The Chronicles of Kin Roland: 3 Book Omnibus - The Complete Series

by Scott Moon

  Randal nodded and started to move away. Orlan ate half the sandwich in one bite and spoke with his mouth full. “Acknowledge the order, lieutenant.”

  “I acknowledge the commander’s order, but not you, Sergeant,” Randal said, without looking back. “Becca’s Brigade, rally in the armory. We have a mission.” The Shock Troopers moved out of the room without touching their food.

  “They named the brigade after you?” Kin asked.

  “She won a bet,” Orlan said.

  “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  Becca touched his arm like a brother and said, “I have to go. Be careful.”

  Orlan offered Kin the last bite of his sandwich.

  Kin studied the smashed food. “No, thanks.”

  Orlan shrugged. “I’ll show you the way to the armory.”

  When they arrived, technicians were already swarming around the Shock Troopers and their oversized armor that each operator had to climb into like a vehicle. Kin walked to the battered suit of assault armor that Orlan pointed toward. FSPAA was engraved on the chest plate. Nicks and grooves made the letters hard to read.

  “Did you drag this to Crashdown?” Kin asked.

  “Don’t be fooled. That’s a good unit. Holds battery power longer than most and the chest plate has never been penetrated. It’s the best I could secure,” Orlan said. He looked around for a technician.

  Kin began putting the armor on.

  Orlan laughed. “I forgot. You suit up by yourself.”

  “When I need to.” Kin manipulated each piece carefully.

  Orlan found a technician and was ready to go before Kin was done, but it was close.

  Kin ran his systems checks. It had been a long time since he suited up, but everything came back as though he had been in the Fleet yesterday. “Where is the rest of your squad?”

  “It’s just me and you this time. We can move faster,” Orlan said.

  “Sure.” Kin studied Orlan’s state of the art FSPAA. Maybe his old enemy planned treachery, maybe not. Being alone with Orlan didn’t give him a warm feeling.

  They approached the loading bay. Orlan stepped beside him as they looked at a lull in the storm. “Take me to the Reaper. I have a million credits to collect. I’d have ten million if the commander let me collect it.” He stared hard at Kin.

  Kin held his gaze for a long moment, turned away, and charged from the ramp, just as he always had in the past. Most planetary assaults were airborne assaults, but sometimes they deployed from a landing craft, which was at least as dangerous. Often he had been delivered into the thick of battle. Stepping off the ramp was usually the most dangerous part. Enemies targeted troop carriers and the pilots lifted off too soon, burning troopers with the engines.

  Droon wouldn’t be far from the Flagship because Clavender was being held inside, and the Reaper couldn’t let her go. Orlan paced Kin easily. His armor was newer and better repaired. Kin had no complaints. After so many years relying on naked strength, the armor gave him the feeling of extreme power and agility. The gravity of Crashdown had built muscles he might not have otherwise.

  “Sound off when you find it. We’re taking it alive. Don’t forget,” Orlan said. The communication link between FSPAA units was scratchy. They were now in the eye of the storm.

  Kin ignored the reminder. When he saw Droon, he’d kill him in the most expeditious manner possible. To do otherwise was to place the monster on the same ship as the people of Crater Town.

  “Acknowledge, Kin. Disobey this order, and I’ll be talking about you when we get back to base.”

  “I can hear you,” Kin said.

  “You think the commander is your friend, but he serves the Fleet, not your ego.”

  “I don’t have friends, Orlan,” Kin said. They ran the perimeter defenses looking for signs of the Reaper and the Crashdown wolves. An hour passed. Without sunlight to charge the solar plates, they would need to stop in twelve hours, which was a problem because Kin thought it might take two days to find and isolate the Reaper.

  “How long do we have before the first ship launch?” Kin asked.

  “Not long.”

  “We need to range farther from the perimeter,” Kin said. He led the way. Before long, they had cleared the area within a mile of the defensive perimeter around Crater Town and the Fleet ships. He looked back and saw the Shock Troopers patrolling in mechanized war machines capable of killing dozens of Reapers in a direct fight. Becca was in that formation. He wondered which she was.

  “They don’t look so big from here,” Orlan said.

  “I thought you’d be a Shock Trooper by now.” Kin used his long-range scanners to view the foothills and the first mountain pass.

  “Hard to be anonymous in a Mech unit.”

  Kin looked sideways at Orlan.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m a show off. But sometimes you need to be anonymous to get dirty.” He laughed.

  Kin shook his head and moved into the mountains. Orlan talked to him through the communications link.

  “What do you think happened to us on Hellsbreach?”

  “Is this a secure link?” Kin knew it wasn’t. The display inside his helmet indicated an open tactical channel.

  “No,” Orlan said. “Switch to Direct Alpha. It’s a closed, line-of-sight link.”

  Kin switched the channel and the static in his earpiece disappeared. “What kind of contact did you have with Reapers on Hellsbreach?”

  They climbed a steep trail without speaking. In a few moments, they would be at the summit of the first pass with a clear view of two valleys. Kin chose this route because it ran along the high ground and provided a view of lower areas. The new, smarter, more dangerous Droon would appreciate this advantage. Kin soon found the Reaper’s trail and began to follow, but didn’t alert Orlan. Not yet.

  “I was never a prisoner of war like you, but I was wounded several times. Fleet scientists kept me in quarantine for a long time but found nothing. They would’ve kept me locked up, once they realized I was different, but Fleet Command wanted a Hero of Man to inspire bravery and loyalty in the troops. Now they can’t get rid of me.”

  “So I heard,” Kin said. He surveyed the valley below, waiting for the mist to clear. The wormhole over the coast had grown eerily calm. He found himself looking back to see if it were a trick. Clavender spoke of the wormhole as though it were a living entity. Kin rejected the idea, but it still made him nervous. She also claimed the wormhole reached every corner of the universe. Perhaps there was only one wormhole anomaly connecting all places. Kin wondered if it reached through time as well but banished the thought. Regret hurt too much. He didn’t need hope salting his wounds.

  “You were messed up when we pulled you out of the Reaper den,” Orlan said. “My lieutenant wanted to drop you back in with an incendiary grenade fixed to your helmet. I talked him out of it. You owe me for that.”

  “What happened to him?” Kin asked.

  “He went crazy like every survivor of Hellsbreach.”

  “Except you and me,” Kin said.

  Orlan laughed.

  The northern valley was divided by a wide, angry, river that twisted across the open field. Fog clung to the water and low areas, but fell away from the far side of the valley. What Kin saw changed everything. He assumed Droon was circling toward Clavender, but with a sinking feeling in his gut, he realized the Reaper had led them into a trap.

  Orlan stopped and stared. “What’s this? You better pray to God that the commander doesn’t find you held this back.” He crouched next to Kin.

  They stretched out on their stomachs and watched thousands of humanoid forms entering the valley from the mouth of the far pass. Bear’s Reapers were real, but Kin hadn’t expected them to move with such organization and purpose. He hadn’t expected them to carry advanced weapons and wear partial armor.

  “Do the Imperials impress alien races into their army?” Kin asked. These were not the wild Reapers Bear had described.

  “Yeah, and
it looks like they hit the jackpot.”

  “I see helmets, breastplates, and greaves,” Kin said.

  “They wouldn’t wear boots,” Orlan said. “That would hinder their fucking talons. Those look like rifles they’re carrying.”

  “Do you remember the flaming whips?” Kin asked. “Look at the leader of that squad.”

  “Yep. All squad leaders have burning whips. My God, Kin, they’re organized into squads, platoons, and companies,” Orlan said. “Just like old times.”

  “They were never organized. They were a horde. The weapons they used on Hellsbreach were an innovation, but they had no command and control, no discipline. They either learned from us, or someone taught them.”

  Orlan snorted.

  The bottom layer of storm clouds brushed over the mountaintops in every direction. Kin spotted the wormhole through a break in the cloud cover. It seemed to have stretched across the sky. The colors were thin, almost transparent. After a few seconds gazing at the sight, his eyes ached and he fought a growing sense of vertigo.

  “You have a decision to make,” Kin said. “Follow Droon or report to Commander Westwood.”

  Orlan gave him a hard look and considered his decision for a minute. “I’ll send a situation report over a secure connection. Wait here. I need to move down the trail and stand up for better reception. I don’t want you wandering off and I don’t want to be seen.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Kin said.

  “You should have told me you were on the Reaper’s trail. He led us into a trap.”

  “I don’t think the trap is closed,” Kin said, although he wasn’t sure. The Reaper army was miles distant, but he didn’t feel safe.

  Orlan returned a half hour later.

  “Command and Control reports unidentified craft emerging from the wormhole in orderly formations,” Orlan said. “They are heading in our direction.”

  “I’ve never seen anything come through the wormhole in orderly formation,” Kin said. “Your assault didn’t take shape until well after units were inside the atmosphere and several ships never regained control.”

  “Keep your eyes open. C & C says they are on the way and more are entering the atmosphere.”

  Kin moved down the trail, following Droon’s nearly invisible tracks for as long as he dared. The footprints were never visible on stone or clay and he only found partial prints on grass, gravel, and tundra. He recalled his first pursuit of Droon and remembered the Reaper had done nothing to obscure his movements. Either that had been intentional or he was learning. Neither theory reassured Kin. Halfway down the mountain, Kin stopped and pointed at the last position of concealment.

  “Once we move beyond this point, the Reaper army will spot us,” Kin said. “We are no closer to catching Droon. If we want him, we will have to go through his friends.”

  “What makes you think they are working together? We saw his ship crash just after we made landfall. And he doesn’t wear armor or carry weapons,” Orlan said.

  Kin didn’t answer. He wondered whether Droon understood there were Reapers on Crashdown. His dreams suggested Droon felt the burning loneliness of a sole survivor or an outcast. He replayed their last encounter and tried to remember what Droon had said — something about the Long Hunt and the ten-thousand-warrior-pack. There were a lot of Reapers in the valley below, but not ten thousand.

  Of course, Reapers were bad at math. Droon might not see the difference between one hundred and ten thousand. Or a million.

  “He is heading straight for them. What do you think that means?” Kin asked.

  “Makes sense. You want my theory? Droon crash-landed and started wreaking havoc like any good Reaper would. Then he saw his buddies and started for their position,” Orlan said.

  “Or he saw his buddies and decided to lure us into a trap. He’ll take us close to the new Reapers. Once we’re engaged, he’ll go after Clavender.”

  “I can’t believe he’s still after her, even with the venom link,” Orlan said.

  “If you want to catch Droon, your best bet is to head back to base and make peace with the Shock Troopers. They can cut a single Reaper down without much trouble,” Kin said.

  “I don’t want him dead. I want him alive. He’s worth a million credits alive.”

  “Where are you going to put him when you bring him in?”

  Orlan hesitated. “The commander has made arrangements.”

  “I bet.”

  The unidentified ships began to appear, flying low over the mountains in tight formations — fighter craft, troop transports, and armored vehicle deployment ships. “Those aren’t Fleet,” Kin said.

  “Imperials.” Orlan’s tone was dry. No bravado, no fear.

  Kin liked him better right before an engagement.

  “I’m contacting C & C. No time to duck behind cover. If they see us, they see us,” Orlan said. A moment later, he advised Kin they would shelter in place until they could report the Imperial strength.

  The Imperial ships landed and formed a defensive perimeter. None of the ships had been damaged or lost during the landing. They seemed unconcerned that an army of Reapers advanced from less than a mile away.

  “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Kin asked.

  “Yep. Whatever happens next will be a good indicator of how completely fucked we are,” Orlan said.

  Kin waited and watched, glad to hear Orlan’s legendary profanity. The man he remembered couldn’t string two sentences together without curses tying them in place.

  The Reapers stopped two hundred meters from the Imperial line. They squatted and waited. It didn’t seem they were going to attack. When Kin and Orlan saw three Imperial troopers in lightweight, fast-moving assault armor approach the Reapers like messengers, they looked at each other.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Orlan asked.

  Kin nodded. “Time to run. Watch for Droon and his wolves. He’s still out here and I don’t think he has forgotten either of us.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  KIN went first, moving quickly, but careful not to draw attention. Once he reached the top of the trail and left the valley, he began to run. Hand-eye-foot coordination and reflexes determined top speed. Kin smiled as he realized he was a match for Orlan in the Hero of Man, state-of-the-art FSPAA unit. They followed the trail for a mile before Kin veered through untamed wilderness to follow an overgrown path. Droon was racing them to Crater Town. Kin didn’t see evidence of the wolves passing, but knew they were with the Reaper.

  “How far ahead is he?” Orlan asked. The sound of his panting over the direct radio channel improved Kin’s mood.

  You’re not so tough.

  “Not far. We should catch him near the defensive perimeter,” Kin said.

  Orlan immediately contacted the Shock Troopers and requested assistance.

  “Good call,” Kin said.

  “I don’t like it. The trigger happy bastards will probably blow that thing away.”

  “Like I said — good call.”

  Orlan grunted something two parts profanity and one part Kin’s name.

  Fleet personnel had cleared the ground of obstructions. They hauled most of the Goliath out of the crater. Even from a distance, Kin recognized parts of the exploration vessel melded with Fleet warships. Nothing went to waste on a lost planet like Crashdown. Droon raced across the field with twenty giant, coarse-haired wolves on each flank. He howled and the wolves raced ahead, bravely engaging four Shock Troop Mechanized Soldiers that had responded to Orlan’s call. Chain guns and plasma rifles roared to life.

  The wolves started to fall. A few changed course. Others fled. Bullets, plasma bolts, and rockets chased them.

  Droon missed a step, confused by the ferocity of the defense. Orlan and Kin closed the distance, Orlan dashing ahead as Droon began to recover. The man had been shamming, luring Kin into false confidence. He had believed it; how could such a brute match his speed, no matter who wore better armor?

 
Orlan leapt on Droon’s back and bore him down. They rolled across the ground. Clingers separated from Droon to wrap Orlan’s helmet. Kin moved toward the fight, wanting to let Orlan die but knowing he couldn’t. Droon ripped a hole in the belly of Orlan’s armor and twisted to avoid Orlan’s close battle weaponry.

  Kin heard a loud snap as Orlan’s helmet cracked under the constricting pressure. He dove into the fray, ripping a Clinger from Orlan’s head. He flung it, but the creature expanded, catching the air like a parachute, only flying a few feet. It hit the ground, curled into a tube, and slithered back.

  Kin fired small-arms weapons from his suit and laughed at the joy it brought him. He continued to fire after the Clinger burst apart. A good trooper would have more control, but Kin hadn’t fired a shot in anger from an FSPAA unit in a long time. It felt good.

  Another Clinger leapt from Droon toward Kin. He blasted it without concern for the stray bullets strafing Orlan. The backstabbing thug had it coming, and his suit would probably stop the bullets. Moments later, Droon shoved Orlan aside and charged Kin.

  “Come at me!” Kin screamed. He saw the Reaper’s mistake and was glad something hadn’t changed. Reapers often overcommitted because they had no fear and fought with rage over intellect. Kin allowed Droon to hit him but immediately sidestepped and twisted. The Reaper flew through the air as Kin grabbed his face and slammed him on the ground. He straddled the monster and pressed the weight of the FSPAA unit down.

  “Good work, Kin! Good fucking work!” Orlan ran to help. He grabbed Droon’s legs and pinned them, punching the Reaper in the groin to settle him down. “Get me a containment unit here, now!” he said over the radio.

  Kin focused on holding Droon down and avoiding the monster’s snapping teeth. Becca and the other Shock Troopers arrived in force, killing the remaining wolves or driving them away. Kin shifted his weight as Droon twisted and attempted to scramble free. He grabbed the Reaper’s wrists and pinned them against the ground, something he never could have done without the FSPAA unit.