“Not hungry,” Dane said, before hitting the data console on his wrist once more to see if any of the latest battlefield reports were coming through.
>Operation HAMMER BLOW / Alpha-Black Security / OVERVIEW ONLY . . .
This was to be expected though, Dane thought. He would only be seeing the general status reports sent from the dreadnoughts and fighter squadrons after their missions. The ongoing missions would be top-level access only and beamed by ansible straight back to the Jupiter platforms.
A lowly sergeant like me wouldn’t get the latest, he thought ruefully before shaking his head.
>Planets 32, 32b, 17, 8, 9, 10, and 23 pacified. Units redirected to rest of Exin frontier worlds 1—33 . . .
>Casualty Figures UNAVAILABLE . . .
One through thirty-three? Dane did some quick math. They had started their assault in three waves, which then would lead to a rolling attack all along the Exin frontier. So far, they had succeeded in seven of the total planets—an impressive achievement, as the Marine Corps hadn’t even been able to field a fleet against the Exin forces as little as six months ago.
Seven out of thirty-three, though . . . Even so, the numbers were still stark. That left a total of twenty-six Exin frontier worlds still to attack, and from what Dane had seen of the Dreadnought Lincoln, it didn’t look as though it could manage another two or three, never mind double digits.
But—the marine strategists had been confident that their forces could get it done, exactly as the Exin satellite ansible was now done. Meaning that the Exin could no longer communicate across their frontline and that the aliens would have no idea which of those twenty-six worlds the humans would attack next. Each one that they took out would destroy the forward munitions, industries, and space ports of the enemy, meaning that the Exin would be forced to collapse backwards to wherever their next wide-area ansible could work.
Lightning, unexpected raids. Total domination of each planetary system. That had been the strategy, and it appeared to be working in its preliminary stages. Especially as some of these frontier worlds were little more than that—just military outposts on barren planets, only acting as the equivalent of interstellar guard towers rather than full colonies.
But still—twenty-six seemed like an awfully large number from where Dane was standing. And the sergeant hated the fact that he was standing here at all—and not flying toward one of those worlds and adding their weight to the fight.
Because who knows what’ll happen after Hammer Blow? Dane asked himself. The Exin still had the Tol’rumaa—the guided asteroid that they could fire against planets and colonies at will. The captured Exin queen had assured him this weapon was bound to be used by her usurper, War Master Okruk. He had a perverse hatred for all of “backward” humanity after all—whereas the Exin queen and hive mother had merely wanted to turn them into slaves for eternity.
All they could do was to try and hit the Exin with as much force and power as they could now, right off the bat. So much that the war master would be thrown back and forced to take stock and repair what he had lost for the next phase of the operation, while humanity and its Marine Corps did what they could to deter the Exin.
We’re fighting an empire, after all, Dane reminded himself. What do you do when you’re fighting an empire that was hundreds (if not thousands) of years older than your own civilization? How did you fight such a force?
History told him that it had to be through guerrilla warfare. That hit and run tactics would lead to internal pressures breaking up the empire itself. The Exin had already seen War Master Okruk depose their beloved queen, after all . . .
But what if that only meant that an even worse and even more savage leader would take the throne?
Ugh. There was no way to get around these thoughts. No way to find a solution to them. Dane shook his head once more. He had his own mission reports to fill, after all.
The job of an officer was never done. If it wasn’t training his Marines, then it would be shooting at things until they were dead. Or it would be writing reports as to how and why he had shot things until they were dead. All in all, he thought that the “paperwork” (a rather anachronistic term in today’s day and age, he considered) was a bit of a joke.
As if the marine strategists don’t know why we do what we do . . .
But still, even with his soldier’s eye on the matter, Dane was dreading the fact that he had to write just how he had managed to lose the Gladius along with their elite section of Traveler Mechs in the process.
“Boss,” greeted Corsoni. Dane realized that his footsteps had taken him through the mess hall, down the corridor in an angered blur, and brought him to one of the main launch bays of the Ares. There stood Bruce Cheng’s group of Traveler Mechs (Only himself and Bruce were trained and equipped to use them) waiting silently in the hold.
The suits stood still and monolithic, with new scrapes and burn marks and buckled carapaces marring their otherwise turquoise-and-crystal-silvered appearance. Joey Corsoni was already working on them, clambering over the large specimens in the neon light and working to repair them as best as only he could do.
“Eight.” Corsoni seemed to read Dane’s thoughts as he paced between the monsters of metal.
Only eight left, Dane thought dismally. And after all the trouble they had gone through to get to the Travelers’ world to pick them up.
“But our manufacturers already have the specifics.” Corsoni attempted to console him. “They had them on the production line by the time that we were rolling out,” he was saying, when the Ares suddenly wobbled midjump.
Dane looked up and around as the lights flickered throughout the launch bay.
“Is that supposed to happen in warp travel?” Dane asked, skeptical. The memories of the only other time this had happened to him resurfaced: when the Gladius had been sabotaged before launch, and it had lost one nacelle as it was kicked out of warp on the way to Jupiter. And had crash-landed on Europa, he remembered with a shiver of apprehension.
“Uhr, I’m not sure,” Corsoni was saying. He said the words lightly, but Dane could see that the man couldn’t hide the concern in his eyes.
And concern coming from the engineer, the only man on this ship who actually understood jump travel, was a worrying sight indeed.
“Williams to bridge,” Dane hit his wrist data pad once more. “Cheng?”
Just as there was a sudden bang, and a deep shudder ran through the ship, bringing with it the warning sound of alarms.
Outside the metal shell of the Ares, the burning plasma of the warp ran over its military skin in waves of flowing florescence. Behind the fires of burning subatomic particles, the stars had become long, flowing lines of white, forming sheets and extended streams of luminescence. It would be beautiful to watch, if any human had the capability to see it.
But that delight was marred.
The Ares was, like any other Marine Fighter, a fighter with a large wedge of a main chassis. Its surface was made of deep gunmetal-gray plates, with weapons ports and modules decorating its surface—and one other thing.
A black rod was attached to the belly of the Ares, shining a midnight blue in the glow of the burning warp light. Extending from its back were what appeared to be chains of a shining silver, glowing with the burn of plasma and made of hardened nanofibers woven into thicken chains. These anchor ropes extended backwards into the space between dimensions, where another shape was slowly drawing itself toward the Ares.
It was an angered midnight-blue wedge of metal, encased in its own halo of plasma.
It was a hawklike ship: a dark talon hanging in space. An impossible sight that should not even be able to happen.
An Exin interceptor ship, breaking through warp itself, and grappling with the Marine Fighter Ares.
18
The Intercept
>WARNING! DECOMPRESSION EVENT! . . .
“Gold Squad! Suit up!” Dane shouted as he raced through the tight corridors of the Ares. The lights
were flashing with orange, and, as Dane reached launch bay two where his AMP suit was stored, he could see on the holo displayed by his wrist that the lower hold was being sealed.
“Williams—there’s been some kind of breach in the lower hold. Everyone follow emergency procedures!” Cheng was calling over the communicator. Dane clambered into the harness and slotted his arms and legs into the Assisted Mechanized Plate.
“A breach? But how!?” Dane called. Such a thing was impossible. They were in warp—there were no asteroids or comets or space junk in the dimension beneath material space. Nothing to strike the outer hull of the Ares and rip a hole . . .
“I don’t know—but there is!” Cheng replied tersely.
“Then why aren’t we all dead already?” Dane asked, as the breastplate and outer plates locked into place around him.
>AMP 023 Activating . . .
>>Cycling Engine Sequencers . . .
>>Loading Marine Mainframe . . .
>>Loading Sensors . . .
>>Biological . . .
>>Armaments . . .
They should all be dead, Dane knew. If there was any kind of breach of the outer shell of the Ares in normal, material space, then there would be a serious decompression event as the vacuum of space flooded the inner area of the ship. Doors and bulkheads were routinely sealed as a matter of course anyway, stopping the complete implosion of the ship. But here, in the middle of jump space, it was a different matter altogether.
There was no simple vacuum in jump space. The jumping craft created a bubble of space-time that enveloped them as they tore a hole through the dimensional fabric of the universe. Any popping of that bubble would necessarily throw them out of jump, and more than likely, scatter their components across the galaxy in the process . . .
At least, that was what was supposed to happen.
“There’s been a breach, but no loss of pressure,” Cheng said in confusion. “Wait. I’m getting cameras back up and online in the lower hold. I’ll beam them to you.”
Dane’s faceplate visor slid into place, and the mantle collar swept up from the body of his suit to lock it in. Dane was ready, and his HUD was already alight as a small screen opened up in the top right of his holofield.
“What the . . . ?” Dane whispered. He was looking at the long, strutted form of the lower hold, stowed with metal and plastic crates where essential and spare armaments and equipment were stowed.
But, along one wall, there was a glowing line of molten red, forming a hexagon. The fizzing line met its neighbor and stayed alight for a moment—before the outer section of the wall bent and fell inwards with a clang and the hiss of bubbling metal.
And, jumping into the lower hold, with four arms brandishing blades and shell-like guns, came the black-armored Exin warrior caste.
“That’s impossible!” Hendrix was saying as Dane met him on the way to the lower hold. The Exin were sealed inside, and there were already five of them in there from what the cameras could tell.
“I know. They must have some kind of craft that can break jump travel.” Dane was just as confused as Hendrix was.
“Sarge!” It was Farouk, turning the corridor and following along behind.
“Are you fit for this?” Dane asked severely, casting another look at the bulkhead door ahead of them.
“I don’t want to be blown apart cowering in a medical bed, sir,” Farouk responded just as seriously, and Dane nodded. That, at least, made sense. He guessed that was the same for everyone now.
“Prepare,” Dane said. There were only two doors into the lower hold, and Dane’s team was at one end—while Bruce Cheng and the others were on the far side. It would be a classic pincer move. Attack from both sides, and not give the enemy any chance to—
“Williams—on screen!” Cheng’s voice sounded alarm, and the other sergeant pinged a recording of the last twenty second’s footage to Dane’s AMP suit.
It showed the five Exin warrior caste moving across the room to attack the vents in the walls—before one appeared in front of the camera and sent it crashing to the floor.
“No!” Dane gasped. The Exin were clearly planning to worm their way into the service areas of the Ares and would be free to travel and climb between the walls and to attack them from almost anywhere in the ship.
“Open the doors!” Dane urged, and a second later, there was a hiss of steam—and an almighty explosion.
“Hendrix! Farouk!” Dane was shouting as the smoke cleared. His AMP suit was ringing with alarms. His scans swept ahead, showing that the doors were buckled and twisted inwards, and several of the wall panels had been blown from their holdings.
The black-scaled Exin (who usually wore a deep, bluish-green armature) had set some kind of booby trap, a motion explosive or a timed device, synced to detonate as soon as the doors to the lower hold were opened . . .
“Ts Krargh!”
All save one, that was.
The Exin warrior caste leapt into the space between the Orbital Marines, arms whirling and body moving at a speed that Dane had never seen before.
Crack!
In its long hands it held two short, curving blades, while in its smaller arms it held laser guns, all of which it was using to strike out or fire at the Orbital Marines that were even now attempting to rise from their feet.
>Suit Impact! Breastplate 75% . . .
Dane’s AMP suit was punched with plasma, rocking him backwards as the Exin warrior shot him almost point-blank in the chest. By the time that Dane had raised his pulse rifle to return fire, the Exin was already gone.
The thing was a dervish, throwing a hand with one of its curving blades to scrape a line of glittering sparks across Hendrix’s faceplate. The marine recoiled (more out of surprise than from fear or damage) and by that time, the Exin had kicked him back against the wall before leaping at the next Orbital Marine.
Farouk.
The wounded Farouk.
Dane swiveled in place and started forward. He saw the Exin take a leap into the air, catapulting itself into a spin that sailed over the line of pulse fire that Farouk discharged against it—to come down on the far side with a crunch—
Behind Farouk.
Dane was in the unenviable position of watching his marine turn, too slow and too surprised, as the Exin warrior, still spinning in place, drove a blade deep into the marine’s gut. The nano-bonded metal of the Exin blades was clearly stronger than any human-forged weapon created in industrial laboratories before they were smelted. And the Exin warrior caste themselves were the same size as a human inside an AMP suit.
And what Dane realized in that moment was that these Exin were indeed different than all of those that came before. Not only were their scales as black as a moonless, starless night, but these ones appeared to be faster and stronger. They had traces of black tubes and servos between their dark metal plates that appeared to be implants or augmentation.
They’re Exin Special Ops, a part of Dane’s mind was thinking, even as he saw the tip of the blade emerge out of the back of his marine. Farouk coughed and gasped inside his suit. Falling backwards against the floor, he started to shake.
No. No. NO!
Dane felt the hammer of his heart pulse as he leapt forward—attempting to leap all the way into the past, such was the force of his anger and fury as he whirled the pulse rifle at the Exin warrior.
“Farouk? Farouk!” He could hear Hendrix shouting in dismay behind him, but Dane was already in combat.
Clang!
Dane’s first strike was countered by one of the Exin’s blades, but it was so filled with the might of his rage that the shock of it tore the Exin’s blade from the warrior’s hands.
Wham!
>Suit Impact! Breastplate 50% . . .
The Exin managed to get a shot off at him at point-blank to the chest, which erupted into a sudden burst of plasma fire. But Dane didn’t care. Any instinctive or normal willingness to protect himself from the assaults and attacks of his enemy was gone.
All that mattered now was killing the thing that had killed one of his own . . .
Dane reversed the pulse rifle and hammered it home, aiming for the Exin’s head.
Which, suddenly, wasn’t even there.
Huh?
The Exin had ducked and twisted sideways with serpentine grace, snaking to one side of Dane as he threw his pulse rifle forward.
For the creature’s claws to suddenly grab onto one of Dane’s hands holding the pulse rifle and pull . . .
Dane, having thrown all of his strength into trying to bash the mean hell out of the thing’s face, staggered forward. The Exin inserted one leg between his own and fired both of its laser pistols held by its two smaller arms—straight into Dane’s AMP suit side, again at point-blank range.
>Suit Impact! Left back plating 45% . . .
Dane was spun over to strike the corridor wall with the force of the blast. The Exin was using the laser pistols as much for their force as he was for their destructive power, and it felt to the human marine as if he had been kicked in the side by a horse. He dropped his pulse rifle. It skittered across the floor of the corridor and out of reach as he hit the walls.
“Argh!” But the sergeant was already pushing himself back to his feet, half expecting to find the Exin warrior gloating over his form—but no, his adversary had already leapt away and was now engaging with Hendrix.
Be careful! Dane wanted to shout—but didn’t. In any matter, Private First Class Hendrix knew what he was doing, and he had just seen the expert way that the Exin warrior had dealt with both Farouk and his sergeant.
As Dane staggered to his feet, he saw that Hendrix had managed to get two shots off. Both of them had missed the whirling, leaping Exin—who was immediately right in front of Hendrix and spinning to deliver a blister of blows against his outflung metal arms.
Metal Warrior: Steel Curtain (Mech Fighter Book 8) Page 12
