Cauldron of Fire (Blood on the Stars Book 5) Page 34

  It was doubtful. And letting the kids go would backfire horribly if the Reds, as was likely, repelled the invasion.

  Drovus had signed on with the Reds because they were on Palatia and in control. They appeared to be the clear favorite, and if Drovus knew one thing, it was that it was better to be on the winning side. It wasn’t a very Palatian attitude, but she had always been more focused on her own needs than some overarching sense of duty. She’d often wondered how many of her comrades spent their lives playacting adherence to the way while nursing their own self-centered thoughts.

  “Vilia…I’m getting something on the outside scanners. I think it’s…”

  The sound of automatic weapons fire from the guard post outside cut him off.

  * * *

  “Keep moving…we’ve got to take that position now.” Bryan Rogan was near the front of his line—something he knew would have earned him a severe talking to from Commodore Barron. He stood firm, firing his rifle toward the half-shattered wall of the strongpoint. The intel Tulus and his people had provided had proven to be completely accurate, but unfortunately, it also appeared that Calavius’s people had added some fortifications not on the maps Rogan’s people had been given.

  It was about standard for any mission, Rogan figured, foul ups and information shortfalls being endemic in operations like this. But he hadn’t led many assaults so absurdly weak relative to the strength of the target, and he simply had neither time nor personnel to waste dealing with the unexpected. His people not only had to take the target positions, they had to hold them for an indeterminate amount of time. He simply couldn’t afford losses like this, not so early.

  The fortifications weren’t elaborate, but they were directly in the path of his attack. He doubted they had been built to ward off an invasion of the sort his people had launched. The Palatians could never have brought themselves to believe any enemy would actually dare to attack their capital. They were probably worried about Vennius loyalists onplanet when they built those…but the damned things are coming in pretty damned handy against us.

  He had almost a hundred casualties already, just around the main military headquarters, and if he let his Marines stop advancing and get caught out in the open, it would make that toll look like a walk on the beach. He thought about falling back, grabbing some cover and fighting it out, but there just wasn’t time. He had all the forces he was going to get, at least until Vennius’s fleet arrived, and his enemies had a whole planet to draw on. He had to take those objectives, and he had to do it now.

  There was wreckage all around from the strafing runs, and Rogan knew his forces would have been crushed already save for the massive damage inflicted by the fighter squadrons. But he’d never seen an air attack, short of a thermonuclear strike, that eliminated all ground resistance, and that was again proving to be the case. So, unexpected fortifications or not, his people were just going to have to go in there and take these objectives the hard way. One at a time.

  “Forward, all of you. Over the wall…now!”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  UWS Banniere

  Formara System

  Year 62 (311 AC)

  “Another hit, Minister. Heavy damage to the target, readings of internal explosions, leakage of atmosphere and fluids.”

  Villieneuve stood quietly on Banniere’s bridge, watching his plan unfold on the display. It had been a long effort, one that had entailed great expense, and not a little personal risk. The last thing Villieneuve had wanted to do after returning from the grueling trip to the Badlands was get back onboard a ship, but he wasn’t about to miss his great victory.

  He smiled as he watched the Confederation fleet, and he tried to imagine Admiral Striker’s frantic efforts to determine what was happening…and how to deal with it. Should he advance, seek to get his own ships into range of the Union fleet? Yes, please…do that. The weapon wreaking havoc on the Confed ranks was twenty thousand kilometers behind the Union battle line. If Striker took the bait, if he pushed forward, his fleet would be trapped in range of the great weapon that much longer. The entire Confed battle line could be destroyed.

  Villieneuve had gambled and lost with the planet-killer. He’d committed irreplaceable reserves and almost incalculable resources, only to have the great artifact destroyed by Tyler Barron. But like any skilled gambler, he recognized bad beats, and he knew, save for fortune’s intervention, his plan could have worked. Would have worked.

  He knew the Confederation would respond as they always did, to relax their guard after the immediate threat was gone. He had done the opposite. He’d sent his operatives into every port on the edge of the Badlands, throwing whatever it took to gather all the rumors, tall tales, and whatever else a border rogue might reveal under the heavy persuasion of drink, bribery, or the opposite sex.

  He hadn’t found another planet-killer. That would have been too much to hope for. But in the two years following the destruction of his previous find, his people discovered something else. There had been rumor combined with fact, guesswork mixed with real exploration. His people had analyzed it all…and when he’d finally launched the expedition, luck had shone on his efforts. They’d found what they were looking for.

  It was an energy weapon, akin to a laser, but far more complex…and powerful. It had needed repairs, but fortunately, the central core was completely intact. The tech in there would take years to decipher, and perhaps decades to effectively replicate. His scientists had told him it used some of the same systems as the transwarp links that connected solar systems, and that the core laser blast was enhanced by some form of energy drawn from the alternate universe that made faster than light travel possible. It was all beyond him—beyond his scientists too, he suspected—but they’d managed to get the thing functioning—another bit of luck. Whether by skill, luck, or some combination, the thing worked, and that was all that mattered.

  Villieneuve knew he’d been fortunate that the most complicated parts of the system had remained fully operational. The biggest problem had been replacing the antimatter power source. The weapon required astonishing amounts of energy to function. Villieneuve had solved that problem in a straightforward manner. He’d directed his engineers to rig up a cluster of fusion power plants, as many as it took. And when it appeared the construction of enough facilities would take two years or more, he’d confiscated a hundred reactors from Union planets, an action that inflicted severe power rationing on the inhabitants. If reducing a few billion citizens to four or six hours a day of electricity was what it took to win the war, so be it. The resulting string of fusion plants was unwieldy, exposed, but it was enough to get the weapon working.

  He still didn’t understand the weapon, but he’d grown tired of his scientists trying to come up with a label that described its functionality. Finally, he’d simply give it a name himself. The Pulsar.

  He watched as another Confed ship was almost torn in two by a single hit. He’d chafed for years at the power of the Confederation’s primaries, outranging and outpowering his ships’ guns. But his new weapon was exponentially more powerful than his enemy’s particle accelerators. The first two shots had taken the Confeds by surprise, and with no evasive maneuvers to deal with, both had been direct hits, nearly vaporizing their massive targets. Villieneuve had never seen anything as large as a battleship destroyed with one shot, and even his own iron control failed him for a moment as he watched, and almost giddy smile slipping onto his lips.

  The Confeds were in disarray now, trying to decide how to react. Wait until they pull back and see that we held our fire for thirty thousand kilometers to draw them in…

  Villieneuve was extremely satisfied. He’d suckered Striker in, and now he would make the Confeds pay for that mistake. He suspected he owed political pressure for his adversary’s unusual lack of caution, but that too had been part of his plan. There were operatives on Megara, and a sizable amount of Union funding had found its way into the hands of numerous special interest groups, feeding
their demands for an offensive to end the war. He’d fenced a match with Gary Holsten on that one, and he had to admit, his opponent had played a skilled hand. But in the end, the Confederation’s republican government, and its spoiled, unappreciative masses had been too large a burden, even for the gifted head of Confederation Intelligence. The Senate had at last cast the die…and Van Striker and his spacers had set forth into enemy space.

  And now they will pay the price…

  Unless the Confeds withdrew. The Pulsar itself could likely destroy any attacking ship before it could get into firing range, but lack of mobility made his superweapon useful purely on the defensive. He’d suckered the Confeds in now, but he knew he’d never fool Striker again. The Bottleneck was the sole route between the powers on this section of border, but there were other points of contact, farther Rimward. If enough of the Confederation fleet escaped, it could pose an invasion threat elsewhere. He had to take down as many ships now as he could.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. What he really needed was a system that could move the pulsar and its vast train of reactors. If he could make his ancient tech into an offensive weapon, he could invade the Confederation and drive straight to Megara. His fleet would be invincible with the great ancient gun before it.

  He had his people working on it, thousands of engineers and technicians, hundreds of designs and proposals. He’d offered a vast reward to the team that gave him what he needed…and he’d threatened to unleash the full wrath of Sector Nine on those who failed.

  But that was tomorrow’s problem. Today, he would enjoy all he had worked for, all he’d pursued for so long. He would watch the Confederation fleet shattered.

  * * *

  “We have to do something, Admiral…and now.” Jaravick was standing next to Striker in the middle of Renown’s bridge. “We either commit one hundred percent, and accelerate forward full…or we turn and run at full thrust. If we stay here, we’re finished.”

  The old admiral was remarkably calm. Striker was a man who rarely lost his focus, but the instant one of his immense battleships was blasted out of space, he’d come close. He’d pulled himself together quickly enough to order a random pattern of evasive maneuvers, but not before a second vessel had been blasted to atoms.

  He looked back at Jaravick. For an instant, his impulse was to order the fleet forward at full thrust. Then he shook his head. He had no idea what that was out there, but one thing was certain. It could destroy every ship he had.

  He turned toward Hogan. “Fleet order retreat. All ships are to set a course directly for the transit point. Full thrust.” Even as he spoke, he could see the Union fleet, every ship, blasting their engines and advancing toward his ships.

  It was a trap. The whole thing was a setup, a plan to lure him to the Bottleneck. He’d known…deep down he’d known the whole time something was wrong. Now the quick retreats from system to system, the lack of resistance…it made perfect sense.

  “All ships acknowledge, sir.” Just as Hogan snapped out his report, Striker saw yet another of his ships vanish from the display. Indomitable. One of the newest ships.

  Whatever that thing is out there, not even our biggest ships can withstand a hit.

  He looked at the screen, at the two damaged ships. They’d taken less than direct hits, but now Striker could see that while the vessels hadn’t been destroyed, the damage they had suffered was catastrophic. He knew immediately both ships were total losses. Worse, he realized almost at once that there was no time to send rescue ships or to pick up lifeboats. He would have to leave any survivors behind.

  He wrestled with that knowledge, trying to think of some desperate measure to save his spacers. But there was none. His only concern now, the only thing that mattered, that could matter, was making sure there still was a Confederation fleet when this engagement was over.

  “I want maximum evasive maneuvers during withdrawal. We have no idea of the range of that…whatever is firing at us.” He turned and looked at the display, running calculations in his mind. The Union ships were accelerating from a dead stop, while his were still trying to overcome their inbound velocity. He knew the answer in his gut before his head confirmed it. Those Union ships were going to get into firing range before his fleet got away.

  Damn.

  He turned and glanced at Jaravick. One look into the older man’s eyes confirmed he had reached the same conclusion.

  “Admiral, the Union ships are launching fighters.”

  Striker could almost feel the weight pushing down on him. He was caught well and truly in a trap. All he could hope for was to avoid total destruction. If he couldn’t pull out some reasonable portion of the fleet, the entire border would lie open to the Union. The war would be as good as lost.

  “Center task force, cut thrust to one-quarter. Increase spacing between ships five hundred percent.” The words had just blurted out, and they were met with only silence, for a few seconds at least before Hogan managed a fragile, “Yes, sir.”

  Striker knew what he was doing, and so did his crew. He’d turned the center third of his fleet into a rearguard, a desperate line to hold back the enemy while the others escaped. His ships would be exposed to the deadly new enemy weapon, but their primaries would be in firing range long before the approaching Union ships could respond.

  “Center force, all ships arm primaries.” His fleeing ships couldn’t fire their main guns, not while blasting their engines at full thrust. Not even his newest ships produced enough energy for that.

  “Yes, Admiral. All battleships, arm primary batteries.” Hogan had gotten more of a grip on himself, and his words were steady. A few seconds later. “All ships confirm, sir.”

  Striker stared straight ahead, his eyes fixed on the display. “All other vessels are to go to overloads on reactors and engines. I want the fleet out of here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Out of here…while we stand in the breach and hold off hell…

  Chapter Forty

  Rigellus Estate

  Palatia, Astara II

  Year 62 (311 AC)

  “First squad, keep up that covering fire. Fifth squad, move up to support first. We need to hold that line until we get the objectives.” Objectives. It sounded ridiculous to Hargraves to speak in such cryptic terms, even as he said it. Anybody inside that building knew why his people were there.

  He was crouched out in the field, far too in the open for his tastes, but first squad’s heavy fire had pinned down the enemy troops on the left. There were four or five, Hargraves had figured, up on the roof of an outbuilding. It was less resistance than he’d feared, but still dangerous, and it was astride his exit route. And you’ve still got no idea what’s inside.

  He watched as his Marines pushed forward, moving through the shattered remnants of the main door. He ran up, pressing himself against the front of the building as he waved the rest of his people in. He could hear their boots inside, on some kind of hard floor, but there hadn’t been any shooting. Yet.

  He swung around as the last of Hursus’s people slipped through. The entry was massive, the ceiling three stories above the great marble floor, with balconies overlooking from the second and third levels. This would have been a great spot to mount a defense. He was glad, at least, that there were no enemy troopers lined up on those upper floors, hosing down the main entry.

  “You know what to do,” he said, realizing it was unnecessary. He’d reviewed the plan with his people three times. They all knew why they were there. Hargraves didn’t like splitting his people up in small groups of three or four, but there wasn’t any other option. He had no idea where the kids might be, or what other personnel might be in the house somewhere. And it was a big house to search.

  Hursus was standing next to him. All the Gray Alliance troopers had dispersed, sometimes only a single one accompanying a group of his Marines. I guess Hursus is my minder…

  Hargraves knew it made sense to keep the Alliance troopers dispersed through
out his formation. If anyone had a chance of convincing the Regullii retainers not to resist, it was them.

  “Let’s go,” Hargraves said sharply. The three Marines clustered around him, and the Palatian non-com snapped into place alongside. The group moved up the main stairs, rifles out, alert for any enemy troopers that might turn up. Hargraves didn’t have any solid intel on where the two children might be, but the second level seemed like a fair bet.

  He came up to the top of the stairs, and spun around, his combat instincts reacting to the threat before his mind even processed it. He fired half a dozen shots, and the Marines with him did as well. The trooper coming down the hall had started to bring his rifle around, but the blast of fire threw his bloodied and clearly dead body back against the wall before he got off a shot.

  “Stay sharp…and watch the fire. We get those two kids out of here alive, whatever the cost. Don’t forget that.”

  The group moved down the wide corridor, stopping again after twenty meters or so, as more enemy troops poured into the hall. There were half a dozen, at least, but the Marines, and Hursus, opened fire immediately, taking half their attackers down in the first second or two. Then the enemy survivors dove to the side, one ducking in an open doorway, and the other two dropping behind heavy pieces of furniture.

  “Grab some cover,” Hargraves shouted, as he pressed himself against the wall, maintaining his fire. Shit. We don’t have time to get bogged down.

  His comm crackled to life. “Sarge…it’s Cooper here. We’re just down the hall from you, bracketing the enemy troops. I think we found the kids, but there’s somebody else in there too. I hear scuffling around.”