War Mage: The Magitech Chronicles Book 4

by Chris Fox

  Yet he felt nothing. Then again, they hadn’t been touched by a void Catalyst.

  The Hunter passed through the Fissure, into the site of a recent battle. Hulks of shattered Krox carriers floated around their exit point, and Aran tensed, hoping none of them were faking. He accelerated rapidly away, guiding the Hunter toward the cluster of Ternus stations in low orbit around the planet.

  The closer they came, the more the hulks were Ternus vessels, and not Krox. Both sides had paid a heavy price, it seemed. Thankfully the post-battle skirmishes appeared to have died down, and there was no sign of the Krox fleet, if it had survived.

  “Davidson, this is your show,” Aran said, turning to the blonde major. Davidson stood near the offensive matrix, staring up at the scry-screen.

  He scrubbed his fingers through his beard, eyes scanning back and forth. “Depths, we’ve just gotten clobbered. I’ve never seen this much devastation, not even at Starn.” He turned to Aran. “We can link up with the brass, and get the lay of the land before we begin our run.”

  “Sir, we’re getting an incoming missive. You want it on screen?” Crewes asked from the offensive matrix.

  Aran nodded. The screen resolved into the back of a man’s head. He was speaking to someone off screen, “Is this thing on? How do I know if he can hear me? Gods, but I hate this magic crap.”

  “Hello, Admiral Nimitz,” Aran called.

  The leathery officer turned back to the screen. “Ah, there you are. Davidson, you got a report, son? Where’s Voria and her fancy ship?”

  “I’m afraid this is it, sir,” Davidson admitted. He folded his arms and took a step closer to the scry-screen. “We do have a division of Shayan spellfighters. They’re every bit the equal of our special forces, and we’ve brought Aran and his company. They shouldn’t be underestimated.”

  Nimitz’s shoulders slumped, but only for a moment. Anger fueled his gaze suddenly, probably the only thing keeping him on his feet.

  “I’ve read your reports from Shaya and Virkonna, and I agree.” Nimitz eyed Aran soberly. “Here’s the deal, son. We’re losing on every front here. Attrition don’t appear to be working in our favor. We’ve done for a lot of ships, but we have no idea how many more they’ve got. There’s also a big fear back on the capital that this is merely a feint, so they can’t spare any immediate relief.”

  Aran nodded. “That matches Voria’s thinking. What’s the situation on the ground, sir?”

  “Binders have taken most of the cities on the southern continent. It was all too easy for the bastards. They just slaughter as many innocents as they can, and use them as fodder. They bleed us, and it costs them nothing but time.” Nimitz rubbed his temples. “Short of scorching the areas where they’re holed up we don’t have an answer.”

  “We do now, sir,” Davidson said. He nodded at Aran. “We’ve cooked up a plan. We think we can insert a team into Fort Crockett, and that they can at least prolong the defense. That might buy us enough time for Voria to arrive, or for Ternus to deploy.”

  “Ah, Major Voria.” Nimitz rolled his eyes. “I don’t have much faith in her. She’s got a bad history of arriving in the eleventh hour, when most everyone else is already dead. She did it on Starn, and she did it on Marid. I expect we’ll see the same here.”

  “Respectfully, sir, you can cram that right up your ass,” Aran said, matter-of-factly. Crewes started to snicker, and Bord burst out into full laughter. Aran raised his voice to cover the commotion. “We’re not part of the Confederate military any more, and neither is she. That means I get to speak freely. We’ve been fighting hard since day one, and the entire time we’ve dealt with Shayan arrogance and Ternus petulance. When Voria shows up and saves our collective asses again—and she will—I want you to remember this conversation. She’s sacrificing everything to be here.”

  Nimitz’s expression was unreadable, but he finally gave a short nod. “Your loyalty is commendable, son. Let’s hope it isn’t misplaced. I’ve got one more stipulation, and I’m not sure you’re going to like it.”

  “What’s that?” Aran asked cautiously.

  “We’d like to attach a reporter to your unit. The brass back on Ternus thinks it’s important for morale, and I agree,” Nimitz explained. “I’ve seen combat footage of your unit in action. Our people need to see that kind of ferocity, and we need to be able to spin it like we’ve got a chance.”

  Aran frowned. “I don’t have time to babysit a civvie in a war zone.”

  “She ain’t a civvie, not really,” Nimitz protested. “Her name is Archeologist Tharn, and she’s been documenting war zones for decades. You let her tag along, and she’ll take care of herself.”

  Aran turned to Davidson, since he could better contextualize what Nimitz was asking. “Is he right? Will she be able to take care of herself?”

  “Tharn?” Davidson snorted. “She’s even crazier than you are. She’ll be fine.”

  He turned back to Nimitz. “Deal. Get her here quick if you’re going to. We’re going to start preparing our attack run.”

  Nimitz’s face creased into a smile. “I’ll order the fleet to assemble on your position. Let’s kill some Krox, son.”

  29

  Orbital Assault

  Today marked the largest operation Aran had ever been a part of. The Ternus fleet outnumbered the one at Marid, even after the enormous casualties they’d suffered. Six battleships, fourteen cruisers, and seven corvettes hugged the curve of the planet as they began their approach.

  Their goal was to punch a hole through the enemy position, all to insert his team inside. Unfortunately, that enemy position was a tough nut to crack. The binders—Aran guessed at least three—had animated every corpse within a hundred kilometers. That included the pilots of Ternus armor, giving them several dozen hovertanks, and twice as many missile batteries.

  A fat, white ball of light shot up from the surface and Aran gripped the stabilizing ring as he guided the Hunter into an ungainly turn. The hull groaned as the ship strained to obey his commands, and the white streak grew larger as it approached.

  “Bord, get me a ward, just in case,” Aran growled through gritted teeth.

  “Yessir.” Bord began tapping life sigils and a white latticework of energy sprang up around the ship.

  Meter by meter, the Hunter pulled out of the way, and the ball zipped by less than a kilometer off their port side. It slammed into one of the battleships, and sank inside with no visible effect.

  “All capital ships, focus fire on the Ramada,” Nimitz’s gravelly voice crackled over the radio installed in the console Davidson had added to the bridge. “Take her down. Now.”

  Aran remembered the dragon breath at Marid, and how quickly binders could animate a crew. “Ree, are you standing by?”

  “Ready to launch,” she replied in a calm, confident voice.

  “Take down the Ramada, as quickly as you can,” he ordered. “Do the same for any vessel affected by one of those white balls.”

  “Spirit magic?” she asked.

  “The worst kind.”

  “Acknowledged. Fight well, Mongrel.”

  Aran turned his attention back to flying, and guided the Hunter into a steep dive. The hull shook and rattled as reentry battered the ship. He badly missed the Talon, and cursed Nara under his breath.

  “Crewes, get the Ramada on screen.” Aran guided them lower, and the Hunter moved toward the vanguard with several of the cruisers.

  Crewes tapped several fire sigils, and the screen shifted to show a Ternus battleship, isolated now that the other ships had left it behind. Ree’s squadron raced toward it, a dozen piranha descending on an unwary fish. Bright golden spells shot from their spellcannons, and peppered the Ramada’s engines.

  The battleship’s cannons suddenly went live and began returning fire. Two of the spellfighters died in the first volley, and they lost a third as it completed its attack run.

  Aran winced as the last fighter exploded. A quarter of their spellfighters
lost in moments.

  The surviving fighters swarmed the engines, then the cannons that had savaged their brothers. They took it apart, and within seconds she was nothing but a floating wreck, doomed by the planet’s gravity well.

  As they descended into the atmosphere, more conventional fire lanced up from the ground, clusters of missiles and the occasional anti-air fire. All of it pinged off Bord’s ward with no apparent impact, which was why he’d brought the Hunter into the vanguard. They wanted to be a target right now, because they could survive the alpha strike.

  The Ternus cruisers around them did not. Explosions wreathed each of the other vessels, their hulls already reddened from re-entry. One by one, they exploded into debris, which rained down on the cities below.

  More and more fire concentrated on the Hunter, and Bord gave a grunt from the defensive matrix. “This is startin’ to cost me. Too bad we don’t already have that reporter they mentioned. I want to look all heroic-like.”

  “I’ll joost bet you do.” Kezia eyed him sidelong.

  “Focus, people,” Aran snapped. He didn’t know any of the men who’d just died, but he didn’t need to. He gritted his teeth as he forced the Hunter lower into the atmosphere. Other vessels were riding his wake. It looked like most of the Ternus armada had survived re-entry.

  “There.” Davidson pointed at the scry-screen, indicating a small cluster of silver buildings nestled between two peaks. They were deep in the mountains, and would be unreachable by land.

  Gauss cannons had been built throughout the mountains, each cannon in a protected location to prevent return fire. Together they provided total coverage, and allowed the defenders to savage attacking aircraft.

  “Are those emplacements manned?” Aran asked as he turned to Davidson.

  “No, all automated. They’re controlled internally.” Davidson gave a grim smile. “We learned early on that manned emplacements were too easy for them to subvert. There’s nothing they can do about those cannons, and they’ll detect ambient heat, so most illusion spells won’t fool them.”

  A sea of black figures swarmed around the base of the facility. They covered every slope, and as they neared deployment range, Aran could pick out individual corpses. Most wore Ternus uniforms, and all were armed.

  “What are they doing?” Crewes asked. “Ain’t no way they’ll ever make it through those blast doors with small arms fire.”

  “They’re keeping them pinned in,” Aran answered immediately. “The binders know they can’t get in this way, but they can force the defenders to keep their attention on it while they find another way in.”

  “Any idea which way they’ll use?” Davidson asked.

  Aran thought back to the plans he’d studied. “If it were me? I’d burrow in. Most binders have access to earth magic. That means acid. They keep you pinned at all obvious entrances, then tunnel their way inside.”

  “Well I’m glad you need to deal with it, and not me.” Davidson moved to stand outside the command matrix. “It’s that time. You’d better get down to the hangar for your drop. Good luck, man.” He offered Aran a hand, and Aran took it.

  “Take care of yourself, man.” Aran clapped Davidson on the back as he exited the matrix. He turned to Crewes, Bord, and Kezia. “Come on. We’ve got a planet to liberate.”

  30

  Combat Drop

  Aran smiled as he approached the Mark XI spellarmor. It wasn’t the same as his old suit, this one was undeveloped as it hadn’t yet been to a Catalyst. But in every other respect it was the same, and he’d badly missed the power and speed such a suit offered.

  “I’m going to need to put you away while I fly,” Aran explained to Narlifex as he unbuckled the sword. “Just until we hit combat.”

  Dark. The sword pulsed. Don’t like.

  “It’s temporary.” Aran opened the void pocket and slipped Narlifex inside, next to his rifle. “I can’t buckle you around the armor. Too much risk you’d be knocked loose.”

  The blade said nothing, but Aran sensed its reluctant acceptance.

  He sketched a void sigil before the chest and slid into the armor with a slight smile. The comfortable interior settled around his skin, and the HUD lit instantly. Many of the fancy features from the armor Kazon had given him were missing, but Aran didn’t care.

  There were six potion loaders, four full of shimmering white healing potions, and the last two the trademark blue of counterspell.

  “Sir,” Crewes’s voice boomed through the hangar, and Aran turned to see him entering. Crewes already wore his new, chromed armor, an updated version of his old Mark VI. The sergeant’s spellcannon ‘accidentally’ aligned with Kheross, who stood idly next to him. “I brought ego the magic dragon. Rest of the squad is all suited up and waiting at bay 9 for the drop.” He poked Kheross in the back with his spellcannon. “I’d love a chance to break in my new armor, if you want to resist. Tell me you want to resist.”

  Kheross merely eyed Crewes.

  “Thanks, Sarge.” Aran guided the armor into the air and drifted over to land next to the pair. He couldn’t help but smile at the sense of invincibility the armor afforded. “Kheross, did anyone explain why I asked you here?”

  “Asked?” Kheross snorted. “I had little choice in the matter, unless I wished to…protest.” His eyes flared a deep purple as he eyed Crewes sidelong.

  Sarge frowned back at the Wyrm. “You want to throw a tantrum I could always use another workout, scaly. If we’re gonna, though, you should probably get that ugly-ass dragon form on. Otherwise the fight will be over too quick.”

  Kheross’s jaw tightened. His eyes narrowed and his voice dropped to a near whisper. “Provoke me at your own peril, human.”

  “I ain’t provoking,” Sarge shot back as his cannon lowered. “I just want you to know the consequences if you want to—what did you call it—‘protest’. This ain’t a democracy. I say move, you move. You don’t like that, well, my squad already put you down once.”

  Much as Aran sympathized with the sergeant’s position, he knew this wasn’t doing anything but creating more bad blood.

  “We worked with Thalas,” Aran interrupted. Both men turned their attention to him. “We can deal with Kheross. Today we’ve got a near impossible job. We need to get inside that facility, and we need to keep those people alive. We’re good, Sarge, but not that good. We’re going to need the muscle Kheross can provide.”

  “Tell me of this…operation,” Kheross demanded. The purple energy smoldered in his gaze. “I will not commit suicide, but if you offer the chance to kill the progeny of Krox I will take it.”

  “Holy shit,” Crewes barked. “LT, I think I just fell in love. If this lizard will kill Krox…well, I think we’re gonna get along just fine, aren’t we, scaly?”

  “Oh yes.” Kheross’s eyed narrowed further and he delivered a truly malicious smile. “Fast friends.”

  “Just don’t kill each other until after we get inside Fort Crockett.” Aran took a deep breath and guided the armor into the air.

  The Hunter rumbled as something exploded outside.

  “That’s our cue,” Aran growled. “Let’s move.”

  He zipped through the hangar, toward a narrow corridor that led to a row of small airlock bays. They were used to deploy single squads, and the entire bay could be detached as an escape pod if necessary.

  Bord and Kez waited outside the closest bay, each wearing their brand new spellarmor. Kezia’s was a midnight blue, and the heavier plating made her tower over Bord’s smaller scout model.

  “Last minute checks,” Aran called as he drifted to the airlock and cycled the outer door. “We deploy in twenty.”

  The rest of the squad followed him inside, and they closed the airlock door behind them. Kheross wore a bored expression, though something sinister still lurked in those hellish eyes.

  “Aran, do you copy?” Davidson’s voice crackled through the comm his techs had installed in Aran’s armor.

  “I’m here. We’re
about to deploy.” He moved to the far wall and rested his hand against the red button, but didn’t press it. “What do you need?”

  The ship shuddered again as another round of antiwar fire pounded into them.

  “I need you to wait about thirty seconds.” Davidson’s voice was strained, probably from piloting the Hunter. “Ternus just teleported Archeologist Tharn aboard, and they want her on the drop.”

  “Are you even serious?” Sarge roared, slamming his armored fists together. “Sir, tell me you aren’t gonna accept this crap.”

  “Send her down.” Aran said over the comm. He moved to the inner airlock door and cycled it back open. “We’ll wait.”

  “Roger that. Thanks, Aran. I owe you for this.” The connection clicked off, and Aran turned toward the sergeant.

  “What gives, LT?” Crewes protested. He flipped open the faceplate on his armor. “It’s bad enough we’re taking scaly here, but you want us to babysit a reporter too?”

  “Trust me, I get it,” Aran replied. “Here’s the deal, Sergeant. This planet is getting pounded by the Krox. They have no hope of victory, and so far as they know they have no help. They’ve lost world after world to the Krox, and now those Krox are beating down their door. Their leadership is under siege, and their cities are burning. They’re a hair’s breadth from breaking. They need to see that we can fight back, and we’re the only people on this rock that can do that. Doesn’t do much good if they don’t get to see us do it.”

  Crewes gave a grudging nod of understanding, but he said nothing, so Aran continued.

  “If we pull off this drop, and if they record it, then they can show the whole planet that the Confederacy sent help.” He shook his head sadly. “I know it’s a sham. You know it’s a sham. The Confederacy isn’t worth crap, and we they aren’t sending any real help. But these people don’t. This is our chance to give them some hope.”