War Without Honor (Halloran's War Series Book 1)

by J. R. Geoghan

  In addition, of course, these reactors also formed the heart of the jumpdrive system which had originally opened the vast distances between star systems to humanity. Today, however, the fleets now maneuvering toward each other used propulsion nacelles expelling ions rather than the light-time bending jumpdrives. Accelerating with your jumpdrive within a star system was a recipe for disaster—such as punching inadvertently through a planetary body or even a star itself if the calculations were off by a small margin. In general practice, vessels charted a course to the nearest point above or below the plane of the system that would allow for a “jump window” between known bodies such as planets, moons and asteroids. Then, the vessel could theoretically engage its jump drive and depart the system enroute to the destination coordinates pre-programmed into the drive’s computer. Very little was manual control, given the immense distances between coordinates and the small tolerances for error inherent in interstellar high-speed travel. Computers processed the flight path in real-time and the shutdown deceleration sequence as the vessel arrived near to the destination.

  Tarsa sighed. They would once again test the Prax’s resolve to defend the planet that was not theirs to keep. Even with all the modern combat tech, the winning edge came down to wit, determination and luck. They would need all of those today. He hoped that it would be worth it.

  “Engage the enemy, Captain.”

  Chapter 26

  Rat City

  Axxa stiffened. “Deacon returns. I do not believe he is alone.”

  Halloran listened but couldn’t hear anything. “You have good hearing.”

  The red alien’s face was dimly visible in the light filtering in around the steel door. He was regarding the human with a serious face that Halloran couldn’t read. “Or more correctly, humans have poor perception skills.”

  Halloran shrugged.

  “That gesture of humans interests me.”

  “Later.” Halloran stepped back into the darkness as a fist rapped on the door. “Open it.”

  Axxa hauled open the door, which gave way reluctantly. Light flooded the room, causing several grunts and calls from his crew. Deacon barged in, followed by an young boy.

  “Oh great, the rescue party is here,” Halloran heard Chandler mutter dryly by his side.

  Deacon went straight to Halloran. “I need you to come with me—now.” He thrust a small, oily cloth sack into his hands.

  Chandler stepped forward. “The Captain’s not going anywhere.”

  Halloran opened the sack and drew out an ugly-looking handgun. “Okay...” There were two others in the bag.

  “My contact gave these to me to protect you until you and I get there, and for your people to have.” Deacon looked at Axxa, who Halloran sensed was uncomfortable with the presence of the weapons.

  Halloran turned the gun over in his hands. It was thick and had a bulky initial appearance, but as he gripped the stock he noticed its overall balance. He assumed it was loaded and looked for a magazine well. “What does this thing shoot?”

  “It is a projectile weapon of human origin.”

  Halloran handed a second gun to Chandler, whom he knew was a crack shot.

  Deacon was eyeing the sack. “Hey! I brought the guns…”

  “Um hmm. Antonov!”

  The Russian was nearby, listening. He stepped over. Halloran gave him the sack. “There’s one of these inside. You’re a Captain; you should have it.”

  Antonov pulled out the gun and looked at it, then looked at Halloran. “Zhang is an Admiral.”

  Halloran shrugged. “Eh. I should be one myself by now.” He nodded meaningfully at Antonov.

  “You honor me, Captain.”

  “Tom to my friends.” They shook hands. Halloran felt the Russian had to be trusted and he needed officers.

  Chandler smirked. “Well, there’s some real nice male bonding, there.” He was holding his gun out, pointing at the open doorway, testing its balance.

  Halloran ignored him and looked at Deacon. “Tell us how to handle these things.”

  “Why? I don’t get one.”

  “Do you even know?”

  The young man pursed his lips, clearly annoyed. “Nope.”

  Halloran addressed the boy next to him. “And who are you?”

  The kid didn’t answer.

  Deacon stepped in. “He’s someone who knows the back alleys and hiding spots all around the city. He’s how I knew about this old place.”

  Chandler had figured out the pistol. “Tom, Pyotr, look at this.” He pressed a small lever on the side of the weapon and the foresight glowed orange. “Nice for low-light fighting.”

  “How does it load?”

  “I believe it loads from the top.” He showed them a thin groove that ran the length of the ridge along the top of the frame. “The projectiles must be narrow. They aren’t gunpowder-propelled.”

  Axxa had been standing by quietly, watching the humans inspect the guns. Now he stepped forward, provoking the boy to squeak something and run out the door. The Prax ignored him and reached out a hand to Chandler, palm up.

  Chandler glanced uneasily at Halloran, who frowned but nodded slowly.

  Axxa took the gun and quickly scanned it, settling on the forestock. He twisted it while holding the grip with his other hand. The gun gave a slight click and a short whine of noise filled the air momentarily. He handed it back to Chandler. “This is an older human model. Praxxan forces prefer plasma-propelled weaponry.”

  Chandler studied the gun. “What did you just do?”

  “I energized the weapon. It is electromagnetically powered.”

  Halloran twisted his and it responded in the same manner. “It’s a handheld rail gun.”

  Antonov charged his own pistol. “Now we go?”

  Deacon was in the door, looking anxiously in the direction the boy had run off. “Just him,” he pointed at Halloran. “My contact wants to see only him.”

  “Why?”

  “To negotiate passage for your crew. He didn’t plan on so many passengers. Frankly, I think his ship might fall apart.”

  Chandler leaned out the doorway and looked up and down the alley. “Sounds like a solid getaway. All quiet out here.”

  “We all go,” replied Halloran with determination. There was no way he was leaving his crew now.

  Deacon’s eyes were angry. “He will be displeased!”

  “What do you think?” Halloran asked Axxa. In the light from the morning spilling into the doorway, he saw the alien’s sharp features with new interest. These things are not from our world.

  “I believe…it would be unwise to separate. The likelihood of our being discovered is very high even if we divide ourselves. And I suspect you would prefer to not be missing from your crew should we be engaged by my security forces.”

  Halloran didn’t like the way the alien said “my” but nodded all the same. “I concur. We move together. Chandler, get the Chief on his feet and get the crew ready to move out in five.” He grabbed Deacon by his shoulder. “You get us to your contact and let me do the talking.”

  “I need to find out where Boro went.”

  “Who?”

  Deacon pointed out the door. “The boy. He’s our guide to the back alleys. We can’t just walk down the streets—there are observers everywhere in the open.”

  “Okay, go get him, but come back quick. I want to keep moving.”

  When he ran off, Halloran pushed the door closed somewhat and leaned on it, looking at Axxa. “Observers?”

  “Our security uses many of them around your world to monitor human activity. They will be tracking us by our group heat signature quickly.”

  “What are they, drones?” Halloran waved his hand like it was flying. “Airborne?”

  “Yes, they are powered by an antigrav generator and can stay in position very silently, undetectable in many ways. Your human resistance forces destroy them from time to time, but we retaliate.” He looked abashed at saying that.

  Hall
oran nodded. This alien really seems ashamed of something. He looked at Antonov. “So…drones, out looking for us around the city. This kid and Deacon takes our group to his contact via clandestine passages as best possible, then I negotiate for our passage to wherever he’s going.”

  Antonov smiled. “Sounds like an American plan.”

  Halloran returned the grin with a shrug. “It’s worked in the past.”

  The crew were moving to the doorway, several coming close to look at the gun. One named Frank DeBartelo asked, “how does it work, Captain?”

  “We’ll find out soon enough, Frank.”

  “Got any more, sir?”

  Halloran shook his head.

  “Long way from my torpedo tubes, sir.”

  Halloran thought of his beloved submarine, stranded out there. “A long way, sailor.”

  Deacon was back in a minute, towing the kid named Boro behind him. Boro looked scared. “We go now,” he announced to Halloran and Chandler.

  Halloran glanced back to check that everyone was on their feet. “Lead the way. Skip, you take tail-end Charlie. Antonov, go with Deacon and Axxa. I’ll encourage the crew along and catch up to you in a minute.”

  As the line of sailors moved past him out into the alley, Halloran patted people on the back, giving words of support and direction to as many as he could. Some of them were wounded and having a hard time of it with crude bandaging, but they had to keep moving, even if it caused them to be detected. He still didn’t fully comprehend what they could expect to see out there in this new Earth, but he had a responsibility to save as many as possible no matter what. The grim looks the crew returned to him as they passed gave him little solace; they would be hard-pressed to ever constitute a fighting force again, especially in this time. Where was the American military in this future year? He felt the eyes of his enemy upon him.

  The last of the crew passed by and he trotted after the group, alongside Chandler. “I’ve got a bad feeling,” he said to the man out of the side of his mouth.

  “You and I both, Tom.” Chandler was watching the alley behind them, then looking up at the sky visible between the buildings far above.

  “I’m going forward. Don’t get lost back here.”

  His first officer’s look confirmed his desire to avoid that outcome, and Halloran took off at a quick run to catch up with the front of their motley column.

  “Observers have detected a moving group of humans, Lord,” The voice in his comm unit was the regional commander of the security force. “Moving off to your right.”

  Calxen paused his group with a raised hand. “Show me.”

  His screen lit up with a video feed from the aerial unit, which would be just out of line-of-sight over the tops of the infernal maze of human buildings that made up this city. The moving image was using heat-detection rather than visible spectrum. A large group of humans were moving at a reasonably fast pace through a winding, narrow passageway.

  One of the security team with him pointed at the screen, then off in a direction. “They are opening the distance, Commander.”

  “Route me to an intercept of their group, Commander,” ordered Calxen. “And what’s the ETA of my ship?”

  “Forwarding the route to you now. Your vessel is due at your location in twelve.”

  The bright red line indicating their suggested route through the city maze was now overlaid on the heat-map view. Calxen waved an arm in the correct direction and the group moved off. He desired his own team of professionals in this moment, but couldn’t afford to wait and let the humans move too far ahead. He could just destroy this part of the city with weaponry and eliminate the threat, but he realized that these humans needed to recaptured alive to stand and die before his father.

  I’ll catch you, human, he thought grimly as he goaded his group forward through the passages, barely noting the dozens of inconsequential humans who darted out of their way or cowered against walls at the sight of their oncoming charge. These are little more than animals, good for hunting and little else.

  “We have another team moving to intercept, Commander,” the regional commander announced with a touch of pride in his voice.

  “No!” Calxen roared. “This group is mine. Your team will stand down and await my arrival, is that clear?”

  “Lord, that may jeopardize their swift capture…”

  Calxen felt the heat building under his visor. “Do not question me again, Commander.”

  A pause and then, “as you desire, Lord.”

  “Faster!” Called Calxen to his team. They needed to pick up their pace.

  Chapter 27

  “We’re only a short distance to the tunnel entrance,” gasped Deacon.

  “Tunnel?” asked Antonov, also out of breath at their run.

  Halloran kept his mouth shut and let the boy lead them up another sharp slope, darting across a street without looking left nor right—it didn’t matter now unless the bullets started flying. Looking over his shoulder he paused at the other side of the opening and waved his people across wordlessly, encouraging them to not look but keep moving. Chandler was the last across.

  “No action back here?” Halloran asked as he started running to keep up.

  “It’s too quiet.” Chandler, too, was out of breath.

  “You think they’re setting us up somewhere.”

  The other man nodded without turning to make eye contact.

  “Noted, stay sharp back here.”

  Another nod and Halloran took off.

  Before he could get back to the front of the line of camo-clad sailors he found that they’d stopped and were ducking into the side of a large building, seemingly through a hole partially filled with collapsed rubble. Halloran stopped at the hole and looked over the procession of men ducking into it to make eye contact with Deacon. “Where are we going?” Axxa was nowhere to be seen.

  “The man, the pilot, his ship is down there.” He pointed to the hole.

  “Dark in there, sir,” called one of the crew.

  “Keep moving, sailor,” replied Halloran. To Deacon he said, “Where’s Axxa?”

  “With your officer, up front.”

  “Won’t that spook anyone in there?”

  Deacon shook his head. “Boro knows the way.”

  Halloran looked back. Still twenty crew left in the alley. Chandler was in back, looking over his shoulder.

  Deacon stepped through the ranks and grabbed Halloran. “You go now. I will be right behind you.”

  With some misgivings, Halloran left the rest on the surface and squeezed into the hole. It was certainly dark in there, and the ground quickly sloped downward. Within a few yards he felt the dampness mounting, along with a smell he recognized immediately. It was the smell of home; the sea.

  “Sir, you smell that?” asked a crewman from behind him.

  “You betcha, son.”

  “Almost makes you wish this was a dream, not a nightmare.” The man’s voice cracked as he finished.

  “Just keep moving, sailor.”

  “Aye, sir,” sighed the man. So young…

  The brick and concrete walls gave way to stone and crumbling sand, the passageway turning this way and that. All each of them could do was follow the man in front of them in silence, sometimes reaching out and tapping them on the back to assure them of their presence behind. The shuffling of feet was pronounced in the dark confines.

  “The group is disappearing off the scope, Lord,” announced the regional commander over the comm. “They appear to be entering a structure.”

  Calxen looked at his screen a bit harder. He’d been cursorily following the red route line for the last stretch. Sure enough, the last few humans winked out of the observer’s heat signature view. “Target that building.”

  “For destruction?”

  “Land my ship on it. I want my team present at the kill.”

  As you wish. My teams—”

  “—Will support us in our attack. They stand by for the moment.” He coul
d practically sense the other’s anger over the comm channel as the Praxxan did not answer. No matter. He was only moments away from turning up that street.

  With a rush of air, his ship passed overheard, skimming the rooftops. Good, they would be ready when he arrived.

  The passage opened suddenly into a room that had the faintest of lighting illuminating it. After the darkness of the maze of tunnels, the space seemed blindingly bright.

  “Why are we stopped?” Halloran pushed forward through his men to the front of the line, quickly discovering why the group had halted.

  An older man with grizzled hair stood partially obscured behind an outcropping of wall, a weapon leveled at Axxa and Antonov. The latter had his gun but was wisely holding it out of sight behind him. The gaggle of sailors stacked up in the entry to the room, crowding to see what had stopped their progress.

  “You there! Stop where you are,” the man called to Halloran.

  Antonov said quietly, “he’s speaking that language, too.”

  “I understand him,” answered Halloran. To the man he said, “Do not fire on us.” His eye sought out the Boro kid but couldn’t find him. “We were sent here by Deacon, who is himself coming up behind me.” At least I sure hope so.

  “My understanding is that you are Fleet, but you don’t look the part,” the man called, crouching down a bit as if to take more cover.

  Halloran took a small step forward, ahead of the alien and Antonov. He raised his palms. “I’m Captain Thomas Halloran of the United States Navy, if that’s the fleet you’re referring to. We are here to seek passage on a ship that was promised.”

  “You’re a Captain? In what? The ‘United States Navy?’” The man frowned, his gun unwavering. “You’re not Grays.”

  “Gray what?”

  Axxa spoke for the first time. “I believe this is a slang reference to the human Fleet uniforms, which are the color this man references.”

  The man pointed the gun at Axxa, figner tensing noticeably on the trigger. “Nobody said anything about taking one of those filthy creatures. Where’s Deacon?”