Honor the Threat

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Honor the Threat Page 11

by Kevin Ikenberry


  Ryu raised his head. “Insertion trajectory set, Boss. Right down the pipe.”

  Just like his father. Snowman saw concern in the boy’s face. “What’s wrong, Ryu?”

  “There are more Tortantulas than we have available rounds of ammunition.” Ryu swallowed.

  Snowman nodded. “Set the burn and get us into position.”

  Ryu turned to his console, and Snowman closed his eyes for a moment. Damn you, Max. He turned his head and opened his eyes. Dupont stared at him, a curl of a smile on one side of his mouth. Pierre knew what he was thinking, and there was more than a little chance he’d already started preparing for it.

  “Orders, Boss?” Dupont asked.

  Dammit, I don’t want to do this. Snowman took a breath and leaned forward in his straps. He’d do it for me and damn every consequence.

  “If we do this,” Bukk said, “we must use our weapons freely from the moment we can hit them. Thinning their ranks from orbit is the only way.”

  “There’s no if, Bukk. We’re going in.” Snowman said. He looked at Dupont. “Just like Conway Station.”

  “The first or second attack?” Dupont grinned.

  Gods, what a mess that had been. “The second. Except this time, with every gun blazing.”

  “Roger, Boss. Deployment formation?” Dupont asked. They’d done this hundreds of times over the years, and while everything said it wasn’t going to be a different experience, they both knew it was. They’d cataloged dozens of operational plans, planned maneuvers in tactical simulators until their eyes bled, and tried to think of every possible situation they might face. Intergalactic Haulers was as much Dupont’s company as it was his. They’d hauled and fought their way out of all kinds of situations, except for something like this. He looked over the terrain again, finding the tactically cogent spots to lay in his troops and press into the city near the stricken CASPers.

  “I don’t like this,” Snowman grunted. After a moment, he almost smiled at the absurdity. They’d made their fortunes saving mercenary units and hauling them back to Earth. Nothing about seeing broken and battered units ever felt right. “Let’s do something a little different. Oglethorpe can boost up in front and lay down covering fire on the best landing zone. We can get the CASPers close to the city and let them cut their way in. Flyers can support until Oglethorpe gets back around—I want them compensating for orbital speed, Ryu. We need them over the same ground, every pass.”

  “That’s a shitload of fuel loss,” the young navigator replied. What was more important to Snowman was that the young man didn’t say it was impossible. He was going to be a fine addition to the crew.

  “Make it happen.” Snowman pressed a few keys on his console. “Valdosta and Decatur, this is Macon. Here’s the plan. Valdosta, drop your CASPers along the southwest wall. That’s where we’re going to soften them up. We’ve got friendlies on a rooftop there. Based on the firing we’re seeing, there may be others, but without confirmation, I’m not going to send y’all on a wild goose chase. Those friendlies are where we start. We get to them and figure out what is going on, then we’ll work out how to push back the Torts.”

  He took a breath. “Decatur. There’s high ground across the valley from Solus, about four kilometers. That’s your LZ. Set down there, deploy the CASPers for security, and prepare to defend. I imagine we’ll have spiders all over the valley in front of us. You are authorized to use heavy weapons, and you’re weapons free. Since they’ve pretty much torched the cities we’ve found, they ain’t going to talk. Let them have it.”

  Dupont called out immediately. “Moving to combat spread. Oglethorpe boosting overhead.”

  Snowman stabbed a separate communications channel button to speak privately with the Oglethorpe’s commander. “King? You on this channel?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Desiree, I’m going to ask you to record something. If you want to bail on this mission and find someone else, I’ll understand.” He closed his eyes. There might be an exception to every rule, but there were still consequences to consider. Orbital bombardment, technically anything over sixteen kilometers above ground level, was forbidden and punishable under the Union’s guidelines for combat. He’d likely lose everything if the Tortantulas complained. He gained solace from thinking Shaw Outpost once had a population of more than two million souls. They were enough reasons to blast the spiders to hell and back.

  “You think I’m going to let someone else lay down that amount of fire?” Desiree Ransom had learned in her teens that field artillery was the King of Battle. She’d excelled at it for almost thirty years and had more than earned the callsign, “King.” The consummate professional soldier, Ransom would have been a general officer in the old armies of Earth. Her guns and people were the best they could find. If someone needed something taken out, they could call in artillery, but if they wanted to win, they’d call Ransom. “This is Redleg Six, Intergalactic Haulers acknowledging your orders. Gun tubes are loaded and prepared to fire.”

  She’d done the recording for him. Snowman couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, King.”

  “You got it, Snowman. Let’s go get our friends.”

  He looked up and daylight flashed through the bridge as the Macon passed the terminator and headed toward Solus at orbital speeds. “Ryu, you’ve got the conn. Put us in a good position, son. Maintain sensors’ advantage.”

  “Roger, Boss.”

  The Macon’s spinal thrusters adjusted the big ship’s course. The Oglethorpe boosted for a higher orbit, slowing to maintain position over Solus as long as possible. He understood enough about orbital mechanics to know it would take a handful of orbits to get the guns stable above the target. A preemptive strike was the best answer for buying his CASPers time to get into the city and link up with the Anzacs.

  “Oglethorpe has calculated strike packages and is preparing to fire. Twenty seconds to range,” Dupont called.

  Snowman sucked on the inside of his cheek and avoided looking at the countdown timer. “Haulers, this is Hauler Six. Clear to deploy. Weapons free. Let’s bring ‘em home.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Ten

  Assembly Area

  Reilly’s Raiders, 10 km West of the MinSha Compound

  Weqq

  Night fell with a gold and ethereal white sky that drew Tara’s focus as she walked the CASPer back toward the landing point for ammunition and something to eat. Four separate attacks had failed to breach the MinSha compound’s defenses, or even do any real damage. The idea to ring the compound and bring it into submission failed because of the expanse of mines the MinSha deployed to keep the CASPers back. The second attack crumpled on the eastern side of the compound under withering fire that left most of the dense foliage torn away and exposed the CASPers to low-power particle beams and more aerial mines. Flyers didn’t work in close, so Raleigh ordered them to fly above the canopy and bomb the compound from directly overhead. He’d ordered the CASPers back to the landing site to refit. While that sounded innocuous on the surface, Tara could tell their commander had worked himself into a new state of rage even before she’d closed the distance to her rack and crew ladder.

  “Lucille? You’ve got the docking procedures, right?”

  <>

  Tara relaxed for a moment, closing her eyes and adjusting the cockpit fan so it blasted her face. In the tropical heat, it was cool enough to wick the sweat away and leave her slick face slightly cooler than the rest of her body. She felt Lucille walk the CASPer toward the power rack and turn around. Despite hours of practice over the last several months, she felt like a tortoise in the suit. Docking and egress were the simplest of maneuvers for a trained CASPer pilot with a deft touch, but even after her formal training, she looked like the novice she was. Lucille was a fantastic addition to the vehicle, and Tara tried to tell herself the automated program was helpful but not the sole reason she’d been able to successfully fight in a CASPer. Jumping into the
damned thing on Araf seemed like a perfect idea at the time, but she’d nearly been killed.

  At least I made it out alive.

  She hated the thought. Hex Alison and the ill-fated Force 25’s mission was to support Peacemaker Francis in an impossible situation. They’d done that, and everyone but her paid for it with their lives. Had Jessica not extracted her from the CASPer, she might have died from internal injuries. That she’d made it out alive was because of the Peacemaker’s actions and her own attempt to pilot a CASPer despite no formal training. Had she remained in her tank, the Darkness would have finished her.

  Tara felt Lucille step into the rack. A cluster of lights flashed red, then snapped to green, showing the suit had been captured and systems were being scanned and checked. “Lucille, let’s leave her in hot start mode. Shut down the weapons, sensors, cameras, and non-essential systems, but leave her ready to load and go.”

  <>

  “Can you get me the latest BDA?”

  <

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