Assault Squadron - Book One

by D K Evans

  “And you want us to take this thing out?” Duuven asked, “Just like that? Sounds to me like this facility of yours will have more protection than the Federal Chancellor himself.”

  Sub chuckled, “Fortunately that’s the one positive piece of this whole thing. As I said, this is top-secret, only top intel guys are even aware that the black budget funding this thing even exists, much less what all the money is for. The Federation wants this kept as secret as possible – so the defenders will be few in number, but well-trained. By my calculations, our current forces should be sufficient to get the job done.”

  “Well what guarantees do we have that any of what you’re saying is even accurate?” Ford asked, “Much less that it’s even viable to plan an attack with?”

  “Your concerns are understandable. I can provide more detail.”

  “Well do tell, I can’t wait to hear what we’re up against.”

  “Oh I’m not going to tell you, Ford. I’m going to show you,” Sub turned to Duuven, “You have a medical deck on this ship?”

  “Of course!” the engineer puffed out his chest, “Why, you sick or something?”

  “Hardly,” Sub glowered, “I need an MRI scan.”

  -

  Ford followed them down to the medical bay, working something over in his brain. There were parts of Sub’s story that he couldn’t quite make sense of. Things that didn’t add up. But he’d proven himself reliable. Hell, he’d even saved Ford from Aeton. But nonetheless, he couldn’t quite bring himself to trust him.

  Whilst they walked along a corridor leading to the diagnostic department, Ford glanced into some of the adjoining wards. There were plenty of patients. Most had minor blast injuries, but there were more than enough in intensive care, hooked up to life support machines whilst the surgical bots did their work. In one office, Hubbard was perched on the edge of a table with a gaggle of medics around his injured leg. Ford gave a curt nod as he looked up, watching with a questioning look as they filed past.

  At last, they reached the scanning area and the technicians led the party into the observation room. As the MRI machine booted up, Sub got ready on the other side of the glass, handing all the metal objects on his person to one of the staff and assuming a comfortable position on the machine’s retractable bench. The head medic took his place at the controls and a bank of monitors flickered into life in front of them.

  “You should pay particular attention to my brain’s left frontal lobe,” Sub announced as he made himself comfortable.

  Ellery looked round and exchanged an uncomfortable glance with Duuven and Ford. There was something very unsettling about this whole situation.

  The door opened and Hubbard limped in, still dressed in his hospital gown and with a mechanical brace around his leg, holding the limb steady and keeping him flush with a supply of healing drugs.

  “I miss anything?”

  “No,” Duuven answered, “Not that this is any of your business.”

  “Ah, kiss my ass, scar face. I’ve got just as much right to be here as you.”

  “Unlikely, seeing as how this is my ship and all.”

  “Correction,” Hubbard pointed at Ellery, “WAS your ship. Besides, I didn’t know you even had a security clearance for anything more sensitive than the cafeteria’s dinner menu, let alone whatever this is.”

  “Alright, knock it off, both of you,” Ellery hissed at the two engineers.

  The rival department heads had never seen eye to eye, but Ford was beginning to suspect that having them both confined to the same ship would be like putting two bobcats in a cardboard box. Not pretty.

  The MRI came online and whirred through its startup procedures. Then the bench with Sub on it slid inside. A rhythmic tapping sounded and they watched as the monitors started to fill up with spectral images. As instructed, the operator zoomed in on the left frontal lobe, watching as a high-resolution cross section of images spread themselves out across the bank of monitors.

  “What’s that?” Ellery asked, pointing to a tiny grey spot in the sea of light.

  The technician shrugged and zoomed in again, filling the screens.

  “What the fuck?” Hubbard gasped as more pictures appeared.

  All four of them exchanged nervous glances as they looked at what was in front of them. Impossibly, clear as day, were microscopic columns of text and accompanying images etched into the tissues of the brain.

  “How is that possible?” Ford asked the operator.

  “It’s not,” he replied, “There’s no sign that this man has ever undergone surgery. I mean, to do this would require opening up not just the skull but the brain itself.”

  The machine completed its scan and switched off, ejecting Sub from its maw before he casually strolled into the observation room with everyone staring at him.

  “You see it?” he asked in his usual raspy voice.

  “Yeah…” Hubbard slowly nodded, “Just what is ‘it’?”

  “That, my friend,” Sub jabbed a finger at the screen, “is where we are heading.”

  “You mean…”

  “Exactly, it’s a schematic of our target. My employer had it stored away safe and sound for a rainy day.”

  “And you have no problem with them just carving that into your head?” Ford asked.

  “Well if I did, I wouldn’t be very good at my job now, would I?”

  “So these plans are up to date?” Ellery asked, quickly moving past the weirdness of the situation.

  “As far as our sources can discern, yes,” Sub replied.

  “Right. Have these images sent to the bridge,” Ellery ordered the dumbfounded medic before turning to the rest of them, “We have a battle to plan.”

  Ford watched as they followed her out of the room and laughed to himself. He thought he’d seen some crazy stuff in his time, but the last few days had provided him with a lifetime’s worth.

  “Uh, sir?” the medic asked as soon as the door shut and Sub was out of the room.

  “Yeah?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t usually throw my own opinions into the mix… and there’s a chance that I could be wrong… but it seems like I should say something…”

  “Just get to the point,” Ford smiled.

  “Ok. Well I’ve had this job for a long time – before I joined the rebellion, even – and I’ve taken a lot of images. And this guy’s brain activity is really strange.”

  “Yeah, we already know he’s got some top-level augmentation done.”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying!” the medic excitedly jabbed a finger at one of the monitors, “You see these kind of bright spots all around his head? These usually only occur in people who are still developing their neural pathways!”

  “Ok…”

  “My point is that I’ve only ever seen this kind of image when treating infants. And looking at the rest of his brain development… sir, if I had to guess using these pictures alone… I’d say that he’s only two years old at most.”

  “How can that be?” Ford felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to stand on end.

  “I’ve no idea,” the medic replied, “But if I’m honest, it makes me pretty damn uncomfortable.”

  “Yeah,” Ford stared at the screens, “You’re not the only one.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The bridge was already crowded by the time Ford got there. Sub was pacing around the central display, giving some vague background information to the assembled pilots. Over in the far corner, Ellery was standing and surveying the room, looking for signs that any of the people there might be having second thoughts. She found none.

  “…and that concludes our reasons for mounting this attack. Any questions?” Sub paused and with the air of a schoolteacher, looked in vain for raised hands, “Good, then let’s progress to the fine details.”

  He brushed his hand over the display’s touchscreen and stood back as one of the images that had just been grabbed from the inside of his own head was shown to the room. I
t was a rough map of a solar system with an added scrawl of someone’s handwritten annotations. The writing itself was sloppy enough to be nearly illegible, but the stamp of ‘CLASSIFIED’ across the top in standard Federation font was most definitely not.

  “This is the Ovlapis system on the outer periphery of Federation space,” Sub announced, “It consists of three small, atmosphere-lacking planetoids orbiting a yellow dwarf star. Not much in the way of mineral resources, so there’s virtually no commercial traffic going in or out. But that makes it a great place for the Federation to hide something that they don’t want found.”

  The next image flashed up and Ford couldn’t help but lean in for a better look as the room bristled with curiosity. It showed some kind of construct. A series of huge metal rings strung together with massive cables to form a tunnel. One end was open, but the other end terminated in some kind of dish.

  “This is your target,” Sub pointed, as a few more images flashed up, “It’s a series of resonance-amplifying subspace sensors connected to a single receiver. Some pretty complex tech, but that makes it all the easier to mess with. Concentrate your fire on the rings themselves – those sensors are the most delicate part of the whole construct. There’ll be an indeterminate amount of enemy fighter craft protecting this thing, so our first wave will be comprised of our own fighters to tie them down before our bombers launch.”

  “Uh… yeah,” drawled Pim from the front row, flanked by his usual posse, “I’m not seeing any hangars on this diagram of yours, so where exactly are all these Feds gonna be coming from?”

  “That’s the other problem. They’ll be carried by approximately four escort ships that patrol the area around the facility,” he waited for silence as a murmur went around the room.

  “That’s crazy!” Pim laughed, “If they’re on a perimeter patrol, then we’ll never get past their long-range guns, let alone make a dent in the fighters! They’ll shoot us down as we fly towards them.”

  “I know,” Sub nodded, “And that’s why I’m not asking you to fly towards them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” Sub said as he pointed at the blueprint of the facility, “That we’ll be jumping right into the middle of it.”

  An even louder murmur went around the room as Pim and his guys made a show of looking at each other incredulously. Ford scanned the room and noticed that Cheng was the only one sitting calmly. Though he did have a drink in his hand.

  “The facility sits on a Lagrange point,” Sub rasped, as the noise subsided under the icy tone of his voice, “The perfect spot in space between the star and one of its orbital bodies for there to be no gravitational pull either way on the sensor array. It’s effectively locked in place so that their measurements will be as precise as possible. Unfortunately for the Federation, that also means that our jump into the system can also be as precise as possible.”

  “The question is,” Cheng spoke up, “Can this rust bucket ship of yours be that precise?”

  All eyes in the room turned to Duuven, who was stood near the helm. As the man who had supervised the vessel’s refit, he was the only one qualified to answer.

  “Sure,” he shrugged, his scarred face reddening under the sudden scrutiny, “I can gauge her tolerances better than most, I suppose. I reckon I could get her in.”

  “Then it makes sense for you to be the one to command her, no?” Ellery asked, “I’ll lead the bombers in myself, if you can captain the ship.”

  “Well, if you insist,” Duuven smiled, his chest puffing out and his eyes already moving across the bridge to the captain’s chair, “It would be an honor.”

  Hubbard just rolled his eyes.

  “Good,” Sub gave a mirthless grin, “Then we should go over our exact launch order and everybody’s priority targets… that should be a good start.”

  “How are going to get out again?” Ford asked.

  “What do you mean?” Sub frowned.

  “I mean that we jump in, launch the strike force and shoot the place up… but shouldn’t we be getting the carrier in position to leave whilst this is all happening?” Ford looked around for support, “Otherwise we’ll be an easy meal for whatever reinforcements the Federation sends. Especially if the carrier isn’t ready to jump out.”

  “I can set a rendezvous point,” Duuven said with pompous indifference, “Just make sure you all get yourselves back to the ship before we leave.”

  “Good, now are there any other questions?” Sub asked the room.

  “Wait,” Cheng interrupted, “Do you have any actual coordinates for this jump that we’re making into the lion’s den?”

  “Why of course,” Sub nodded and brought up another image that had been grabbed from the deepest recesses of his brain.

  Despite his growing optimism, Ford couldn’t help but shiver.

  -

  Duuven set up the new waypoint and they jumped again. The days of travel went by in a frenzy of activity. The pilots ran countless simulations and drills to make sure they were ready, whilst the bridge crew got to work on optimizing every facet of their vessel’s operation. Or at least as far as the makeshift nature of the ship would let them. After the endless preparation, it almost came as a relief to hear the ship-wide alarm ring, telling them that they were just an hour away from battle as they prepared to drop out of jump-space.

  Ford strapped his flight suit on and double-checked every hose and strap, not wanting to fall victim to a stupid accident before he even got in the fight. Satisfied, he buckled on his pistol. Not that it was much use in a dogfight, but somehow its uncomfortable yet familiar weight was a comfort. After making some final adjustments, he grabbed his helmet and walked through the ship to the outer hull, where behind one of the docking rings, a fighter was waiting for him.

  “T-minus five minutes to arrival,” a loudspeaker announcement rang through the corridors.

  He watched the other pilots file past with a series of fist-bumps and grim nods to one another before stepping beyond the carrier’s hull and into their ships. As the corridor emptied, he stepped into his own airlock. He was shocked to find Sub waiting for him.

  “T-minus three minutes.”

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Ford asked, “You should be on the bridge, helping direct this thing.”

  “I know,” Sub said with this usual hoarse voice, “I was just waiting to see you off.”

  “I appreciate the gesture,” Ford growled sarcastically as the hairs on the back of his neck started to stand up, “But seriously, you should get out of here.”

  “I was thinking about what you said to me a while ago,” Sub continued, ignoring him, “About how we owe each other things. I believe what you said was that you wanted ‘honesty’ or something like that.”

  “Something like that,” Ford slowly nodded as the airlock door automatically closed itself behind him. He was suddenly very aware that he was trapped in a confined space with this guy. He let his hand gradually fall to his side, next to his holster.

  “Well, Ford, here’s some honesty… you shouldn’t get on that ship.”

  “The fuck are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the fact that this fight will have a very high attrition rate. Your chances of survival are very slim. As a favor, I’m giving you the opportunity to let me take your place.”

  “Just out of the kindness of your heart, I suppose?”

  “Exactly,” Sub gave one of his cold smiles, “Just walk away and I’ll fly the mission for you.”

  “Bullshit!” Ford hissed, “You’ve got something else going on here, haven’t you? The real agenda? You should get your ass back to the bridge before someone notices you’re missing.”

  “I want the ship, Ford,” Sub’s face relaxed into a vacant stare.

  “Not gonna happen, buddy,” Ford shook his head.

  “T-minus two minutes.”

  Ford grabbed his pistol as Sub lunged across the airlock towards him. He was fast drawing it o
ut of his holster, but the other man was faster. Ford’s head whipped back as a fist crashed into his face, dropping him onto the deck. A moment later, the outer airlock door opened and Sub stepped through, into the fighter beyond.

  “Don’t be offended, Ford. As I said, I’m saving your life.”

  Ford rolled onto his back as the door closed again. He tried to get up, but his vision swam. The sounds of the fighters starting their engines filled his ears as he lapsed into unconsciousness.

  “All stations,” the loudspeaker screeched, “Prepare for combat.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  For the occupant of any ship, dropping out of jump-space could be a nerve-wracking event, let alone for a person aboard a craft that was heading into battle. The streaking dots of light that flashed past the bridge began to slow down and coalesce into distant stars and planets as the carrier neared its destination. Duuven tried to look calm as he watched from his perch in the captain’s chair, but he couldn’t control the single bead of sweat that broke out on his temple. It was going to be close. He’d made some close jumps before and even watched as people more daring than him had pulled some fairly crazy stunts, but none were quite this risky.

  “Arrival in five seconds, sir!” called the helmsman.

  Duuven closed his eyes and breathed.

  A moment later and a slight lurch ran through the ship and into his stomach. They’d arrived. He opened his eyes to find the lightshow outside had stopped, replaced by the black of space. Above them, a pale star hung suspended amongst the darkness, casting shadows across the bridge. A series of gargantuan metal rings stretched off into the distance on each side of the carrier. Duuven allowed himself a smile. He’d done it, he’d put them right in the midst of the Federation’s little science experiment, where the enemy would be too squeamish to open fire from a distance and would instead have to close the distance to fight. In the meantime, the Rebels would have to get to work. The sensor display in front of him started to light up with hostile craft who were yet to work out what exactly had just jumped into their midst.