“Area clear,” a voice called. “Squad leaders to me, everyone else stay put and continue to mark your positions.”
“Come with me,” Chaz said to Dodds, and the two trotted over together to the man who had called for the squad leaders.
Three others were gathered around the man, and Dodds recognised him from a number of other ground assaults the allies had attempted against the Pandorans over the years. General Twineham, a former member of the splintered Coalition of Independent Armed Forces. He and a number of others had volunteered to accompany Parks’ fleet to Imperial space and help hunt down Zackaria, knowing the need to drop to a planet’s surface was an absolutely certainty.
“Right, there’s been a small change of plan since we affected drop,” Twineham began. “We lost Beta and Gamma squads on our way down, so I’m going to create two more ad hoc squads right now, to take over their tasks and objectives. Who have we got left who can effectively command a unit?”
“Edie Thompson from my own squad,” Chaz offered.
“Lana Abby,” the leader of another group said.
“Get them over here,” Twineham ordered. “Thompson, Abby,” he said, once they’d be summoned, “as we’ve lost two teams coming down here, I’ll be needing you two to head up the new Hotel and India squads, which I want you to hand pick in a moment. You both comfortable with that?”
“Yes, sir,” the two women answered.
Thompson. Now Dodds recognised her. She was one of the team that had found Estelle and Chaz on the coast of New Malaga. Apparently, their unit had been cut down from about twenty-odd, to just four. Now it seemed that she was probably the only member of that original team left alive. Like Thompson, Abby was said to be tough as old boots, her somewhat passive and soft exterior in great contrast to the domineering personality that she tended to exhibit. Dodds had heard that she possessed an incredible survival instinct.
Twineham then cast an eye over Dodds. “Which squad are you heading up?” he asked.
“He’s not,” Chaz said, before Dodds could answer. “I just wanted everyone here to make sure that they’re familiar with Commander Simon Dodds, probably the only person to whom Jason Zackaria has spoken since Mitikas was sacked. If we find the admiral it could prove imperative that we get Dodds over to him, so the two can talk. It’s doubtful that Zackaria would speak to anyone else in the first instance.”
And then we can finally end this thing, Dodds thought.
Twineham appeared sceptical at the idea. “You’re two of the White Knights, right?” he said. “Personally, I’d feel more comfortable if you and your wingmate were covering the fleet, in case we receive an unexpected visit from a bunch of enemy warships. What makes you think he’ll still talk to you after all this time?”
“He seems to hold a grudge against me, as a result of a spacing incident in the Phylent system, back in 2617,” Dodds said.
“You spaced him?” Twineham sounded surprised, inviting further explanation. Dodds supplied it. “And that didn’t kill him?”
“Barely even left a mark,” Dodds chuckled, mirthlessly.
“Son of a bitch,” Twineham said. “Not that I should be surprised, really. Guess it only made him angry, eh?”
You could say that, Dodds thought. Visions of the recurrent nightmare crept into his head, of finding Zackaria as the proud hunter, sitting outside the house he had claimed from Dodds’ own family, a boot resting on the body of one of his slaughtered friends. He pushed it away.
“You brought the other pilot down, too?” Twineham asked Chaz, following Dodds’ eyes as he glanced over to Enrique. The man was hardly paying attention to his marking duties, playing with the snow, packing it into balls and beaming excitedly. Chaz confirmed he had, causing Twineham to swear, the man now sounding quite concerned that all three ATAF pilots had abandoned their fighters to help in the search for Zackaria.
“Enrique Todd was held captive by Rissard and Zackaria back in late 2617, during the invasion of Mythos,” Chaz again explained. “It’s possible that the admiral might recognise and speak to him, although that remains to be seen.”
“And you?”
“I met the admiral several years ago, when I was posted here by the CSS. So, not my first encounter with him or my first time here,” Chaz put, simply.
“Very well,” Twineham said, somewhat reluctantly. “Guess that means we’ll have to make sure we keep all three of you boys alive, then.”
The new squads were set up as requested by Thompson and Abby, the women picking the members of their teams from those surviving. That done, Twineham ordered drones to be deployed to patrol the skies and relay the activity on the ground back to them. The data was retrieved and analysed, and with that Twineham began his delegation, allocating to the squads the immediate areas of the city to cover and indicating how he wished for them all to progress through the streets. They would regroup closer to the palace.
“Right, time to get moving, people,” Twineham said. “As you all know, we have one and only one objective – to find and apprehend Fleet Admiral Jason Zackaria. We must bring him in alive. All clear? Good, let’s go.”
*
Dodds peeped out from the side street he and a couple of his squad mates had ducked into. Down the length of the main road, he was able to spy the group of enemy soldiers they had just spotted. They were wandering aimlessly, as though they were lost. Some were staggering a little as they walked, almost as if they were drunk. Chaz had been leading the squad down the road when the soldiers had been sighted, causing the group to move immediately for cover, splitting up as they did so. Dodds studied the enemy detachment. Many were clad in the signature black suits of the Pandoran army, though a handful wore uniforms more common to the traditional Imperial military forces.
Dodds had first noticed the change in clothing styles a few years ago, when the Pandoran army had ramped up their invasion of the Independent systems. He wasn’t entirely sure why he had assumed that the soldiers would always be dressed in those signature black leather uniforms. Something like that would take time to manufacture in such massive quantities, and at some point supplies might well have run out. The same was true of the helmets, with varying styles and colours emerging. From what he understood, they were nowhere near as sophisticated as the matching black helmets the others wore. While the materials employed in the construction retained a high level of ballistics protection, none offered the level of optical enhancements of the original ones. Looking back on it, Dodds was surprised that the Pandoran army had succeeded in producing even as many as they had.
“Is that how you saw the last one?” Chaz wanted to know, speaking to Dodds through his earpiece. “The one back on the Infernale?” The big man was taking cover a little further up the road. Like Dodds himself, Chaz was peeping around the corner of a side street at the enemy group. Enrique could be seen doing likewise, although he was sighting them with his rifle.
“Just like that, yes,” Dodds said, watching as one of the group, who seemed currently fascinated by the foot or so of snow that covered the road, bumped into another soldier. The two bounced off one another, but didn’t otherwise acknowledge each other’s presence, the one studying the snow continuing to stare at it perplexedly. “Exactly like that. He didn’t really seem to know where he was or what was going on.”
“Reminds me of the first time I saw snow,” Enrique said.
“When was that?” Dodds asked.
“About twenty minutes ago, when we landed.”
Dodds prepared to respond, when he saw one of the soldiers look in his direction. His focus on Dodds remained for a few moments, and then he raised a hand … and waved. It appeared somehow childlike, friendly and non-threatening. Even so, Dodds pulled back into cover instantly. His squad wasn’t as well hidden as he’d thought.
“Aw, crap!” Enrique said.
After a few moments, Dodds risked another peek, bracing himself to react should a hail of plasma fire hurtle towards his hiding place. None came. T
he soldier who had waved was continuing to peer towards Dodds, apparently curious about the people he had seen. Still nothing threatening. Not yet, anyway.
“What do you think, Chaz? Should we take them down?” Dodds wanted to know.
There came a burst of gunfire as he finished speaking, a misty red spray of blood erupting from the head of one of the unprotected soldiers. He collapsed into a heap in the snow as his team-mates looked on. Dodds once more pulled back into cover, looking all around for the source of the attack.
“Who’s firing?” Chaz demanded.
“Not one of us,” Dodds said, glancing down his line, seeing the others still backed up against the wall.
“Not us, either,” Enrique reported.
Another burst of gunfire followed, now clearly originating from further up the main street, and Dodds peeped down the road just as another of the soldiers’ group went down. The remainder reached for their weapons, but made a poor show of responding to the threat, some fumbling the withdrawal. They pointed their guns in the direction that the shots had come from, but hesitated for a time, seeming unsure of what next to do with the weapons they held.
Finally, the shooter revealed himself – another Pandoran soldier. The allies had been told to expect as much in the post-Kethlan approach meeting, the pre-drop briefing, and even once again in the shuttle on the way down. Even so, it still surprised Dodds to see it happening.
Ducking out from behind a group of cars that he had been using for cover, the shooter began gunning down the remaining members of the Pandoran unit loitering in the road. He appeared far more alert and aggressive than the group that Dodds had been studying, and took the assembled men and women down with the same finesse and speed that Dodds had come to expect of the Enemy over the years. A handful of shots were eventually fired from his targets in response, though even at point blank range, they appeared erratic and way off target. With his opponents dispatched, the attacker spoke into what appeared to be a comms device, listened to the response, and then began to loot the guns and ammunition of the fallen.
“Chaz?” Enrique requested once more.
“Take him down,” Chaz said, he and Enrique immediately opening fire on the active soldier before Dodds even had a chance to lift his own gun. It didn’t really require much to take out the soldier – while it was still more than for an ordinary man, Dodds was certain that the soldier was killed far more easily than a regular Pandoran. Were the machines not reacting as quickly or efficiently to injuries? How long would it take them to heal a standard injury now? Minutes, rather than seconds?
The man hit the ground, a white puff of snow leaping up where he fell. Being closest to the downed soldier, Chaz sent two of his team to secure the body. “Take care, in case there are more coming,” he advised. “Put two more rounds into him when you get over there, to make sure he’s down.”
“Man, these guys weren’t in good shape even before the shooting started,” Enrique said, once the all-clear had been given and his group had moved up.
With the exception of the assassin soldier, the others appeared somewhat out of shape. Gone were the muscular forms of the men and the lithe figures of the women. While they retained their height, they no longer seemed to possess the perfect bodies so characteristic of them. Most were thin, one oddly bloated, his suit barely containing him. How had that happened? Dodds wondered.
He bent down to inspect the bodies, removing the helmets from the ones that had been wearing them. He compared the attacker and one of the others, not all that surprised by what he found. The wanderer, a woman, appeared to have been in ill health. Her skin was yellowing in places, and blotchy. Her eyes, now staring, were bloodshot. Her hair was distinctly grey in places. The attacker was far more like the usual Pandoran soldier – his hair a good colour, his skin healthy, his eyes bright. If anything was wrong with this man, it would be on the inside.
“What’s happened to her?” one of the squad asked, bending down next to Dodds.
“We think it’s a result of the nanomachines breaking down,” Dodds said. “That’s what’s causing the infighting, too.” He looked at Chaz, who had just finished conversing with some of the other squad leaders, relaying what they had discovered.
“The other teams have encountered much the same thing,” Chaz said. “But some of the soldiers are still healthy, like our friend here.” He gave the body a tap with his foot as he spoke. He prepared to issue some new directives when the comms device at his ear interrupted him. Chaz nodded as he listened, before acknowledging whom he was speaking to and quickly signing off.
“What now?” Dodds said, sure that the quick interchange meant trouble.
“Thompson’s run into problems,” Chaz said. “The team’s pinned down by a significant detachment of the Enemy, outnumbering them a good three to one. They need support urgently. We’re closest, so we’re going over.”
*
They found Thompson’s squad a short time later, taking shelter under what remained of an overpass. The route ahead opened up into a wide road, divided into several lanes that circled around a tall and largely undamaged structure, a monument of some kind, reaching high into the sky. Dodds saw no sign of any live soldiers.
“What happened?” Chaz asked, as they drew nearer.
“They rushed us,” Thompson said. “They attacked for a time, and then a load of them turned around and ran away. We took down the rest of them.” She sounded confused.
“They ran away?” Dodds said.
“As if they’d seen a ghost. They just dropped their weapons and made a run for it.”
“Did you mag them?” Chaz asked. “They’ve been known to do that.”
“You know that we didn’t bring any with us,” Thompson answered. “And we haven’t been able to harvest any, either”
“Any casualties?”
“No—”
“Medic!” someone shouted. “Captain!”
Two of Thompson’s squad were kneeling down in the snow around another of the team, who could be seen lying on the ground, their legs twitching.
Thompson trotted over, Chaz, Dodds and Enrique following. Dodds saw a man on the ground, his blood tinting the snow around him. The man was quivering, clutching his right hand. It took Dodds a moment to register what he was seeing. The man wasn’t clutching his hand, but the stump of it.
“Chris,” Thompson said, kneeling down next to him. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the man said, still quivering as though shaking from the cold. He must’ve been in considerable pain. “Well, no ma’am; it’s my hand.”
“Okay, let’s dispense with correctness and speak plainly, eh? You can talk, so that’s a good start.”
Chris? Why did the man’s name and features seem so familiar? Chaz was doing a poor job of concealing his concern, something more than worry for a comrade creeping in there. Dodds studied the injured soldier’s face for a moment, seeing dark skin, and features that reminded him of … oh, hell. This was Karen Weathers’ son.
“What happened?” Thompson asked, as a medical kit was brought over and items were rapidly unpacked.
“One of them got close when we were rushed,” one of the men kneeling by Weathers said. “He was about to put me down when Chris pushed me out of the way …” He didn’t finish the sentence. It was very clear that in saving his companion’s life, Weathers had lost his hand. “I’m really sorry, man! You shouldn’t have done it!”
“No need to keep apologising,” Weathers managed through teeth chattering more from his injury than the cold. “We’re both still alive. Just … just don’t let my mum hear about this, okay?”
“Your mum’s been working as head of communications on CSN Griffin for over eight years,” another man said. “Can’t imagine she’ll not find out the second you’re back aboard, if not sooner.”
Dodds’ nostrils tingled as the smell of the plasma burns reached his nose. It seemed that Weathers’ hand had been destroyed when the bolt had hit it. By the l
ooks of it, it was Weathers’ gun hand, otherwise he’d have expected the man to be still clutching his weapon. Lucky, in a way, that the shot hadn’t been a few inches higher. It could well have blown the fuel cells in the rifle itself and caused an explosion. He’d seen that happen a few times during the Pandorans’ campaign and knew all too well that if that had been the case there would be nothing left of Weathers at all.
Morphine was soon administered and the group began a clean up of the immediate area, relieving the fallen Pandoran soldiers of their munitions and armaments. One of Dodds’ own team then pulled a rifle out of the snow, starting as they saw fingers still clutching it, the rest of the hand still attached.
“Think they can reattach it?” someone asked, speaking softly.
“Possibly,” the field medic said. “But I wouldn’t hold your breath. Lasers create a cleaner cut. Plasma is far more damaging to the tissue.” He glanced back at Weathers, who was now no longer quivering. “But never say never.”
“Is that mine?” Weathers suddenly said.
“Uh, yeah,” the man holding the rifle with the hand still attached to it said.
“Ah,” Weathers smiled. “Maybe I’ll still be able to get those piano lessons after all. Mum always wanted me to be a lot more cultured.”
“Any sign of Zackaria?” Dodds said, returning his focus to the main objective.
“No,” Thompson shook her head. “Last report I received said that the executive transport is still here, but there hasn’t been any activity around it. Echo squad are attempting to get closer, for a more thorough inspection.”
“Hell,” Enrique said. “Looks like this is nothing but a wild-goose chase.”
“Let’s not dismiss it yet,” Chaz said. “Intelligence are very certain that he has been coming here. If that’s the case, then we must do whatever we can to find him, should he still be around.”
“Right, we’re going to get straight back to it. I’m going to be a couple of men short from here on out, though,” Thompson said, watching as Weathers’ hand was prised from the rifle and people began packing snow into the bag in which it was placed. “I’m going to send Weathers and one other back to the shuttle, and have them return to Griffin. He’s useless to us now.”
The Battle for the Solar System (Complete Trilogy) Page 98
