Through Struggle, the Stars

by John Lumpkin

  Three people came around the wall – Doc, limping and leaning on Rodriguez’s shoulder, and a shamefaced guerrilla with a rifle.

  Neil stood up to give them a precise fix on their position; Tom did one better and ran out to greet them. Doc and Rodriguez started to move away from the wall.

  Donovan grimaced. “We’re exposed.”

  Buzzing again, growing louder.

  It won’t be another recon drone, Neil thought.

  A rocket roared by off to Neil’s right, leaving a smoky contrail, and exploded against the wall. The guerrilla vanished in a cloud of rubble; Tom, Doc and Rodriguez all fell to the ground. Two Chinese combat drones, colored a deep blue and flying very close together, shot overhead. The planes banked to the right to turn back toward them.

  It seemed to Neil that it was his lot to be repeatedly attacked by a superior airborne force. The Americans had nothing to shoot back with; the rebels had insisted they leave their weapons at the dropship.

  The drones pulled in a wide circle; they had approached at high speed and were taking some time to come around for another pass. Tom and Rodriguez stood, helped Doc up off the ground and ran.

  The drones straightened out and lined up, side-by-side, their noses pointed at the struggling trio.

  Neil couldn’t think of any way to help them.

  The drones raced forward …

  … and didn’t fire. They passed over the three, then over Neil and Donovan and Rafe, and out of view. Tom and the others reached safety.

  “Why didn’t they shoot?” Tom said.

  “The remote pilots must have missed you. They were moving pretty fast.”

  The thunder of the jets grew louder again. One of the drones appeared well off to the right, circling around the camp again, but much higher than before.

  The other …

  There, almost overhead. It had switched to hover mode, and it was hunting them. Neil was pretty sure the flight controller had turned over control to its AI; its motions seemed jerky but exact, as opposed to the fluid but imprecise control that a human would provide.

  “Can we talk?” Rafe Sato whispered. Neil shook his head no. He wasn’t actually sure if the drones could pick up sound with all the noise they were making, but he wanted Rafe to shut up all the same. They waited in silence.

  After twenty minutes, the hunter drone departed, unable to locate them.

  “I guess we should head for the airfield,” Neil said, after telling the Doc and Rodriguez they were out of contact with San Jacinto.

  On the way, Doc Avery related how he and Rodriguez had survived the bombardment: They had about two minutes warning; some ground spotter at the camp had tagged the overhead ship as hostile. The Americans had taken cover in a filthy drainage culvert as the lasers knifed their way through the camp.

  “The worst was the smell,” Rodriguez said, a little nervous to be the sole enlisted person among the officers and civilians. “I grew up near a slaughterhouse before my family moved to New York City. Every other Thursday they would burn off all the blood. Just burn it.” She shuddered. “It reminded me of that. All those families in the camp …”

  “So what happened to the ankle, Doc?” Tom asked, eager to change the subject.

  “I did something to it crawling out of the culvert. Probably a minor sprain. Stupid.”

  He gave himself a painkiller, and they walked through the jungle.

  Tom asked Neil, “So are we sure it wasn’t a coincidence the Hans hit the camp while we were there? I mean, were we the targets?”

  Donovan, behind them, responded before Neil could answer. “It certainly is suspicious. Then again, the camp is a prime target, regardless. We don’t know any more than that,” he said.

  Tom looked at Donovan sharply. “I wasn’t asking you.”

  Everybody’s head turned at that. Donovan didn’t flinch, just looked into Tom’s angry eyes.

  Rafe Sato said, “Watch your tone, Ensign.”

  “Watch yours, civilian,” Tom shot back, continuing to stare at Donovan. “I don’t answer to you guys, and I sure as hell don’t want to listen to you, either. Every part of this mission has been a disaster, and it’s all on your shoulders, pal.”

  Sato took a step toward Tom, and Neil stepped in between them.

  “That’s enough,” he said, putting all the authority he could muster into his voice. “Save it for when get back to the ship.”

  Tom and Sato stared at each other for a while before resuming walking.

  Twice, a drone passed nearly overhead, causing them all to duck under the plant cover, but they remained unfound.

  “Victor-9 will be over target area in fifteen minutes,” San Jacinto’s sensor tech said.

  Both destroyers were rising over the camp on Commonwealth. This was the decision point for Captain Thorne. She would have to thrust now to interdict Victor-9’s firing solution on the camp. And risk a shootout.

  “Military thrust, one-half gee,” she said.

  In San Jacinto’s lower sections, pumps activated, and a splash of hydrogen atoms awoke from the languid slush in the ship’s storage reservoir. When San Jacinto was cruising, a small amount of remass typically flowed from the reservoir; at higher thrusts, all six storage tanks fed streams of propellant into the ship’s fusion drive.

  The hydrogen shot into the destroyer’s main reaction chamber, where a tiny burst of antimatter was already striking a sphere of uranium bathed in laser-compressed fusion fuel. Uranium atoms fissioned, inducing the fuel – a mix of deuterium and helium-3 – to fuse, producing a fury of energy.

  That energy heated the hydrogen propellant from a near-solid state to plasma. A powerful magnetic field, generated by superconducting loops, kept the plasma from incinerating the bulk of San Jacinto. Instead, the hydrogen fell further aft, through a nozzle created by an opening in the field.

  The hydrogen blasted away into space, and San Jacinto moved.

  It was a short burst, 45 seconds at one-half gee. But it was enough to put the ship in between Victor-9 and the guerrilla camp on the planet’s surface. The ship flipped over and fired again to match speeds with the bogey, maintaining a small thrust so its lower orbit didn’t carry it away.

  Li Xiao viewed the destruction through the drones’ cameras and allowed himself a slight measure of satisfaction. It was a bold stroke, hitting the insurgent camp like this. Hopefully he had killed the Americans he was hunting, as well.

  The group of people who witnessed his shame, back in that alleyway on Entente, was diminishing. His soldiers had already found the bodies of Huang Jin and the last of her bodyguards in the wreckage of their skycar.

  He had personally slit the throat of Huang Jin’s other bodyguard, lying wounded in his hospital bed in Graypen, some weeks ago. That left the Americans: Donovan, his half-Japanese aide and the Space Force officer, Mercer. They were on the planet, Li had learned from a spy within the camp. But their bodies were not at their car.

  Li Xiao looked around the makeshift command post, set up in the shadow of one of the towering dropships that had delivered him from Anjian. It and its sister were now perched on their tails, about 80 meters apart, refueling from small pods that had dropped separately from the destroyer and glided to a landing nearby.

  It was odd, Li reflected, how much authority he had been so recently granted, how he could now command men and women twenty years older than he.

  He reviewed the video of one of his combat drones chasing several people running through the wreckage of the camp. They didn’t look Chinese. He had a squad of troopers at the camp and another at the airfield, ready to call down fire from the Anjian as soon as the American’s second dropship landed.

  He concluded that the American destroyer wouldn’t interfere, or else it would have fired on Anjian during its first bombardment pass.

  The ship-to-surface communicator buzzed. One of the troopers waved to Li Xiao.

  “There is a problem.”

  Lieutenant Daphne Vikram said, “Captai
n, we’re getting a communication on the laser from Victor-9. English, text only: “American warship, move your vessel immediately out of our line of fire or we will consider you to have hostile intent. This will be your only warning.”

  “Like hell I will,” Thorne muttered under her breath.

  “Victor-9 bringing in her cooling fins!” A sensor tech said.

  Ships only did that when they were preparing to fight. Thorne ordered San Jacinto to do the same.

  They could see a pillar of smoke rising from each end of the airfield. Neil despaired; he had no doubt the dropship had been bombarded. It was hard to imagine that all of San Jacinto’s people – his people – had survived.

  Still, maybe they were clear of the dropship when it was hit. He turned to check on the others and ask Doc if he wanted to take a break to rest his ankle.

  The voice from beneath the ferns startled them all.

  “Christ, you guys are loud.”

  Six figures stood up almost at once, weapons at shoulders, in a loose semicircle around Neil’s party. Neil with relief recognized Sanchez and the five Marines who had joined the drop to Commonwealth.

  They confirmed Neil’s fears, reporting the destruction of the dropship and the death of Lieutenant Rodgers and the other members of the flight crew. “They never had a chance,” Sanchez said, describing the laser burning the Sabre. Sanchez had set up a perimeter, away from the dropship, and her troopers had all survived.

  “We haven’t been able to reach San Jacinto with our handhelds, and the big radio on the dropship is wasted,” Sanchez said. “We need to warn the ship. Is your transmitter intact?” She looked at Tom.

  “Nope. Smashed when our car went in.”

  “Warn them of what?” Neil said. “I’m pretty sure they know what happened down here.”

  “It’s not that … the Hans posted a squad of Marines near the landing strip. If San Jacinto sends down Ellis on the other dropship, they’re in big trouble.”

  Donovan said, “Do you think your people could overcome them?”

  “We’ll do whatever is necessary,” Sanchez said crisply.

  “I want your honest assessment, Lieutenant. Do you have the capability to defeat a squad of Chinese Naval Infantry?”

  Sanchez paused, unwilling to suggest there was anything a United States Marine couldn’t do. She had one light machine gunner, three riflemen and a grenadier. She said, “They’ve got the numbers and firepower on us, sir. They’re in full battle armor; we left our heavy gear on San Jacinto. At your request, if I recall correctly, sir.”

  Donovan grunted. “So the answer is no?”

  “The answer is I can’t say for sure. But we’re ready to try.” She pointedly looked at Neil. “At your orders, of course, sir.”

  This was moving too fast for Neil. Donovan was subtly proposing they attack the Chinese Marines and secure the airfield. Smooth, Neil thought. He’s asking me without asking me. Or is he ordering me? Thorne had told him nothing that would remotely authorize him for that kind of operation. Still, three Americans were dead at China’s hands, and more might be if they didn’t strike now.

  “First, could you provide us with your sidearms, Sanchez? I’m feeling a little naked,” Neil said.

  The Marines, some a bit reluctantly, surrendered their handguns. Sanchez gave Neil her Colt. They were about two klicks from the edge of the airfield, concealed behind a small rise in the Earth. Any closer and the risk of detection was too much.

  “So what are we up against?” Neil asked.

  Sanchez pulled out her handheld, expanded the screen and drew a long line representing the four-klick-long airstrip itself – it was a rough field, no pavement, just a wide area cleared of plants and rocks.

  “They’re somewhat spread out,” she said. “Six guys, including a machinegunner, are scattered around the dropship wreckage, here.” She pointed to one end of the strip. “Four more, including their honcho, and the other machinegunner, about a klick down the strip, at these service cabins, here, with their truck. Two more on roving patrol. They’ve got a scout drone circling; looks like under AI control.”

  “Any sign their drone control stations are nearby? I would like to take those out.”

  “Negative,” Sanchez’s staff sergeant, a brassy redhead named Harkins, replied. “No sign of them. They probably set them up where their dropships came down, which we think was on the far side of the camp.”

  “Makes sense,” Neil said. “Any idea how they are on sensors?”

  “I don’t think we can sneak closer than half a klick, if that’s what you mean,” Sanchez said. “They’re pretty decked out. Hard to say if the motion sensors will gig us before the IR will.”

  “I’ll defer to you on the best way to proceed. How would you do it?”

  Sanchez didn’t hesitate. “Our advantage is they are spread out. We could take out the group at the cabins, possibly before the drones and the guys at the far end of the airfield could respond.”

  “A sharpshooter would be nice,” Tom thought out loud.

  “We call them marksmen, and Fabini and her gun are on the ship.”

  “Then what?” Neil asked.

  “Well, the drones will give us big problems. Lance Corporal Morales, here –” she nodded at the grenadier – “he might be able to tag them in hover mode, but if they come after us in zoomie mode we’re in big trouble. We’ll have to retreat and hide. If they’ve got a full platoon down we may face attacks from other directions. And if that Han warship is overhead, and they manage to call in an orbital strike, then we’re all going to fry. We need to get as close to them as possible so they don’t know who to hit.”

  “Okay, what should we do?” Neil asked, motioning to the Space Force and intelligence people.

  “Those popguns won’t be much help unless we are on top of them. Cover our flanks and rear, I guess – just slow down anybody trying to get around us.”

  “Okay.”

  Sanchez tilted her head, staring at Neil. “That’s it? We’re doing this?”

  “I don’t see we –”

  A load roar cut him off. Heads turned to see Ellis’ Sabre approaching the airfield.

  We’re too late, Neil thought.

  “Why are they landing?” Tom said, too loudly.

  “The Hans are pretty well camouflaged,” Sanchez said. “San Jacinto probably can’t see them.”

  “We have to try to save them,” Neil said.

  “Okay, let’s move,” Sanchez said. “We’ll approach to 600 meters and hit them as soon as we got a shot.”

  They jogged in a loose, staggered column, Marines first, Space Force second, and Rafe Sato and Donovan in the rear. Everyone leaned forward and ducked low to try to stay below the fern fronds, which topped out around three meters.

  Through the leaves, Neil saw the San Jacinto’s dropship circle the airstrip once, then pull up, bleeding most of its remaining forward speed for a short landing.

  At least they’re doing a combat landing, Neil thought. But they must not see the Hans on the ground, or they wouldn’t be setting down here at all.

  No gunfire rose up to meet the dropship. The Hans must be waiting for it to touch down.

  They were closing on the airfield. On a transmitted command from Sanchez, the Marines spread out into a v formation and slowed. The professionalism of the Marines struck Neil at a deep level; here they were, approaching a well-defended position without most of their battle gear. No armor, no IR, no situational awareness map projected in their helmets – hell, no helmets!

  The dropship settled to the ground, close to the airfield cabins.

  Neil, hunched over, moved to Sanchez, who was staring through the scope on her rifle.

  “What’s going on?” he whispered.

  “Dropship landed,” she said, her voice tense. “Side hatch is opening … they probably brought down a minimal crew to be able to haul all of us back up … I can see Red Ellis and, what’s-her-name –”

  “Blaney?”
/>
  “That’s it … it looks like –”

  A chatter of gunfire cut her off.

  Without another word, Sanchez moved her rifle slightly to the left and fired three rounds in quick succession. The other Marines took the cue and also began firing. The airfield was still too far away for Neil to have any idea what was going on.

  “Harkins, Morales, Thompson, move up,” Sanchez said. All six Marines stopped firing; the three at the right advanced, weapons still at their shoulders. “I think we got two of them,” she told Neil.

  “What happened?”

  “They shot Ellis and Blaney and maybe the crew chief as well. I’m not sure. Okay, let’s go.”

  Sanchez and the two Marines with her began moving; Neil waved to the others to follow.

  They had closed about a third of the distance to the airfield when someone on a machinegun shot back. Green tracers lanced through the air, causing everyone to duck. Neil saw a round go right through the thick primary stalk of a nearby fern, which emitted a yellowish spray. Lousy cover, he told himself as the fern collapsed.

  “Get that gun, dammit!” Sanchez said.

  “I can’t get the angle,” Morales, the grenadier, said over the comm channel.

  Sanchez stood up, exposing her torso, and aimed her weapon. “I’ve got a dot,” she said.

  Morales leveled his rifle, and with his right forefinger pressed a button below the barrel. Neil saw the bright flash as the small missile shot forward, guided to Sanchez’s laser spot. An explosion ignited near the airfield, and the machinegun was silenced.

  “Last bad guy is running north, toward the others,” Harkins said, looking through her scope. She squeezed off a round, missed.

  “Okay, let’s move up and secure the dropship before anyone else shows up.”

  Neil, unaware that San Jacinto had moved to block Anjian’s firing solution, felt a wave of fear. At any moment, a bolt of lightning could kill them all.

  “Sergeant Quan says A squad is under attack!” The young lieutenant shouted. Moments before, the squad at the airfield had reported the landing of a second American dropship; Li Xiao did not hesitate in ordering them to ambush the flight crew. But either the flight crew was fighting back, or else someone was coming to their aid.