Crimson Worlds Collection II Read online

  “All squadrons, prepare for attack run.” The ships would be going in at high thrust, their engines cutting out just before the launch to allow the crew to manually launch the torpedoes. Hurley was a big believer in combining the touch of an experienced pilot with the number crunching of the targeting computer. She leaned back, getting ready for the deployment of her couch. “Lead squadrons commence thrust in three zero seconds from my mark. Remaining formations to follow at 15 second intervals.” She paused and took a quick breath. “Mark.”

  Hurley closed her eyes as her chair converted into the cocoon-like acceleration couch. She was breathing calmly but deeply, going over the mission one last time. She’d planned the strike carefully, working out the formation using everything she’d learned in her battles against the enemy. Everything was in place. Now it was almost time.

  “Ten seconds to burn initiation, captain.” Scarlett’s voice was human-sounding, but non-descript. The AI would modify itself slowly, imperceptibly to match her personality. Hurley probably wouldn’t even notice, but voice patterns, tone, and mannerisms would change over time, based on the system’s interpretation of her needs and preferences.

  “Five seconds…”

  She felt the pinprick as the couch injected the drug cocktail that would strengthen her cell walls and increase her body’s internal pressure. She sighed softly as she felt the sluggish feeling spread through her body. There was no ignoring the fact…the drugs made you feel like shit.

  “Two…one…thrust.”

  Hurley was ready, but she still lost her breath as the bomber’s engines fired, generating almost 30g thrust. The air pressure inside her helmet increased, partially offsetting the effect of the gee forces and helping to force oxygen into her lungs. She found heavy burns to be the most frustrating part of an operation. The strike force was operating according to her preset plan, but she knew she wouldn’t be much use while they were thrusting. At 30g, it was a losing fight to hang onto lucidity…exercising effective command was out of the question.

  Time became amorphous, and sensibility was warped. The burn lasted 18 minutes, but everyone in the strike force perceived something different. Some felt it had been nearly instantaneous, while to others it seemed as if days had passed. But it ended the same way for all of them…with a massive dose of stimulants, shocking them instantly out of the lethargic and hallucinogenic state induced by the drugs and gee forces.

  Hurley was suddenly awake and alert. It wasn’t a natural sort of feeling…there was a strange artificiality to it, as if she felt well and sickly at the same time. But it allowed her to function, and that was all that mattered. Her instinct was to target the ship’s torpedoes, to direct the squadron’s attack. But that wasn’t her role anymore. Barrow would take care of the Hawks and direct their attack. Her job was to monitor the overall operation.

  She glanced down at the plotting screen, looking for the loss reports. The strike force had blasted right through the enemy’s primary point defense zone, and there were holes in the formation to prove it. The lead squadrons had lost heavily, as much as 60%. But her column attack formation once again proved to be highly effective at penetrating the outer perimeter of the enemy point defense. Overall the attacking squadrons had lost a little over 20% of their number. That left almost 250 bombers to run the final gauntlet.

  The strike force was coming in at 0.03c, the squadrons stacked up in four columns. The engine burn had left each squadron on a projected intercept course with its target. As she had done at Point Epsilon, Hurley assigned a full squadron to each target…except for her column. Lined up behind the Hawks were six squadrons, all targeting a single enemy vessel. Greta Hurley was going after a Leviathan.

  She had no idea how much punishment the massive battleships could take, or even how effective their close-in point defense was. But she knew the fleet had to learn how to destroy the things, and she decided it would start with her bombers.

  The squadrons were coming in fast, one ship after another. The light particle accelerators of the enemy vessels raked their formations, taking out ship after ship. The bombers had come straight in, disregarding their own defense and evasive maneuvers to maximize their targeting. All along the vanguard of the First Imperium line, bombers loosed their plasma torpedoes. The weapons were held to the last minute and launched at point blank range. It cost more casualties from point defense, but almost every torpedo they fired found its mark.

  Hurley watched the damage reports coming in, silently cheering each kill. Her people were ignoring the Gremlins, targeting the larger Gargoyles instead. They were savaging the enemy, but they were taking losses too. Finally, Hurley turned away from the growing casualty list. There was nothing she could do about it anyway, and there would be time to mourn later. If she made it back.

  Her column hadn’t fired yet; they were charging right through the front line of the enemy fleet. They took point defense fire from both flanks, and fewer than half her ships reached the Leviathan. Her Hawks were in the forefront, but there were only five left. Every one of them scored a hit.

  The hulking battleship shook as the plasma torpedoes slammed into its hull one after another. Hurley’s survivors scored at least 20 hits, and the Leviathan was engulfed in a cloud of superheated plasma. The space around the ship was ablaze with multi-gigaton explosions – it had managed to eject its antimatter missiles just before the attack. Hurley swore under her breath…if they gotten there a few minutes sooner they’d have caught the thing fully armed.

  She leaned back in her couch. The job was done - now it was time to get out. Her people had to make it back through the enemy forward line and somehow get back to Saratoga before she transited. The fortress squadrons were heading for the fleet too. Getting back had always been a longshot, but it was a better bet to try to make the fleet than the launch bays at Sandoval. The orbital fortresses were doomed.

  She felt the couch expand around her and the familiar injections. The ship would be thrusting at 120% of capacity, a risky move, but necessary if they were going to have any chance at all of getting back in time. The massive pressure of almost 35g of thrust slammed into her, and she drifted off almost immediately. As she felt herself beginning to float away she heard a voice…Scarlett, she thought…talking about the enemy vessel…explosions…minimal power. She wondered dreamily, did we kill the Leviathan? And then she was lost in gauzy hallucinations.

  Death was coming at the orbital fortresses. The first line point defense had savaged the enemy volley, and now the shotguns were raking the remaining missiles, killing dozens. But enough were going to get through…and some of them were antimatter warheads. It wouldn’t take many to vaporize Sandoval’s last line of defense.

  The forts had lashed out themselves, sending their own barrage at the enemy fleet. A lot of their missiles were getting through the First Imperium defenses, but most of them were targeting the screen of Gremlins deployed in front of the heavier units. They were taking out ships, but they weren’t doing enough to wear down the fighting power of the enemy armada. The Leviathans and most of the Gargoyles had pulled back out of range after they fired. The forts were stuck where they were.

  Still, they fought on. They’d done almost all they could…almost. But their bombers were still out there, on their way back after the attack run. The fortresses were doomed, and everyone knew that. None of the Sandoval squadrons were coming back to their launch platforms. The motherships of First Fleet offered them a place to land, if they could make it in time. There were plenty of open bays on the ships; casualties had been high among the fleet’s bombers. But the bombers had a long way to go, and not much time. The longer the battle at Sandoval lasted, the better chance they had. By holding out longer, the fortress crews could buy the time their squadrons needed to survive. Harmon and the fleet would stay as long as they could, but if the enemy advanced on them in force, they would transit out. That had been the battle plan all along. The forts were expendable; the bombers were expendable; First Fleet wa
s not.

  Harmon had ordered the fortress crews to evacuate before the missiles impacted. The escape pods could get them down to the surface, where they could take refuge with Cain’s army. The non-essential personnel had already fled the station, but the point defense crews had remained at their posts. Technically in violation of Harmon’s orders, they grimly manned the defensive batteries, gunning down the incoming missiles. The more they could shoot down, the longer the battle would go on. Every missile they took out bought time for the bomber crews to reach the fleet.

  “Ok, everyone to the escape pods. Now!” Major Wes Hampton spoke loudly and clearly into the com. They’d pushed things as far as they could, and there was nothing to be gained by keeping his people at their posts. The commander of Fortress 2 was determined to get as many of his people as possible off the station. They had three minutes, maybe four. After that there’d be nothing left of the fortress except a rapidly expanding plasma.

  Hampton was standing near the hatch waving his arm. “Now, people. Move your asses!” His weapons crews were hesitating, trying to program one more round of shots at the wall of incoming missiles. But they’d accomplished what they’d intended, buying time for the bombers. They couldn’t do much more, and certainly nothing important enough to be worth their lives.

  It was a skeleton crew still on the fortress, and now they began running toward the pods. Hampton had the controls in his hand…the pods were launching in two minutes, no matter what. Anyone still standing around the station after that was SOL. They had to be at least 20 klicks away before the detonations started or they’d all be incinerated in the lifeboats.

  “Let’s go! Now!” Hampton watched his people moving toward the pods, and he had a moment of pride. There was no panic, no stampede…just an orderly evacuation. He glanced at his chronometer. One minute, fifteen seconds until launch. They were making good time. He wasn’t sure it would be good enough to get everybody off, but he figured it was possible. He was going on the last boat, but maybe, he thought…just maybe there’s a chance. Some of his people, at least, would get off. He gave himself a 50/50 chance which, he figured, was a lot better than none.

  Sandoval was surrounded by nuclear fire. The enemy missiles were detonating all around the fortresses, turning them into heaps of molten slag. Cain watched silently on the bank of monitors, steadily losing images as each of the observation satellites was taken out. It looked like most of the fortress crews managed to eject, but it was hard to get reliable data through the erupting maelstrom. He wouldn’t know how many had made it out until they landed, but his people were already tracking the pods. The fortress crews had put up one hell of a fight, and Cain was going to make damned sure that any of them who made it to the surface were picked up and got shelter and medical care.

  The fight in space had gone fairly well, Cain thought. Better, at least, than he’d expected. The First Imperium had always enjoyed a vast technology advantage, but their tactics had been weak and unimaginative. Now they were studying the humans and, Cain thought somberly, they were learning quickly. Their screening tactics were becoming more effective, and most of their battle line had come through with only moderate losses. They were still strong enough to invade the planet, that much was certain. Cain smiled grimly. That’s just what he wanted. Now it was his turn.

  “Captain Carter, I want all units on alert and ready for enemy action in 30 minutes.” Cain’s voice was slow and deliberative. “Personal confirmations required from all commanders at brigade level and above. No exceptions.” He knew his officers thought his precautions were over the top, but he didn’t give a shit. He had no idea what the enemy would throw at his people or what weapons they possessed that they hadn’t used yet. It didn’t matter. Cain wasn’t taking any unnecessary chances, and he wasn’t about to take losses he couldn’t afford because he’d lost focus. He’d been careless once before…never again.

  “Yes, sir.” Carter snapped the response crisply. The young officer was intimidated by Cain’s intensity, but he was also dazzled by him, ready to follow 1st Army’s CO anywhere. He hunched over his workstation, transmitting Cain’s order over the command line.

  Cain leaned back and took a deep breath. The biggest battle of his career was about to begin…and the most important. The fate of the human race potentially hinged on what happened here. It was a pressure few people could handle well, but Cain was the perfect man for the job. He was determined to win, to take his vengeance on the enemy. That was his driving force…his anger, his hatred. He was glad to have those motivations…he wasn’t all that sure how he felt about the human race anyway.

  He stared straight ahead, his mind drifting back over the years to battles far away and desperate struggles he’d faced. All of that had been part of what brought him here to this place, made him ready to face this enemy. Now it was time. “Well, Darius,” he muttered softly to himself. “This is for you, my friend.”

  Chapter 10

  Bridge – AS Hornet

  Omega 6 System

  Seven Transits from Newton

  “Passive scanners on full. Battery power only.” Hornet had just transited into the system, and she was running silent, he reactor shut down completely. Jacobs was going to squeeze everything he could from the batteries before risking a reactor startup. That meant no wasted power. Hornet’s bridge was dim and cold, and the air was stale.

  “Preliminary data indicate no contacts, captain.” Ensign Carp rubbed his hands together. His survival suit was a near perfect insulator, and with the vents closed it kept his body warm, despite the near-freezing temperatures. His hands were another matter. It was too hard to manage his workstation in gloves, and his were laying on the side of the panel.

  Hornet was deep into uncharted space, and it was starting to wear on the crew. They were in an exposed position, behind enemy lines, cut off from the rest of the fleet, from all of human civilization save the survivors on Adelaide. Assuming anyone was still alive on that isolated colony. To Carp it felt strange, eerie in a way he couldn’t entirely describe…sort of like swimming in very deep water. You could drown in 3 meters, but it was a different feeling when there was nothing but seemingly bottomless depths beneath you.

  They were very alone, far beyond the possibility of contact with any other human being, but they were pressing on. They had already done their part for the war effort. Strategically, the destruction of the two antimatter transports was worth a hundred ships the size of Hornet.

  Carp’s thoughts drifted back to that day. Hornet had put a plasma torpedo in each, breaching the containment and causing the antimatter to annihilate. He’d never imagined an explosion that released so much energy, over 800 petatons from each ship. That number was almost meaningless to the human mind, the kind of thing that was usually used to describe astronomical events.

  Hornet had fired from extreme range, but the ship was still bathed with a massive blast of gamma rays, and they’d virtually exhausted their meager medical supplies treating the resulting radiation sickness. The space where the ships had been was now a dangerous hotspot and would be for some time.

  Carp couldn’t imagine the value of the destroyed antimatter, or the damage it would do to the enemy war effort. The elation from the victory had carried the crew’s spirits for a long while, but now the relentless emptiness of uncharted space was draining their morale again. Jacobs had proven to be an extraordinary captain. No one else, Carp thought, could have kept this crew functioning at top efficiency so long.

  He saw data streaming down his screen, and he focused on it for a few seconds. “No sign of any enemy activity, captain. All scans complete.” He paused, reading more of the information scrolling in front of him. “There appear to be four planets, sir, including two in the habitable zone.”

  Jacobs looked over at his gifted young officer, impressed, as always, by the poise the rookie ensign displayed. “Very well.” He could see his breath; it was really starting to get cold on the bridge. He was going to have to ris
k some energy output soon anyway. Hornet was out of almost everything…food, drinkable water, reaction mass. They were going to have to investigate those two planets and hope that one of them had what they needed.

  It was a longshot. Finding a world in the liquid water zone was one thing; locating one with pre-existing flora and fauna edible for humans was quite another. And it wasn’t as simple as landing and looking around for something that looked good to eat. New worlds were extremely dangerous. The ship’s equipment could heavily modify an alien organic substance, increasing its suitability for human consumption. But a single alien pathogen could kill everyone on Hornet almost immediately. A seemingly safe foodstuff could cause massive genetic damage. The risks were enormous. The scouting service was trained to investigate new planets, not the navy. But Jacobs had to do something; he had to take some risks. Hornet could make it another system or two, but then they’d die anyway, from lack of food and water or when the reactor went cold permanently from lack of fuel.

  “Ensign Carp, instruct engineering to prepare to start the reactor at 25%.” Jacobs was going to check out the planets, but he was going to put out as little power as possible while doing it. “Plot a course for the innermost of the two potentially habitable worlds, maximum thrust of 1.5g.” At less than 2g of thrust, Hornet’s baffles would reduce the scanner image put out by its engines. It wouldn’t make it impossible for an enemy to detect them, but it would help.

  “Yes, sir.” Carp relayed the order to engineering, listening to the response on his earpiece. “Captain, engineering reports they can restart the reactor at any time on your command.”