by Isaac Hooke
“Both,” Helium replied as Rade retreated.
“No one ever said it was going to be easy,” Rade transmitted.
Behind him, the building he had used for cover collapsed.
twenty-five
Jonathan clenched and unclenched his fingers on the armrest.
The waiting was always the worst part.
The surface-to-space defenses continued to fire from the moon. The Dammerung’s charged field had held up so far against those particle beams, but for how long? The admiral could have ordered the Dammerung and the ships stacked above it to move to a different portion of the moon where no surface-to-space defenses remained, but that would have meant abandoning the MOTHs, as there would be no time to retrieve them after deploying the planet killer. Plus moving now would cut off the vessels from any communication with the ground troops.
Meanwhile, the sixty ships embedded within the inactive enemy fleet had exhausted their long range weapons several minutes ago, and were relying on Vipers to finish the job; Avenger fighters were still making strafing runs over enemy ships as well, raking their defenseless hulls with slugs and short range lasers. Despite the non-stop offensive, there were still a thousand enemy out there.
Like most battles, success or failure always came down to the efforts or decisions of a few: the heroics of a brave ship, the tactics of a brilliant commander, or in this particular case, the actions of a few special operatives.
The lives of so many, in the hands of so few.
He checked the time that had passed since the drop. Not good: those operatives were taking far too long.
“What’s going on down there?” Jonathan said. “Do we have a sit-rep?”
“The lieutenant commander tells me they’re meeting some resistance,” Miko replied.
“Some?” He suspected that was an understatement. “Is there anything we can do to render aid? Via the Dammerung?” Jonathan mentioned the destroyer because he was reluctant to move out from behind the cover of the vessel’s charged fields.
“No,” Miko said. “None of our weapons are fine-grained enough, except perhaps the Vipers.”
“Which are useless against the enemy darkness generators,” Jonathan said.
“Correct,” Miko replied.
“Perhaps we can have the Dammerung fire on a building, and collapse it somehow?”
“All we’ll do is poke holes in any buildings we target,” Miko said.
“Launch a mortar nearby?”
“Again, not fine-grained enough,” Miko said. “We risk friendly casualties.”
Jonathan shook his head, feeling helpless.
“Captain!” Lewis said. “The heat signatures in orbit are beginning to ramp up again. The enemy ships are slowly coming back to life.”
Jonathan glanced at his tactical display. “Can you tag the awakening vessels a brighter red for me?”
In moments, those ships that were recovering from the reboot became brighter on the display. Ten so far, but every few seconds another joined them. All of the involved vessels were capital ships—the first enemy craft to go offline.
Jonathan glanced at Robert. “I thought the reboot was supposed to take an hour? We still have fifteen minutes.”
“Maybe Barrick misinterpreted what Valor told him,” the commander responded. “Or the Zarafe overestimated the time.”
“Malefactor Unit,” Admiral Ford said over the main band. “Recall your fighters and withdraw from orbit. I repeat, recall fighters and withdraw. Return to the Slipstream and guard the Builder.”
“But we can’t abandon you,” Captain Bane sent. “You’ll never hold them off on your own.”
“If we don’t fire the planet killer within the next ten minutes, it won’t matter anyway,” Ford replied. “Better that some of you withdraw to fight another day. Draw as many of the enemy away as you can. We’ll rendezvous with you when we’re done here.”
The blue dots representing Malefactor Unit began to leave orbit. Some of the awakened ships were pursuing them, but most set a course to intercept the Dammerung.
“Is it just me, or are those awakened ships accelerating extremely slowly?” Jonathan asked.
“No, it’s not you,” Lewis replied. “I’m guessing only one reactor, or its equivalent, is online per vessel so far. I’m sure they’ll increase speed as their other reactors reactivate.” She paused. “I’m detecting the launch of several enemy fighters.”
On the display, red dots began to emerge from the reactivating ships. At first there were only a few in total. Then there were tens. Then hundreds, all pulling away from the enemy fleet. Their trajectories converged on the Dammerung.
“That’s a bit more than several,” Miko commented.
“Guess they’ve thought of a faster way to reach us while their reactors still come online...” Robert said.
“Launch fighters,” the admiral transmitted. “Let’s stave off as many of them as we can. Don’t let them ram the planet killer. I want the Dammerung surrounded by Avengers.”
“Miko, get all our Avenger squadrons out there,” Jonathan said. “Protect the Dammerung.” He glanced at his comm officer. “Lazur, tell Barrick to deploy the Talon’s fighters to render as much assistance as they can.”
“Aye, Captain,” Lazur replied.
On the tactical display, the blue dots of the requested fighters began to join those of the nine vessels stacked atop the Dammerung.
Jonathan compared the pitifully small number of blue to the incoming swarm of red, and pressed his lips together tightly.
RADE AND THOSE with him were pinned. According to the overhead map, the other platoons fared little better. Circles of red enclosed the blue dots representing the MOTH platoons. The enemy had outflanked each individual platoon, and the attacks were coming in from all sides. Sometimes those tangos would be large robots the size of mechs, at other times smaller darkness-clad troops, likely Raakarr themselves. The Knights concentrated on the former, the Centurions the latter. And though the laser weapons of the Knights and Centurions were able to penetrate the darkness shields of the enemy, for every tango that fell, always a new one replaced it. Since the HS4 scouts with Rade and his men had all been shot down, sometimes the platoon members didn’t even know the replacement had arrived until it started firing and bringing the buildings down around them.
Rade was prostrate beside the crumbled ruins of two triangular buildings that had been collapsed by an enemy particle beam attack. That’s right, some of those tangos employed particle beams, which proved just as effective as the rockets the Knights had, if not more so. Helium, beside him, had hidden in the gelatinous webbing that once hung between the two fallen buildings. There was no sign of any Raakarr civilians in the stuff. The amorphous substance clung to Helium’s mech, and Rade wondered if it would slow down the electroactuated limbs of his friend’s unit when it came time to leave the hide.
Rade had exhausted his rocket supply by then. He still had his trusty quadruple-fire Cobras, of course, along with some countermeasures, such as the Lighter, which would electrify the entire surface of his mech. Somehow he doubted the enemy would ever get close enough for him to use the latter.
Time was running out, and they weren’t making any progress. There was one last thing he could try...
He glanced at the darkness generator, or tartaan, attached to the harness of his mech. Barrick had managed to smuggle ten of the devices off the Talon in total, by hiding one or two at a time aboard the shuttle that made routine supply runs between the alien ship and the Callaway. Every platoon chief had been outfitted with one of the devices for the mission.
In experiments conducted by Connie Myers, Chief Scientist of the Callaway, it had been determined that while the generator would engulf the entire mech in the black mist, because of its limited power supply, the shielding capability would be reduced by a factor of twelve. He thought of how the larger enemy approached with their generators turned off, activating them only at the last possible moment to sav
e power. He suspected their shields suffered from a similar strength reduction, though probably not as bad as his own: presumably theirs were designed to supply extra power to compensate for the larger surface area.
Rade wondered if the darkness shield produced by the tartaan would protect him from the enemy weapons at all. Probably not. If he attempted his plan, he would be basically throwing himself into the line of fire.
“I’m going in,” Rade sent. “I’m deactivating comms, and turning on the darkness generator.”
“Roger that,” Helium replied.
“It is my duty to remind the Chief that the generator is meant for protecting the package,” Pegasus, the local AI of his mech, said. “Any other use is strictly experimental, to be employed only in a last resort scenario.”
“This is a last resort scenario,” Rade said.
“Even if you turn off your comm node and Implant,” Pegasus argued. “Your EM emissions won’t match any of the enemy units. They’ll shoot you down.”
“With luck, they’ll think I’m a damaged unit.” Rade switched over to the P1 comm band. “Helium, I want you and the nearby Centurions to shoot at me while I retreat, but make sure your aim is off by a few meters. Do your best to make them believe I’m a threat to you. One of their own.”
“You got it, Chief,” Helium said. “I don’t suppose there’s any way I can change your mind? As Chief, you really shouldn’t be the one doing this.”
Rade hesitated, but then reminded himself why he needed to be the one who placed the hacking device. He couldn’t let anyone else assume the burden of guilt.
“You’ve seen my letter of reprimand,” Rade said. “There’s not much more the navy can do to me. And what’s the LC going to do? Demote me?”
“He very well could,” Helium replied.
Rade shrugged. “It’s happened before. Guess you’ll be the new chief either way, then, whether I live or die. Now... I’m going dark. You’re in charge of the platoon, LPO.”
“Good luck, Chief,” Helium sent.
“Luck has nothing to do with it. I’ll take a good laser rifle or Cobra over luck any day.” To his local AI, he said: “Pegasus, disable comm node.”
“Disabled,” the AI responded.
Rade deactivated his Implant. The mech’s external motion now depended solely on the actuators cocooning him inside the cockpit. Rade’s movements would feel more sluggish because of that, like trudging through a marsh. He upped the power output of his jumpsuit exoskeleton in preparation.
Rade still had the HUD interface provided by his helmet faceplate, and he navigated through the menus until he found the “tartaan” entry Connie had implemented, and activated it. There was no direct link to the tartaan itself, of course; rather, the alien device had been placed within a sheath whose tactile actuators could simulate the pressure and heat of a human hand wrapping around it. That was the only way they had found to engage the device remotely.
With the tartaan active, he disabled the suit’s weaker comm node, severing his final connection to the platoon. On the faceplate overhead map, all of the dots froze, their ping times increasing toward infinity.
He concentrated his attention on the external video feed that Pegasus still fed to his faceplate. Without the Implant, his view was constrained by the edges of the helmet once more. Outside, his Knight was sheathed in black mist. The view straight ahead alternated between complete darkness and translucency as the mist covering the camera pulsed in and out.
He took a deep breath, scrambled to his feet, and moved away to the south. His mech and body seemed to move in slow motion, as did everything around him, though conscious thought proved unaffected. He had practiced a few times under these conditions in the simulator, using settings supplied by Connie, and he quickly adapted to the change, using conscious effort to guide his limbs. The resistance of the actuators felt stronger than he had expected; he navigated through the frustratingly slow menus on his faceplate and further upped the output of the exoskeleton to compensate.
Rubble slowly erupted into the air around him, and he knew his own unit was shooting at him, as requested.
Kind of them not to hit me.
It felt almost like he was underwater, given how eerily slow the exploding debris moved.
He saw two tangos sheltering behind the rubble of a collapsed structure up ahead. He approached them dead on, ready to leap aside at the first sign of attack. They didn’t fire.
Rade ducked into a side alley five meters from them and took a roundabout route past. He was far enough from his platoon that the incoming fire against him had ceased.
He headed west when he was clear of the two tangos, and made his way toward the target site. The path forward was clear.
This might actually work.
Rade moved between the triangular structures in slow motion, occasionally circumventing gelatinous webbing that completely blocked his path. The glowing filaments on the buildings remained a bright red. He had come to understand by now that the color indicated a state of emergency among the enemy.
He occasionally spotted more tangos en route to the battle. The mech-like units approached with their darkness generators inactive, while the smaller Raakarr troops were clad in black mist. Rade always ducked into a side street when he saw either type of unit, and they always passed without bothering him.
I should have deployed this damn thing from the start.
He reached the access node in five minutes. Located at the base of one of the triangular buildings, it was precisely as described to him: a cylindrical tank protruded from the ground with five bright yellow rods arcing outward in a half circle at the top like rays from the sun. Two more of the flat triangular buildings bordered the street on either side, with a rectangular building directly opposite, forming a courtyard of sorts. Enveloping those structures were several large cylinders standing atop thin rods in the street beyond that resembled giant capacitors.
The enemy had decided to place two guards in front of the access node. These were ordinary Raakarr units, clad in darkness.
Kind of them to leave such a minimal number of guards.
Rade had spotted them from afar, and approached stealthily to assume a position atop the roof of the rectangular building. He low-crawled to the edge and fired two simultaneous bursts from his Cobras, sniping them. He leaped down into the central courtyard in slow motion as the two mist-sheathed forms collapsed. He approached the cylindrical tank; as he passed the lifeless mists, he fired two final insurance shots into them from his remaining fully-charged turrets.
He deactivated his tartaan using the interface on his helmet faceplate. The world returned to its normal speed, and the pulsating veil of darkness lifted from his vision.
He separated the Payload Deployment Device from his harness, removed the adhesive backing with the provided switch, and secured the small cube to the access node. A red light began to flash on the surface of the PDD. That meant the malicious code upload was in progress. When it became green after two minutes, that meant the transfer was complete. Not that he would see it:
He disconnected the tartaan from the harness of his mech, looped it around the PDD using the provided cord, and then used the remote interface on his faceplate to activate the darkness generator. The PDD vanished underneath a veil of black mist.
He reactivated his Implant, as well as the comm nodes in his jumpsuit and Knight, and the dots on his overhead map jumped as connection was reestablished with the other platoons. Some of them had managed to edge closer to his position, though they were still surrounded by enemies. Disconcertingly, several blue dots were missing.
“Package has been placed!” Rade sent.
He had been warned that when the alien privilege escalation code began to execute, an internal alarm would trigger, and enemy units would come down hard on his position. He would have to defend the package for two full minutes while the malicious code finished installing. He set a countdown on his HUD for the appropriate amount of time.
On the overhead map, he saw that the red dots surrounding the platoons had begun to retreat westward, toward the node.
“We’re no longer pinned!” Helium sent.
“All units, proceed to the package,” Lieutenant Commander Pine sent. “I repeat, all units, proceed to the package.”
Rade fired his jumpjets and thrust to the top of one of the capacitor-like cylinders overlooking the courtyard. He proceeded to lie flat, directing his aim toward the easternmost approach, where the majority of the enemy was most likely to appear. He waited.
“Chiefs, you might want to use your darkness generators,” Rade sent to all platoons. “There’s a good chance the tangos will ignore you while you’re wearing it. At least for a little while.”
It wasn’t long before he saw the first wave of incoming attackers.
Rade opened fire.
twenty-six
Jonathan clasped his hands, the fingers interlocking tightly over his chest.
A hundred and twenty Avenger fighters were joined by forty fighters from the Talon in circling the Dammerung and the nine ships stacked above it. The enemy surface-to-space defenses occasionally attempted to fire at those smaller craft, but so far had missed each time.
Meanwhile, the swarm of enemy fighters continued their approach.
“Main fleet, stand by to lob all remaining mortars, kinetic kills, and nukes at the incoming fighter swarm,” the admiral sent. “You’ll be firing mag-rails, too, surrounding every mortar with a circular spread of slugs. My AI is sending over the firing solution to your tactical officers now.”
Jonathan understood the latter tactic well enough. The slugs were far smaller than mortars, so when the alien fighters swerved to avoid the big rocks, some of the craft would fly straight into the tiny projectiles. What he didn’t understand was the need to fire every long range weapon they had.
He tapped in the admiral directly. “Admiral, might I suggest we keep some of our long range inventory in reserve?”
