A Relentless Fury (The Great War Book 3) Read online

  A Relentless Fury

  The Great War, Volume 3

  Ralph Kern

  Published by Ralph Kern, 2020.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  A RELENTLESS FURY

  First edition. June 3, 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 Ralph Kern.

  Written by Ralph Kern.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to all the readers who bought, read and reviewed A Titan’s Vengeance.

  And thanks to Caroline for putting up with me while I write these novels

  Again, to Tom Edwards, who created an amazing cover. Steve for his awesome typography. Shay for her editing. Tim and Don, for their great proofing and suggestions. A special thanks to Carl, who has taken the time to start putting together an awesome tech guide for the series and also his vast experience serving in the military helps add authenticity for the series and to Jamie for the art and videos he does for this series.

  And a heart-felt thanks to all those who serve.

  Mailing List:

  www.Ralphkern.com

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  Email:

  [email protected]

  Pre-order Book 4 of The Great War here:

  A Heart of Ice

  Chapter 1

  Major Corla

  The Talos Rift – Starbase Oppugn

  Staccato flashes of explosions and streamers of weapons fire erupted as the battle raged on and around the metal-clad surface of the asteroid which was Starbase Oppugn.

  Not that Major Gan Corla had time to admire the light show as he drove his stick over to the right. The muscular, powerful S-91 Wolf fighter responded eagerly. The black tip of its nose met the flank of the last remaining Kingdom destroyer, and he squeezed the trigger.

  His fighter vibrated as its powerful twin pulse cannons opened up, stitching lines of blue fire across the flank of the vessel’s already brutally damaged hull. The rounds slammed into the ship, leaving a gouging trail of destruction and a web of azure lightning as the destroyer’s already tortured dispersion fields desperately sought to redirect the massive amounts of energy.

  They failed.

  Something blew inside the hull, opening a rent in the ship’s once-proud visage. A billowing cloud of gas erupted from the hole and—Corla gave a thin smile of satisfaction—tiny writhing figures of Kingdom spacers. He felt no sympathy for the dying enemy. They had been given every opportunity to side with the Neo Hegemony. To become part of the glorious new coalition redefining the galaxy. Their government had declined, and now they would receive no mercy.

  The three hundred meter long destroyer began to roll, streaming gas and debris as it descended lazily to the structure-encrusted planetoid below. Seconds later, it ploughed through the buildings, modules, and industrial units barnacled on the gray surface, leaving a furrow of destruction.

  “Destroyer is down,” he called tersely.

  He flashed over the landscape, looking for more targets of opportunity. The jump mechs and breaching pods had slammed into the surface an hour ago, and the fighting had been fierce since. Most of the weapon emplacements had gone now, thank Father Terra. They’d caused the ignoble end of four of Corla’s squadron. Men and women, without his skill maybe, but the Hegemony would sorely miss their services.

  Still, the battle was nearly won. It was only Kingdom stubbornness keeping the fighting going. The squat cylinders of dozens of breaching pods had disgorged thousands of troops into the base. The sad remnants of the enemy fleet was even now routing from the system, likely totally fleeing the Talos Rift, and would be headed home with their tails between their legs. Only a rear guard had remained, a few men and women in the base. Yet with the destruction of the destroyer, they now had no way off. No way to escape.

  If they had a shred of dignity to them, they’d be wrecking as much critical equipment as they could. Undoubtedly the reason they’d been left behind in the first place.

  Not that it would make a difference to the Hegemony. Their engineers were ready to come in and set up everything they needed to turn Oppugn into a stronghold within days.

  “All ships, all mechs,” General Horgan’s voice rang out clearly over the comm. “We have received a surrender from the remaining Kingdom leadership. All units are to go to self-defense authority only.”

  Corla’s lips curled in a sneer. Cowardly bastards. They should be fighting to the last man, woman, or child. Like a Neo would. Instead, they were throwing themselves prostrate on the floor.

  He flicked his thumb over his stick, activating the safeties for his vicious weapons. As much as his instincts were to keep fighting, to keep firing, to keep punishing the filthy Kingdom forces, he was also a good member of the Neo party. Defying orders was for lesser men and women.

  And, his sneer softened, as for the senior officers who had surrendered, they would soon be enjoying the “hospitality” of the Executors who would undoubtedly have questions for them. Questions which would be asked in their special facilities, with answers extracted in an agonizing manner.

  Actually, he mused with icy consideration, death would have been the easy option for them.

  He gave a dry chuckle as he pulled up. He began circling over the crater-strewn surface of Starbase Oppugn, keeping a watchful eye for any enemy which might want to try a suicidal counterattack.

  The conquest of the Talos Rift was nearly complete. Only one last Kingdom redoubt remained. And when that was taken, then the vicious battles for the Sphere would be as good as over. The supply lines would finally be open, giving them a route between the Arcadian Sector and the inhospitable expanse of the Dyson Sphere lying in the Ishtar system...and the limitless bounty of HE3 contained within.

  And that fuel, that lifeblood for the Hegemony war machine, would be used to end this bloody conflict once and for all.

  Chapter 2

  Admiral Darrow

  New Avalon – The War Rooms

  “Oppugn has fallen.” The words had to overcome the rage and frustration which choked his throat. Now was not the time to let raw emotion get in the way of icy professionalism. And that
was what Admiral Jonathan Darrow considered himself—a consummate professional. He looked around the War Cabinet, his eyes finally locking on the prime minister and braced himself for the woman’s inevitable fury.

  It never came. Lattimore nodded and spoke calmly, quelling the burble of chatter which rose in volume from around the ancient oak table. “Thank you for your report, Admiral.”

  The war had turned into a grim meat grinder of lives, ships, and fighters. On both sides. Yet, the bombing raids striking the worlds of the Kingdom, so obviously designed to sap the citizens’ morale, instead bolstered it. And, thanks to the deal cut with the Federation, every destroyer lost in the Reach or the Talos Rift was being replaced.

  Equilibrium, of the most brutal kind. A balance. The scales weighed by lives, ships, and aerospace craft on both sides. Neither side managing to gain the advantage over the other.

  Until now.

  Starbase Oppugn was critical to the war effort. One of only two Kingdom bases in the Talos Rift. An area of space wedged between the Arcadian Sector and the Sphere. Each had the ability to launch strikes at the Hegemony’s supply lines. But with Oppugn gone, the other, Valestra, was now alone and vulnerable.

  “What is the current status of Starbase Valestra?”

  Darrow shifted in his seat, settling forward and clasping his hands. He knew that each and every cabinet member would be seeking to divine meaning from his body language. Cold and calculated was how he needed to play this.

  “Critical, Madam Prime Minister,” he said, forcing an ironic confidence into his words. “Fuel for their ships’ reactors and fighters stationed there is depleted. Even supplies are dangerously low. I am informed that the personnel at the base are on half the calories they should be in an effort to eke out their food for a little while longer.”

  “Valestra has no practical value,” a voice drawled. Darrow fought from snarling at the man who spoke up. Horace Roth-Myers, a man so highbrow, he didn’t speak as much as slur through his own entitlement. Yet, despite the soft, well-articulated voice, his views were so extreme, he made the average Neo look like a bleeding-heart liberal. The Member of Parliament for Adrion wasn’t even a part of the cabinet, instead he’d wormed his way in as a “special advisor.” Rumors, unsubstantiated of course, were that he was a war profiteer with investments in many of the most preeminent arms companies in the Kingdom. For him, war wasn’t lives shattered and worlds conquered, it was the bottom line in an accounting report. “Perhaps allowing the base to fall will allow us to refocus our efforts on fronts of interest to us.”

  You’d like that. There was no doubt Roth-Myers was in the camp which believed the Kingdom could hold. And, during that time, his profits would grow. Yet, he managed to balance on that particular thin line by not appearing to be too pro-war. Seemingly, he was content with merely administering a gentle drip of poison to influence events for his own financial gain.

  “And perhaps, fronts of interest to us,” Darrow responded, lacing diplomacy into his voice, “include maintaining a presence in the Talos Rift, especially a base within striking range of the Hegemony home worlds, not to mention providing a base of operation close to the Sphere.”

  “Perhaps,” Roth-Myers purred, wafting a hand dismissively. “Yet it concerns me that—”

  “What concerns me,” Lattimore interjected sharply, “is ceding more ground to those Hegemony bastards. And that is beyond mere strategic considerations. We ask our citizens to be strong. Lost Earth, I dread to think how much money we give to PR companies for propaganda purposes. Yet, should we start abandoning more and more of them to their fates, sooner or later their fighting spirit will abandon them.”

  “Very good.” Roth-Myers nodded sagely. “But perhaps the admiral would like to tell us just how he would seek to provide Valestra the support it so sorely needs. Then”—he gestured around the table—“the government can decide if it is practicable.”

  Lattimore turned in her chair slightly, angling her body to exclude the odious man from conversation. Roth-Myers was no fool, he knew what she was doing and merely responded with a condescending smile. “And what would you need, Jonathan?”

  He paused, the cogs whirring behind his eyes. If he asked for too much, the cabinet would simply shrug and side with Roth-Myers. “What Valestra needs most critically is fuel, food, and fighters. That means we’ll need a convoy.”

  “Convoys passing through the Rift come under relentless assault.” Roth-Myers raised his lazy voice in volume to emphasize the relentless. “Which is why—”

  “Which is why,” Darrow spoke loudly, cutting off the man, “the convoy would need adequate protection to get through.”

  “And even then, you would be unable to guarantee their safety—”

  “There are no guarantees in war, Horace.” Darrow fought down the urge to snap the response back to him, satisfying himself with a condescending smile of his own.

  “Enough.” Lattimore held a hand up, obviously tired of the interplay. “Jonathan, put together a plan for me. I will review it and, if I like what I see, I will approve it.”

  “Madam, the resources we’re talking about are—”

  “I will not cede Kingdom territory, Horace. Being a patriot and what not”—Lattimore stood, her chair rocking back—“I’m sure you understand. Thank you, everyone. We will reconvene in twenty-four hours. Jonathan—my office, if you please.”

  ***

  “Why the hell do you keep that arse around?”

  “I didn’t call you here for gossip.” Lattimore raised her eyebrow as she lowered herself onto her office chair. “It’s unbecoming of a prime minister.”

  Darrow paused as he made to sit. It was a common game she played: just let them know she was in charge with a subtle piece of chastisement. A tactic which decreased in efficacy every time she used it.

  “But,” she continued, “he has powerful friends, and commands a good portion of Parliament. I give him the occasional titbit, like a special advisor role, he swells with pride and carries them with him.”

  “Hmm.” Darrow felt unconvinced.

  “Besides, and most importantly, he is a good morality check.” Lattimore smiled, genuinely this time as she gestured for him to continue sitting. “If he says something is a good idea, there’s a very high chance it’s a load of amoral bullshit.”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “Anyway, that’s just politics, and that’s my job. I work very hard to keep you apart from that, so you can focus on winning this bloody war.”

  “Speaking of which...”

  “Speaking of which, despite my fine words, would giving up Valestra be so bad?”

  “You’ve been listening to Horace too much.” Darrow leaned back. “We lose Valestra, we may as well give up on the Sphere. We give up on the Sphere, the Hegemony gets access to an exploitable fuel source. For now, it’s one of the few edges we have over them. Within a year, their HE3 production would beat ours. Within three, it would rival the Federation. Within four, after some time in the Executors’ dungeons, you’d be hanging by the neck from rafters of the Winter Palace—”

  “Something I very much hope to avoid,” Lattimore said dryly.

  “Valestra helps us keep the pressure on,” Darrow continued. “We can attack their convoys bringing fuel from their segments of the Sphere, and support our own forces in that hellhole.”

  “You’ve won me; I’m just reality checking.” Lattimore drummed her fingertips on the varnished wooden desk in consideration. “What’s it going to take to get through the Rift?”

  “We’ll need enough transports to make it worth it. And we need to understand we’ll lose a lot of them.”

  Lattimore blinked slowly, her own calculation going on behind her eyes. “And an escort commensurate with that, I presume.”

  “Great minds think alike.” Darrow smiled. “But yes. If we want to get them through, then we’d need a considerable portion of the fleet.”

  “And it needs to be within a month?”


  “After a month, the Galts can just walk in and take the place anyway. Our conversation would be irrelevant.”

  Lattimore leaned back in her chair, staring up at the unclad armored ceiling of her War Room office.

  “Make your plans, Jonathan.” She sighed, coming to a decision. “I’ll approve them.”

  Chapter 3

  Captain Draper

  Enris System – KSS Ghost

  The red-lit bridge was cramped, sharing as many characteristics of a transport’s cockpit as those of a naval vessel. There were only a few places where one could even stand up straight amid the clusters of equipment and blinking instrumentation encrusting even the overhead spaces. Not a single inch of the stealth’s cabin went to waste.

  Lieutenant Commander Nisha Draper, captain of Ghost, watched the target on the plot with calm, cold intent from her command seat, as if she were a lion sighting a gazelle on the savannahs of Lost Earth. The Iconian freighter cruised on, unaware that she was being stalked by a tiny, lethal vessel, the Kingdom stealth, Ghost.

  “Her engines are burning hard for her size.” Tommy Grimes, the sensor systems petty officer huddled over his console, staring with fierce intensity at the readings of the ship they’d spent the past day stalking. “I reckon she’s carrying a full load, skipper.”

  “So we have us a fat, wallowing pig here.” Draper didn’t take her eyes from the plot. A good sensor officer could divine unbelievable amounts of information from the passive devices a stealth primarily used to hunt, and Grimes was assuredly one of the best. He would patiently parse the scant scraps of data which came in. Taking his time, slotting those hints of information into place as if it were a jigsaw which would form a picture. Still, it took even him time to piece it all together, and to tell her exactly what they were hunting.

  “Aye, skipper.” Grimes nodded, the sweat glistening on his brow from the poor climate control of the stealth. “She could be a good solid million to add to the tonnage.”