The Human Legion Deluxe Box Set 2

by Tim C Taylor

  Human versus Littorane in the cat and mouse of close quarters void combat, and Indiya was on the side of the Littoranes. She searched herself for any crisis of loyalty but discovered nothing. Humanity’s hope lay in the Human Legion, not in the false promises of the New Empire. Her support was unconditionally for her Littorane comrades.

  “Over 50% of enemy warships now inside minefield,” said Admiral Kreippil.

  Indiya sent an order to the commanders of both Legion carrier groups “Retreat. But do not disengage.”

  Pride swelled in Indiya’s breast as she watched her command back away under fire with skill and bravery. But neither were enough to save them from the heavy pounding of the enemy force. Malaya exploded in a fireball, soon followed by Swiftness and Unswerving. Fire raged through Zetland’s upper decks. The only question was whether any crew could escape before she blew.

  Captain Cythien of the Lance gave an urgent update, the bass growls of her Jotun voice translated into expressionless computer speech. “Admiral, our dorsal hangar has suffered multiple missile hits. Damage control teams say twenty minutes to restore launch capability.”

  Cythien’s update was the closest anyone came to complaining about the hammer blows they were suffering. Indiya glowed with pride in her command. Only one person was begging her to turn and run.

  That person was her.

  Orphanmaker succumbed to a volley of X-ray lasers.

  Then Furious and Ajax were lost, picket frigates taking missile hits aimed at the Lance. A dozen Legion craft had been lost already. She had no idea how many Marines were silently dying in the void.

  Each one was a burden.

  Just a little longer.

  The enemy advanced group had a single capital ship, a cavernous beast that had spit out the bulk of the enemy drones, but whose hull was also pocked with missile ports. It came in for the kill, sensing the weakness of the Lance of Freedom.

  “Now!”

  Indiya’s order went to the mudsucker-controlled base on Khallini-4’s surface. They immediately activated the mines.

  Were the ships in the minefield friend or foe? The mines conferred amongst themselves using the medium of magnetic resonance signals that stretched all the way back to the planet’s surface.

  The enemy showed no sign of noticing.

  Now they were active, the mines should be self-organizing into the most effective blast shapes to strike each ship they identified as a target. But the enemy kept coming, aiming to take out the Lance first.

  Captain Cythien pulled her pickets in to practically within touching distance. The smaller ships slaved their point defenses to the control of the carrier, and immediately began taking the hits aimed at the larger ship.

  “Now!” screamed Indiya. “Set off those mines now!”

  “They are self-organizing, Admiral,” reminded Kreippil, as Dauntless succumbed to a missile strike aimed at the Lance.

  “Sod that. Override their programming. I need them now.”

  There was a short delay before Furn replied from somewhere on the Lance. “Sorry, Admiral. We can’t do that. Signals ripple through the minefield slowly and silently. If we could have set them off with an instantaneous signal, the enemy would have detected them by now.”

  The mines exploded. All at once.

  Indiya had expected a dramatic fireball, a blaze of light illuminating a vast region of space. Instead the mine blasts were largely invisible.

  Energy spikes were detected simultaneously across the enemy vessels in the minefield. Some of the enemy ships caught fire, a few exploded, most died silently, but die they did. The tactical feed to Indiya’s head reported all enemy craft had been disabled. All of them.

  “Mine blast effective,” reported Kreippil. “No friendly craft damaged. Debris pattern suggests friendly Marine casualties.”

  “How many?”

  “Approximately… forty-one caught in the blast. Several hundred killed or missing in the attack on the missile boats.”

  “Navy casualties since the start of this engagement?”

  “Three battlecruisers cruisers, eight destroyers, seven frigates, thirty-five TUs—”

  “I don’t mean the hardware, Kreippil. How many people?”

  “Casualty reports are a lagging metric but… approximately 14,000.”

  Mader Zagh! “And the enemy?”

  “Total destruction of the enemy reconnaissance force. Number of casualties are much higher than ours. The drones they launched have been wiped out, but we expect they have more held in reserve.”

  “Incoming transmission from the enemy,” announced the Comms officer.

  What could they possibly say that would be helpful? Indiya asked herself. But she couldn’t risk missing out on an end to the hostilities. “Put them on,” she growled.

  A square, 2D image of an enemy Jotun officer appeared in Indiya’s head. It growled and huffed. After a fraction of a second’s delay, Indiya’s software added a human translation. “Congratulations,” the Jotun was saying. “Very clever.”

  Indiya looked past the shaggy alien head to the command deck behind. The layout of the stations looked similar to those on the Vengeance, but larger. Much larger. Images could be faked, of course, but she didn’t think the enemy would bother. Subterfuge and trickery were not Jotun traits. Comms were trying to trace the incoming signal, but it was being obfuscated by being split and bounced around a multitude of vessels before recombining. No matter. It had to be the biggest of the enemy ships, the supposed flagship held back in their reserve line that Legion spacers had spontaneously nicknamed the Blunt Arrow. It was three times the size of the Vengeance.

  “Consider this, though,” said the Jotun. “You barely survived our reconnaissance. At best, you have achieved a tactical victory but at a crippling cost. And in doing so you have revealed your minefield and the new energy shields. Now that I am aware of them, I can easily nullify their advantages, and our numerical superiority is even greater than at the start of this one-sided engagement. Perhaps you have more surprises waiting for us. If so then you had better be sure they will succeed far better than your mines and shields.”

  The Jotun leaned into the camera and rolled back its lips. “To stand against us is to sign the death warrants of every sentient under your command. You have one hour to offer your unconditional surrender. If you choose to defy us, then the individuals under your command had better pray that they are killed in combat. Any we capture shall be tortured to the best skill of our torturers.” The Jotun growled through its fangs. “And our torturers’ skills have been keenly honed in recent years.”

  Indiya cut the connection. The chodding Jotun could go vulley itself. Threats didn’t bother Indiya, not from any alien. She never understood why Arun and the human Marines were so frightened of the Jotuns. The Navy life, she supposed. Compared with the lethal majesty of the deep void, even Jotuns were minuscule outposts of life.

  “Admiral,” reported the Sensor officer, “spy probe network reports enemy fleet is launching Marines. They’re stealthed, but deployment patterns suggest they’re headed for the gaps in the minefield left by the detonations.”

  “How long for the gaps in the minefield to repair themselves?”

  “Sir, the mine control team on the planet estimates two hours. They say the blast has severed the cognitive network that gave the mines autonomous control.”

  “They’re saying we’ve given the minefield brain damage?”

  There was a long pause before the officer confirmed that Indiya’s summary was accurate. Note to self. Never talk in metaphor to an alien in the middle of a battle.

  Indiya tried to raise Colonel Xin Lee, but she wasn’t visible on the grid. Was she a casualty? Indiya’s heart leaped in two directions. Lee inspired mixed feelings in just about everyone.

  “Pass this order to the Marine commander,” Indiya instructed Comms. “Deploy immediately. Defend the holes in the minefield against enemy Marine infiltration.”

  “Conveying
order, aye… Admiral, Colonel Lee has already set off with six Marine regiments. Three human from 2nd Carrier Group and three Littorane from the 1st.”

  “What?” Fantasies of Xin writhing under torture floated around Indiya’s mind. How dare the veck wander off without bothering to inform the commander of the fleet?

  “I authorized Colonel Lee’s deployment,” said Kreippil. “I recorded the colonel’s parting words. Here they are…” The Littorane’s underwater whoops and clicks were replaced by a recording received in her head of human speech, or the staccato cyborg equivalent that emanated from the human Marines. “The gaps in the minefield are now the critical battleground position,” said Xin’s recorded voice. “We’ve got to get there the firstest with the mostest, beat the bastards to the punch or we’re frakked. Any help from your goddess would be appreciated right about now, Admiral, so start praying. Going dark. Lee out.”

  To keep her thinking clear, all through the first phase of the engagement Indiya had refrained from doping herself. But she couldn’t help doing so now; the rage boiling through her veins was too destructive.

  Indiya released an anger-limiting hormonal adjustment from the implants under her palms. Within seconds she could observe the anger still roiling inside her, but she was distanced now. The rage fueled her body, but no longer reached her mind.

  “Admiral Kreippil,” she said, “please be advised that receiving an update about Colonel Lee’s departure is not something that would have taxed my heavily upgraded brain. Under conditions of simulated stress, my mind has been recorded conducting fifteen intense tasks simultaneously with no measurable performance degradation. Is your mind capable of such a feat, Kreippil?”

  Kreippil hesitated. Silence strangled the normal background chatter between CIC stations. Everyone there would have overheard Indiya rebuking the most senior Littorane in the fleet. To his credit, Kreippil’s response was soon forthcoming. “No, Admiral Indiya,” he said. “I shall not repeat my disrespectful mistake. Please forgive me.”

  “Apology accepted. This matter is now closed. Let us pray that Colonel Lee makes no mistakes of her own. The fate of our holy mission rests in her hands.”

  — Chapter 46 —

  Springer jerked her head to the right… but there was nothing there.

  “Was that you, Saraswati?”

  < No need to whisper, dear. The vibration caused by your voice does not travel through the vacuum outside your helmet. Even if an enemy scout bounced a laser off your helmet, your voice still wouldn’t register due to the magic you call stealth mode.>

  “Did you move my frakking helmet or not?”

  < Yes.>

  “Arggh! You’re so annoying… Which is what you do when you’re embarrassed. Which means you thought you saw something, and then changed your mind. Deny it!”

 

  Springer ignored her AI as she spun slowly around to inspect the patrol area with her own eyes.

  Nothing.

  The blue–gray disk of Khallini-4 was off to one side, the size of a fingernail if she stretched out her arm. The swirl of fast-moving dots around the planet were friendly ships. Saraswati noted her attention and labeled one – Endeavor | Demon-Class destroyer | Reserve/ 4th Squadron. Labels grew over other dots, identifying debris from the mine blast.

  Springer shook her head and the labels vanished. She wished Endeavor good fortune, but she wasn’t interested in ships or space crap. She was here to guard against infiltration by enemy Marines.

  She peered into the dark. The enemy could be here, already, massing undetected before striking. The BattleNet signals she received passively showed 3rd Company were already engaging in a firefight.

  Jetting across the void to come to her friends’ aid was a powerful urge, but she bit it down. Springer was in 4th Company and their Captain Samkruopp had said nothing about helping the 3rd.

  Clenching and unclutching her fists didn’t ease Springer’s frustration either.

  After the mines had turned the enemy’s first advance into scattered shards of ceramalloy and icicles of flash-frozen blood – the next attack was steadier. Enemy Marines – some human and some not – were clearing a safe tunnel through the minefield. She’d been told the mines were undetectable, but the enemy had figured out what they were looking for and were destroying the mines methodically. That was the problem with facing the Marine Corps: the Corps was smart no matter which side it fought on.

  But Colonel Xin Lee and her six regiments of Legion Marines had gotten to the minefield first. Springer and 12,000 other Marines had been busy booby trapping the mines, some low-tech, low-down tricks to slow the other side.

  Springer bit her lip as she made herself look at 3rd Company’s tac update and told herself the enemy had already paid a heavy price to advance this far.

  Without warning, Saraswati rotated Springer and made her shoulder her carbine to aim at… void.

  “What?” Springer hissed.

  < Something’s there.>

  “Enemy Marines?”

  < I… I think so… Yes. Yes!>

  Saraswati couldn’t always explain how she knew things. That was what made her a Recon specialist. She had a gut instinct, and it was more reliable than any human’s.

  Setting her carbine to pulse laser mode, Springer fired into nothingness, and hit… nothing.

  Her stealth cover called into doubt by the heat signature of her laser fire, Springer edged her aim further to her right, closer to the distant planet. The red dashes lancing out of her gun burned retina-searingly bright against the blackness of space.

  “Tone it down,” Springer growled.

  Saraswati dialed down the special effects. A steady pastel pink line now represented the pulse laser’s output. Both views were equally artificial. In the vacuum of space, the laser fire was invisible.

  Suddenly, the background starfield crumpled.

  Springer almost didn’t notice – possibly Saraswati had enhanced the effect – but she kept her aim on this strange section of space, upping the power output of her laser for good measure.

  Then the galaxy behaved itself once more. The starfield steadied.

  “What was that?” Springer whispered.

  As if in answer, an enemy Marine blinked into existence close to where Springer had fired. The Marine was drifting in a straight line, right arm waving while the rest of the suit was frozen.

  That suit’s motor functions must be as compromised as its stealth capability.

 

  Springer allocated every joule available into her laser, cutting a gash through the suit armor and the flesh behind, which exploded into a cloud of red that immediately flash-froze.

  Frakk!

  Seven New Empire Marines materialized like silent ghosts out of the black, sensors probing the void for the Legionary who had killed their comrade. Similar sensors, combined with Saraswati’s recon specialism, had betrayed the enemy positions, even though they used the same stealth technology as Springer. And it was those sensors that would mean Springer’s death the moment their probing fingers touched her.

  Springer broadcasted a tactical update to her squad and then moved for dear life. Anywhere other than where she had been. Any course but a straight line.

  Frakk! Frakk! Frakk!

  She turned to face her attackers while still hurtling away.

  Their lasers cut through space inches away from her face, according to Saraswati’s estimates, but her stealth camouflage was still confusing their targeting systems.

  A squeeze of the trigger and she launched the smoke canister ready in the launcher beneath her SA-71’s barrel. Saraswati had anticipated her needs and set the munition to point blank range. Instead of scattering a huge volume of space with decoys, reflective strips and absorbent gas, the defensive munitions were highly concentrated in a cube of vacuum with thirty-meter sides.

  A squad of Marines could combine these smoke cubes to form an opaque wall with
no gaps. Springer didn’t have a squad. Only Umarov was nearby.

  Her training told her to withdraw, keeping the barrier between her and the enemy. But the enemy Marines would have been taught out of the same tactical rulebook. So she did the opposite. She came around in a tight arc before bullying her way through the smoke cube directly at the enemy, praying that her suit’s stealth function could hide her passage through the hot gas cloud.

  It worked! She slammed through the box without being shot, halting behind the enemy half-squad who were still firing through the smoke, lighting it up in flashes of red light that weren’t just an artificial visual aid for once.

  Springer seized this brief opportunity. She shot one Marine. Then a second. They scattered, moving at random but not yet able to pinpoint this new threat.

  Umarov appeared briefly in her tac-display, took out another of their foes before disappearing again.

  The four survivors had regrouped into a disciplined formation.

  Springer jinked away, put herself fifty meters outside the trap they were trying to close around her, and steadied herself in readiness for another shot. She and Umarov were outnumbered two-to-one, but with Saraswati on their side, they were sure to win.

  As she was about to take the shot, a projectile slammed into her, sending her tumbling through space… and accelerating her ever faster.

  said Saraswati, painting a false image of Umarov with his arms in a tight grip around Springer as he pushed her away. For some reason, Saraswati had decided to portray Umarov dressed only in his shorts.

  “I had a shot,” growled Springer, trusting Saraswati to securely convey her annoyance to her comrade.

  “So did they,” he replied.

  A blinding flash lit the dark, making Springer’s visor turn black.

  “Identify!” she ordered her AI.

 

  Tac-display updated with twelve more hostiles who had been responsible for peppering the area where Springer had just been with ordnance.