A Fiery Sunset

by Chris Kennedy

  “Finally, something went right,” he said aloud. Splunk looked up from examining the firing mechanism of the disassembled Luger and cocked her head at him. Her ears twitched in interest. “Now we can get the stores out of Warehouses Two and Three.” Deciding it had nothing to do with her, Splunk went back to her investigation.

  * * *

  Elmendorf Field, Anchorage, Alaska, Earth

  The monstrous steel doors slid closed on the hangar on the north side of the airstrip, and Staff Sergeant Walker watched as the corporal chained and locked them shut. They’d never have been able to get all the equipment into the hangar in the time they had using conventional loading equipment…but mercs in CASPer suits could get a lot of shit moved, fast.

  “I don’t get it,” the corporal said as they walked back to the transports where the rest of the Golden Horde and Asbaran Solutions troopers were stowing their CASPers. “If there’s going to be a fight—a big one, if the rumors are true—wouldn’t we want all the gear we just put in those hangars?”

  “Colonel Enkh thinks the enemy is coming, and one of the first things they’re going to try to do is gain control over our CASPers and Earth’s CASPer-manufacturing capability. The locations of Binnig’s manufacturing plants are well-advertised facts; if an attack comes, the enemy will know where they are and move to capture them quickly. She’s hoping that if we let them capture those facilities, they’ll never think to look for factories that don’t exist. By moving one of the assembly lines here, we can allow them to continue operations and research. By sending another one off-planet, we get a backup facility they also know nothing about.”

  Walker shivered; even though the CASPers had packed the snow down with all the trips they’d made to the transports and back, they were unable to do anything about the wind, and the icy breeze kept finding new ways to work its way into his jacket. “Apparently, most of the aliens don’t like this kind of climate, so she’s hoping the line will be safe here.”

  “I don’t like the climate here, either,” the corporal replied. “Who’d want to live here?”

  “Not me,” Walker replied, breaking into a jog. “Let’s hurry up and get back. The first vodka’s on me.” Living in Uzbekistan did have its advantages.

  * * *

  Assault Ship Fang and Claw, Hyperspace

  “Five minutes to transition,” the navigator called.

  Peepo waved a paw in acknowledgement as she continued to stare at the image of Earth on the Tri-V tactical screen. Although the image had several targets and positions of interest marked on it, Peepo had studied the globe enough over the last seven days of transit that she didn’t need the labels to tell her what each of them were. Houston, Texas—home to most of the major mercenary units, including the main offices of three of the Horsemen. That would be an important one to take and hold. A little further to the east and in the southern hemisphere lay Sao Paulo, Brazil and the offices of the Secretary of the General Assembly of Earth—the world government headquarters. They’d govern the water world from there.

  Further east, and back in the northern hemisphere, lay their initial target—Tashkent, Uzbekistan, home of the last Horseman organization, the Golden Horde. The other Horsemen had been whittled down to—she hoped—insignificance, leaving only the Horde to deal with. While her subordinates had apparently been unable to wipe them out, and at least part of the Winged Hussars remained at large, she doubted Cartwright’s Cavaliers and Asbaran Solutions would be able to mount a credible defense of Houston.

  And if they did, a few rounds from orbit into the city’s center ought to get their attention. The city wasn’t important in her long-term planning, and having a reason to wipe it from the map would actually be a good thing. She hoped they’d choose to defend it. The Humans had nothing with which to stop the fleet they were bringing. Nothing.

  The Horde’s headquarters was on a plateau outside the city of Tashkent; she’d start there and would personally see to the destruction of the Golden Horde. Where her subordinates had failed, she’d succeed. Once the mercenary group had been annihilated, the other two Horsemen on Earth would quickly fall to her, as well.

  “Any last-minute instructions?” Lieutenant General Beelel asked. The Altar, a giant ant-like creature, would be leading the Tortantula assault on the Golden Horde. “Is it still your intention to attack immediately, without waiting for the rest of the fleet?”

  “It is.” Peepo indicated the Tri-V map with a claw. “The engineering malfunction to the Devastator has the fleet three hours behind us, but I don’t foresee needing it in the initial assault.”

  “But what about their planetary defenses? Surely they’ll have some sort of anti-space defenses that could destroy our assault ships.”

  “I don’t expect Earth to be ready or expecting us, and I doubt they’ll have any defenses ready. Our informants tell us they don’t even have any anti-space defenses. Apparently the various mercenary groups have asked for them, but the planetary government has refused to install any.”

  “Why would they be so stupid as to leave their planet defenseless? That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I’m told the Human government has looked at plans for anti-space defenses; however, they’re worried about appearing too provocative as they come up for full membership in the Galactic Union, and they have decided to put the defenses off until sometime in the future.”

  The Altar spread its antennae in a shrug. “Their stupidity is our gain.”

  “Indeed. By the time we’re done, the fleet will be here, and it will prevent any reinforcement of the Horde or any other defensive action. Once the Horde is finished, we’ll deal similarly with the remnants of the other Horsemen units, then we’ll give the rest of the planet’s forces a chance to surrender peacefully, or we’ll wipe them out, too.”

  “For the Hive and the Union,” Beelel intoned, bowing his head in submission. “It shall be done as you say.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter Four

  Operations, Golden Horde HQ, Uzbekistan, Earth

  “Blow the plateau,” Sansar said. The expected attack had occurred, several days later, with three enormous Tortantula icosahedron transports dropping down on the Golden Horde’s base. Despite giving it their best effort, the Horde’s fighters had been driven from the field by the tens of thousands of Tortantulas, and the Horde had then destroyed most of the assault force with a nuclear bomb. Although a similar fate had been planned for the expected transport ships, one had landed outside the pre-positioned weapon’s area of effect.

  “Yes, ma’am,” the weapons station operator replied. She turned a key to enable the system and pressed the red button once it glowed.

  The weapon detonated, destroying two of the Tortantula ships, but the third ship, the one with Guild Master Peepo onboard, survived and lifted for orbit.

  “We’re going to need more people,” Sansar said. “See if you can find and activate anyone who was ever in the Horde. Sergeant Major Akira for starters, as well as First Sergeant Parker. Oh, and that medical guy…Zeke. What was his name? That’s right, Dr. Ezekiel Avander. See if you can find out where he landed. Start there…”

  “Ma’am, I have mercenary units mobilizing across the globe,” the Current Ops technician exclaimed from a nearby station.

  “Good, I told them all they should leave; they need to get to space.”

  “No, ma’am,” the tech replied. “They’re not leaving; they’re joining forces to attack the remaining Tortantula ship.”

  “What!” Sansar exploded. “They’re supposed to leave! I told them to leave! The enemy fleet is going to be here at any moment. If they get caught here, it’ll all be over for us.”

  “It’s Nigel Shirazi, ma’am,” the tech said. “He’s organizing all of the available forces for an immediate attack. Sinclair’s Scorpions, Burt’s Bees, and at least ten other companies have joined him. Want me to set up a comms link to him?”

  “No,” Sansar said, regaining control of herself.
“Peepo’s ship is sure to have some sort of communications monitoring ability. If we call him, we’ll give away the fact that we’re not dead.” She shook her head. “No. Cooler heads will have to prevail upon him.”

  The Space Ops technician sitting next to Current Ops jumped and sat up straighter. “Ma’am! Major Good! A large number of unscheduled ships just transitioned in, and more are continuing to arrive.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “Data is just coming in, ma’am,” the tech said. Her eyes jumped back and forth between focusing on her screens and a faraway stare as she listened to the commentary from the monitoring station. “At least eleven ships have entered the system so far,” she finally advised. “Five appear to be cruiser-sized, with an additional three destroyers and two frigates. There’s also a ship the monitoring station is reporting as ‘the biggest goddamned warship we’ve ever seen.’ Unlike the Tortantula icosahedrons, this one has been classified as a warship, and is over 5,000 feet long. For lack of a better term, they’re calling it a battleship, although it’s over twice as large as the normal battleship.”

  “Damn,” Sansar said. She turned back to Current Ops. “What are the rest of the mercs doing?”

  “Jim Cartwright has taken over from Nigel Shirazi. He’s leading all the mercs who can get to space to the stargate. He hasn’t said where they’re going.”

  “I know where they’re going,” Sansar said. “And it’s about time they left.”

  * * *

  Cartwright’s Cavaliers Main Base—Houston, Texas, Earth

  “Channel is open,” the comms tech yelled through the din of the command center, “I have more than 40 merc companies and counting on the line.”

  “Excellent,” Jim said and linked to the channel through his pinplants. “Attention,” he said, “this is Cartwright’s Cavaliers Actual speaking. After consulting with the other Four Horsemen commanders, we agree our only viable response to this act of aggression is to temporarily yield the field of battle to the enemy.” In his mind, the computer interface showed each of the other communication lines from merc units as little floating avatars. Jim was glad they were looking at his avatar, and not the 20-year-old kid standing amidst the mayhem of the Cavaliers’ command center.

  “This is cowardice!” a now-familiar voice bellowed.

  “Nigel, you were there with the rest of us,” Jim said calmly, “and you see the same data we do. A dozen ships have transited in, and more arrive every minute. Earth has no navy. They’ll own the orbitals.”

  “They have to land sometime,” Nigel persisted. “We’ll be waiting.”

  “Do you honestly expect them to stand by the rules of war and not reduce our defenses from orbit? This invasion is already a violation of Mercenary Guild regulations.” A flash came in that showed more data on the arriving alien fleet. Jim silently cursed, he didn’t have time to play games with Shirazi. He muted Nigel and spoke again.

  “I’m appealing to all of you. We have a plan; there are better options than suicidally wasting our lives. They will win here today; there’s nothing we can do. If we leave and give them this win, though, we’ll save a lot of lives. A lot of Human lives.” More data; the enemy was already engaged in Uzbekistan, assaulting the Horde’s base. He relayed the data. “The Horde’s buying us time with their blood.”

  He took a breath and played the last card. “The Cavaliers are evacuating; it’s that simple. Those of you with ships, I urge you to follow. Even if you don’t have starships, you’re welcome to dock with Bucephalus. We can take several more ships. Others of you can do the same for those without hyperspace-capable vessels.” He looked at Nigel’s avatar. “Stay and die, or retreat to fight another day. That’s all I have to say. If you’re coming, acknowledge now.”

  Jim waited for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually, a company acknowledged they would join the Cavaliers. Burt’s Bees said yes. Then Micky Finn signaled assent. A deluge followed. Copperheads, Ragnar’s Reavers, Roaring Saints, Red Lancers, Daredevils, Maddox’s Mad Dogs, Drake’s Rangers, Taint Nothin, Muerte Negra, Gitmo’s Own, Tom’s Total Terrors, Hellcats, Sinclair’s Scorpions and, Jim smiled, the Titty Twisters rounded out the local units. There were even a few from other countries who said they could make rendezvous outbound from orbit: Derniere Legion and Flambeaux Calais from France, Dood Wraak from South Africa, Laut Yang Tenang from Indonesia, the 1st Highland Regiment out of Scotland, and Espade Sangrenta from Brazil.

  Only 22 units out of the 40 online could make orbit. Many of the remainder said they’d scatter; a few didn’t know what they were doing, and he offered them his prayers. At the last minute, he got a message from the commander of Yoru no Tori, the Night Birds, offering to assist in the lift.

  A single avatar remained, that of Nigel Shirazi. Jim unmuted it.

  “You have successfully usurped my command,” the man said, scorn dripping from his words.

  “I usurped nothing,” Jim said, “I just followed through with what we agreed on. Are you coming or not?”

  A second later, Nigel answered with a single-word text message, no audio. “Yes.”

  Jim heaved an inward sigh of relief. He knew there’d be more trouble with Nigel; it was only a matter of time.

  “Jim!” Hargrave yelled from across the command center. “Jim, let’s go kid.” Jim disconnected from the network and addressed the room.

  “Everyone who’s going, run,” he said, “those staying, get as far from the complex as fast as you can. I can’t guarantee what might happen if the alien mercs catch you. Meet up with the Horde, if any should survive.” He quickly walked toward the exit. Hargrave fell in beside him.

  “I wanted to say sorry,” the older man said, “I was wrong.”

  “It’s okay,” Jim said. “Even a broken clock is right twice a day.” Hargrave laughed. A message came into Jim’s pinplants, and he staggered.

  “What is it?” Hargrave asked.

  “A massive nuclear explosion at Uzbekistan,” Jim said. His eyes got even wider. “Now there’s two.” He broke into a loping run.

  * * *

  EMS Bucephalus, Approaching the Stargate, Sol System

  “Sinclair’s Scorpions is attached,” the comms officer announced.

  “Resume braking,” Captain Kim Su said. Everyone braced as Bucephalus again began to slow. Jim checked his pinplants; he’d lost track of the ships coming.

  “Are we missing anyone?” he asked aloud.

  “Only one,” the comms officer replied.

  “Who?”

  “The Revenge, sir,” the comms officer replied. “There are a number of other ships that have gotten off the planet but won’t make it to us in time.”

  Cartwright shook his head. He could have guessed the last to join up would be the Revenge.

  “Gate opening in 10 minutes!” the navigator exclaimed.

  “This is going to be tight,” Captain Su said, examining the Tri-V tactical solutions. Bucephalus was the second-most heavily-armed ship in the flotilla after the Katana—the Night Birds’ command ship, a light cruiser. A scattering of escort frigates made up the rest of the Human merc firepower.

  “We’d better hurry,” the comms officer said. “The battleship just ordered Stargate Control not to open the stargate for us and told them to keep us in-system. It’s turned to follow us.”

  “They’d better open the gate,” Jim Cartwright said with a growl; “we paid a lot of money for this transition.” The situation was desperate. If they couldn’t escape, they’d have to surrender or fight. Considering the dozens of alien merc warships in-system, they’d be blasted to their component atoms. He considered a few seconds. If the battleship told him not to do something he’d been paid to do, he’d be forced to at least consider it, no matter how onerous or against his morals it might be. “Continue the approach,” he decided. “The Revenge will have to catch up.”

  The minutes ticked by as they slowed to approach the massive ring of Earth’s stargate. A few Earth g
overnment picket ships floated nearby, taking no action. Jim wondered how the planetary government would respond to this act of war. No one had contacted them as they left. That was disturbing.

  “Within five kilometers of the stargate,” Captain Su announced. “Gate needs to activate in the next 30 seconds or we’ll drift through.” It was now or never.

  “The gate’s open!” the navigator shouted, his tone indicating his shock that it had actually happened. “One minute to transition,” the navigator added. He paused. “Forty-five seconds.”

  “Revenge has matched and is alongside,” a technician announced.

  The ship shuddered slightly as the last ship joined, and the computer automatically adjusted the group’s engines to take its additional mass into account.

  “That’s it,” the comms officer confirmed as Revenge, the flagship of Asbaran Solutions, magnetically locked onto the skin of the Bucephalus. Counting the Revenge, 38 Human ships were about to leave Earth behind. Twelve were hyperspace capable; the other 26 were clinging on for dear life. Seen from the outside, it was a giant, multi-headed mass.

  At the navigation station, the officer in charge plugged the device Drizz had given Jim into the main computer. He watched dubiously as the machine interfaced with Bucephalus’ computer. A screen that normally showed navigational data dissolved into static and Captain Su shot Jim a worried look. A few seconds later, “Course Set” appeared, and Jim breathed again.

  “Best of luck,” Jim broadcast to the rest of the fleet, “after we make contact with the Winged Hussars, we’ll meet you in Karma.” Eleven acknowledgements came back from the other ships.

  “Here we go!” the navigator exclaimed as the enormous conglomerate hit the stargate. There was a moment of unmaking, and the Humans were gone.