Deathangel
Page 16
“Deathangel, Victory Twelve, shuttle is one minute out. Lift parameters are negative for a full load,” Xander called. “Shuttle can take tanks or CASPers.”
So much for being an easy sim. Tara sighed.
“Roger, we’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” Tara replied. “Or when we jump off it.”
“Victory Twelve can be there in twelve minutes.”
<
Tara nodded. The information took its place in her head, and she formulated a plan of escape. “Red One, beat feet to the extraction point. You’re first out.”
“Red One, roger. We are accelerating on the valley floor now,” Bukk replied. “We’re thirty seconds from extraction point.”
Tara pushed the frequency for Victory Twelve. “Get first platoon off with the shuttle, Xander. Drop Victory Twelve to bring up the rest.”
“What about the Oogar? You’ve got about a thousand of them rushing the extraction point at the bottleneck,” Xander replied. Tara didn’t have to consult her sensors to know he was right.
The leading edge of the Oogar assault rushed toward the bottleneck as Tara and Rains brought their forces to bear on the feral aliens. A teeming mass of purple ursine aliens charged into the bottleneck on the western side of the river. As they did, four CASPers appeared in a flash at the top of the twenty-meter cliff above them.
“Deathangel 25, Blue One. Engaging now.”
Tara immediately slowed down and noted with satisfaction that Rains did the same without being told. Still firing their weapons and still taking down targets, they needed to stay out of Vannix’s kill zone. The four CASPers on the high ground laid down a barrage of impressive MAC and cannon fire, depleting the Oogar assault by ten percent within seconds.
“Close the neck, Vannix,” Tara called over the team frequency.
“Red One is aboard the shuttle and away,” Bukk called.
<
Tara slowed her approach even more. “Rains? Bound your platoon around behind me and close off the gap. When you’re set, I’ll bound behind you and support your withdrawal by fire. From there, we can both make sure Vannix can get to the extraction point. You with me?”
“Roger, 25. White elements moving now,” Rains replied. “On the bounce!”
Tara snorted, but decided not to give Rains hell for lack of radio procedures, despite what he’d obviously meant. At least he’d been reading something worth a shit during their down time. The Oogar saw the bound and pushed harder against her flank. The outbound CASPer’s icon faded, and her combat effectiveness slid to 75%.
Shit!
“Lucille, close the interval between my CASPers.”
Wonderful.
“Deathangel, Red One is set. Bound!”
Tara didn’t think twice as she hit her jumpjets and quickly moved southeast behind the hasty positions established by Rains and his forces. At the apex of her jump, Tara glanced toward Vannix’s position. The Oogar couldn’t fire effectively at her platoon, but that didn’t stop them from trying. What weapons they had, a curious conglomeration of beam weapons and rudimentary ballistic ones, fired toward the partially hidden CASPers with little to no effect.
As she descended, Tara caught sight of a glint in the sky, swinging from north to south, high above them. From the path, she knew it was Victory Twelve, and as it decelerated in the atmosphere, an idea formed.
“Victory Twelve, guns out. Want you to clear the road for extraction,” Tara called. “Lucille, execute pattern alpha.”
<
“I don’t care, Lucille. Hit them with everything you have. We are not going to die in place today.”
<
Tara finished her bound and ensured her remaining CASPers were in place to cover Rains. “White One, move your ass!”
“Bounding!” Rains replied. On cue, his CASPer flashed past to the south to take up a position on the river.
Tara looked up at Vannix’s position. “Blue One, get to the extraction point.”
“Blue One, holding position until bombardment.”
Tara shook her head. “No, Blue One, get your ass moving now!”
“Deathangel 25, I can hold them off for you and—”
Godsdammit!
“Negative, Blue One. Move now! We all get to the extraction point together!”
Rains called, “White One is set. Bound, 25!”
By reflex, Tara jumped to the south, and her remaining CASPers followed. She risked a glance at them in flight and noticed black smoke pouring from the trailing one. There was no way it would make the extraction point without a miracle.
“Victory Twelve on station,” Xander called. “Permission to fire?”
“Granted,” Tara called. “White One, Blue One, when the ship fires, un-ass your positions and get to the extraction point. Understood?”
There was a series of clicks on the channel, both Vannix and Rains tapping the radio button twice in acknowledgment but not speaking. They were too busy to talk, their minds on the task at hand; Tara knew the procedure well. Her CASPer thumped to the ground, and she turned in time to see a ripple of fire from Victory Twelve’s fuselage-mounted auto-cannon. Just aft of the command section, the single cannon could fire two rounds per second. In reality, they’d never fired the cannon, and Tara hoped they never had to. But, if they had to rain fire from above, they needed to know how it worked and what it looked like.
“White One, moving!”
Vannix called next. “Blue One on the move.”
<
Tara didn’t look back at the approaching ship as the concussion waves from the second salvo buffeted her CASPer. Ahead of her, Bukk’s three remaining tanks surrounded the shuttle. Her own element, down one CASPer, joined Rains’ as they raced to the extraction point. To her left, Vannix’s four CASPers jumped in sequence down the hillside.
“Attack stopped. Oogar are regrouping!” Xander called.
<
Tara beamed. “Disengage the simulation and shut down all platforms.”
There were a few whoops of excitement on the channel. As Tara opened the cockpit of her CASPer, she saw a smile on Rains’ face, and Vannix and Bukk touched knuckles in an awkwardly awesome alien fist bump. Tara unbuckled her harness and watched the excitement for a moment. They’d finally won a simulation and worked together as a team. She saw Maarg staring at her impassively. The TriRusk’s expression did not change. Tara kept her smile on, but felt it waver.
Why do I think we just failed in her eyes?
* * * * *
Chapter Fourteen
Governor’s Home
Victoria Bravo
Nearly four days of planning, swearing, and coffee drinking produced a viable plan to field the security elements required for the arriving guild representatives and to keep the Victoria Forces manned and equipped until further diplomatic protections could be arranged. Both the Cartography and Merchant Guilds confirmed the imminent arrival of negotiations teams. If everything went well, both would grant Victoria Bravo a planetary status that would prevent all-out conflict like they’d lived through a few weeks before. As the population continued to return, and new residents flocked to Lovell City, such provisions and protections were imperative.
Brian Watson sat at his wide desk with its polished stone top and studied the results of the team’s work.
Ibson had been the last to leave, six hours before. They’d typed the last revisions to the plan, congratulated each other on a good day’s work, and collapsed into their respective beds. After a few hours sleep, Watson woke like a child on Christmas morning and checked the gate logs. There were no new arrivals.
It was just as well, he knew. Time was a critical and finite resource. They had to strike while the proverbial iron was hot, and that meant fielding the security force. For the last twelve hours, the force had been deployed. While not unlike a traditional police force, the city’s security force doubled as both protection and security. Certain tactically important locations, like the prospective offices of the inbound Guilds, required a constant presence. That was easy. Patrolling the rest of the quiet city was equally simple.
Watson reviewed the patrol logs from the first shift with a bemused smile on his face. The city was always quiet, but as much as Watson wanted change to come, he knew that change would bring a certain amount of chaos. For him, ensuring the citizens of the planet, not just Lovell City, were safe in their daily lives was important. Yet, his priority was the attraction of the guilds. For Victoria Bravo to be a cosmopolitan world, it would have to change. All Watson could do with his policies and procedures was stay in front of those changes to the best of his ability. His young, political life, thrown at him like a badge of honor for defending the city when his predecessor ran, appealed to him despite his past. A soldier knew the stakes. A politician played the game. The two never compromised, and he found himself alone with his doubts far too often.
A knock at the door shook him from his thoughts. “Come on in.”
His aide-de-camp, a nattily dressed young man named Evan, poked his head through the door. Evan looked like a teenager but was fresh from college on Earth. Someplace called Dartmouth. Watson suspected Evan had signed up for political service with delusions of grandeur on the capital planets of the galaxy and wound up on the frontier at Victoria, hating his luck. Now, though, he was on the cusp of incredible experiences his peers could only dream about doing in their first assignment.
“Governor Watson?”
“What is it, Evan?”
“I wasn’t sure I’d find you here.”
Watson nodded. “It was a late night. I crashed on the sofa downstairs.”
Evan blinked and gulped down his surprise fairly well, in Watson’s eyes. “Sir, I…I mean, there is a message from the gate.”
Watson sat forward and pushed the sheaf of papers away from his communication panel. He laughed. “I missed it. How about that?”
“It’s an urgent request...”
Of course, it is!
“...From the Peacemaker Guild, I believe. The ship’s registration is Victory Twelve, countersigned to Intergalactic Haulers, but the owner is—”
“Jessica Francis.” Watson grinned. He hadn’t expected to see her so soon. “I’ll take this privately, Evan. Thanks.”
“Yes, sir.” The young man ducked out and closed the door without a sound. Watson wondered how many hours he’d spent practicing that technique in school. Surely such things were considered important for young diplomats.
Watson laughed and touched the communication interface. The channel opened, and he saw a five second signal delay. Victory Twelve had just emerged.
“Victory Twelve, this is the Governor of Victoria Bravo. Is that you, Jessica?”
The seconds passed interminably. “Last calling station, please identify the speaker?”
Watson frowned. The voice was not the one he’d expected. “This is Governor Brian Watson calling Peacemaker Francis. Please put her on immediately and state your business in this zone.”
The silence grated on him until the response came. “Governor Watson, this is Tara Mason in command of Force 25. We are on a classified mission for the Peacemaker Guild and need to speak with you at your earliest convenience.”
Classified mission?
Watson felt himself flush. The Peacemaker Guild sent them to overwatch this deal.
Anger surfaced, and Watson thought through it quickly. Even if they did, his negotiations with the guilds were completely legal and within the bounds of a host of cooperative agreements and statutes with legal precedent from before First Contact with Earth. The likelihood they had arrived to stop any negotiation was remote. They might be there to oversee things, but even that was a stretch.
If it’s not to watch over the negotiations, what do they want?
“Understand, Victory Twelve, proceed to orbit. We’ll meet at your first opportunity. Maintain contact with this office, and we’ll see you when you get here.”
“Thank you, Governor Watson. Jessica sends her regards. I have two Peacemakers aboard, sir. We’ll meet you in a few hours.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” Watson forced a smile and turned off the direct messaging interface.
He set the papers in his hands on the desk with a thump. For a moment, he considered throwing them across the room in a fit of fury, but it was the only paper copy of the plan, and he carefully, methodically, put it on the desk and smoothed it out.
He shook his head. “Why now? And what for?”
There wasn’t an easy answer. With a classified designation, their mission could be anything, and he didn’t have the need-to-know, so it was unlikely they would tell him anything. But then, what were they doing at Victoria Bravo? Overwatching the negotiations? Or something else?
The answer came to him in a flurry of thoughts. War was imminent. The Mercenary Guild had already tried to eliminate the colony, and his forces had fought them off with the assistance of Peacemaker Francis and her friends. The Peacemaker Guild wanted answers. They needed an edge. What better edge than the forces that helped stop Chinayl on her rampage through the outer rim territories?
Watson nodded to himself and frowned. Supporting the Peacemaker Guild, if asked, was another feather in his proverbial hat as a diplomat and would be seen by the guild representatives as a positive statement. Yet, the Peacemaker Guild, and Tara Mason specifically, were coming because they needed an edge. That was the answer. On Victoria, the only edge Watson had was the non-mercenary soldiers who fought and defeated the MinSha. The mercenary units of Earth hid or ran from Peepo’s gambit. His soldiers were protected by the legal framework of the planet’s status. As such, they were his most precious resource.
Yet, Watson had none to give to any cause for any reason. There had to be peace on Victoria Bravo. Peace required every pair of hands he could muster. The future of their world depended on it.
* * *
Lovell City Spaceport
Victoria Bravo
Tara went through the shutdown checklist for Victory Twelve’s drop shuttle, Molly, by memory. Despite a last minute “go-around” call from the control tower while a crippled Cochkala ship set down in the primary tarmac position, she’d managed to fly and land the shuttle without Lucille’s help. The near-AI was better left aboard Victory Twelve and, frankly, Tara needed to practice operating without the virtual safety net Lucille provided. With the engines and major systems shut down, she hesitated to complete the full shutdown. She shook her head at her trepidation. The Victoria Forces were friends. They’d fought alongside Jessica Francis and defeated Chinayl’s rogue MinSha forces just two months earlier. Realizing her guard was up, more so than normal, Tara sat back in the console chair for a moment, feeling the return of gravity in her limbs. Below, in the hold, Jackson Rains and Vannix would start unloading the two CASPers, Deathangel 25 and Alpha 1, so they could undergo a quick maintenance check and be loaded with fresh ammunition and fuel. Xander remained in orbit with Bukk and Maarg, scouring mission logs and gate information, looking for a better first target. Bukk remained confident they’d have a confirmed location in a day or so. From what Tara had seen before departing, they were close to a decision, but part of that meant she had to assume a measure of risk and pull Vannix down to the planet with her. A Veetanho, Peacemaker or not, on a planet freshly targeted by th
e Mercenary Guild could agitate the Victoria Forces. But Jessica’s report said the forces and their commander were professionals. Vannix was far too valuable in a fight to leave her behind on Victory Twelve.
I hope you’re right, Jess.
When she felt strong enough to move, Tara stood and relished the feeling of blood flowing into her lower limbs. Readjustment to gravity typically didn’t take long, and the exercise cycles Humans followed seemed to mitigate most of the effects within a short time. The mental adjustment would take longer. When everything was in freefall, it was possible to hang something in mid-air, like a camera or a wrench, then grab it when it was needed. Gravity made a lot of fools when Humans returned to Earth. Walking to the cargo hold gave her legs a little exercise, and the exertion made her feel better. Maybe she could get a workout in during the next couple of days. Tara shook the thoughts of free time away—this was business, and she needed every ounce of acumen in her possession to get what Force 25 so desperately needed.
Over the intercom, she heard Rains. “Opening the outer door. We have quite the welcoming party, Tara.”
As long as they don’t have torches and pitchforks, you’ll be fine. The voice was that of her old mentor, a retired mercenary first sergeant named Barrow. Tara snorted, remembering a young kid from somewhere in the Caribbean asking what a pitchfork was. She shook the memory away, took a deep breath, and made ready.
Confident everything was going to be fine, Tara made her way down the ladder into the bay. Vannix moved spryly, as if the week in microgravity hadn’t slowed her down. Rains, by comparison, looked ashen. The return of gravity had to be hell on his injured knee. Even with the brace, his limp was pronounced, and his mouth was a tight, grim line on his pained face. They’d been on the ground five minutes, and the young Peacemaker was already sweating.