A Dark Dawn (The Great War Book 5) Read online

  A Dark Dawn

  The Great War

  Ralph Kern

  Published by Ralph Kern, 2021.

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

  A DARK DAWN

  First edition. October 7, 2021.

  Copyright © 2021 Ralph Kern.

  Written by Ralph Kern.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  A Dark Dawn (The Great War)

  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

  Afterword

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to all the readers who bought, read and reviewed The Great War so far.

  Caroline, as ever, for her patience.

  Jamie Glover has worked wonders with his art. Steve for his kind generosity with the typography. Tiffany, for both her service, and her editing. To Carl, as ever for your sage, if grumpy, wisdom. Jim for all you do for independent authors. Both have a long and storied history of service as well. Hope you both like the Easter Eggs to you – it’s a small thanks from someone who lives under the freedom you helped provide over decades and my writing specifically. To Greg and Don – your support is always invaluable.

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

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  Email:

  [email protected]

  Chapter 1

  Admiral Ikson Koto

  The Imperial Palace—Hiron—Rukyon System

  A piercing shaft of white light speared into the dusk sky from the pinnacle of the imposing tiered pyramid which formed the keep of the emperor’s palace.

  The Imperial Beacon was a glorious spectacle that subjects from across the Empire, and far beyond, came to bear witness to. A visible symbol sited at the very core of the nation. A thing engineered to portray beauty and power operating in delicate harmony. A principle underpinning every element of the Empire, from technology to architecture to fashion, and beyond.

  Through the shuttle’s porthole, Admiral Ikson Koto’s dark eyes beheld the glorious beacon. Its majesty never failed to fill his heart with joy, to see the maxim of balance so perfectly exemplified.

  It has been too long since I have been home.

  His transport swept around the tiered vertices of the palace, the pilot undoubtedly working frantically to verify, and reverify, the shuttle’s identity. This close to the heart of the Empire, the Imperial Guard took no chances. A single wrong maneuver, the most minor of deviations from the flight plan, and the myriad anti-aerospace batteries undoubtedly already trained on the tiny, fragile craft would be unleashed.

  Admiral or not, Koto’s life and, of course, that of the shuttle’s crew, would be measured in seconds. If that.

  And quite rightly so.

  This was the heart of the Dawn Empire. And for the Imperial citizenry, the palace itself was the most sacrosanct place in the galaxy.

  The transport leveled, then descended toward the single circular pad set in the expansive grounds surrounding the base of the pyramid-palace. Not even dust was kicked up as the small naval pinnace settled to the pristine landing area on shimmering repulsors.

  Koto stood, placed his cap atop his head, and pulled his white dress uniform straight. Medals, ribbons, and braiding covered his breast. To those who knew of such things, they told the story of a glorious career, from his first battles as a young man against the People nearly 40 years ago to now.

  The hatch sighed open, lowering to the ground, revealing two rows of the Imperial guard lining the single flagstone path. Their armor was ornate and beautiful—ancient in styling, yet brought into the modern with flourishes of clean lines. A subtle scarlet glow highlighted the plate of their cuirasses, their masks showing a scowling demon visage, stylized to strike fear into the hearts of the Empire’s enemies, displaying red glowing eyes. But despite their traditional, almost ancient, appearance, they were cunningly engineered, giving the wearers the mobility and utility of modern combat armor. Even the vibro-Katanas at their waists were more than merely for show. Each of the elite Guardsmen spent years training with them. Skill with the sword was considered a prerequisite for this most exalted of positions, the personal guard of the emperor himself.

  Looming behind them, appearing exactly the same as the troopers, yet scaled up to 10 meters tall, stood a pair of imposing mecha.

  All were as still as statues. The only sounds were the gentle tinkle of water from a brook running through the gardens and the soft hum of insects. Even the bustle of the congested—and by many measures, the largest in the Galaxy—city beyond the Imperial Palace’s thick walls was inaudible. It was an oasis of peace and tranquility.

  A single figure clad in a guard officer’s armor approached between the rows of troopers, step by slow step, moving with steady dignity and the single star of a major showing on his collar.

  Admiral Koto awaited him, ensuring his own sword was angled perfectly on his belt, his near useless left hand cupping the pommel, while his right rested lightly on his trim belly.

  The figure came to a stop in front of him. His back perfectly straight, the guardsman bent forward to a precise 45 degrees in a Saikeirei bow. “Admiral Koto. I am Major Sarmar of the Imperial Guard. The emperor would be pleased to receive you.”

  Koto nodded once in response to the bow and metallic voice. There was a form and decorum to these things, after all. That was enough acknowledgement for the junior officer. The guard turned and walked up the flagstone path, and Koto followed, their course threading between the soldiers, mighty mecha, flowerbeds, and water features. The martial and the natural did not clash, but complimented each other, as they should, acting in harmony. Acting in balance.

  In another culture, that of the Federation, or Kingdom, even the brutal Hegemony, this might be an opportunity for polite small talk with the junior officer, Koto mused. Not in the Empire. Everything has evolved into an art form. That included the interaction between servants of the emperor.

  They passed through a set of gates. More mecha stood guard on the other side, as much colossal and imposing statues as functional war machines, lining the path toward the private garden of the emperor himself.

  The arrangements of flowers and plants changed, becoming simpler than the ornate displays he had just walked through. Flora from all around known space was on display; Sherax from Liberty, Roses of New Avalon, the Ivy
of Galton. In each of the beds or trellises, Koto noted a tiny plaque scribed with careful and neat handwriting, detailing what they were, where they were from, and when they were planted.

  An ornately robed figure stood, gently cupping the leaves of a fern. He carefully examined it and gave delicate squirts with the water bottle he held in his other hand. A discrete distance away, more of the masked Guard stood, watching, their red eyes burning into Koto. It was implicit, he knew, that no matter his position, they would kill him in a heartbeat if he so much as touched the young man unbidden.

  Koto came to a halt. In perfect unison this time, both he and the guardsman bowed deeply, the admiral’s upper body almost parallel with the ground. No matter the difference between himself and the major in rank, it paled to insignificance compared to the gulf between an admiral and the emperor, reducing them to peers. He felt a twinge in his lower back.

  Ah, age may bring respect, experience, knowledge, and position, but it does not lend itself to formality.

  The young emperor carefully regarded the plant for a moment more, then turned to Koto with a sigh. “It is sad. No matter how much I care for this one, it simply does not cope well with our climate.”

  Koto remained silent, his gaze locked on the young man’s slippers. He saw the flourish of fingers, a prompt releasing him. Suppressing a groan, he rose to see a genuinely welcoming smile on the boy emperor’s face.

  “Ikson, my old tutor. Your duties take you away from home for far too long.”

  Koto fought to keep the disapproval from his face. Their positions had long since reversed from when he had mentored the emperor as a child. The chastisement he would have shown for such familiarity was now carefully hidden. “I serve the Empire, wherever it may send me.”

  “Of course.” The emperor inclined his head, a look of consideration on his face. “Yet, your sage counsel is often sorely missed in these uncertain and dangerous times. Walk with me, Ikson.”

  Together, the two meandered down a path. The guard fell into a well-ordered retinue behind.

  The emperor occasionally stopped to regard his plants. His expression turned into the slightest of frowns, one Koto remembered well from the classroom—the visage of when he had all the information, yet could not quite piece it together into a conclusion.

  Child, stop prevaricating. You are seeking my advice, or you are charging me with a task. Either way, get to it.

  “Heavenly sovereign,” Koto finally offered instead, “what troubles you?”

  The boy sighed as he released the stem of a flower. “My Empire’s situation, the war raging in the Arcadian Sector, our own conflict in the Oraban Dynasty, and the trade war with the Federation, which they are set on and committed to. Take your pick, my dearest tutor. All weigh heavily on my mind.”

  Koto nodded. The concerns the emperor spoke of were real. “The war in the Arcadian sector is far from our worlds. Yet I concur, the savagery and brutality our sources report are troubling, certainly on par with our own long-ago conflict with the People, if not even more so.” Almost unconsciously, Koto rubbed the remaining digits of his left hand with his thumb. That war had cost him his index and ring fingers, leaving him with an unsightly claw of a hand. Beneath his uniform, scars covered much of his body, and those from a battle which had been a resounding success for the Empire. “The invasion of the Dynasty is proceeding at pace. The farmers and communists of that star nation are no match for our forces.”

  “This is true, dearest tutor.”

  “However, I sense neither of those conflicts are the most pressing for you. The Arcadian sector is distant, and it is merely a matter of time until the Dynasty campaign succeeds. No, your concern would be the Federation’s single-minded pursuit of quashing our economic power. A situation which is...troubling.”

  “Troubling, Ikson, and untenable.” The youth, barely out of his teen years, glanced at him, the steel of the emperor’s will shining through in that brief look. “My advisors are pressing me to turn this economic war into something more real. To reclaim my Empire’s honor. To impress ourselves upon the Galaxy once more.”

  Koto found his eyes narrowing. Those same advisors would not be the ones fighting and dying out there, in the cold and the dark. Such things were easy enough for them to say.

  “The Hegemony has formally requested we join their efforts.” The emperor’s voice was one octave away from a blurt. “To join their...Coalition.”

  Koto sighed, considering his next response. It came as no great surprise to him. One did not become the Combined Fleet admiral without keeping a finger on the pulse of interstellar affairs. “The Arcadian Sector is a long way from here, and I struggle to see our...mutual interests.”

  “And yet, this is perhaps an opportunity—or so I’m told.”

  Koto nodded. He knew exactly what that fascist regime would have offered. “They have made a promise to engage the Federation, as well, to force them into a two fronted war, to take the pressure off of us while we complete our own objectives. For them? They distract the Federation from its support of the Kingdom.”

  “Precisely.” The emperor nodded. “Your thoughts, dearest tutor. Honestly.”

  “I have spent time on Liberty, and throughout the Federation.” Koto spoke slowly, his voice gathering pace with his thoughts. “They are an undisciplined people, much given to capitalistic selfishness. Yet they have within a core of battle steel. Their territory is vast, their Navy rivalled only by the Kingdom of New Avalon’s. Their economic power? Well, we are learning just how overwhelming that can be when brought to bear. And their soldiers and spacers are superb. No, Heavenly Sovereign, I must gently and respectfully advise to the contrary. We would not win. A military conclusion is impossible. Their territory is too great for an invasion, and our flag can never fly over their capital in victory. But theirs may flutter over ours if we lose.”

  “Yet to do nothing, Ikson, would reduce my Empire to insignificance,” the emperor mused.

  “But it would still exist,” Koto pressed. Damn, he had to influence this before the hawks truly got their talons in. “Our war in the Oraban, as successful as it is, is absorbing Imperial forces at a prodigious rate.”

  “I know this.” The emperor turned to him. With shock, Koto felt the young emperor gripping his arm earnestly, the first time he had ever had physical contact with the young man. “But Ikson, the chaos of the Arcadian Sector provides an opportunity. To have the Coalition on our side—”

  “The Prime is an animal.” The emperor’s head rocked back in shock at Koto’s blunt words. Cutting off the Heavenly Sovereign simply did not happen. Still, he knew this was his chance, his one chance, to drive sense into the boy. “We can, with cunning strategy, perhaps achieve parity in the Void with the Federation fleets. We may—just may—bring them back to the negotiating table and get them to agree to favorable terms. But then let us say the Hegemony is victorious in its own efforts. Let us say that we are in ours. What then? Do you really think the Prime will stop? The Neos have designs on the Galaxy itself, not just the Arcadian Sector. And as for their ideals of racial purity? They make even our own seem like a mere hobby. We would be merely deferring one war with them by taking part in another.”

  “Yet this is my one chance,” the emperor’s eyes burned with a fierce intensity, “perhaps my only chance, to exert my own authority on the Galaxy before it is too late. Dearest tutor, your counsel is always appreciated, but the course of my Empire is set.”

  Koto shook his head. “I live to serve, but this will be a terrible mistake.”

  “Yet no one is a better commander of my naval forces, Ikson. You may not wish this, but you are the one who has the best chance of success in this great gamble.”

  So, this was it. He hadn’t been summoned for his advice, or for his counsel. Not really.

  He had been summoned to be charged with a task.

  Koto tilted his head back and sighed, gazing up through the trees and squinting at the serene setting sun through the
ir branches. The flicker of a flock of birds crossed it. What would the ancestors say? He would be leading his men and women into war again, and against a foe with such potential as the Federation.

  He would be expected to win. He must win. Whatever winning would look like, that was.

  Already his mind whirled. His instincts told him there would be but one hope of victory, he felt it in his bones. To attack with such vicious and overwhelming might, with everything the Imperial Navy had, to strike the first blow, hard and decisively, and to keep striking like a hammer on an anvil until the Federation was brought to the negotiating table to agree to terms. This wouldn’t be a war of conquest, but in pursuit of an armistice before it was too late for the Empire. And the clock would be ticking from the first shot fired.

  To achieve this goal would mean crushing their fighting spirit, to put the fear of the Empire into every spacer, soldier, pilot, and Marine in the Federation. To break their will with the same savagery the Imperial army had unleashed on the Oraban Dynasty.

  It would be distasteful, but it would be necessary. And as much as he didn’t want to, and for all the talent in the Empire’s flag officer corps...

  I’m a humble man, or so I believe. But there is no one else I trust to lead this fight. No one else who can lead this fight. I must take this mantle, but when I do, I must do so with all my heart and soul.

  “Very well, Heavenly Sovereign. I will, of course, fight this war.” Koto paused, letting his intense and stern gaze speak as much as his words. “But to stand a chance of success, I must be allowed to fight it without restraint, using the full might of your fleet.”

  “That, my dearest tutor, goes without saying.” The emperor gave a soft smile. “I would have it no other way.”

  Koto gave a barely subdued sigh. The boy was set, that was clear. The Hawks had already gotten to him, sold it to him. His summons and the façade of seeking advice had been a mere formality.

  “Thank you, Ikson. Go.” The emperor nodded at him. “Make your preparations. Whatever you need, you have my blessing.”