by Jay Allan
He pulled the pin and hurled the thing over the console, not waiting for the explosion to dive to the far end and open fire.
There were at least a dozen soldiers in the room. His fire took down one, and the grenade hit three more. But the others returned fire. He felt the pain as a round hit his arm. It was a heavy slug, fired from a high-powered weapon, and it almost tore his arm off. The wound was grievous, a massive chunk of flesh torn away, exposing the gray-white bone below.
He rolled over on his back, howling in pain, his rifle falling to the floor, out of reach now. The agony was overwhelming, and it was all he could think about.
No…
He gritted his teeth, struggling to endure, to ignore the searing pain.
If I lie here, I’m dead. We’re all dead. And the mission…
He heard gunfire behind him. Then a cry. It was one of the techs.
He fought to climb back up to his knees, letting his savaged arm hang to the side. His other hand reached to his belt, and he pulled out the pistol Hargraves had given him when they set out. He snapped his arm up, firing twice, just as an enemy trooper swung around the edge of the console.
More shooting from behind. And another scream. A familiar voice.
Tomas…
He turned his head, looking back. There were troops everywhere. And Tomas Rivera was down, surrounded by a pool of blood.
Plinth felt a wave of rage, a need to lash out, to kill as many of these soldiers as he could. But the Marine inside him clamped down. There was a mission. The techs had gotten some of the explosives in place. There was no hope of escape, of survival. Only a last chance to see the mission completed. At least partially.
Tomas has the detonator.
He lunged from his cover, almost without thinking, diving for Rivera’s body.
Plinth felt pain, like a hammer slamming into his back. Then another, as a second bullet ripped into him. He felt his breath sucked from his body, and more pain. He knew he was done, but he kept pushing ahead, reaching for the small control unit clipped to Rivera’s belt.
He hit the ground hard, grunting as he did, pain flaring everywhere in his tortured body. He extended his arm as far forward as he could, but he was almost a meter short.
He could hear the sounds of enemy troopers moving, shouting to each other. Then more pain, his leg this time. He could feel his awareness slipping away, the heaviness growing in his limbs. But he crawled, clawing forward with his remaining hand. The he lunged one last time…and he felt the hard metal of the unit. He closed his hand on it, his fingers feeling around for the button.
He wanted to pause…one last thought of home, of his mother and father. And his sister. She was only fourteen, but they had always been close. She would be inconsolable, he knew, when she found out. She would cry her eyes out.
No, Cyn, don’t cry…just be happy…live your life, for both of us…
His finger pressed down, just as his enemies moved over him and began riddling his body with bullets. But amid the agony, he felt the click under his finger, and he smiled back at his killers. And then, for an almost imperceptible instant, he heard the sound, the explosion that ripped through the massive chamber. Then silence, darkness.
Chapter Nineteen
From the Commentaries of Rance Barron
War is hell. Death, suffering, despair. Yet there is glory too, a shimmering reward that looks best from afar, when the costs it extracts are unseen. Still, for all the blood and suffering it demands, glory itself is intoxicating—unless you resist. I have been given decorations, awards…I have ridden at the head of parades and stood before cheering throngs. And each time, amid the adoration and the chanting of my name, I have tried to remember those who served with me, the legions of brave men and women ignored by glory, whose only legacy for combat and struggle is pain and death.
Glory is fickle, selecting some as its children and disregarding others. The victorious fleet commander becomes a national hero. The captain of a vessel collects combat awards, medals. The gunners who target enemy ships are cheered for their steady eyes and hands. Yet, in the bowels of the ship, braving radiation and heat and deadly dangers, are the engineers. It is they who keep the gunners’ batteries working through damage and the stress of battle. It is they who give the captain the engine power he needs. Who ensure the admiral’s fleet is ready to do as he commands.
So let me share the glory that I have received in far greater share than I deserve, and join me in a silent thanks to those too often unheralded men and women in the engine rooms and snaking access tubes…as much as any who serve, the true arbiters of victory.
CFS Dauntless
Approaching Planet Santis, Krillus IV
307 AC
“I’m pretty sure I got it, Commander Fritz. It was hiding deep in the aft cooling complex, but I finally tracked it down.” Sam Carson looked tired. His sleeves were rolled up, and his arms were covered with bruises. Crawling around in Dauntless’s bowels was hard work, and sometimes painful too. The deeply buried conduits of the reactor cooling system were not designed for human access—at least not easy access. But the maintenance bots hadn’t been able to target the problem…and everyone in Dauntless’s engineering team knew how vital if was to restore power. If the battleship was facing its equal—or something more powerful—Captain Barron was going to need every gun operational. And the freak damage to the cooling lines had effectively knocked out half of the battleship’s primaries.
“I’m going to miss you, Sam, I really am. I’m glad we still have you for this mission.” Anya Fritz was an engineer’s engineer, the range of her thoughts rarely extending beyond the confines of the ship’s guts and beating heart. But Carson could hear the tension even in her even tone. Everyone on Dauntless was on edge. They’d been apprehensive on the Union border during their long, lonely patrol there, but they’d known what they were facing then. As massive as a Union invasion was expected to be, it was a known quantity. Now they were facing a mystery, staring off into the darkness.
“I’ll miss you too, Commander. I’ll miss everyone on Dauntless.”
Carson had served on a few ships in his career, and he’d always gotten along with his crewmates. But there’d been something special about his short time on Dauntless. The ship felt like home, and the thought of leaving was a painful one. He couldn’t turn down the chance to transfer to Archellia, to be with Lise and his child—but part of him grieved at the thought of his new brothers and sisters going to war without him.
He was glad, at least, that he was with them now. Lise had practically begged him not to go, and he carried the guilt of refusing her. But he couldn’t stay behind, not now. He loved his wife, but he had to be able to face himself in the mirror…and the thought of allowing his crewmates to face whatever danger was out there alone made him sick to his stomach.
Besides, if this is a real danger, Archellia is the first major world in its path. Whatever we face out here, we have to win. If we don’t…
As a sector capital, Archellia had its defenses—far stronger ones than a fringe world might be expected to possess—but it had weaknesses too. There was no fleet stationed there, nothing but a few aging patrol boats. The two thousand Marines garrisoning the base were a formidable force, but they were the remnant of what had been a five thousand strong brigade before the high command started transferring battalions to the expected front lines. They would put up a fierce fight, but they were too few to beat back a serious invasion.
If Dauntless was facing an Alliance force, Carson knew it was vital that she defeat whatever she encountered. The Alliance was mysterious in the Confederation, with little concrete information available, at least outside of the highest levels of state secrecy. What was known was more legend than fact, stories of a warrior culture where children were trained to fight from the day they could walk. The rumors Carson had heard all told of a brutal culture, one that abused and enslaved conquered populations. He couldn’t let them get to Lise.
“Are you listening to me, Sam?” There was a touch of irritation in Fritz’s voice.
“Ah…sorry, Commander. I…I was thinking about Archellia. About my wife.” Carson had briefly considered making up a better story, one that sounded more military. But he didn’t have it in him. For better or worse, he was a painfully honest man.
“Archellia will be fine, Sam.” Fritz’s tone was empathetic, something he’d rarely heard from the hard-charging engineer. “Captain Barron is the best in the fleet. Whatever is out there, he will deal with it.”
“Thank you, Commander. Captain Barron has all my faith. It’s…it’s just hard.”
“I know it is, Sam. But we’re lucky to have you here. If you stay focused, you’ll be a big part of us getting the job done.”
Carson smiled weakly. “You are very kind, Commander. I can promise you everything I’ve got. Dauntless is my home, even if I am leaving soon.” He paused, then repeated, “Everything I have, Commander.”
“I know that, Sam. But first, get down to sickbay. There are all kinds of radiation spikes in those cooling tubes. Get yourself checked out and get a quick cleanse…before we end up in real action.”
“I’m sure I’m okay, Commander. Besides, the aft torpedo loading system is running a little rough. I was going…”
“That wasn’t a request, Lieutenant. Sickbay. Now. I’ll see to the aft torpedo tubes.”
“Yes, Commander.” Carson stepped back and snapped off a salute. Then he turned and headed toward the main hall and the lift tubes. The smile on his face was gone, replaced by a twisted frown.
Carson hated doctors and hospitals.
* * *
“Maintain active scanning at full power, Commander. We will remain at general quarters. There is an enemy ship out here, at least one…even if we haven’t found it.” He knew the sustained alert status was hard on his crew, that each hour he kept his people at battlestations wore down their effectiveness. But it would be far worse if they were blindsided. That had already happened once, and Barron didn’t intend to allow a repeat.
“Scanners at full, Captain.”
Barron had already suspected that Santis and its tritium production facilities would be a target, and the trap at the transwarp link had only reinforced that notion. His scanners hadn’t detected the enemy yet, but he knew they were out there. Somewhere close.
He twisted his head, trying to clear the knots from his neck. He’d been in his chair for over twenty hours without a break. He was going to have to order a round of stims for his people soon, that much was certain. But he knew such things only lasted so long, and he was going to need his people sharp when the battle he knew was coming actually began. He would wait, perhaps another few hours.
“Captain, Commander Fritz reports her people have fixed the reactor cooling system. All primary weapons are active and at full power.”
Barron felt a wave of relief. He’d pressed on from the transwarp link, moving toward Santis as quickly as possible, disregarding the damage inflicted by the laser buoys. He suspected time was not his ally in this situation. But he didn’t relish making contact, going into battle with half his heavy guns out of action. The particle accelerators were extremely powerful weapons, but they were greedy of energy, requiring almost all of the output of Dauntless’s massive reactors to fire. And he was glad to have them all back online.
“Give Commander Fritz my compliments.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Barron stared ahead at the 3D display. Santis was projected in the center of the tank, a fuzzy-looking gray-white sphere. The planet had two moons, Lyra and Assul, represented by smaller globes, currently at opposite edges of the tank. Barron had reviewed the data banks. Lyra was a dead rock, lifeless and airless, but Assul was as different from its frigid parent world as possible. Heated by massive volcanic activity, it was warm—too warm for humans to endure for more than a short period without survival gear. The large moon was covered with dense jungles, teeming with carnivorous plants.
“Approaching Santis, sir. Should I plot a course into orbit?”
Barron sat silently for a few seconds. Finally, he said, “No, Commander…not yet. All engines are to decelerate. Bring us to a stop half a million kilometers out.” Barron’s gaze was focused on the tank, his eyes boring into holographic light depicting Santis.
“Yes, Captain. Decelerating now.”
“Red squadron is to prepare to launch.”
“Sir?”
“I want every millimeter around this planet and both moons searched, Commander. And I have no intention of entering orbit until I know exactly what is there. In orbit or hiding behind one of the moons. I want full power to active scanners. Concentrate on the planetary and both lunar orbits.”
“Yes, sir. Scanning now.” A moment later. “Yellow squadron reports ready to launch, sir.”
“Launch. Advise Red leader to break her people up into teams of three. I want the far sides of the planet and both moons scouted.”
“Yes, Captain.” Travis relayed the order, and a moment later the ship shook softly as fifteen fighters shot down its magnetic catapults in rapid sequence and out into space. “Red squadron launched, Captain.”
“Order Yellow Squadron to alert stations, replacing Red.” He knew it was Green’s turn in the duty rotation, but most of the squadron’s pilots were raw, fresh out of the Academy. He didn’t know what his people were up against, or what they might encounter. But he knew damned well he wanted his experienced pilots out there.
“Yes, sir. Yellow squadron to alert stations.”
Barron listened to Travis’s voice, steady, firm. He trusted her completely, and the two worked together seamlessly. He’d have sworn she could almost read his mind somehow, and there was no one he’d rather have on the bridge…or in command if anything happened to him.
“Very well, Commander.”
Barron stood up, holding back the wince that wanted to escape as every muscle in his body rebelled. He had to get up and move around, at least for a while. “I’ll be in my office. Contact me immediately with any reports.”
“Yes, sir.”
He walked across the bridge toward a large hatch. “Open,” he said softly, pausing as the door slid to the side. He stepped through and said, “Close,” pausing as the hatch shut.
Then he let out a deep sigh. He really wanted to go to his quarters, to lie down, even for a few moments. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Not while he had his people at battlestations.
His recollections of his grandfather were those of a young boy, and most of their conversations had been about fishing, the family estate, or the exotic worlds the admiral had seen. But the old man had imparted some of his experience to his grandson, and Barron knew that a captain who shared his crew’s pain and struggles would gain a level of loyalty well beyond the norm. Rance Barron had won his victories as much due to the extraordinary effort and sacrifice of his crews as to his own tactical wizardry. And Tyler knew his grandfather had gained that respect and devotion by sharing every hardship and danger with those who followed him. He’d always been at the forefront, in the thick of the fighting, at the center of the combat.
Barron resolved he would do the same. He would be everywhere with his people, through whatever danger he led them to. And one thing he damned sure would never do was sneak off for a nap while his spacers struggled to stay focused at their stations.
He walked across the room, limping slightly from the numbness in his leg, and he sat behind his desk. It was a relief to have a few moments of privacy at least, if not rest. His crew could display their uncertainty, their apprehension, at least to a point. But not him, not the ship’s captain. He knew they all looked to him, and the slightest sign that he was not in control, that he had his doubts, would crush morale in an instant. And Tyler Barron’s mind was flooded with doubts at the moment.
He stared down at the screen on the side of the desk, reviewing the meager scanning data. He didn’t have much beyond gut instinct
to tell him what he was facing. The laser buoys suggested a fairly large ship, or perhaps a number of small ones.
Or even a freighter…
It seemed clear, however, that there was no massive invasion fleet, at least not yet. If there were that many ships out there, he would have detected something. Residual ion trails or some kinds of energy readings. Besides, a fleet would have attacked Dauntless immediately, not played a cat and mouse game trying to gain advantage.
No, whatever we’re facing, they’re respectful of us, wary. That’s the only reason we haven’t been attacked with anything else yet.
Barron rested his head in his hands, closing his eyes for just a few seconds.
Who are you out there? And what are you doing now? What trap are you laying for us?
Chapter Twenty
AS Invictus
In Orbit, Krillus V
Alliance Year 58 (307 AC)
“They’re just sitting there, Commander. They may be launching fighters. It’s hard to be sure with just passive scans.”
Kat listened to her exec’s report with disappointment, if not surprise. She’d set another trap for her Confed counterpart, but it didn’t look like he was going to fall into it.
“Maintain position and continue minimal energy output.”
“Yes, Commander.” There was something in Wentus’s voice—a touch of discomfort perhaps?
Kat understood. Her exec was a gifted officer, but he was as indoctrinated in Alliance thinking as anyone else in the service. Kat knew she was too, at least to an extent, but she saw other things as well, realities, dangers. She knew where the enemy was, and standard doctrine called up on her to finish things, to advance and engage—and destroy—the enemy. Immediately. But her instincts were calling out to her as well, screaming for caution. The Confeds weren’t supposed to have substantial military assets deployed to the Rim…yet here she was, facing what could only be a frontline battleship. That was a colossal failure, at least as far as information gathering was concerned. A four-million-ton battleship was a big thing to miss.
