- XII -
The radio tower stood high above the rooftops of the surrounding buildings, visible for miles around. Human militaries would have destroyed it in the first wave of attacks, but the alien jammers rendered the structure useless. As the trio approached, they could hear the staccato of rifle fire. A high-pitched whine followed, shrill and intense. Zev pushed the civilians against the wall as an explosion rocked the alleyway. Smoke rose in a spiraling column one street down, and the gruff voices of Boxti foot soldiers could be heard under the din.
“We’re close,”Zev said to Timothy.“Stay in cover while I find us a path.”
Mary leaned out from behind her father’s legs.“Can’t we just run to the station?”
Zev knelt down, putting a hand on her shoulder.“It’s too dangerous now. Give me a few minutes and we’ll be inside. Nice and safe, Okay?”He patted her head as she nodded and rose to his feet. Timothy gave him a thumbs up and pulled his daughter into an alcove and ducking down. From the right angle they’d be invisible. As long as no one snuck up from behind.
Taking his rifle in hand, Zev stepped up to the street and peered around the corner. Three men from his platoon bunkered down behind concrete barriers near the radio station stairs. Every few seconds one would pop up, fire a burst, then drop as return fire peppered the area. A Boxti heavy cannon had been set up on the second floor of the adjacent building, a Thai restaurant. There were at least five of the creatures; two lizard men and three purple-skinned cyclopses. All wore plated body armor, tailored to fit their unique body shapes. As Zev looked for an avenue of approach he heard the angry buzz of a Wasp.
The soldiers hit the deck as the automatic laser opened fire, sending a thick stream of orange bolts into the radio station entrance. Concrete exploded in chunks, sending gray powder into the air and showering the street with bits of barrier. The aliens used the distraction to pick up their crew-served weapon and move into a flanking position. They disappeared behind a wall inside the building, emerging a few seconds later on the ground level. Without checking the street the five enemy grunts lumbered outside and moved to a nearby coffee house. Zev, waiting patiently, saw his opening.
As the last lizard man stepped out from cover, the sergeant leaned out and lobbed a grenade. The black disk caught the air and flew straight at the center of the his target. As it armed, the explosive chirped twice. The aliens heard the sound and stopped to investigate just as the frag touched down. Zev used the alley to shield himself from the explosion, counted to three, then popped out firing. The lizard men were dead already, split into pieces and spilling green and yellow blood onto the sidewalk. The purple creatures managed to suck up the shrapnel and keep rushing forward, but a burst from Zev’s assault rifle laid them flat. He put a round in each head just to be sure as he sprinted to cover.
The Wasp hadn’t changed targets, and the soldiers’barrier was just about out. Zev slung his weapon across his back; it wouldn’t have any effect on the aircraft. Leaping from the coffee-shop entrance, he hoisted up the alien cannon and pointed it at the flying machine’s engine. Thankfully the trigger was in the usual place, but Zev had to beat his fists against the cool metal receiver until he found the bolt release. The heavy gun bucked as it spat slugs into the belly of the canopy. Sparks burst from each impact and blood coated the inside of the cockpit. Finally a round hit the fuel line and the entire Wasp burst into flames, wheeling sideways before crashing into a building. Debris rained down into the street, but the cheers of the infantrymen could still be heard.
Zev dragged the cannon over to his comrades, grabbing them each in one-armed hugs as he arrived. They clapped him on the back, made comments about his eye and told him how they had hated to leave him behind. It was all well and good, but Zev had more important things to worry about. He called out into the alley.
“All clear, Tim.”
The civilian and his daughter appeared, jogging toward the steps with a purpose. Timothy had his submachine gun out and was checking corners, all while holding Mary’s hand and pulling her along. They made quite a sight: the refugee and little girl. Once Zev had them safely up the stairs and into the station, he became a sergeant again. He barked orders to the three soldiers, telling them to police the bodies and drag more barriers over. The position was secure but not fortified, and that had to change if they were all going to walk out alive.
“Now,”Zev said after handing out duties.“Where is the LT?”
Gabriel was inside the broadcast suite, along with the rest of the Scouts. They had the radio transmitter’s guts pulled out of the walls and spread on the floor; a sea of multicolored wires and motherboards. Sadly, none of the veterans had much experience with electrical systems. The officer looked up in surprise and joy when Zev walked into the room.
“Christ, sergeant.”He stood, coming over to give the big man a hug.“It’s good to see you up and about. How did you get the doc to let you leave?”
Zev smiled.“I’m real good with my words, sir.”
“So you just left.”
“Yup.”He laughed.“Tim here thought you might be having some trouble with the radio.”
Gabriel turned and pointed at the chaos on the carpeted floor.“We thought it was going to be a simple job. Maybe a few wires got disconnected during the bombing or something. We managed to get some power back with a generator in the basement, but as soon as we turned it on those bastards zeroed in on us.”
Zev frowned.“Didn’t seem so bad when we got here. Only five of them, plus a Wasp.”
“That’s a scouting party. Or a heavy weapons team. They send a lot of those around too, just to fuck with our own patrols. I don’t think they even care how many we take out. They’re trying to demoralize us before they kill us.”He motioned to one of the soldiers and the young man disappeared, returning a moment later with bottles of water for Mary and Tim.“This place was stocked well. Too bad no one made it here after the attack. There’s chow in the kitchen, if you’re hungry.”
The sergeant shook his head.“Had one of those protein things before we started out. I’ll be fine.”He grabbed Timothy by the shoulder.“Why don’t you have a look at that thing, see what you can do?”
Timothy set his gun on a nearby desk.“Might as well.”He pushed aside the two soldiers working on the transmitter and started in. Seconds later he was waist deep inside the console.
Gabriel pulled Zev aside into a nearby office and closed the door. Once he was sure the lock was secure he turned, his face pale and harried.“What are our chances, sergeant?”
Zev leaned against the wall. It was a small room, probably belonging to a few of the interns or production assistants. There were three desks total in a space barely big enough for two. Pictures hung on the wall of the various celebrity guests that had been on the air, and of course the radio personalities. Zev recognized the two goofballs from the morning talk show, but none of the others.“Honestly, sir? I don’t like our odds. That FOB is more of a hospital than anything else. I was there a few days—well, consciousa few days—and they never even sent a scouting party out to look for survivors. I think the ground game is looking sour, and the longer we’re out here the worse it’s gonna get.”
“OK, then what do you suggest?”
Zev wiped his mouth.“We get that radio working, we send out an SOS. Ride the first bird off of this rock. Ask for a rescue boat for every place we know is still held by friendlies.”
“And then?”Gabriel asked.
“Let Fleet burn the plague off the planet. Then we come back and crush the ashes.”
- XIII -
Mara looked down at her computer, eyes red from staring into the glowing screen for so long. She’d left the conversation with Hanweh and the other Domin shaken, more angry than grateful for her rescue. How had she once looked up to such leaders? They were as bad as the Magistrate they opposed. Well, she thought, not their equals. For all the Magistrate tried to be, honorable never factored in. At least the military men had offered
their crews a chance to leave, to make their own decisions.
Her letter was perfect, worded to touch upon the very nature of humanity. If it got into the right hands, she had no doubt with whom the Terrans would side. But now, staring at at her writing, her resolve weakened. Was it her place to play such a pivotal role in things to come? As a historian, she had always contented herself to watch from a distance, to be someone who knew everything but did nothing. By staking a claim as the arbiter of a new alliance, she could no longer hold onto the life she had once led.
Growing up in a migrant fleet had taken its toll. Mara couldn’t remember the last time she had felt important. In a culture of refugees, everyone was simply a part of the great struggle. Individuality took a second seat to survival, as those who stood out often were taken away. Her parents had worked hard to teach her how to fit in, keep a low profile. Even as illustrious a position as Historian had seemed too lofty a goal back then.
Her own confidence aside, she worried about failure. If the letter did not instill the correct feelings, the humans could turn to the Magistrate. Or worse, simply dismiss the Nangolani as a whole and leave them to fend for themselves. It had also crossed her mind that, once the deception was completely revealed, the humans may attack out of principle.
Often she thought about Ray, wondering whether or not he was even alive. He had sworn to defend her, but would he still feel the same once he learned the full truth? Would he support her and Hanweh against all of the work done by Anduin? And even if by some miracle he could forgive her people, would they even survive the plague unleashed upon them?
A chime sounded on the console. Her computer had finished locating a safe route to transfer the letter into Ray’s account. She hesitated over the send button, her conflicted mind dancing back and forth. Sucking in a deep breath, she closed her eyes and dropped her finger onto the keyboard. A tone sounded as the signal connected and the message was sent.
- XIV -
“Take aim.”
One by one, the soldiers lined up the glowing red reflex sights on one of the chittering aliens. Their thumbs found the snap safety on the grip and applied slight pressure. The barrels of their rifles bobbed as each person tracked their target.
Josh rested his elbows on a small pile of debris, focusing on his breathing. It was a moment before he realized just how quiet it had become. Yesterday he’d been able to link in to radio feeds from the various forces. That way he could know how everything fared on the outside. The war was going as poorly as it could, but the Terrans weren’t giving up yet. Metts was lost, along with Paradise Point, but New Beirut still held its own. The Army of the Valley had fallen, but a tank company remained secured in a defensive position, pricking the attackers whenever they got too close. The sudden silence seemed particularly ominous now, in this room.
He slowed his breath, counting each intake and exhale. It reminded him of being at the firing range with his grandfather. Elijah Rantz had been a hero during the Emigration War, decorated for valor at the Battle of Silent Crest. He’d spoiled Joshua every chance he could, as all grandfathers do, and loved to take him outside the city to a small firing range he owned and operated. They spend the day drilling holes in paper targets or knocking bottles off the fence. Josh remembered how Eli would pick him up at the end of the day, carrying him back to the house, and talk about his time in the service.
“A battle is just like shooting at a target, Josh,”he had said. His mustache covered most of his mouth, and young Joshua loved to imagine that it was actually the hair talking, impersonating his grandfather.“If you try to win a battle, you’ll end up so concerned about the ending that you forget the middle. Try to shoot at the target, you’re liable to miss.”He would set Josh down at the small dining table near the entrance to the building, kneeling down to eye level to make sure the point went home.“Now what do we always say when we’re shooting?”
“Aim small, miss small?”
“That’s right,”Eli would say with a grin.“And in a fight, you don’t set out to win. You look for the smaller victories that will add up to a win.”
It had all made sense then, and it did help teach Josh to shoot. But now, laying on the cold floor in an alien carrier in the midst of an intergalactic war, the sage advise of the elderly lost some of its charm. Where were his small targets? Sure, they could stop this carrier from firing off the Scourge, but it couldn’t be the only one around. Wouldn’t the Boxti just retaliate with a missile like one used on Tallus?
As he pondered issues far above his pay grade, a small yellow light flashed in his HUD. It reported that all targets were painted and in clear sight for the shooters. He focused on the message until it sent out the preset response. Josh reacquired his target. The bug-like creature had a split second to finish whatever thought was going through its mind before the squad opened fire. Rounds ripped through thin carapaces spraying green ichor across the walls and floor. Pools of blood spilt into the bubbling pink tanks, sizzling and steaming. After dispatching the nearest group, the Archangels ran in two teams toward opposite ends of the room. The caretakers didn’t so much as shout in alarm. They didn’t run or fight back in any way. One by one, they dropped dead to the ground, twitching limbs scratching at the floor. Aside from a short chirp from a console on the wall, there had been no reaction to the ambush.
“Alpha up,”Alexa called out.
Josh turned to his side and looked at Dax. The big man huffed and puffed, straining to keep his HMG level.
“Bravo up,”he managed to say.
Josh surveyed the scene, satisfied they had properly dealt with the threat.“Bravo, secure an emergency exit and call the pilot. We’re gonna be leaving in a hurry.”Alexa ran over, slinging her rifle.“Alexa, secure my egress route.”
“Where do you think you’re going?”Dax asked.
Josh shrugged.“You’ll both need all the hands you can get. I’ll take the easy job and go drop our bomb off.”He grabbed the case and jogged toward the last set of stairs, snickering to himself.
“Don’t drop it,”Dax called out.
Josh looked over his shoulder.“No promises.”
- XV -
Missiles streaked across the sky, accelerating as they closed on their target. Inside the body of each tube, small quantum computers guided the warheads to a single destination with deadly precision. A lone Y fighter flitted back and forth, trying in vain to shake the incoming threat. The barbed cone-shaped head punched through metal and wiring, burying itself deep in the ship’s belly. A proximity charge activated, sending an electric signal to the detonator. With a dull thump, the explosive erupted and sent shrapnel tearing through the alien craft.
Racing through the smoking debris field, Cameron scanned his radar looking for his next kill. His blood pounded in his temples, while fear and excitement wrestled for control of his brain. A strafing run peppered his kinetic shields, but they held. The air was alive with flying projectiles, smoke and falling wrecks. A yellow rocket slammed into a Sparrow off Cameron’s port wing, and the explosion nearly flipped him sideways.
Bright red bolts streaked past his windshield. Cameron turned into the fire, squeezing the trigger and loosing dozens of rounds at an incoming alien superiority fighter. It was a short game of chicken that the Boxti lost pitifully. Stepping down on the afterburner, Cameron tensed up in preparation for the next attack.
“Torch one, this is Eagle seven. Bandits closing on your six.”
He barely had time to acknowledge the call before the missile alarm sounded, drowning out everything else. His right hand shot to the console, flicking switches and activating counter measures. He dumped chaff and flares to confuse the incoming warhead’s guidance systems, and began evasive maneuvers. He jerked the stick back and forth, zigging and zagging through the sky. As he rolled to the left, he saw the glowing rocket zip past his wing with inches to spare. The projectile lost its target acquisition and detonated, sending bits of metal pinging off his Phoenix’s hull.
&n
bsp; “Too close,”Cameron said.“Torch, this is one. Give me a SitRep.”He looked up through the glass canopy, imaging he could see the blue vortex that had become an almost permanent fixture in the sky over New Eden. Intel said it was an incoming asteroid, though no one wanted to speculate how exactly a rock managed to slip into the in-between. Cameron didn’t want to imagine what it was. Anything creating an exit that big had to be unfathomably large, and there was no way it was going to be a pleasant surprise.
Another bolt zipped past him, burning a black line across his starboard wing. Cameron turned his head to sight the target. His heart nearly stopped. The Y-Fighter on his tail was larger than the rest of its squadron. Pock marks and burns covered its hull, and the opaque black glass of its canopy was scratched and stained. Blood-red paint marked the ends of each pointed wing. He would have recognized the ship anywhere. It had been haunting him since Tallus.
“Son of a bitch,”he said. Fire burned in his chest and the sounds of the world shrank away.“Torch, this is one. Nobody touches the big guy.”Cameron jerked the stick hard to the right, pulling a gut-wrenching 180. The Boxti Ace rocketed passed, its shots missing wide as it struggled to correct. Cameron corrected his spin, dodging blasts from other ships as he zeroed in on the larger fighter. His vision darkened until all he saw was the fiery engine of the enemy craft.“You’re mine now.”
When the Stars Fade (The Gray Wars) Page 56
