Deathangel

by Kevin Ikenberry

  “Rains?” Tara called. “You need a break.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “That wasn’t a question.”

  Rains stopped and turned toward her. His face was a mixture of pain and anger. “You don’t have to order me around.”

  “I’m not, Rains. Sit down. We can get this going,” Tara said. Her voice was purposefully low and caring. “Don’t injure yourself further. We need you.”

  Rains paused with an arm load of trash. He didn’t smile in acknowledgement; he just nodded his head. “Yeah. You’re right, Tara.”

  She watched him set the trash container down on the deck, then stand up with his hands on his hips. He wanted something to do. “Hey, when I meet with Watson, I’d like you there, both as a Peacemaker and as a Human being. I want to make sure we’re all safe.”

  Rains looked at Vannix. He nodded, then looked back at Tara. “I understand. Guess we get to see if Jessica’s report was accurate.”

  Tara gave him a quick smile. “Jessica’s report is accurate, Rains, but people change.”

  She emphasized the last word, and Rains nodded. He had changed over the course of the last week. The laser wound to his knee was not bad, but it was enough to slow him down. She’d noticed it made him think things through, even an action as simple as moving to the latrine. In some ways, his injury affected more than his knee, and Tara thought that was a good thing.

  There was a clang as Vannix lowered Deathangel 25 to the deck behind them. Free from its rack and under power, the CASPer whined just loud enough for her to hear it. For a moment, she was back in Nebraska lying on her bed in the early morning twilight, listening to her father starting the equipment. The soft whirring of the components was the only alarm clock she had. She’d toss off the blankets, put on her coveralls, and trudge out into the cold, dark morning before her father could come in and roust her and her siblings. His wake-up calls were never gentle.

  “Tara?” Vannix called, shaking her from her memories. “There is a delegation out here.”

  She looked at Rains who smirked at her. “Duty calls, Commander.”

  Tara laughed. “There are worse things I can think of, Jackson.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.” Rains smiled. “I’ll let you do all the talking.”

  “Not on your life, Peacemaker,” Tara said. “Come on. Let’s go meet the locals.”

  When Vannix fully opened the door, there were no less than twelve people standing outside. Eight of them, spread in a half-circle behind the other four, carried weapons. Tara looked over her shoulder at Rains. “You got your badge?”

  “Yes.”

  “Vannix?”

  “In my hands, Tara,” Vannix replied. “I assume this security detail isn’t for the four in the middle.”

  “That’s fair,” Rains said. “I have the right side, you take the left, Vannix.”

  “They’re friendlies,” Tara hissed.

  “And if they’re not?” Rains spoke, his voice low and serious. “I don’t think we should take any chances, Tara.”

  “My partner and I are in agreement,” Vannix whispered. “I have the left.”

  Sonuvabitch! They’re acting like we’re walking into the fucking OK Corral or something.

  Are we?

  Tara touched her earpiece. “Maarg?”

  “Yes, Commander?”

  “If this situation goes south, Lucille will initiate an emergency boost to orbit. Otherwise, stay in the cockpit and be ready for anything.”

  “Shall I tap into any networks and information sources I can find?”

  Tara nodded. “Do it.”

  <> She disengaged the radio transmitter.

  “I need your attention on the situation here, Lucille. Sweep what you can but keep your focus close.”

  <>

  A gust of wind blew through the open door and disheveled her hair. Tara swept an errant lock back over her left ear and glanced at the central four figures. Two of them wore tankers’ coveralls. The garment was fabricated with an internal harness for crew extraction. Without meeting them, and despite their security detail, she liked them already. One of the four was a bald man dressed in a civilian jacket and pants with the seal of the Victoria Forces on his chest.

  That’s Governor Watson.

  To Watson’s left was a small man in a tight-fitting pair of coveralls. His short black hair and Asian features likely meant he was Major Vuong. The other two men had to be Novotny and Ibson, but she had no idea who was who. Without waiting for acknowledgement, Tara stepped down from the bay’s edge into the early morning sun. The day was warm. The light from Victoria’s star felt good upon her face and exposed skin.

  She marched straight toward Watson with a smile on her face. If Jessica had taught her one thing, it was the disarming power of a smile. “Governor Watson?”

  The bald man smiled. He was much younger than she’d thought. “Commander Mason. Welcome to Victoria Bravo.”

  They shook hands briefly. Watson made the introductions, starting with the dark-haired man on his immediate right. “This is Colonel Ibson, the commanding officer of the Victoria Forces.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “And you,” Ibson replied. “Jessica Francis spoke very highly of you.”

  Tara nodded and tried not to blush. “She had glowing things to say about you as well.”

  Ibson smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He looked tired. “This is Major Novotny, my armored forces commander, and Major Vuong, in command of the CASPer forces.”

  Tara shook their hands. “Well met.”

  Watson didn’t wait until she finished shaking Vuong’s hand. “What can we do for you, Commander Mason?”

  Tara took a breath. “As I said earlier, we’re on a classified Peacemaker mission. The need-to-know for this mission is very limited, but given your history of support, I am authorized to tell you. We are tasked with finding James Francis of Intergalactic Haulers. We believe he has knowledge critical for defeating the Mercenary Guild. We also believe he is in grave danger. I’ve been authorized to use whatever force necessary to do this, but we need your help.”

  Watson nodded. “Our resources are at your disposal. Maintenance facilities and technicians. Armorer. We have everything you need.”

  Tara nodded. “I need more than services, Governor. I need troops. I need transports. We’re heading into this mission severely outmatched and—”

  Watson shook his head. “I have none to give you, Commander. We have priorities that require my forces to remain on Victoria Bravo for the foreseeable future.”

  “Force 25 is just five of us on one ship, and we can’t—”

  “I’m sorry. We have nothing to give you but support.” Watson’s face was an impassive mask. His eyes flitted beyond her. Eyes wide, his posture became defensive as he watched Vannix approach. “What is the—”

  “Governor,” Tara interrupted with a smile on her face. “May I introduce Peacemaker Vannix and Peacemaker Jackson Rains.”

  To his credit, Watson did something unexpected given his earlier comments. The man turned to his security detail and said, “Get Doc out here right away. The Peacemaker needs medical attention.”

  Rains nodded. “I’m fine, sir. Just a laser wound.”

  Watson grunted. “I’ve seen enough injuries like that to know you need a professional to get you on your feet again.”

  Rains nodded again and stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

  “And you, Peacemaker.” Watson glanced at Vannix but didn’t say anything.

  “Sir, this is my partner, Vannix.” Rains said. “Please understand we are a team, and I have her back.”

  “A friend of mine once talked about making allies in the most unusual places. I think I’ll take her advice.” Watson smiled. There was a hint of emotion in his tired eyes. Rebuilding a colony had taken much out of them. He stepped around Tara and extended a hand. “Well met, Peacemaker Vannix.”
r />   “Well met, Governor Watson,” Vannix replied.

  A young man with glasses ran up to the group. Over his shoulder was a medical bag. He pointed at Rains and said, “Please come here, sir. Let me look at your leg.”

  “Commander Ibson?” Vannix asked. “Would it be possible to see the ground where the battle took place?”

  Ibson nodded. “We’ll take you there. I see you have CASPers. What do you need?”

  “Maintenance updates and fuel, and we could use some ammunition for the cannon aboard Victory Twelve,” Tara said. “If you have the parts to spare, we have a hangar queen that could use some help, too. It’s a Mark Eight CASPer that hasn’t worked properly since Araf. It would be nice to have it ready for operations.”

  “Easily done,” Watson said. He touched his ear briefly, and Tara saw a tiny communications device. “Sorry, the control tower is asking all personnel to clear the tarmac. The other Cochkala vessel is coming in for an emergency landing. We need to move toward shelter.”

  Tara looked at Vannix. “Will you close the bay door?”

  “On it.” Vannix scampered to the shuttle and worked the door’s control.

  Tara walked over to the medic as he hoisted Rains to his feet. “Need a hand?”

  The young man nodded. “That would be great. Thanks.”

  They got under Rains’ arms and grabbed his bag. They were moving well until the airfield warning sirens started to scream. Around them, all hell broke loose.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lovell City Spaceport

  Victoria Bravo

  The sirens wailed, and Ibson looked up instinctively. The Cochkala ship above them wasn’t very large and did not seem to be in distress. From the look of it, the ship was completely in control and executing a tight turn toward—

  Oh, shit!

  Ibson turned to the detail. “Protect the Governor!”

  He didn’t wait to see if they did as he ordered. Ibson ran toward the main hangar complex with Novotny and Vuong right behind. “Get your teams out and defend the capital.”

  Novotny pointed up. “Look! They’re targeting something in the city!”

  Sure enough, exterior gun pods extended from the fuselage of the Cochkala ship and oriented deep inside the central city. Ibson tapped his wrist slate and heard a beep in his ear. “Scramble everything! Lock down the city! The Cochkala are preparing to—”

  Three quick puffs appeared alongside the Cochkala vessel. Contrails streamed behind tiny missiles racing into the city.

  “They’re firing.” Ibson looked at the hangar and saw six flyers race out of the open doors, into the sky, after the ship. He tapped his slate again. “Condor Six, Thunder Six. Get that thing out of the sky.”

  “Thunder Six, roger,” Jennifer Rath called. The commander of the flyer squadron was as good as they came. Though she was still recovering from her injuries after being shot down by the MinSha, it came as no surprise that she was the first into the sky. “I have surface-to-air warnings and—BREAK ALPHA! BREAK ALPHA!”

  Ibson slowed as he watched Rath’s flyers execute a patterned dispersal. Surface-to-air missiles came up from the forward tarmac area where the other Cochkala ship had landed twenty minutes before. Following the contrails, he saw that the Cochkala’s freight doors were open, and the little bastards were deploying infantry and tiny armored skiffs. Their fire tore into the unprotected troops and civilians around the airfield.

  CASPers raced into the fray from the hangar. The sound of MACs firing reminded him to pull his sidearm for protection. He entered the main Forces hangar just as Vuong raced outside in his black-and-green striped Mk 7. His external speakers clicked on as he ran forward.

  “Thunder Six, get to the command center. You can’t stay out here.”

  Ibson grunted as he ran inside the hangar, immediately ducking to his right along the wall, as two platoons of tanks screamed outside. He looked up and saw Novotny give him a thumbs-up as he rolled out. In the nearly empty hanger were two dropships, a handful of tanks in various states of disrepair, and two CASPers. For the briefest moment, he thought about climbing into one, but he’d never trained in them and would be worthless in the fight. He fought the urge and ran for the command center, hoping he’d still have a force to command when he got there.

  * * *

  The surface-to-air missile warning shook the flyers out of their attack pattern, into defensive combat maneuvers much quicker than they’d trained for in the past several weeks. Two of Rath’s flyers went down in seconds. Both took missile hits and smacked into the tarmac, scattering smoking wreckage and Human body parts a few hundred feet. Rath felt fresh anger rising. Davis and Grissom had shown promise. They’d just been through this six weeks earlier. Her younger pilots had never flown in combat, and they didn’t deserve to be dead thirty seconds into the fight.

  Focus, Jen.

  No sooner had the first barrage of SAMs knocked them out of their attack pattern, than a second salvo launched at their fleeing vehicles. The angle of attack for the incoming missiles put them squarely into the engine exhaust stream for her squadron.

  “Scatter! Condor elements, scatter!”

  “On your wing, Condor Six,” Mays called. She glanced over her shoulder, and there he was. Without enough flyers to constitute a section, the former flight leader had volunteered to be her wingman and executive officer. He knew what it meant to support her, and even as they executed a scatter, he was there protecting her wing.

  For a few seconds, her mind wasn’t on her pilots. All she wanted to do was find a path away from the missiles tracking her flyers. Open air to the north called. In the distance, she saw the Sentinel and the three familiar mesas etched into Victoria’s history. Out there, above the lower ground, there was freedom to maneuver. She jammed the throttles forward and waggled the flyer from left to right. Hands tight on the throttle, she weaved through a few low buildings on the outskirts of the base and shot over the fences, into the open air west of Lovell City.

  Rath glanced over her right shoulder just as a missile off her four o’clock took out one of her flyers. She looked left and saw a SAM arcing rapidly toward her. Rath turned toward the oncoming missile, cutting off its path and forcing it to arc past her position.

  “Break right,” Mays called. Rath didn’t ask twice as she swung the flyer violently back to the right. She risked a glance over her shoulder and saw Mays flying toward the surface-to-air missile, taking it off her tail. “Mays! What are you doing?”

  “Get clear, Lead. I’ve got this fucker,” Mays replied. He yanked the flyer hard across the nose of the missile. As it turned and tried to correct, its speed was too much, and the missile shot away into the valley. Unguided, it slammed into the valley floor in a small, fierce explosion.

  “Nice move!” Rath whooped.

  Mays swung the flyer back toward her. “Moving to rejoin—”

  A series of missiles fired from the Cochkala missile platforms. Rath’s thumb didn’t make it to the transmit button before they’d shredded Mays’ flyer. Fiery debris rained over the edge of the airfield and the valley below.

  “Condor flight, reconstitute in the valley,” Rath called over their frequency.

  A familiar voice called, “Condor Six, Thunder Six. You’re the only Condor left. Get clear.”

  Sudden tears filled her eyes.

  Dammit!

  Using her shoulder, she wiped her eyes and glanced up the valley toward Lovell City. The peaceful city was again smoking and in flames. Above it, the supposedly stricken Cochkala vessel ceased firing and accelerated.

  Not today, you fucks!

  She swung the flyer hard toward the city. The Cochkala ship’s nose came up, and its engines prepared to boost for orbit. Her missile warning radar screamed as she turned back over the city. The CASPers and tanks below hit the little furry bastards hard, but their missile platform was still firing. Two more SAMs rose toward her. Rath pushed the throttle forward to the stops and r
eadied her weapons. Selecting the outboard missile pylons, she targeted the main engine complex at the rear of the Cochkala ship without removing her hands from the controls. All four missiles locked, and she fired them in rapid succession.

  Rath saw the first SAM arcing for terminal guidance on her right. She turned hard across the missile’s nose and forced it to overshoot. Unlike its predecessor, this missile did not continue unguided. Assuming it was close enough to inflict damage, the missile’s warhead exploded. Shrapnel tore through the two rear fans, and the flyer buffeted wildly, threatening to depart controlled flight.

  A few more seconds.

  Controlling the wounded flyer took every ounce of skill and strength she had. There wasn’t going to be time for another missile shot. She strained to see the four missiles until they detonated in rapid succession along the edge of the vessel’s leftmost engine. The loss of one-third of its power caused the Cochkala ship to slew hard to the left. Losing altitude, the ship would be lucky to clear the rim of the upper valley above the city. They might still make orbit, but they’d been slowed down enough to make their escape from the system doubtful.

  The second missile swung hard to her right, as she turned slightly away from it before yanking her controls hard to the right. The missile didn’t buy it, and she knew she had seconds, maybe less. Several hundred Cochkala ground forces pushed forward from their ship, trying to form a beachhead. Cochkala armor went up against the CASPers as she flashed over her friends below.

  Missile warnings screamed in her head, but the rear fans were already coming apart. The main engine fire light came on, and she knew it was over. At two hundred knots and not enough altitude, there wasn’t time. She looked toward town, toward her little apartment and her cats. For a little while, she’d had her own home. But flying had been her life, and it was only fitting it ended in the air.

  But there was still something she could do. Hands on the triggers, she oriented the flyer toward the center of the Cochkala position and opened fire. Rath screamed into the wind, imagining the fierce breeze across her face. This was where she was always meant to be, and she’d be damned if she couldn’t leave on her terms. The cannons on the flyer shook the already tenuous control from her hands as the missile closed and detonated.