“I said the entire deck’s under lockdown. The locals hav—” the concerned Imperial said, her voice ending in a sudden gurgle.
Pulling his now-bloody knife out of the rating’s neck, he supported her body while quickly wiping the blade on her jacket. Then, grabbing her hand, he shoved it up against the security panel.
The door silently swished open. “Thank you,” he muttered, releasing his hold on her uniform. The woman fell to the floor with a thud, twitching and gurgling as she clutched at her throat. “Sorry, miss, but I’m here to protect democracy—not to practice it,” he tipped an imaginary hat before turning and marching into the room.
Behind him, her eyes were filled with anger, betrayal and a growing sense of despair before they slowly faded and Agent Oleander stepped into the room.
His body tensed until a quick sweep of the room confirmed there was no one else present.
Stepping over to a nearby workstation, he checked underneath the chair before sitting down and activating the console. It immediately requested a palm and retinal scan, along with a sixteen digit access code.
Leaning back in his chair, he laced his fingers, and cracked his knuckles. Then, unlacing his fingers, he leaned over the keyboard.
Fingers poised, he pulled out a flash stick and plugged it into the universal access port.
“This is going to take a while,” he leaned back in the chair. Putting his feet up on the desk and hands behind his head, he started to whistle the national anthem of Capria.
His primary mission right now was Montagne elimination, but Parliamentary Secret Services had standing orders for all agents. One of those orders regarded the acquisition and retention of new technologies…well, tech that was ‘new to Capria,’ anyways. Everyone knew the Empire had all the best toys, so there was a directive stating that if an agent ever was in position to acquire Imperial technology they were to take it.
Sadly, he was a man of action and not an egghead. So his ability to penetrate cutting-edge Imperial firewalls was limited. Fortunately, the service had a workaround in place. So whether or not he was able to succeed in his tech-exploit mission was ultimately up to one of the finest hack-and-crack programs ever devised by Caprian R&D—long live the elected order.
In fact, long live democracy.
As far as he was concerned, Royal or Imperial was all just different flavors of the same form of oppression. He had dedicated his life to stopping that oppression from returning to Capria by any and all means necessary.
He was prepared to slaughter a bloody path through anyone and anything that got in the way of that mission, so if what it took to keep humanity free from the worst danger they’d ever faced meant he had to lie, cheat, steal and murder enemies, bystanders, and innocents alike then that’s what he’d would do without a moment’s hesitation.
When placed against the lives, freedom and fate of every living soul on Capria, the choice was clear. When it came to his home world, democracy was the shield saving her from destruction—and the Parliamentary Secret Services was the hidden knife.
Curse House Montagne and the entire bloodline. If the galaxy at large ever found out half the things he knew, they’d sterilize the entire planet straight down to the bedrock. It was his job to make sure that never happened—or, failing that, to ensure his planet had a fighting chance both on and off the court of public opinion. Hacking Imperial databases was a good start.
But cleaning house and killing the likes of Jason Montagne was priority number one in an ongoing battle that would probably never end.
The Royals all liked to claim they were so bright and honorable—and, most of all, noble—but even the best of them that actually tried to live up to their ideals were standing on houses built on lies, corruption, and utter contempt for the rule of law.
Better an honest blackguard fighting for freedom, justice and the Caprian way than a deluded noble leading them down the primrose path of total annihilation.
Chapter Ninety-six: Breaking into the Breakout
“Heavy resistance ahead, Lady,” Captain Tyr placed a hand on her shoulder to slow her down.
Akantha shrugged him off.
When he came back to try again Persus moved to block, shoving him up against the wall.
“This is reckless,” the Captain glared at Persus, “if you keep letting your principal lead from the front like this you are just going to get her killed!”
“Keep your thoughts—and your hands—to yourself in the future, Captain,” Persus said his voice cold, “lest I remove them.”
“What, my hands or my thoughts?” asked the Captain.
“Both,” the Tracto-an growled, and Captain Tyr bared his teeth in response.
“Enough of this foolishness,” Akantha stormed over and pushed the two apart.
“While I have no problem fighting the enemy wherever we find him,” Captain Tyr said with a short glare at Persus, “as it stands right now we haven’t the slightest clue in which direction we need to advance. The ship has been devoid of crew to interrogate or anything resembling a map or directions. Right now what we need is solid intel, not another running battle.”
Akantha paused and then nodded. “Then we capture and interrogate the first Marine we lay our hands on,” she said imperiously.
“They’re trained military operators—they’ll never talk,” Tyr shook his head.
At that moment, the sound of blaster and plasma fire rose to a crescendo. “The time for discussion has passed,” Akantha declared, turning and leveling her sword before rushing off down the corridor.
“Your orders, Captain?” asked the Sergeant Major.
“What do you think,” he said angrily, “we follow the supernumerary and lodge a formal protest when we get back out of this mess.”
Waving his arm, the Captain motioned the rest of the company of space commandos forward.
Ignoring the hesitant soldiers behind her, Akantha ran forward with the call to battle singing in her veins. This was what she lived for. Being a Hold Mistress was what she was destined to be good at, but being a warrior was what she enjoyed the most.
Seeing the squad of scouts pinned down ahead, she reached down to open a compartment in her leg. Pulling out a grenade, she flicked the activator.
“Frag out!” she shouted, coming to an abrupt stop behind the scouts and lobbing the grenade around the corner.
The scouts hunkered down, but as soon as the grenade exploded she placed a hand on the shoulder of one of the space commando scouts, jumped over the warriors in her way, and then charged around the corner.
“Messene!” she screamed, sighting in on her first target: a chameleon-looking Marine Jack in power armor whose near invisibility was hampered by the grenade fragments sticking out of his chest plate.
The Marine Jack took one look at her, cocked his right arm, and sent a stream of plasma bolts her way.
Bringing Bandersnatch around for an overhand chop, she brought it down with enough force to cleave into the plasma-spitting arm of the Marine.
She must have hit something critical because the next thing she knew she was thrown back by a plasma explosion.
Blinking her eyes, she rolled back to her feet to see the Marine on his knees, clutching the remainder of his arm which stopped a few inches below the elbow. For a moment she was surprised at the lack of blood until she remembered that one, it had been a plasma explosion instantly cauterizing the damage; and two, battlesuits had auto clamping functions that stopped blood loss from missing limbs
Not letting the man’s obvious pain stop her, Akantha rushed back into the mix.
“Wait, Miss!” cried one of the scouts as blaster fire hit her in the thigh and the elbow.
Ignoring the damage to her battle armor as minor at worst, Akantha grinned right up until she slammed into the back of Persus.
“Follow me, my Lady,” said the older warrior.
“Persus!” she cried in frustration.
“Argos and Messene!” roared Persus, rifle
in one hand and vibro-blade in the other.
A stream of blaster shots came in reply, and then the old warrior was within melee range.
A Marine with a boarding axe met him blade to blade, and then Akantha was side by side with Persus swinging away.
For a moment they were heavily outnumbered, and then the Captain arrived with a full platoon of commandos behind him.
“In the cold and black!” bellowed the Captain.
“Cold Space Commandos!” shouted the platoon’s front rank, pausing to kneel down and then two ranks of soldiers went to rapid fire.
“Commandos: attack!” shouted Tyr.
The first two squads ran into the corridor but, just as the second pair were about to follow them, a squad of Marines de-cloaked behind them and attacked, boarding axes breaking through back armor and splitting helmets.
“It’s an ambush,” screamed a Commando right before his arm was cut off.
“Fragmentation grenades!” cried the Sergeant Major, turning to take charge of the rear. Putting words to action, he tossed out a pair of frag-grenades into the midst of the Marine jacks himself.
“Cut them down!” Tyr shouted, leading the two squads in the front to press the Jacks around Akantha.
For the longest half a minute, the battle swung back and forth. In the front, two Commando squads gave almost as good as they got, their momentum leaving them at only a small disadvantage against the superior suits. But in the back, the Marine Jacks tore through an entire squad without taking any losses of their own and started into the next one.
The battle wavered on the tipping point, with the Marines slowly gaining the advantage as they recovered and used their superior equipment and training to overcome—until the rest of the Commando company arrived.
“Aimed shots! Pick your targets,” ordered the Lieutenant in charge of the Commando company’s rear guard and main force, and the reinforcements opened fire.
“Akantha!” Persus shouted, grabbing hold of her and dragging her back out of the line of fire.
“I almost had him!” Akantha snarled, giving one last swing that missed the enemy Jack as she was hauled backward.
The squad of Imperials in the rear took one look at the new mass of Commandos and faded back, retreating along the corridor.
“Don’t lose sight of them!” said the Sergeant Major, hauling himself back up to his feet and using a hand to cover a giant rent that ran from his chest plate up to the neck of his battle-suit—one of a hundred similar wounds suffered at the edges of the Jacks’ boarding axes, “they’ll go chameleon!”
The reinforcements opened fire in both directions, driving back the Imperials.
“Third Platoon: advance,” ordered the Captain, gesturing them forward.
“Cold Space Commandos!” shouted the soldiers, advancing in firing teams as they pursued the Marines.
****************************************************
“Major! Enemy reinforcements are headed straight toward the breakout pocket,” reported the Brunt headquarters com-tech. “New force strength estimate puts them at company strength.”
“Tell all platoons, except the battalion reserve, who are not actively engaged with the pocket to shift around and stop that company,” ordered Nottingham, staring coldly at the display.
“But, sir, that might give the enemy pocket a chance to break out and escape,” protested the tech.
“Who’s the Major here, technician?” Nottingham asked stiffly.
“Y-you are, Sir,” stammered the Tech.
“That’s right,” she snapped, “now pass my order, then contact the sappers and tell them to get ready to fire back up the light laser. I’m not letting anyone escape!”
“But what about our own people that might be caught in the crossfire?” asked the tech.
“Leave that to me,” growled the Major.
****************************************************
“I think they’re starting to let up, Sir,” reported the Caprian Sergeant, leaning up against the wall for support as a pair of Tracto-an Lancers guarded the corners of each intersection leading into this corridor, “right now we’ve got the wounded set up in an administrative office, but…”
Darius’ wounds pulled at him as he unlocked the Devastator and his battle-suit once again shifted around him. He groaned, pausing to stretch.
“We cannot move at the enemy’s pace. If they want to take a breather then that’s the time to press them,” Darius grunted.
The Sergeant looked up and down the small corridor, which represented the entire area that was under the control of the battered Lancer company, and then turned back to the Captain.
“Half the company is walking wounded and the other half is seriously wounded. We’re not really in any condition to ‘take it to the enemy’,” he said with a sigh.
“What’s the option, surrender?” Darius asked scornfully. “Every man here knows his duty. Our mission is to shut down that cannon or take as many of these Imperial warriors with us as we can along the way. Get the men on their feet—we fight.”
“Yes, Sir,” said the Sergeant.
Minutes later, the company had assembled.
“We’re missing far too many faces but now is not the time for mourning; now is the time to show these Imperials what it means to be a Lancer. Who’s with me?” demanded Darius.
An angry—if tired—growl swept the company.
“Attack!” shouted Captain Darius pointing his bladed arm down the hall as he led the way.
The first suits that rounded the corner took a barrage of enemy fire, but that’s exactly what the new suits were designed to do: take that fire, shrug it off, and keep going.
“No time to hold back,” the Captain ordered, activating his built-in torso-mounted grenade launchers and sending out his remaining grenades as fast as his suit could launch them, “it’s break or bust!”
Like an angry tide, the mostly Tracto-an company took fire and reeled—but they kept coming until they reached point blank range.
“Die!” shouted the Captain, grabbing an Imperial by the arm and smashing him into another before opening fire with his still-functional arm cannon. Ion bolts raked the enemy, as well as the walls and ceiling. Too often the Jack’s had taken the lives of good warriors by dropping off the ceiling or stepping out from the walls in their chameleon armor, thereby defeating the company’s built-in sensors.
Shoving one Jack aside and shooting another until he fell, Darius staggered, pushed, and otherwise forced his way into the enemy. He was the tip of the spear and, with sonic grenades flying, he forced the Imperial back further and further until finally he wasn’t just taking plasma fire, but taking blaster fire as well.
“I want your life!” he roared, shoving a Marine against the wall and stabbing him repeatedly with his combat blade, sparks flying until finally the sword bit and ran through the Marine.
Fight still in him, the Imperial Marine countered with a blow to the head with his axe—and then, for good measure, stuffed a grenade into the corner of his armor where Darius’ breastplate met his pauldron.
“It’ll take more than—” Darius was cut off by an explosion that sent his suit staggering back two steps and sent lines of fire and agony through his right shoulder. He tried to catch his balance but his vision was increasingly hazy and he couldn’t keep to his feet. Falling to one knee with a thump he swayed and finished hoarsely, “—you.
Then another suit came up to him, a sword entered his vision, and he knew he couldn’t dodge it in time. There just wasn’t enough left. His reserves were spent.
With bleary defiance, he looked up and if it weren’t for his face visor he would have spit in his enemy’s eye before the end.
“Captain Darius, is that you?” asked a familiar voice.
Darius blinked, but his vision was increasingly blacking out.
“My…my…you?” he paused and tried to stand up.
“Stay put you look to be in a bad way, Captain,”
the other ordered.
“Hold Mistress!” he groaned and tried to stand.
“I said stay put! Medic!” Akantha shouted.
“I can still fight,” he said, forcing himself halfway up before everything went dark and faded to black.
“Watch your fire and consolidate on my position, Captain Tyr!” Akantha cried. “We have come to reinforcements and we cannot let them separate us!”
“On it my lady,” shouted Tyr.
Then a great clamoring of blaster and plasma fire came as the Marine Jacks attacked from every side.
“Have at them men!” she cried.
Chapter Ninety-seven: The Battle Turns
Out in cold space, four Reclamation Cruisers moved into position around our flagship, hammering us from all directions with concentrated broadsides. The increasingly beleaguered provincial Battleship returned fire to stand them off, but the battle had begun to take its toll on our ability to effectively retaliate.
Burning its engines, the Metal Titan attempted to cover for the flagship. But Captain Rampage and the Titan were having troubles of their own with the increasingly belligerent Command Carrier.
I watched as the Titan shot lasers out both sides: the port at the Carrier and the starboard at the Cruisers attacking us. She stood tall as her shields were knocked down by the Carrier, and the Titan’s fire on the starboard side suddenly fell to half its previous levels.
“I’m reading a significant energy buildup on the Command Carrier, Admiral,” reported Sensors, instantly grabbing my attention.
“How much longer until that particle cannon can fire again?” I asked tensely.
“Lieutenant Hart, working in conjunction with ship’s sensor department up here on the battle bridge, estimates they’ll be able to fire in another three minutes, Admiral,” said Captain Hammer, her voice grim.
Glaring at my fuzzy and, at times, whited-out com-channel I turned to Lieutenant Steiner. “I need that channel to our boarding party sooner rather than later, Lieutenant!”
Admiral's War Part Two (A Spineward Sectors Novel: Book 10) Page 36
