by Jay Allan
* * *
“Laser buoys have engaged, Captain. Scanning reports coming in. One vessel, approximately forty million tons displacement, three point seven kilometers in length.”
Kat shook her head slightly, the movement almost imperceptible. She forced the frown from her lips, but her thoughts were cold. She was sitting in the plush command chair, but this time she wasn’t comfortable. She was worried. And she was mad.
Damned intelligence reports. Why do we even bother?
Her briefings had been clear on one point. All of the Confederation’s capital ships were deployed against the Union, nowhere near the Rim. But unless it was a huge freighter or tanker coming through the link, forty million tons meant a battleship. One almost as big as Invictus.
“Readings from the buoys, Commander. The enemy vessel has fired upon them. Triple-mounted laser batteries, output somewhere in the four to seven hundred megawatt range.”
No tanker or freighter would have guns like that…
“Put the ship on secondary alert, Optiomagis. All systems on battle footing.” She knew the enemy ship was at least a day away, perhaps two or more, depending on its thrust capability. The Alliance’s data on Confederation ships and capabilities was sketchy. They used particle accelerator cannons for their primary guns, highly effective weapons, especially at close range. The lasers would be their secondaries.
Seven hundred megawatts and triple turrets…that’s strong for secondary batteries…
“Secondary alert in place, Commander.”
Kat stared at the display. It was projecting the video feed from outside the ship, displaying the partially clouded surface Santis. Her stormtroopers were on the ground, by all accounts still fighting to assert total control. She couldn’t pull them back now. Her orders about Santis were clear. She hated to leave the troops on their own, but she couldn’t stay in orbit. If Invictus was facing a Confederation battleship, Kat knew she had a real fight on her hands. And floating in orbit, ceding the initiative to the enemy, made her vessel a sitting duck.
“Prepare to leave orbit, Optiomagis.” She paused, thinking. “Plot a course to planet five…twenty percent thrust, full baffles. We’ll hide there and wait. With any luck, the enemy will go into orbit here.” The Confeds wouldn’t have detected Invictus yet, at least not unless their scanning technology was vastly superior to anything the Alliance had seen. They knew they had an enemy, but not what it was. And that was an advantage.
“We’ll leave orbit on the far side of the planet, and use its shadow to block the enemy’s scanners.”
“Course plotted and entered into the computer. Ready to initiate on your command.”
Kat almost gave the order, but she paused, staring at the screen but seeing only the images in her mind. “How many laser buoys do we have left, Optiomagis?”
“Forty, Commander.”
“I want them equipped with full stealth suites and launched into orbit before we leave. Program them to appear as communications satellites.” She knew it was a long shot that the ruse would work. The enemy would know a world as undeveloped as Santis wouldn’t have such an extensive satellite network. But even a few seconds of confusion, of uncertainty, could make a difference. The enemy would have trouble detecting the buoys until they got close. Very close. And if they were careless, if they went blindly into orbit, the buoys would get in some shots at point blank range. It wouldn’t take too many hits from a few thousand kilometers to cripple even a battleship as large as the one she was facing.
“Preparing laser buoys now, Commander.”
Will the enemy fall for this? Would I?
Kat was silent, her mind deep in thought.
No…I wouldn’t. Not after what happened at the transwarp link. Too simple. Too obvious…
“Belay that last order. I want twenty laser buoys in orbit around the planet…and ten around each moon.” It still might not work, but it increased the complexity of the trap. “Deploy two assault shuttles to ferry the buoys to the moons.”
“Yes, Commander.” A pause. “That will delay our departure from orbit.”
“Yes,” Kat replied, “but not by much. Calculate a course for the shuttles to swing around each moon and pick up a gravity assist to match our velocity. They can dock with us en route to planet five.”
“Yes, Commander.” Wentus was clearly trying to sound normal, but Kat could tell he was picking up on her edginess.
Good. Better he take this enemy seriously than succumb to arrogance and carelessness. Our propaganda could get us killed if it spawns overconfidence.
“I want a spread of probes launched as well, Optiomagis. Equal-spaced geosynchronous orbits.” If her trap failed, at least she could get some information on what she was facing if the enemy came near the planet.
And if they don’t, at least Millius’s stormtroops will secure the planet without interference.
“Yes, Commander Rigellus.”
Kat held her stare, her eyes locked on the screen even as her mind drifted.
Who are you out there? Are you soft, like everyone says of Confeds? Or are you something else? Your people held off the Union three times…there was more than softness in that. Are you cut from that cloth? Or are you a stuffed uniform, a blade dulled by two decades of peace?
Kat knew what the high command would say. What the intelligence operatives would tell her. But the feeling in her gut was something different. And it had proven more effective at sensing danger in the past than any other resource she possessed.
Chapter Eighteen
Near the Ruins of Base Tom Wills
Planet Santis, Krillus IV
307 AC
There was a loud pounding on the door. Rivera jumped, startled. He’d had his eyes closed, savoring the first warmth he’d felt in days and days. But now he reached around, pulling out the pistol the Marines had given him. He looked at the others one by one, trying to decide what to do. The gun felt strange in his hand, but if it was an enemy guard out there, he was going to need it.
He stared right at the door, holding his arm out, pistol aimed. “Go ahead,” he said to his companions. “Open it.”
The two other techs paused, looking uncertain, afraid.
“Open it…if that’s one of the enemy, he’ll call for help if we leave him out there. We’ve got to kill him.”
The two men looked at each other, and then one stepped over and pushed the button on the control panel. The door slid open, and wave of frigid air blasted into the room.
Rivera aimed his gun, his finger tight against the trigger. He was about to pull it the rest of the way, but something stopped him. Recognition. The figure standing in the doorway wasn’t one of the enemy. It was Plinth.
The Marine was soaking wet, half refrozen water covering him to the waist as it had on all of them. Plinth’s arm was red too, covered with blood from what looked like a gunshot wound.
Rivera’s gun hand dropped to his side, and he ran forward toward the Marine. “Sergeant, you’ve been hit.”
Plinth came the rest of the way through the door and leaned against the wall, sucking in a deep, labored breath. The tech by the door hit the button again, and the hatch slammed closed, cutting off the cold once more.
“I’m okay.” Plinth’s voice was hoarse, strained. He sounded anything but okay.
“Corporal…your arm…”
“I said I’m okay, Rivera. We’ve got work to do.” Plinth pulled himself up off the wall. “Which way?”
“That way.” The tech pointed down the corridor. “It’s not far. We should be in and out in fifteen minutes.” Rivera wasn’t as confident as he tried to sound. The truth was, he’d only been down on this level two or three times, and there were kilometers of corridors and passageways. And if they were going to put the refinery out of service and wreck the tank farm, they had to plant the explosives in the right spots.
“Let’s go then. We don’t know how much time we’ve got.” Plinth started off down the hallway.
Rivera could see the Marine was limping badly, but he held his tongue. He’d come to understand just how tough the Marines were over the past few days…and it didn’t matter anyway. The mission was the mission, no matter how battered Plinth was. And, frankly, the warmth inside the refinery was worth the danger. They’d all been freezing their asses off for weeks without a break.
The group walked slowly down the corridor, Rivera stopping twice at intersections, trying to remember the right course. He was pretty sure they were on track, but doubts still nagged at him, making him second guess his choices.
Rivera was smart. He’d been offered jobs at a dozen research institutes, but he’d chosen to go to Santis. The mining combine always paid enormous salaries to technicians and engineers willing to do a two-year stint on the frozen radioactive hell. They’d absolutely thrown money at Rivera, enough to virtually set him up for life, giving him freedom to pursue the research of his choice. It had simply been too good to turn down.
And now I’m going to die here…
He didn’t want to give up, but he was too smart to believe any of them had much of a chance.
“We’re here.” He’d stopped suddenly outside a large hatch as familiarity flooded into his mind. “This is it.”
He pulled the ID card from his pocket and swiped it in the scanner at the side of the door. It clicked loudly and slid open, revealing a huge chamber beyond.
“Come on,” he said, waving his arm. “The radiation is high down here. Techs who come down here wear rad suits.”
“Well, we ain’t got no rads suits.” Plinth pushed forward, his eyes scanning the room, clearly looking for enemies. There were a dozen maintenance bots moving about, but no sign of anyone else. “So, let’s get this done, eh? I’ll watch the door and you guys get those bombs planted.”
Rivera nodded, pulling a satchel from his back.
“You got it, Corporal.”
* * *
“They’re running, sir. I’ve got the whole century pursuing now. We’ll get them, Praefectus.”
Millius was standing in the middle of the high plateau, facing the sea cliff a hundred meters away. “What are those troopers doing over there?” He had listened to the optio’s report, but his eyes had caught the activity along the top of the cliff.
The optio turned, looking now himself. “I don’t know, sir,” he admitted sheepishly. “I will find…”
“No…let’s both find out.” Millius walked quickly across the rocky field toward the cliff. “You soldiers,” he shouted as he approached. “What’s going on here?”
“Some of the enemy troopers climbed down the cliff.” The report was matter-of-fact at first, but then the soldier recognized Millius. “Sir!” he added sharply.
“Did any of them escape?”
The soldier hesitated. Letting enemies get away was not something a stormtrooper wanted to admit to a Praefectus.
“Answer me, soldier.” Millius’s tone was ominous.
“I believe one escaped, sir. Or two.” Another pause. “Perhaps three…”
Millius sighed.
I wish these troopers realized nothing angers an officer like this shit.
“Maybe they just ran here to escape, sir. Perhaps they couldn’t catch up with their fellows.”
Millius turned his head, looking the in the direction of the enemy retreat.
No, nonsense speculation angers an officer even more…
“No, Legionary, I don’t think so. If you look at our lines of advance and their initial position, they could easily have withdrawn with their fellows. No…they went this way for a reason…” His voice trailed off as he looked over the cliff toward the eerie glow of the massive structure looming along the coast.
“The refinery…” He took two steps closer to the edge of the cliff. The refinery wasn’t far, less than a kilometer.
Damn!
He spun around. “Optio…I want the refinery on full alert. Immediately.”
“Yes, sir…” The junior officer sounded confused.
Millius looked in the direction the Marines had run. “And call off the pursuit.” It galled him to let the bastards escape, but he had bigger problems than chasing down half a dozen enemy fugitives who had been nothing more than a diversion. “All forces are to move on the refinery at once.”
Millius was angry with himself. He’d allowed arrogance to dictate his thoughts. He hadn’t even imagined a few enemy troops would dare to move against the refinery.
And if you lose that production facility, you’ll have singlehandedly blown the mission.
“Now, Optio. All forces converge on the refinery now!”
* * *
Hargraves felt like he couldn’t take another step…but somehow he did. And another after that. His legs were screaming, the weight of the wounded Marine wearing him down.
He wanted to drop Garavick, to run for his own life. But thirty years of service made that unthinkable. It was base fear that made him even think such a thing, and that was something Hargraves had never allowed to rule his actions. The part of him that was Marine through and through didn’t want to live if he had to throw a comrade’s life away to buy his own.
Besides, I wouldn’t make it anyway…they’re just too close…
He was surprised he was still up. He’d heard dozens of rounds zipping by, but his luck had held. Toughness, strength, skill, training, courage—they all had their place on the battlefield. But luck was the most powerful of all. He was a veteran, but that did little to make an enemy miss him while he ran. That was largely fortune’s domain.
“Hang with me, Garavick. Don’t you die on me, Marine.” The private had been whimpering when Hargraves first picked him up, but now he’d gone silent. He was still breathing—Hargraves could feel the warm air from each exhale on his arm—but he was unconscious now. Or close to it.
Hargraves pushed, digging for everything he had, but he knew he was almost done. Even a Marine was subject to the physical laws, and he was out of juice. He needed to rest, even for a few minutes. But he didn’t have time. The enemy was right behind.
Wait…are they?
The bullets were no longer whizzing by his head.
He stopped, dropping low, laying Garavick on the ground. He turned, pulling his rifle from his back as he did and looking back the way he had come. He could hear something rustling in the tall grass, but it was receding.
He stood stone still, not quite believing that the dozens of soldiers that had been at his heels were all gone. But a minute later there was still nothing. Then two minutes.
He took a deep breath. Even the short rest had done him some good. His arms and legs were still exhausted, but they weren’t quite as dead numb as they had been.
He stared down at Garavick. The Marine looked bad. He was definitely unconscious, and he had lost a lot of blood.
And we don’t have shit in terms of medical facilities…just a few aid kits and one box half full of drugs…
He put it out of his mind. There was nothing he could do. If he got Garavick back and the Marine died…well, that was war. But he wasn’t about to leave him behind, not when there was any chance at all.
He reached his arm under his comrade and struggled to get up, lifting Garavick back over his shoulder. He felt waves of pain, soreness, exhaustion. But he trudged forward. It was a long way back to the refuge, but with no one chasing him down he was sure he could make it.
* * *
“Almost done, Corporal. Another five minutes, and we’ll be ready to go.” Rivera was hunched over, reaching down to affix explosives to one of the cooling pipes.
“The sooner the better. We’ve been lucky so far, but it ain’t gonna last.” Plinth was standing next to the door with his rifle in his hands, ready for anything. He’d already pulled off the wadded piece of cloth he’d shoved on his shoulder and cleaned the wound the best he could. He’d reflexively shuddered as he took his coat off, and then his shirt, but then the expected wave of cold hadn’t come.
The room was heated, indeed, in more normal times he’d have been uncomfortably hot. But now he savored every degree of warmth he could get.
“I’ll try to make it three minutes. Is that good en…” Rivera’s sentence cut off. There was noise in the hallway outside, and they’d all heard it.
“Get down behind something,” Plinth said, his voice hushed. The Marine moved swiftly across the room, swinging around the edge of a small console. His had snapped around toward the techs. “Down, I said…now!”
The techs slipped behind the machinery near where they had been taping the explosives to the heavy lengths of pipe. The refinery’s cooling system was vast, and they’d only managed to get half the bombs in place.
The main door opened. Then nothing happened. For at least ten seconds, Plinth crouched down, ready to open fire on anything that came through. But nothing did.
Then something flew through the air, tossed in from outside.
“Grenade!” the Marine shouted, ducking down lower under the console, and hoping the civilians had the good sense to do the same.
Then an explosion. Loud. Deafening. He felt a wave of shock, and he struggled to maintain his composure.
A flashbang. A stunner. That means…
He saw the shadowy images moving through the doorway, and he heard the sounds of their assault rifles firing.
…they’re coming.
He swung to the side, bringing his rifle around the edge of the console. He flipped the switch to full auto, and his finger tightened.
He saw one of the figures drop. Then another. And then he pulled himself back as a blast of fire hit the front of the console.
He twisted himself around, moving toward the other end of the workstation. As he went, he reached behind his back—he was sure he had a grenade left, but his hand had trouble finding it. The pain in his shoulder was brutal, and despite his best attempts to ignore it, it slowed him down.
There…
His hand was on the grenade. It was no stunner, it was a frag. And if he put it in the right place…
