Stand or Fall (The Omega War Book 4)

by Kevin Ikenberry

  “Max power. Down we go.”

  A meter above the surface of the lake, her fans sent up a plume of agitated water behind and around her flyer. Maxed out at 210 kilometers per hour, the four flyers streaked across the surface of Lake Kranz. Rath checked the distance to the nuclear plant. She waited until she was six kilometers out before arming her weapons and pulling up gently. She could see the MinSha infantry below. A few scattered rounds of laser fire shot into the sky.

  “Surface fire. Get ready.”

  As she closed to within two kilometers of the power plant, a surprising amount of fire rose from the MinSha infantry. Rath smirked with one side of her mouth.

  Too little, too late.

  “Up we go. Weapons away!”

  The four flyers pulled up in unison and released their weapons. Filled with barb-like projectiles, the bombs were effective against vehicles and armor as well as infantry forces. With her wingman on her left, Rath continued to pull up and out of the run, arcing to the north and back over the escarpment. The other two flyers followed a similar path on the opposite side. As she turned and climbed, she looked over her shoulder and watched the detonations from the twelve bombs shatter the MinSha forces in quick, concussive blasts, scattering the infantry in all directions.

  “Good hits, Rebel Lead. Liberty Six is on the move,” the MinSha Lieutenant Colonel called. If he’d had any horrible misgivings about attacking his own kind, he’d never shown it. Then again, he knew who the real enemy was and how to hit them where it hurt. That was something.

  “Rebels, form up and RTB.” Rath set course for the airfield on the southwest corner of Lovell City. With any luck, they’d have enough time to rearm so they could ambush the rest of the MinSha descending from orbit.

  They hadn’t yet begun to fight.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Point Tyree

  Victoria Bravo

  “Liberty Five, move out!” Tirr ordered. There were no secondary explosions, but the spectacular plumes of dust and debris from the anti-personnel weapons loosed by Rath’s Rebel flight obscured the entire area from Tyree to the nuclear power plant. His twelve CASPers, under the command of Lieutenant Blake, charged through the passage into the narrow alley between the exterior fencing of the plant and the rock wall of the mesa. The space was only fifteen meters wide, and Blake’s forces had mined it extensively. But there was enough room for the CASPers to jump across the mines and lay into the confused MinSha infantry. In threes, the mechs jumped over the narrow terrain, bounced again and brought their weapons to bear on the MinSha.

  Tirr scrambled to the edge of the mesa, flanked by two CASPers. Their reconnaissance mission over, they took up protective positions around him. Compound eyes fixed on the damaging attacks, he watched the MinSha fall into a familiar battle drill, seeking the path of least resistance. Believing the CASPers had overplayed their hand, fifty to sixty MinSha raced into the narrow passage. When they reached the center of the fifty-meter-long corridor, Tirr reached down and tapped his wrist-mounted combat slate.

  KA-WHAMM!

  The entire minefield detonated, shooting a plume of dust and debris straight up into the air around him. He flinched back from the edge of the mesa and tapped his headset. “Liberty Three, move. I’ll link up with the command track and meet you at the objective.”

  Tirr’s plan called for him to lead the armored forces personally, but when he had moved to the mesa’s upper surface, he’d left a young operations officer named MacFollet in charge. The young British officer appeared to be the quintessential professional, yet his mannerisms were distinctly different from those of the other British Humans Tirr had known. MacFollet planned the attack with a heavy emphasis on cavalry operations, even naming the terrain features after characters from a movie Tirr didn’t know existed. If he survived the mission, finding out the significance of a yellow ribbon was high on his to-do list.

  MacFollet replied. “Sounding the charge, Six!”

  Tirr, laughing, moved to the edge of the mesa as the tanks below rumbled to life and streamed forward into the corridor. The lead vehicle carried anti-explosive devices designed to disable any mines undetonated by the infantry. Tirr held his breath for a moment and realized the lead vehicle was through the breach and firing its main gun.

  Tirr turned to the CASPer bearing the female pilot. “Mata? You and Blackard get moving. Join up with Liberty Five. I’m descending the hill.”

  “Are you sure, sir?” the pilot responded. The simple addition of the respectful word renewed Tirr’s faith in the Humans around him.

  We really can work together.

  “Positive. Good hunting.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mata said. “Stand or fall.”

  Tirr nodded. “Stand or fall.”

  The two CASPers clomped to the edge of the mesa and jumped. He watched both mechs pirouette mid-flight and fire streams of railgun and hand-held machine-gun rounds into the MinSha. Forcing himself not to watch the carnage, Tirr scrambled down the mesa as quickly as he’d ever descended the rocks on Chitaa during officer training. The command vehicle, a curious skiff-like platform rolling on large rubber tires instead of tracks, appeared out of the dust. He ran toward it, reminding himself to communicate with hand and arm signals. The enemy, as it turned out, looked a great deal like him. Raising his foreclaws to form a triangle over his head, Tirr saw the main gun of the small turret center on him. For a split second, he imagined it firing at him; the flash of light from the muzzle would be the last thing he would see.

  The thought passed quickly as one of the upper hatches opened. “Come on, sir! We’re kicking their asses up there!”

  Tirr climbed aboard and thumped his chest armor, saluting the young tank commander. “Let’s go, Hamill.”

  They moved forward into the corridor, toward the sounds of battle. Main guns roared, and the air crackled with laser fire. As the command skiff pushed through the narrow corridor, there was hardly a sound, except for the freshening breeze.

  “Liberty Six, Liberty Five. We’ve culminated. MinSha infantry forces have been stopped.”

  Tirr strained to see further into the battlefield as they accelerated forward. “Understood. Any prisoners?”

  “Negative, Six,” Blake replied.

  Tirr clenched his jaw. He hadn’t expected the MinSha to surrender—it wasn’t their way—but it troubled him that they were determined to fight until the bitter end instead of trusting the Humans. MinSha warriors often seemed to turn a blind eye to the larger picture. Bred for war and trained for excellence, they considered everything in absolutes. Humans, Tirr knew, had a similar problem. They talked of seeing things in distinct color fields—black and white. From his conversations with Jessica, Tirr knew she didn’t see things that way.

  The command skiff joined up with the tanks. None appeared damaged, and Tirr counted all twelve CASPers, standing and operational. Several of the CASPers appeared to search the fallen soldiers.

  “Report,” he said.

  “No casualties. Looks like we got about six hundred of them, at least that’s what we think. I think a bunch of them committed suicide, though. Would they do something—”

  Entropy!

  Tirr screamed over the frequency. “Get back! Get—”

  Dozens of explosive devices detonated among the bodies of the MinSha. CASPers fell, and a few detonated. The tanks rolled back as the concussion devices exploded in rapid succession. The shockwaves threatened to toss Tirr from the command skiff’s upper hatch. Hot air swirled with dirt and debris that dug into exposed flesh. The smell of burning flesh—Human and MinSha—threatened to sicken him. Woozy from the attack, Tirr dropped into the skiff. His eyes stinging, his antenna nicked and bleeding, he tried to center his thoughts. Voices babbled in his auditory sensors.

  Hamill appeared by his side. “Sir? Colonel Tirr? You okay, sir?”

  Tirr nodded as clarity returned. Of course, the MinSha wouldn’t commit suicide—not without taking as
many humans with them as they could. Tirr shot up through the hatch. Six CASPers lay on their faces, burning intensely. Four of them staggered away from the burning mass of bodies. A few of them had obvious damage. The tanks seemed operational, save for some scored and damaged armor.

  “Blake? Report.”

  Blake’s voice came back after a moment. “We’re down nine CASPers. Tanks are okay, but those murdering...”

  Tirr knew what Blake wanted to say, but his Human counterpart was afraid to say it because Tirr was a MinSha. He cleared his throat. “You mean those murdering MinSha fucks?”

  Blake stammered. “Y-yes sir.”

  “That’s what they are, Blake. MinSha warriors will do whatever it takes to win. Which makes them deadly, even when you think they’re dead.”

  “Copy, sir.” Blake replied. “We fell for the oldest trick in the book.”

  “Let’s make sure we don’t do it again.” Tirr replied.

  A new voice broke in to the conversation. “Liberty Six, this is Command. Main effort has landed in the valley. Pull back to Brittles and prepare to defend.”

  Tirr looked at his Tri-V. Hundreds of skiffs and infantry were marching down the center of the valley toward Lovell City, ten kilometers away. If the MinSha moved to the north of the Sentinel where Wind One Five was, the obstacle fields carefully laid to slow the MinSha down would be ineffective. The only way to ensure the MinSha advanced down the corridor was to push them into it.

  “Command, Liberty Six. We’re moving to attack,” Tirr said. “Send our intent to Thunder Six and have them prepared to move. I need more CASPers—we’re down fifty percent. Whatever you can send our way, we can use.”

  “You’ve got it, Liberty Six.” The command voice was different this time. It was Commander Watson. “If you’re going to try to hold Sentinel and push them into the obstacles, you’ll have all the support you need. Thunder Six is moving your way, and you’ll have Rebel and Voodoo flights for close-air. Anything else you need besides luck?”

  Tirr chittered, “Artillery. Everything you have.”

  * * *

  Aboard the Shendil-Ya

  Above Victoria Bravo

  Smoke filled the recycled air of the bridge as Chee drove the barely-flyable vessel forward. The Timaal and the Yilamaal, Chinayl’s cruisers, had sustained heavy damage under the onslaught of the combined forces of the Flatar, the humans, and the remainder of Drehnayl’s fleet. Forced out of position and unable to continue to accurately drop on the surface, the cruisers engaged the attacking ships. Chee looked at her warning panels and knew the ship wouldn’t hold together much longer. Fire had pierced the hull in several places, and the only system remaining at full capability was the propulsion system. Protected by the bulk of the hull, the motors continued to push the Shendil-Ya forward, closing the distance to Chinayl with every passing second.

  “Forward weapons down to thirty percent,” one of the weaponeers called. “We have exhausted the ammunition supplies for the missile batteries.”

  Chee turned to the helm. “Maximum thrust. We have to take the fight straight to Chinayl.”

  “Throttles maxed at 104% power.”

  Chee looked at the distance between the ships, rapidly ticking down from 100,000 kilometers. Chinayl’s forward cruisers continued taking hits along the undersides and spine from the Flatar. The Humans had split their ships into two distinct groups, catching Chinayl’s ships in a pincer. As Chee watched, one of Chinayl’s cruisers veered into the oncoming assault.

  “Charleston, are you seeing this?”

  “Affirmative,” the Human captain said. “Maintain your forward attack. I’m ordering my elements to accelerate and join you.”

  Chee nodded, impressed. Having a number of ships around her would dilute Chinayl’s attacks. “Understood. Have you raised the Flatar?”

  “Negative. I am still trying. They are still firing with accuracy and speed. It’s not important we talk to them if they continue this course of action.”

  “Agreed, Charleston. Chee, out.”

  The Human ships clustered around the Charleston—a dozen of them—raced into position off the Shendil-Ya’s starboard side. Two of them raced further ahead and intercepted the cruiser’s fire. Firing back, they closed the distance until one and then the other detonated spectacularly near the cruiser. The cruiser’s forward cannons fell silent. Inspired by the sacrifices of the Humans and their tactics, Chee tapped on her console.

  It could work.

  Chee turned to the remaining crew on the bridge. “Abandon ship.”

  No one moved.

  Chee raised her voice. “Abandon ship! That’s an order!”

  The young weaponeer spoke. “Colonel, if we abandon ship and Chinayl’s forces win, we die. If we fight here and win, we may live. We want that chance, and we are willing to follow any order other than to abandon ship.”

  Chee flushed with embarrassment. Of course, they realized their position. Once they turned against Chinayl, their only chance to survive was to win. The cost of such a gamble was high, and they all knew the stakes.

  “Set course for the center mass of the Yilamaal. Target all available batteries on both cruisers and keep firing with the Humans. Disable those ships and allow our friends to take the fight in close.” Chee said. “We do this for our future.”

  A renewed barrage erupted from the Shendil-Ya as it raced toward Chinayl’s ships. Chee watched the distance between the ships close to 85,000 kilometers. The engines showed 108% of their maximum-rated thrust as the crew gave it their all. Chee tapped on her console and activated the ship’s command interface. Life support systems were damaged on more than half the ship’s decks. The amount of damage they would sustain in the next few minutes could make the Shendil-Ya uncontrollable.

  “The Yilamaal is changing course. They are charging the incoming Human vessels.”

  “Match its course and prepare to ram it amidships,” Chee responded. A green light appeared on her console. She tapped the communications link, and the high-pitched squeaking voice of a Flatar filled her headset.

  “Commander of the Shendil-Ya, this is Ebraxx of the Flatar troop carrier Alkormus. Our Veetanho masters have been…disposed of, and we are prepared to support you. What are your intentions?”

  Chee looked as the distance closed to 60,000 kilometers. “This is Colonel Chee. We are taking down the Yilamaal.”

  “Not the command ship?”

  “We can’t get to it, but if we can kill her support ships, Chinayl will either have to run or surrender.”

  In other words, if no one else is going to honor the threat, I will. Gods help us.

  “Understood,” the Flatar replied. “There is no greater honor than to be part of such a fight, Colonel Chee. We will do our best to minimize the amount of fire you’ll take. We will ensure both cruisers fall.”

  “How do you intend to do—” Chee froze. The Alkormus swung up from underneath the Shendil-Ya and assumed a position directly on her nose. Chee blinked in admiration. “Don’t stay up there too long. Give yourself space to get clear at ten thousand kilometers.”

  “Affirmative, Colonel,” Ebraxx said. “It’s been an honor fighting alongside you. We only wish it were Veetanho we were fighting!”

  Chee didn’t respond for a long moment. At 20,000 kilometers and closing, she pressed the transmit button. “Get clear, Ebraxx!”

  “Moving, Colonel. Assuming the mission on the second cruiser. Gods be with you.”

  As the Alkormus swung up and away, the Yilamaal’s weapons came to bear on the Shendil-Ya’s bow. In a matter of seconds, forward sensors and thrusters failed. Chee launched an alternate sensor package. Even though it was eliminated in seconds, the data it provided was enough. Telemetry exchanged between the sensor and her command console showed the Yilamaal attempting to roll to starboard and dive away from her. Chee vented life-support along the spine of the Shendil-Ya as the telemetry link failed. The explosive release of atmosphere tweaked her trajectory e
nough to match the Yilamaal’s attempted evasive maneuvers. The distance to target closed quickly to 6,000 kilometers. Warning klaxons rang as the forward spaces crumpled under the intense fire, but there was nothing they could do. Chee took a long, deep breath and held it. Wishing for a home she’d never see again, Chee barely felt anything at all.

  * * *

  Command Center

  Victoria Bravo

  Jessica watched the camera feed from Lucille’s forward vessels with a hand over her open mouth. The Shendil-Ya, their enemy not a half hour earlier, plowed directly into one of the three MinSha vessels racing from the emergence point to Victoria. She tapped her earpiece. “Lucille? What’s going on?”

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  There was so much information in Lucille’s briefing, it took Jessica’s breath away. “We’re tracking the inbound army, Lucille.”

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