THE RETURN OF THE GREY
By Robert Henry
The Return of the Grey
By Robert Henry
1st Edition March 2017
Copyright © 2017 Robert Henry
Cover Image © 2017 Rurik Henry
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROLOGUE: THE LAST BATTLE
CHAPTER 1: ARMITAGE’S TAVERN
CHAPTER 2: TWO MONTHS LATER
CHAPTER 3: ON THE PLAIN
CHAPTER 4: IN THE BOX
CHAPTER 5: THE END OF THE TEST
CHAPTER 6: A SCHOLAR’S THOUGHTS
CHAPTER 7: OUTSIDE
CHAPTER 8: COLDA AND HIS AIDE
CHAPTER 9: NATA AND THE SCHOLAR
CHAPTER 10: OUT ON THE PLAIN
CHAPTER 11: GHOST HANGAR
CHAPTER 12: ON THE ROOF
CHAPTER 13: TRACKA-DAN’S FUNERAL
CHAPTER 14: THE SCHOLAR AND NATA
CHAPTER 15: BRIODI’S INTERVIEWS
CHAPTER 16: COLDA’S COLD FURY
CHAPTER 17: HARDWARE
CHAPTER 18: BRIODI’S TEARS
CHAPTER 19: TRAGEDY
CHAPTER 20: A TERRIBLE SIGHT
CHAPTER 21: LOWER LEVEL AT MED
CHAPTER 22: COLDA’S ALLIES
CHAPTER 23: TIME FOR THE BOTTLE
CHAPTER 24: A BUMP IN TRAINING
CHAPTER 25: ELSEWISE, NATA AND THE BOX
CHAPTER 26: CELENE STRIKES
CHAPTER 27: THE QUIET ONE’S COLORS
CHAPTER 28: QUIET NIGHT AT MED
CHAPTER 29: WITNESS TO THE MARVELS
CHAPTER 30: BLOOD ON THE BLACK
CHAPTER 31: DIRTY HANDS
CHAPTER 32: DEBRIEF 1
CHAPTER 33: DEBRIEF 2
CHAPTER 34: FAREWELLS
CHAPTER 35: AG PLANET
CHAPTER 36: THE LANDER
CHAPTER 37: THE PLAZA
CHAPTER 38: TAKE-OFF
CHAPTER 39: COUNTING THE LOSSES
CHAPTER 40: ON THE RIM, AT THE BLOODY PASS
CHAPTER 41: THE RUN SOUTH
CHAPTER 42: BLACK PLANS
CHAPTER 43: A LESSON
CHAPTER 44: OULTE’S RUN
CHAPTER 45: A GENERAL’S TENT
CHAPTER 46: PEG’S TRAVELS
CHAPTER 47: BACK ON BASE, AS EVENING FALLS
CHAPTER 48: BITTER QUEST
CHAPTER 49: CONCERNS IN MED
CHAPTER 50: OLD HEADS
CHAPTER 51: A MARINE KISS
CHAPTER 52: IDENTITIES REVEALED
CHAPTER 53: EXPLANATIONS AND PLANS
CHAPTER 54: SELECTION
CHAPTER 55: DIRECTIONS
CHAPTER 56: ON THE RIM, AN IMPROMTU MEETING
CHAPTER 57: THE LAST EAGLE
CHAPTER 59: DUTY OF CARE
CHAPTER 59: MERCY
CHAPTER 60: SURVEY
CHAPTER 61: TOLLEN’S PAINS
CHAPTER 62: THE SCARS OF COMMAND
CHAPTER 63: STRATEGY
CHAPTER 64: GHOSTS
CHAPTER 65: CONTEMPLATION
CHAPTER 66: BACK ON MISSION
CHAPTER 67: COURAGE AND CURSES
CHAPTER 68: THE RAID
CHAPTER 69: TACTICS AND TIME
CHAPTER 70: THREE-LEGGED RACE
CHAPTER 71: LOSS
CHAPTER 72: COMPARATIVE STUDIES
CHAPTER 73: THE SUCCESSOR
CHAPTER 73: BACK
CHAPTER 75: NEWS
CHAPTER 76: AND FORTH
CHAPTER 77: AT THE OTHER END
CHAPTER 78: DEAD MAN’S PANTS
CHAPTER 80: RED JUSTICE
CHAPTER 81: ON BASE, VIGILANCE REWARDED
CHAPTER 82: INSIGHTS
CHAPTER 83: FEAR IN THE NIGHT
CHAPTER 84: VISCO, THE HUNTER
CHAPTER 85: NATA, THE SCHOLAR
CHAPTER 86: CELENE, THE FOOL
CHAPTER 88: FIRST BLOOD
CHAPTER 89: THE ATTACK
CHAPTER 90: THE PRIZE
CHAPTER 91: QUARTERMAINE ON THE PLAIN
CHAPTER 92: COMMANDER LA MAR
CHAPTER 93: ANOTHER DEATH
CHAPTER 94: ANOTHER LIFE
CHAPTER 95: A QUEST COMPLETED
CHAPTER 96: MAGIC LIGHTS
CHAPTER 97: RECOVERY
CHAPTER 98: THE RECEPTION AT THE GREAT GATE
CHAPTER 99: MORE PATTERNS
CHAPTER 100: DIFFERENT WAYS TO SEE THINGS
CHAPTER 101: THE SCOUTSHIP
CHAPTER 102: THE ANTEROOM
CHAPTER 103: WALL DECORATIONS
CHAPTER 104: ALIZANE’S PATH
CHAPTER 105: GROUP COMMAND
CHAPTER 106: TOLLEN’S LUCK
CHAPTER 107: GHOSTS LIGHT THE WAY
CHAPTER 108: BACK ON BASE, A COMMAND OF CRIPPLES
CHAPTER 109: IN THE GAP, DOWN TO THE PASSAGES
CHAPTER 110: ANOTHER PLAYER IN THE GAME
CHAPTER 111: END OF A MISSION
CHAPTER 112: RANGERS REUNION
CHAPTER 113: WALKING TO TRACKA-DAN’S
CHAPTER 114: KINDRED SPIRITS ON THE ROOF
CHAPTER 115: WORKING AT TRACKA-DAN’S
CHAPTER 116: REMEMBRANCES
CHAPTER 117: LEAVETAKING
EPILOGUE: THE SCHOLAR’S RETURN
GLOSSARY
NAMED CHARACTERS
PROLOGUE: THE LAST BATTLE
DEEP SPACE, SOMEWHERE IN THE GAP QUADRANT
Year 206 of the Bisegna, 7216 Post Expansion
There were too many of them. So many that the sensors couldn’t see through them to the empty reaches beyond. Thousands, maybe tens of thousands. The screens were white with them, the displays defeated by the numbers, the dots that represented alien craft so numerous that they appeared to coalesce. So many Ships, thought Trahern. A hollow feeling spread through his body. If his command faced this many, what was Burnett’s Group contending with?
The scouts had reported the Ships moving in force toward the Outer Passages. Burnett’s plan was to meet them near the asteroid Triamo with the main Battle Group, hold them until Trahern brought his Group down from behind then use that diversion to launch tactics of penetration and separation, envelopment and elimination. One-on-one the Ships were superior but they could be beaten with tactics.
Trahern was proud that his cadre had been chosen for the flanking movement, the only cadre given a mission of its own. Out into the deep, around the dead zone and down behind. A long, fast run with a hard fight at the end. Perfect for the Greys. A good plan.
Only it seemed that the Ships had thought of it also.
They had met on the edge of the dead zone, both forces running flat out. Neither of them tried to evade. Trahern had pulled his craft in tight with the aim of punching through. Let this lot chase us down to the Passages. As long as we come from behind, Burnett will cope. Those had been his thoughts. But he lost almost a third of his command on the drive into the massed enemy and when it stalled the Ships ahead of them were just as thick as when they had started. The screens were white with them. Too many Ships.
The enemy had quick craft and flew them well. Few pilots in the Guard could match them in single combat. Yet the Ships lost something in cooperative action. It did not seem to come easy to them. Working in formations, the cadres could even the odds, often improve on them. Not enough against these numbers, Trahern knew. He had hundreds. They had thousands. He would have to Weave.
He lifted his head and found Sojean, his second in command, watching him. He nodded to the alcove holding the Weave gear and she mo
ved to set up.
They were in the lead transport, one of three in the Group. The transports carried command functions, recovery gear and a squad of marines each. All of the other spacecraft were single-pilot fighters. The Grey Cadre, his cadre. The addition of the marines made it a combined command and raised the lot to Group status. He commanded a Battle Group. An honour.
He opened the comm to all craft. “Expand your patterns by two. Those on the inside prepare for a Weave.”
He needed room to set the Weave, and time. The craft on the outside of their array would have to buy both for them. It would be a near thing. He may have left it too late already.
*
It is good to know when you will die, thought Dawes. Lets you reflect on it with a little clarity. Quiet consideration was a habit of his. He had been chided for it in his early years on Base, especially during training. ‘You think too much for a marine, Dawes,’ and ‘We’ll do the thinking for you, marine; you concentrate on the doing,’ and the like.
But his habit held and soon became part of the character his comrades expected. ‘Go get the Scholar,’ they would say when they sent someone for him. Or ‘Your mother must have liked tall men, Dawsy,’ an allusion to the height that marked the Scholar breed back in the Inner Belt. He took it all in good nature and continued to ponder the world around him.
Life service at a place of the court’s choosing for contributing to the loss of a life within the realms of the Inner Belt. That was the sentence all of them carried, everyone in the Guard. ‘A life for a life’ told it simpler. Today that bargain would be met. Good, thought Dawes. He would pay his dues in the company of like men and women and bring this second life granted to him to an end with honour, out here at the edge of the universe protecting the Passages. The Passages had allowed humankind to spread throughout the galaxies. There had always been the chance that they would let something else come the other way.
The transport shook. Enemy fire was getting through. Dawes knew that the Weave wouldn’t last much longer. The Grey Commander had done his best. Just too many Ships.
Dawes studied the man lying in the alcove. There were a lot of wild stories about Trahern. Most agreed that he was from the Fringe, not the Inner Belt at all. A survivor of the Games, come to Base on his own accord. A dangerous killer, said some people. The most dedicated person on Base said others. Dawes believed it all now, having seen him in action. A fearsome deadly man, capable of immense destruction. Just what the Guard needed today.
The Weave band covered Trahern’s face. Only his eyes and mouth were visible, the mouth set and the eyes closed. The glint from fine metallic crystals shimmered around the edge of the band, crystals grown from the band into Trahern’s face to connect the nerves below to the sensor data streaming in from every craft he controlled. A thousand pathways to his brain. Dawes wondered what the Grey felt. Did it make all the spacecraft come alive for him? Part of him? If so, then what happened when they were destroyed?
The Grey Commander had set the Weave using all the craft left in the Group, nearly two hundred of them, something Dawes had not thought possible, and driven back down their track. The Weave was a ball of fire, so tight that there was no need for shields. The craft flew intricate patterns, wrapping around each other, firing in the instant of brief exposure on the outside of the Weave, warping safely back inside in the next moment. All under Trahern’s control. If he made a mistake he would destroy more of his own in seconds than the enemy had done so far in the whole battle. That was the danger of Weaves. That was why only a few commanders in the Guard were willing to try them.
The Ships caught between the Weave and the dead zone had no room to manoeuvre and took terrible punishment. Whatever the aliens were, they were of this universe, or one like it. The dead zone was death to them same as the Guard. The physics that governed the universe did not work in the dead zone. To pass into it was death, to be ‘unmade’. Even along its edge it could be treacherous, somehow altering the space around it. Trahern used it like an ally, staying just far enough away to entice the Ships in between. On all other sides the Ships flowed around the Weave and began to cut its strength.
Why Trahern took them back the way they had come, back down the track of their first drive, Dawes wasn’t sure. Maybe the best chance to get a few craft free. To try to warn Burnett and the Main Battle Group. Maybe just for the Grey to impose his will on the enemy. Amazingly, the Weave broke clear, only for seconds, not long enough to get anyone away. But it was an accomplishment. The Ships enveloped them once more and Trahern reversed direction, surging to draw the enemy in on the dead zone side. And they came. Had to hand it to the Ships. The bastards had been coming all day.
It was more like concerted devastation now than battle, both sides intent on destruction. The enemy ships attacked and were blown away. Yet their effort was telling. Dawes was only a marine but he could read a screen as well as a pilot. The Weave was shrinking before his eyes. Same path as before, through the debris of our own craft. The Group wouldn’t get as far this time. No third-time-lucky for them. The Weave would fail soon. Then it would all be over.
Dawes did not want to end as an observer. For all his cogitation, he was still a marine and a marine was there ‘to do’ as they said. They had been added to the Grey Group to man the extra guns mounted in the transports and to blast and board if the Ships brought larger craft. The aliens of the Ships had never been encountered in anything but their fighters, the quick single pilot ships. That was how they had got their name, but that didn’t mean that they had nothing else. To finally board and see them, meet them face-to-face or whatever, that would have been something.
Only fighters here today. Can’t board the fighters, he acknowledged with a twinge of disappointment. The small enemy craft disintegrated when penetrated, everything solid one moment converting to light the next. An awesome display but frustrating. Took the ‘board’ out of ‘blast and board’, the marines’ favourite space tactic.
His ruminations gave him an idea. For today. Something special.
‘Rockets on,’ he called to the squad. They were already suited up, had been since the first sighting of the enemy. ‘Projectile weapons and all the munitions you can strap on. We’re going out. Soon as the Grey cuts the Weave. We’ll introduce ourselves to these Ships, close and personal like.’
Smiles big enough to be seen through faceplates greeted his words.
‘I’ll pass it on to the squads on the other transports,’ he continued. ‘We’ll have good company out there.’
‘After all of your thinking, all these years, you finally have a good idea,’ said Bernie from beside him. ‘I’m glad I was here to hear it.’
‘Tollen will be angry that he missed this,’ said Alex, sliding over a box of shaped charges. ‘Sad for sure, anyway.’
‘I won’t tell him if you don’t,’ said Dawes. Their friend, Tollen, was back at Base in Med. Injured in a loading accident, he couldn’t embark with them. Same intake as Dawes and most of the veterans in the squads, he deserved a place in this Group. It felt strange not to have him with them.
‘That’s always been his luck, good and bad at the same time,’ said Bernie.
Dawes pondered it. Tollen would live on, maybe for many years if the Main Battle Group could stop the Ships, and there was a chance of that now that the Greys had cut this lot back. But everybody was going to die some day and to die with your friends doing something as bold as this was as good as it could get.
‘This will make a great story,’ said Bernie.
If the Ships bother with such things, thought Dawes. There won’t be any of us left to tell it.
*
When Trahern lifted the Weave band off his face the marines were waiting for him, all lined up, in suits with their rocket packs on. Their leader, the quiet sergeant named Dawes, tipped his head towards the hatch. Trahern understood and returned a nod of his own. The marines trundled across the deck to the lock, their suits heavy with extra munitions that had
been taped, pinned or strapped onto every available surface.
Sojean, his second in command, pulled him to his feet and led him to the flight controls.
‘You fly it. The rest of us will man the guns,’ she said. She caught his eye, started to say something more but then shook her head and stepped away.
He turned to the screens. Only thirty fighters and the three transports left. And the marines. The Ships were closing for the kill. Good. We can hurt them yet.
He opened the comm. ‘Fighters fix to the nearest transport. Transports, spread apart, make some room between us. Let the Ships in. Let them pack tight. When they are in, launch the marines.’
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