by Daniel Gibbs
Twin missiles streaked from the shadows, plowing through the clouds. The house vanished in the explosion, reemerging as a blackened, roofless ruin of its formerly rustic self. The blasts’ echoes continued like thunder, with sharp cracks from ammo cook-off continuing well after the hovercraft had blazed off into the distance.
A clean op. In and out in a few minutes—with witnesses to the devastation left alive to spread the word.
Sev allowed a tight smile beneath his mask. Let them seek retribution from the scum already after their hides.
Colonel Sinclair paced the line of monitors in Oxford’s operations center. Timing two raids simultaneously wasn’t impossible, and wasn’t inherently more dangerous, but it did require a degree of concentration and coordination from all parties involved that made successful outcomes less likely. So he was delighted to hear confirmation from Echo Home—Lieutenant Guinto—that the attack on Red Ring cartel had gone smoothly.
“Red Ring should be ready to retaliate, sir,” Captain Tamir said. “Given how fast they’ve responded to past attacks.”
“Which shall only serve to make their Demir rivals more reckless. I daresay Captain Adams has certainly chosen unique individuals for his team. Keeping Demir off-balance is a welcome distraction.” Sinclair checked the timer on the nearest console. “ETA to Tuscon’s arrival?”
“She’s taken up a holding position twenty klicks from the target asteroid,” Eldred said. “No enemy vessels indicated. If that new stealth bucket is out there, she’s just as quiet.”
“Any reaction from the storage facility?”
“None, sir. Automated turrets not responding.”
“Very well. Open a channel to Tuscon, tagged to Captain Adams,” Sinclair ordered.
“Aye, sir.”
Sinclair cleared his throat. “Base One, this is Echo One. All signs point to a quiet reception. Do you concur?”
Despite his calm exterior, Sinclair didn’t care for the several seconds’ delay. He drummed his fingers, willing a swift response.
Jackson finished fastening his helmet before he responded. “Echo One, sir. Tuscon concurs—there’s no sign of activity. Not so much as a sensor lock.”
“That’s confirmed.” Mancini was on the comms channel too.
Jackson smirked a bit at the pique evident in his voice. Jackson hadn’t meant to step across Mancini’s authority as skipper of the stealth boat, but on their mission, lines of communication needed to be more fluid. He doubted Mancini would be comforted by that operational philosophy.
“Tuscon is standing off in weapons range, Base One.”
“You have authorization to disarm the target, Tuscon,” Sinclair ordered.
“Affirmative, Base. TAO, precision fire on those turrets. Leave the front door without a scratch.”
“Aye, sir,” came the youthful reply.
Jackson, down in Tuscon’s cramped shuttle bay, couldn’t see the action but felt the deck sway underfoot as the boat’s weaponry did its work. Around him, MacDonald’s Space Special Warfare team loaded their gear into the shuttle.
“Make way for the cake-eater spook.” That was Harrell, who passed Jackson with two satchels in hand.
“Shut your trap, Harrell,” MacDonald said. “The captain knows the deal. He stays in the back, where the League won’t intentionally shoot him and we won’t accidentally put rounds through his faceplate.”
A tall, hulking Saurian in his native armored suit grimaced, his fangs gleaming in what Jackson assumed was his species’ version of a grin. “He shall be lucky to not find my claw marks on his backside.”
“Rucuk for the win.” Harrell chuckled.
“Sounds like the best strategy to me.” Jackson got a green light from his suit’s systems. Cool air hissed from his life-support pack. “I’d prefer better recon before waltzing into a place I don’t know, but if I can’t have it, I’ll take Alpha Team.”
“Appreciate the attitude, sir.” MacDonald hefted his battle rifle. “Me, I’m just as comfortable blowing a sizeable hole in the front door if we knock and nobody answers.”
“Mancini to Echo One. Weapons emplacements eliminated. You’re go for launch.”
“Roger, sir.” Jackson would rather have his own people along for the mission—Gina and Sev on the ground, with Sparks either flying overhead or blasting hatches off their mounts while Brant guided them—but he meant what he said.
There’d been time for him to review personnel files for all the key players with Covert Action Unit 171. MacDonald’s, while heavily redacted even for an Intelligence officer with Jackson’s clearance, had been longer than most, packed with commendation after commendation. Not much else could he say about the leader whose team had rescued none other than General David Cohen when Leaguers tried to take over CSV Lion of Judah during the climactic Third Battle of Canaan.
“We’re ready, Master Chief.”
“Heard it, and roger, Captain. Alpha Team, load up!”
Eldred frowned at her display. “Captain? Come take a look at this.”
“Got a hit on the League intercepts?” Tamir leaned over the console.
“Yes, sir. The signals match with Lieutenant Guinto’s analysis. They usually degrade to gibberish before we can pinpoint where they come from, but these are holding on longer.”
“Get a fix. Task all our resources to follow them to their origin.”
“Already on it. Hainsley!” she called to the tech a couple stations away. “Boost the gain on Antenna Five.”
“Aye, Warrant.”
“How’s it looking, ladies and gentlemen?” Sinclair asked.
“Possible point of origin for those League transmissions, Colonel,” Tamir explained. “Looks like it’s aimed at the surface of Aphendrika.”
“Incoming from Echo Home,” Eldred announced.
Sinclair motioned for her to play the transmission.
Lieutenant Guinto’s voice filtered through the speakers. “Base One, Echo Home. Somebody’s dumping a ton of data through a rapid download, bounced off weather satellites over Aphendrika’s northern hemisphere. Backtrace puts it in your approximate neighborhood. Decryption report headed your way.”
“I’ve got it, Colonel.” Eldred’s jaw dropped as the text filled the screen. “You, uh, might want to forward this to the tactical team, sir.”
Sinclair’s eyebrow lifted. I should say so. Bloody hell. “Comms, get me the Tuscon again, secure tight beam.”
“Secure link ready, aye, Colonel.”
“Oxford to Tuscon,” Sinclair said, his tone somber. “Tell our chaps whoever is on that asteroid is preparing them a warm welcome.”
Jackson grimaced as the shuttle jounced against the rocky curves of the asteroid. His heads-up display flickered as new data appeared about their location, Asteroid APH-122407. One of millions flitting around Aphendrika’s debris fields and, like many others, abandoned after earlier mining efforts.
Colonel Sinclair’s message was both reassuring and worrying. The former because they knew they were on target. The latter because sneaking in was out of the question.
“All right,” MacDonald said. “Three and Four, you get to knock. Five, you’re with me following up. Two and Six, flank with Echo.”
“Grapples secure!” the pilot shouted.
“Go! Go!” MacDonald’s command snapped across Jackson’s helmet comm. The shuttle’s hatch popped open. Rostami and Mata were first out, rifles up and fanning out across the landing area before the ramp touched the ground. They took swift but cautious steps, lest they launch themselves out of the asteroid’s weak gravity. MacDonald and Ahmad followed, with Harrell and Rucuk flanking Adams.
“Three, breaching charges.”
“Yes, Master Chief,” Rostami replied.
Rostami hustled to the door, with Mata covering him. Rostami planted explosives at the bottom corners and one on the seam. He waved for everyone to take shelter.
Jackson hunkered by a ruined gun turret. Debris still sparkled in a dissipa
ting cloud above the wreckage. Rucuk crouched near him. Jackson swore he could feel the Saurian hissing, transmitted through the ground and into his suit.
“Fire in the hole!” Rostami called through the comm.
“Fire in the hole.” MacDonald and the rest of the team echoed the warning.
Flashes erupted from all three points simultaneously. The hatches buckled and ripped free of their hinges. Large pieces spun off into and out of the cave.
“Three and Four, sweep it,” MacDonald ordered.
Rostami and Mata moved in before the chunks had cleared the area. The rest of the team followed, floodlights sweeping the cavern walls. Sensors checked the room with equal vigilance. Jackson frowned. So far, they weren’t picking up anything. MacDonald and Ahmad checked an adjacent compartment, one reinforced with bent scaffolding.
“Clear,” Ahmad said.
Jackson stayed between Harrell and Rucuk as they moved past another long, broad extension of the main cavern.
“Six reports clear,” Rucuk added.
“Shit,” Harrel muttered. “What kind of lousy Leaguer base is this?”
“They could have cleared out after Tuscon grappled with that disguised freighter.” Rostami sounded annoyed and confused. “Maybe they scraped the place clean and left all this crap because it’s worth nothing.”
“Scanners pick up anything?” MacDonald asked.
“Negative, Master Chief. No weapons. No Orbita.”
“What about the power source, Echo?”
Jackson had his own scanner and pointed ahead. “In there, where the passage narrows. Power readings are consistent with a primary reactor.”
“All right, stay frosty. Two, Six, take point. Echo, Five, with me. Two and Four, flank.” MacDonald gestured with his rifle.
They proceeded in close groups, going single file as they navigated the corridor. Rock smoothed by a cutting laser reflected their search beams. Jackson’s heart pounded. Not out of fear—but he felt like he was on the cusp, a step away from entering a room where he would find the League’s operatives with weapons or drugs or prisoners—or all three.
A cold sickness washed over him as he crept into the next cavern, at the end of the walkway. It opened up into a huge space, one that had been scoured for precious metals decades ago. Broken catwalks and collapsed shaft supports floated lazily in a hollowed-out ellipse big enough to fit Oxford.
A reactor, its exterior battered and streaked with grime, sat in the dead center. The tall column next to it was a signal booster built for the express purpose of receiving transmissions from any source and rerouting it.
“Dammit.” Harrell kicked a loose rock. It spun off into the distance.
MacDonald glanced at Jackson. “Not what you were expecting, Captain? I was hoping for some more targets, personally, or maybe a ship.”
“There should have been one. The parts were dropped here. Another shuttle or barge must have been waiting to take them to the real location, the one where we should be.” Jackson slung his weapon over his shoulder and shook his head. Blast it all.
“Hey, uh, Master Chief?” Mata pointed. “Your ten o’clock. Blinking light.”
“That better not be an explosive, Three, because we’ve got scanners crawling out our asses.”
“No way. It’s not…” Rostami grunted. “That’s what that other signal is. It’s a camera, with a transmitter going through the booster.”
“A camera.” MacDonald rolled his eyes. “I bet it’s not for security.”
“It isn’t.” Jackson glared in the same direction. “It’s for me.”
Kiel sipped his tea as he watched the grainy images of space-suited men—and one Saurian—milling in miniature about the cavern. All except for one individual, who stayed motionless, looking right at the camera Kiel’s people had left behind.
“Sorry we couldn’t shake hands,” Kiel said into the quiet of his office. “But I do hope we can be properly introduced sometime.”
21
Kolossi
Aphendrika—Terran Coalition
1 August 2464
Gina Wilkes vowed to ignore her comm notifications. They’d been full of nothing but bad news. Tuscon being jumped by a League stealth ship—the raid on the supposed hideout coming up empty. She shook her head. At that rate, she would be the only one who could walk away from the op with her head held high.
That wasn’t fair to the others. They’d all done their part as a team. She couldn’t help but wonder, however, if Jack’s injuries weren’t getting to him. He’d been wounded before. Hadn’t I stopped his bleeding with my bare hands and a torn jacket a couple years ago? Ever since the bombing, he’d seemed preoccupied. Well, if anyone knew, it would be Brant.
Her comm lit up. Gina grimaced and leaned back from the scope she had trained on the League embassy. The flow of trucks in and out had ceased since she’d melted the Orbita supply. Imagine that. This night was especially quiet.
Echo Two, Echo Home. Be advised message to consulate from unknown party on encoded League frequency.
“Isn’t this a nice change of pace?” Gina murmured.
Brant had been crowing about his ability to crack the League’s messages but hadn’t found much more than shipping times and dates—hence Oxford and Tuscon being able to intercept smugglers.
Movement. Gina’s gaze flicked to the window. She tipped up one of the slats in the blinds. Three men hustled out a side door. Military training, she could see it in the way they controlled their movements with precision one would think reserved for bots. They piled into a hovercraft parked by the curb. Two were big, blond men—one bald and bearded, the other clean-shaven with curly hair Gina found suitably attractive. The Demir cartel brothers, Arvid and Haakon. Must be a special occasion for them to be seen out in public together. One of them had a cybernetic eye.
Ah, yes. Case One, the human enigma. Even with the cybernetic eye, facial rec searches had turned up zero, which didn’t surprise Gina. Whatever operation the League was running on Aphendrika, it was clearly meant to be off-the-books, so they wouldn’t leave a profile lying around in consulate servers. Or maybe they had. She would have found out definitively if she hadn’t had to cut her infiltration off.
Gina pondered her next move. Jack was still off-world, holding court with Colonel Sinclair and the rest as they regrouped from the flopped raid. Sev and Sparks—who knew? Is it Demir or Red Ring they’ll hit this time? She’d lost track. Brant, of course, was doing his best to watch everyone.
Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. That was the saying. She shrugged. This would be more fun than filing a plan of action.
“Echo Home, this is Echo Two. I have a lead. I’m following it. Going off comms. Don’t miss me too much.” She killed the link. A quick inventory—pistol in a cross-draw holster, pocket pistol in a belt pouch toward the back of her left side, extendable knife tucked into her boot’s sheath. First, though, she would change into something more comfortable.
By the time she got down to the street, clad in her infiltration suit, the hovercraft was three blocks away. Not worried about speeding citations, apparently. It was marked, courtesy of Brant, on her wrist unit. She smiled. He hadn’t even asked what she was up to—probably because he’d been paying close attention to the video streaming through the scope to his warren. She could count on him to have her back. A nice feeling.
Gina put on her helmet and fired up the skimmer’s engines. She burst out into traffic and took off after her targets.
Ehud Dwyer hummed a Jewish folk song as he tapped his boots against each other. He had them propped on the TCFE shuttle console, a CDF cap tipped low over his face. Sunlight warmed the cockpit through the clear canopy.
His comm beeped insistently. Dwyer scowled. How’s a fella supposed to get even five seconds of downtime?
“Answer.” Sev was reassembling his rifle for the third time that afternoon. Easy to tell when the poor guy was nervous. Why he was nervous was anybody’s guess, and Dwyer s
ure as hell wasn’t gonna ask. It would take forty years to get a decent answer at the rate Sev dribbled out words.
“Yeah, all right.” Dwyer propped up his cap and punched the switch. “Echo Home, this is Echo Three. I thought we were fixin’ to lay low after Deadeye blasted that Demir shipment to itty-bitty particles?”
“Change of plans, Echo Three. Echo Two is shadowing possible League Assets out of the city. Destination unknown, but I’m betting it’s one of those five discreet landing fields we learned were trafficking sites.”
Dwyer ran the shuttle’s start-up sequence. “Roger that, Home. You want us on overflight, I reckon?”
“Copy that but stay downrange. I don’t show any birds escorting the League assets, but if they come by…”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve still got the loaner.” Dwyer eased back on the controls, lifting the shuttle off the forest floor.
Sev walked to the back, balanced like he was raised to walk inside a barge, and sealed the open hatch. Dwyer hadn’t forgotten. He just knew Sev would handle it. A couple weeks working together, and they’d established a decent rhythm. Which is great, because Hashem knows the conversation ain’t nothing to write home about.
“Affirmative, Echo Three. I’m sending Echo Two’s locator coordinates. Keep your eyes open.”
The numbers blinked onto Dwyer’s navigation screen. Hmm. He’d parked the shuttle a couple of time zones away, where it was still late afternoon, with dusk rapidly approaching. Night had already fallen in Kolossi. It looked like the League boys were keeping to their modus operandi of meetings in the dark.
Dwyer set Brant’s coordinates as the new destination and turned the shuttle onto its new heading. “Ten-four, Echo Home. Let’s see what our gal’s dug up.”
The hovercraft was in an awful hurry. Gina made sure she was well behind it, back several klicks so they couldn’t see they had a pursuer. No running lights, either, so they must have been using night vision to compensate.
