Victory's Wake (Deception Fleet Book 1)

by Daniel Gibbs

  The sensor readout told him he’d scorched the shuttle’s underside, which would keep it from rising above the atmosphere—shielded or not, the heat-resistant panels were necessary to keep it from burning up on reentry.

  Sure enough, the little ship turned back.

  “Nice shot,” Carlos said.

  “Yes, it was,” Arvid admitted. “But they have no doubt sent a warning to the other vessels in orbit. This is when you prove to me Lucy Lee is worth her reputation as a smuggler—given she was already caught once.”

  “A fluke.” Carlos grinned. “Not this time.”

  He killed the engines, letting the scow race past a gaggle of ships. A pair of Border vessels had detained three freighters. Carlos nudged Lucy Lee onto a vector skirting their edges, all without applying engine thrust, making like a rock—until he’d slipped alongside their perimeter, and the nearest Pikeman-class corvette whipped around to target them.

  The next round of acceleration slammed Jackson against his restraints. He slapped the console and whooped, even as the spike of fear inherent in that part of any op stabbed through his chest. Zero comms, for the moment. No Brant guiding him, not until he got to wherever they were headed. Fingers crossed Major Mancini was ready.

  CSV Tuscon took up a shadow course once Lucy Lee’s engines cut out again. Mancini ordered the pilot to accelerate around the opposite side of Aphendrika from the smuggler ship, then he, too, shut down engines once the gravity assist slingshotted them to a velocity approaching their targets.

  “Conn, Pilot. Drive secured.”

  “Confirmed, Pilot. Let’s see where she takes us,” Mancini said. “Here’s hoping Captain Adams doesn’t run into any onboard interference. COB, rig for ultraquiet.”

  “Rig for ultraquiet, aye, Skipper.” Master Chief Abraham Cosentino’s voice boomed in response. He was, as chief of the boat, senior enlisted advisor to the captain and XO. “Secure all nonessential machinery.”

  Mancini eyeballed his display as the alert strobe bathed the control room blue. A few of the crew shuffled out. Monitors blinked off. All over the ship, the noises of Tuscon’s operation died off. “TAO, repopulate the board. Sensor Room, what else have we got?”

  “Conn, Sensor. A couple more Sierras to mark, sir. Probable smugglers. There’s hundreds of ships out there.”

  “All the better for us. We can hide among the piles of drive plumes and reactor signatures.”

  “Aye, sir. Painting them up.”

  Captain Godat leaned in. “Once we’re in close enough to wherever Adams is leading us, you’ll be wanting an active deep scan of the location, I’m assuming.”

  “We’ll get whatever we can and bring in Oxford on the data. If there’s what we all hope is hiding out there, Master Chief MacDonald won’t be so bored anymore.” Mancini expanded the view on his display. Sensor wasn’t kidding—hundreds of ships, from Aphendrika, the planet, out several orbits. Who knew how many more lurked about the asteroids? It didn’t help that the system was a messy one, full of debris.

  “Conn, Sensor Room.” The senior chief came back with an insistent tone. “Have a possible bandit. A vessel burned right after we did, for the same length of time. Computer thought it was an echo lensed by the planet’s gravity well, but I took a second look—definitely a different signature.”

  “Sensor Room, where?” Mancini brushed past Godat as he stared at the tactical screen, over Lieutenant Olesen’s shoulder.

  “Aft, five thousand kilometers before it blinked off passive scans.”

  “Stay on it.”

  “Active scans?”

  “Passive only. I don’t want to tip them off.”

  “Aye, sir. Contact designated as Sierra Two. Sensor Room out.”

  Mancini frowned at the new indicator. It was marked to show the current position was estimated—even with Tuscon’s state-of-the-art sensors, they couldn’t be sure exactly where the ship was, if there was one. Not that Mancini doubted his crew, but machines could make errors. Hence the need for people to confirm the information instead of relying on what they were fed.

  It went against the mantra of the silent service. No mistakes. Ever.

  “Coming up on a cluster of asteroids, sir,” the pilot said. “Sensor has twenty-three objects, still clicking upward.”

  “Confirmed, Pilot,” Godat said. “Status of Sierra Two?”

  “Picking up thruster bursts only. No sign of deceleration from the primary engines yet.”

  “Maintain present course.” Mancini took a sip of coffee. Gah. Lukewarm like engine grease. “What do you think, XO? Have our spooks found the League’s spider hole?”

  “They’ve found something, sir,” Godat mused. “I don’t think Adams would have put himself onto the same ship as the cartel’s enforcers if he weren’t confident he’d get a step closer. I’d have put in for a few days’ medical leave after nearly getting myself blown up.”

  “Good joke. You know I’d never let you take leave.”

  “Fair point. What was I thinking?” Godat shook his head, though he grinned. “Are you telling me CDF forgot to put a clause in the peace treaty about stealth boat crews getting better benefits?”

  “I’m sure it was the first thing they cut out.”

  The officers lapsed into an amiable silence as Tuscon cruised behind Lucy, far enough to remain undetected but near enough their sensors could track her moves. Other than a few course corrections, she made no sudden adjustments—no surprise, Mancini knew, because TCFE wasn’t chasing. One might put it down to skill or good luck, but it didn’t hurt that Colonel Sinclair had signaled the TCFE ships in the immediate area to ignore what had gone on—no official explanation given.

  Mancini had just set the mug back down for the fifth time when an alarm bell clanged twice.

  “Conn, TAO. Aspect change, missile launch detected, location unknown.” Olesen snapped. “Two, repeat, two missiles launched. They’ve acquired us and are homing.”

  Adrenaline jolted Mancini. “Pilot, evasive maneuvers. Come to heading zero-two-four, all ahead flank.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Tuscon lurched as their inertial compensator caught up with the sudden acceleration. Twin markers blinked on the tactical display—missiles fired from behind them.

  “TAO, designate Sierra Two as Master One,” Mancini said, using the term for a confirmed hostile vessel. “Give me updated vectors.”

  “Uh, sir, Sierra Two didn’t fire those missiles. We don’t have a contact yet for the hostile.”

  “Belay that order, then, TAO. Focus on finding me something to shoot at.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. Working backward on the missile trajectory now.”

  That would give them a better set of coordinates to look toward, and coupled with other factors—acceleration of the missiles, initial speed when they were launched—they would be able to get a lock.

  “Conn, TAO. Time to impact, twenty-five seconds.”

  “Electronic countermeasures activated,” Godat said.

  One of the missiles veered suddenly off course, corkscrewing on a trajectory taking it to the fringes of the approaching asteroid field. A few seconds later, it exploded.

  “If we weren’t on everyone’s screens before, we are now,” Mancini said.

  Of course, Tuscon could fight and was a potent first-strike boat, but she was meant to splash a target after approaching under extreme stealth, not be the one ambushed.

  “Where’s the other missile?”

  “Still on us, Skipper.”

  “TAO, activate point defense in automatic mode.”

  “Locked and confirmed, sir.”

  “Activate.”

  The rumble through Tuscon’s hull sent Mancini’s coffee mug to the edge of its perch. He caught it before it could drop the lukewarm contents onto the deck. The CIWS guns sent out a barrage that bracketed the incoming missile, shredding it until the payload ignited in a flash even more brilliant than the first.

  Only then did Mancini l
et himself breathe. Thanks be to God we caught the launches in time.

  But the damage had been done. He’d been forced to kick on Tuscon’s drive, which was as good as a spy screaming his presence in the middle of a late-night break-in. Any ships nearby would know another vessel was out there.

  “Pursuit course, Skipper?” Godat asked.

  Mancini’s orders were to shadow Lucy Lee and investigate whatever the League had hidden at the end of her run. But the hostile was still out there, a ship capable of sneaking up on a stealth boat, which was nothing he was willing to leave at his back. The threat to CDF personnel alone made him go cold. “Sensor Room, give me good news.”

  “Conn, Sensor Room. I’ve got a trajectory for the hostile, sir. Designating it Master One. She’s turning back out into the system, running for the asteroid field on a vector ninety degrees to original and up thirty over the ecliptic plane.”

  “Pilot, lay in an intercept course, flank speed.”

  “Intercept laid in, aye, sir.”

  Tuscon surged after her attacker. The distance closed.

  “TAO, firing point procedures, Master One, Hunter missiles, tubes one through four.”

  “Firing solutions set.”

  “Make tubes one through four ready to fire on all aspects. Open outer doors.”

  “Tubes one through four ready, outer doors open,” Olesen added.

  Mancini prayed for the souls of whoever was on Master One, because if he ended their lives, he wanted to do them the courtesy of receiving forgiveness before they faced eternity. “TAO, match bearings, shoot tubes one through four.”

  Four missiles raced out into the void, blazing for Master One. Tuscon’s sensors had it locked, so no amount of evasive maneuvering would help.

  Mancini scowled at the detailed scans Sensor routed to the command center. “That’s a match to the freighter Adams’ people spotted down on Aphendrika.”

  “Yes, sir, it is. Coming back to within ninety-four percent certainty. Different registry and ID.”

  “Stealth coatings?” Godat asked.

  “Not as good as ours, Captain, but better than anything that’s typical League.”

  One by one, the missiles winked out. Mancini blinked. Even with the time delay from how far out they’d traveled, they shouldn’t have exploded by then.

  “PD fire.” Olesen sounded awed. “They flooded space with xaser bursts around them, sir. Micrometeorites took at least one out too. I’ve never seen a perfect kill ratio on Hunters before.”

  “Conn, Sensor Room. Master One has gone dark. They’re in the field now.”

  Damn. Mancini glanced at Godat. “Better secure a tight beam to Colonel Sinclair. There’s still time for us to double back after Lucy, but he’s got to know the freighter we’ve been looking for isn’t anything like the typical smuggler.”

  Godat nodded. “The League’s upped their tech game.”

  “And I’m not going to give them a second chance to test it,” Mancini said.

  Jackson stood by Lucy Lee’s cargo hatch as robotic loaders tromped back and forth between the ship and the reinforced cavern. They stacked the parts deliveries outside another hatch, one he assumed led deeper into the asteroid.

  “Five more minutes, and we’re unloaded,” Arvid said. “Be sure the drones take every box from the hold. I want nothing left behind.”

  “You got it.” Jackson gave him a thumbs-up. The gesture didn’t get a reaction beyond a sullen look as Arvid turned for the ladder out of the cargo bay.

  “Are you, uh, taking notes?” Carlos whispered to him.

  Jackson smiled. “You bet I am. If they’ll let me get into these smuggler runs more often, I’ll pull in more money than I would have off Salvatore’s shop.”

  Carlos stared at him a moment then grinned. “Yeah, sure will. I’m headed back up to the bridge to make sure we’re ready to shove off as soon as the goods are unloaded.”

  “See you there.”

  It was a relief to watch him leave. As good a job as he’d done playing his part, Carlos was a civilian interloper to the operation. Trusting him to keep the story straight—and his mouth shut at inopportune moments—hadn’t failed, yet, but fear was a powerful motivator.

  Jackson, meanwhile, made sure his wrist unit was soaking up everything it could via the sensors Brant had custom fitted. Its prior upgrade meant the memory space could be filled for hours. Jackson wanted to take no chances, especially when he noted the gun emplacements tucked into the mouth of the cave, obscured by the new stacks of containers.

  He was one step closer to shutting down the League’s aims in the Aphendrika system. He would gladly risk his own neck to see the mission through, but there was no need to be reckless—not when other lives were depending on his actions.

  Pain lanced up his leg. Jackson shifted weight. When he did, vertigo rushed through him. He braced himself on the hold’s bulkhead. His body felt like he was riding the family hovercraft again, at the ranch, so much so he could smell the sagebrush after the rain.

  Steady. Jackson knew there was no room for error. Almost there.

  20

  Kolossi

  Aphendrika—Terran Coalition

  30 July 2464

  The moon was a glistening crescent, overpowering the stars and turning the cloud tops pale blue. Sevastopol Rast could have gazed upon the vista for endless nights.

  “Drop zone comin’ up, Sev. No stopping this time—I’ll slow a bit, brush the tall grass, and you roll out. No fuss, no muss, roger?”

  “Roger.” Sev secured his backpack’s straps and clutched the carbine close to his chest. He was clad head to toe in mottled black with shifting designs, an adaptive camouflage meant to mimic most surroundings. It was having issues with the stealth shuttle’s interior. Nature was more its speed.

  “Down in five,” Warrant Dwyer said.

  The shuttle’s dive through the cloud cover was choppy. Unsurprising, given the rainstorm pounding a hundred square kilometers across a long cold front. Sev positioned himself at the side hatch, hand poised on the release.

  “Eight meters and descending. Good luck and Godspeed, Deadeye.”

  Sev flashed him a two-fingered salute and triggered the control.

  Bitter, damp air rolled into the cabin. The ground was a dark mass of swirling grasses and muddy puddles. Rain pelted him as he dropped a visor across his face. The soft hiss of the seal around his eyes meant every centimeter of his body was concealed.

  Warrant Dwyer kept counting, but Sev didn’t need the numbers. When he was ready, he leapt.

  The moment of flight was glorious. He imagined never touching down, instead soaring beyond the shuttle, back through the clouds, clear into orbit. What would it be like to Lawrence jump through a wormhole? What if my body could survive the titanic pressures of space-time, distorting itself to link two places dozens of light-years apart?

  His boots hit mud. Sev crumpled, rolled, and came up in a crouch. The sticky, hot exhaust of the stealth shuttle washed over him, the sound barely rising above the tumult of the storm. Two minutes later and his ride was gone, leaving Sev alone outside the old farmhouse.

  “Brick structure with concrete reinforcing,” Lieutenant Guinto said into his earpiece. “Uninhabited for seventy-nine years. Locals consider it of historical importance—apparently it was part of a big family’s original homestead before they moved into Kolossi proper. Good news is the city never labeled it on the official register.”

  Good news indeed since Sev planned to destroy it.

  Four hovercraft were clustered by the low stone wall surrounding the property. Golden lights glowed in a few windows. Sev hurried across the intervening distance. He vaulted the fence, mindful of his steps but aided by the driving rain and the soft ground.

  Heat sensors showed seven people inside. Red Ring cartel. Even if he’d had no intelligence on it, one of their favorite stashes of illegal weaponry, the tattoos arcing across their foreheads, and their bare shoulders were dead giveawa
ys.

  “Echo Four, Echo Three. I’m comin’ back for my first pass. ETA three minutes fifty-six seconds. Might want to get cookin’ before I blow the roof off.”

  Sev propped the carbine atop a collapsed windowsill. He didn’t know the target’s name, only his profile—enforcer responsible for nine murders, which included three police officers, trafficker of drugs and stolen weapons, various, sundry assaults. Demir cartel had him posted as one to kill on sight.

  Sev sighted, breathed, pulled the trigger.

  The man dropped from view. His companions shouted and swore. A table of ammunition fell in a cacophony that masked Sev’s second shot. Another man went down, injured and screaming but with a survivable wound. Survivable, if not for the incoming strafe.

  Sev retreated across the wall. He hunkered against the wet stone as gunfire ripped out of the house.

  “They’re retreating for the hovercraft, carrying the wounded target.”

  While Sev was grateful for the extra set of eyes from Lieutenant Guinto’s ever-present drones, he did wish the man would leave him to his work. The captain wouldn’t bother him that much. He would spot him and be done with it.

  Sev waited until he heard the hovercraft whine to life. The carbine poked over the top of the wall, water dribbling from the stock. His goggles had delicate enough sensors that he knew he’d interrupted the unloading of their ill-gotten weapons. A precise shot into the cache of explosives concealed beneath a tarp—the back end of the hovercraft erupted into a fireball that went hissing up into the sky. The driver leapt free, swiping at the flames licking his jumpsuit.

  “Echo Four, Echo Three. Forty-six seconds. Haul ass, my friend.”

  Sev sprinted for a stand of trees a few hundred meters away. He didn’t look back for the house or the hovercraft or the stealth shuttle he knew was coming back for its attack run. He didn’t stop until he splashed into the creek running between the trees, their half-meter trunks as sturdy a cover as he could find in the middle of the rolling fields.