Starfighter (Strike Commander Book 1)

by Richard Tongue

   Turning, she said, “That was...”

   “With you around, I'm having to up my game a little.”

   Shaking her head, Morgan knelt down beside the dying man, and looked down at him. There was something familiar about his face, and after a few seconds it came to her.

   “This wasn't a soldier,” she said.

   “He had a gun,” Angel replied.

   Looking up at her, Morgan said, “And I'm willing to concede he meant us harm, but this was Doctor Zepanski. I took a course under him when I was studying anthropology. Former Marine.”

   “Fascinating, but...”

   “He specialized in Art History.” Rising to her feet, she said, “Blake is here, somewhere. He must be.” Without waiting for Angel, she ran down the corridor, rifle in hand, following the passage around. A bullet rattled through the air, sending her dropping to the ground behind a convenient crate, and she saw a squad of troopers moving up, closing on their position. As she cursed her stupidity, a siren began to wail, the garrison alerted to their presence at last.

   Rolling to the right, daring to move out of cover, she fired three quick shots with her rifle, taking down two of the approaching troopers while the others unleashed shots all around her, ripping into the floor. She tumbled back into temporary safety, then heard a muttered curse behind her as Angel raced into position, taking another trooper down with a snap snot.

   The single remaining foeman, deciding to take the better part of valor, turned and fled, the siren still screaming in the air. Angel looked down at her, sprawled on the floor, and offered her a hand to pull her up.

   “Thanks,” Morgan said.

   “Don't do that again,” Angel replied. “I don't know what they hell they taught you in the Martian Marines, but we're supposed to be a team. If you go running off by yourself, you're going to get both of us killed, and I've got dinner plans for tonight.”

   “I know,” she replied. “The man who killed fifty of my friends is here. It's hard to get past that.”

   “We're not just here for your revenge. We've got a job to do.” A smile cracked across Angel's face as she continued, “Of course, if we get the chance for you to take some payback, I'll be only too happy to assist. For now, we've got to try and get some intelligence. This way.”

   Morgan looked dubiously down the selected passage, and asked, “Why down there?”

   “We've got to go somewhere. You take point.”

   Nodding, Morgan led the way along the corridor. The sirens continued their endless, throbbing drone, though there were no further signs of guards along their route. That merely confirmed her suspicion that they were on the verge of leaving the station, heading for safety. All around were signs of recent mobilization, a near-empty room with chairs facing the wall, likely some sort of control center with all the key equipment removed.

   Her respirator sensors told a similar story. The air was slowly deteriorating, would be toxic once again in a matter of days. No one would allow life support equipment to fail that quickly, not if they were planning to stay for any length of time. She turned around another corner, and a terrified figure almost walked into her, turning and sprinting down the corridor. Angel moved to shoot, but Morgan shook her head, chasing after him.

   “If he wants to be our guide, we're going to let him!” she yelled, and she followed the fleeing technician along the twists and turns, keeping a steady pace that allowed him a sufficient lead to give him the hope that he might get away, whilst keeping close enough to his tail to ensure that they didn't lose him.

   Finally, moments later, he dived into a room, the doors slamming shut behind him. Once again, Morgan was ready with her intrusion software, Angel taking a position by the door. This time she wasn't permitted to work without interference, and a pair of troopers came around the corner, firing wild shots that threw her into cover.

   Coolly, Angel returned fire, dropping one before wincing as a bullet lanced into her arm, blood trickling down her wrist to the floor. Morgan reached past her, firing a pair of quick shots to send the remaining trooper fleeing for cover, then looked at her friend as her face turned pale.

   “Hold on,” Morgan said, pulling out her medikit and ripping a bandage from its sterile wrap, sliding it into position over Angel's arm, before taking another pill and stuffing it into her mouth. “Traxilin,” she added. “It'll hold back the pain for now, but you'll know about it tomorrow.”

   “To hell with tomorrow,” she replied. “Long as I live to get there.”

   The hacking software had quietly continued to work, and the door slid open behind them, offering sanctuary as a second wave of troopers moved forward. Quickly transferring the datapad from the outside to the inside, she moved inside, where the cowering technician hid behind a control station. The hatch slammed shut, and leaving Angel by the wall, Morgan stepped over to him.

   “Don't kill me,” he said, trembling.

   “Don't give me a reason to,” she replied, striding over to the station. She quickly looked over the controls, then clipped a datapad into position with one hand, still keeping her prisoner covered with the pistol in her other. Flipping out her communicator, she said, “Churchill, this is Morgan, come in.”

   “Churchill here,” Sullivan replied. “Go ahead.”

   “Datastream coming your way. See what you can do with it.” She paused, then said, “Keep it to yourselves for the moment.”

   “Vlad's got better equipment than we do.”

   “I'm having a hard enough time trusting you, Mo. Don't ask me to have undying faith in the guy who was going to steal months of my work. Morgan out.”

   Abruptly, the siren stopped, replaced with a booming voice that she knew all too well, “Attention. Evacuation of the base to proceed at once. Phase Four to be implemented immediately. That is all.”

   “Blake?” Angel asked, slumped against the wall.

   “I've got to get him,” Morgan said, moving to the door.

   Shaking her head, Angel said, “They aren't going anywhere. Even if they have a ship coming in, we can deal with it later.”

   “I can't take that chance.”

   Gasping in pain, her friend replied, “Then you're going alone. I can't move.” Glancing across at the figure behind the console, she said, “I can keep our new associate company, but that's about all.”

   Nodding, Morgan said, “Be careful.”

   “Don't worry about me. I'm worried about you. Don't do anything stupid.”

   With one last look, Morgan stepped through the door, out into the corridor, pistol in hand. As she'd expected, the guards had dispersed, abandoning their comrade to his fate. She paused for a moment, trying to recall the layout of the complex, then raced down the passage to what she hoped was the outer levels, nearest any possible escape route. Unlikely that they'd attempt to get through the main concourse up above, not with Vlad's guards positioned to capture them. There had to be another way out.

   Jumping over the abandoned bodies, she glanced back for a second, shaking her head, still sick to her stomach at the waste of it all. For all she knew, they'd died doing their duty, even if they were following a traitor and a murderer. They didn't deserve to go down like this.

   Heedless of the risk, she ran down the corridor, turning left and right, passing abandoned rooms, the remnants of what had been a long occupation scattered everywhere. Up ahead, she could hear the sound of footsteps rushing away, fading into the distance. Tugging out her datapad, she flicked across the floor-plan with her fingers, sending the image left and right as she puzzled out a short-cut, a route through a long cave to her left.

   As she ran, Angel's caution tugged at her. Neither Hermes nor Gorgon were in this system, so they had nowhere to run, not yet. Any arriving spacecraft would be stranded at the station for days, and with only a single egress point, they'd have all the time in the world to set up an ambush. Doubtless Vlad would have somethi
ng up his sleeve for such an eventuality.

   A foul smell crept down the corridor towards her, one she had only experienced once before, back at Karnak Operations. Horror crept into her stomach as she jogged towards her target, another pair of sealed doors yielding with protest to her intrusion software, reluctantly sliding open to reveal the horrors inside.

   Bodies lay on the floor, dozens of them, all sealed in bags and labeled for identification. Kneeling down, she pulled open one of them, looking at the puzzled expression of the dead man inside, wearing a uniform she had seen before. Pan-Solar Shipping. The face was familiar, and she closed her eyes as she realized it was one of the men in the elevator. They had a way out of their system, and had massacred a crew to secure it. More names on her list, more souls clamoring for vengeance.

   With renewed urgency, she sprinted through the cavern, sliding through the doors and into the corridor beyond, her boots rattling on the floor as she homed in on her target, confident that she knew where she was going, knew where to find her prey. Even if the rest escaped, Blake had to pay for what he had done.

   Ducking around a corner, she saw a final set of doors waiting for her, sliding shut as she approached, a uniformed figure moving through. Unable to stop in time, she crashed into them, cursing her bruised shoulder as she moved over to the locking mechanism. This time she wasn't fighting the computer, but someone on the other side of the door, a faceless foe who was as desperate to keep her out as she was to get in.

   Running her hands over the controls, she fired a series of programs into the system, trying to eat away at the security while her counterpart attempted to block her. Both were using the same software, the same doctrine, which left it down to pure skill rather than technological trickery. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she worked, frantically using every trick she could remember, everything she had been taught.

   Finally, the hatch began to crack, and she heard footsteps racing away from the door. Pushing through as soon as the gap was wide enough, she raced into a room, another figure ahead of her, charging towards the shuttle that was lined up before a long, dim tunnel, curving through the rock towards the cold space beyond.

   Blake stood in the open airlock, waving his crewman on before finally giving up, ducking back inside. He was at extreme range, but that didn't stop her from firing, unleashing desperate shots out of her instinct for revenge rather than any hope of success, the bullets rebounding from the cold metal of the shuttle hull.

   “No!” the technician said. “You can't leave me! You bastards!”

   His words were drowned out by the drone of the shuttle's engines as it crawled along the passage, heading for the elevator airlock at the end. The man dropped to his knees, sobbing, as Morgan raced after it, emptying her clip in the desperate hope of hitting some vital part, but as the airlock slammed shut, she turned, looking at the man on the floor.

   “Kill me,” he said. “Get it over with.”

   “You aren't the one I came here for,” she replied, looking down at him with contempt. Pulling out her communicator, she said, “Morgan to Churchill. They've escaped, but I think there's still a chance to stop them. Better get to battle stations.”

  Chapter 8

   Three pairs of footsteps echoed on the floor as Conway led his team down the corridor, taking a half-step as he almost stumbled over a trailing cable. Bennett looked at him with a playful smile, and he ruefully shook his head as he continued along the passage, gun in hand.

   “You always that agile?” she asked.

   “This place is a mess,” he replied.

   “Maybe we should take it up with the manager. I don't know what we paid admission for.”

   As they passed a door leading into an empty room, a siren started to wail, and Conway pulled out his communicator, trying and failing to get a signal, a roar of static washing over him. Her smile transformed into a frown, Bennett tried her unit, receiving the same non-response.

   “Jammed,” she said. “That's...”

   “I should have seen it coming,” Conway said. “We're using Triplanetary communicators while we try to infiltrate a Triplanetary installation, facing a Triplanetary electronic warfare team. They've got everything they need to make a holy electronic mess.” Gesturing along the corridor, he added, “Come on. No point going back.”

   Turning to the guard, Bennett ordered, “Wait here and stand watch, just in case someone's got around behind us. This smells too much like a trap to me.”

   “Yes, ma'am,” he replied, moving into cover and taking firing stance.

   “Have you only just worked that out?” Conway asked. “I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop for the last hour. I'm only surprised we haven't been attacked yet.”

   Shaking her head, Bennett replied, “Maybe, but there's something about this place that doesn't add up.”

   The two of them walked along the corridor, and he asked, “How did you end up working for Vlad, anyway? I've never seen you around here before.”

   “Is this really the right time for a conversation?”

   Looking down the long, empty corridor, he said, “Humor me.”

   Shaking her head, she replied, “I've been working with him for a while. He has got interests elsewhere, you know. Call it a transfer to other duties.”

   “Supervising smugglers like me?”

   “Oh, I have you at quite a disadvantage,” she said, as he spotted something moving out of the corner of his eye from a hidden alcove, imperceptibly moving his hand towards his gun. A quick exchange of glances confirmed that she had seen it too. “I know all about you, Jack. I feel like I know you already.”

   “Now!” he yelled, dropping to the floor, rolling into cover and firing in a single smooth move, the bullet ricocheting from the wall with a loud crack. Bennett was a half-second slower to the draw, but far more precise, and her bullet caught the target in the chest, sending him sprawling back.

   Two more guards, these unashamedly wearing Triplanetary uniform, chased forwards, their attack met by a pair of bullets that sent them tumbling into cover. Bennett reached into her jacket and pulled out a long, slim cylinder, tossing it down the corridor towards them, before tucking her head into her hands. Conway was a second too late, and the blinding flash and bang of the flare caught him unprepared, his eyes streaming in response.

   He heard the two cracks from Bennett's pistol, reeling to recover and wiping the tears from his face with his sleeve. She offered him a hand, helping him to his feet, and he shook his head as he rose.

   “Warn me next time, will you?”

   “I thought you'd work it out,” she replied. “No permanent harm done.”

   “More than I can say for those three,” he said, stepping over to the bodies. “Espatier uniforms, latest issue. Though I don't think they're actually in the Espatier Corps.”

   “What makes you say that?”

   “We're still alive. Triplanetary Espatiers are crack, well-trained soldiers, highly trained in close-range combat. We might get the drop on one of them, but three of them with local knowledge and tactical superiority getting taken down by two lightly-armed civilians? Not likely.” Shaking his head, he said, “I'll be interested to learn what the DNA report says about these three gentlemen.”

   The siren changed its tone, growing in intensity and urgency, and the two of them glanced at each other as they silently came to a mutual decision to press on, running along the corridor, pistols at the ready. Noting that she'd kept one of the grenades in her hand, he groaned inwardly, something telling him that he might be safer running through the complex with his eyes closed.

   A snatched look at his datapad showed them moving along the perimeter of the base, the tunnel trailing closer to the vacuum beyond. If they was a hidden way out of the area, he'd gamble that it was here. He jumped over an improvised, abandoned barricade, glancing down at a discarded food wrapper, the contents half-eaten, next to a c
up of coffee with steam rising from it.

   “We're too late,” Bennett said. “They're pulling out.”

   “Because of us?” he asked.

   Shaking her head, she replied, “We're just the advance party. Vlad has thirty men ready to come after us once we report back. Or if we don't.”

   He stopped for a second, turning to face her. “When exactly were you planning to tell me about this?”

   “I wasn't. You didn't need to know.” Glancing at the coffee, she added, “I don't think it matters now.”

   The siren abruptly died, as though someone had thrown a switch in some distant control room, and he could hear the sound of footsteps racing ahead of them. Not wasting a second, he raced in their direction as fast as he could, sweating from the exertion. Bennett was just behind him, drawing level with long, enviably easy strides, but he still reached the turn of the corridor first, just in time to see a man wearing a flight suit ahead of him, pulling at a hatch at the far end of the tunnel.

   He knew he would only get one shot, and taking a second to line up his sights, he fired, the bullet flying from his pistol and catching the man in the back, the figure collapsing to the ground and writhing in pain. Bennett looked at his gun, then at the target, a smile creeping on her face.

   “Remind me not to get on your bad side,” she said.

   “Not a good shot. I was aiming for his leg.” He jogged towards the figure, kneeling beside him and checking his vital signs, as Bennett pulled out her medical kit and applied a sedative. “What do you think?”

   “He'll keep until we can get him to the hospital. I think they're going to have a lot of new patients today.” She looked through the door, and her eyes widened. “Is that what I think it is?”