by Thomas Webb
“Valkyrie this is Razor One,” Hale said. “Perimeter outside the gunship is set. Prepping for patrol to target. Over.”
“Roger that One,” Shane replied. “We’re locked up tight here. Sensors are active. If anyone other than you approaches, we’ll know it.”
“Acknowledged, Valkyrie. Keep her warm for us.”
“Roger Wilco Razor One,” X37 piped in.
“Ughh,” Zombie groaned, speaking on the ground-team-only channel. Hale’s second in command was on one knee several meters away, covering their left flank. “X37 can be so damn cringey sometimes. It just sounds worse when she tries to talk all ‘military.’”
Hale stood, laughing inside his suit. “Alright. Cut the chatter. Form up on me and let’s step it out. We’ve got some ground to cover before full planetary dark.”
Zombie, Lash, and Kris rose to their full heights, appearing out of the snowstorm like wraiths from the darkness. Hale took point, stepping through knee-high snow. The bright-green icons in his HUD, one for each member of his team, shifted into a diamond-shaped formation and spread apart as they moved through the trees. This planet’s solar cycle was thirty-six hours long, only six of which were daylight. Hale checked the chrono on his display. Night would fall in less than one-hundred twenty minutes.
With the meter-deep drifts of snow, it would take them at least that long to reach the target. And that was just how they’d planned it. The goal was to hit the chateau under cover of darkness.
Visibility was low as they patrolled in, and next to nil when looking more than sixty meters out. With the vision fields in their HUD’s, they could see well enough to maneuver. The white armor with grey digital patterning would serve to render them near invisible in the snow, and would be more than sufficient break up their outlines after dark.
Hale and the team walked without speaking, enveloped in the elemental silence that only a snowstorm in the deep wilderness can bring. He’d taken point himself, choosing, always, to lead from the front. The blizzard raged outside his armor, but inside his suit it was a perfect twenty-three degrees, as per the personal setting on his environmental controls. A proximity alert beeped in Hale’s ear. There was something—movement—off to his left. He turned. In the distance several hulking shapes, ghost-like in the storm, padded without sound amongst the trees.
“We have movement to the left,” Kris whispered. She was drag in the diamond-shaped patrol formation, and was tasked with covering their six.
“I’m seeing the same,” Lash confirmed.
Zombie reported in next. “Got ‘em on my side as well. You clocking them too, boss?”
“Affirmative,” Hale answered.
He magnified the sector and zoomed in, capturing the image of whatever was tracking them. The blurred image came back in the shape of a beast in motion. Hale’s onboard computer reconstructed the blur using archived data, filling in the image of what looked like an enormous wolf with tusks. It was on the prowl. A short paragraph of information scrolled along the bottom left of Hale’s visor.
“They’re called vargs,” Hale told the team, reading as he spoke. “Indigenous to this planet. Like wolves on Earth. Just bigger. And nastier.”
“What’re the ROE’s here, boss?” Zombie asked.
“Leave them alone,” Kris answered before Hale could form a reply. “They will not attack unless they are certain they can overwhelm us. Otherwise they only become aggressive if cornered. I sense only four. There are four of us. Because of this, they will only watch.”
“So if they only attack when they have the numbers,” Zombie wondered, “then why are they following us?”
“They are probably hoping to separate us,” Kris Nac’ said. “Perhaps they wish to get us alone. They may even-”
Kris’ communique was broken by a bloodcurdling sound. The closest thing Hale could compare it to would be a coyote’s howl from back on Earth.
“As I was saying,” Kris continued, “they may even call to their pack. In hopes of tilting the odds in their favor.”
“How did you come to know so much about these creatures?” Lash asked. Hale was more than a little curious himself.
“My people evolved from such creatures,” the Tauranian sniper replied. “Many eons ago.”
It made sense to Hale. Like always recognized like.
Lash made an indignant sound over the comms. “Our people fought an interstellar war, Tauranian. How is it that I didn’t know that?”
“Ancient history,” Kris said. “Both our evolution and the war.”
“Let’s keep an eye on them,” Hale added. “Otherwise? They leave us alone, and we leave them alone.”
They covered the rest of the way in silence, using only gestures and hand signals to communicate. The vargs, noiseless specters, trailed them at a respectable distance, always just out of pulse rifle or full vison range. Night fell. And with it, the snowfall subsided. The planet’s twin moons, one ice-blue and one bone-white, rose, bathing the woods in their soft glow. The forest became a place of deep shadow, until the lights of the chalet suddenly loomed large in front of them.
Hale stalked to the edge of the forest. He whipped up his hand and called a halt. He dropped to his knee, motioning for the team behind him to do the same. The chalet was huge—a snow covered mansion of dark rock and solid wood. Stone columns made up the foundation. The base of the structure more resembled a castle than a home, with hand-carved blocks of slate-grey rock native to the planet. The porch, roof, and structure were wood—maybe the same evergreen trees that covered this part of Hostia. There was no fence, but guards patrolled the road up to the chalet and along its walls.
Hale transitioned from blue night vison to dark green infrared. The chalet lit up, the helmet’s optics highlighting every window and registering the heat sigs of every Separatist walking the grounds. Hale shifted his field of view, switching from infrared to standard vision. The world turned black around him before he refocused his sights on the structure.
The place was a beautiful retreat, situated on top of a hill and backed by the mountains. The walls seemed solid, as opposed to only being decorative. Warm golden light spilled from every window. They had to assume the windows were pulse-proof plexglass. Several lights atop generators illuminated the surrounding area, preventing an assault under cover of darkness and providing sufficient light for defenders to repel any attack. Unfortunately for Hale and his team, the structure looked well-defended.
Hale zeroed in on the porch and side entrance of the chalet. Two heat signatures leapt onto his HUD, indicating Separatists manning the main door. He read at least another six enemy, all interspersed among the chateau’s several balconies and around its perimeter. He clocked two at the side entrance, plus two more guarding the road up.
“What do we make the count?” Hale asked his team.
“I got ten. Two on the porch, two on the road, and another six located around the perimeter.” Zombie said.
“Same,” Kris responded.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Lash began, “but I make it an Earth baker’s dozen. From this angle I can see the other three guards you all missed.”
Hale swore to himself. Lash had the far left flank, and could see what the structure itself was blocking. Dammit. They hadn’t expected this much resistance. Now what?
Off among trees, Hale spotted the vargs. A few of the original pack’s friends had decided to join the party. There were at least fifteen of them now. Sitting. Waiting. For what? Why didn’t they approach?
The beginning of an idea stirred in Hale’s mind. He keyed up his comms. “Razor One to Razor Four. Interrogative: what’s with our friends in the woods? Over.”
“One this is Four,” Kris said. “They will not approach. The flood lights of the chalet frighten them. They are primal creatures, and of the wild. They would not dare approach without good reason.”
Hale looked from the vargs to the guards, then back again. He crept over to Zombie, unlocked his pulse
rifle from his armor, and then handed it over.
Zombie took the weapon and switched to their personal channel. “What the hell are you doing, boss?” she asked, the confusion evident in her voice.
“Kris said the vargs wouldn’t approach the house without a good reason.” Hale shrugged. “Maybe I can give them one.”
* * *
Hale approached the silent creatures in a crouch, his arms spread wide. His armored feet and legs crunched through the ice-covered snow as he moved. Through the trees, the creatures’ eyes glowed silver in Hale’s night vison, reflecting what little light there was from the planet’s twin moons. The vargs sat on their haunches in the distance, tongues lolling, under giant evergreen trees heavy with snow. Their breath came in hot puffs of steam as they sat, silent as graves, still as statues. If this went wrong, Hale would probably end up dead. But if it didn’t work? He’d be dead anyway.
As Hale approached, alone and with only his holstered pulse pistol, the creatures formed a semi-circle and closed in. To them Hale was a single, isolated prey. An easy kill.
Hale touched his armored hand to the pressure sensor at his neck. His helmet’s visor retracted with a whoosh. The cold air bit into his exposed skin, a thousand frozen needles pricking into his hot cheeks and forehead. His eyes burned and watered, and his breath came in frozen clouds from his mouth and nostrils, mirroring that of the predators a too-short distance away.
Here goes nothing.
Hale unlocked his gauntlet, inserted two naked fingers into his mouth, and blew. A shrill whistle, piecing as a siren, shattered the silence of the primeval winter forest. Before the echo died Hale slapped his gauntlet on and was hauling ass back the way he’d come.
A series of yips and howls answered his whistle. He heard the vargs crashing through the crusted snow behind him, could almost feel their fetid breath down his neck, each of them hungry, built to hunt, and eager for the kill.
“Be ready!” Hale yelled into his comms.
“Gotcha boss,” Zombie answered. “It’ll be the tree at the edge of the woods. The one to the left, just ahead of you.”
Hale put on a burst of inhuman speed, augmented by the power cells in his armor. His hulking frame moved through the forest, bursting through a snow bank like a shot. He could sense the vargs on his heels. He wondered if this was how ancient man felt on Earth, being hunted down by sabertooth tigers. Hale passed the designated tree, his world spinning as he was snatched from the vargs’ path, going flailing into a snow bank.
“Execute,” Zombie said.
Three quick pulse blasts from Kris’ rifle put the chateau’s floodlights out of commission. The world went black, before Hale’s helmet switched to night vision. Through the layer of snow covering him, Hale saw the vargs race past—straight toward the guards on the perimeter of the chalet.
He heard Lash chuckling trough the comms as he held Hale in his arms. The sensation was new to Hale. He couldn’t recall ever feeling small in anyone’s embrace. He wasn’t one-hundred percent sure of Salayan mating practices, but lying together in the snow, he hoped the big mercenary didn’t get any ideas.
“Warm-blooded predators never were very smart.” The Salayan laughed, watching the last varg, the runt of the pack weighing in at a mere ninety-one kilos, race by.
“Warm-blooded predators, huh?” Zombie shot back through the comms. “Just try taking off that helmet buddy.”
The Salayan hissed, his version of laughter.
“Just glad. . .you were here,” Hale panted.
“Was there ever any doubt?” Lash asked.
Hale nodded to himself inside his helmet. Lash had just saved his ass. Under the circumstances, maybe putting out wouldn’t be completely out of the question?
Hale and Lash extricated themselves, first from one another and then from the snowbank, and regrouped with the team. Zombie had given Lash Hale’s weapon when he’d hatched the plan. Hale gladly took his rifle back. He glanced at his chrono.
“The vargs should be providing us with that distraction we need any second now.“
The shouts went up first, as if on cue. Erratic pulse fire followed. Then came the snarls. Then the howls. Then the screaming.
“Sounds like they’re nice and distracted Razor One,” Zombie said. “Now might be a good time to move on the structure.”
Hale agreed. “Sounds good, Two. Let’s do it. Eyes peeled, people. Give those vargs a wide berth. And stay tight. We’re not out of the woods yet. Pun intended.”
Hale led the team swiftly through the trees, emerging into the clearing to the right of the chalet. The scene was gruesome. Separatists fought vargs. Dead predators and pieces of torn-to-shreds-humans and off-worlders littered the clearing and the road. Hale zoomed in on as much of each dead countenance as was left, checking facial recognition for a hit on LeBlanc. They all came up empty.
“Looks like the target wasn’t on guard duty,” Zombie said.
“Not that we thought he’d be,” Lash added.
“Keep moving,” Hale ordered. They hugged the treeline the rest of the way in, circling around the horror scene. They moved undetected, even as reinforcements ran from the chalet to help put the four-legged invasion down.
“Rear perimeter looks clear,” Zombie announced. “All the sentries are on varg fighting duty.”
They’d been led to believe the place would be all but deserted. This time, Lima’s usually reliable intel had been bad. Hale wished he could give the old man an earful on this one. Too bad for him that this far out, there was no wave relay for the signal. With all the additional muscle Shane and X37 provided, Hale considered calling in the gunship and just having them glass the whole damned place. That would take care of the extra guards. But he dismissed the option almost as quickly as it occurred. They needed the bomb maker alive. If the chateau was reduced to rubble, the chances of them taking LeBlanc in still breathing became a lot less likely.
“Good thinking on that distraction Razor One,” Zombie said. “Using your own ass as space wolf bait took some real balls.”
A jolt of surprise ran through Hale. Zombie didn’t hand out accolades lightly. “Sometimes it’s better to have more balls than brains,” he deflected.
Zombie laughed. “Spoken like true jarhead.”
With the guards occupied, they slipped along the edge of the treeline, toward the rear of the chalet. Hale took them partway up the foothills behind it so that he’d have both cover and the high ground, before sliding back down the ice-covered rock to approach the structure’s abandoned side entrance. Hale eyed the lock, conscious of the sound of vargs and guards in the background. It was dying down, which meant Hale and his team were running out of time.
The door to the chalet was formidable, built of solid wood, a peristeel handle, and set into the stone foundation. The lock itself was a standard coded mag job—one of good quality, but defeatable if you had the right tools.
“Razor Three,” Hale said.
“On it,” Lash replied.
The mountainous Salayan moved forward. Completely encapsulated within his armor, the only indications of Lash’s identity were his huge size, and his helmet’s distinctly reptilian silhouette. Lash locked his 267 to his chest and pulled out the entry tool they’d used back on Mios—the skeleton key. The disc-shape device had its own onboard AI, capable of cracking any lock’s numerical code combinations up to ten digits, all in mere seconds.
Lash set the skeleton key in place. It came online, buzzing softly until the indicator lights activated. The device did its magic, the lights winking from sunset orange to electric blue. Inside the door frame, several peristeel tubes retracted with a smooth swish and a deep clunk. Lash gave a thumbs-up, signifying the door was unlocked.
Hale nodded. Lash grasped the cold metal handle, pulled, and stepped aside.
Hale hit the room first. The ground floor was dark, more akin to a basement or storage area than general living quarters. His blue night vision showed a corridor off to the left,
with what appeared to be a storage area at the end. Hale shifted toward the corridor, with Zombie breaking right and Kris taking center.
“Short room,” Hale mouthed into his comms.
As breacher, Lash made entry last and backed Hale’s move into the storage area. The space was empty, except for some cold-weather clothing, a pair of gloves, and some anti-grav ski equipment. A child’s sled lay against the wall in the corner.
“Clear right,” Hale said.
“Clear left,” Lash announced, arriving a second later.
“Main room’s clear,” Zombie said.
“Side room’s clear,” Hale whispered. “Heading back to you.”
Hale and Lash moved back to the main area. They inspected the space. Tables sat in the darkness. Metal shavings, charging gel, traces of explosives cases, and wiring lay scattered about. LeBlanc had been busy. Hale could still smell the solder—the work here had occurred recently. That was bad. But where were the explosives themselves? He’d be sure to ask Leblanc when they got to him.
Hale signaled the team to form up. With Zombie in the two spot, Kris in the three, and Lash watching the rear, they moved through the darkened space.
Hale adjusted his pulse rifle and gestured toward a set of stairs leading up, to the second floor. He dropped into a low crouch, slow and methodical as they moved up the steps. Shards of soft light shone from underneath the door jamb. He placed the rifle in his shoulder and aimed up, sighting in as they moved. The closer they went to the light source, the more his helmet visor auto-adjusted, gradually switching from night vison to normal low-light.
Hale tested the door and found it unlocked. He waited for the team to fall in behind before easing it open. He entered, leading with the barrel of his weapon. The stairs opened into an expansive living area and connected kitchen space. The main room was like something out of an old-time western vid. The walls, ceiling and floor were all polished wood. The fireplace built from the same stone as the chalet’s foundation. Synth-leather comprised the majority of the room’s furniture. On the wall, a Hostian elk dominated the space above the mantle. It was flanked on either side by the heads of two vargs. The place stank of wealth. Someone had spent some credits decorating this place, and they’d spent a lot of them.
