Remnants: Broken Galaxy Book Five

by Phil Huddleston

  As the line slowly shuffled forward, Mac turned back to Olivia.

  “Where do you think we are?” he whispered to her. The lieutenant had passed the word - no talking. But Mac figured whispering was OK.

  Olivia moved in closer to him so they could hear each other.

  “I think we were making about 2 miles per hour,” she said. “So if we landed twenty-five miles from Landing, we’re about seven miles from it now.”

  Mac nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I thought too.”

  “So what’s next, you think?”

  “The word I heard before we launched is we rest here all day tomorrow, out of sight. No fires, no cooking, no noise. That’s what Lt. Raines said.”

  “Thank God. I don’t think I could walk another hundred yards.”

  The line shuffled forward, and suddenly they found Lt. Raines standing in front of them. He pointed to one side.

  “Your squad over there, MacIntosh. Olivia, yours too.”

  Mac nodded and turned to the side, finding a bare spot near several trees. The members of the two squads settled in, running ropes between the trees, laying their shelter halves over the ropes, forming simple tents. Crawling inside, they fell to the ground in exhaustion.

  Mac realized that Olivia had crawled in beside him. They were cold and wet, and somehow, without a word passing between them, they moved together to share the warmth of their bodies. Holding Olivia, her body heat easing the ache of his muscles and the shivering of his body, Mac passed out almost instantly.

  Stree Prime

  Great Cathedral of the Stree

  Just before 6 AM, Prophet Tarilli waited outside the door of Great Prophet Videlli’s chambers, accompanied by four sub-priests. Inside Tarilli’s body, Tika’s mind wrestled with the precarious situation she found herself in.

  Tika had found that Tarilli’s side-loaded scan gave her sufficient information to know the basics of his daily routine. She knew what to do at this point in time; per the morning ritual, she had gathered up her staff and made her way to Videlli’s chambers. She knew the protocol to awaken Videlli and prepare him for the day. She knew the layout of the Cathedral, the daily routine for both herself and Videlli, even the pass codes for all the computers and security systems.

  But she could hardly walk. This body was sufficiently different from the previous Stree male she had inhabited to cause her significant coordination problems.

  And worse, she could hardly talk. An unfortunate side-effect of the scan transferred from Tarilli’s original brain had been his drug addiction. He had not been able to get his drugs before they stunned him and scanned him. Tika’s copy of Tarilli’s brain scan was undergoing severe withdrawal symptoms. Each time she accessed it in her spare memory, it nearly knocked her to her knees.

  Unable to delay any longer, she keyed in the pass code to the door and walked into the chambers of the Great High Prophet of the Stree Theocracy, hoping for the best.

  Phoenix System

  Battalion East

  Eight miles northeast of Landing, Misha’s Battalion East was waking up after their first night on the planet. They had landed their shuttles the afternoon before, twenty miles from Landing, in the foothills of the Eastern Mountains. Like Battalion West, they had marched at night. But they had marched slower. They were still twelve miles from Landing, well to the northeast.

  Now, at dawn, Misha put down his communicator and sighed. He had just finished making his morning report to Tatiana. She was satisfied with their progress and told him not to worry.

  But he worried, nonetheless. He understood Tatiana’s plan. He got it. But he was not with her. He was here, and she was nineteen miles away, on the other side of Landing. Not being with her made him nervous.

  And he kept thinking about their child, Marta. Marta was still on the transport, in orbit above them, in the care of Gillian.

  What if neither Tatiana nor I make it back? What if both of us are killed tomorrow?

  The thought wouldn’t leave his mind. In the Ashkelon War, Misha had fought beside Tatiana on Deriko, battle after battle, with never a second thought. But that was different. That was before he had a child to consider.

  What if Marta’s an orphan? Will Gillian be able to take care of her? And what if we lose tomorrow? For sure, Turgenev will kill Gillian. Will he kill Marta too, even though she’s a child?

  Misha hung his head, unable to stop thinking about it. He knew it was pointless, and worse, it was stupid to dwell on it. But his mind just wouldn’t stop thinking about it.

  He needed something to distract him.

  He crawled out of his tiny tent and looked around. They had picked a night camp surrounded by tall trees, with some understory of smaller trees beneath it. With only two layers, it wasn’t a true triple-canopy jungle. He could have found a better spot, a camp with thicker canopy above, where he would have been better protected from drones. But intentionally, he did not.

  It was ironic, Misha thought. Tatiana’s plan called for his force to be discovered today, hopefully this morning. It grated on him, but he was doing his best to accomplish her plan.

  His XO, Major Brett Jones, came up to him and saluted. Misha returned the salute, trying not to grin. It had been a long time since anybody saluted him. They were just a militia, but Tatiana had drummed it into them. Maintain military discipline - and military honors - at all times. So they did it. She was the boss.

  “Scouts report an enemy squad about a half-mile west of us. They appear to have found us. They’re just sitting, hidden in a gully, watching us.”

  “Very good, Major Jones. We’ll keep up the pretense of trying to hide. Pass the word to maintain silence. No talking, no clinking of weapons. Everyone just stay quiet and very still.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” said Jones. He saluted, turned smartly, and departed.

  Misha smiled. Some people just took to the military like a fish to water. Brett Jones was one of those. It was like Brett had waited his whole life to be where he was today.

  “Drone!” came a call. Misha turned, looked up at the treetops and sky above. Sure enough, in the distance through a small break in the canopy, he could see the distant outline of a small drone, working its way toward the east. He knew the drone operator had seen them - the operator was trying to pretend otherwise, but Misha knew they were well in range of the drone’s camera.

  Playing the game of deception, he dived under the nearest tree, along with everyone else in the camp. 800 troops - his full battalion - huddled silently on the ground, waiting to see what would happen. The drone continued on, fading off into the distance toward the mountains. As soon as it was out of sight, Misha jumped to his feet and gestured to his XO.

  “Get us moving toward the northwest. Pronto!”

  Brett acknowledged and ran toward the nearby operations tent they had set up last night. Within thirty minutes, the entire battalion was on the march, heading to the northwest. It was an indirect line toward Landing, angling away from the enemy scouts that were between them and the river. It also moved them to the path already scouted by the passing drone. Still playing the game, Misha was attempting to convince the enemy they were trying to outfox the drone by moving to where it had been, rather than where it was going.

  I hope Turgenev’s people are smart. Just smart enough to out-think themselves.

  Stree Prime

  Great Cathedral of the Stree

  Somehow, Tika stumbled through the process of awakening Great Prophet Videlli. She delegated all the important tasks to her junior staff and stood respectfully - and silently - in the background as they went about their duties.

  The Great Prophet was a short, fat Stree, shorter and fatter than the average. He was obviously well fed. He awoke grumpy, and chastised both her and her staff continuously from the time of his awakening until he was bathed and dressed for the day in his elaborate set of vestments, with his bejeweled necklace around his neck.

  After Videlli was dressed and had departed to his office su
ite, Tarilli/Tika was released to return to her own office. There she endured a seemingly endless queue of interruptions and requests by her staff members, which prevented her from launching into her greatest priority - finding out where Jim and the other Human prisoners were located. That information appeared to be missing from Tarilli’s scan. It was becoming more and more apparent that their scanner was damaged - each scan seemed to have more dropouts than the previous one.

  She was forced to maintain her deception of being the number two person in the Stree hierarchy all day. She pretended to process emails, had dozens of conversations about all manner of mundane things, and skipped lunch by claiming she was ill. She checked in with Rita by radio band several times during the day, to ensure all was well. And somehow, she got through without making any major mistakes that would draw attention to herself.

  By late afternoon, she checked her calendar and realized it was possible to leave early - she had no important tasks left for this day. She begged off from her staff and retired to her quarters, where she immediately called Rita on the radio band.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Phoenix System

  Battalion West

  Mac woke up. Something didn’t feel right. He lay still, trying to figure it out.

  He realized his pants were down around his knees. His middle was pressed up against Olivia’s half-naked body. And her pants were also down around her knees.

  His front was toasty, exceptionally comfortable. But his naked ass was freezing.

  Slowly, it came back to him. The long, exhausting march from the LZ. Arriving at their bivouac. Stretching the shelter halves between the trees. Crawling in, both of them cold and wet, huddling together for warmth in the crude tent. And then suddenly, Olivia reaching for his pants, unbuttoning, pulling them down, both of them mad with desire, him pulling her clothes apart, ignorant to the world except for their need to be alive, to be with someone before they died.

  He reached down and pulled up his pants, trying not to wake Olivia. But before he could finish, she reached out, grabbed his gentleman equipment, and held on. Without opening her eyes, she mumbled.

  “One more round?”

  “My ass is freezing, babe. And I can hear people moving around. I don’t think so.”

  “Killjoy,” she said, opening her eyes. She let go of him. He finished pulling up his pants and zipped up.

  “I’m going to see what’s going on. Be back in a minute.”

  Crawling out of the tent, Mac stood up and looked around. It was barely the crack of dawn. Dim light filtered through the triple-canopy jungle. It was nearly impossible to see the sky, with only the occasional slice of light showing through. Their officers had definitely picked a good, well-hidden location.

  Mac saw his platoon leader, Lt. Raines, sitting on a rock a few dozen yards away. He walked over and squatted down by him, gazing around at the camp.

  “So the plan today is we just sit tight, right, sir?” Mac said.

  Tom nodded. “That’s the plan. Rest, relax, clean our gear, stay out of sight. Get ready for a night march tonight.”

  “And no fires?”

  “No fires. No cooking. No loud voices, no noise. Just sit and wait.”

  Mac smiled. He couldn’t help it. He nodded at the Lieutenant and stood, walked back to his tent. Crawling inside, he lay down beside Olivia and pulled her to him.

  “Change of plans, babe. Round Two is definitely on!”

  Stalingrad System

  “Enemy in sight, Admiral,” called Lieutenant Jassi. “They are arrayed as you predicted. One Wing is deployed forward and to the left, and another forward and to the right. Two Wings hold the center. They’ll attempt to catch us in a pincer move with the two forward Wings, reduce our numbers before we smash into the two Wings in the center.”

  “A good plan, actually the best plan they could assemble with the forces they have,” mused Sojatta. “But it won’t be enough. Those Assault Wings to the sides will hurt us, but they won’t stop us.”

  Zutirra, sitting beside Sojatta in the Guardian Officer’s chair, showed his teeth in a fierce smile of hatred. “Excellent, Admiral. We smash them now! We wipe these abominations out of the Universe!”

  Sojatta looked at Zutirra with some displeasure. “Zutirra, we will smash their homeland, that is certain. But we will not wipe them from the Universe. Even though we chase down stragglers for a thousand years, we will never be able to find them all. Surely you recognize that.”

  Zutirra snarled in anger. “Still, we will try! We will do our utmost!”

  “Yes,” Sojatta said mildly, gazing at the holotank as they accelerated into the Stalingrad system, “we will do our utmost.”

  Sojatta turned to Jassi. “What are the final numbers, Jassi?”

  “It appears they are still showing at 550 ships, sir. Four Wings of 125 ships each, plus that small force of 50 ships backed up to the Dyson Ring, which we assume is their reserve force.”

  “That reserve force will not do them much good,” said Sojatta. “I can see even from here that those are tired, second-rate ships. They’ll be lucky to get off one volley when we smash into them.”

  Jassi smiled. “Aye, sir.”

  Sojatta waved at the holo.

  “Proceed with Battle Plan Alpha as briefed, Jassi. Straight at them. No deviations, no strategy, just brute force. Plow through them and kill them.”

  Jassi smiled again. “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Stalingrad System

  Captain-Leader Bagi stared at the Stree fleet arrayed before him in disbelief.

  1,500 ships. 3-to-1 odds.

  Bagi’s squadron of sixteen Goblin cruisers looked down the missile tubes of forty-eight Stree cruisers. And to his left and right, other cruiser squadrons faced comparable odds, as did the battlecruiser squadrons behind him.

  Bagi knew his role in this first battle. When the Stree entered the system, Bagi’s Assault Wing One moved quickly to a position well off to one side of the oncoming Stree. Assault Wing Two positioned to the opposite side of the enemy line of advance. The two Assault Wings were to decimate the incoming Stree, disrupt their formations, force them to turn and engage. Meanwhile, Assault Wings Three and Four would remain positioned in the center, in front of the Stree, waiting for them.

  At the 10 AU point, Bagi’s Wing turned in toward the enemy and boosted directly at them. The first dance in the choreography of death was starting.

  But Bagi could see it wasn’t going to be enough. The mass of Stree in front of them covered the sky, blanking out stars as they passed. Enemy cruiser and battlecruiser cubes stretched across their front, a mass of ships that boggled the mind.

  Bagi had already accepted that he would not survive this battle.
That was a given.

  The bigger question was whether or not his backup copy in the Dyson Ring would survive. If the Stree defeated the Goblin fleet, they would certainly destroy the Ring, and every other object in the Dyson swarm that made up the Goblin homeland.

  And that would be the end of Bagi and all the Goblins who died in this battle. There would be no backup copies after that. No resurrection into a new body to continue the fight.

  This might be it, Bagi thought somewhat disinterestedly. We’ll see. But I’ll take some Stree with me.

  “Battle Stations,” he called as they approached the mass of enemy ships in front of them. Around him, the bong-bong-bong of the General Alarm started up. The condition lights switched from yellow to red. The ceiling of the bridge vibrated a bit as the heavy bodies of Goblins on the deck above ran to their battle stations.

  “Time to missile range?”

  “Fifteen minutes, sir,” called his Tactical Officer. “All divisions report ready for action. Fighters going out now.”

  Bagi nodded absent-mindedly as he watched the holo. Thousands of Goblin fighters departed their carriers and battlecruisers and leaped forward toward the Stree fleet. At the same time, three times as many Stree fighters poured out of their ships, rushing toward the Goblin fighters in a cloud, a solid mass of death. In a matter of seconds, the two sets of fighters merged, surrounding the Stree fleet like a cloud of insects, a swirling mass in the holo that twisted and turned, with the streaks of lasers and missiles adding to the morass of dots in the holo - until it seemed some kind of artwork designed to confuse and puzzle the brain. Then hundreds, then thousands of those dots turned into bright explosions, glowing dots of fire in the holo that drifted out of the battle zone on long tracers leading nowhere.

  And Bagi knew every one of those long tracers was a death. Either the permanent death of a Stree - or the death of a Goblin.

  A temporary death - if the Goblins won this battle and protected the Dyson Ring where all backup copies were stored.