“Is that all they have?” the man who’d been shot scoffed. “What’re we waiting for, then? Let’s take him down.”
He’d started forward, but the man to his right grabbed his arm, pulling him to a stop. “Oh no you don’t. That guy moves like real military, not like the coast guard group we took out earlier. Let’s not be stupid about this, okay?”
The man shook off his restraining hand. “Then I’ll be sure to let him know the favor we did for his team—right before I put a bullet between his eyes.”
“Idiot,” said the man on his left. “Duane’s right. That prick’s not moving like the coasties were. Didn’t you hear what they were saying before we took ‘em down? Those are Marines out there, asshole. You do not want to fuck with them. Now come on. Let’s get back to the ship.”
The man Thad had tagged wiped at his suit, casting a glare back down the corridor, to where he hid. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one with the messed-up camo.”
“Shoulda zigged instead of zagged.” Duane cuffed him on the back of the head.
The three moved out, and Thad let them pull further away, the microdrone he’d launched the moment the paintball hit its target floating three meters behind them, just out of earshot.
Over his suit’s systems, Thad clearly heard the conversation continue as the drone transmitted the audio that the nanomaterial buried in the paintball bounced up to it. On his HUD, the spike tracker also embedded in the paint flashed a strong signal, telling him exactly where the trio was headed.
“Now, we hunt,” Thad said under his breath as he superimposed the tracking ID on top of the map of the derelict platform.
He saw them turn down a stub corridor up ahead. Flattening himself against the wall, he crept toward the intersection, and nudged his drone forward as he assessed the situation.
A kiosk, its faded sign advertising ‘PX Snack Bites’ dangling from one corner, sat between him and his targets. It wouldn’t provide much in the way of cover if the men he tracked had projectile weapons, but it would have to do.
He briefly entertained the thought of sending a drone ahead to draw their attention away from him, but discarded it almost immediately. The stub was a dead-end, and though platforms like this were notorious for the vermin they attracted, until this exercise had been scheduled, the station had been out of use for nearly six months, its atmosphere evacuated. That effectively eradicated any potential noise-makers.
Thad was willing to bet the invaders knew this, too.
He released the flap that secured his flash-bang grenades and eased his way into the corridor, his CUSP pistol sighting on the nearest IR signature. A few seconds later, he’d made it to the kiosk, and he crouched behind it.
The figures he watched were clad in an outdated form of stealth covering that his HUD’s predictive systems easily identified, though he wondered how the SS had gotten their hands on military-grade equipment. More importantly, if they had the suits, what would their weapons load look like?
That decided his course of action. These couyon had a lot to answer for, but he’d be damned if he’d let them take pot shots at him while he questioned them.
He reached for the flash-bang, arming it with a two-second delay. Glancing down the corridor, he identified his objective: a column that protruded half a meter from the wall.
As he began his sprint, he simultaneously lobbed the grenade while triggering his drakeskin’s defensive screens. Closing his eyes and opening his mouth to ward against the concussive blast, he launched himself into a low dive, rolling up against the pillar at the same instant the grenade went off.
Even through his closed eyelids and the protection his suit offered, the light was still blindingly bright. He wasted no time as it faded, knowing the disorientation brought on by the flash-bang had a finite limit.
Thad’s CUSP was already up and aimed in the direction of the nearest figure. He fired, his military-grade wire implant automatically adjusting the beam’s width to account for the close-in targeting solution.
He pivoted, arm extended, as he centered the weapon’s reticle on the second figure, and then the third. The CUSP’s beam narrowed to accommodate the more distant targets, and he fired twice more in quick succession.
All three dropped to the floor, but Thad wasn’t taking any chances. He holstered the pistol and brought his rifle up from where it hung around his neck in a single-point sling. Raising the rifle’s barrel to a sign hanging precariously above the two he’d just taken out, he fired several shots at the single hinge holding it in place. It landed with a crash on top of them.
Slinging the rifle back over his shoulder, he reacquired the CUSP as he advanced toward the first fallen man. He nudged the still form with his foot, and then fired one more disabling shot, center mass, to ensure the man stayed put.
Satisfied he wouldn’t have to worry about his six, he closed the distance between himself and the other two, his weapon trained on the downed men.
One of them appeared to be knocked out; the other groaned and rolled to his side, attempting to shake off the effects of the CUSP. The man had to be in serious pain from the EM pulse, his nerve cells on fire. Though the setting Thad had dialed into the weapon was non-lethal, he knew from personal experience that it still hurt like a sonofabitch.
Before the man had a chance to recover, Thad took a knee beside him, pulled his hood back, and slapped a ziptie behind his left ear. Turning, he applied another to the guy’s partner, and then backtracked to the first body and did the same. Now, none of the three would be able to call for help, nor move under their own volition.
The ziptie was an invasive app, one that only the military and law enforcement were legally allowed to use. It tied directly into a person’s wire implant, and put the prisoner under their captor’s complete control.
Thad rose, risking a brief comm burst over the combat net as he retraced his steps to the concourse. {Three captives. Heading for extraction point.}
Other than a two-click of acknowledgment, no reply came. That didn’t worry him. The message had been received, and the team would respond in kind when they could.
Once he hit the main hall, he jogged toward a maglev cart he’d seen docked in its charging stand in an alcove set aside for such devices. As he approached, he could see that the unit wasn’t fully charged.
However, its surface was coated in a TENG-PENG. The thin layer of nanogenerator batteries worked to power-harvest both the ambient sound in the atmosphere and the movement of the cart itself, converting both to stored energy.
If the platform had been operational, the cart would have been at full capacity. As it stood, with the station having been unoccupied prior to the arrival of Team Five and the coasties, the device’s battery reserve had bled dry.
Thad crouched beside the unit, his right hand unsheathing the knife he kept strapped to the underside of his left wrist. Inserting the flat end of the blade against the generator that powered the maglev’s coils, he pried its lid loose.
He held it open with one hand while, with the other, he opened a vest pocket and grabbed one of his CUSP’s spare batteries. Peeling back the casing to expose the terminals, he tied the battery into the circuit, effectively hot-wiring it.
It hummed, the controls flickering to life. A moment later, Thad was rewarded for his efforts when the cart rose, hovering a scant centimeter above the concourse floor. Pulling it out of its charging dock, he nudged it back toward his three immobilized prisoners.
He let out a silent, relieved breath when he found them as he’d left them. He’d been careful to scan for additional SS personnel along the way, yet it always paid to be cautious.
Special forces lived by the motto, ‘See one, think two.’
While he piled the two unconscious men onto the cart, he used his wire implant to access the ziptie that held the third man immobile, altering its parameters to allow limited movement.
Stepping back, he motioned to him. “Get up.”
The man gla
red at Thad, refusing to move.
Thad shrugged. He didn’t much care whether the couyon walked or rode atop the pile, though he’d prefer to have the insurgent’s hands occupied pushing the cart, leaving his own free to respond to any threats.
He aimed the pistol, his finger moving toward the trigger. The man rose to his feet, remembered pain causing him to respond with alacrity.
Thad motioned him over to the cart. “Push.”
He followed behind as his captive pushed the maglev through the concourse. Halfway to the hatch where the team had inserted, Lane’s voice sounded in his head.
{Noble Two. Noble Three and Five are en route and will rendezvous with you.}
He sent her a quick two-click to acknowledge.
{Noble Four and Six, head to alternate LZ. Our hosts will guide you in.}
A flurry of two-clicks followed from each of the other team members.
Unit protocol dictated such brevity as a way to keep the enemy from triangulating a location through comm transmissions. The likelihood of the SS being able to track them was nonexistent; still, SOP was followed.
Thad’s eyes strayed to the slumped forms on the maglev cart, clad in decades-old Navy stealth suits. Someone out there was supplying these fils-putain with military-grade equipment, despite its age.
Maybe it’s best not to underestimate these people.
As he drew near the airlock leading to the maintenance hatch, he caught sight of Jack and Asha, code-named Noble Three and Noble Five.
“LT,” the Marine intelligence officer greeted, and Thad lifted his chin in response. Asha gave Thad a silent nod, her eyes watchful as she kept her weapon trained down the corridor.
The curious light in Jack’s eyes told Thad the intelligence officer wanted to ask about the pile of bodies piled atop the maglev cart, once they were back aboard Scimitar.
“Later,” he warned, and Jack nodded.
Asha slung her rifle over her shoulder, unclipping the scanner at her waist as she approached the cart.
“Those two will be coming out from under a CUSP soon,” Thad informed her as she reached for the first man. “They’re also ziptied.” He touched her wrist lightly with one hand, initiating a peer-to-peer connection between their wires, allowing him to transfer the two zipties to her control.
She acknowledged the handover even as her eyes remained fixed on her patients.
“Wonder where they got these,” Jack murmured, fingering the cloth of one of the stealth suits the men wore.
Though it was several generations old, it was still far superior to anything on the civilian market. If this platform had been occupied by Cobalt employees,
they would have had no way to detect the infiltration, and no warning before a surprise attack.
“That’s one of the things we need to find out,” replied Thad, pinning Jack with a wordless look.
Jack’s lips tightened in response to the unspoken order as Thad held up a palm. Jack clasped it in an upright grip, and Thad used the contact to hand over control of the third man.
The slow smile that creased Jack’s face as he turned to face the insurgent was the stuff of nightmares.
He advanced, one hand releasing the holster that secured his flechette, while the other beckoned the man forward. “You. Come with me.” Jack’s eyes had gone dead, his voice held the whisper of death. He looked like he’d just as soon shoot the guy as interrogate him.
The SS separatist fought the Ziptie with all his might, but to no avail. He swallowed convulsively when Jack snapped his fingers, his body lurching forward under the app’s compulsion.
“Inside,” Jack ordered, pointing to the airlock.
Thad suspected the man thought he was about to be spaced.
Jack dipped his head to Thad, and the lieutenant caught a twinkle of amusement in the other Marine’s eyes before he turned and followed his prisoner inside, the hatch cycling shut behind him.
Asha blew out a breath. “He can be scary as hell when he does that, you know?”
A deep chuckle shook Thad’s frame. “All part of the routine. He gets into their heads and fucks with them. If it helps save lives, I’m all for it, cher.”
Fifteen minutes later, Jack emerged, all traces of humor gone.
“We need to round up the rest of the team and get the hell off this platform.”
Asha’s head jerked up. “Is the team in danger?”
Jack shook his head. “Not them, no. Ironically enough, these jokers were here for much the same reason we were… except their war games were a rehearsal for a very real hostage situation going down on a nearby platform—and it’s already underway.”
* * *
The ships that emerged from behind the asteroid had a clear agenda. Micah had to admit it would have been an effective strategy, if they hadn’t been up against a Shadow Recon ship and its crew.
While two of the ships harried Scimitar, the third bolted for the black.
{Spike him!} Rafe’s order slashed through Micah’s head even as he spun out three Griffins and sent them arrowing at the fleeing vessel.
{On it.}
The stealth drones that sped after the escaping craft were all sleek speed, rolled up into an impressively covert package. Their small but mighty fusion reactors were hidden behind layers of high-performance electromagnetic shielding. Their cross-sectional return was so small, even standard Navy ships’ SIs would dismiss them as a blip from a system’s heliospheric current sheet.
Buried amidst its twisted graphene-and-foam substrates, each drone carried one very powerful tool: a program that would ‘spike’ its objective with a shower of nanoscopic tags. Identical to the spike Jack had integrated into the paintball pellets, each tag held a unique geometric signature, registered in a secured special operations database.
An app aboard each drone would register the negative space created by each spike on the surface it tagged, and track the void, pinpointing its location.
The ship the Griffins were pursuing was boosting hard, and Micah had to accelerate the drones to fifty gs before they reached an overfly velocity. By the time they neared their objective, the drones were already far enough out to account for several seconds of light lag, so Micah handed control over to each drone’s SI.
He kept one eye on the feed while he returned his attention to the two ships Scimitar was engaging. Rafe flipped the ship, giving Dana an oblique shot at one of the vessels’ more vulnerable forward thruster ports. She obligingly strafed the craft with railgun fire as Scimitar shot past, the engagement over almost before it had begun.
Rafe flipped once again, braking hard to counteract momentum, as Micah’s attention locked onto the second ship. It was doing its best to keep its port side toward Scimitar, which suggested damage somewhere along its starboard sidewalls.
Micah snuck a pair of Banshees above the vessel while Dana distracted it with a broadside. His lips curved into a predatory smile as he saw he’d guessed correctly.
He unleashed the drones’ five-centimeter lasers in short, deadly pulses at the damaged section, and then stopped abruptly as the ship veered sharply away, heavily venting atmosphere.
{Open comm,} Rafe ordered.
A beat later, Micah heard Cass’s voice.
{Comm open, sir.}
Rafe ordered the ship to heave to, and when it looked like the ship would comply, Micah returned his focus to the spiked ship.
{SS vessels, prepare to be boarded}, he heard Rafe say as a pair of Novastrike attack crafts launched from the coast guard cutter and began to close on the two disabled enemy ships.
{I’ve got a solid lock on the third ship,} Micah announced, flipping the data up onto the ship’s net.
{Good. Let’s leave cleanup to the cutter. Ping the team and tell them we’re hunting down that third—}
Cass cut Rafe off. {Sir, you need to hear this.}
Lane broke through, her voice terse. {Request pickup ASAP. Intel suggests SS is engaging a nearby platform.}
{S
hit. You mean they’re that organized, and Navy Intelligence hasn’t caught onto it yet?}
{Would appear so, yes.}
{On our way,} Rafe told Lane as he maneuvered Scimitar back toward the platform.
{Good copy, Scimitar. Coasties’ll handle things here so we can move on to the next objective.}
Micah’s ears pricked up at that. {You have a bead on their planned hit?} he interjected.
{Yes.} Thad’s voice picked up where Lane left off. {Scimitar and Team Five are the nearest responders, so we’re up. We’ll need to proceed with caution… sounds like it’s a hostage situation.}
FIVE
CMS Goblin
Cobalt Mining Sector Twelve
Katie spent a tense few hours waiting to hear from Jeremy… or anyone from Sierra Twelve, for that matter. Once STC fell silent, she brought up the channel that the pilots used to converse between ships. There was a lot of chatter and speculation on what was going on—more activity than she’d ever heard, in fact—but no real news.
Pilots nearest to the platform were recounting what they’d seen in a play-by-play manner, while the ships farthest away plied them with questions. Theories were bandied back and forth, everything from pirates to a top-secret government operation, although the guy who’d suggested that last had been ribbed pretty hard for it.
When the STC channel came to life once more, it wasn’t Jeremy’s voice she heard.
{All ships are to return to Sierra Twelve. Repeat, all ships, return to Sierra Twelve.}
The single order was transmitted, repeated once, and then the channel went dark. The unfamiliar voice would not reply to any of the pilots’ queries.
The platform had just entered the envelope, the extreme reach of Goblin’s sensor range. It looked different somehow, and Katie studied it, wondering what it was that seemed out of place. Abruptly, she realized the difference was that there were more ships docked at the platform than she was used to seeing in one place.
For some reason, the ships that had been scheduled to depart were being held back. She’d be crossing over into Sierra Twelve’s nearspace soon, and officially under its area of influence.
Operation Cobalt – A Military Science Fiction Thriller: The Biogenesis War Files Page 3
