Exodus: Empires at War: Book 8: Soldiers (Exodus: Empires at War.) (4 page)

“We’re in
position, Commodore,” called the Imperial destroyer
Klein
over the
wormhole com.  The ship was sitting six light years to rimward, filling in
the detection net of that part of the Kingdom of New Moscow.  Three more
ships were still moving into position.  On the last deployment, in the
slot between New Moscow and the Republic, they had crept into position, all the
while worrying that an enemy might come along and hit the screen while it was
still detectable.  This time there were task forces in position closer to
the Ca’cadasan Empire, scouting groups that were gathering intelligence on the
enemy forward deployments.  Those groups would be falling back for
operations in New Moscow, and her squadron, as part of a larger task group of
sixty ships, would be called upon to provide the early warning line when the
Cacas came back.  And no one had any doubt that they would be coming back.

Romanov watched
the plot as the last of the ships moved into position, the Imperial light
cruiser
Neu Schwanstein
taking up the forward position along with two destroyers,
the other six destroyers arrayed in an oblong around
Orleans
.  As
soon as the last one moved into position she was on the com to the task group
commander.

“We’re ready,
Admiral,” she told the middle aged woman, Rear Admiral the Countess Constance
Romanov, who she thought might be a very distant relative.  “All plugged
in and ready to go.”

“You’re the
first,” said the Admiral with a frown.

“We’ve had
practice,” said Natasha, a smile on her face.

“Then I expect
you to set the example for the rest of us.  I’m sure most of my crews are
going to get bored with this duty very quickly.”

Natasha
nodded.  Most naval duty consisted of patrols, which meant looking for
possibilities of things happening, while updating the data on the systems
visited.  But at least on patrol the crew was doing something other than
routine maintenance.  They were navigating, doing sensor sweeps, flying
side missions, basically running the ship, much like the British fleet during
the Napoleonic Wars.  The real danger here was boredom, and the very real
risk of people getting lax on communications discipline and letting the Cacas
know they were there.

“We’ve never had
a lapse of discipline, Admiral, and I don’t expect to have one on this
deployment.”

“That’s good to
hear,” said the Admiral, the frown never leaving her face, making Natasha think
that the woman’s basic personality was set to angry.  “I’ll hold you to
that, and expect the same kind of discipline while you are under my command.”

“Yes,
ma’am.  We won’t let you down.”

The Admiral
nodded, and immediately cut the com.

Well, this
should be a pleasant deployment
, thought the Commodore, making a point in
her mind to communicate through her com officer in the future.  It really
wasn’t fair to that officer, but rank indeed had its privileges.  And not
talking to sour assholes when it was possible to get out of it was one of them.

Chapter Two

The world is a dangerous place to
live; not because of the people who are evil, but because of the people who
don't do anything about it.

Albert Einstein.

IMPERIAL ARMY ASSAULT TRAINING
CENTERS, SECTOR FOUR, FEBRUARY 16
^TH
, 1002.

Lt. General
Samuel Baggett stood on the reviewing stand and watched as his first division,
a Phlistaran formation, passed, battalion after battalion of half ton sentients
encased in multiton armor.  It was probably his most heavily armed
division, the 512
^th
Heavy Infantry, despite it lacking the number of
main battle tanks of other heavy divisions.  Phlistarans in armor were
among the most fearsome soldiers in the known Galaxy, and there was one armored
battalion attached.  But because of the transport penalties of such
sentients, and in the interest of balance, their divisions were structured a
bit differently than those of humans.

The first
company of the fourth battalion passed by, the four armored feet of each
trooper pounding the street in unison, rifles held at salute in the two
powerful arms thrusting out of the torso.  Helmeted heads turned toward
the stand, retracted face plates showing fearsome toothed snouts and the
incongruously gentle brown eyes.  The company commander held a ceremonial
blade high, while the guide on  bearer raised the flag, then lowered it as
the General returned the salute.

They’re like
flippen cavalry of old
, thought Baggett, recalling the charges the
Phlistaran division in his old corps in Fenri space. 
Like armored
knights.
  Each had the snouts of heavier weapons thrusting over their
backs, like the antipersonnel turrets of light armored vehicles.

Phlistarans gave
the illusion of invincibility.  Unfortunately, there was no such thing as
invincible, no way to pile enough armor on a living being.  While they
were fast moving and hard hitting, the ultimate shock troops, they were also
big targets.  On the Fenri campaign they had caused the enemy no shortage
of death and destruction, while suffering horrendous casualties
themselves.  One reason he preferred human units was their staying power,
which was mostly based on their ability to get low to the ground and present the
smallest target possible.

The next three
companies marched by, heading down the road on the way to the shuttle
field.  Five more battalions marched by, then came the one armored
battalion of the division.  Most vehicles were not made for
Phlistarans.  Because of that, even almost wholly Phlistaran units had
other sentients assigned to them for vehicle operation.  In this case, the
three companies of main battle tanks and two of lights were manned by
Malticons, diminutive humanoids, barely a meter and a half tall and the
physical opposites of the Phlistarans.  The thousand ton main battle tanks
were enough to make up for that.  Even the two hundred ton light battle
scout vehicles were fearsome killers that made the small aliens fearsome
killers in their own right.

After the armor
passed came the three battalions of artillery and antiair vehicles, also manned
by other aliens.  Flying overhead was the combat aviation arm of the
division, thirty-two sting ships and another forty general purpose vehicles
floating slowly along.

As the last of
that unit passed by there was a break before the next division marched into
sight, this one the human 47
^th
Heavy Infantry Division, from the
planet New Glasgow. 
Are those bagpipes
, thought the General, the
sound of the pipes coming to his ears before he picked out the instruments
being played by the Scottish descent troopers.  Baggett stifled a laugh at
the incongruous juxtaposition of ancient martial instruments and advanced
battle armor.  He had heard that they often went into battle to the sounds
of the pipes, though it that case it was canned music, and not actual people
playing.

This division
marched on, seven battalions of infantry, two of armor, and four of artillery
and antiaircraft support.  After a short break came the last division of
the corps, the 25
^th
Armored.  This was a feast of the big boys,
four battalions of one thousand ton main battle tanks, two of five hundred ton
mediums and another two of the lighter scout tanks.  Each brigade also had
a battalion of heavy infantry, enough to support the tanks.  This was not
a division suited to defensive postures, but more to overrunning the
enemy.  Which was just what he wanted.

After the last
battalion of the last division passed by Baggett stepped off the reviewing stand,
motioning for the other division commanders to proceed him to the briefing
room.  All were arrayed in their dress uniforms as suited a parade. 
They would spend enough time in their battle armor when they got to the assault
area.

“Take seats,”
commanded Baggett as he walked into the room after his subordinates had gotten
to their places around the table.  Baggett took his own chair at the head
of the table, looking at the officers assembled in the chamber.  Three
division commanders, all major generals, along with his own assistant division
commander, as well as six brigadiers, holding the positions of three assistant
division commanders and three staff officers.  A dozen colonels, the
brigade commanders.  All of the senior commanders of his corps, who would
later disseminate the information to their own commands, when the time came.

The holo came to
life over the table, and most of the men and women in the room leaned forward
in their chairs, the four Phlistarans putting their elbows on the table so they
could shift forward on the peculiar benches that served as their seats.

“New Moscow,
ladies and gentleman,” said Baggett, pointing at the system with his controller
and causing one of the worlds to blink, then zoom in.  “Our next target.”

There were a few
murmurs in the room, but mostly stunned silence.  The kingdom of New
Moscow was not a favorite among many of the citizens of the Empire, having
migrated from a polity that had itself split from the Empire five centuries
before.  It was like they were considered people who couldn’t work out the
problems of the governments they found themselves under, and were continually
looking to run to something better.

“And what’s the
mission, if I may ask?” asked Major General Hri’stanna, the commander of the
512
^th
Heavy Infantry in his rumbling voice.

“It’s a rescue
mission,” said Baggett, wondering if that was accurate. 
More like an
attempt at a mass rescue.  And if we do half of what the Emperor expects
of us, it will be a miracle.

“And who are we
rescuing?” asked Major General McPherson in his Scottish brogue. 

Baggett didn’t
say a word, but instead sent an order from his implant, causing the holo to
change views.   It started with what looked like a high altitude view
of a large square, at the range impossible to determine what it was.  The
view moved in, until it resolved into a multitude of smaller squares arrayed
among the larger one.  Then it zoomed again, and the figures of living
beings could be seen moving among what were now obviously tents or other forms
or temporary shelter.  There was some kind of a conveyance moving through
one of the streets, being pulled by a group of the forms, and the view zoomed
in on it, revealing its identity.

“Son of a
bitch,” cursed Major General Patrice Napoli, the commander of the armored
division.  “Those fucking assholes.”

The cart was
piled high with bodies, most fairly intact, some missing parts as if they had
been hit by a powerful beam weapon or high velocity projectile weapon. 
Staring eyes looked wide into the nothingness their owners had entered, while a
pair of Ca’cadasan guards walked on either side of the cart.

“This is the
rescue mission, ladies and gentlemen,” said Baggett, fighting his rising
anger.  He had seen this before, but it still drove him to a killing fury. 
People, his species, being confined until they could be harvested as
food.  “Hundreds of millions of humans, in over a hundred of these camps,
some very large, some small, that cover the surface of the world.  As soon
as the Fleet and the Army has the assets in place, we are going to take this
world away from the Cacas and rescue these people.”

“And if the
Cacas kill them first?” asked Hri’stanna.

“Then we at
least free them from their fate, and deprive our enemy of food.”  Baggett
looked out over the assemblage.  “But we’re not going to fail. 
Failure is not an option.  That comes directly from the Emperor.  We
will land on New Moscow, and we will take the planet away from the Cacas. 
And free these people, so that they might join with their brother and sister
humans in opposing this hated invader.”

There were a
couple of muted cheers, with more staring in silence, which Baggett did not
mind.  This wasn’t a group that was going to be roused with a rah rah
speech.  They had been in the service too long, and seen too much. 
That was OK.  As long as they did their jobs, he really didn’t care.

“I have
downloaded all of the information we have on this planet to your personal
databases,” he continued.  “I have noted our primary objectives, our
generalized deployment, and leave it up to you to come up with workable plans
for your units.”

“How much of
this can we bring our own subordinates into?” asked a colonel of heavy
infantry.

“You can tell
your XOs and company commanders,” said Baggett, waving a finger.  “You can
ask the advice of your sergeant majors and first sergeants, use their
accumulated wisdom.  But no further.  Understood?”

Heads nodded,
most with expressions of understanding at the need for operational
security.  There were some frowns from those who liked to bring in their
lower ranking officers and NCOs into the process.

“It is very
important that the enemy not get wind of this operation,” said Baggett, turning
off the holo.  “If they get any idea this is coming, they will kill every
human on the planet, and we will be wasting even more lives for no purpose.”

“So, how are we
going to get our people onto the planet before they kill everyone?” asked
Colonel Maj Barrett of the 25
^th
Armored Division.  The Colonel
looked more like a vid star than a tanker, small, petite and with the kind of
face that took the breath away.  She was a twenty-eight year veteran of
the service, having served longer than her corps commander.  By chance she
was serving under Baggett, and sometimes chance worked out in one person’s
favor.   She was smart as a whip, and probably would have already
achieved flag rank if not for her penchant for questioning higher authority.

“Higher command
is working on that, Colonel,” said Baggett, looking into her blue eyes for just
a moment before forcing his gaze to move on.  “They have some ideas, and
are working with the special ops people on getting us onto the planet before
the Cacas can do anything about it.  But I have not heard back from them.

“We’re not going
in on this one alone, people,” he said, pulling the holo back up.  “We are
being organized into the Fifteenth Army, and will have three more heavy corps
assigned along with our own.  We will have enough troops to take the
planet and hold it.  I have been told the Fleet presence will be strong
enough to kick the asses of the Caca naval forces.  Other than that, I
really don’t know what we’re going to do.”

The General had
his suspicions, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that whatever
they were going to do would take a level of timing that made the most
complicated dance routine look simple by comparison.

*    
*     *

“What the hell
is this shit, sir,” groused Sergeant Emanuel Sargasso, looking with disdain on
the powered armor, one set of many, that stood in the center of the room.

“These are the
steeds we are going to ride into battle,” replied Captain The Baron Cornelius
Walborski.  “You boys are constantly complaining about how you have to
hump everything on your backs,” he told the gathered Ranger company.  “Now
you get to let mechanical muscles carry the load.”

The one hundred
and sixty-eight men looked at their company commander as if he had lost his
mind.  He knew exactly what they were thinking.  These men were
Rangers, special ops, the best unconventional fighters the Imperial Army
had.  They were used to going into battle with almost no tech.  No
com equipment, no sensors, not even energy weapons or magnetic rail guns. 
They moved quietly with no electronic signature to give them away, and killed
quickly from the shadows.  And now they were being shown medium armor
combat suits, something that would defeat their entire purpose.

“We’re going on
a different kind of mission this time, men.  And the suits are not really
for us, but so we can aid the people we are going to rescue.” 
And
that’s all I can tell you guys about the mission we are going on, at least for
now
.  Walborski didn’t like that part of the tasking order
either.  He was used to being frank with his men concerning a
mission.  They all had high level clearances, and were used to being
trusted by their leaders.

“So, what’s the
mission, sir?” asked Renhard Fujardo, the company first sergeant.

“We’re going to
be rescuing a bunch of civilians from the slimy clutches of the Cacas,” said
Walborski with a smile.  “And that’s about all I can tell you.  I’m
sure you will guess more during our training, but I caution you to not talk
about your assumptions.  You’re smart people, and it’s not something I can
stop you from doing.  But the intelligence types might become just a
little upset if they hear talk coming from any of you.”