Storm of Vengeance Page 20

  “From Fleet Admiral West.” The AI’s voice showed no emotion, no apparent recognition at the implications of a message from the fleet commander, hidden in Midway’s memory banks.

  Why would Erika hide a message for me on my own ship and not just tell me whatever she had to say?

  Her mind swirled with confused thoughts…and then sudden realization. Her eyes darted to the display, to the First Imperium fleet closing on West’s retreating forces.

  She’s drawing them away…

  Then: She planned this from the beginning!

  Strand grabbed the armrests of her chair as Midway shuddered from another hit…a reminder that her own force still had enemy ships to defeat. She looked down at her workstation screen, and again to the main display. Her ships were bearing down hard on the dwindling number of First Imperium survivors. She was close to victory…or what passed for victory. Her task force was gutted, its combat power a fraction of what it had been before the desperate struggle. She didn’t have the strength to aid West’s forces…and as she watched the wave of enemy ships still pouring out from behind the planet, she realized the rest of the fleet was doomed unless they were able to run for it.

  Which was Erika’s plan all along…

  She swallowed once, hard, and then she finally spoke again to the AI. “Play decrypted message,” she said softly. She was too deep in the system to run…but she found herself hoping West would take the rest of the fleet and escape. There was nothing to be gained by all of them dying.

  The AI spoke briefly, and then Strand felt a wave of emotion as Erika West’s voice filled her headset. “I’m sorry, Josie, that I didn’t tell you the details of my plan. It wasn’t lack of trust in you, but I believed you would carry out your part of the operation better if you didn’t know everything.” A short pause. “I also thought it would be easier for you this way. If my guess is correct, the enemy fleet—the real enemy fleet, not the diversionary force that moved against your ships—is now coming out from whatever place it was hiding, and hopefully moving toward my ships.”

  There was a pause, brief but with a heaviness of emotion Strand had rarely heard in West’s usually cold demeanor. “That is what I hoped for, what I planned. Your ships are likely battered, damaged enough that the enemy will ignore you—or send a smaller force to finish you—while it seeks to destroy the main body. Whatever does come in your direction must be defeated…whatever it takes. That, I trust in your skill and ability.”

  Strand was trying to keep up with West’s words, to understand what was happening.

  “Remember, Josie, that was their plan all along…to use their antimatter planet as bait, to lure our fleet to its destruction. And, in that, they may yet succeed. It is my burden now, to make sure that doesn’t happen…that they don’t catch the rest of the fleet. Not yet.”

  Strand looked around as she listened, trying to retain at least some focus on the battle still raging about her ship.

  “I am going to lead them out of the system, Josie. You can see that I stopped before getting too close to the planet, left myself enough room to escape the system…and I believe they will follow me. When they do, the Marines will land, hopefully unopposed, and they will launch their assault.”

  Strand was shocked at how much West had planned in advance, at the near-prescience the veteran admiral had displayed. Her eyes moved to the display, watching the enemy ships blasting out from the planet’s orbit, heading right for the now-fleeing main formation.

  Just as West had said they would.

  “Josie, the Marines’ assault is a longshot, an unimaginable struggle to gain access to the underground factory and find a way to destroy it. But, it is our only hope to cripple the Regent, to deprive its forces of their greatest advantage.” A pause. “We both know, that if the Marines can even manage it, if they can somehow destroy the enemy facilities, their chances of escape are even more remote.” Strand winced as she heard the sadness in West’s voice. She felt it herself, and she understood how difficult it must have been for West to order the Marines into such a desperate attack.

  Strand was grateful it hadn’t been on her to issue that command—though she was fairly certain she would have given it if she’d had to. She was doubtful the Marines would be able to completely destroy the enemy base, but there was just no choice but to take any chance at all. Whatever happened, she couldn’t imagine any way the deadly warriors could escape.

  “You have to wait, Josie. You’ll have to find a way to defeat any peripheral forces the enemy sends at you, and then you have to move in toward the planet. You have to give those Marines a chance…and retrieve them if they are able to escape.” The transports bringing the grim fighters to the planet were configured for one-way use, Strand knew that much. They would enter the atmosphere and launch the Marines, and then their crews would eject before the battered ships descended and burned up during reentry. Strand realized her ships—whatever was left of them—would be the only chance the Marines had, the only potential ride back home.

  In the miracle event that any of them made it off the planet, that is.

  “Josie…no one else knows what I am planning. It will look like we are running, that we have abandoned you, the Marines…all our comrades to try to escape from an overpowering enemy attack. I almost decided to let you think that, to preserve the secrecy of my plan.” A pause. “But I couldn’t do that to you…and I didn’t think I could fool you. You are the future of the navy, and if you return to Earth Two, you will command it one day…perhaps one day soon. You deserve to know exactly what I am doing.”

  Another pause. “All of what I am doing.”

  Strand’s nerves were afire as she listened to West’s words. Whatever the mysterious plan, the admiral had said one thing that was nothing but the truth. Josie Strand was incapable of believing that Erika West would run to save herself.

  But, that didn’t mean the First Imperium Intelligences wouldn’t believe it.

  Strand wondered, her mind racing for the next few seconds, grasping for shreds of understanding, as West’s fatigued and somber voice continued.

  Strand continued to listen, and then, her mouth dropped open as West described the heart of her plan, all of it. Every crazy—perhaps brilliantly crazy—bit of it.

  She stared straight ahead, the battle still going on all around banished now from her thoughts as she sat quietly, trying to comprehend what she had just heard, to make sense of it all. Then, she whispered softly, the only words that came to her mind.

  “Oh my God…”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Flag Bridge, E2S Midway

  System G48

  Earth Two Date 02.16.43

  Strand stared at the screen, watching as the entire bridge crew was doing, the black and empty display, showing the volume of space where, before, a First Imperium fleet had been deployed. That task force was gone now, replaced by naught but slowly dissipating plasmas and clouds of heavy radiation.

  Her people had won the battle…the first phase of it, at least. But any feeling of joy she’d felt at victory drained quickly from her, washed away by Erika West’s words, and by the new armada moving even now toward her ships.

  Enemy vessels had poured out from behind the planet, dozens…no, hundreds. They were still streaming out, most of them blasting their engines hard, pursuing West’s outnumbered and fleeing ships. It was an immense force, one she couldn’t imagine West could defeat…unless the admiral’s almost astonishingly audacious plan somehow succeeded. Strand’s thoughts were with her commander, her friend…and the desperate, crazy scheme she’d devised. She’d never imagined Erika West would simply run, but now it bothered her that spacers in her fleet might think that. She couldn’t expect anything else from them. They were exhausted, scared, facing another fight themselves…and the legendary commander who’d led them there was blasting out of the system at full thrust.

  But, she didn’t have time for such things right now. She had her own problems. One of the en
emy task forces had come out on a different vector…and it was heading straight for the battered ships of her line.

  The sight of it hit her with despair, and for a moment, she sat, still, stunned, struggling against a wave of demoralization. She was still trying to comprehend the news West’s signal had delivered to her, and now she had to deal with the need to rally her worn and depleted forces to face a fresh onslaught.

  There’s no way.

  The enemy force was too large, her ships too battered, their munitions expended. She gave up, surrendered to despair.

  But, only for an instant.

  Then, her resolve returned, and strength flowed into her exhausted limbs. She wasn’t sure where it came from, what reservoir of stubbornness she’d found deep in herself, but she suddenly knew one thing. She wasn’t going to let the Regent’s homicidal computers win. Not while she still drew breath in her lungs.

  “Alright, Commander…we’ve got…” She paused and did a quick calculation from the data on the display. “Twenty-two minutes before they’re here. Let’s get damage control teams at work now. I want every weapon we’ve got left ready for action…and I want new nav plans for evasive maneuvers, completely fresh ones. We’re not done yet.”

  “Very well,” Hercule answered, after a brief pause. He sounded shaken, but Strand was confident he would get the job done.

  All of her people would.

  Even those who’d already taken the worst losses…

  “Get me Commodore McDaid.”

  A brief delay. “On your line, Admiral.”

  “Cooper…what can I say? Your people covered themselves in glory.” The congratulations seemed the least she could offer…and also somehow wrong after the cost McDaid’s squadrons had paid. We see a successful attack, but no doubt, you see a third of your people getting killed doing it…

  She had some hope the toll had actually been just a bit less. There were probably pilots out there who’d ejected. They’d be sitting in their lifepods waiting to see if the battle was won or lost…if they had a chance at rescue, or if their fate was to freeze or suffocate, alone in the depths of space.

  “Thank you, Admiral. Your words are appreciated…by all my pilots.”

  She felt as though she was going to choke on the next words out of her mouth. “Cooper…I need you to get your people back aboard now. Land everyone on the closest mothership and get those birds refueled and rearmed.” She hesitated. “We’re not done here…not yet.”

  “Understood, Admiral. We’re on our way.” There wasn’t a hint of resentment, or even demoralization in McDaid’s voice. She was proud of the pilot, and of all his people, but he’d never know how his steadfastness hit her, the guilt it stirred inside, knowing she was going to send his exhausted pilots back out, without rest, in partially replenished ships.

  She turned toward the tactical station. “Alright, Henri…” She stared at Hercule, her eyes as cold as space. “Let’s get ready for the next round.”

  * * *

  West sat in her command chair, silent, without a word of explanation to the officers and spacers all around her on Garret’s flag bridge. The admiral could only imagine what her people were thinking as they sat, enduring the residual force from the engines’ massive thrust as it overwhelmed the dampeners. They’d come all the way to the G48 system…and now they were running.

  Worse, they were fleeing and leaving behind their comrades. Strand and her task force, who’d fought everything the enemy had thrown at them. Rivers and his missiles ships…no one in the fleet believed the bombardments had completely destroyed the enemy base, but the courageous crews had brought their ships in against all the odds, and they’d blasted the surface of the planet to oblivion.

  And, now, the Marines were going in, their ships turned into expendable delivery vehicles, their naval crews left to orbit the planet in escape pods…a desperate situation that could only look appealing in comparison to the hopeless hell into which she’d sent the Marines themselves.

  All while she ordered her own task force, the strongest one in the fleet, to run the instant the enemy unleashed its full strength in her direction. Part of her was surprised her people hadn’t mutinied. She wondered how much of that was the remnants of their eroding faith in her and how much was their own relief at a chance to escape certain death. West didn’t know what her crew had expected to find in G48, how much strength they’d imagined the enemy would have waiting for them.

  But Erika West had. And, the vast armada pursuing her ships was exactly what she’d expected.

  Her fleet couldn’t defeat that force, not then, not in G48. There was no choice but to flee, to pull out what she could of the fleet and make a mad dash for home.

  At least that’s what she hoped a sophisticated machine mind would determine.

  “We’re coming up on the warp gate, Admiral.” West could tell Sampson was confused, that the officer wasn’t ready to believe West would turn and run to save herself. She wasn’t sure it mattered, but it pleased her anyway. Avery Sampson might be the only one not ready to throw her out the airlock long before the rest of them knew what was really going on.

  And, maybe even after that…once they knew what she was leading them into. They might decide that running away wasn’t so bad.

  The entire operation to G48, the effort to damage or destroy enemy antimatter production, had been a desperate, half-crazed idea from the beginning. But West’s actual plan was even crazier…and now it was time for her to make it work.

  “All ships…maintain full thrust. The fleet will transit at once.”

  * * *

  Cameron sat, his armor bolted into the lander, immobile, waiting. His screen was blank, and the only thing he could see was the polished inside of his helmet. But, he knew what lay around him, thirty-nine other Marines, each equipped as he was, sitting quietly, eyes closed gently or staring at the same view he was. And, outside the sleek landing ship, Leatherneck’s single large launch bay, its great girders supporting an open area with five identical landing craft lined up next to Cameron’s.

  His Marines were ready, he was sure of that. A doubt or two had floated around his thoughts, concerns that he was believing more in old Marine lore than in a realistic assessment of his people. They were well-trained, there was no doubt of that, but few of them had seen real action. The Pilgrims who’d been the Earth Two Corps’ real combat veterans were mostly gone now, retired from active duty. A few remained, mostly officers at the highest levels…and also the occasional career NCO, all grit and toughness, and Marine through and through. They were combat veterans, but Cameron knew he didn’t have enough of them to make a difference. The battle to come—and he understood just how important it was—would be won or lost by his new generation of Marines, Tanks, mostly, but also NBs, born on Earth Two. They would fight, he was sure of that.

  He just wasn’t sure they could win this time.

  He’d seen action against First Imperium warbots twice, both times in small actions where his Marines had greatly outnumbered their enemies. He still had nightmares of the great killing machines.

  He’d also come close to battle against the bots the Mules had created twelve years earlier, when he was a junior officer. That fight had been avoided, at what had seemed at the time, the last second. Cameron had always been sympathetic to the Mules and their struggle to end the Prohibition, but since that day he’d carried a resentment against the Hybrids, too. Their creations were far too much like mankind’s deadly enemy, and despite his best efforts, he’d never managed to get completely past that.

  The ship shook hard, and Cameron’s body slammed forward into the front of his armor. The internal padding absorbed most of the force, but he still felt the shock it, and it roused him from his thoughts.

  “Attention Marines…we’re entering low orbit and approaching the atmosphere. We’ll be taking you deeper than usual for a drop before we launch your landers. We’re doing everything we can to get you as close to our estimates on the enem
y facility, but once you’re out, you’re on your own. Launch in one hundred-thirty-five seconds.”

  Cameron knew the plan well enough. Gaining total control over the space around a planet was job one for any well-planned ground assault. Or, so Cameron had been trained. The truth was, it had been more than forty years since Marines hit a hostile world in a major attack, and most of what they knew about how to do it was largely hearsay passed on from the past generation of warriors.

  It didn’t matter now anyway. This wasn’t a typical planetary assault, and it wasn’t a normal enemy. There was no way to be sure what fleets and weapons the First Imperium had hidden around the planet…and Cameron’s attack force was laughably small to invade a world.

  No, it was a raid, a desperate attempt to find and destroy the enemy’s antimatter production operation. If the Marines couldn’t find it, they would fail. If they located it, but couldn’t reach it in its deep subterranean chambers, they would fail. If the legions of warbots no doubt defending the base were able to hold them back, they would fail.

  And, even if they didn’t fail, Cameron knew the odds of getting his people back to the surface and off the planet were…for lack of a better and more descriptive term, poor.

  The ship shook again, harder this time, and Cameron knew they’d entered the upper layers of the atmosphere. Leatherneck hadn’t been built for operations in such low orbit, and he suspected the ship was taking it pretty hard as it continued to descend. His Marines would blast out in their landers, and the skeleton naval crews would eject in their lifepods—which should have just enough thrust to get them back to orbit—but Leatherneck and her eleven sister-ships were on a one-way mission.

  Who the hell am I kidding…we’re on a one-way mission, too…

  Cameron felt the heaviness of his suit vanish, as his circuits fed power from the nuclear reactor on his back to the servo-mechanicals of his suit. He’d been amazed since the first day he’d stepped into combat armor at how light it felt when the power was flowing. He knew a suited-up Marine loomed large and bulky to the eye, but he remembered the exercises from his Academy days, handing eggs back and forth without breaking them and other routines of that sort.