  Any delay, and the Ranger line would be
broken.  Moving through the foliage of the jungle, which was almost devoid
of animals, those that lived there having run away, she thought about what she
was going to do.

I’m no damned
infantryman
, she thought, landing twenty meters back in the jungle and
waiting for the rest to assemble. 
I just want to build things, or
sometimes blow them up.  I didn’t want this shit
.

But she realized
that she had signed up for it, when she had accepted her commission.  They
had never guaranteed that she would not have to throw her precious body into
close combat.  Only that it was unlikely in her specialty.

“We’re all
here,” called out her Exec over the com.

“Everyone check
weapons.  We move in one minute.  And please, check your targets
before firing.  I don’t want any friendly fire incidents if we can help
it.”

Again the
acknowledgements came back, and she watched the clock tick down on her
HUD.  When it hit zero she gave the order, and one hundred and
thirty-eight heavy suited engineers came crashing out of the jungle in a two
kilometer long line and hit the Cacas in the flank.

At first the
aliens didn’t even know what was happening, many of them killed by shots from
their sides that were their first indication an enemy was among them.  One
entire platoon of Cacas, moving up to reinforce the attack, was wiped out in
less than a minute, though they did kill some of the engineers.  Stella
cringed as she watched her troops fall off the plot, the men and women she was
responsible for.  They were killing more of the Cacas than they were
losing, thanks to the surprise they had been gifted with.

About a
kilometer into the attack the aliens started to realize that they had a menace
on their flank, and some of them started to turn to meet the advance. 
Most were still caught up fighting the Rangers, and turning to meet the flank
attack just meant they were turning their own flank to another enemy.

“Keep moving,”
the Captain yelled into the com.  She had yet to fire her own rifle, all
of her attention taken by keeping her company in a formation, keeping the two
reserve squads under her command.  They had swept four kilometers in when
the HUD showed the Rangers to the north breaking through the Caca defense that
had been weakened to send some of their troops against hers.

The beams were
flying fast and furious at the end, just before the Cacas broke and ran, the
few that were left.  Stella was just about to congratulate her people when
one of the last Cacas to fire caught her in the chest with a particle
beam.  She screamed in pain as the beam, which didn’t fully penetrate the
thickest part of her heavy suit, sent flash burns into her chest.  She was
still screaming as the suit injected her with pain killers and nanites. 
She was unconscious when the medics got to her.

*    
*     *

Cornelius knew
he should be shooting at the Cacas that were running away from the fight. 
After all, any they killed here were fewer they would need to hunt down in the
coming weeks.  The Captain was just too tired, fatigued to the bone. 
He was physically sapped, but also worn down on an emotional level.  He
lay there in a prone position, too tired to get up, looking over his command on
his HUD.  The Captain was almost in shock at his loses.  Out of the
company he had brought to this world, he had fifteen survivors, and six of them
were too badly injured to fight without some hospital time.

“You OK, sir?”
asked his Top Sergeant over the com.

He monitoring
me, just like he’s supposed to
, thought the officer of his tough noncom,
one of two NCOs to survive. 
And I should have known that old bastard
would survive.

“This was no
fight for Rangers, Top,” he replied to the First Sergeant.  “They should
have had heavy infantry here.  This was their type of fight.  We’re
hunters, not line soldiers.”

“We’re soldiers,
first and foremost, sir.  We go where they tell us, and do what they need
doing.  And if we die in the process, that’s just part of the deal.”

“And how many
times have you fought a battle like this?”

“Like
this?  This is the first.  And I hope the last.  But if the Army
tells me to do this again, I guess I be putting on one of these suits a
reprising my role.  But I much prefer to be the hunter as well, sir. 
I prefer to be the one initiating the action, not the punching bag.”

Walborski forced
himself up from the ground, looking over the field that was filled with the
suits of the dead, holding what was left of their bodies. 
Maybe
they’ll let us hunt down the stragglers
, thought the Captain, shaking his
head.  He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to do that.  He had just
wanted to kill Cacas, and now he thought he might have had a stomach full of
killing.

*    
*     *

“They’re on the
run in my sector, sir,” reported Baggett to his commanding officer.  “On
all fronts.”

He raised his
faceplate for a moment, then lowered it immediately, taking in a deep
breath. 
I should have known better
, he thought, looking out over
the field that was covered in ruptured suits, Caca, Phlistaran and human. 
The stench had been unimaginable, the rotting smell of three similar but
slightly different biologies.

“We’ve got them
on the run all over the planet, Samuel,” said General Lucius Arbuckle, a core
of fatigue running through his voice.  “But stay alert.  Intelligence
estimates that there are at least twenty thousand of the bastards still out
there.  I don’t think they’re going to be doing much but hiding, but I
also wouldn’t be surprised if they staged some raids.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You did good,
Samuel,” said Arbuckle.  “This one was a real bastard, but you did a great
job.”

“I guess.”

“Try not to take
the blame for the people you lost, Samuel,” said the older man.  “I know
you will, because God knows I will.  But don’t go overboard.  Get
some rest, get some food and booze in your stomach, and learn from the
experience.  We’re going to need you further on down the road.  This
war is not over by a long shot, and I’m afraid we’re going to see a lot more
battle fields before it’s over.”

The General
dropped out of the com, leaving Baggett alone with his own thoughts.  He
looked up at the sky.  The Army’s part of this operation was all over but
the mop up.  Now it was up to the fleet to handle their part.  He hoped
they did, because he had been on the receiving end of one enemy attempt to
retake a planet he was standing on.  And he didn’t want to go through that
again.

Chapter Twenty-five

We shall draw from the heart of suffering
itself the means of inspiration and survival.

Winston Churchill.

NEW MOSCOW SPACE, EVENING, APRIL
8
^TH
, 1002.

“Impact in
twelve minutes,” called out the Tactical Officer.

The High Admiral
gritted his teeth and watched the tactical plot, which showed over fifty
thousand objects bearing down on his fleet.  Not an insurmountable swarm,
but one that was going to maul his command.  Most of the objects were
coming in at point eight-three light, a velocity that made them dangerous
enough, if not the most dangerous weapons possible.  That would be
reserved for the nine hundred missiles that were coming in at point nine five
light, while still accelerating.  They would hit just a couple of seconds
after the main swarm, while his ships’ computers were coming off their
defensive cycle, at his most vulnerable.

The wave had
already blown past the fighter screen he had placed out ahead of his
ships.  They had accounted for some thousands of the missiles, while
losing a couple of hundred of their own craft.  He wished he had the same
fighter capacity as the humans, with their dedicated carrier ships, another
shortcoming they would have to make up in the near future.  But not one
they could compensate for at this time.

The fleet had
been sending out counter missiles for the last ten minutes, whittling down the
swarm, though not enough to suit him.  If he had his way the counters
would take out seventy-five percent of that swarm, though forty percent was a
more realistic figure.  He was thinking fifty to sixty percent, when the
missiles brought their jamming up to full power and spoiled that hope.

“Some of their
missiles have left the plot, my Lord,” called out the Tactical Officer. 
“And we had nothing near enough to hit them.”

The flagship
shook from missile launch, all tubes cycling as fast as they could put out the
ten ton long range counters.  In five minutes they would switch over to
the two ton short range weapons, and tried to acquire and destroy missiles with
those interceptors all the way in to two minutes out.

“What the hell
are they?” he demanded of the officer.

“I think they
are dedicated jamming devices, my Lord.  When they disappear there is a
massive spike in jamming that last for ten seconds or so.  When that
jamming dies, another two score of the devices detonate and refresh the
jamming.”

The High Admiral
watched the screens over the tactical station, one which was being watched by
the officer in charge and the eleven males that worked with him.  Each
screen showed a section of the swarm, and every ten seconds about half the
missiles on each viewer faded as the jamming birds went off.  They slowly
faded back in, until at the ten second mark the missiles were all back on the
screen, their acquisition degraded still by the normal electronic warfare systems
of the missiles.  Unfortunately for the targeting systems, all of the
missiles were moving in maneuvers to make it difficult to calculate where they
would be by the time counters got to them.  The missiles covered by the
jamming came back onto the plots in unpredictable positions, and so it went on
around the entire swarm.

“Is there
anything we can do to defeat them?”

“I cannot see
how, my Lord.  Maybe with more preparation, some research into their
systems versus our own.  But in the next fifteen minutes?”

And more of
them are going to get through because of this
, thought the High Admiral,
looking back at the main tactical holo, relieved that his ship was in the
center position.  He was the most important being in this fleet, and his
ship, because it carried him, the most important vessel.  The entire
tactical defense plan was based around defending this ship.  But if his
fleet was smashed, even if the flagship survived, he would still be hunted down
and destroyed by the humans, who now had quite the considerable fleet around
the planet.

The missiles
passed the engagement envelope of the long range counters, and the vibration
patterns of the launches changed as the launchers switched to the shorter
ranged weapons.  Thousands of missiles dropped off the plot, then ten
thousand, while the lasers of the ships opened up, trying their best to hit
fast moving objects that were doing their best to not be targeted.  Beams
struck, and warheads detonated in flares of brilliant antimatter fire.

A different kind
of jamming came up now, as a new type of dedicated missile flared with a
gigaton of energy each, this time strobing a super-bright flare of light and
static that hit sensor systems like a hammer.  The missiles forged on,
thousands of them dropping out every minute, until the calculation that
seventy-five percent might make it through seemed too low.

The missiles
entered the one minute range, and the lasers and particle beams became more
accurate, striking hundreds of missiles despite the jamming and the evasive maneuvers. 
At thirty seconds the missiles pulled their last trick.  Where there had
been fifteen thousand missiles, now there was an expanding cloud of smaller
warheads coming at the fleet, more than a million.  Most of the warheads
were tiny, one megaton devices that would pop like super firecrackers on the
hulls of the target vessels, degrading their sensor, weapons, electromag
screens and armor.  Their carrier missiles each released four hundred of
the units as they bore into their targets, two million of the devices. 
They only contained rudimentary targeting, computation and boost systems. 
About a half million of them were destroyed before they reached their target,
contributing to the cover of the other missiles, at the same time interfering
with the target acquisition of many of the incoming warheads.

The High Admiral
felt a shiver run up his spine as he watched the damage reports coming
in.  None of his ships were destroyed by the sub munitions, but over half
sustained major damage to their systems, while almost all of them took some
hits.  A moment later the first of the multiple warheads, two hundred
megaton devices, struck, and ships did drop off the plot by the hundreds.

Three seconds
later the fastest of the missiles came in, now traveling at point nine six
light, with enough kinetic energy to shatter a twenty-five million ton
superbattleship with a direct hit.  Three hundred and five of those
missiles did hit, and two hundred and ninety-seven ships blinked off the plot,
converted to clouds of plasma.

“That was the
last of them, my Lord,” called out the Tactical Officer, his eyes wide with
fear even as he breathed out in relief.  The flagship had been hit by
several of the submunitions, and one of the multiple warheads, and had taken
the heat and radiation of a near miss by one of the powerful unitary
weapons.  It had lost about a third of its grabber power, half of its
laser domes, and would only be able to traverse hyper VI without a visit to a
major shipyard.

We survived
,
thought the High Admiral, walking away from the station with a leaden
step.  But most of his fleet didn’t.  He had a mere seventy-three
ships left, and most were too badly damaged to get into hyper, or boost at more
a couple of hundred gravities.  They were a damaged force incapable of
giving a good account of themselves in a battle, and the humans had more ships
in the system, enough to totally destroy what he had left, even if he wiped out
the human force his missiles were now streaking towards.

“Orders, my
Lord?” asked the Tactical Officer, looking from the High Admiral to the Helm
Officer.

“Order the force
to scatter,” he said with a sinking heart.  “All ships to make it to the
hyper barrier at best acceleration.”

“And the ships
that can’t boost, my Lord?”

“They will just
have to stay and die.  Evacuate all crew off of them, then rig the vessels
to detonate when boarded.”

He walked over
to stand before the central holo. 
We will not get out of here. 
The humans have won this fight.  The only way we will be avenged will be
if other Ca’cadasans destroy them.  And I pray to the Gods that the day
will come, soon.
  He stared at the holo, watching his own second
strike approach the enemy force he had targeted. 
Or maybe I can get a
bit of revenge right now.  Strike them, my beauties.  Blow them out
of space.

*    
*     *

“Missile impact
in fifteen minutes,” called out the Tactical Officer, and Fleet Admiral Kelvin stared
at the plot showing the massive wave of enemy missiles coming at him.

It seems like
only minutes since I watched our own missiles take out the enemy force
, he
thought, his mind straying to the icons of the enemy ships, now less than a
hundred, trying to flee the system on a number of different vectors.  No
ship was making over four hundred gravities, and most were doing much less,
including twenty-two that were basically coasting in space. 
Now I’m
watching the enemy’s attempt to erase me and my command bearing down on me.

His own force
was coasting, as it had been for the last twenty minutes, having deployed the
special missiles that had moved ahead at a mere couple of hundred gravities
until they had gotten to the release point, just beyond the fighters that were
stationed ahead of his fleet.

This incoming
missile wave was even larger than the one he had survived hours
before.   That one had hurt, and he was sure the enemy hoped that
this one, fifty percent larger, would hurt more.  Of course, he had some
more surprises deployed to face this one.  He just hoped the performance
of said surprises wasn’t a surprise for his side as well.

“Missile three
minutes out from the fighter screen,” said the Tactical Officer.  “They
should be entering the Field any second.”

That was what
the surprise was known by, the Field.  Not an energy field like the
electromagnetic screens their ships used, this was more like a mine
field.  There were five million of the objects coasting forward in space
just a little faster than his fleet.  There were no graviton emissions,
almost no heat signature, nothing to really give them away to the sensor heads
of the enemy missiles.  Scattered among the one megaton yield bomblets
were over a hundred of the new jamming missiles, also powered downed, along
with five command and control platforms.

They waited
until most of the missiles were within their mass before the warheads turned on
their boost, acquired targets as best they could, and took off, all under the
control of the specialized platforms, controlling them by grav pulse.  An
instant after they boosted the jamming missiles all detonated, sending out a
wave of electronic and visual static that blinded the sensors on the great
majority of the enemy seeker heads.

The min-warheads
moved to their targets, most of which were still flying a straight path. 
Almost ninety percent of the bomblets lost lock when the jamming came up, and
were blinded to an even greater extent when the missiles’ own ECM came
up.  Still, thousands of missiles were hit, and ten thousand more were
destroyed as the bomblets flashed fire as their antimatter went off. 
Plasma and particles impacted on tens thousands of missiles, and if the
particles were large enough the missile itself provided all the kinetic energy needed
to destroy itself.

The remaining
missiles forged ahead with no fear, no regrets over the destruction of their
brothers.  There were targets ahead, and they still had a function to
fulfill.  Next up was the fighter screen.  All of the fighters that had
survived in the previous screen had gone back to their launching ships and
rearmed, then moved back to their positions, while hundreds more had come
through gates, to raise the number in the screen to over two thousand. 
Now those two thousand fighters launched their missile defense weapons, over
twenty thousand counter-missiles.  An instant later every craft began
firing their lasers, aiming for every missile that got through their
counter-missile barrage.

Almost twenty
thousand made it through, leaving over five hundred fighters killed in their
wake.  They immediately ran into a wave of counter-missiles launched from
the warships, and several thousand more that had been launched through the
gates on their tails.  They took out over half the remaining missiles,
leaving over nine thousand to hit the lasers, then the close in defenses.

Kelvin held on
to his chair arms tight, watching the tide sweep in that could still destroy
his command.  The fear on the flag bridge was palpable, everyone feeling
helpless in the face of the swarm.  They might be in control of the fleet
from this room, but there was nothing they could do to actually affect the
outcome of this battle.  That was up to the tactical and sensor
departments of the individual ships.

Close in systems
took out two thirds of the remaining missiles, leaving just under three
thousand weapons getting to final approach phase.  That was still enough
to totally destroy the fleet.  As they watched the close in systems
continued to kill missiles, and now they were blowing up close enough to send
waves of heat and radiation into the force.

“Launching final
countermeasures,” called out the Tactical Officer, sending the command by grav
pulse.  New icons bloomed on the holo, hundreds of them, then disappeared
as they detonated to fill space with jamming.  An instant later several
hundred more icons appeared, these broadcasting strong graviton, electronic,
and heat signatures, while at the same time sending out radar and lidar
pulses.  Half the surviving missiles locked onto these new targets and
turned into them at the last moment.  One thousand warheads detonated with
tremendous flashes, wasting most of their explosive power against five hundred
ton objects that were of little importance.