by TR Cameron
“Picking on unprotected civilians is a pretty lowdown thing to do.”
“It is indeed.”
“They look shaken.”
“They do. This must be the leadership approaching us. Time for a breath of fresh air.” A sequence of precise eye movements triggered the helmet release, and Rhys St. John lifted the armor from his head. “It’s been too long since I smelled this much green.”
He heard Murphy removing her own helmet, but left her behind as he strode forward to touch gauntlet-to-hand with the front colonist. “Gunnery Sergeant Rhys St. John, at your service. The Washington, DC was on patrol nearby when you sent your message. We need to get you off this planet.”
“How long do my people have to finish packing up their things, Sergeant?”
The man’s voice didn’t waver, but St. John could see he wasn’t having the best of days. “As long as it takes to get the shuttles back down here after a run. The first twenty-four go right now. There’s no way to tell how much time we have.”
The man nodded and turned to the duo that had walked up with him. St. John left those matters in the man’s hands, and pointed Murphy to a spot where they could speak without fear of the colonists overhearing.
“We have a secondary mission here, Sin.”
“Don’t we always? Do tell.”
“There’s a cache of information that cannot be discovered or taken by the enemy. Marine command has determined letting it be destroyed with the planet is inadequate. We’re to find it and either retrieve it or destroy it ourselves.”
“Lovely. Do we know where it’s located?”
“We have reliable intelligence it’s in one of three locations.”
“Of course, we do. Of course, it is. I have no doubts at all.”
“Good Marine. I’ll get this group off the ground, then take the third location while we wait for the shuttles to return. Your squad can go check out the first. We’ll meet in the middle.”
Murphy donned her helmet. He listened in as she gave orders on her squad’s channel, and the five Marines moved out, taking a curved path toward the rear of the colony buildings. St. John turned to see the incoming colonists, most of whom were carrying far too many supplies for the space available.
“Paris, Easy, anything they can’t hold in their hands during the flight gets stacked outside the shuttles. If we have enough time, we will come back for it. Get them on board and send them to the Washington.”
“Affirmative, Sergeant,” they replied in unison, then ran to meet the colonists, divesting them of the bigger items they were lugging.
“First squad, with me. We need to take a wander.” The members of his squad formed up, and he led them in the opposite direction from Murphy’s. The chatter as the shuttles buttoned up and launched was reassuring over the comm system. Synchronous with the launch, the ground trembled hard enough to throw them all off stride. Murphy’s voice sounded in his helmet, “Second squad is intact, target in sight. That little quake doesn’t fill me with confidence, Saint.”
“Nor I. Let’s get this job done. Keypad code will be three–four–seven–nine–two–one–three–eight. The likelihood of a clever trap in addition is high. Apparently, this was a military intelligence hideout.”
Murphy scoffed. “I’m hating this rock already. Time to go yet?”
“We’re not leaving until the job is done or the planet explodes, whichever comes first.”
“Interesting. That could be the new Marine motto. You should kick that up the ladder.” Her voice turned serious. “We’re about to enter location one.”
St. John wasn’t worried when the channel went silent—he knew that her team would’ve switched to hand gestures as they prepared to breach. His squad arrived at location three and penetrated the dark, wide-open building in a single-file line. Nothing met their entry, and they switched on their suit lights to search.
“Found it, Sergeant,” Private First Class Julia Styler, who was filling in for the injured Flame, said. She was standing in front of a metal door set into the floor.
“Excellent work.” St. John included Murphy on the channel and said, “We’ve found it, Sinner. Your squad can return to the shuttles.” He called up the proper interface on his suit, and a short-range signal reached out and contacted the security electronics. He transmitted the code and received a positive response. A small light blinked once to indicate the door was unlocked. “Everyone move back,” he ordered. Once they had complied, he fired his grapnel to latch on to the door, yanking it open from two meters away.
It turned out to be a wise choice as a cone-shaped spray of shrapnel erupted from the opening, narrowly missing him and his team. “Idiots,” he breathed, his microphone disabled so he talked only to himself. It was amazing how dangerous those not in the field made life for those in it. “Intelligence, they call it,” he said, shaking his head.
He reactivated his mic. “Surfer, toss in a ball.” Corporal Baker threw a metal sphere into the hole. The small device was built to withstand everything from physical explosions to electromagnetic pulses. It rolled into the space, and moments later St. John’s suit had negotiated a connection. An image of the room appeared in a corner of his heads-up display, generated by the sphere’s many cameras. He saw banks of computers and several security boxes.
“Grab the boxes and wire the place. Get back to the shuttle as soon as possible. Leave nothing behind and intact.” Another quake shook the ground, and the building creaked around them as dust filtered through the light thrown by their suits. “However fast you were planning to go, I suggest you go faster.” He jumped down into the room and grabbed two of the security boxes by their handles, pulling the small-suitcase-sized containers from their holders on the wall, their defenses nulled by the electronics in his armor.
He lurched into a run made ungainly by the items in his hands and activated communications to the entire team. “Murphy, we’re set, on our way back to the shuttles. Squad three, status?”
“Second group loading now, Sergeant. Colony leaders are doing a great job of getting their people organized and have decided that they’ll take the last shuttle out.”
“Noble. Good leaders. I have an increasing fear that they, and we, are going to experience this planet’s destruction from way closer than we want to.”
Murphy began to speak when a transmission from the Washington overrode their channels. “Saint, Sinner, this is Flynn. I have good news and bad news, which would you like first?”
“We are Marines, Red, what do you think?” Murphy’s voice never lost its humor, no matter how dire the circumstance.
“The bad, then. We only have time for one more trip up from the planet.”
“That is unfortunate indeed,” St. John replied, his sharp accent making it seem as if he was discussing nothing worse than encountering a slight drizzle without an umbrella. “What, pray tell, is the good news?”
“The good news is touching down in ten seconds.”
St. John rounded the corner, finally back in sight of the shuttles, and saw the promised good news. At least two dozen ships were landing, all of them bearing the logo of the Allied Asian Nations.
“Are those fighters?”
“And bombers. And medical transports. And one captain’s yacht.” St. John heard the smile in Kate’s voice.
“We’ll be in someone’s debt–and thank God for that,” he replied. “Marines, get these people on the ships. If there’s time and space to throw supplies in, go ahead, but they should be ready to lift off at an instant’s notice.” Murphy trotted up next to him and landed a comradely blow on his back with her heavy gauntlet.
“Did you bring me presents, Rhys? Oh, you shouldn’t have. I’m not that kind of girl.” St. John hefted the suitcases and threw one in her general direction. She caught it out of the air with a laugh. The rest of his squad chose that moment to show up, burdened with their own boxes, and Murphy pointed to the shuttle that would carry the military secrets.
The e
arthquakes increased, raising their concern, but the sailors and Marines got all the colonists off the ground safely. As they loaded the final pieces into the two shuttles, St. John paused a moment to look out over the planet. He activated his private channel with Murphy. “It’s a bloody waste, Sin.”
“You’re right, Saint. Why can’t these damn aliens fight a civilized war, like our eternal battle with the Alliance? Bleeding barbarians, that’s what they are.”
“Indeed.”
“You say that word a lot, Saint.”
“Do I? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Indeed,” Murphy quipped, and they split into their separate shuttles. They left the planet to its imminent destruction, trailing pillars of fire into the sky as they escaped.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The Beijing exited the wormhole at twice its normal speed and angled downward to make way for the ships following. The connection between the UAL’s forward colony and AAN Starbase Mejii in the next sector was an unexpected bonus, discovered after the arrival of the aliens necessitated finding new ways to move around the galaxy.
“Tactical, keep an eye out for any surprises. Weapons, find me a target. Wing officer, launch our fighter screen and get our bombers ready for a coordinated attack on the Fortress.” The data that Cross and Flynn had liberated included the thing’s designation, but unfortunately had provided no indication of how to destroy it. Their best plan was to stack firepower on it and see what developed.
An inelegant approach, but one could always hope for success, Dima Petryaev thought to himself.
Low murmurs filled the bridge as his people did their jobs, bringing the Beijing under control. Fighters launched in an unending stream from four launch tubes as the ship prepared for battle.
“Target acquired, Captain. We’ve seen this one before. Captured enemy data names it the Jade Breeze.”
“According to the information from the Union, it was present at the attack on the colony. It got here fast.” Dima tapped his finger on the edge of his chair, thinking. On the main display, he saw the last vessel in his eight-ship squadron arrive from the wormhole.
“Tactical, what’s the situation?”
“Forty enemy ships plus the fortress, Captain. Standard alien deployment, organized in multiples of two. We have the base defenses plus forty-four ships in the sector.”
“Not good odds.”
“No, sir, they are not.”
“Who’s in command?”
“Admiral Vassili Bunin, currently aboard the Seoul.”
“Communication officer, please connect me to Admiral Bunin.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Moments later, he heard his old friend’s gravelly voice through his earpiece. “Dima, good of you to arrive. We have need of you.”
“It’s always nice to be needed, Admiral.”
“The attack began only moments ago, and the enemy ships are not yet fully committed. Capital ships should engage enemy ships. All bombers are to conduct continuous sorties against the fortress. When they run out of bombs, retrieve them, load them back up, and send them back out. We’ve extended the ranges on a couple of our energy weapons by routing past safeguards, and they can now reach the fortress in its current position. When the bombers strike, we’ll supplement with our blasts.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do your best to stay alive, Captain. Our reinforcements are closer than theirs, I hope, so time is on our side.”
“Since you’ve ordered it, I will attempt to keep the Beijing from destruction.” He heard a quick chuckle from the other end of the line as the connection dropped. “Wing officer, bombers to attack the fortress until recalled. Alert hangar crew to be ready to rearm and relaunch at top speed. Fighters should run interference for the bombers. Fighter squadron leaders are released to seek targets of opportunity within those parameters.”
His officers bent to their tasks, and Dima took a fresh look at the battle display before him. He saw a strange arrangement of four enemy ships arranged in an arc. He tapped the four ships on his display to identify them and then said to the bridge at large, “What do you think these buggers are up to?”
Several possibilities were offered, including everything from positioning to have all of their weapons intersect at a certain point to “insane aliens doing what insane aliens do.” Dark laughter washed around the bridge, but it died quickly as the mystery was revealed.
With a synchronicity that suggested computer control, the four turned on their tails and rocketed straight up. Above them was the Smolensk, similar in size and armament to the Beijing. As the enemy ships charged, they stretched the arc across an even greater distance. Flickering beams of energy appeared and linked the four together. The Smolensk had no option for escape except to increase pitch and try to outrun the alien ships. The captain did so, firing off defenses and his own weapons, taking the ship on the end out of the battle. But it wasn’t enough to save him. The bright blue line connecting two of the ships bisected his own. It was a clean cut, but a devastating one, that left the halves floating apart, powerless, and venting atmosphere.
“Whoa,” breathed Lieutenant Onishi Minako from the helm. Several other members of the bridge crew whispered curses in their native tongues.
“Tactical, mark those ships and warn the rest of our forces about them. For lack of a better term, we shall call them ribbon ships. Wing officer, detail two fighter squadrons to act as a single hunting pack to destroy ribbon ships. The remaining three squadrons should continue assisting the bombers.”
“Affirmative, Captain.”
“Communication officer, capital squadron channel please.”
“Ready, sir.”
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for us to take the battle to these bastards. Defend against the ribbon ships. Tomsk, Singapore, Kursk, and Sendai, you are now a cohort. Attempt to overwhelm single or double enemy ships wherever you find them vulnerable. Pattaya and Rayong, deter any enemy forces that attempt to close with the starbase. If needed, contact starbase command, and they can loop you in with their own defenders. Osaka, you and I will go after the enemy leaders.”
Dima reached down and targeted the two ships at the back of the formation, currently taking long range energy shots and launching torpedoes, but not actively engaging. “The one to port is yours. The Beijing will take the one to starboard.”
A chorus of affirmative replies answered him, and his squadron moved with purpose toward their tasks. Dima took a moment to look at the battle as a holistic enterprise that played out on the display before him. The Fortress couldn’t devote its energies to attacking the starbase as it fended off the fighters and bombers that looked like gnats next to the gigantic ship. Capital ships were fleeing from the ribbon-linked vessels, using raw speed and awareness to counter the enemy’s greater mobility and destructiveness. He felt the course change as his helm officer did the same, evading the attentions of a linked trio. Moments later, those ships were swarmed by the two attack squadrons, who focused all of their weapons on one of the three, knocking it out of the fight.
“Message to the hunting pack: Keep up the good work.”
“Aye, sir.”
They were close enough now that Dima could see the enemy command ships on his visual display. The ship on the left shimmered in red, a shade that hurt his eyes to look at. The one on the right was a shimmering green, the color of an emerald with a core of empty night. The two slid smoothly into motion along opposite paths.
“Uh oh, they’ve seen us,” quipped the tactical officer.
“They certainly have, Belikov. Weapons, prepare the starboard broadside. Fire when ready.” A low tremor ran through the ship as all the starboard armaments fired at once. Coherent bolts of energy cut through the vacuum to bend away from the enemy’s shields, and the torpedoes rocketed toward their target.
“Damn,” said the weapons officer. “I wonder if increasing the power would decrease the bending effect,” he mused, typing calculations with one hand. Hi
s other held steady above the launch button, ready for his telltales to go green indicating his next salvo was loaded.
“Something for the scientists to think about, Kazato. Helm, we’ve given him enough of a lead, increase speed.”
“Aye.”
“Bombers are returning to the bay, Captain.” His wing officer’s voice was thin and reedy, at odds with the strength of body and will that she possessed.
“Thank you, Lieutenant Quin. Cycle them as fast as we can while maintaining the safety of all concerned. Communication officer, update the Admiral on our bombers’ status,” Dima spoke by rote, his mind calculating the distances and trajectories of the pieces on the board in front of him. He felt something developing.
He saw the pattern too late. The enemy had been avoiding the center of the sector, and two new ships washed in to that space. The arrivals were much larger than the standard alien ships they’d encountered thus far. They operated in tandem, each covering the other’s flank, and smaller vessels spilled out from them in all directions.
“To all ships, this is Admiral Bunin.” The admiral had invoked the communication protocol that allowed him to take over the main channel on all ships in range. “We have a new type of enemy ship in the sector, and it’s launching smaller ships. Fighters are to engage the alien fighters, and bombers are redirected to attack the new capital ships.”
On the display, he saw the admiral’s ship pivot and thrust for the fortress. He shook his head. “A brave move, Vassili, but not a smart one.” He stopped and thought for a second, then snapped back into motion.
“Capital squadron channel.”
“Aye, sir.”
“All squadron ships, disengage when you safely can. Tomsk cohort support the Seoul against the fortress. The rest of us will engage the new arrivals.” His ships obeyed his orders, the first four clearing away a set of attackers focused on the admiral’s ship by destroying them with a coordinated launch and energy weapons barrage. The Beijing turned ponderously, rotating through all three dimensions to reorient on his targets.
