“Sire, we must get you safely away to Mizar,” said the disturbed first space lord as he marched into the emperor’s private study. He was accompanied by four men-at-arms, who knelt before the monarch. It was the knight admiral’s duty to serve the Empire, one he took very seriously. And in this instance, it meant protecting the emperor any way he knew how.
The emperor looked at his longtime comrade with compassion and understanding. “No, my friend,” he said gently. ”There is no place I can go that they will not find me. And there is no better place to make a stand than under the protection of the orbital works surrounding Earth itself.” The emperor walked over and placed a hand on the larger man’s shoulder. “We have seen many campaigns in the years gone by. And now, we will see one more together, you and I.”
“Sire, our ready response force has received word that Second Fleet has been destroyed at Alpha Centauri. The enemy will reinforce and move upon Sol within the next few days. Once they arrive, there will be no way to leave without detection.”
“I know. But I will not run from my enemy like a coward. I will face them head on. Lead me to my flagship.”
It seemed strange to see the emperor dressed in the same military fatigues as the rest of the command staff, but no one paid any mind. The top brass of Home Fleet had assembled in the large flag briefing room and were now laying out the final stages of ops planning for the coming assault. Knight Admiral Elbazi had finished two rounds of briefings before this one, in which several rough ops plans were prepared. Each would be reviewed once again at a higher level during this particular meeting, for the benefit of their distinguished guest.
“Mohammed, which ops plan do you intend to use?” the emperor asked politely.
“With your majesty’s permission, I would like to go with Anvil-three,” he said. “It offers the best overall defense of all of the ops plans, and provides an element of surprise for the invaders. In addition, sire, it also places you in command of the ‘anvil’ force, as it were, and allows me to command a very heavy force to use as the hammer.”
Vice Admiral Krowal pressed a key sequence, and the plan they had named Anvil-three appeared on the monitors. It was a bold plan that left one-third of Home Fleet staged near Earth itself. The other two-thirds of the fleet would be in hiding in the rings of Saturn and Jupiter, where the natural dust and ice would mask them from cursory sensor scans. In fact, Task Force Eleven, “the bait,” would be on high emission just outside of Earth orbit to attract the invading fleet to come in for the attack. If the plan worked, Elbazi’s two heavy task forces, Twelve and Thirteen, would smash into their rear and drive them into the waiting arms of TF Eleven, which would also be supported by not one, but three orbital defense bases. It was critical to the success of the plan that the ambush force wait until the invaders were committed; the invading fleet could not be allowed to withdraw.
The Earth fleet bases were not just for show. Tradition ensured that each emperor not only had the largest fleet elements stationed in Home Fleet, but that the Earth orbital bases were in a constant state of upgrade. Every new weapon system or shielding improvement was applied to Earth’s Titans first, before refits were made available to the frontier areas. It communicated a sense of power from the capital, and also served to deter anyone from thinking they could overtake the government’s seat of power in a show of force.
“Very well, Knight Admiral, I approve the ops plan.” And that was that. Each of the staffers rose, bowed to the emperor, and left for the more detailed planning sessions and preparations to get the two beater task forces underway and into place for the coming attack.
The sovereign was not a part of the regular navy, nor really a part of the admiralty. Nevertheless, he spent his time in briefings, aboard the flag bridge, and occasionally touring the ship. By all appearances, he radiated the gravity of an immovable object. But deep inside, he had the knowing feeling that a clock was winding down--a clock that measured out his reign as supreme ruler of the Imperium.
It was not a terrible sense, necessarily. All things ended. But a nagging sense of something else worried him. What did these invaders truly want? Did they want to bargain for territory, or just take it for themselves? For the first time in his life, he wondered what would happen to the people he led, the citizens of the once glorious Empire.
It was at that moment, when he was considering the irony of his situation, that the ship’s general quarters alarm began to sound. The emperor was sitting in his private briefing room near the flag bridge. Well, it’s time, he told himself, and walked onto the bridge.
Admiral Krowal was on flag bridge, coordinating the fleet readiness cycle. The emperor walked in and sat at the center console, where he could observe the movement of all of the fleet units.
“We just received word, uncle,” said the admiral, “that they have been building up a massive force on the other side of the hyperspace channel. It is at least twice the size of our own.” She took a deep breath before continuing, “And they’re coming.”
“Let them come,” he answered. He was the rock again, immovable. “They will break like water upon the cliffs, and we will destroy them.” The emperor leaned forward in his chair, studying the readouts of the fleet strength before him. “Any word from Third or Fourth Fleets?” he asked.
“No, my lord. We have received some ships, but primarily picket forces and garrison units from nearby star systems. You will see them in amber on the display.” She was about to point them out when the communications officer shouted out.
“Admiral, we have contact with Fourth Fleet!”
* * *
Duke Mihialovich sat upon the bridge of his flagship, Minotaur, and smiled. He had arrived in time after all to save the old man from certain doom. Or so it would appear. His grin broadened slightly as he thought about how the drama would unfold. Oh, how sweet it is to be the savior of the Empire. The view screen changed and the image of the emperor appeared upon it. Everyone in the compartment knelt briefly out of respect. Everyone, that is, except Duke Mihialovich.
“It is good to see you are still well, my liege,” Mihialovich stated. He found it hard not to smile at the old fox on the screen.
“And you, Gherlof,” the other answered. “I am sure the first space lord will want to slot your command into our defensive posture. My understanding is that our opponent will soon be arriving, and in force. Your fleet may change the force mix appreciably.”
“My lord,” Mihialovich began, “there is a matter I must speak about with you immediately.”
The emperor blinked once, twice, before continuing. “Yes, admiral?”
“I have brought Fourth Fleet at your command into this theater of operations. However, all of my ships are on communication silence. They are communicating with my ship through tight beam only. They have orders to ignore all other communication signals, no matter how dire.” Mihialovich crossed his arms in a clearly defiant stature. “I have the power, my lord,” he stated flatly, “to aid you or to oppose you.”
First Space Lord Elbazi looked up in disbelief from his console. He had a slight communications lag aboard Valhalla in the Saturn ring. He started to speak, but was already waved to silence by the slightest raise of the emperor’s hand.
The emperor continued to smile at the duke. “What is it you want, my lord duke?” he said.
The duke did not waste time with a fancy, prepared speech. He was a man of action. “At the conclusion of this battle, my liege, I will be named emperor in your stead. You will step down from the throne immediately, and I will be instated. You may retire to any planet in the Imperium you wish, but you are never to return to Earth.”
“Done.”
The Duke was slightly taken aback. “Just like that? You are not angry?”
“Come now, Gherlof, we both know this is what you wanted. It was only a matter of time before the pieces on the game board were in the right positions for you to make your move. I have had my time. My son, the crown prince, is dead.”
“No, my lord. This cannot be,” Knight Admiral Elbazi shouted out. No one heard him.
Mihialovich took a deep breath and let it out. “Very well, my lord. Fourth Fleet is at your disposal.”
* * *
In the time it took for Fourth Fleet to be designated Task Forces Fourteen and Fifteen, the invading fleet had arrived. It was very large indeed. The enemy fleet shook down into formations just inside the hyperspace limit of Sol and began to move ponderously forward as an unstoppable force prepared to meet whatever was in its path, like a forest fire about to devour anything that will burn.
The Sol system hyperspace scanner stations had been modified to broadcast messages of friendship on all frequencies. There was no response, and the enemy fleet lumbered further into the system on a direct course for Earth and the burning particle emissions coming from its three massive orbital bases.
The duke’s ships were slotted into the command net, but did not have time to go into hiding along with the rest of the ambush forces. Instead, they stalled their forward advance and waited for the enemy to make up his mind and move in-system. They did not have to wait long. Like a log carried forward by a river, the imposing force began its march toward Earth and the waiting elements of Task Force Eleven.
The invading force was comprised of twelve dreadnoughts, fourteen battle cruisers, eight battleships, and eighteen carriers, both heavy and strike variants. Along with the heavies came eight heavy cruisers, six light cruisers, and an assortment of escort variants.
Once the invaders had passed the Saturn elliptical plane, both Mihialovich and Elbazi brought their forces into motion. The inbound forces did not even slow down. They simply launched a screen of eighty-four fighters from the strike carriers in a rearward arc to guard their flank and continued at best speed directly to Earth and the waiting arms of the defending force.
The enemy fleet made a course adjustment that would hide one of the orbital bases behind Earth, leaving only two with clear fields of fire. At two hundred thousand kilometers out, the attacking force launched three hundred and eight missiles. The orbital bases, with their longer reach, immediately fired their huge, mounted force beams and swept almost seventy missiles out of space. They waited while the remaining two hundred missiles bored in, targeted on the dreadnoughts, while the beam generators recharged for another shot. At one hundred fifty thousand kilometers, three things happened at once. The invading force veered away from their intended targets, launching another wave of over two hundred missiles. TF-11, while waiting for the range to reduce, found that it must either launch missiles immediately or wait to see if the force would reengage. Admiral Krowal bit her lip and then gave the order to launch missiles, and over four hundred sped out to meet the retreating enemy force.
The second thing that happened was that a lone light cruiser, left at the system’s hyperspace limit, entered hyperspace and departed the system. That was odd.
The third was that the defensive fighter screen was quickly joined by additional fighters launched from the heavy carriers. Three hundred fighters were now disembarked in four waves which sped out to meet the assault fleets of TF-12 and TF-13, leaving the enemy fleet battle line and escorts to deal with the incoming missile threat.
The first space marshal consulted his staff and got the queasy feeling that their surprise was not as total as they had hoped. In fact, he felt more like a bird startled out of the bush by a dog, only to find itself under the guns of a hunter. He adjusted his fleet formation to increase the distance between his capital ships, thus reducing the probability of collateral damage among his ships. He also decided to launch his missiles as soon as the fighters reached his maximum range, so they would have to come into their own shorter range with missiles bearing down on them. And then the plan came completely apart.
Fresh alarms blared, indicating that new ships had just exited hyperspace. They came screaming in, decelerating so hard the crews must have been vomiting on the walls and decks. Elbazi tried to imagine what the enemy admiral must be thinking, and then he knew--the waiting CL that had departed the system back into hyperspace! That very act could be detected all along the singularity string. It wouldn’t have had to hyperspace all the way back to Centauri, just far enough to reach a second force staged beyond the limit of the Terran long-range scanners.
The first space marshal’s mind was reeling. How? How could they have known the limit of his fleet’s sensors to that level of detail? It was a brilliant plan, stationing a fleet in interstellar space just waiting to detect the signature of a single light cruiser entering hyperspace.
And suddenly, it got worse. The fighters racing to meet his fleet were joined by over two hundred fresh fighters from the newly arrived carriers. To make matters worse, the new carriers immediately jumped back into hyperspace, as soon as their fighters were away, leaving no targets for Elbazi’s fleet to smash. It was all coming apart too fast to respond to. Now Elbazi’s ambush fleet was between the hammer and anvil. Many of the nearly five hundred Valdi fighters would have no carriers to return to for rearming, but that did not seem to be their plan. They howled in, redlining their tiny drive engines until his fleet was enveloped in a massive swarm of stinging insects, releasing their missiles at nearly point blank range. His twelve light cruisers, fourteen heavy cruisers, and twelve frigates gave the fighters a stiff fight, but they were not the intended targets of the attacks. In the space of ten minutes, ten dreadnoughts and twelve battle cruisers were lamed, crushed, and broken wrecks. In their death throes, they managed to disable or destroy over one hundred twenty fighters, but it just didn’t matter. Elbazi’s dreadnought Valhalla watched her consorts die and then became a flaming pyre herself as scores and scores of missiles broke through all defensive fire and swept her into the beyond.
The remaining fighters sped away and rejoined the main fleet, far out in Neptune’s elliptical orbit. It was no longer a question of who would win this fight; it was only a matter of when. At that moment, the Fourth Fleet, under the command of Duke Gherlof Mihialovich, turned, made for the Arcturus hyperpace limit, and vanished.
Emperor Eglon was a granite rock, immovable. He sat in his flag bridge and watched the view screen as the sidebar told the grizzly tale. Admiral Krowal was busy giving orders to her task force and base commanders, preparing to meet the fleet that was once again making its way toward them like a jackal circling in for the kill.
Home Fleet had failed. He would die here today. But he had one final act to perform before that inevitable tempest came crashing in on his mammoth defenses to batter them until either the fortress or the storm broke.
He stood up and moved into his private briefing room, once more accompanied by his aides. He sat at a console station as one of his aides set up a secure channel.
To: All Imperial Commands
I, Emperor Eglon III, do hereby proclaim that Gherlof Mihialovich, Duke of the Sigma Draconis Star Cluster and Fleet Admiral of Fourth Fleet, is hereby found guilty of treason against the crown. He is to be stripped of all command. He is to be executed on sight and given no quarter. He has committed the foulest act of treason and cowardice. His estates are forfeit to the crown, and any living heirs are to share in his fate. Give him neither rest nor abetment. Any who continue to support Mihialovich after learning of his crimes are subject to retribution from the Empire on my behalf.
This executive order is to be deployed to all corners of the Galaxy.
The emperor closed the channel and indicated for the message to be broadcast on all open channels and repeated across all ansibles.
Then he keyed in another message. This one was on an Imperial channel and sealed with eyes-only status.
To: Fleet Admiral Scott Pearson
Admiral Pearson,
As ruler of the Imperium and all frontiers and quadrants under Imperial domain, I do hereby bequeath upon you the title of Emperor following my death. This order shall be binding and permanent, and shall supersede any and all claims upon my throne. This order shall be sealed with my Imperial seal and genetic signature and that of my legates and consuls this 44th day of the Imperium, in the year 2410 of Galactic Rule.
This executive order is to be dispatched to Third Fleet, Commanding Officer.
Satisfied with his message, he returned to the flag bridge, where he watched the fighters’ final approach. The ship began taking massive impacts as his aides saw to it that their emperor was strapped in to his shock mounted chair. He was granite; immovable.