Hunc tu caveto
Beware this man!
Sentinel Station - en-route Objective Alpha
Riley had taken great pleasure in messing up General Iver's anal-retentive office. He had spread detailed maps of Earth and Mars across tables; a holographic representation of the solar system complete down to the smallest detail floated about his head, shifting perspective to show him different views.
He had a couple of the brightest minds he could find amidst the Karin and Kardiac troops standing in the CIC working on their own projects, devising intricate and complicated plans as they all tried to come up with a solution to the invasion.
He was no Dwight D. Eisenhower.
They were staying one step ahead of the Amsus fleets, because the Amsus hadn't considered the possibility of dead space jumps, and, since they were able to jump the jump nexus with them, the Imperials had no need to worry about supply lines. It gave Riley a unique tactical advantage, but also posed some problems of its own.
He blew out a ragged breath and rubbed his temples as he leaned over the table, wishing he'd thought about pulling a chair in the office.
A Field Marshal, what the hell was he supposed to do with that? But he could understand the desperation of the Imperial situation. Hell, he felt it as well; they held a tenuous technological advantage that was offset by the Polian-Amsus Alliance. They were more creative, yet were faced by ten to-one odds. It was the kind of mess Riley had grown used to.
Now if only Sephradon would just stay put, searching for him.
"Field Marshal." A communications officer entered the office with a clipboard of dispatches. Some were from Karin, relayed via the jump nexus; a few others from Imperial ships running reconnaissance missions.
He noted that Wing Commander Masconi had named herself the next Highlord Kardiac, and he took the time to pause and think of the brave Colonel Ramsey and the desperate run of the 242nd that had bought them the time they needed to escape the Sentinel trap. The Empire owed the man a great debt, and it was good that his daughter had chosen to step up and fill his place.
He reviewed the short letter from her, informing him that the 242nd would be returning to the fight as soon as it was re-supplied. That was welcome news. Riley turned and made some notes on a piece of paper, glancing over towards a map that showed Sephradon's forces, overdue for another ass-kicking from the Light Horse. If the 242nd could return swiftly, he might be able to use it to lure Sephradon into wasting even more time...
He paused when he caught the last paragraph of the communiqué. "Oh Jesus Christ," He swore, reading the notes about R-403 and the fact that it was listed as MIA.
Grabbing the growler phone, he looked through the smoky glass that separated him from the CIC. "Hey Jim," he said, as Churchill picked up his receiver, "Is there anything on TAC-Net about Romeo-Four-Zero-Three?"
TAC-Net was the intricate FTL computer network that the Empire employed to link its ships with real time strategic data that streamed at a near constant rate through 'transient' hyperspace relays that could smash through the Amsus FTL blockade. Military Intelligence officers correlated the network aboard Sentinel Station. Experts monitored news transmissions, intercepted enemy signals from the A-IX outpost, and analysed the strategic data sent to them from recon and ELINT patrols.
Churchill shook his head. "No sir, last report we had was from the 242nd reporting that Romeo-Four-Zero-Three was missing in action..." he stopped, checking data on his computer, "...just a second, Field Marshal."
Riley waited a moment, reviewing the notes for the first stage of his plan, Operation Slapshot.
He chuckled at the title: House Karin and its damn hockey fanatics. He hadn't objected to the title; he'd been a Rangers fan on Earth. The Amsus permitted 'mindless entertainment' so as long as it was traditional and as long as there was a history behind it. Stupid really, but at least it beat the damn cricket that seemed so popular on Mars and other worlds, a sport so bastardised that the only traditional thing about it was the name.
"We have something, sir," Churchill said into the phone, "One of our relays intercepted an Amsus distress courier that was screaming at full tilt from the Martian Combine, Romeo-Four-Zero-Three's transponder codes and Squadron Leader Katz's personal identifier placing them on Mars... Port Trinity."
"Aw hell," Riley groaned, "Of all the places..." he gripped the receiver and beat it angrily against the edge of the table. "Damn... Damn... Damn... Damn... Damn!" he tossed the phone aside and tried to stay calm, pacing to and fro. He didn't have time to worry. Worry led to stress, stress led to heart attacks, heart attacks led to hospitals, hospitals led to...
Nurses.
He'd met his second wife in a hospital, a beautiful Orion girl with a wicked temper, couldn't cook worth a damn.
"It has to be God-damn Mars!" he swore, forwarding the information on the next info packet back to Karin.
* * *
Sentinel Station led the fleet. A station with no compromise made for luxuries, the first Imperial sentry station to see battle since the fall of the Empire. It was a mighty pinnacle of battle technology arrayed with heavy plated armour and powerful jump drives. Large-bored Maser cannons and zero point bores, hedgehog arrays of point defence batteries dotting its spine. The station was by far one of the most powerful in known space, surrounded by the bulk of the Imperial fleet, poised for the first of three offensive actions that would ensure that Sephradon and the Amsus armada would be unprepared for the attack on Earth.
The CIC around him warbled and trilled with hundreds of ambient noises that did little to ease his tension or offer a distraction from the cycling chronometer that wound down the minutes until the attack was to begin.
Around the CIC levels, officers manned their posts, keeping detailed track of the various elements of the Imperial war fleet. Holographic displays tied into TAC-Net streamed real-time data of tracked Amsus fleet assets, monitored from reconnaissance flights and ELINT fighters that were sitting on target, using FTL relays to break through the Amsus jamming that was interfering with Imperial communications.
Before a semicircle of repeater displays that showed him status reports from all the ships under his command, Field Marshal Riley stood stroking his chin, fidgeting with his new uniform and contemplating his tactical options as data flowed around him at a constant pace.
In the forefront of the CIC a highly detailed holographic map of the immediate sector showed the HMS Anger of Hades, the gleaming bladed prow of the dreadnaught sliding through the holographic void towards the system detailed as its target. A range finder hovering above it read that the vessel was closing on its destination. Around it, the mixture of Imperial corvettes and Orion privateers prepared for war.
"The task force shows systems are battle ready, Field Marshal," young Midshipman Luther Malone reported from a comm. console at the rear of the CIC. He was acting as the relay officer for all information inbound to the station, and that was an ideal way for old Zoran to ensure the boy was safe. Riley wasn't exactly sure how he had ended up babysitting again, but he intended to keep an eye on the impressionable boy. Luther checked the monitors in front of him dedicated to the Agamemnon's fleet. "The rest of the Task forces are beginning to check in."
Riley didn't move from his position in front of the bank of displays. Cast in the blue and green glows of the monitors, he spoke. "That's cool, send the acknowledgement signal," he folded his arms and bounced a little on his feet, "And inform me when the other task forces report in. Jim?"
"Yes sir?" Colonel Churchill looked up from the master situations monitor dominating the centre at the rear of the CIC. A large table showed the deployment of military forces and various aspects of his objectives. The Colonel laid aside his headset as he marched around the threat board, coming to attention alongside the Field Marshal. He used the opportunity to search the aged man's face for any signs of the strain that was evident throughout the CIC's cramped spaces. After all the preparations, Riley was finally allowed to take his unique style of war to the enemy.
Field Marshal Riley, unlike his predecessor General Iver, wasn't afraid to use the Imperial feet to maximum effectiveness, taking the Imperial fleet on the offensive in what had, until that point, been a defensive action. He had pieces in place, clandestine operations that were gathering information for TAC-net to exploit, and now Riley was free to do what he did best, rain havoc and terrorize the Amsus space lanes.
However, what Riley had cooked up in that strange skull of his, Churchill could only guess. An action of that scope could only accomplish one thing, enrage Sephradon further, perhaps forcing her hand, but inevitably it would gain little...
If Riley was tense, he certainly didn't seem it, accepting a cup of coffee from a pretty young midshipman in VonGrippen red, flashing her his best womanising grin as he surveyed his tactical displays. Turning to the Colonel and smirking, he said, "Alert all ships to begin the countdown. Might as well get the game started."
"Yes, sir," Colonel Churchill replied, returning to his tactical board and beginning to issue orders to the men around him.
Riley gestured to Midshipman Malone who brushed a holographic key floating beside his chair, activating the holographic comm. system and allowing a group of one-quarter sized holograms to resolve into life, hovering in the air before the Field Marshal. The Commanders of the respective task forces assembled virtually one last time. "Gentlemen: Mark for launch. Plight of Odysseus: Three minutes."
"Acknowledged, Fleet Command." Captain Taggert nodded, the rigid Kardiac training doing little to hide the eagerness in his voice. Finally the Empire was done with running, it was turning the war back on the Amsus and demonstrating what a mistake it had been to provoke Imperial reprisals. "Good hunting all."
The hologram dissolved into nothingness as the channel was cut with the HMS Plight of Odysseus. On the holo-sphere before Riley, the Odysseus task force began its attack run on its target. The Denver privateers moved into their positions to support the Imperial cruiser. The ships were descending on an Amsus convoy that was running supplies to its garrison worlds.
Riley shifted his attention to the next Imperial Captain before him, taking a few moments to check the scrawled notes on a clipboard someone handed to him. "HMS Apollo's Chariot: Five point two minutes."
"Acknowledged and understood, Field Marshal," Captain Hassan stated flatly, reaching up to undo his blood flap, the bright slash of yellow falling open confirming his resolve to victory as he, too, vanished. The holographic map once again detailed an attack run, this time on an Amsus FTL relay. The spider web dishes were protected by an Amsus cruiser and a pair of Raptors; the Osterburg squadron would cut them to ribbons while the Aegis cruisers barraged the station.
Riley turned again to stare at the first non-Imperial Officer in the line. The Orion Captain returned his stare with a look of defiance. Like the rest of his kind, he had been coerced into this alliance by Nicholas Denver, and there was little choice left to them but to obey. "Captain Hikaniro: Six minutes."
"We're ready to join battle, Field Marshal." Hikaniro's voice held an edge, a hint of something that struck Riley as wrong, causing the energetic Imperial Commander to check the display readout that was relayed by the Imperial corvette that was monitoring the armed freighters and Dar'shar fighters. The fact that each of them were sitting on fully charged jump pods, and the disposition of the Orion forces, told him that they were set to run at the first sign of resistance. Orions prided themselves on being noble warriors when they fought, but that didn't stop them from being reluctant to engage an enemy they didn't have to.
"Look," Riley said, staring at the Orion before him, "I know that your people have no taste for blood," his eyes locking on the Orion's, "But this is an opportunity for your crews to gain a hefty sum of cash, as well as fulfilling your obligations to your employer." Riley was glad that he had seen fit to keep Nicholas Denver out of any kind of planning for the raid, and all Orion FTL communications were blockaded. Trust only went so far with allies present at Rikard's bequest. The air of paranoia however had done nothing to ease the Orion's unease with the coming fight.
"I understand the role the we will play in your war, Riley." Hikaniro's voice was stiff, devoid of eagerness or... a will to fight.
Riley's thick eyebrow arched. He knew that tone all too well, a cowardly ring that would see the Orion breaking his word the first chance he got. "Really? You know, your mind-reading talents would have been useful while we were planning all of this. Maybe you could tell me what the Amsus are planning..." Riley shook his head, "Oh right, I already know that, nothing... because unlike you they aren't psychic enough to see the big-assed boot I am about to put up their ass. Now you're gonna get in there, you're gonna drop your gloves and by god you're gonna fight, 'cause if you don't..."
Confusion registered on the Orion Captain's face as he stiffened. "The Denver Conglomerate will honour its obligations, Field Marshal Riley. We've given our word and we have been well paid." A resigned look drew on his face, knowing then what Riley meant with his threat. An Orion Captain who reneged on a contract wasn't a Captain for long. "Yes, sir," he muttered, "Our ships will fight and we will succeed."
Riley tossed the clipboard to one of his subordinates, taking a menacing step forward, looming over the hologram. "See that you do, Captain. If you don't, I'll track you down myself and show you the up close and personal side of my size twelves!"
A flash of fire passed behind Hikaniro's eyes as he tried to match Riley's level glare. "We shall see, sir."
"Look," Riley said, keeping his temper in check, "It's all in the game, the strategy is the only important thing right now. I don't have the resources to make you do this. But I know Nicholas Denver's the one signing your pay cheques, and I get the feeling he's not the kind of man to look favourably on someone tucking tail and running. I have no intention of simply beating the Amsus, I have every intention of kicking their asses all over known space, and I will count on you to be in my corner." His dark brown eyes hardened. "You got my back, right?"
Hikaniro's eyes widened slightly. The Orion didn't strike Riley as a particularly intelligent man, but he seemed to accept that Riley knew what he was talking about. "Yes, Field Marshal Riley."
"Good." Riley kept his gaze focused on the displays beneath the Orion Captain, watching as the ships began to re-deploy into an attack formation, before he nodded in satisfaction. "Then you have your orders. Give'em hell."
"Yes, sir. Task Force out."
Riley stepped back and looked at the others on the line. "HMS Herald of Freedom..."
He ran down the list on his clipboard. Fifty separate actions, fifty separate attacks, each with small squadrons hitting minor Amsus facilities, cutting the legs out from under the mighty Amsus war machine. Riley intended to teach Sephradon the price of stupidly placing all her eggs in one basket. Each time he issued a time mark, his head would come up and he made sure to meet the gaze of each of the Captains on the line in front of him, wishing the men and women luck as he completed the final checks with the task forces.
"We appear to be on schedule," Riley said, as he ran his eyes over the repeater displays checking his watch as he walked around the CIC table and up beside Midshipman Malone. "The Codex of Lamont reports that it has a Amsus force on its scopes and is preparing its attack run. And we have just intercepted a coded distress call from the Gillespie system."
Churchill checked his watch; the Odysseus and its task force right on schedule. "Any response, sir?"
"The Amsus Sector Headquarters at Rnoxso acknowledged," Riley responded, checking the data fed to them from the A-IX monitoring station, "But they're a skeleton force, most of their ships make up Sephradon's third fleet, I don't think they have anything they can spare."
Churchill nodded. The Amsus had seen enough of Imperial tactics by now to expect Gillespie to be a feint, and to respond accordingly. But on the other hand, an attack force consisting of a Heavy Cruiser and eight Osterburgs was hardly something they could afford to dismiss out of hand, either.
Not that any of the attacks Riley had plotted were important. He was weaving a complex web of strikes deigned to force Sephradon to stretch her resources, to protect assets like the shipping convoy the Odysseus was descending on, or the relay that Apollo would hit shortly. She would have little choice but to listen to the advice of her Fleet Marshals, scattering her Armada, whittling the numbers down as her base and line commanders screamed for reinforcements.
And that was what Riley needed. In a war where he was outnumbered in nearly ten to one odds, he needed to be the one to bring concentrated force to bear on a broadly dispersed Amsus fleet ripe for the picking.
The secret lay in making the Amsus Hegemony, with its thousands of ships, its massive armies and seemingly inexhaustible resources, feel vulnerable. That was a daunting task.
Riley returned his gaze to the holographic display of the Anger of Hades bearing down on the star of the Ili'Austu system dead ahead, his throat tightening as he contemplated again the enormous conceit of this whole plan. He was hitting an Amsus Hive world deep in the Hegemony.
Intercepted communiqués from the Amsus fleet network indicated that another Amsus Hive world had been destroyed by the Lex Talionis; Riley was set to exploit the weakness that juggernaught's passage through the Amsus home fleets had caused. The Amsus were out of position, licking their wounds, repairing their ships. Complacent.
It would be a race; the Amsus Fleet Marshals would be sending reinforcements to strengthen their homeworlds, but they were days away, and as long as Riley could get the pieces of his plan into motion before the Amsus could reinforce, he would be able to destroy a second production world crawling with Amsus hive ships. It was a carefully plotted gamble, daring, and Riley hoped it would let him kill two birds with one carefully-aimed stone.
The indestructible numbers of the Amsus Hegemony were about to be decimated.
"Intercepted distress signal from Igec-Chou, Field Marshal," Midshipman Malone reported. "Rnoxso again responding."
"That's what I like to hear. Good," Riley consulted his watch, gritting his teeth feeling like a hockey coach as his team began to take the ice. "Seven minutes, just about, and we will be able to move." His lips compressed, just noticeably. "I suppose we'd better confirm that our honoured allies are ready to do their part."
Churchill hid a grimace. The Orions were known for their... alternative strategies, strategies that invariably resulted in massive destruction of one fashion or another. "I hope they don't pull another surprise on us, I have men on Ili'Austu."
"I know, Colonel," Riley replied. As if Churchill or himself could have stopped the Orions now. The Colonel returned his attention to his work, leaving the Field Marshal in relative solitude to study the Ili'Austu system map.
He paced anxiously, biting his lip as he knelt to get a better look at the holographic display, keeping an eye on the clock, counting down the moments until the Anger of Hades attacked, absently rolling up his sleeves and unbuttoning his collar. Ike hadn't been that nervous on the eve of his D-day, and this wasn't anywhere as grand as what Riley had planned for Earth, and yet, so much of his plan rode on scaring the crap out of the ice queen.
Miracles had a price, and he was about to be presented with one hell of a bill. He hoped that the boys and girls stuffed onto those ships, suited up in Marine armour and strapped into fighters, would give it their all. And he again regretted the Field Marshal's insignia on his shoulder. He wasn't a General, he was a troublemaker.
Colonel Churchill stood at the back of the CIC leaning over a master situations monitor. Around him, a number of officers sat at their stations reviewing the data from the fleet as it came in. The Colonel looked up at the Field Marshal kneeling under the holographic map, and watched him a moment, seeing the concern and the worry on the normally unflappable and optimistic man.
Churchill and the other members of the CIC crew exchanged worried looks.
"Life is hockey," Riley said, getting up and looking about him, "The rest is just details. Time to drop the puck, eh?"
"You sound like you're from Karin," Churchill smiled.
"Better, I'm a Rangers fan," Riley said with a grin, "Real hockey, not that pond sport you play on that backwards frigid hole of yours. Let me tell you, last year, play-offs..." he glanced at his watch and over at Malone. "Give the order to move out," he said, bouncing with an electricity in his speech as he returned to stand in front of the holographic displays, the flickering of lights flaring as the ships began to engage the enemy.
On his own tactical boards Colonel Churchill began issuing orders to his commando teams on Ili'Austu and the marine detachments on other worlds, preparing for his role in the most complex battle plan he had ever participated in.