The Terminal War: A Space Opera Novel (A Carson Mach Adventure)

by A. C. Hadfield

  “My God,” Sanchez said. “There’s more of them, look.”

  Tulula stopped firing for a brief moment, taking in the scene. “I can’t comprehend all this,” she said.

  “Then don’t. Just keep firing. We need to get Mach and the Saviors out of here.”

  With that, he plunged forward, sending another twin volley of chain fire into a battalion of proto-vestans who were trying to flank him.

  The rounds ripped into them, sending long, glossy black limbs flying around them, swathes of sod clumps and ice fragments bursting up in a cone of destruction. The protos screamed and scattered, yet they still came.

  There must have been over three hundred now, Sanchez guessed. Split into three large sections, they seemed to be working together, spreading, diverting their fire. Tulula rained down more micro carpet bombs, crudely landscaping a path made of soil, rock, and bits of proto-vestans.

  When his chain guns were out of ammo, he unclipped them from the sides of the exo-suit and withdrew his ion swords with integrated laser blasters in the hilt. He held both swords above his head and sprinted at a quick clip toward the leftmost clump of proto-vestans.

  “Stay close,” he shouted to Tulula, who had now dropped the rocket launcher and was wielding an autolaser rifle. She picked off a few of the forerunning creatures as they headed toward the path of destruction leading to the pyramid.

  They descended into a kind of long gulch. The proto-vestans were swarming over the sides, blocking them in front and behind. But Sanchez just grinned even further as he yelled out and dashed forward into contact with the first group of six black, lithe creatures.

  The first one leaped at him.

  He took it head-on, driving his ion sword right into the top of its head. With the other, he brought it down across the back of its neck, severing the head clean off. The next two didn’t leap this time but crouched and approached slowly.

  Tulula fired off a three-shot burst, taking the first one down.

  Sanchez fired the laser blaster with the right sword and then thrust forward with the left, driving it deep into one of the creature’s guts. Its long limbs struck Sanchez against the side of his armored helmet, rocking his head to the side.

  The exo-suit took the impact and righted him. He brought the free sword around in an arc, slicing through two more creatures as Tulula spun and took down a few more with controlled auto blasts.

  As they continued in this fashion through the gulch, getting ever closer to the pyramid, Squid Three chirped above them, flailing its eight limbs, firing its small onboard ordnance: micro nukes.

  The sides of the gulch helped protect them from the wave pulse of the explosions even as the dirt and ice from the ground rained down on them.

  Sanchez stepped over the pile of bodies and dashed forward. Tulula kept pace with him; horror etched on her face. “I can’t believe we’re doing this to Terminus,” she said.

  “There’s no other alternative,” Sanchez replied. “Here, I’ll cover you; get inside.”

  The first pyramid had a hole blasted through the wall. Once inside, Sanchez picked up the radio frequencies from Mach. Inside was dark, the power out, the plain, glossy walls and floor giving him no real indication of where to go. His and Tulula’s helmet lights flickered on, giving them all the light they needed.

  Squid Three came chirping through above their heads. “Follow me,” it said to Sanchez, using text on his HUD. From behind them, a long scream roared out from the pulsing mass of proto-vestans descending on their location, but above them, Sanchez saw the two drone fighters from the Intrepid flying overhead like old-style jet fighters.

  The two drones fired lasers and rockets, vibrating the pyramid with a series of explosions. “That you, Babcock?” Sanchez said, flipping over to the Intrepid’s open channel.

  “Lassea, actually,” the young pilot said.

  “Good shooting, girl,” Sanchez replied, proud of her for getting into the spirit. “You keep these fuckers off our backs, and we’ll get Mach. We’re inside now and will have him in a few minutes.”

  “We’ll only be able to cover for a few more seconds,” Lassea said. “The drones are for getting the shuttle with Beringer and the Saviors; we’re bringing them into the hold.”

  Sanchez shrugged his shoulders. “That’s fine, then; Mach and I will just have to do this the old-fashioned way. I’ll see you on the other side.”

  With the drones creating time for them before the rest of the protos chased them down, Sanchez sped up, almost sprinting down the corridors. He followed Squid Three’s lead, swords outstretched, ready to attack anything that moved. And he would have plenty as he plunged deeper into the facility, heading for the central temple zone.

  *

  Mach and Adira stood in front of the door of the comms room, both bracing for the impending attack. The metal door looked like it had been vacuum formed over a set of stalactites, the metal thrust inward, the results of a battering ram.

  With no weapons left, they had made a pair of makeshift spears out of some tubing they had pulled from the room’s infrastructure. Other pipes were bracing the door, holding back the tide. Mach had figured they would have got bored a long time ago, yet the bastards were insistent on getting their meal.

  Babcock had got in touch just a few minutes ago to announce their arrival. Given the sounds of explosions and general mayhem outside, Mach knew that Sanchez had happened. He almost felt sorry for the proto-vestans.

  The door crashed again, heavier this time, and the two pipes bracing it snapped. The top half of the door bent forward to expose the snarling, eager protos pressed tight up against it, their limbs reaching in, claws swiping at thin air.

  “God, they’re ugly fuckers,” Adira said, grabbing one of the spears and ramming it through one of the creature’s heads, a steel rod through a soft melon. This only motivated the others even more.

  “Keep stabbing,” Mach said, following suit.

  This way, they managed to keep the protos at bay for a while longer, although they could see through the gap in the door that more and more were joining, filling the temple with ever-increasing numbers. For each one they killed, it seemed another ten filled their place.

  The protos nearest the door stepped back away, out of range of Mach’s makeshift spears. They just stood still, looking on.

  “What are they doing?” Adira said.

  “I don’t know, but I don’t like it.” Mach patched his comms into the Intrepid and got them to forward his line to Sanchez. “Old buddy, you hear me?” Mach said.

  Breathlessly, Sanchez’s familiar voice barked over the line. “Yeah, man, loud and clear. You and Adira still alive and in one piece?”

  “For now, I don’t think we’ve got long, though.”

  “Hold your pants, old man, we’re coming.”

  Before the line shut, Mach heard Tulula and Sanchez scream a war cry that even made him shiver a little. Outside of the comm line, somewhere in the distance beyond the temple, the sounds of laser fire echoed, along with something more organic. Steel on steel and bone and flesh.

  Even the protos outside of the comms room heard it. As one they turned away and stared across the temple. Adira and Mach stepped forward and peered out of the damaged door.

  A small floating disc the size of his fist, with eight wriggling arms, floated through the opposite access panel.

  Squid Three!

  Mach and Adira cheered as Babcock’s little companion hovered above the heads of the protos and dropped a small, chrome ball bearing. The protos didn’t know what was coming.

  Mach did. He and Adira crouched behind the door, huddled closer together, and closed their eyes as a thunder wave crashed against the door, knocking them over to their sides. The boom echoed around the temple for what seemed like an eternity. Even with the environmental suit blocking out most of the sound, Mach’s hearing still featured a low whistle from the blast.

  Smoke billowed into the room. He peered out through the smoke and saw
the destroyed temple, every proto smeared across the surfaces, and beyond the crater in the middle, the forms of Sanchez and Tulula rushing toward them.

  Mach sat back and closed his eyes, letting the relief rush over him. Saved. For now at least. He reached over to Adira and helped her up. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I’ve had worse.”

  He felt guilty at that moment for her fight at the beginning of this mad journey. Given the lack of a mission for Beringer, it all seemed unnecessary now. Still, they had more pressing matters: get off the planet. It took just a few moments for Sanchez to rip the remains of the door off its hinges with his exo-suit.

  The five of them, including Squid Three, made their way back through access tunnels until they reached the shuttle bay. The fighter drones were already outside, towlines attached to the craft cradling the Saviors.

  Beringer stood outside and watched as the fighters drew the shuttle out and above, lifting it to the hovering Intrepid’s cargo bay. The downdraft kept the protos away, as did the laser batteries firing down from the craft’s flanks.

  “They okay?” Mach asked Beringer, referring to the Saviors.

  “Yeah,” he said. “It’s going to be fascinating studying them.”

  “Let’s take one thing at a time,” Adira said. “We need to get out of the system first.”

  “About that,” Sanchez said. “There’s a complication there.” The hunter and Tulula filled Mach and Adira in on the Axis attack. They were coming here, to Terminus.

  Still, it was too late for them to get the Saviors now, but there was still so much here with regards to tech and other innovations that the CWDF really couldn’t afford to lose it to the Axis.

  It wouldn’t surprise Mach if the horans and lacterns found a way of recruiting the protos into their ranks.

  When the drone fighters had successfully docked the shuttle into the Intrepid’s cargo bay, the Intrepid landed, waiting for them to board. The protos took this as a sign and attacked.

  Sanchez sprinted forward.

  The Intrepid lay less than fifty meters away. They would have to rush it and hope.

  With the laser batteries keeping most of the protos away, there were still a few dozen suicidal creatures that got through the Intrepid’s fire and headed right for Mach and the others.

  Sanchez chopped and thrust with his swords. Tulula brought a few down with her autolaser while Mach and Adira still clutched their makeshift spears, making sure the protos didn’t get close enough. Beringer remained in between them as they followed Squid Three’s lead. Unfortunately, the little machine was out of ordnance.

  After a few minutes of frenzied fighting, the group reached the outer airlock and dove inside just as the Intrepid lifted off.

  Lassea was on her toes, making Mach both relieved and proud as they continued to rise away from the ground, the protos becoming ever more antlike in their aspect as he watched the external videos.

  Adira stepped up beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Morgan was right after all,” she said. “We did make it out alive.”

  “It was too close, though,” Mach said. “Too damned close.”

  When the ship finally escaped from Terminus’ gravity well and punched through space, Mach finally got out of the environmental suit and headed to the bridge. There was a lot to catch up on by all accounts.

  When he got there, he thanked Babcock, Lassea and the rest of the borrowed crew for their fine work. Babcock brought Mach up to speed with everything that had been happening while he was stuck on Terminus.

  The viewscreen was on, showing him the system, the small, cold sun drifting out of their field of view. The Saviors were safely stored in the cargo bay, with enough power to keep them going until it was decided where they would be taken.

  Mach sat in his captain’s chair and surveyed his crew.

  Sanchez had taken his position on the laser battery to the left. Lassea and Tulula took the two central consoles to pilot the craft. Babcock and Adira were in their usual positions on the right at the ion cannon and comms system respectively. A new member crew that he busied himself nervously from station to station, no doubt overwhelmed by Mach’s reputation as rogue number one.

  He ignored the young vestan; he was doing his tasks efficiently enough, being guided by Babcock’s experience. Lassea piloted the Intrepid to a position behind an asteroid belt that ringed the system, some five AUs across.

  While they were getting into a defensive position, Mach saw pulses of light flash on the viewscreen: ships entering the system from their L-jumps. They were like viewing a distant battle on the surface of a planet. The bursts of light increased until they were happening all around them: huge CWDF capital ships, with their destroyers and cruisers, even a squad of vestan ships.

  The hairs on Mach’s arms rose. He hadn’t been in a space battle of this scale for decades. His whole body vibrated with excitement and fear all mixed together. Beyond the asteroid belt, smaller flares of light pierced the darkness.

  What came through only gave Mach more chills: Axis ships—a huge horan fleet supported by lactern ships of various sizes, and somewhere among the armada were the cloaked lacterns.

  Mach’s private communication device chirped on his smart-screen.

  “Babcock, you’ve got the bridge,” he said, heading out of the bridge towards his private chambers. Once inside, he opened the communication and saw the hologram of the president pop up.

  “Morgan! You utter bastard,” Mach said.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Morgan didn’t immediately reply. His holographic image shifted back in a high-backed leather chair and gave Mach a lingering glare.

  Mach shook his head. “What’s up? Disappointed to see me?”

  “Come on, Carson. You know why you get these jobs.”

  “And I know when you call me Carson, you’re feeling guilty. Dealt with Steros yet?”

  The president let out a resigned sigh. “He escaped in a drone. An orbital picked it up heading over the frontier. I’ll double your fee if—”

  “I’ll do it,” Mach interrupted. Babcock had already filled him in on the depth of Steros’ treachery. With opposing forces forming up for battle outside, lives would be lost, and it didn’t take much motivation to make one of the chief instigators pay. “Where do you want me to dump the Saviors?”

  “That’s the thing,” Morgan replied and leaned forward. “You need to stay behind the fleet until it’s safe. If the Axis see you leaving, they’ll quickly put two and two together.”

  Mach considered the response. Although the Intrepid could comfortably outrun any horan or lactern ship, it would potentially bring the enemy fleet closer to the Salus Sphere and its billions of civilians. The Axis was clearly serious about getting their hands on the Saviors, and the idea of being stalked by multiple ships wasn’t appealing. If he had to stay, remaining a passive observer wasn’t an option.

  “Makes sense,” Mach said. “What kind of odds are we talking?”

  “We’ve sent a hundred and five. A similar amount to the Axis, if what Babcock saw is their entire fleet. Talk to Tralis. He knows you need to be kept out of it.”

  Mach whistled. “Big numbers. I doubt they’re stupid enough for this kind of head-on collision.”

  “Let’s hope you’re right. Then you can get on with capturing Steros.”

  “Dead or alive?”

  “Alive, preferably.” Morgan’s expression darkened. “If we lose the battle, forget about Steros. We’ll be in no position to protect the Saviors. Kill them.”

  “They’re already dead.”

  Morgan rolled his eyes. His smart-screen beeped and he glanced down at it. “You know what I mean. I need to brief the senators. Good luck, and don’t forget to stay out of trouble.”

  “Of course,” Mach said, killing the hologram.

  Having Morgan wish him luck was the equivalent of a horan smashing him in the face then offering its scaly hand to shake. Mach made his wa
y back to the bridge and thought about previous encounters during the Century War.

  Most confrontations were squadron sized, around twenty ships each. With weapons of similar range, it nearly always ended up being a battle of attrition, until one side was destroyed or fled. The Commonwealth and Axis had rebuilt and expanded during the last two decades, and the scale of the forces were on par with the final decisive battle that brought galactic peace.

  As much as Mach hated to admit it to himself, the horans would always plan or attempt to destroy humans and fidians. The only way to stop them was to dish out a solid ass-kicking every few decades.

  Mach entered the bridge and eased himself into the captain’s chair. He joined the rest of the crew, who were already staring at the main viewscreens.

  On the far side of the battle space, looking sunward, the Axis ships were moving into position. Four capital ships had arrived and took up their standard cube-shaped defensive position across a five-klick area. The horan ships were sleek, the outer armor designed to look like scales, which also helped deflect laser strikes. Their two thousand-meter-long hulls had thin, smooth edges that expanded into a kind of bulbous pill in the middle. All across the sides were dozens of laser-cannon batteries and varied ordnance—not to mention the many bays for the smaller fighters.

  An impressive sight they made, as did their destroyers. Although only three-quarters the size of the capital ships, they still packed a punch.

  There were four destroyers surrounding each capital ship in a diamond formation. The sight of it took Mach’s breath away. He wondered if this kind of man-made power had ever assembled in such a small area of space. The battles he had been in were far grander in scale, but over much larger distances.

  Closer to Mach’s position, taking up formation out of long-range-weapon distance, were the CWDF force.

  Two vestan multipurpose frigates, both an older class of Jaguar to the Intrepid, flashed out of L-jumps and joined a row of forty-three others, between the rest of the CWDF ships and the asteroid belt. Mach used to hate fighting these types of craft. Four could join to create a combined weapons platform to match any destroyer. Eight replicated the strike power of a capital ship.