Deathangel

by Kevin Ikenberry

  “Okay,” Watson said. “Maybe I got ahead of myself, but you’re right. Maintain the force and standby for any action. We’ll figure out how to do the security mission, too. While I can’t see anything happening with the guilds, we can’t be sure. That’s the part of the job I should’ve brought from when I sat in your chair, Jamie. I would imagine command and governorship are similar. The only difference between them is the arms brought to bear, huh?”

  Ibson nodded. “There was a quote in American history about carrying a big stick. If you’ll pardon the expression, Brian, we are the stick on this planet. And after what we did to Chinayl, most folks would think twice about taking us on.”

  “They’d have to be crazy.” Watson grinned.

  The group relaxed, save for Vuong. Ibson looked at him for a moment, then the man sat up and said, “It’s what an enemy thinks they can take, sir. If there is a large enough target, someone will come for it. It’s a matter of time. Maybe not today, or when the guilds arrive, but sooner or later, there will be a target here, and an interested, committed foe will try to come for it. There has to be someone to stop them.”

  Watson nodded. “We want Victoria Bravo to become more than it is. I think we can all agree on that. But we have to believe this conflict with the Mercenary Guild cannot last. Peace will return to the galaxy, and we can be on the forefront of the growth that will come.”

  “I fear,” Vuong continued, “doing so will require not only help from the guilds, but from other powerful allies. We cannot do this without help.”

  Ibson nodded and looked at Watson for a long moment. The Governor, and former commander-in-chief, nodded as well. Watson said, “You’re right, Major Vuong. We cannot do this without help.”

  “And we can’t get caught with our pants down, either,” Ibson said. “We’ve got 170 hours?”

  “Give or take,” Watson replied.

  “Then we need to get our act together. Permission to use this room as an ops center?”

  “Granted,” Watson replied. “But take a shower before you come back and take over the room.”

  “Is it that noticeable?” Ibson grinned.

  “When you haven’t been in the field in a while?” Watson laughed. “Yeah, it is.”

  Whirr’s voice rose. “I do not understand this Human preoccupation with scent. To me, you all smell the same.”

  “I take it that’s not a pleasant thing?” Novotny asked.

  Whirr shook her head. “It’s disgusting, frankly. But since you’re family, I’ll find a way to manage.”

  Family.

  Ibson looked around the table. They were his subordinates by statute, but his friends by choice. They were the best soldiers he’d ever served with and simply being near them filled him with pride. Yeah, that’s exactly what we are now.

  Family.

  Gods help anybody who comes after us.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Thirteen

  Victory Twelve

  Hyperspace

  47 Hours Remaining in Transit

  The arguments continued for a second day, and as much as Tara wanted to give the Veetanho Peacemaker and the TriRusk stowaway a chance to settle their differences on their own, there seemed to be no chance. Bukk and Xander had left the forward galley a half hour before and settled in the cockpit section, as far away from the discussion as possible. Jackson Rains was asleep in his forward cabin, according to Lucille’s monitoring. The argument would affect Tara’s decision, which should have been easy, but Maarg and Vannix both had strong, well-reasoned positions on their destination following the stop at Victoria Bravo.

  They sat across the table from each other. The forward galley’s position on the rotational arm of the ship gave them a very slight sense of gravity. Vannix drank a bulb of hot water and Maarg rested her long face on a large hand in the universal expression of boredom. Tara sat at the end of the table, between them, not unlike a parent facing down her kids over missed homework or who ate the last of the doughnuts. Had the argument not been going for six hours, it would have been comical. There wasn’t enough coffee, or whiskey, aboard Victory Twelve to help.

  Tara rubbed her temples, and, with her eyes closed, asked, “So, we’re no further along than when we started this conversation, right? You both are dead set on different targets for our first mission and unwilling to compromise.”

  Maarg spoke first. “Uluru is not a good enough lead, Tara. There could be a million things in the galaxy Snowman meant by that reference. Simply finding it multiple times in the logs doesn’t make it a viable target.”

  “On that we agree.” Vannix sipped her water. “Which brings us back to the first three planets on the list.”

  Maarg huffed. “I don’t think we start at any of those, Vannix. They are too far away from reliable logistics points. Just because we can go anywhere within the gate system doesn’t mean we should. I think our best targets are close to known systems.”

  “But it fails the logic test.” Vannix shook her head. “Snowman made it back to Karma after the shit-show at Shaw Outpost. From there, the last place he’d go is someplace close. He never surfaced at any of the known Intergalactic Haulers’ facilities, nor did he return to Earth. He went deep, and that’s where we have to look for him.”

  “We’re talking the known galaxy. You said there were 121 possible targets. That’s not necessarily going deep.” Maarg shook her head. “I think we start with the three possible Haulers’ cache sites the Peacemaker Guild identified. Particularly the ones close to Veetanho space.”

  Vannix rubbed her eyes. “No. That’s suicide.”

  “Easy to say since you’re a Veetanho.”

  “What are you insinuating, Maarg?” Vannix’s eyes narrowed. “Not all of the Veetanho are the enemy.”

  “So you say. You could be leading us into a trap.”

  “And we’re supposed to believe you just because you’re Kurrang’s daughter? Who happened to stowaway on the ship? You could be planning to kill us.”

  Tara leaned into the conversation. “Stop it. Both of you.”

  The small Veetanho and the young TriRusk locked eyes but said nothing. Tara watched them stare at each other for a moment before waving a hand in front of their eyes. The two turned and looked at her.

  “I said that’s enough.” Tara sighed. “We have a simulation scheduled in ten minutes, and I think all three of us need a break from this list. We can reconvene and discuss it after dinner. Either way, by the time we are boots on the ground at Victoria Bravo, we’re going to have identified a first target. We may get it wrong, but the learning curve is going to be damned near vertical. Finding Snowman is only part of the equation. If we can’t fight worth a shit, this will be the shortest mission in history.”

  “You sound like the galaxy is full of enemies,” Vannix said. “There are allies, too.”

  “We’re going to need them.” Tara stood slowly in the lighter gravity. She leaned over the table, still clutching the edge with both hands. Her eyes turned to Vannix, then to Maarg, as she spoke. “We’re all going to need allies. Figure this out on your own, or one of you disembarks at Victoria Bravo, permanently.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Vannix replied immediately. Maarg was silent and looked away.

  Tara clenched and unclenched her jaw. “Ten minutes in the sim bay. Don’t be late.”

  * * *

  Satisfied everyone was in place, Tara boarded Deathangel 25. As she worked her arms and legs into their positions, she glanced outside. Bukk sat at a ground terminal where he would control the four tanks in the simulation. The large, ant-like Altar was hunched comically over the terminal, his antennae sagging over the top of the Tri-V screen. Next to him sat Vannix, boosted up on a cargo box so she could use the terminal without extensive modifications. The white-furred Veetanho would control four of the CASPers in the simulation, and Jackson Rains would control the other four. Rains was aboard Alpha 1, the preliminary name for the only other CASPer in the hold. It was a combinati
on of Mk 7 pieces and parts they’d scrounged and refitted on Araf with the help of Xander Alison. With his knee still in a large brace, Rains used a console connected directly to the CASPer’s systems, since he couldn’t close himself inside. It would be a few weeks before he was able to fight a CASPer without the brace.

  “Force 25, this is Deathangel 25. Comm check. Over.”

  Bukk’s team was their first platoon, and without actual callsigns or designations yet, they went the simple route. “Deathangel this is Red One, loud and clear.”

  “Deathangel, this is White One, loud and clear,” Rains replied as the leader of second platoon.

  “Deathangel, this is Blue One, loud and clear,” Vannix called.

  Xander, along with Lucille, would control Victory Twelve’s avatar for drop, extraction, and aerial gunfire, if necessary. Xander was in place on the flight deck, and Lucille monitored the ship.

  Maarg sat at the control console between Bukk and Vannix. As an adolescent TriRusk, Maarg was far smaller than her father, but she was still large enough so that the Human analog panel was at about eye level. She didn’t have a role in the simulation, but Tara wanted to see how well she could listen, follow along, and extrapolate what they were doing. Sometimes it was best to observe.

  Other times, it’s best to fight.

  For this exercise, Rains was again in charge. With his modified connection to the CASPer and sim kit, he couldn’t move impulsively. He’d be forced to program and maneuver his CASPer and the three computer simmed wingmen. The change would slow him down and, Tara hoped, help the young Peacemaker see the battlefield from a wider perspective. If her idea didn’t work, she’d be forced to leave him aboard Victory Twelve with Xander.

  “Deathangel, Victory Twelve. Ship is secure and controls are autonomous. Ready for the simulation,” Xander said. From his position on the ship’s bridge, he’d get the feel of flying the ship or the lone drop shuttle. More importantly, it gave him time to familiarize himself with the control sections and understand how the ship performed in combat. As much as Tara wanted to believe the ship would never be in danger, her gut told her otherwise.

  Tara pressed her transmit button. “Lucille? Open simulation. One-minute ready time.”

  <>

  The timing was necessary. Even entering a combat situation, they would have the chance to observe the terrain. As the display in her CASPer came on, Tara quickly scanned their position—her eyes moving from side to side. Unconsciously, lessons learned in CASPer school returned. Moving an infantry force and traditional armored forces weren’t all that different. Yet, the first time she’d had to search the terrain around her for a safe haven and defensibility, she realized the difference between infantry tactics and those for armored forces was much smaller that popular belief suggested. The principles of terrain analysis, for example, were the same. As she observed their battle space, she ran through the litany with ease.

  Observation—as in what she or the enemy could see around them. The area was forested, but not a jungle, as in previous simulations. They could see about two hundred meters in any direction. Cover and Concealment—cover meaning actual protection versus concealment merely hiding a position. They held the high ground, always a plus. And from the look of things, they had a decent fighting position on the reverse slope of the hill from where the attack would likely originate. She knew this because she saw the extraction point, the dropship’s emergency landing point, behind them, along the banks of a shallow, lazy river. The river and low, impassable marshland would funnel the enemy right into their position. Obstacles—what things on the battlefield would cause a force, friendly or enemy, to move around them for success. The enemy force would move fast, but Force 25 had a perfect channel in front of them that would catch the enemy, if her forces could bring enough fire power to move the enemy there. Key Terrain—what features on the immediate, close-by battlefield dominated the space. Force 25 occupied two hills, with the shallow river flowing between them. Tara was positioned between the hills, along the banks of the river. Bukk and his tanks held the hilltop on the left, and Vannix held the hilltop on the right. Overlooking the river, from Vannix’s position, was a cliff. It was as good a position as it could be. Avenues of Approach—the natural flow of terrain often suggested ways a force would move and it was the final tenet of terrain analysis. She could see that the enemy would approach and be channelized. It was almost too easy, which Lucille’s simulations never were. Even with the best possible terrain, there were challenges ahead. Force 25 could not rest on its laurels.

  “Thirty seconds,” Vannix called. The Veetanho was on the ball, as usual. “Moving to firing positions.”

  Tara watched as the CASPers moved almost to the crest of the hill and hunkered down behind it. From their positions, sensors could see into the valley below, but the units were not exposed to direct fire.

  Satisfied, Tara swung her optics toward the tank platoon. Bukk quickly moved the tanks to cover the bottleneck of the river passing between the hills, while leaving his position guarded enough to protect his left flank. Tara frowned. Given their position, it wasn’t enough protection. The platoon of CASPers deployed with Tara waited for Rains. Each of the units remained in position, looking to the north toward the bottleneck.

  Tara touched her transmit button but did not press it. Come on, Rains!

  Nothing happened for a full fifteen seconds. Tara started to push the button again but stopped herself.

  You have to see that Bukk’s flank is exposed!

  “Deathangel, White One. Moving forward and to the west,” Rains called. “Red One, incoming from your six o’clock.”

  “Red One, roger.”

  With a flash of jumpjets, Rains and his three wingmen took off to the north west, racing toward Bukk’s exposed flank as fast as their jumpjets could carry them.

  “Targets identified,” Bukk called. “One thousand meters and closing.”

  Tara bit her lip. Identifying targets was a good thing, but the team needed more information. Bukk’s tanks had the best sensors in Force 25. He needed to provide more data.

  Vannix called. “Red One, Blue One. Need a SITREP. Over.”

  Yes. Tara smiled.

  “Deathangel, Red One. Contact front, 1000 meters. Infantry forces—unable to identify. Time now,” Bukk called. It wasn’t a bad situation report. He needed more practice, but it was better than anything they’d had before.

  “Roger, Red One. Weapons free on all targets,” Tara called. Her heads-up display blinked with a time indicator. Six minutes and counting.

  “Deathangel, Victory Twelve. Shuttle on the way. Extraction in six minutes,” Xander called. Her instruments indicated the ship was just appearing over the western horizon. They’d be in position to receive the shuttle without having to slow down or loiter. Fuel consumption in orbit was a dicey gambit.

  “Red One, targets are Oogar,” Bukk called. His radio discipline needed work, too, but Tara watched as his tanks swung their main guns to the north and opened fire. “Firing!”

  “Red One, White One, in position,” Rains called. “Firing now. All MAC, all the time!”

  Tara looked to the east, to Vannix’s position. The hilltop was quiet. While Bukk and Rains were decisively engaged, the Veetanho’s CASPers were quiet. Tara grinned in approval. Vannix was likely watching the Oogar to see if they tried to cross the river to circumvent the defenses. If they did, she would be ready for them. Tara cued her sensors and saw that Vannix was radio silent. A direct laser connection showed active, but there was no sense alerting the enemy forces just to tell her she was doing an awesome job. There would be a time for praise later.

  Tara saw the icon for one of Bukk’s tanks flash red, combat ineffectiveness, and then it disappeared from her screen. The lost tank was the far western vehicle on the front line. Between him and Rains, there was a hole in the line.

  “Red One, White One, moving on you
r flank with three mechas in tow.”

  “Copy, White One. Taking heavy fire. Oogar moving to the west toward the breach.”

  Tara was already moving toward the breach. She deployed her remaining CASPers along the river to guard the high-speed avenue of approach. If the Oogar got through the line, there would be little stopping them from advancing all the way to the extraction point. Without a safe landing zone, they’d be forced to DIP—Die In Place. That wasn’t an option, now or ever.

  “Red One, White One, we’re on your flank and pushing forward.”

  Mid-jump, Tara shifted her sensors to see what Rains and his CASPers could see. The Oogar line stretched out in front of his position, and there was an opportunity for counter attack.

  There had been worse ideas. Tara adjusted her course to arrive and bolster Rains’ line as it charged forward into the Oogar.

  “Red One, Deathangel 25 approaching from your four o’clock. Bringing fire now. Let’s push them into the cliff.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking, 25,” Rains replied. There was a hint of a smile, something she’d never heard, in his voice.

  Tara changed channels. “Red One, get ready to pull your folks out.”

  “Deathangel 25, Red One—retreat? Over?”

  She laughed. “No, Red One. Withdrawal by fire. Draw them into the bottleneck. That’s where we close the door.”

  “Roger that,” Bukk replied. “Red One moving now.”

  “White One, push forward and let Red One withdraw,” Tara called. “Stay on my flank.”

  “Roger, Deathangel. I’m right with you,” Rains replied.

  Tara jumped a final time and landed immediately to the right of Rains’ forces. With her MAC and hand cannons armed, she advanced into the forest with her CASPers on line. She brought up both arms, cannons firing as she designated targets for the MAC with her eyes, her fingers working the controls like a virtuoso. She bounded down the slope, into a raging sea of purple fur and claws. The Oogar howled as Force 25 counterattacked their flank. The stunned aliens panicked and rushed east toward the bottleneck and the river. She glanced over her left shoulder and the external cameras adjusted. Rains and his CASPers were right there, swinging down the hill to the east. Pushing the Oogar in front of them. The two platoons of CASPers cut down wide swaths of the feral beasts as they rushed forward.