The Midnight Sun (The Omega War Book 2)

by Tim C. Taylor

  * * *

  Captain Fiorentino cursed the sensor netting, cursed his luck, cursed this planet and the mad sisters who’d brought them here, but in the unbroken stream of filth from his mouth, he took care to leave out the Veetanho and the colonel. He was angry, not suicidal.

  He sent an alert to Assistant Commissar Boroi, who was somewhere in Fort Aventine, and pinged the colonel’s personal comm.

  Switching the sensor net to active mode had revealed its existence to their enemies, but it also gave a much clearer view of the prey it had detected. If only that prey had been the Midnight Sun battlecruiser, which prisoner interrogation had revealed to have a precious Raknar on board.

  Instead, the net had caught a military craft that was about fifty-feet long. Either the hundred-foot-high Raknar had a hitherto unsuspected ability to be flat-packed for easy storage and transportation, or they’d caught the wrong ship.

  Fiorentino had revealed the sensor grid’s presence to the enemy, but they still had one secret the Midnighters knew nothing about – Lieutenant Sénarmont’s artillery batteries hidden within the depression between the seven hills. That was an asset he wouldn’t dare to reveal without a direct order.

  “Dove,” announced the colonel. “Inform me.”

  “Sir,” Fiorentino answered, “we’re tracking an inbound military submersible. Our sensors have gone active. It’s evading, but our artillery has firing solutions. Permission to fire, sir.”

  Fiorentino could hear the Colonel draw at his cigar. “Denied. Stand your batteries down. It’s unfortunate we didn’t catch larger prey, but that’s the nature of the business we chose, Captain. If we’d wanted a life of certainty, we’d have become accountants. Your standing orders are unchanged. If your batteries have a solution on Midnight Sun, take it immediately. Otherwise, keep your artillery secret. And, Fiorentino, about that hypothetical scenario…”

  “An amphibious assault on Seven Hills?”

  “The same, yes. Upgrade from hypothetical to possible. No, forget that. Consider a full-scale amphibious attack to be probable.”

  “Yes, sir. Do you have any details?”

  “It’s a hunch, Captain, but that doesn’t mean I discount it. If it comes, it’ll be from a mercenary race we’ve yet to encounter, but one the Veetanho fear.”

  “Merde!

  “Precisely. Have our Veetanho minders reacted to news of this submersible?”

  “No, sir. I alerted Assistant Commissar Boroi, but she hasn’t responded.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she will. Pay close attention to her reaction and report it back to me in detail. Dove, out.”

  * * *

  “The humans won’t fire,” said the pilot. “Shutting down engines. Impact assessment?”

  The co-pilot reran her calculations. “At present deceleration, we’ll graze the seabed and bounce off. Minimal structural risk. Why won’t they fire?”

  “They wish to keep their artillery secret.”

  “I misspoke,” said the co-pilot, her limbs coloring with anxiety. “I meant to ask why the Usurpers have not ordered our destruction. They wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to kill our kind.”

  The pilot boosted power to the main engines. The co-pilot was right. If this Usurper, Boroi, took control, depth shells would rain down on them seconds later.

  “Give me a spread of options,” he ordered. “How fast can we burrow into cover without killing ourselves in the process?”

  * * *

  Fiorentino looked on in amazement as the craft swooped down into a shallow dive into the seabed. Into! It didn’t seem to have been destroyed by the impact. It looked as if it had drilled beneath the sea floor to make its escape.

  “Keep searching. It’s got to reveal itself at some point. It’s got to come up. Surely.”

  Rosso’s sensor team optimized the grid out on the ocean surface to look for vibrations in the seabed and any signs of the craft tunneling underwater, but there was nothing.

  What Captain Fiorentino did see was the unwelcome sight of Assistant Commissar Boroi in his station Tri-V. The Veetanho should have been in Fort Aventine, a few hundred yards away, but the signals were originating from space, from a pinnace near the emergence point. “Why did you let them escape?”

  It was difficult to tell with Veetanho, but if the Captain were a gambling man, and if anyone would take the wager, he’d put money on this alien being seriously pissed.

  “Standing orders, Commissar.”

  “Idiot humans.”

  “My team correctly obeyed our instructions, Assistant Commissar. If you wish to change them, you must negotiate with the colonel.”

  “The colonel! Idiot. Your human colonel pleads for a chance to prove his worth to General Peepo. He’s failing. Commissar Penree and I are the general’s representatives in this system, and your colonel obeys us. You, Fiorentino, obey me! Ignore your human superiors. I order you directly. If you see activity at sea, or if there’s an amphibious landing, you’ll fire with maximum destructive force without reference to anyone. Do you understand me?”

  “I understand your instruction,” Fiorentino replied carefully. “Even if we have a clear view on the Raknar. Even if we risk destroying the only reason we’re on this planet, what then? Do we still fire?”

  “You still fire. The Raknar’s preservation is of no consequence in comparison with destroying the enemy we now know we face. This has become more than a childish duel between rival human gangs. Do you acknowledge? Will you obey?”

  “Yes, Commissar. I have heard my orders, and I shall obey them without question.”

  But when the Veetanho’s holographic image disappeared, Fiorentino mumbled, “I heard and will obey my colonel, alien bastardo. He’ll be most interested in every word you just spoke.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 90

  In the days following their repulse from the main river, the exhausted Midnighters had kept the river to their right, trekking west along ground that persistently rose to an escarpment. A multitude of streams and muddy runnels cut narrow paths downhill, pooling behind blockages caused by beaver-like creatures into large pools. The swamp gave way to jungle. It was a subtle change, but better drainage meant the trees were thinner and the ground a little firmer.

  Condottieri patrols were never far away.

  But the river they’d kept close to began to fall beneath them, switching back to the southwest and cutting the edge of the escarpment into a vertical cliff face.

  Venix’s plan was to use the clearer terrain of these bluffs to accelerate their march, which sounded like folly to Branco. The trees had been their allies.

  As they took a two-hour rest near the edge of the jungle, there was a sense throughout their temporary camp that the march to the sea was entering a new phase. A flicker of nervous energy that had injected a little laughter and fragile banter back into the mercs.

  It was as Branco was enjoying some gallows humor while he helped his friend, Gjalp, suit up for sentry duty, that a short woman in battledress walked up to him.

  “Come with me,” said Sun.

  She led him south, beyond the camp perimeter, without explanation.

  Branco was indignant with her arrogant assumption that he was available for her pleasure.

  His pride fought that rearguard action for about two seconds before capitulating. He was a man, and she was a beautiful woman. Both knew that every day could easily prove to be their last.

  * * *

  Sun led him to a shelter a short distance from the camp, constructed from gnawed timber and dry branches on the bank of a stream. There were gaps in the roof, and some areas had collapsed, but what remained of this abandoned alien beaver lodge was dry, comfortable, and private.

  They sat cross-legged, facing each other. She rested a hand on his shoulder and smiled up at him.

  He leaned in for a kiss, but she shook her head with a faint whiff of amusement. “I don’t need a man, Branco. What I need is a viable extraction plan.”


  Ouch! He closed his eyes while he sucked up his embarrassment. “Sorry, Major. I forgot to bring one with me.”

  “I just want your honest opinion, Branco. You’re the only one left who’s ever seen me as anything other than Major Sun. You’ve seen me…naked, I guess. Outside of my uniform, I mean. So I want you to help me decide whether I’m doing the right thing in fighting to the bitter end.”

  “Why the doubts now?”

  “Because I’m tired, Branco. Tired of being herded through the mud. I want to believe my sister is alive. Venix says it’s still possible and reminds me to keep faith with the company motto: the darkness before the light. But I can’t see that light any longer, Branco. If Midnight Sun were battle capable, why has she not revealed herself? Do I have the right to order my people to continue, when the most likely outcome is that we’ll all die? Venix is adamant we must, that with the Veetanho calling the shots, it’s already too late to surrender.”

  Branco grabbed her arms to steady her. Hell, she was trembling, but her face was locked in a defiant slant.

  “You absolutely have the right,” he told her. “We all signed up for this, knowing there would be contracts where the odds look bad. Has the company ever lost a contract yet?”

  A tiny smile. “No, but it’s my sister who delivered on that.”

  “Bullshit. You two come as a team. Maybe we really have lost her, and maybe we’ll still find her. But you, me, Gjalpy, Venix, Top, and all the others are the Midnight Sun. I know the darkness seems without end, but reinforcements are on the way. I reckon we still have an even chance of pulling through to the light.”

  “That bad, eh? If reinforcements really are on their way. And if the Dove knows nothing about them, so he’s happy to wear us down on the cheap, you’re right. We must keep going. It wouldn’t be fair to those who have already died to give up now.”

  “I can’t choose for you,” said Branco. “But you know I’ll back you all the way, whatever your decision.”

  “Thank you, Saisho. That means a lot.”

  She looked thoughtful. She looked beautiful. And he found he was staring at her lips.

  “I need a few minutes to myself,” she told him.

  “I can’t leave you on your own. I’ll wait outside.”

  “No you won’t. Go back and share a joke with Gjalp. He needs you more than me.”

  “Who, Gjalpy?”

  “I’m serious. Top says he’s worried Gjalp will crack. Go be his friend. I need a few moments to pray. Alone.”

  Reluctantly, Branco nodded and made his way back to camp. With each footstep his mood pepped up.

  He was exhausted, his guts were no longer on speaking terms with him, and the enemy was out there in the jungle waiting to end him, but at least Sun valued his insight.

  It wasn’t much, but life could be a lot worse.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 91

  “See anything strange?” the sentry CASPer asked Branco when he re-entered the temporary camp.

  “No,” Branco replied. “Gjalp, is that you?”

  “Yeah.”

  The big man sounded excited. Something was up. Branco hesitated, unwilling to betray Sun’s privacy. But her safety came first, and he trusted the big man. “Gjalp, the major’s just outside the perimeter on her own, trying to collect her thoughts. Is something going on? Do we need to get her back?”

  “Relax, Branco. These Mark 8s are killer kit, but even they aren’t rated for pissing off Major Sun. Still, I guess you should go get her. It’s not the enemy who’s arriving, it’s our lot. Perimeter’s reporting friendlies streaming in from the northeast. Dozens of them.”

  Sure enough, now that he listened for it, Branco could hear the pounding beat of marching CASPers drawing nearer.

  “The reinforcements,” he said incredulously. “We won. We held out long enough for the cavalry to come. Gjalp, you wonderful Viking wannabe, we actually did it!”

  “I don’t know,” Gjalp replied. “Top says to keep weapons free and wits sharp. Whenever I run the dates through my head, it seems too soon to be reinforcements coming from home. But they’re showing blue on my HUD. It’s weird, though…their names aren’t registering. Probably this damned jungle. Rots every system.”

  “It’s Captain Blue,” yelled Branco. “Has to be. And I know something you don’t, Gjalpy. The rumors are true – she’s bringing a secret reserve with her. Alien mercs. Squid people. Don’t shoot when you see them, because I think they’re paying your salary.”

  “Awesome!” Gjalp upped his speaker volume and called into the night at the shadowy figures drawing closer. “Hey! Midnighters! Welcome to the freaking jungle!”

  “I’m getting the major,” said Branco. “She’s gonna burst with happiness.”

  Multiple MAC shells hit Gjalp.

  The first cracked his torso armor, the second ripped it apart, and the third pulped Soren Gjalp’s head. Arterial spray mixed red with the brown- and green-stained interior of his ruined CASPer.

  The broken mecha stood patiently, as if waiting for Gjalp’s next command. As Branco stood there, staring wide-eyed at the horrific sight, the camp was bathed in intense light that threw jagged shadows off the cracked top of Gjalp’s CASPer.

  The swamp erupted in weapons fire. Huge explosions ripped through the trees to the south.

  Branco sprang into action, dodging through the trees. He headed for the center of the camp, where he hoped to find the unmanned CASPers of sleeping mercs, and arms more serious than his Ctech HP-4 pistol. Bullets sliced through the branches, drumming a dull beat into trunks and mud. A shell burst overhead. Branco dove for the ground and waited for the shrapnel and tree shards to stop falling.

  He picked himself up, head ringing, and found himself witnessing a scene of execution.

  Two enemy CASPers were ten paces in front of him. They didn’t seem to have noticed Branco, they were so intent on the tiny figure of Tatterjee. The alien’s high velocity pistol was still slung across his chest. The little guy would never reach it in time, not with one CASPer covering the Flatar with his machine gun arm, and the other rising his sword blade to cut him down.

  Staring his executioners in their metal-encased faces, Tatterjee froze, his whiskers erect and his eyes twice their normal size.

  The CASPer lowered its sword arm.

  Branco assumed the Condottiere lacked the guts to decapitate the furry alien – who did appear kind of cute if you’d never had to speak with him – and leave the execution to the machine gun.

  But that wasn’t it. Both CASPers turned and walked deeper into the camp, leaving Tatterjee unharmed.

  What the hell?

  A monstrous dark ball barreled into the CASPers, knocking them down into the ground. It grabbed the Flatar and flipped him onto the saddle on her back. Betty whisked him away into the trees as the two CASPers got to their feet and spat bullets after the Tortantula.

  Branco took the chance to dart behind them and sprint for the CASPer park.

  There were four suits waiting there for their drivers to return from their sleep shift. Those drivers might be just behind Branco, seconds away. Or they might be dead.

  A sudden roar from powerful engines made him glance over to the west. It was the immense tugs lifting off. He cursed them. And to the devil with the Raknar inside, because they were responsible for all this. Impossibly ancient machines of war still causing death after countless eons.

  The tugs were fleeing west through the tunnel already cut into the swamp, careless now of fuel consumption. But they wouldn’t get far. Not in this jungle. Before Sun had accosted him, Branco had just finished a shift carving out the tunnel. It stretched for only half a klick. Beyond that, the tugs would be snarled in trees, caught like huge bugs in a web, waiting for the Condottieri to free them at their leisure.

  The Raknar were lost now. All he cared about was saving anyone he could.

  Unless…

  There was a chance – a slim one, but it was the only one he
could see.

  Many months ago, when he’d first met Sun, he’d revealed a kill switch set into a batch of missing prototype CASPers. It had taken weeks to convince her that Binnig hadn’t left similar kill switches in production models. But she’d seen the potential, and had tasked him to secretly install some backdoor commands to her own specification. She could be more paranoid than Venix sometimes.

  Branco clambered up inside the nearest waiting CASPer and, without hooking himself in, he screamed the code phrase: “My beard’s in the letterbox.”

  It was a purge command.

  But would it do anything? And which suits would it affect?

  Branco inserted himself into the CASPer as it started dying around him. Basic haptic functions remained. So did life support, but not much else. HUD…gone. Combat assistance software and comms…gone. The rest wasn’t dead, but undergoing a complete reboot to last stored settings, and in the case of the genuine Midnighter CASPers, those settings were on the master armory server back on Tau-Rietzke.

  And just as he and Sun had intended, the purge instruction rippled through all CASPers on the tactical grid, no matter who was inside them.

  All firing ceased.

  Not just Midnighters, but Condottieri, too.

  Branco sighed with the relief that he hadn’t committed treachery and murdered his own comrades. He knew what had happened. The enemy had hacked the friend-or-foe system. They’d appeared as friendly in the Midnighter HUDs, but the Midnighters were showing up bright and clear on the enemy’s displays.

  He snapped out his sword blade.

  The fighting was far from over.

  K-bombs were exploding around the camp. One was too close for comfort, shaking Branco onto the ground. Others knocked out the Condottieri lights.

  “Make for Rendezvous Point Sigma.” came a shout.

  “Rendezvous Point Sigma,” Branco echoed through his own speakers. It seemed impossible anyone would get away, but he had to try.