He didn't have to wait long for the two spacers to appear. The first went by and Nick let him go. His buddy came thirty seconds later. Clearly a rearguard. He dies first.
Nick followed the second, the one dressed as a flight mechanic. He was not aware of his surroundings, focusing more intently on watching the first guy's back rather than his own. Classic mistake. The rearguard isn't doing his job: watching his own ass!
Nick followed him through the bars then out into a series of storage lockers. The fastest route back to the 'Cleod, Nick realized. There was no question where these two were headed, they already knew the route.
The crowds thinned even more as they neared the private hangars and Nick slid a pistol from his jacket. He screwed in a silencer he'd bought from a Cassian – maybe even Drayton's friend – and made his move.
A few people saw him with the weapon. They seemed concerned and gave him a wide berth, but none intervened. As long as they weren't the target they wouldn't interfere. In just a few seconds, he closed the distance and grabbed the faux mechanic by the collar and hurled him into an empty hangar bay. He lost his footing, crumbling into a heap. Nick tracked him easily by his glowing tattoos. It didn't require much skill to put a bullet in his head, even in the darkness.
Nick turned back quickly to close the electronic door, but as he reached for the key he saw the fist reaching for his face just a fraction of a second before it struck. The snapping blow sent him reeling then collapsing to the floor near the dead body.
He cried out, grabbing for his battered face. Somehow he lost his gun, feeling suddenly very alone. Clutching his head, he scrambled into the hangar, careful to mind the catwalks. He knew the hangar was cylindrical in shape. The center of floor was hollow to allow for room for the ship. A catwalk led out into the open space, towards the docking collars that would have held a ship in place. Nick headed in the direction of the collar, his face stinging and bleeding. He could see the glowing blue tattoos of the assailant coming towards him slowly, but deliberately.
“You don't fool me, you bastard,” Nick heard the voice follow him into the hangar.
He crawled quickly, feeling blood dripping from his face. The gangway would only go so far before he found the super structure for the rig and tumble into the empty space beyond. He flailed about, looking for anything that could help him. He felt a mechanics' station covered in tools, cans of grease, lubricant and rags. Desperately he hid among the boxes and storage lockers.
This is not going to end well.
He realized his glowing face and hands could give away his positions just as they were doing for his assassin. He grabbed a rag, caked in old grease and draped it over his head then tried shoving his hands into his sleeves. He hoped it would be enough to dampen the light of the tattoos.
Nick heard the metallic cocking of a weapon and the sound of heavy boots hitting the gangway. They came closer steadily and he shrank back into the darkness, feeling for the struts that supported the rig to guide his movement.
Come on, give me something! He scrambled to find anything he could use as a weapon. He knew the dead spacer had a gun on him, but the body was too far away. He'd have to get around his assailant just to get to it and he was blocking the gangway.
Nick heard the boots stop just in front of the mechanic's station as the assassin paused to search. In a moment, the boots started up again. Nick felt his heart skip a beat as his hands landed on a toolbox, carelessly left by the previous occupant's crew. Slowly, he slid the box open. His hands grasped the handle of a heavy wrench used to secure the bolts on ships' hulls.
Let him come a little closer, Nick begged.
The slow steps betrayed caution. He wasn't stupid. Nick peeked out from the rag. The assassin's tattoos betrayed his position just a few meters away.
Nick remained silent. The boots stopped again.
Suddenly, several sharp bangs echoed through the hangar as a the assassin discharged the weapon, hoping to either startle Nick into revealing himself or in a vain attempt to get a lucky hit. His ears rang and his body jolted with each shot. Nick's training was too good to fall for that ploy. The assassin had turned to fire in an arc, his unprotected left side was exposed.
Nick struck.
With one massive blow, he crashed the wrench into the assassin's head with a sickening thud. The assassin groaned a last gurgling dying breath. The gun discharged a final time, but the round went harmlessly into the depths of the hangar. Nick pounded away at his head a few more times to make sure the assassin was dead then stumbled back to his feet. He dropped the wrench with a clang and took a deep breath. It tasted of old grease and he ripped the rag from his head, feeling sick.
Nick reached down and heaved the dead body over the railing. He watched the glowing tattoos drop quickly then stop with a bang as the assassin hit the bottom. He went to get the other dead assassin and searched him. After finding a sheaf of documents and a data pad he had him join his companion. There they'd stay, if the station's security even bothered to retrieve him. He tossed the wrench in, too, as an after thought.
He flipped through the papers, all obvious fakes. The data pad was locked, but obviously of foreign manufacture.
“Amrah damn it,” he grunted. They were assassins and they were going after the twins. There was no question. It made his stomach turn just to think about it.
Nick pocketed the fake documents and left the empty hangar, leaving the bodies to be discovered by the next crew to dock there. He doubted they would bother to report the deaths which was just as well by him.
Sir Magnus Teton-Sten
Knight Scion of House Teton, The Iron-Handed
19 February, 23,423
Magdeborg, Magdeborg Commonwealth
______________
The ground under Magnus Teton-Sten shook violently as he pushed his destrier up the hill. The rolling hills to Magdeborg City's south were extensive and sprinkled with forests and rivers. The flat lands even further south hadn't been ideal as a landing zone, but incoming fire had compelled them away from their initial plan. The clear skies had made his landing ships easy targets. As he crested the hills he could see glimpses of the city beyond, teasing him, but also spurring him forward.
Magdeborg was a Class-A planet orbiting a single G3V star smack in the middle of its habitable zone which served as the seat of power for Houses Sten and Sørensen. The Commonwealth capital was covered in lush forests, deep blue oceans and brimming with life of all types. Such planets were rare in human controlled space. Those that were colonized were the crown jewels of empires, capital worlds, tourist attractions, and hubs of humanity. However, because of their ideal conditions, they were often the battlegrounds as empires fought to control them. More than one Class-A had been rendered ruined by nuclear, biological and chemical weapons before the Azuren outlawed their use. Magdeborg had avoided the fate of those worlds and Magnus wondered how long that would last.
He rode a massive seven-meter-tall war machine named after the ancient war steeds that carried their forefathers into battle. They had been invented a thousand years ago when humanity was gifted them by the Azuren who believed the focus of combat would fall on the destriers thereby limiting the scope and destructiveness that came with conventional war. Instead, they had become the pinnacle of modern warfare as the human nobility adopted them as their primary weapon of choice. Over the centuries, humanity had improved on them, increasing their size, armament and destructive capability, but staying within the limits set by Azuren overlords. Today they bristled with weapons and armor, enough to take on entire conventional battalions. His personal mount was an Axen, a popular design amongst Commonwealth nobility manufactured by the Armistead Munitions firm owned by the Teton family.
The fifty-two ton machine was humanoid in shape, its armor melded to resemble that of warriors past. Its cockpit was shaped into a helmet reinforced by hardened alloys to protect the pilot within from most dangers. Riding on its left hip was a missile launcher capable of crushing
armor and destroying conventional tanks. In its chest was a four gun laser battery powered by its internal fusion engine. Its left forearm ended in a snub autocannon that fired ten centimeter rounds. The machine took its name from the battle ax in it's right fist. Two meters long with a titanium blade, it was capable of tearing other destriers limb from limb. Magnus had taken the time to learn to use the weapon effectively. It wasn't common but battles between destriers could turn to hand-to-hand combat. He would be ready.
Magnus was strapped into the unit's command webbing, his hands wrapped around joysticks studded with switches and toggles. His legs controlled the feet and his hands controlled the arms and weapons. His helmet linked him to the machine and fed him tactical data and schematics for his destrier through his SESE tattoos so he could navigate and control subsystems. Magnus kept only the invisible tattoos around his temples and hands to improve the connection and reduce response time. Every fraction of a second mattered. It also allowed him the ability to use a series of blinks to silently send orders to his sections and initiate point to point communications with commanders.
Magnus' forces were landing at important points across the planet, a happy result of the refusal of the Sørensen fleet to engage. After hailing the Teton fleet repeatedly with no response they had fled, outgunned and outnumbered, to the edge of the solar system. Salena had ordered the Teton fleet to remain midway between the star and Magdeborg to either block the Sørensen fleet if it attempted to flee the system, or to protect the planet if they launched a counterattack.
Most of Magnus' ground forces landed without incident as the Sørensens pulled troops from strategic points across the planet and concentrated them around the capital, allowing them to capture critical infrastructure. Concordantly, the Sørensen ground troops had some time to prepare their forces around Magnus' landing area. Having defended Magdeborg for a thousand years, the Sørensen knew the world inside and out. They deployed units near the obvious landing zones, forcing the Tetons to fight their way out of their drop ships.
Sørensen artillery was pounding Magnus' personal landing zone, putting him and his command sections under fire. As they emerged from the ships, Magnus ordered his troops to split up and attack each artillery unit independently so that they couldn't support each other as they were attacked. Magnus' unit targeted a battery to the south sitting atop a ridge. As he crested, he took aim at the first cannon, giving it a burst of high-velocity slugs. The heavy rounds dinged and ricocheted off the artillery piece, but the poor bastards operating it were not so lucky. They fell where they stood, leaving the cannon half loaded, their bodies torn to shreds by the big rounds.
The crew of the second gun didn't wait around. They bailed, running towards vehicles only a few meters away. Magnus felt a pang of regret as he turned his guns on the retreating Sørensen soldiers. Today was the first day he'd taken another human life and he didn't enjoy the fact that his first kills had been unarmored infantry, half of whom had been running away. There would be glorious kills to be had, but not here.
Mother was quite clear. House Sørensen must be destroyed. They have usurped the Commonwealth throne and they are all guilty, he thought, steeling himself.
He disabled the vehicles with another burst of machine gun fire then turned to wait for the rest of his section. Being the heir to House Teton, his bodyguard was equipped with the best they could afford. Some of his troopers were outfitted with Harding Corporation material provided by House Mason and had spent the last few weeks growing accustomed to the new technology. It was no doubt a vast improvement over anything Armistead technology could manufacture. Harding weapons were less bulky and had improved range and cooling rates. Their destriers required less maintenance and were protected by more and better armor. Rumors even suggested the Hardings had stolen the technological blueprints from the Azuren. While his Axen was not one of Harding's designs, it was equipped with their weapons and armor. Its appearance would fool Sørensen fighters expecting a design capable of less.
Three other destriers and four armored vehicles took up his flanks and they resumed moving deeper into Sørensen territory. Common military practice among the Great States and even the minor Fringe states broke armies down into sections. Each section was commanded by a knight, often mounted in a destrier, supported by whatever his family could afford. Sections varied in size, but often were comprised of no more than ten individual units. Larger, wealthy families could field dozens sections or more. The Tetons typically kept fifty sections under arms supported by tens of thousands of militia and conventional personnel. Sections were supported by the local militias or organized national troops who were often not well trained nor equipped, but their strength came from their numbers. The main noble vanguard were the best equipped and trained and handled the majority of the fighting.
Magnus had been expecting a heavier defense, militia or even the Sørensen sections. It was unusual for artillery to be left unsupported. He wasn't sure why Thaddeus Sørensen hadn't deployed his heavier units at the landing zones to contest the initial choke points. If he were defending Magdeborg he would have hit the invaders with everything he had at their landing sites. Perhaps it was some sort of grand strategy Magnus hadn't yet figured out. That gave him slight pause.
Or maybe there's a simpler answer and Cassandra was right. Maybe House Sørensen was caught completely by surprise. Maybe Conrad Sten refused to aid his Sørensen allies, Magnus considered.
But how much sense did all that make? If House Sørensen had completed a coup and taken the Commonwealth throne, why weren't they more prepared to protect it? Their troops would have been mobilized and actively preventing dissent and enforcing curfews or deployed to prevent a counter coup. They'd have been fully armed, loaded and presenting a strong front to prevent any backlash from the local population or ambitious nobles.
Other sections had already been dispatched to secure the Conclave chambers and other important defense and legislative buildings. Each Teton noble was responsible for his own sector of the battlefield, allowing for a great deal of independence, but also limiting the amount of coordination Magnus could provide.
Salena insisted on respecting the authority of the Teton vassals even over Magnus' protests. She described how it would set a foundation for her future role as Duchess. “Don't let the other major houses feel threatened,” she said.
He couldn't help but feel somewhat like a puppet in his mother's game. He might be the ranking Teton officer on the battlefield, but she was clearly in charge. Pulling the strings, as it were, he thought. We all have our places.
Magnus shook his helmeted head and pushed the thoughts from his mind. They were not important now. Now was entirely focused on defeating the enemy. Leave the politics to the politicians and the war to the generals. Magdeborg City and the palace were his primary objectives.
As his section advanced, his radar began to squawk for attention. There were inbound Sørensen units, probably knights and their sections, summoned by local authorities. Although House Sørensen did not own any territory they were still properly armed and supplied with soldiers and hardware by House Sten. The Sørensens were more like vassals to the Stones rather than a major house in their own right. In any case, Archduke Peter had made sure to keep the Sørensen battalions well appointed.
The Sørensen sections seemed to be attempting to cut him off before he reached the capital. Magdeborg City itself lay nestled in foothills, dotted with forests and streams. Major highways converged on the city and sprawled outward like a spiderweb connecting the suburbs with the other cities on the planet. His forces were intentionally avoiding the major thoroughfares to prevent unnecessary civilian casualties. As in most wars, civilians bore the brunt of the losses when the fighting turned urban. Magnus hoped to avoid a block by block bloodbath in the city itself. He doubted – and hoped – the Sørensens wouldn't try sacrificing Magdeborg to save it. Damaging the ancient city would be a travesty, one Magnus hoped to avoid by luring the defenders out into the hil
ls. They would be easier to destroy out here anyway.
Bursting from the treeline just ahead were two Sørensen destriers with a few smaller vehicles in their wake. The Sørensen warriors stopped and targeted Magnus' section. Magnus punched up the magnification of the lead destrier searching for identifying marks. He found a quartered shield and ordered the computer to scan it. A half second later the computer identified the sigil as the coat of arms of Sir Thaddeus Sørensen, Dietrich Sørensen's brother and chief military commander.
He was surprised to see the commander on the field at all, let alone this early. Had the Sørensen defenses crumbled so quickly?
“Pin them down and force them back into the woods,” Magnus instructed his sectionmates. “Don't pursue them further, we can't risk being outflanked here.”
Typically, nobility would offer a challenge to their peers for single combat as honor demanded. Apparently, Thaddeus Sørensen had ordered his knights to forgo the tradition when he began the shelling of the Teton landing sites. Artillery had always been the great equalizer in war. Noble, sergeant and commoner alike all fell under the murderous fire. There was clearly no honor left in the Sørensen usurpers, Magnus figured as he ordered his own warriors to offer no challenges. There is no throwing down the gauntlet here. This is dirty and desperate business now. Civil wars always are.
His computers quickly ran through the war books, identifying the bigger destrier as a Wolverine and the smaller one as a Viscount. Both of them were traditional Sørensen designs but neither was particularly threatening to Magnus' section. He had three other mounted knights under his command, which could have handled the attacking force even without their supporting armored vehicles.
Magnus lined up his chest mounted lasers and pulled the trigger. The beams sliced across the field, catching the heavier destrier full in the chest. He held the beam steady, watching the temperature of the weapon increase. If he held it for too long, the weapon would overheat. In that case, if he was lucky, the crystals and mirrors would simply melt. If Amrah was feeling particularly vengeful against Teton nobles, the weapon would explode and take him out of the fight for good if not outright kill him.
Schism of Blood and Stone (The Starfield Theory Book 1) Page 10
