Resolve of Steel (Halloran's War Book 2)

by J. R. Geoghan

  Kendra pointed to two Prax numerals on the ship’s dash control panel. “One.Five.”

  “Sounds as official as anything else,” Halloran admitted.

  “Shuttle 1-5, Serapis conn.” Antonov’s voice held the slightest edge of humor in it. “Lieutenant Travers is opening the bay doors now.”

  “Understood, Serapis. Please be advised that we will be operating under comms blackout until we’ve reached the surface.”

  “Serapis understands, shuttle. Doors are open, you are clear to launch.”

  Chief Parker was the other man in the forward seating. He asked Kendra, “Do you think that our shuttle will attract attention?”

  “Let’s hope not, Chief Parker.”

  Halloran saw her at the controls as she lifted the small craft and flew it out of the bay, angling it down and away. She was a pro. “Can you pull up the rearview camera, if this thing has one?”

  She flicked a few switches. “Probably one of these. There.”

  The view from where they had just left was…empty. Nothing but the twinkling stars. But…as Halloran watched, an area of the starfield moved oddly and seemed to get hazy for a moment before reforming.

  Parker said, “You see that, sir?”

  “I did. You’d have to be staring right at that spot, though, to pick up it. Incredible camouflage.” Halloran thought of the words with Axxa about the Prax having more ships with this technology. It didn’t bode well for the human side.

  “Your Lieutenant Carruthers is picking up the sensors and nav very well, Captain,” said Kendra as she manipulated the controls. “This flight path is clean and quick, right out the bay doors and dropping into that plateau as if she’s been plotting all her life.”

  “I’m glad you’re impressed, Captain.”

  She looked at Halloran. “Should you be referring to me as ‘Captain?’”

  “You’re a Captain. You earned it, correct?”

  “Very much so.”

  “Then I’m okay calling you that for the moment. If you come up with a better title, let me know and I’ll take it under advisement.” Halloran flicked the switch to return the view to the forward camera. The ship had no viewports.

  She glanced at him. “How long were you in the…Navy? That’s the term, right?”

  “Yes, and twenty-six years.”

  “So it’s your life’s work.”

  He cocked his head at her. “Interesting way to phrase it.”

  “My family is all Fleet. Other than my father, my mother was a Commander in the Coloran defense flotilla for much of her middle years.”

  “And your sister, too,” Halloran offered.

  She nodded.

  “You’re more like your father.” It was a statement, not a question.

  She didn’t answer for a minute as she handled the shuttle. Then she nodded. “In his younger years, perhaps. Before my sister and I were born.”

  “No family of your own?”

  She glanced at him again. “None. But you do.”

  “I do.”

  “Coming up on the inner atmosphere. The ride will get rough now, everyone.”

  And rough it got. Within seconds the small craft was tilted on its side and an ominous shaking began, accompanied by a growing moan and rising temps in the cabin. Everyone held firmly to the nearest solid point of contact, no one talking as the tension suddenly ratcheted up.

  Just when the shaking seemed to be ready to twist the hull in two, and the noise simply couldn’t get any more deafening, the ship righted itself and dropped like a chunk of wood going over a waterfall.

  “In the lower atmosphere,” choked out Kendra.

  Everyone’s heart was in their throat for a few more long, drawn-out moments before the ship pulled up suddenly. Halloran felt his throat constrict as his stomach firmly settled as low as it could go in his abdomen. He pulled in a ragged gasp of air just as the ship began to fly level and the motion abated.

  “At the proscribed elevation. Sorry about the dive, I wanted to get us out of the clear shot from any ground-based defenses or line-of-sight sensors.”

  Halloran could only nod. He heard DeBartelo rumble from the rear, “Now we know what the shuttle pilots went through with re-entry.”

  Whitney replied, “It couldn’t have been as bad as that.”

  “You’re probably right, Doc.”

  “Range to target site twenty-five kilometers. I plan to land as close to the coordinates as possible, Captain.” Kendra adjusted a control and the forward monitor re-lit, bathing the compartment in whiteness. They were flying through a blinding snowstorm. “Getting even a few extra kilometers further away could be detrimental to our health.”

  “Agreed, get as close as practical, Captain.”

  She glanced at him again. It was sort of funny, the way she did that with the eye twinkle. “What’s a ‘shuttle pilot?’”

  He found himself mildly distracted. “Hmm? Oh, that’s from the early days of controlled space fight in the US. On Earth. Our country had vehicles that would launch using booster rockets to get through the atmosphere, then the orbiter portion would detach and set up for whatever mission they were on—deploying a satellite, visiting the space station.”

  “A space station, orbiting Earth?”

  “Yes. You seem surprised.”

  She shrugged. “Prax destroyed dozens of stations orbiting Earth in the first days. Hundreds were killed instantly.”

  “Oh.” There didn’t seem to be anything to say to that, so Halloran went back to staring at the mesmerizing snowfall whipping by the ship.

  “Coming up on the optimum landing site now. Our altitude is two hundred meters.”

  “Wow, that’s low,” Chief Parker commented. “Isn’t it?”

  “Our friends in the Air Force do it all the time, I bet, Chief.”

  “I just prefer being at a thousand meters down, Sir.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Flaring out now. Prepare for debarkation!” She smacked a control with the flat of her hand, then pulled back on the control stalk and Halloran felt the ship shudder and fall a bit. Then the landing skids obviously touched ground with a thwump. Kendra cut the power, and the engine began to whine softly down. Within moments, everyone could hear the wind groaning over the hull. It was going to be cold out there.

  Reyes was on his feet. “Let’s go, people. Get your gear ready and have those face masks up!”

  Halloran asked Kendra, “What heading to the entrance?”

  She tapped a screen on the dash and a small map displayed—more like a radar repeater. The ship was the center and a small dot glowed to the left of it, not far off. She pointed to the dot. “About half a kilometer. Heading would be…exactly one-eight-zero magnetic.”

  “That’s great, how do we manage to stay on course in this blow?”

  She pressed a wide button below the screen and the entire display popped loose from the dash. She lifted it and handed it to Halloran.

  “Aha. Thanks, Captain.”

  She pulled her coat tight around her face, slipping the mask up to cover her features. But a stray lock of that black hair fell free as if in revolt. “I got us here. You’re in charge now.”

  The outside was even worse than anticipated. The shuttle, after they’d locked it down and walked off a few paces, disappeared in the white swirling mess. Halloran put the mapping device close to his face and turned, trying to fix a direction without any points of reference. He found himself hoping that the thing had great batteries.

  Reyes was there, putting his face close. “Gotta move, sir!”

  Halloran nodded, pointing along the indicated heading.

  Without further attempts at conversation the group moved off, staying very close together at arm’s length to avoid separation in the inky whiteness. Several times the wind threatened to upend them. The cold was intense. Halloran took the lead with the tracking device, followed closely by DeBartelo with rifle at the ready. There was virtually no way that voices would be he
ard, so the men held their peace.

  At length Halloran saw from the glowing device that the destination was just ahead. He held up, going to one knee in the thin snow layer. Immediately his knee grew cold from the permafrost beneath.

  Reyes came forward and got down next to him. Halloran pointed at the spot on the device and saw the Chief's head dip in understanding. It was now or never for their back-door plan. If anyone was waiting, they’d know it shortly.

  The Chief and Halloran moved forward, at first more quickly and then slower, with arms outstretched. It has to be right here. Halloran was attempting to tuck the device into his coat pocket, cursing the smallish opening—a side effect of the quirky clothing replicator—when he literally ran into the wall of rock.

  Recovering, he looked up and around as the others gathered again.

  Reyes was gesturing to their right. Then pointing at DeBartelo with his gun. The big man passed the shorter Chief, weapon up and ready as they followed the wall of ice-coated stone.

  A massive gust of wind slammed Halloran hard against the unyielding surface and a sharp protrusion jammed into his side. The next instant, the wind reversed direction and tossed him to the ground effortlessly. The hammer of air carried him for several meters, sliding along on the icy permafrost. When the storm was done with him for the moment, Halloran got to his knees, immediately feeling the stab of pain in his midriff. Inhaling lightly, he noted that several others were strewn around him. As he stumbled to his feet, he saw a motionless lump of gray nearby.

  Reyes was there, the short man moving quickly through the disoriented group. He knelt next to the still figure as Halloran came behind.

  He stuck his head in next to Reyes. “Who?”

  Reyes turned and pressed his face close. “Parker.”

  Another man appeared and forced his way in between them unceremoniously. From the shape of his pack Halloran recognized Whitney and got out of the Corpsman’s way. With a last glance at the sad knot of figures, he rejoined those who huddled against the rock wall. The wind howled louder than ever above them.

  Someone came very close to Halloran. It was DeBartelo. “Sir! I scouted the entry. About twenty meters.” The hooded head shook. “No guards outside.”

  Outside. Halloran motioned to the others to hunker down while Whitney and Reyes worked on Chief Parker. No need to overexpose themselves to the mercy of those nasty gusts…

  The cold seemed into his body like a cancer. It seemed as if the rock of this planet had a supercooling property—or the place was just that cold. Halloran was starting to understand why the colonists had chosen to tunnel into the mountains than brave this every day.

  He thought of the Serapis above, wondering if anything was happening. He imagined Antonov sitting in the command chair, stoically watching the others with that small smile playing across his lips from time to time.

  Halloran had been taken aback by the man’s admission of the attack on the Chinese sub. He knew the name of Antonov’s victim, in fact. The Zenshou. The Chinese had never publicly announced the loss of the ship, but US intelligence had quickly gathered that the older-style sub had been lost at sea. The fact that Antonov would do what he did, using his crew in the process, said a lot about the man’s character. He may be tough and dependable as Halloran had originally thought, but there existed also an inner identity that operated on its own. But he had admitted the attack, and their current circumstances had the inexorable tendency to draw men together against common adversaries. Having thus reconsidered Antonov, Halloran concluded that the man would do what was necessary to keep the ship and crew safe in his absence.

  Then there was Kendra. A highly skilled pilot and Fleet lifer with that cold exterior but a burning desire within…revenge. Or something more?

  Someone pushed against him hard, and Halloran looked up. Reyes was there with an arm outstretched. He followed the man’s gesture to see two others nearby, leaning on each other. Must be Parker and Whitney. Reyes lowered his arm and offered it to Halloran, who gratefully grabbed it and hauled himself to his feet. After a moment, he motioned to proceed.

  The group filed along the rock wall, now more wary of the vagaries of the wind. Quickly, though, they reached a corner and DeBartelo held up, peering around it gingerly. Halloran wanted to get a look and came up, pressing into the sailor and looking around his shoulder.

  It was a recess in the wall, cut cleanly and with a solid, flat floor. At the perimeter was a low wall that extended out in a semicircle away from them. Everything, of course, was coated with a layer of whitish ice.

  DeBartelo’s voice carried to him. “See, sir? Unguarded.”

  Halloran looked back to see Reyes behind them, then tapped DeBartelo on the shoulder to propel him forward. They climbed briefly over the wall and Halloran’s side pinched him again. A broken rib, most likely.

  They stopped at the entrance and appraised the door. It was a massive affair, and reminded Halloran of the watertight doors between sections in a submarine, only larger. No way it would just swing open at a knock or a gentle touch…

  The group spread out and examined the door and surrounding wall. Quickly someone spotted the cameras mounted in opposite corners of the area. No indicator lights glowed to show someone or something was watching. Halloran felt sure that there had to be some kind of external detection system that would register their presence outside the entrance. Or perhaps no one much worried about who was freezing to death outside.

  The way in was the plainly located keypad next to the door. Without a hacker in residence, they had no way to cleverly decrypt the entry code like in the movies. In truth, Halloran had quietly hoped that there’d be the ability to communicate with the inside so they could bargain for entry. He walked over to where he was clearly in view of the camera nearest him and began to wave his arms. When someone from the group came over, he pointed them to the other camera. Soon all of them were jumping up and down for the benefit of those on the other end of the video signal.

  Tired, Halloran walked over the keypad and mashed on it for a few seconds. Nothing.

  A few minutes passed before Halloran motioned Reyes over. “Thoughts?”

  The Chief tapped the door. “My guess—.” The wind drowned out the next few words. “—waiting inside.”

  Halloran looked up and around them. The unforgiving white rock encompassed everything. There was nowhere else to go. They needed to get back to the shuttle and find a new way in.

  He gathered everyone together and indicated they should huddle. “We need to go back to the shuttle!”

  Heads bobbed in understanding.

  At that moment the air was filled with light, flashing out into the swirling snow. Halloran spun as best as he could in the bulky clothes.

  The door stood open and a group of better-dressed troops, some kneeling and some standing, trained rifles on them.

  Halloran pushed DeBartelo’s gun barrel down and raised his other hand, stepping forward from his team toward the light.

  The muzzles pointed at them flashed as the soldiers fired.

  Chapter 14

  Tavar, Struve System

  For a hundred years since the first scientists arrived from Earth the colony had steadily grown. Each year—as measured to Sol and enshrined in a time system people loathed but adhered to—more people arrived and added to the ranks of of the closed system entombed within the crust of the planet.

  Merchant ships and military fleets, all came and went throughout the year. Virtually all traffic, however, was strictly controlled by the Fleet. Since the bloody battle in the outer system with the Prax some fifteen years prior, Fleet ships populated the space around Tavar. But people still arrived, uninvited.

  Some were stowaways from other colonies. Some were disaffected crew off merchant ships, deciding to hide away until their ship left them for dead and flew off. Still others were relatives of citizens, coming in from somewhere else to claim citizenship of their own.

  The citizen system dated back to
the founding of Tavar, when the leadership had had to beg Earth to send more bodies. The “new gold rush” as the discovery of Tavarran steel had been proclaimed in the media, had turned out less of a rush than a slight trickle as people also discovered the harsh existence on the planet. It had taken forty years just to get the colony self-sustaining. Then the war had come and eventually their product became a critical military asset. Over half a century of “protection.” There were days that Jackson wondered how much worse the Prax would truly be than their human overlords.

  As he stood on the balcony of the control level and watched the crowds moving along the main street below, he crossed his arms and pulled them in tight, thinking about the citizens of Tavar once more. Twenty-two thousand, eight hundred and twelve at last count. The planet groaned under the weight of them, but most had earned their keep. The mines required more and more as they aged and began to collapse, defying the equally aging technology of the colony. Despite the Fleet’s intense concern for continuing the flow of Tavarran steel into its shipbuilding program, the local representatives held a pronounced disdain for Tavarrans and mostly left them to themselves.

  And Jackson would have it no other way. He himself had grown up in the colony, the son of the last Governor. After his father was killed, the citizens had elected him to the office at the tender age of eighteen. That had been ten hard years ago.

  His government was solid. He’d been lucky to get Arienda, a lawyer from Coloran who’d run off to see the galaxy, as his Vice-Governor several years back. Between the two of them, they’d purged any remains of the insurrection that had claimed his father’s life years prior. Tavar was a mercurial place, filled with people who struggled daily with the planet and co-existed in an environment free of all outside influences. They were an independent colony made up of independent citizens who sometimes formed unhealthy alliances. The insurrection had been an ill-advised effort of a group from Bethel Mountain who’d formed protests and ultimately stormed the control level to convey their anger.

  He exhaled slowly through pursed lips. Captain Orris was inside now, awaiting their monthly requisition meeting. Jackson was keeping him waiting. It was one of his little games to pass the time.