The Tetra War_Fractured Peace

by Michael Ryan

  The Tetra War

  —

  Fractured Peace

  Michael Ryan

  &

  Hunter Ross

  Copyright © 2018 by Michael Ryan & Hunter Ross. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law, or in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER ONE

  Can you draw the sisalikalaur out of the river with a hook?

  Can you puncture his skin with a barbed spear?

  ~ Holy Writs of Vahobra, 15:11

  Ancient Guritain legends describe a place of anguish where the gods punish the spirits of evil purvasts after death.

  The phrase “War is Golvin” is still in use today.

  I’ve never believed in a place of post-death eternal torment, but I’ve experienced Hell/Golvin and enough misery during skirmishes on Earth and Purvas to last a thousand lifetimes. I’ve witnessed firsthand a form of purgatory worthy of any vengeful god while on grueling missions in humid jungles, broiling deserts, and in the frozen arctic. I’ve had my share of nightmares after assassinating unnamed adversaries without a trace of mercy. When I watched helplessly as my first Specialized Drop Infantry partner perished, I believed my death was imminent.

  For a time, I welcomed the idea of breathing my final breath and plunging into the abyss.

  The burden of my memories and what I’ve seen men and purvasts do in the Tetra War overwhelms me without warning at odd times. In these moments of anguish, I imagine that Guritain forces hadn’t rescued me from an icy grave.

  In this delusion, I’m already dead; and then I’m usually torn between being relieved that I’m not, and wishing I were.

  2309, HCE

  Mexico City, Gurita, Earth

  Callie and I had turned a mandatory check-in with Guritain Command into a family vacation on Earth with our sons, Milo and Adam. The boys had heard stories about space travel to other worlds and were anxious to experience it, but our oldest wasn’t convinced it was possible until he made the voyage himself.

  On our second day, we visited the Purvastian Zoological Society’s park, located four blocks from Mexico City’s thread – Earth’s busiest and most expensive space elevator. The pervasive haze of pollution that was a constant in the city had blown east in a rare reprieve, and the sky was so blue that it looked like a simulation.

  Milo, the eldest, clad in the sports shirt of his favorite team, tugged at my hand.

  “Daddy, is that real?” he asked, pointing at a caged reptile.

  I involuntarily shuddered. My pulse quickened and a sudden sheen of sweat appeared on my forehead.

  “Yes.”

  The medium-sized sisalikalaur was a live dino-lizard from Purvas. The cost of engineering the transport of a living, twelve-meter-long beast to Earth must have been outrageous. I shook my head and eyed Milo’s thatch of unruly brown hair – something he’d inherited from me.

  “Your mom and I had to fight some of his cousins when we were on Purvas.”

  “You’re teasing,” he said. Milo was the family skeptic.

  “No,” Callie said with a caress of his cheek. “Your dad isn’t telling stories this time. He saved Mommy’s life.”

  “More than once,” I interjected.

  She beamed a smile and rubbed her pregnant belly. “And you’ve been amply rewarded.” Callie took Milo’s hand and, after a sidelong glance at the dino-lizard, said, “Let’s go and find the elephants.”

  “Oddly, those aren’t real,” I muttered.

  Callie gave me a dark look. “Hush. Don’t break the spell.”

  I pushed the carriage with our second child as Callie and Milo walked hand in hand ahead. They slowed at a bend in the path, and Milo turned toward me.

  I could see a question in his inquisitive green eyes.

  “Daddy?” he asked. “Who’ll feed Maximus while we’re here?”

  “Jim and Nancy,” I answered. Our neighbors on Garden cared for the animals on our little farm whenever we took a family outing, and we returned the favor.

  “Daddy?”

  I offered my patient grin. “Yes?”

  He dropped his mother’s hand and spread his arms. “What about the ducklings?”

  “They’re watching all the animals, Milo. Don’t worry.”

  He searched for his mother’s hand. Intertwining his fingers with hers, he lasted seven minutes before his next inquiry.

  A new record for him.

  We left the zoo before closing time. The boys were exhausted, and although Callie never complained about the physical strain of being pregnant, I could see she was done for the day. She needed to get off her swollen feet, and I wanted to beat rush-hour traffic back to our hotel.

  Callie reminded me that it was always rush hour in Mexico City.

  The Metrotube station was jammed with people. We were shuffling ahead in a winding ticket line below street level when an explosion rocked the terminal.

  “What was that?” Callie blurted, looking around in alarm.

  I’d recognized the blast. “An HE-89,” I said, shifting a sleeping Milo in my arms. “Grab Adam and follow me.”

  She misunderstood. “But the carriage–”

  “Callie, now! Pick him up and stay behind me.”

  Another explosion shook the Metrotube terminal, sending debris and dust raining down. Screams greeted the falling rubble, and I heard the distinctive sound of Gauss flechettes ricocheting off glass and concrete on the level above us. With only one way out and a battle taking place on the street, we were trapped.

  The crowd panicked.

  Milo woke with a terrified cry. Callie tried to comfort him while holding Adam. A tall purvast intent on reaching the exit shoved his way through the throng, knocking her to the ground in the process. The baby screamed as they hit the concrete. I bit back my instinct to chase him down and beat him to death and focused on my family. By the time I helped Callie to her feet, people were pushing each other and a few scuffles added to the chaos, making escape impossible.

  A blast from the street entrance echoed through the station, and those who’d almost made it outside reversed direction. Screaming travelers were attempting to retrace their steps to our level, while the rest struggled to exit the station regardless of the impossibility of the task. Those caught in the middle cried out as they were crushed by the relentless pressure, fell beneath the mob’s feet, and were trampled.

  The station’s overhead lights flickered and then went dark. Emergency illumination blinked to life, bathing the corridors in a harsh white glare that triggered another round of panic. A disembodied computerized voice droned ove
r a PA system, advising passengers to remain calm and find the nearest exit in an organized fashion.

  A woman shrieked in terror from only a few meters away as her toddler disappeared from view and was crushed by the mindless herd.

  My first instinct was to try to save the child, but in the press of humanity I couldn’t move. I squeezed Milo to my chest and turned my face away. The woman’s pleading for help turned into anguished cries, and I gripped Milo so tightly he yelped in pain.

  I barked at Callie as if we were on patrol. “Follow me. Now!”

  I elbowed my way toward one of the station’s permastecrete perimeter walls, and we pushed and shoved our way through a sea of bodies to the relative safety of the wall. Once there, we edged along the cold gray tile until we reached a restroom. I pulled Callie in behind me, and we rushed past the stalls before stopping to catch our breath.

  Only a few others had sought refuge in the bathroom, which was a dead end with no egress. I considered the possibility that I’d led my family into a death trap, but at the moment, avoiding being trampled was a higher priority than escape. I pushed one of the stalls open and set Milo next to a stainless steel toilet. “Get in here,” I hissed at Callie, my voice tight.

  She squeezed into the stall with Adam, and I brushed past her and stepped out. “Lock the door and stay put.”

  “What are you–”

  “Just do it, Callie. No questions.”

  My mind had shifted back into soldier mode: survival, tactics, and aggression. I slammed the door shut and she twisted the bolt shut. The steel enclosure offered meager protection, but it was better than nothing. After a few deep breaths and consideration of our limited options, I determined that if whoever was shooting up the street made it into the station, our only chance at survival would be if I could take the battle to them and stop them before they reached my family. “I’ll be back in a minute. Whatever you do, don’t move,” I said. “Promise me, Callie.”

  “Don’t go, Avery,” she pleaded, her voice anguished. “Stay with us.”

  “That’s not an option. Do as I say and keep out of sight.”

  I pushed past the people who’d taken refuge in the bathroom and made my way toward the door. I cracked it open and peered through the gap. Fortunately for me, the lighting in the restroom was dim, which afforded me a slight advantage as I gazed into the terminal.

  The distinctive whistle of a missile carried over the screams that echoed off the permastecrete walls. A searing blast of orange flame lit terrified faces as I dove for cover on impact. My military training kicked into high gear, and my mind raced through possible defenses.

  I could return to Callie, stay hidden, and hope for the best.

  Or we could leave the restroom, which would be entering a death trap.

  I could search for a hidden exit.

  Or I could go on the offense, find a weapon, and kill the enemy.

  My inner voice screamed a warning to stay defensive if at all possible.

  I felt naked and vulnerable without my weapons and suit, but a part of me burned to find those responsible for firing an HE projectile into a crowd of civilians so I could crush their skulls in righteous vengeance.

  I pushed the impulse aside and returned to Callie.

  “Hold tight. This will be over soon,” I said, the words sounding hollow even as I said them.

  She looked at me with fear in her eyes. “What’s going on?”

  “I wish I knew. But if we’re going to make it out of here, I need to find out.” I touched her cheek and rubbed Milo’s head. “Stay close to Mommy. I’ll be back soon,” I said, not sure if it was a lie.

  A pall of oily black smoke hung over the hundreds of injured and dead.

  The sound of heavy boots rang from the stairwell, and a half dozen lightly armored gunmen descended from street level into the station, firing on the survivors with Gauss miniguns as they cut their way through the crowd. No insignia identified them, and I didn’t recognize the make of their weapons, but they performed like soldiers, although they could have been highly trained police or a well-organized terrorist group.

  The six killers worked in a coordinated and structured pattern. Antipersonnel flechettes shredded through unarmored flesh at close range, and panicked screams of terror turned into the moans of the dying.

  By spraying in tightly controlled fields of fire, they left no survivors in their wake. I remained hidden and watched them methodically pass over the mass of bodies, firing point-blank into the skulls of any who’d been left alive.

  I estimated I had no more than a minute before they reached me, and I backed away from the entrance and surveyed the bathroom in impotent rage.

  There was nowhere to hide, nothing to serve as adequate cover to stop a Gauss round, and no way out.

  The first assassin to enter the restroom pushed the door open, leading with her weapon, its power and ammo supply cables drooped in a loose arc to a supply pack on her back. I lunged as she stepped in, catching her unawares – she wasn’t expecting resistance, much less to be attacked.

  I grabbed the supply cables with my left hand and jerked them with all my might, knocking her off balance, while shoving her forearm upward with my right. I outweighed her by a good twenty-five kilos, and her skills were no match for my upper-body strength and the momentum of my attack. I rammed her into the wall and heard the snap of ribs. Her grip on her weapon loosened for a moment, and I forced the Gauss minigun to her chin and pressed the muzzle into her flesh.

  I’ve witnessed the pre-death expression many times in my soldiering career – the bugged-out eyes and the shock of realization that death is at hand – and it rarely gave me pleasure. But after seeing the cold-blooded slaughter in the station, I felt a thrill of elation as I squeezed her hand, crushing the ligaments and forcing her finger against the trigger.

  The short burst from the gun ended her life, but I knew I only had moments before her comrades missed one of their own. When they did, they’d be coming to find her. I had little chance against five disciplined assailants, even with the element of surprise and the dead woman’s weapon.

  I wrapped my arms around her corpse and dragged it farther into the restroom.

  A second gunman pushed through the door a moment later.

  “Alice!” he shouted. “Damn you. Are you honestly using the–”

  I cut his question short with a burst from the minigun. He died with his finger on the trigger, and his weapon sprayed its ammo into the ceiling, expending thousands of rounds before it cycled.

  A concussion grenade spiraled through the door, bounced past me, and exploded. A starburst of pain threatened to blind me, and I had the semiconscious thought that my family was going to die.

  The four remaining killers burst through the door moments later. I was able to kill two of them with the Gauss gun, the woman’s corpse serving as a shield, but one of the remaining gunmen was still able to stitch a row of flechettes through my right forearm.

  A frag grenade came next, followed by hail of Gauss rounds. I went into shock under the dead weight of an enemy whose crimes made no sense. Even if we were at war again, what possible strategy would justify the murder of hundreds of civilians in a Metrotube station terminal?

  My vision blurred, and I blinked blood out of my eyes. As I teetered on the edge of consciousness, I heard the distinctive zipping sound of a single-operator centrifugal machine gun – one of the common weapons used by urban Gurt SDI teams, whose theater of battle was exclusively close-in urban settings.

  A wave of nausea and dizziness overcame me, and I blacked out.

  Days later I learned that I’d suffered a concussion that had affected my memory. When my recall returned, I was told my children were dead but that Callie had survived, although she’d suffered a bloody miscarriage.

  I choked back tears of rage and pain, and as the officer’s voice told me about the murder of my children and expressed solidarity and sympathy, I was overcome by hatred and a burning need for re
venge.

  I cared nothing for any reasons or justifications, and vowed that I would hunt down and kill the responsible parties no matter what, scorching the earth and leaving no trace of them. Their destruction in the most painful manner possible was my only reason for living now that my loved ones had been butchered and my wife devastated beyond imagination.

  I would be an angel of death on a pale horse, and they would fall before my sword, their screams a symphony of terror and their pleas for mercy unheard. Whatever happened, I would become the destroyer of legend, and there would be no place in the universe safe from my wrath.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Children are the anchors that hold a mother to life.

  ~ Sophocles

  Garden, the colony planet Callie and I had made our home, had been militarized a year before the disastrous trip to Earth that destroyed our family. Our leaders in the quasi-independent government claimed it was for the benefit of our planet and the safety of the galaxy. Who or what we needed protection from was never explained, of course. Questions to bureaucrats by the media received answers that varied from terrorism to things unknown.

  Because of the lifetime commitments we’d made to the Guritain Army, Callie and I were prohibited from any form of public politicking. We could vote in secret, but by law we weren’t allowed to disclose our votes to anyone, even to each other. We’d kept our concerns about the military presence on Garden to ourselves and had continued to participate in the required duties we had as reservists.

  The official stance of the Guritain government after the attacks in Mexico City was to increase Gurt defenses. The threats that faced the nation included the human separatist group Prostosi, Tedesconian loyalists, unclassified paramilitary groups, and the potential that unknown imperialist aliens might show up any day.

  The narrative was that the safety of law-abiding Gurts was paramount, and that acts of terrorism could happen anytime, anyplace, and anywhere.