Turning Point (Galaxy's Edge Book 7)

by Jason Anspach

  But here, in the trench filled with dead zhee, all was quiet.

  Huzu looked at the donk face that stared back at them all with a smile its face. Like that zhee knew some joke about life and death the rest of them hadn’t heard yet. But would soon enough.

  16

  Legion Destroyer Intrepid

  Hyperspace En Route to Ankalor

  Major Owens knew that, now that he’d been given the position of his former point commander, he would be a lieutenant colonel within two standard cycles. But the prospect—one he’d worked hard to achieve, only to be passed up in favor of point after point—brought him no joy. Not now.

  A holoscreen provided a real-time feed of the stealth shuttle’s crash site, via an observation bot deployed by the Legion base in the Green Zone. Comms to Night Stalker itself were dead, but Owens had made contact with the two surviving legionnaires over the L-comms in their buckets. They were working quickly, getting the ship’s pilot free of the wreckage and out of the way, and stockpiling ammunition.

  The peeper bot showed swarms of armed zhee traveling down parallel streets, all headed toward the smoking wreck. Other bots flew over the city declaring an immediate curfew and demanding all beings return to their homes. The zhee weren’t listening.

  “Be advised, Zenith,” Owens said calmly, “there are multiple hostile elements heading your way.”

  “Yeah, we hear ’em coming,” replied Trident over the comm. “Sounds like more than we can keep back. Can you provide support?”

  “Negative,” Owens replied. “We have no destroyers on site, and we haven’t managed to obtain fire authority from Camp Rex to provide artillery support.”

  The point in command of that base was more interested in running the request up the Republic chain, checking in with the House of Reason or whoever, than helping the legionnaires in mortal peril on the ground. Owens let out a sigh. The point had no idea this was a full-scale Legion invasion and not just another zhee uprising—and Owens couldn’t set him straight. Because if the point knew the truth, his bureaucratic foot-dragging would probably turn into outright resistance. So for now, the major had no choice but to accept the delay.

  For now.

  There was no use being sour about the long list of things he didn’t have. He would make use of the assets available to him, which thankfully included the Legion’s observation capabilities, and a loyal force large enough to provide help.

  “We’ve got a QRF mobilizing from the base,” he continued. “KTF until they get to you.”

  “Copy,” answered Trident.

  Left unsaid was that the base was under the command of another point, and early indicators from Mercutio were that this point was keeping the base on lockdown until he could get approval from the House of Reason.

  Owens looked to his aide. “Get me Chhun. We need to get that planetary generator down. It’s a miracle they haven’t put it up, but it can’t be much longer, and those legionnaires are going to need the support of the combined fleet once they take the fortress.”

  “Yes, sir.” The staff officer moved away from the command table to call Victory Team over his comm.

  Owens pushed up his shades and watched the zhee surge toward the Night Stalker’s crash site. The first sprinkling rain of blaster fire—indirect—was splashing around the stealth shuttle as the two legionnaires swept for targets.

  “Here they come,” called one of the leejes, as much to his buddy as to command.

  Owens ground his teeth and blew out frustrated breaths through his nose. This was a setup. Stealth shuttles didn’t just get shot down. Someone had leaked their arrival, and Owens was going to find out who. Who had done this to his legionnaires.

  And then he was going to make them pay.

  Task Force Grinder

  Camp Rex Legion Base, Green Zone

  Ankalor City

  The smoke from the crash site was visible out in the zhee slums on the edge of the city, distinct even among the usual haze created by the heaps of burning garbage gathered in the neighborhoods and set ablaze at nightfall. Those stinking fires usually burned all night, and there was never any telling what the patrols assigned to the slums and outskirts would find mixed among the ashes the next morning. You only hoped the bones were all zhee. Any other race triggered an investigation, which meant standing around taking sporadic sniper fire under orders not to return fire. Wouldn’t want to upset the apple cart.

  Staff Sergeant Arlen Vix hopped from the passenger seat of his combat sled, bucket in one hand and rifle in the other. He never let his leejes see him without them until they’d returned to the safety of the wire.

  He surveyed the smoke and took a deep, sinus-clearing sniff. Ankalor always reeked. He hocked a thick loogie, depositing it with a splat on the permacrete road leading from Camp Rex to the base’s main gate. In the distance, blaster fire buzzed furiously—much more than the typical shots the zhee were always sending up in the air as warnings, target practice, celebrations, or just to disrupt the quiet of the night. And this blaster fire was pitched. A firefight.

  Vix was part of the quick reaction force—Task Force Grinder—that was rolling out to the crash site of a Dark Ops stealth shuttle that had crashed right in the heart of the zhee outskirts. Or at least, that’s what they were supposed to be doing.

  He observed the column that sat stalled at the gates. Eight combat sleds equipped with twin heavy blasters. A trio of main battle tanks—MBTs—leading the way. The sight of all that destructive firepower strung out in front of him gave Vix a sense of euphoric pride. “Ooah,” he muttered to himself, and then jogged to the front of the column. He could see his Lieutenant, Teller Po—a good man, a real leej—arguing with two other men. One was Captain Noggus, and the other was Major Wiley. Both of them were points.

  “Lieutenant,” Vix shouted as he approached. He saw two more sergeants converging on this powwow at the front of the column. Evidently Vix wasn’t the only one wondering what the holdup was.

  The discussion halted as the three officers turned to examine the approaching staff sergeant. Vix could make their features out clearly as the last of the darkness began to recede with the dawn.

  “We gotta go, LT,” Vix said.

  Captain Noggus held out an accusatory finger. “You’re not going anywhere, Sergeant. None of you are.”

  Noggus had at least been in combat before. He’d left the wire, and he wore that confidence like a steel resolve. The major, by comparison, seemed weak-stomached and faint of heart. Like he was afraid of the legionnaires armed to the teeth all around him. As a result, it seemed, despite his junior rank, that Captain Noggus was the one in charge. He was certainly the one doing all the talking for the two points.

  “Sir?” Vix asked, genuinely confused. What the hell? Isn’t there a smoking stealth shuttle out there with wounded crew and leejes? Even if they were all dead, they were supposed to secure a crash site like that and use burners to destroy the tech. Why wouldn’t we be leaving? If not us, who?

  Lieutenant Po held up a hand, asking his sergeants to hold on. “We’re going,” he insisted.

  “The hell you are!” Major Wiley had found his voice. Nothing angered a point more than being questioned. “There is much more than this shuttle crash, Lieutenant! Three assault carriers are hitting Fortress Gibraltaar, and we have no idea why. Are they Black Fleet? Something else? We are sitting tight until I receive directives from the House of Reason. Whatever mission this shuttle was on, it was not authorized by us. We are standing down.”

  “Sir,” Po continued, unfazed and bolder than Vix had ever seen him when dealing with a point, “these orders came through the chain from Legion Commander Keller. The Legion commander doesn’t owe this base an explanation, but we do owe him our obedience. Delegate Kaar himself could be standing here and it wouldn’t change anything. We’re going, with or without your approval.”

  Po turned to face his sergeants, even as Major Wiley shouted, “You are not leaving!”

 
But it was clear they were. And Vix was elated to see what was happening.

  “Get in your sleds,” Po said. “We’ll break the gate down if we have to.”

  The other sergeants dispersed, but Vix paused a moment longer. This was a thing he wanted to see. Had wanted to see for a very long time.

  Captain Noggus exclaimed, “We’ll order those drivers to kill engines if we have to! The army is still loyal to the Republic!”

  Po shook his head. “Not these guys. We stopped riding with the basics who wouldn’t leave the wire to save lives a week after our first rotation began.”

  Po motioned for one of the fearsome main battle tanks to roll forward. The armored behemoth floated forward on repulsors, its tracks not touching the ground, though it could roll on its own in the event its repulsors ever failed. MBTs were a thing of beauty.

  As the tank rolled forward, the rest of the column inched behind it. Po moved to the waiting basic driving the tank, his head barely visible above the magnetically sealing hatch.

  “Go through ’em if you have to,” Po said.

  With a nod, the driver rolled forward. The captain and major jumped to the side, and the gate’s arms swung up as the tanks, and then the sleds, began leaving the base.

  Vix watched the two points. The captain fumed with barely controlled rage, and the major’s face held a solemn expression. Probably worrying about the implications this would have on his career.

  As he should, thought Vix.

  No one had had to brief Vix about the reason for the stealth shuttle. No one had had to tell him about the coming assault. He knew. He just knew. Something like this… it meant a change was coming in the Legion. A change that should have come a long time ago.

  ***

  The QRF column was almost to the edge of the Green Zone, ready to enter the badlands, when the L-comm chatter from the base began.

  “Grinder One,” came the voice from Camp Rex. Each sled had a Grinder number, and the three tanks were designated Boomers One through Three. “We’re uploading a route to you via our observation bots to get you to the crash site as fast as possible.”

  There was a silence. The voice from Camp Rex must have felt a need to fill it by explaining the sudden change. “Major Wiley, uh, the major hadn’t realized a stealth shuttle was down. You are to secure the crash site, retrieve the casualties, and burn the sled.”

  That was exactly the order that had come from Mercutio.

  Vix chuckled and announced to the other legionnaires on Grinder Ten, “More like Major Wiley wants to cover his ass now that we’ve already rolled out.”

  The sled interior filled with nervous but agreeable chuckles. Going out into the zhee badlands was never a dull experience, and each man knew there was a good chance he might never return to the wire. Especially when the zhee were worked up into a frenzy, like they were now.

  “Affirmative,” answered Lieutenant Po. “Route received. We have entered the badlands.”

  The progress and opulence of Ankalor City’s Green Zone quickly gave way to a slum of shanties and permacrete huts surrounded by high walls. Nothing was new. Everything was falling apart.

  “Hey,” called out Boomer Two. “Just rolled by some donks hiding in a west-side alleyway. Looked shady as hell, think I saw a few blaster rifles.”

  “Just went by,” announced Boomer One. “I confirm about six zhee, at least half of them armed. If I had to guess, they’re waiting for us to pass by so they can take some shots at the sleds.”

  The tanks were about fifty meters in front of the sleds, which kept a twenty-five-meter separation in their column. Grinder Six would be the first combat sled to reach the alley. It was a narrow enough road that the whole column could get stopped up by a disabled sled.

  “Maintain combat protocol,” advised Camp Rex. “Do not fire unless you first come under fire.”

  “No,” said Lieutenant Po. “They’re armed and out after being ordered off the streets. Ambush. Grinder Six, KTF.”

  “Roger, KTF,” came the reply form Grinder Six’s gunner, LS-818.

  “Dammit, no!” called out the point toady working the comms at Camp Rex. “You are not cleared to engage. This is a violation of the Fairness in Combat’s protocol—”

  “Shut that off,” Po ordered. “Get me a link with Mercutio.”

  All this happened at once, part of the chaotic nature of combat. There was always so much. Focus was the key. Focus on the right things, and live. Focus on anything else, no matter how important it might be…

  Grinder Six moved fluidly toward the intersection. Vix watched the sled through the exterior holocams. “Get ready to dismount,” he told his boys. Their buckets were on; they were ready. Vix felt himself pucker as Grinder Six’s gunner began a preemptive stream of twin blaster cannon fire.

  Dat-dat-dat-dat!

  As the gunner chewed up the corners of the stone walls on either side of the alleyway, then swung his twins to fire straight down the alley itself, feeble return fire attempted to take the legionnaire down. He stood defiant in his turret, maintaining fire until his sled had moved safely past the intersection.

  There was a brief gap, and then the next sled began to roll by, its gunner opening fire as he went. This time there was no return blaster fire. And so it went, each convoy sending rounds into the alley until Vix’s sled was up.

  “Vix,” called Lieutenant Po. “Dismount and check it out.”

  The combat sled pulled into the alleyway, and Vix gave the order to drop ramp and disembark. He led two legionnaires along his side of the sled, and his other three men formed a similar column on the other side. They moved into the alley with rifles up.

  Grisly burnt and rendered zhee flesh littered the alley. There were pieces of zhee on the street, pieces splattered against the walls, pieces on dumpsters, stoops, and doors.

  “Okay, Grinder One,” Vix said, deftly toeing aside a torso to reveal a beat-up blaster rifle. “Confirmed seven kills. Armed with blasters and…” Vix looked at a cylindrical tube hidden behind a blaster-riddled dumpster. “At least one RPG. Good call on KTF, LT.”

  “Check for any signs of the crash. Survivors, intel, whatever. And then mount up and rejoin. Boomer Three is maintaining security. We’re waiting about a half click ahead.”

  “Copy.” Vix waded further into the carnage.

  “Sergeant Vix,” called out LS-660. “Come and see. This is Leej.”

  Vix hustled over. Behind the same dumpster where the rocket launcher lay half-exposed was an N-5 blaster rifle with an auto-feed frag launcher. Dark Ops gear. A black bag lay next to that, and it looked Dark Ops, too. It still had its webbing partially attached, with frays looking like it was half-cut, half-pulled off of whatever it had been attached to. It appeared moist and sticky. Blood, thought Vix.

  “Open it up,” he said, “look inside, and then let’s go. Take the weapons.”

  “Holy…” The legionnaire didn’t finish his sentence.

  Vix leaned down and peered into the bag. It was full of det-cord and other explosives. Enough to bring down a building. He triggered his comm. “Grinder One, we have leej blasters and explosives. These zhee must’ve raided the crash site already.”

  “Copy, yeah,” answered Lieutenant Po. He sounded grave. “Get it back on the sled. I just heard from Mercutio. No survivors at the crash site. We’re changing course.”

  “Sir, aren’t we supposed to secure and destroy the shuttle?”

  “We have a new target.”

  Vix ordered his men back onto the sled. He carried the bag himself. His bucket blinked a battlefield condition update.

  Staff Sgt. A. Vix: Battlefield Condition Update…

  …

  …

  Planetary Shield Engaged.

  Log Record? Y/N

  “No,” Vix commanded his bucket’s AI. He looked up at the energy field that shimmered high above them like a second atmosphere. Whether it was the zhee who had turned it on or the Republic, Vix had a bad feeling about it.
“Sket.”

  ***

  First Expeditionary Legion Fleet

  Super-Destroyer Mercutio

  Ankalor System

  The zhee fleet came out of hyperspace closer than expected. Even the veteran destroyer captains, men and women who’d played cat and mouse inside a hundred dangerous wreckage fields and asteroid belts, hadn’t expected the zhee to come in so hot after jumping in-system so close.

  “Contact!” shouted the CIC officer aboard the Mercutio. “Zhee battle group bearing two-eight-zero from forward mark.”

  “Speed?” said Admiral Ubesk, watching as the real-time near-space holodisplay updated the position of the ten new battle cruisers.

  “Attack. Max Impulse. We’re detecting power to weapons across all ships.”

  “Good,” replied the admiral. “Hold station. Pattern Alpha. Standard battery fire on turret commander’s select engagement targets. But only limited fire. Stand by to slave to Aegis at five hundred kilometers.”

  The admiral got acknowledgements from all involved section commanders within the CIC.

  The sleek state-of-the-art matte-black zhee battle cruisers, with weapon systems the House of Reason had denied for years were in development, opened fire at extreme range. The Legion’s ships’ deflectors easily handled the first salvos, dissipating the excess energy or, in some of the newer destroyers, transferring it to internal batteries.

  “Closing within optimal engagement range,” stated the CIC weapons officer calmly. In the background of the busy node, the electronic babble of battle chatter was like an ever-present white noise.

  The zhee ships were now looming close and closing hard with no apparent intention of reducing to engagement speed or turning to starboard or port to present at broadsides with the heavier waist turrets. Instead they came on heedlessly, firing from their forward gun systems. Any torpedoes that went live were easily handled by the Numano, the fleet’s electronic warfare destroyer.