“Commence attack in six seconds.”
“Six.”
Jackson cupped the mug in both hands and leaned back on his chair. It was quiet on the bridge and his thoughts turned to home.
“Stealth running.”
“Five.”
Jackson wondered how his wife was taking his absence.
Kathy hated it when he left but she'd always known his job would take him away from her.
“Ships' are secure.”
“Four.”
Still all had gone smoothly. Once the other ships were ready they could turn around and he could be back with Kathy within the week.
“Weapons armed.”
“Three.”
The screens in front of him went crazy. Jackson sent hot liquid flying as he leapt for the ship's controls.
“Proximity alert!” flashed in time with the sirens.
“Jamming active.”
“Two.”
Jackson called for the data from the ship's computer, “What the hell's going on?”
“Eight Terran Alliance escorts on attack vectors,” said the computer, “No further information available. Sensors off-line due to jamming signal.”
“One.”
“Fire.”
Jackson peered out of the cockpit trying in vain to spot the intruders against the black sky. The flash of a discharging weapon drew his eye. Tracing back the trajectory he could make out the Alliance attackers illuminated by their own fire.
Four of the escorts stationed themselves and started laying down heavy suppressive fire to corral the Neotran ships. The other four ships moved in on the nearest vessel and let rip with a stream of fire. The bright glow of missile exhausts and the dull blue haze of the excited electrons hammered into the unprepared vessel. With the first impact the ship yawed, its motion taking it away from the volley of fire. But the drift of the ship had only taken her a few metres before the Terran fire caught up and ripped through her hull.
Jackson watched, stunned, as the remainder of the barrage sped on through the cloud of debris that was Lupus Eta and off into space. The four Terran ships now turned to there next victim.
“Shit!” Jackson cried.
He pounded the cockpit console, “What the hell do I do?”
Lan's dog tags jumped with the thump and snaked their way off the edge. With an imperceptible jingle they bounced on the grating of a floor vent before sinking into its gloom.
“Think, work it through,” Jackson started examining the data on his console.
“The navigation and radio are dead from jamming. No way to plot an escape course and no way to contact the other ships.”
“Evasive action!” Jackson reminded himself.
He put the engines to full and started looking for an exit from the killing zone. Jackson tried manoeuvring his ship out of the battlefield away from the Terran fighters but their firepower and manoeuvrability were just too formidable. All of the ships in Jackson's squadron were out-classed by these dedicated war machines.
Jackson's eyes darted across the console looking for something that might help, while trying to avoid the Terran fire at the same time.
His eyes locked on one of the newly installed upgrades.
“If the rest of the Lupus squadron could put some ground between themselves and those fighters, maybe,” Jackson thought, “Maybe I can buy some time for their escape.”
In front of him an erratic flash heralded another casualty. Lupus Epsilon torn from the sky by a hail of fire became a blazing yellow clutter. Small chunks of her fuselage flung off into the void from her burning hull. A second fireball erupted throwing out comets of burning debris as Lupus Epsilon's tanks ruptured. The fires quickly burnt out in the frigid space leaving no trace of her existence.
“You're stealthy and powerful, but just how smart are you?” Jackson brought up the firing sequence for his last remaining missiles. Twelve warheads lay waiting in reserve from the attack on the Coma Berenices. Jackson keyed in the priming sequence, subtly changing firing specifications.
“Warning! Safety parameters on missile launch have been breached,” the computer's matronly voice cautioned.
“Yeah, yeah, fine, whatever,” Jackson moaned at the computer screen.
“Well, Jackson, with the Alliance craft jamming everything you'll have to fire manually,” he said to himself, “OK, how big is an Alliance escort? A bit bigger than this ship I guess. Right, you can see them so that puts them about half a Klik away because if they were further away you'd only be able to see the weapons flash.” Jackson typed in his estimated distance, “Shouldn't matter too much though with the burst radius.”
He typed in the last commands and the launch bay opened.
“Shen, Mornan. Brace yourselves!” Jackson called over the ship's intercom as he pressed the launch button, “I've just launched the last of the E.M. warheads.”
“You did what?” crackled Shen's voice, “That'll wipe us all out!”
“It's a guess without instrumentation but I reckon we might be able to pull out.”
“What about the rest?”
“Lupus Gamma and Lupus Beta should be out of range but Delta and us are going to have to hustle!”
The Terran escort ships were funnelling Lupus Delta towards the killing zone when the missiles were detected.
The projectiles were well off course with absolutely no chance of hitting any of the Terran ships. So they ignored them and concentrated on their quarry.
Lupus Delta twisted and turned frantically trying to escape the killing zone but in vain. The bombardment from the Terrans tore into Lupus Delta ripping her to shreds.
Now the Terrans turned to fire on Lupus Alpha.
The E.M. missiles reached their range and exploded in the centre of the Terran ships.
Silently the electro-magnetic burst spread out over the combatants.
“Yes!” Jackson shouted as he punched the air.
One by one the Terran ships were shutting down. Their power gone, their engines dead they just drifted.
Then the wave hit Lupus Alpha and all went dark.
“Shit!” Jackson's dejected curse mingled with a few lonely sizzles and pops from Lupus Alpha's dying circuits.
He let out a sigh of relief as he watched two fierce blue glows streaking away into the night.
“Gamma and Beta,” Jackson consoled himself, “they're out of the blast radius.”
A bright searchlight flicked on. The circle of light groped its way across the hull of one of its frozen comrades.
Jackson pushed himself up hard against the portal to catch a glimpse of where the light came from. His cheek pressed against the cold glass he could see that one of the Terran ships had survived.
The ship under the spot light gave what looked like a shudder. Its engines flared up and its running lights sprang into life.
“Ah, fuck!” Jackson spat out, “hardened systems.”
Far in the distance the cold ball of light that was Asellus shone pitifully in the night sky.
“They've just disengaged from the last inoperative ship,” Mornan said as he stepped down from his position at the window, “That makes two that they didn't get restarted.”
“Six to one. Well that evens the odds doesn't it,” Shen said as she walked onto the bridge.
“What's the prognosis?” Jackson asked.
“None of the primaries have survived.”
“None,” Jackson sat back in his chair.
He teased at the wedding ring beneath his glove, “We can't get anything back on-line?”
“Except for the back-up life support,” Shen shook her head, “It's all fried.”
The ship felt claustrophobic. The only illumination came from a handful of emergency glow rods and the spotlights from the ships outside. The bright beams of the Terran searchlights cast shadows that would elongate and contract as they swept to and fro.
“We know this ship like the back of our hands,” Mornan started, “We can booby trap t
he air locks. Lie in wait for them. Make them hurt every inch of the way.”
He looked over to his Captain for approval.
Jackson stopped twiddling his wedding ring, “Mornan's right.”
Mornan nodded and smiled, glancing at Shen who had scorned his idea.
“We could hold this ship from boarders very easily,” continued Jackson, “But why would they want to come on board? They'll have a fairly good idea who and what's aboard just from the ship's specs. If they wait for a link with their base at Veruct they'll probably even get our names and dental records.”
Jackson shook his head, “No. We can't fight. If we put up even the slightest resistance they'll blow us to kingdom come. If we surrender we may get a chance to escape. At the very least we stay alive.”
“Even without the reclamation system there's enough oxygen to last a week,” protested Mornan, “we can wait for a rescue. They've got to know what's happened by now, the others in the squad will come back for us.”
“To be honest Mornan,” Jackson said, “I'm not convinced Lupus Gamma or Lupus Beta are in a position to mount a rescue.”
“You said you saw their after-burn!”
“They'd both taken flack, they might be in worse shape than us. And even if they weren't it would be suicide to try and rescue us.”
“Yeah, face it kid,” Shen addressed Mornan, “We're all alone in a godless universe.”
“Not quite alone,” Jackson glanced out of the adjacent porthole.
Section 5
“The going will be hard, but there is no need to compromise security for speed,” Zinner said to his assembled troops, “In all probability it won't matter at this stage. We are still a day's travel from the radar station at Mendus and intelligence say it's highly unlikely that any Neotran patrols will come this far out.”
He scanned the faces of the men. None of them had reacted badly to Rulk's demise but he would still have to keep an eye on his newbies.
“We will encounter some contrasting terrain. The valleys are hot and humid, the mountainsides cold with thinning atmosphere. None of this will affect you because you'll be sealed in your protective armour.”
There was a collective sigh of disappointment from the men. The claustrophobic conditions in the suit were a constant source of discomfort. Zinner took no notice of the good-humoured dissension.
“When the terrain permits we will fly just below the treetops. Only when we encounter a ridge that might silhouette our shape against the sky will we move at ground level,” Zinner projected a map with highlighted points on their course.
“Section leaders, check your squad's suits for damage to the chameleon membrane en route. We'll need our suit's camouflage to prevent being spotted by Neotran reconnaissance flights or any spy satellites they may still have in orbit. Check your thermal systems. Make sure that your suit's heat output is being masked against the ambient temperature. That will be easy in the jungles but we may have to travel over some snowfields on the mountains, so keep a close eye on your coolants and heat sinks,” Zinner pointed to the fins on the back of his armour for emphasis.
“Check your white noise generators,” he turned and eyeballed one of his troops, “I don't want a repeat of the training exercise, Borderman.”
Borderman lowered his eyes in embarrassment.
“Make sure you've tuned your equipment so that you're operating in silence. Not whistling like a horny sailor at a brothel.”
A few of Zinner's veteran men smirked at their comrade's embarrassment. Having chastised Borderman, Zinner moved on, “Our main concern in approaching the target is detection from enemy radar. The veterans here are familiar with battle armour, but prior to today's drop some of you newer members will only have used these in simulations. I make no apology for the lack of preparation time. As Special Forces we are required to deploy at short notice into unpredictable conditions and use whatever equipment we have to hand. Let me reiterate what you will have already been taught on your simulators or from maintenance manuals. The components of the suit cannot be manufactured using light plastics and therefore are detectable. Ships and vehicles can break up their radar shape with cleverly sloped angles that help scatter beams. This cannot be done with battle armour. A human being has a very specific shape which your evolution has not seen fit to make radar streamlined.”
Zinner passed up the line of assembled troops.
“And some of you have more of a radar signature that others!” Zinner rapped his knuckles against one soldier's armour clad abdomen, “Isn't that so Sergeant Speg?”
“Yes, Sir! Sorry, Sir,” barked Speg.
“Don't worry Sergeant I'll make sure you burn off those extra ration packs. You're on point.”
“Yes, Sir!”
“Sir?” one of the newbies piped up.
“Yes, what is it...” Zinner stepped closer and peered at the newbies nametag.
Zinner didn't have to read the tag, he'd already memorised the service records of all his new soldiers but it served him to do so. Firstly it meant he could stand menacingly close putting psychological pressure on the soldier. If this made the man nervous it was a sure sign that he wasn't good enough to be here, after all if he cracked, what would he be like when people were trying to kill him?
The second reason was that by pretending not to know his name Zinner was implying that it wasn't worth learning. This devalued the soldier's standing and made it clear they still had to earn their place.
“Hutch, Sir.”
“Yes Hutch?”
“Won’t the radar operations base at Mendus be able to detect us?” the new soldier asked.
Zinner nodded to acknowledge the question, “The radar operations centre we are attacking is used for orbital tracking. It watches space and links directly to a network of missile batteries, used to shoot down orbital targets and to provide cover to repulse invasion, so they are no use against a ground assault. The radar looks up so they won't be looking for us.”
Zinner prowled among his troops, “The Neotrans do use ground radar detection systems but they are crude. They have a just reputation for being undependable and are mainly used in static defence such as military bases or sensitive civilian installations,” He stopped his leisurely prowl along the rank in front of Hutch, “That does not mean that we can ignore them.”
Zinner looked round to catch the rest of his troops' attention, “By being careful we will get past them undetected. Our mission depends on that. You have topographical maps of the target area and you will use them. We are to maintain radar shadow at all times even if that means we have to crawl on our bellies from here. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Sir!” the troops hollered back.
“Speg!” Zinner called.
“Yes, Sir!”
“You're probably best standing up. A gut that big won't allow you to crawl,” Zinner raised a snide smile.
“Yes, Sir. Very funny, Sir.”
The whole troop sniggered at Speg's expense.
“Our mission is to knock out the radar base. If we are successful it will provide a window for Terran Alliance cruisers to destroy the missile sites. This will pave the way for Terran ships to hunt down the last remaining Neotran vessels and achieve orbital supremacy.
This mission is imperative to the continuation of an Alliance presence on Neotra. If we do not achieve our goal, and on time, our ships will be blown out of the sky and we will lose orbital supremacy. If we lose orbital supremacy we lose the war,” Zinner stepped to the front of his troops, “I expect those of us unfamiliar with the suits to use our approach to Mendus wisely. If you wish to try some unconventional manoeuvres sanction it with your squad leaders first. OK, let's move out!”
Zinner sealed off his helmet and took up position behind the point man. Speg's extra few pounds were not an issue. The man was nowhere near overweight but his stocky build and muscles made him look squat. What irritated Zinner was that Speg was just a man. Zinner lamented back to the old days. He could remembe
r the time when the Bavashee were exclusively made up of his kind. When there hadn't been the need to recruit “mongrels”. He longed for the time when he could still call on the support of a few squads of Leananshee. The Leananshee had been ideal shock troops, great for frontal assaults or guerrilla warfare, but they were too unpredictable; too uncontrollable for missions as precise as this. Still, unlike Zinner designed as he was to appear human, they never had to worry about their radar signature.
Not for the first time Zinner noted that his breed was in danger of following the Leananshee into oblivion.
It was quiet. Looking at the village it was plain to Nasim that something was wrong. Dotted around the outside were freshly turned patches of soil. Someone had tried to camouflage them with sprigs and branches but the attempt at concealment was futile. Having lived here all his life they were obvious to him.
There was no sign of life. All the same his gut told him to be careful. He moved swiftly out of the rice fields, bent low to reduce his profile as if he were stalking a deer. He crept up to the first hut, where the Wace family resided, and cautiously edged along the mud-daubed wall listening for the sounds of the community.
It was mid morning and the sun was almost overhead. The village should have been teeming with activity. A bitter flavour hung in the air which, although familiar, Nasim could not place. He ducked his head round the corner to look along the settlement’s only thoroughfare.
There was a patch of ground in the shade of one of the huts which looked wet. Nasim stepped round to get a closer look.
Lying beside the damp earth was a long black sack, apparently full.
Nasim crept up his breath held his foot steps light. The material looked wet and sticky. Nasim pursed his dry lips and bent down.
From the Torment of Dreams Page 5
