by Jay Allan
Andi listened as Jon Peterson snapped out orders to his Marines. Dauntless’s jamming had knocked out the Marines’ scanners as well as their comm, and Peterson had picked up the approaching vehicles with a pair of far more primitive devices. His ears. Andi knew that, because she’d ID the transports the same way.
The only question that had been eating at her was, what would the convoy do now that their communications and scanners were out? Would they race forward, trying to reach the spaceport as soon as possible—as Andi and her people were hoping—or would they turn and head back to the prison? Peterson had a detachment waiting in case the trucks did turn around, but it was smaller and less well-positioned. But the transports hadn’t turned around. They were coming.
Her stomach was tight, waiting to see how Peterson’s people did with the rocket launchers she’d provided. The Marines hadn’t been able to bring any of their own heavy weapons, not on a trip posted as recreational leave, and it was next to impossible to buy anything larger than a pistol on Megara…but Andi still had her secret cache in Pegasus, and—courtesy of Admiral Striker’s dispensation—her ship was excused from any inspections on docking or landing. So when Peterson had expressed concern about having enough firepower to take on armored transports, she’d come to the rescue.
She listened as Peterson’s Marines acknowledged, their voices grim. She’d become close to the Marines on Dannith, the ones Peterson had assigned to guard her against Ricard Lille. She’d known then, just from the way they conducted themselves, that they were combat veterans…but on the way to Megara, she’d had time to do a bit more research. Peterson’s division was one of the most prestigious and decorated in the Corp, and their list of battle honors stretched so far she’d had to scroll to a second page to read them all. The officer himself would almost certainly have received his promotion to general some years before, if he hadn’t been as prone as he was to recklessly speaking his mind. But, lack of political astuteness aside, everything she’d read indicated Peterson was one of the three or four best combat officers in the entire Corps.
If she had to be on the capital planet ready to attack Confederation personnel, she suspected she couldn’t be in better company. Still, she wondered what this would do to the Marines, especially if some of the guards were killed. They’d spent their entire adult lives fighting under the Confederation banner, and after what was about to happen, she was certain some people would always look upon them as traitors. What she didn’t know was how the men and women standing around her now would react to that.
She squeezed her hands around the assault rifle. The cartridge in place was loaded with heavy stun projectiles. With some luck—a lot of luck—they just might get through the operation without having to kill anyone. Just maybe, they could disable the guards, rescue Gary Holsten, and be gone before anyone recovered enough to resist. But Andi didn’t believe in things working out that well…mostly because they never did.
She looked down at the sling thrown over her shoulder, and the three cartridges loaded with armor-piercing slugs. Normally body armor was a protection in battle, but in this case, it could be a death sentence for the guards in the convoy. If they were too well protected to take out with non-lethal ordnance, Peterson and his Marines—and Andi—would have no choice but to use the deadly ordnance.
She was still thinking about the situation, and its likely consequences, when things began to happen quickly.
She saw the lead transport come around the corner and head down the straight length of road where Peterson’s people were deployed. She held her breath for an instant. The jamming should have knocked out the scanners on the transports, and she was pretty sure all the Marines were well-hidden from view…but things often found a way to go wrong. Those first few seconds stretched out, passing with agonizing slowness.
Then she saw the second transport, and finally the third. They didn’t stop, didn’t even pause. There was no sign they were aware of any danger. There was a guard on top of each of them, manning an autocannon, but as her eyes focused on the one in the lead vehicle, she could see he was inattentive. Hell, from where she was, he looked half-asleep.
Prison guards and Senate Lictors aren’t Marines…you know that…
Still, it seemed like more good fortune than she’d dared to expect.
She watched as Peterson raised his arm…and then dropped it quickly. The signal for the rocket crews to fire.
Andi held her breath. They had the advantage of surprise, and they had planned things as well as time allowed. But this was no desolate battlefield out in the Periphery. They were just outside the center of Troyus City, and even without communications, it wouldn’t take long for authorities of some kind to respond to gunfire, not to mention explosions. Peterson’s Marines could do this, she was sure of it. But there was no room for error.
None.
She heard the sounds of the launchers firing, and almost simultaneously, the six snipers opening fire, taking out the three gunners on top of the vehicles. She saw the first two guards lurch backwards as two of the heavy stun bullets hit each of them. The targets had helmets and breastplates, but the marksmen had all hit them in the neck and face. Andi knew those hits had been painful, and probably injurious, too. But a few broken teeth, or even a shattered jaw, was better than being shot to pieces by assault rifle fire.
The three gunners were motionless as the rockets slammed low into their transports. The team had fired at a sharp angle, tearing the wheels off all down the one side of the lead vehicle but hopefully not killing the occupants. The transport skidded to a stop, the momentum shaking the disabled gunner, who dropped to the ground, hitting with a sickening thud.
He’s probably still alive…
Andi wrenched her thoughts away from such worries, quickly confirming that all three gunners were down…and all of the transports were disabled.
The attack had not been a quiet one, despite every effort to shield as much noise as possible. The lack of communications should slow any response…but she had no idea how long Dauntless’s jamming would be able to suppress the comm system. The big battleship had the element of surprise, but now she would have to deal with other Confederation vessels responding, and meanwhile, the crews on the ground would eventually power through the jamming.
Andi figured they had three minutes. Maybe four.
She jumped into the street, the line of Marines doing the same. The transports were all at a complete stop, two of them leaning over at an angle. Her eyes darted around, looking for the hatches, anyplace that would swing open for emerging occupants. She was sweaty, edgy. Her weapon might be armed with non-lethal ammunition, but she knew damned well that wasn’t the case for the guards in the transports.
Normally the attackers would be working off their scanner units as well, the electronic surveillance assets delivering them far better intel than their own eyes in the predawn light. But they had none of that.
As she closed the distance to the center vehicle—the one she’d guessed held Holsten—she expected someone to emerge, to start firing at her and her Marine comrades. But then she reached the vehicle, and checked the hatches along the side she was on. Both were locked shut.
They decided to stay inside and wait for help. That could be the smart play…
She looked around, imagining every sound she heard, however faint, was a virtual army descending on them. It had been less than a minute, and she knew no response could be there yet. Still, when it did arrive, it would probably be armored troops, and that meant the non-lethal part of the operation would be at an end. Getting caught or killed were obviously the worst outcomes she’d considered…but next in line was being faced with a single way out, to open up and gun down dozens of Confederation troopers. She’d do it if she had to, at least she’d told herself she would…but the feeling in her gut told her it was far better to avoid the test on that.
“All right, Sergeant, let’s move it. Get these hatches open now.”
Andi heard Hank Be
llingham yelling at the Marines. The major had given up all efforts at being quiet, a reasonable choice since three huge explosions had just echoed through the waning night. Anyone who hadn’t been alerted by the rockets wasn’t going to be by one Marine officer’s voice, no matter how hard and loud it was.
Two Marines raced up to each of the hatches. There was nothing non-lethal about the charges they carried…though, hopefully, they would simply blow apart the doors, and not anyone standing behind them. Andi watched for a few seconds as the teams began to put the devices in place, and then she turned, watching and listening for any signs of approaching intervention.
So far so good.
“Andi, step back.” Bellingham’s voice shook Andi from her inspections. The charges were ready to go. The Marines had been faster than she’d expected, another reminder of just how hardened Peterson’s unit was.
She jerked herself away from the transport and around to its rear, still watching for anyone approaching. She crouched forward, shielding her head, even as she heard the explosions, and felt the heat…and a painful shower of debris hitting her back.
She lurched forward, letting out a partially restrained shout of pain, and jumped up. She straightened out as she did, her hands sliding over her body, confirming to herself she wasn’t badly hurt. Then she spun around, weapon still in hand, and came back around the side of the transport…just in time to hear a crack and see one of the Marines fall backwards, his face a bloody mess.
She couldn’t recognize who it was, not from what was left of his face, but she was pretty damned sure he was dead. That wasn’t a surprise…she’d allowed herself to hope for a bloodless victory, but she hadn’t really expected one.
The Marines were returning fire, pouring a withering burst of stun slugs into the vehicles. Andi cringed, realizing that Holsten was probably in the transport, too, but she knew very well that if they didn’t disable all the guards, now, none of them were getting away—Holsten included.
She walked to the back of the transport and looked inside. There were four guards, all disabled. Three appeared to be unconscious, the fourth lying doubled over, wincing in pain as he clutched his clearly broken arm. An instant later, one of the Marines leaned into the vehicle and hit the man with a stun rod. The hapless guard convulsed and collapsed into a motionless heap.
Andi winced, but she also knew she would have done the same thing. A wounded, even a dying, man could easily kill a dozen enemies. If veterans learned one thing, it was not to take chances they could avoid.
She moved toward the hatch, but the Marines were climbing in before she got there. She glanced quickly forward and backward, confirming the same thing was going on at the other transports. She didn’t take time to check her chronometer, but she estimated they were two minutes in now. Still safe, probably, but they didn’t have long before some kind of intervention became a real possibility. And they still had to get to the spaceport…and get the hell off Megara.
Her head jerked around as she heard another burst of rifle fire, from behind, near the rear vehicle. The dawn light was increasing slightly, but it was still mostly dark, and she couldn’t see what was going on. She thought she saw at least one Marine fall, but even as she was squinting, trying to get a better view, she heard a familiar voice from inside the transport closest to her.
“What the hell is going on here, Sergeant?” It was Gary Holsten, talking to the Marine closest to him. He’d been sitting along the far edge of the vehicle’s compartment, his arms shackled and locked onto a heavy metal bar.
She could see the Marine freeze, uncertain how to respond. Andi knew the situation was above his pay grade, and she took pity on him. “We’re here to rescue your sorry ass,” she said, stepping up with one foot and hoisting herself halfway into the transport. “So, say ‘thank you,’ and then follow us. Because it’s a damned good bet that trouble’s on the way.”
“Andi…” Holsten looked stunned to see her, and she got a strange sense satisfaction from that. She couldn’t recall ever seeing the spy even slightly befuddled any time before. “What…”
“Later. We’ve really got to go.” She gestured toward one of the Marines, who popped out the cartridge with stun ordnance and popped in the armor piercing rounds. He aimed the gun at the chain, as far from Holsten as he could, and he fired one well-placed round, shattering several links and freeing the prisoner.
“Come on,” Andi said again, grabbing Holsten’s shoulder and pulling him forward. “We’ve got to get the hell out of here.”
* * *
Barron stepped out into the corridor, and he looked at Rogan. He was concerned—about his situation, about what the Marine general and his people had gotten themselves into…and about the prospects of actually getting out of the prison, escaping to somewhere that would be even temporarily safe for a group that would-be outlaws, even traitors. At least until—unless—they could clear things up somehow.
He was emotional about the loyalty his people had shown as well, their willingness to come for him despite all the concerns he was sure they understood as well as he did. He was about to say something to them when the sounds of boots stomping against the sheet metal of the floor got his attention.
An instant later, fire erupted…from one end of the corridor, and an instant later, from the other. His instincts took over, combat reflexes pushing him back into the cell, reaching out and grabbing one of the Marines nearby and pulling him into cover as well, even as the man stumbled and began to fall.
Barron swung around instinctively as gunfire out in the corridor increased in intensity. He reached out, his combat reflexes in full control now, grabbing Bryan Rogan by the collar and pulling him into the cell as well. He reached out and grabbed another of the Marines next, even as three more dove in by themselves. But that left more of them out in the corridor, a lot more…and Barron saw two of them drop to the ground, even as their comrades were returning the fire.
“General, what is the meaning of this? Do you know what you’ve done?” Barron’s mind was racing, trying to decide what could have caused his normally methodical and “by the book” ground commander to go rogue and come barging into the Senate’s own compound with a pack of armed Marines.
“Sir, it was Captain Lafarge’s idea…and Colonel Peterson’s. Captain Travis went along with the plan, as well. She even…”
“Captain Lafarge? She’s on Megara?” Barron’s mind reeled. He’d struggled for months to keep his sometimes lover out of his mind since he’d returned to prepare the Confederation to face invasion by the Hegemony. An effort that had gone stunningly poorly. But now it all flooded back—affection, longing…and a cold sense of dread at what she’d clearly involved herself in.
“Yes, sir. She’s with Colonel Peterson. They’re rescuing Mr. Holsten.”
Barron was a combat veteran, and a very intelligent man, with a mind that adjusted quickly even to rapidly changing situations. But his thoughts were swimming now, confusion hovering in his head like a dense fog. It was insane, his crew and a few allies taking on the Confederation forces on Megara. It was hopeless, irrational…and the more he thought about it, the less surprised he was.
“Sir…there’s something going on, some kind of conspiracy. Admiral Striker is missing, and there’s an arrest warrant out on him. Several hundred officers have been arrested as well. We had to get you out of here, so we can deal with what his happening…and with the Hegemony.”
Barron fought to clear his head. He pushed the Hegemony aside for the moment, along with almost everything else that wasn’t tactically useful at the moment. He couldn’t quite force out the thought of Andi being so close.
Another pair of Marines slipped inside the cell, carrying a wounded comrade. Barron looked around, and he realized one thing. His would-be rescuers were trapped. He saw that they had non-lethal arms, and he understood why they’d come that way. He found the prospect of killing Confederation comrades as repellant as they did. But he quickly realized they had no chan
ce of getting out firing stun ordnance, not with the guards coming at them from two sides firing real ammunition. And if they didn’t escape, if he didn’t get some chance to get out the warning about what was coming, Hegemony fleets would arrive and cut through an almost defenseless Confederation.
“Did you bring standard ammunition, Bryan?” Barron’s voice suddenly went cold, as frigid as space itself.
“Yes, sir, but…”
“There are no ‘buts,’ General. Either we get out of here and find a way to get the word out…or hundreds, maybe thousands, of Hegemony warships will cut through the Confederation without resistance, possibly killing billions.” He paused, trying to ignore the nauseous feeling in his stomach. “We’re not getting out of here unless we fight…with everything we’ve got.”
Barron could see the realization in Rogan’s face, and the pain as well. But the Marine turned and yelled, loud enough for all his people to hear. “Switch to standard ammunition…we’ve got to fight our way out of here.”
Barron watched, and he wondered if the Marines would obey. He guessed they would. Rogan’s people worshipped him, and men and women under fire tended to react with whatever means got them through the fight. They might agonize with guilt afterward, but they would do what they had to do to survive.
“Marines…this is Admiral Barron. I’m with you. We have to get out of here. We have to spread the word about the Hegemony.” He’d thrown in with Rogan, added his influence to the general’s. If the Marines obeyed, if they killed dozens of Confederation troops—and Barron had no doubt now that they would—it was on him as much as Rogan or Travis or anyone else.
More on him. They were all there to rescue him.
He could see the Marines in the cell moving quickly, grabbing clips from their ammunition belts, and slamming them into place…and a few seconds later, he could hear the familiar sounds of assault rifle fire in the corridor.
