Around them, Bridgewater felt and saw the impacts of multiple machine guns and several laser platforms. MinSha sprawled over their fallen comrades as their mad rush forward ebbed and flowed. Swogger’s CASPer fell backward into the sand. Bridgewater gritted his teeth and switched his weapons to full automatic. In seconds, the MinSha were on top of him, scrambling over Swogger’s lifeless form. Bridgewater felt the left cannon jam. Three seconds later, ammunition warnings for his right MAC flashed. It wasn’t going to matter.
“Drop on my position, Rebel lead. Wind One Five keeping the faith.”
“Alpha Mike Foxtrot, Wind. Well done.” Rath’s voice was calm and reverent. “Rolling in hot!”
MinSha crawled onto his CASPer, slashing at the external cannons and cameras in their desperate attempt to get into the cockpit. A tremendous explosion shook the ground followed by another, which was the last thing “Wind” Bridgewater ever heard.
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty-Five
Aboard the Shendil-Ya
Orbiting Victoria Bravo
A fresh wave of missiles tore into the remaining MinSha vessels. The bridge lurched hard to port, tossing Chee against her console. Drehnayl snarled at the bridge crew. “Fire on any vessel behind us. Slow down these attacks!”
Chee hesitated. “Firing behind us would endanger the Flatar infantry carrier, General.”
“They’ve done nothing to help us, Chee.” Drehnayl’s voice was low and harsh. “Target them, too, if they get in the way. Nothing gets through behind us.”
Chee turned to the weaponeers. “Prepare aft barrage. Target anything in our wake. Report solutions and fire.”
“General, there are fourteen ships appearing from the planet’s night side.” Nyalla reported. “With the ships to the rear, this constitutes the bulk of the Human fleet.”
“Identify the command vessel.”
Nyalla’s antennae bobbed. “Identified, General. A freighter named Charleston has a frequency profile matching a command vessel. We’re unable to target from this distance.”
“Then close the distance!” Drehnayl roared.
“At such close range, the Humans will slaughter us.” Chee replied.
Drehnayl stood but kept her hind claws in the floor restraints. “You have your orders, Colonel Chee. Close the distance, and destroy the Human fleet. It’s time I join the ground fight. Have my dropship prepared immediately.”
A torrent of rage ran through Chee’s body. Flexing her claws, she looked up at Drehnayl. “No.”
Drehnayl reared up to her full height. “What did you say?”
“No, General. You are asking us to commit suicide while you run for the ground and a battle you have no intention of supporting once you get there.” Chee swallowed. As her words registered in the general’s mind, Drehnayl’s antennae stood rigid atop her skull. Chee waited for the general’s mouth to open and a barrage of screeching orders to spill out. Nothing happened for a second or two, then Drehnayl launched herself across the bridge, foreclaws up and rage in her crimson eyes.
Chee raised her arms and braced for the fight. Three quick flashes of light nearly blinded her, but the rage in Drehnayl’s eyes flashed to intense pain. The general bounced off Chee’s console then fell to the floor, lifeless. Nyalla vaulted over her console, pushed off the ceiling, and dropped toward Drehnayl’s limp body with a laser rifle in her hands.
“Chee? Are you injured?”
Chee met her friend’s eyes. “No. I’m—”
Drehnayl roared and rolled over. A laser pistol none of them knew she carried appeared in one foreclaw. Two bolts shrieked out, catching Nyalla in the head and chest. She spun backward, dropping the rifle and bouncing off her own console.
“Mutiny!” Drehnayl said. Her voice was little more than a gurgle as she fired three more times into Nyalla’s body. “You will pay for this, Chee. All of you will pay with your lives!”
Nyalla’s rifle floated up, and Chee instinctively grabbed it, rotated it into a firing position, and placed the barrel against Drehnayl’s head as the general turned around.
Drehnayl brought up the pistol, but her forearm wavered. The general would not survive her injuries, but it no longer mattered. The bridge crew was silent, and scores of compound eyes watched them.
“You’re a coward, Drehnayl. Your command ends now.”
Drehnayl chuckled and coughed. Globules of blue-black blood escaped her mouth. “Humans are inferior beings.”
“Not compared to you,” Chee said and fired twice in rapid succession.
A warning klaxon rang out from the navigation console. Chee looked at them and quietly moved to the command chair. “This is Colonel Chee, I have assumed command. All elements will shut down offensive operations and prepare—”
“Ships emerging from hyperspace behind us,” the navigator called. “Three MinSha vessels—the battlecruiser Flenaal and two missile cruisers.”
Chinayl.
“They are transmitting on command frequencies,” one of the communicators called.
“Put them through.” Chee settled onto the command chair, and the bridge slowly returned to a somewhat normal operation.
Lieutenant General Chinayl’s image appeared on her central console. Her head cocked slightly to the left. “Who are you?”
“Colonel Chee, General. General Drehnayl is dead, and I have assumed command of this mission.”
Chinayl’s antennae danced in shock. “The Humans are resisting?”
“Strenuously,” Chee replied. “General, I have ordered our forces to stand down and—”
“Your orders are superseded, Colonel Chee. Your forces will recommence the attack immediately.”
Chee shook her head. “The Humans are not our enemies, General. My forces are not murderers, and we will not stand idly by as you try to eliminate humanity from the galaxy.”
“Really?” Chinayl laughed. “Your forces? Turn against me, and I will wipe your miserable names from existence, Chee.”
Chee looked nervously to her right and caught the eyes of her weaponeers, engineers, and communicators. All of them were watching her. One of the weaponeers nodded her head.
“Weapons loaded and solutions on all ships to the rear quarter as ordered,” the weaponeer’s voice was little more than a whisper.
Chee realized they’d targeted Chinayl’s miniature fleet. “Spare the Flatar and fire when ready.”
A barrage of missiles and laser fire rippled from the Shendil-Ya toward Chinayl’s ships. The Flatar ship engaged the same targets with their cannons and missiles.
“Keep firing!” Chee screeched. Turning to her communicators, she pointed a foreclaw. “Get me the Flatar and any human station on the surface right now!”
On her screen, Chinayl’s ships spread to a combat formation and returned fire on the Flatar vessel while the two MinSha transports went to full power to flee the area. The lead missile cruiser turned its nose toward the Shendil-Ya and fired a barrage of two dozen missiles. Chee pointed at the engineering section.
“Full thrust, Helm, and head toward Chinayl’s battlecruiser,” Chee said. “Where are the Human vessels?”
A soft, Human female’s voice filled the open channel. “Commander of the Shendil-Ya, this is the captain of the Charleston. Are you in need of assistance?”
Chee chittered, “Affirmative. General Chinayl aboard the Flenaal has attacked me, and I cannot contact my ground forces to relay a stand down command.”
“Understood. We are moving to assist you. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
Works for me.
There wasn’t time to admire what they’d done. Fresh missile barrages streamed out from Chinayl’s fleet. The caution and warning panels of the display were awash with critical and imminent catastrophic failures. Chee touched but did not press the abandon ship command sequence. She glanced at Nyalla’s body wedged against the operations console and the nearby remains of Drehnayl and decided they had a little more fight to give. They wo
uldn’t last long against Chinayl’s ships, but it didn’t matter. The Flatar continued firing on the MinSha cruisers.
Chee nodded in admiration. “Match the Flatars’ targets. Fire!”
Nyalla, I will honor your sacrifice with my own.
* * *
Victoria Bravo
Point Tyree
Tirr scrambled up the pink and red sandstone mesa they’d named Point Tyree. Overlooking Lake Kranz and the nuclear power facility, it was a good observation point with a decent amount of protection. Atop the nearly one-hundred-meter-tall formation, Tirr positioned two humans in Mk 6 CASPers to serve as a listening post and communications relay. When Wind One Five’s commander warned of the surprise MinSha skiff attack, Tirr flew up the mesa easily. He’d been the finest climber in his class and nothing scared him. At the top of the mesa, the wide, flat surface gave the impression of being smaller than it really was. In the center stood the two CASPers, their cockpits open. Their Human pilots lay prone along the western edge looking down into the battle.
Tirr walked their direction. “What’s the situation?”
The Human female, her long black hair tied back in a ponytail, rolled over and pointed. Her name, if he remembered correctly, was Mata. “Two high-speed skiffs are headed toward the strongpoint, sir. Estimating a hundred plus kilometers per hour.”
Tirr moved up and saw the familiar triangular shapes flashing across the terrain. He had just enough time to see the skiffs were devoid of their normal gun platforms and carried several hexagonal pylons on their front ends.
Gods!
“Get back from the edge! Get back—”
KA-WHAMM! KA-WHAMM!
WHAMM!
The pilots rolled away from the edge of the mesa and pressed their faces into the rock. Tirr sprawled on the cool surface, counting in his head the seconds from the impact to the shockwave. Skiff-borne explosive devices, like the ones he’d seen on the wedges, were designed to breach complex obstacles. One of the devices on an automated skiff would have been more than enough to punch through the strongpoint’s wall. That multiple devices were on each of the skiffs meant they weren’t trying to breach it, just destroy it. The air around them rippled as the shockwave roared past at several hundred kilometers per hour. Dust swirled up violently and bits of rock tore at his exposed carapace. Something nicked his wrist, causing a stabbing pain, then quiet returned. Tirr stood and stared into the valley below. The strongpoint was a total loss.
The entry point appeared to be where the southern and eastern walls connected. The walls were now rubble almost all the way around the square structure. While the first wedge effectively destroyed it, the second wedge appeared to have penetrated the subcompound. The interior fuel and ammunition magazines’ detonations leveled the facility. Across the valley, the MinSha infantry, still numbering at least 600 by his count, consolidated and pushed toward the nuclear power facility.
He tapped his headset and consulted his slate for his proper callsign. He recognized some of the lingo and terminology from his time working with Force 25 on Araf, but many aspects of it were still new and overwhelming. “Rebel flight, this is Liberty Six. SITREP.”
The female pilot’s voice came back a second later. “Liberty Six, Rebel Lead. We’re fifteen kilometers to the north of your position, setting up for a run?”
Tirr looked down in the valley. Standard operating procedures suggested the MinSha would consolidate in battalion-sized elements led by their remaining field commanders. He watched as the remaining soldiers started to coalesce into six distinct elements. Using the tactical pause to regain communications and establish leadership chains of command, the MinSha could, by doctrine, resume the fight in less than a minute. Based on their orientation to the target, they had no intention of heading east toward Lovell City; they were going to press on and hit the nuclear power facility.
His antenna bounced in amusement. While he didn’t want to stand against his own kind, their conduct had been less than honorable over the last several weeks. Taking innocent lives, especially ones unable to mount a defense, made them criminals. As they started to move, albeit slowly, toward the nuclear power plant, Tirr realized his enemies had perfectly set themselves up for more carnage, given the defensive positions.
“I copy, Rebel Lead. Give us as many runs as you can. Keep them pinched until they reach the minefield.”
“Liberty Six, we’ve got enough for one ass-kicking run with flechettes.” The antipersonnel bombs would be more effective than conventional bombs, giving Tirr’s forces a further advantage in a mobile fight.
“Roger, Rebel Lead. Give them everything you have, then pull back. We’ve got the fight from here.”
Rath clicked her microphone twice, the standard positive acknowledgement for a flyer. Tirr looked up to the northwest but could not see the flyers over the escarpment of the north wall. Without waiting for an additional response, he changed frequencies.
“Liberty Five, Six. Get ready to move. Push the tanks out first.”
Below him, in a Mk 7 CASPer, Lieutenant Alison Blake replied, “Copy Six. We’re saddled up and ready to go.”
Tirr laughed. Human expressions were hilarious and somehow quaint. Those harkening back to the days when cavalry-style forces rode horses were the ones that especially amused him. “Affirmative, Five. As soon as the Rebels make their second pass, move out. When the armor makes contact, jump the CASPers to my position, then descend into the MinSha rear. We’ll eliminate the attacking forces.”
“Copy all.”
Tirr switched frequencies and watched as the two Human pilots enter their CASPers. Fascinated that they crawled in backward and strapped themselves into the suits, Tirr almost missed a new voice.
“Liberty Six, Bulldog. You guys okay out there?”
“Affirmative.” Tirr paused. “The strongpoint is gone. MinSha forces are moving on the nuclear power plant. They will not take it.”
“Roger, Tirr, you’ve got my trust. Do what you must and pull back. We’ve got more incoming.”
Tirr cocked his head to one side. “Say again?”
“Chinayl came to finish what Drehnayl wasn’t going to win,” Jessica said. “Withdraw back to Brittles as soon as you can.”
“Understood,” Tirr replied. That Lieutenant General Chinayl had arrived to push the MinSha attack didn’t surprise him. Victoria’s forces were more than enough to stand up to a challenge from the MinSha. If they defeated Drehnayl’s forces, it would likely cause a rift among their regular forces and their mercenary companies. As more queens backed the Peacemaker Guild, the mercenaries would find themselves in a difficult position. MinSha worlds would likely no longer support any MinSha following the Mercenary Guild’s anti-Human agenda. Tirr couldn’t determine how it furthered Chinayl’s own aspirations, but it really didn’t matter. They’d stopped Drehnayl’s initial forces with barely a quarter of the total combat power on the planet.
The familiar vibrations of approaching flyers caught his antennae. Turning to face them, Tirr watched the first section of four flyers drop into formation and dive toward the MinSha western flank. Two battalions of soldiers fired at the small, fast targets. Darting low over Lake Kranz, the flyers lowered their noses.
“Get ready, Liberty Five.”
“Roger, Six. All vehicles have started, and we’re ready to move out.”
Tirr chittered to himself and watched the flyers streak into the now-firing MinSha forces. He remembered hearing one of the young Human CASPer pilots on Weqq say something he hadn’t had any context for until now. Watching the flyers, their weapons firing and speed on their side, the saying made perfect sense.
Get some!
* * *
Victoria Bravo
Rebel Lead
“Turning inbound,” Jennifer Rath called to the three aircraft on her wing. While not in the sleek, rocket-powered fighter aircraft she had wanted to fly as a little girl, there was no place she would rather be. When her parents moved the family from S
hannon, Ireland to Luna, then on to Victoria by the time she was twelve, her thoughts changed from punching clouds on Earth to sleek, ducted-fan flyers zooming a few meters off the surface of every piece of terrain she could find. By the time she turned 21, she was one of the best fighter pilots on Victoria. At 25, she’d been the lead instructor for low-level and close-air support tactics for more than a year. She thought she was ready until her friend “Wind” Bridgewater’s team of CASPers went down in a blaze of glory as her section dropped four high explosive rounds into the MinSha soldiers crawling over and slashing at the unmoving mechs. She’d taken her pilots to the north to regroup as much for them to put things right in their own heads as for her to do the same.
Rath finally pried her cramping fingers off the controls, flexed them, and reached under her visor to wipe her eyes.
Get a grip, Jen.
Bridgewater and her father had been friends for more than twenty years. He’d taught her how to ride a bike after her father nearly died in a maintenance mishap that destroyed a third of the old headquarters. When she joined the defense force instead of one of the handful of mercenary outfits looking for “shit-hot” pilots, he’d been in the small crowd at her swearing in, smiling at her. More like a second father than a trusted friend, he’d been there for her when her father passed away three years earlier, and now she’d dropped a rack of bombs directly onto him to spare him a death by MinSha claws.
For a split second, she tried to imagine it and flinched.
Gods!
Pulling her left hand off the throttle, she punched herself in her right shoulder under the collarbone. The pain helped her to return her focus to the mission. She brought the nose of the flyer around to a heading of 150. Beyond the top of the escarpment and across the valley, she could see the smoke pillars rising from the strongpoint and the remnants of Wind One Five. She lowered the nose and called to her section, “Throttles up. Weapons armed.”
She didn’t need confirmation. They’d flown together for more than a year in numerous training scenarios. In her peripheral vision, she saw them moving into attack position. Line abreast, they continued descending until they passed no more than five meters off the rocky, scrub-filled terrain. The escarpment ended at the western side of the valley and swung out to catch the far shore of Lake Kranz.
Stand or Fall (The Omega War Book 4) Page 28
