Honor the Threat (The Revelations Cycle Book 12)
Page 16
“Oso? What the fuck was that?”
There was no response. She jabbed the transmit button again.
“You need to answer me, Oso. Raleigh put me in charge of this patrol, and I need to hear something from you. Were you ordered to lure me away from the compound?”
“Deathangel 25.” His voice was not the deep, guttural one she expected. He sounded much younger than he was. Still, his voice was calm and collected. “You have orders from the commander, and I am here to ensure you complete your mission.”
Tara frowned. “I don’t need a chaperone, Oso.”
“The commander doesn’t need a loose cannon, unable to complete the simplest of tasks, either,” Oso replied. “You have 48 hours to return to the compound with one of those things, or I will terminate you. Is that clear?”
Tara swallowed. There was nothing like stating the obvious up front. “I guess so. Are you going to stay on this frequency?”
“I will monitor this frequency, Deathangel 25, but I am done speaking to you until you find those creatures and take one to the commander. Don’t call me again until you have one. Out.”
He terminated the connection, and Lucille’s voice filled her ears. <
Tell me something I don’t know. Tara sighed. Oso watched her from behind the cockpit wall of Mike 77. Of that, she was sure. Lucille would tell her if he started cycling weapons or other critical systems, but he was a solid CASPer pilot, with the ability to bring his systems online and fire before she could respond. They were more than five thousand meters from the compound and hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the gray-white things.
Big picture. Get the big picture.
Tara turned on the cameras and scanned the terrain. Every aspect of the surrounding jungle looked like everywhere else she’d been. While the lower level foliage wasn’t as thick, it still covered the ground with a deep, green blanket in every direction. “Lucille, give me every scan we have. Visual, radars, infrared, and multi-spectral.”
<
Across the view screen, there were several small, white signatures in the trees, but nothing comparable to the things she’d seen before. “Anything on the radar?”
<
As clear as if her VOWS instructor, Mister Austin, stood next to her, she heard his voice. The simple things are always hard, Mason. But, you know what? The hard things are always simple, too. Sometimes, all you gotta do is look for something to change.
Before she could laugh at the absurdity and utter truth of Austin’s words, Tara’s memory dredged up someone she’d almost forgotten. It was a woman they called ‘Doc,’ who pushed Tara through the toughest achievements in her scouting career. She was the first of the advancement mentors who’d completely shut down her half-assed attempts to pass the final requirements for weaponeering and had sent her home in tears, two weeks before her VOWS. Doc had smoked cigarette after cigarette, letting them burn all the way down to her brown knuckles, and she’d constantly adjusted her oblong reading glasses and touched her curly hair with a bemused smile on her face. She’d sweetly whisper, “Now, why don’t you stop idling around my question and see what I’m trying to teach you? It’s the only way you’re ever gonna change, Tara Mason. Change makes you stronger.”
Change.
The tumblers of her brain clicked in rapid succession. “Can we do a multi-spectral comparison?”
<
Tara shrugged. “Try it.”
Multi-spectral imagery enabled a keen observer to see small patterns on the surface that had changed over time based on observation of the electromagnetic spectrum. The observer could compare bands used for classification of vegetation and soil types between time frames. Differences in the bands would stand out like a black dot on a white piece of paper. Tara watched her left Tri-V display as the initial overlay filtered over the camera screen.
“Multi-spectral cameras online.”
<
Changes in the infrared bands layered in first, follow by the other spectrum bands. A million red smears filled the screen. “Lucille, break out the large infrareds.”
<
“Soil analysis? Maybe we can track them.”
<
There were small changes in every direction, but as she spun to the southeast, the pixels of information converged into what looked like two intermittent lines moving away from them. The path followed a river. “Analysis?”
<
“Large is what we’re looking for, huh?” Tara snorted. “How far back does the trail go?”
Lucille responded five seconds later. <
“It’s got a head start on us.”
<>
Tara stabbed her radio button. “Moving.”
Oso clicked his microphone in response. Try as she might, Tara didn’t want to turn her back to the other CASPer, but there was no other way. Lucille continued to monitor his systems and, if she could work through whatever the system update had done to close off the command ports, she could shut him down. If she couldn’t, Tara’s only chance was to be faster on the draw. She didn’t need Lucille’s analysis to tell her that her chances of success were somewhere between slim and none.
“Let’s go, Lucille. Follow that trail.”
<
Tara laughed. It was the first light moment she’d had in a day or so. Finding the gray things would happen with the right breaks. The multi-spectral imagery was a good break. The path ran from the MinSha compound to something far in the distance. Whether it led to the mysterious gray beasts remained to be seen, but it was a start. She started walking and glanced at the rear camera feed on her Tri-Vs. Mike 77 walked ten meters behind her. His weapons were down and only his black-out lights were illuminated. There was no sense calling attention to themselves, and with their sensor suites, they could see in the dark without limitations. She dimmed her external lights, and the Tri-Vs switched automatically to thermals, leaving one camera on the visible spectrum. With the sun setting in the distance, the trees and ground were warm and bright on her thermal cameras, but the visible spectrum camera showed the mist thickening constantly as they approached the stream creasing the valley floor.
Spectral comparisons clearly showed the disruption of the soil along the stream bed as they moved to the southeast. Tara sipped water and reflexively moved the CASPer. Night continued to fall as they moved deeper into the jungle, and the mist swallowed them completely. There were plenty of things watching them in the gathering night, and there was no way Tara could watch them all, especially while keeping one eye on her wingman. If Lucille couldn’t find a way into Oso’s CASPer systems, she might not be able to defend herself in a fight.
There were always other options, though. She thought about Hex Alison, the young CASPer pilot who’d gone into the Altar mines knowing he would never come out. Against a far superior Selroth force, he’d ultimately died sealing the mines, trapping the Selroth underground, away from the Altar brood and the main colony complex. He’d saved their lives with his sacrifice. They hadn’t been able to recover any remains from the mine, given the amount of the damage and the radiation hazard.
She knew it was for the best. Hex wasn’t there. He’d gone on to Valhalla, or wherever the good warriors went. For a long time, Tara wondered if she would have similar courage in such a situation.
In the months since, between three-day benders in the seedy bars on Luna or Mars, she’d tried to put herself in Hex’s place. Given the tactical situation, facing the Selroth’s main attack with two squads of lightly armed Altar, Hex had to have known the odds were significantly against his survival. She analyzed every shred of the feeds, trying to ascertain why he’d thought they’d be successful. The mine was a shooting gallery. Despite the Altar’s best efforts to build a fortified defense, there was no denying an attacking force with as many weapons as the Selroth had.
Whether Hex understood this or believed he should have died with his fiancée a few weeks before was something she’d never know. The easy way out wasn’t easy at all. Hex sacrificed himself to save the Altar brood and his teammates. She and Jessica were the only Humans who walked away when the dust settled.
Well, Jessica walked away. Three months learning how to walk again wasn’t exactly fun.
Any prayer of a different outcome faded while she continued her therapy, both mental and physical. She’d walked away from two very different battles at the cost of most of her fellow soldiers. Araf should have been a sterling moment in her career. Outnumbered, outgunned, and down to the last CASPer, she’d charged into the Altar colony and confronted a heavily-armored command skiff. Yet, the failure of Death on Tracks haunted her. The loss of the first Human armored mercenary company, one that focused on combined arms maneuvers and armored vehicles instead of CASPers, haunted her, because she’d run from the fight. Hex had given up his life, not knowing if it would save the Altar or any of his team. He’d possessed a faith she didn’t understand. Faith that things would turn out okay. Faith that his loss would mean something to everyone else.
All I’ve ever done is run.
She shook off the thought. With Lucille’s help, she’d gone after the Darkness and defeated it, at great cost to herself. Making a stand, in that brief moment, served a greater purpose for the team than for herself. Yet, it wasn’t enough in the court of public opinion. Raleigh Reilly was the only mercenary commander to offer her a job based on her mercenary experience alone, and, while she knew he took anything and everyone, usually to sacrifice them grotesquely for his personal gain, she took the offer. As much as she wanted to be the hardened veteran, the combat experienced stalwart with a heart of stone, Tara realized acceptance was something she’d only known with Force 25. Jessica Francis knew the truth and still trusted her.
That didn’t matter. Nothing much mattered except getting the damned job done. If she could succeed as a mercenary with Reilly’s Raiders, it would have to be enough. When she finished this job, she’d complete the next one and the one after that. If Reilly wanted her dead, he’d have to get in line. No one would take her and Deathangel 25 down without a fight.
* * * * *
Chapter Fifteen
Macon, Intergalactic Haulers
Above Shaw Outpost
“Let them have it, King.” Snowman released the radio transmit button and watched the Oglethorpe’s seventy guns rain direct fire onto the western edge of the Solus arcology. As soon as the first battery fired, Snowman mentally counted until the second rounds fired. King’s crews tended to average less than twenty seconds. With good friends on the surface needing help, the first battery fired again in seventeen seconds. Dropships from both the Valdosta and Decatur burned hard for the moon’s surface. As they began to separate toward their individual objectives, he heard his company commanders check in.
“Hauler Six, this is Hammerhead Six,” Xander Coggins called. “ETA is four minutes, twenty-seven seconds. Objective remains clear—will report when we’ve landed and established a perimeter. Out.”
Coggins was young for a CASPer company commander, but he’d been around the block a few times as a Hauler. He’d come to the Haulers fresh from the CASPer course, unable to order an adult beverage in a tavern. For the last ten years, he’d consistently been one of the driving forces in not only how CASPers fought, but how they could be constantly improved. Having Coggins set the security perimeter and establish a support base four kilometers from the main objective was partly to insure against counterattacks and partly because Coggin’s attack platoon, the Warlocks, provided the best air cover he could afford. He’d been in place on time, with every one of his sixteen Mk 7 CASPers focused on the objective—exactly as planned. For a mercenary commander, even one disguised as a trash hauler, there was no one finer.
As soon as Coggins exited the frequency, he heard Li Ping’s familiar voice. “Hauler Six, this is Mako Six. Requesting batteries fire incendiary rounds on preplanned targets 7 through 12 at this time. Let’s burn them back and widen the approach corridor, over.”
Snowman smiled. “Acknowledged, Mako Six. Break. Redleg Six, are you monitoring this frequency?”
“I got that request, Mako Six. You’ll have fire just before you touch down, and the whole west side of the objective will be burning when we’re done.”
“Roger, Redleg Six,” Ping replied. “Mako Six cleared and switching to internal comms. See you on the flip side.”
“Hauler Six, Redleg Six. Permission to fire on all TRPs. Over.”
Snowman consulted the Tri-V on his right. Scanning the three-dimensional image took only a few seconds, and he saw what King and her gun crews had done. Around the entire mesa that marked the edges of Solus, there were eighteen target reference points. Pre-planned target coordinates were nothing new, but their plan to ring the entire city was designed to get the Tortantulas agitated, expecting attacks from all sides. A ring of artillery fire from orbit would unsettle them and potentially offer other targets of opportunity. Snowman stabbed the transmit button with his thumb. “King, you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Tungsten? Loud and proud, Hauler Six.” King laughed. “Battery fire commencing. Stand by for air-to-grounds.”
Snowman tweaked his display. “Mako Six and Hammerhead Six, standby for rod impacts. Be advised you are dangerously close; do you copy?”
“Hammerhead Six, roger.”
“Mako Six. We wouldn’t have it any other way. Give them hell, King.”
“Redleg Six. Weapons away.”
Snowman looked through the forward bridge windows and saw the dark shape of the Oglethorpe hanging in space. Along her spine, a brass colored plug shot down toward the surface, followed by another, and another. In seconds, there were eight six-meter-long, 0.3-meter-wide tungsten cores descending on the target reference points. Given their altitude, mass, and velocity, the Tortantulas stood very little chance of defeating the initial assault, and the yield would spare the arcology significant damage. If everything went as planned, the CASPers would attack while the dust settled, with the spiders scrambled by the high-velocity impacts.
“One minute, ten seconds to impact,” King called.
Snowman jabbed the transmit button again. “All companies are cleared in hot. Incendiary rounds, Redleg Six. Make it rain fire.”
“Forecast calls for scorching hot and windy, Boss. The heat is loaded and standing by.” King laughed. “Sixty seconds. Mako Six, your LZ will be obscured but approachable.”
“Copy, Redleg Six,” Ping replied. Snowman watched their icons descending toward the surface as quickly as the dropships allowed. He turned to Ryu and Dupont.
“Anything active in orbit?”
Dupont shook his head. “Nothing. We’ve got the Melbourne on the scanner, but I’ve got no radio from them. There are four other ships, but they’re NORDO as well. No telemetry, no IFF, nothing.”
Ryu spoke up. “No change from their initial position, Snowman. All spaceborne targets remain in parking orbits with negligible power levels observed.”
Max Alden wouldn’t have left his pride and joy running silent, even in the worst situation possible. Darkened cities, darkened ships,
and probably a million Tortantulas scurrying around on the surface. It didn’t take a degree in rocket science to figure out who was responsible. “Anything from the surface on standard mercenary frequencies?”
Dupont frowned. “Negative. We’ve done the right thing, Boss.”
Gods I hope so.
Snowman nodded. There was nothing he could do, other than commit everything he had to the fight below. They’d have about twelve minutes over the objective at their current altitude and speed before Solus disappeared over the horizon. Every orbit would take 48 minutes and a handful of seconds. King’s use of fuel to boost to a geostationary orbit was a luxury the Macon did not have. He’d configured his gunship specifically for such maneuvers, and its larger reserves enabled it to handle the additional fuel consumption. While the Oglethorpe essentially hovered over the target, Snowman would position his orbital path as close to the moon’s thin atmosphere as possible on the first pass, then attempt to draw out the orbit elliptically to have more command and control dwell time.
But he didn’t have to be there all the time, either. Li Ping and Xander Coggins were as good as any CASPer commanders he’d ever seen. They’d stick to the plan unless the situation dictated a change, and if it did, Snowman had confidence they would do what was right for the unit and the overall mission. He glanced down at the mission timer. The tungsten plugs were thirty-two seconds from impact, and the two CASPer companies weren’t far behind them. At his command station, Snowman wriggled against the straps holding him in the cushioned chair and reached out to configure his Tri-V screens. He connected with Li Ping and fed her communications, external cameras, and sensor platforms to his main screen. They’d retain direct laser communications throughout the mission, thanks to relays mounted aboard the Oglethorpe, but riding shotgun with her was as close as he’d get to the battlefield.