Ixan Legacy Box Set

by Scott Bartlett

  The enemy point defense systems blazed to life, and the destroyer fired a wave of robot-missiles, in its first attempt to use them in an intercept capacity.

  It almost worked. Two of the Hydra fragments got through, punching sizable holes in the destroyer’s hull, which retreated back around the moon at speed.

  Husher drew a breath, knowing his next order would likely be the hardest one he’d ever given: “Kaboh, note the destroyer’s trajectory and come up with a course that will intercept it, head-on.”

  The Kaithian didn’t answer, and several CIC officers turned to Husher wearing expressions ranging from confusion to consternation.

  “If we leave now, Major Gamble will be overrun,” Tremaine said.

  “There’s a good chance of that,” Husher replied. “But if this engagement continues, it’s a certainty that we’ll lose against Teth’s destroyer in this confined space, and our Air Group will go down before we do. Teth will expect us to stay and protect our marines, since they’re our ticket out. That’s why we have to do this.”

  “Seems irrational to me,” Kaboh said.

  “I agree. But when you’re dealing with an enemy able to anticipate every rational option, irrational ones are all you have left.” Glancing at the tactical display, Husher saw how his Air Group was now hugging the forcefield as the Gok warships closed in. Taking a deep breath, he said, “This is my order. I expect you all to carry it out.”

  Chapter 58

  If the Captain's Left Us to Die

  “Major,” one of his marines, Roux, said over a two-way. “The Vesta’s leaving her overwatch position.”

  Risking a glance overhead in between laying down suppressive fire against the Ixa and Gok closing in on their position, Gamble grimaced inside his helmet. Next to him, Tort had hoisted a heavy machine gun on his shoulder—something no human could do—and was using it to pound away at the enemy ranks.

  “I can see that, Corporal,” he said. “You just keep on shooting.”

  Gamble had climbed down from the shuttle’s roof because of how vulnerable it made him to hostiles firing from a hilltop nearby. Instead, he’d positioned himself behind one of the fold-out barriers. Most of his marines were using the shuttle’s other barriers for cover. Tort was standing almost completely in the open, using the big gun to shoot at anyone who looked likely to shoot at him, but that was just Tort.

  Johansen opened up a private channel with Gamble, then. “Major,” the private said, “did you notice—”

  “I see that the Vesta’s leaving, yes.” Something glinted overhead, several meters above the barren, gray terrain. Gamble squinted at it, and he realized it was a grenade, sketching a slow parabola in the low gravity.

  “Grenade coming in from my twelve,” Gamble barked over a wide channel. “Everyone, take cover as best you can.” Around him, marines ducked behind fold-out barriers or into the shuttle’s open airlock. Everyone except Tort, that was—the Gok would probably refuse to take cover from the heat death of the universe.

  Taking careful aim, Gamble exhaled fully and squeezed the trigger. The grenade exploded meters overhead, raining down shrapnel but doing far less damage than if it had detonated at ground-level.

  With that, Gamble opened a wide channel. “Everyone, please stop contacting me privately about the Vesta leaving. I understand you’re trying not to worry your comrades, but we’re marines, damn it.” Gamble fired on a Gok who was advancing to a nearer position. The big alien didn’t bother to retreat to its previous cover, so Gamble put two more rounds into it, and the third succeeded in ripping open its pressure suit. That sent it fleeing in the opposite direction, probably for the facility that housed the forcefield generator—maybe its suit didn’t have the ability to self-seal.

  “Let me ask y’all something,” Gamble continued over the wide channel. “Does anyone think Captain Husher would leave us to fight this many Gok and Ixa without a damned good reason?”

  No one spoke. “Exactly,” he said. “If the captain’s left us to die down here, you can rest assured our deaths will mean something. No service member wants to die, but if we have to, then making sure Teth doesn’t get the foothold he wants to seems worth it to me. Can I get an oorah.”

  “Oorah!” the remaining marines yelled back at him. It wasn’t as loud as Gamble had expected—they must have lost more soldiers in the last few minutes.

  “Show them what you’re made of, marines,” Gamble said, slapping a fresh clip into his gun and emptying it into the encroaching army.

  Chapter 59

  Knots of Tension

  Struggling to keep his mind off the plight in which he’d left his dwindling marine force on the moon’s surface, Husher focused on something just as nerve-wracking: the visual feed of the moon’s horizon as it unspooled before them.

  “Eight Banshees and three Gorgons are armed and ready, sir,” Tremaine said. “Railguns have also been loaded. I’ve calculated firing solutions based on where we expect to encounter the enemy destroyer.”

  “Very good,” Husher said. And it was, except that Teth was almost never where they expected him to be.

  Indeed, as they neared the location where they’d anticipated the destroyer, Winterton spoke up: “He’s not here, sir.”

  “Full power to engines, Helm,” Husher said, gritting his teeth. “Get us back to our marines.”

  There were two possibilities: either Teth had anticipated Husher’s gambit and had looped around to attack the marines with impunity, or he’d altered his course to get a better attack angle on where he’d expected the Vesta to be. Both possibilities involved the enemy destroyer returning to where Husher had left his marines to fend for themselves.

  “He’s not attacking the marines,” Winterton said as the supercarrier completed her circuit of the moon. “It—there he is! He’s advancing over the horizon off our port-side bow.”

  “Helm, bring our nose to port until we’re lined up with Teth’s destroyer. Tremaine, hit them with everything the moment we are.”

  “Aye, sir,” the Tactical officer said, and less than a minute after that: “Firing first four Banshees. I’ve loaded them with courses that will have them curving around to hit the destroyer’s port side.”

  “Good work,” Husher said.

  “Firing the other Banshees, kinetic impactors, and Gorgons now.”

  “The destroyer’s slow to react,” Winterton said, clutching his console as he stared hard at it. “She looks to be training her particle beam on us—but she’s reversing! Teth knows he can’t withstand a barrage like that.”

  Husher’s eyes were riveted to the main display as the missiles closed in. “Are we experiencing any superheating?”

  “We just started to,” Winterton said after shuffling some items around on his virtual display. “It’s the same spot on our bow as before—that’ll be bad, if it persists. Most of our kinetic impactors are going to miss due to the destroyer’s reverse thrust, but Banshees are still on track—damn it.”

  Husher regarded the sensor operator with eyebrows raised. It was the first he’d ever heard the man curse. “What is it, Ensign?”

  “One of the three Gorgons just went down.”

  Nodding, Husher said, “Continue nosing us to the left, Helm, and Tremaine, don’t let up on those impactors. Helm, I want more power to the engines.”

  Both officers acknowledged his orders, and Husher tried to ignore the knots of tension in his chest and deep in his stomach as he watched their attack play out.

  “We’re down to three Banshees and two Gorgons,” Winterton said. “Another Banshee just went down…another Gorgon…yes!”

  Husher didn’t need the man to tell him what had caused his sudden jubilation, since he’d watched on the tactical display as all three remaining missiles struck home.

  “We just took out one of the destroyer’s main forward engines,” Winterton said. “Their ability to reverse thrust has been cut almost in half.”

  Just as the sensor operator said it,
the Vesta’s newly superior acceleration saw her closing the gap and nearing her enemy.

  Kinetic impactors from the Vesta’s magnetic railguns poured into the wound created by her missiles, and the entire destroyer abruptly ruptured. The CIC burst into cheering.

  Watching on visual, Husher saw that one piece of shrapnel from the expanding debris cloud looked bigger and more symmetrical than the others. “Winterton,” he barked. “Is that an escape pod?”

  The sensor operator scrutinized the display for a moment. “It certainly looks likely to be, sir.” Just as he spoke the words, the craft vanished.

  “That was Teth,” Husher said with certainty, his feeling of satisfaction tempered by the knowledge that he still hadn’t finished his Ixan nemesis. “How are our marines faring?” he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

  After a few seconds, Winterton answered: “They’re still alive and fighting!”

  “Thank God. Tremaine, let’s refocus on helping them reach that generator. Our Air Group’s still in hot water—if we don’t rejoin them soon, the Gok will pin them against that forcefield and take them apart.”

  Chapter 60

  Shoot to Kill

  By the time the Vesta’s guns came back into play in the fight for the moon’s surface, the marines defending the shuttle were down to Gamble, Roux, Johansen, Tort, and three others—not including Haynes, the pilot.

  The shuttle was looking pretty banged up, and the regolith around it was littered with motionless marines. Near Gamble’s left foot, out of the corner of his eye, he could see a young private’s blackened face through his helmet’s cracked faceplate.

  It was a grim scene, meaning there was plenty of room for their spirits to be raised. The Vesta’s return certainly did that.

  Despite that he’d told the marines they’d been chosen for this mission because of the guns they rated highest on, Gamble wasn’t actually using the weapon he most excelled with. As much as he liked his R-57 for its versatility and its run-and-gun nature, his heart belonged to his Rk-9 sniper rifle, which he’d stashed just inside the airlock.

  When the supercarrier’s guns once again started tearing up the moon’s loose terrain, sending plumes of dust shooting upward and shrouding the area around the shuttle in a gray haze, Gamble got on a wide channel. “Roux, you’re closest to the airlock. Toss me my sniper. We’re gonna leave Haynes to continue defending this position while we get this raid rolling.” He pointed to the top of a rise ten meters or so off the shuttle’s aft—one of the few places not currently covered in a dust haze, and also one where they’d had the most success putting down the aliens pressuring the shuttle.

  “I’m going up there on overwatch while you six push in that direction,” he said, pointing the way the shuttle’s starboard side was facing. “Wait till the dust settles a bit, so I can actually see enough to be of some help, then rush ‘em. By the time you’re ready, I should be in position.”

  Roux passed him his sniper rifle, which he slung across the back of his pressure suit before sprinting toward the rise he’d indicated, assault rifle held at the ready in case any hostiles popped up to contest the hilltop.

  Progress was slow in the low gravity, given Gamble had a keen interest in not bouncing too far into the air. Doing so would offer the enemy a nice, clean target. Instead, he inched forward while crossing the distance between shallow craters and low rises as fast as he could manage.

  At last, he gained the hilltop without encountering any enemy combatants. Nice. The slope formed a natural sniper hide, with a gentle incline on the far side, perfect for steadying himself against the crest while he lined up his shots.

  Just as he’d predicted, the dust was beginning to settle to the ground as he was getting situated, and his battle-weary team was getting ready to act.

  “How are we interpreting the ROEs, today, Major?” Johansen asked. An important question for any soldier who didn’t want a run-in with a conga line of lawyers once he got back from deployment.

  “We’re on a barren moon with no atmosphere, in the middle of a system that’s supposed to be deserted. I don’t think we’re gonna run into too many civilians,” Gamble said over the wide channel, which brought a couple chuckles. “The only beings here are the ones guarding the generator they’re using to keep that forcefield up, whose sole purpose was to trap us like fish in the barrel they wanted to shoot us inside. Unless they surrender, which I doubt they will, shoot to kill.”

  “Can do,” Roux said.

  “Move out,” Gamble said.

  The six marines ranged forward with guns at the ready, using the moon’s natural formations as cover whenever possible.

  Right away, a Gok popped up from a crater that must have been deeper than it looked. The alien’s position would have let it get the drop on Tort from behind. It would have…and if Gamble hadn’t put two high-powered sniper rounds into the seam where its helmet met its pressure suit, that’s probably exactly what would have happened.

  “Thanks,” Tort rumbled. “Owe you beer.”

  “Don’t mention it, big guy.”

  Gamble continued to scan the moon’s terrain for anything out of the ordinary—anything that moved, in other words. He was glad he’d been able to take down the Gok so handily, but he was far from sure it would be that simple if an Ixan popped up, ready to go. Based on Tyros and on today’s fight, in their new form, the Ixa were harder to put down than even Gok.

  Studying them through the Rk-9’s scope, some features of the moon’s terrain pretty clearly weren’t natural. A couple rectangular rises, about five hundred meters off, were obviously artificial, though covered in heaps of dust, probably so they couldn’t easily be spotted from orbit. How the captain had known to deploy them here, Gamble didn’t know, but he also didn’t bother wondering about it. The CIC had their business, and he had his.

  Then, his worst fear came true: an Ixan reared up from a hollow, pounding up the slope toward the nearest marine, Johansen.

  Gamble got two rounds into the reptile before it made it to the private, but it made no difference. The Ixan seized Johanson by the shoulders and smashed its forehead into his faceplate. The alien’s helmet must have been hardened somehow, because the faceplate cracked.

  It didn’t stop there. The Ixan held out Johansen with one hand and produced a pistol with the other, firing it twice into the marine’s neck.

  Two more sniper rounds made the Ixan stagger, but it recovered quickly, making its way toward Corporal Roux.

  Damn it. Gamble reloaded smoothly, only decades of training keeping his hand steady as he rushed to try and save his marine.

  Too late. The Ixan was there, reaching for Roux—

  —when Tort crashed into it, both hulking beings hitting the ground in a tangle.

  That meant Gamble couldn’t get a clean shot. He silently cursed the Gok as the two struggled on the ground, the Ixan quickly getting the upper hand.

  Gamble had noticed a mild hero complex in the big Gok the moment he’d started working with him. Hell, Tort’s involvement with humans had started with saving Captain Husher’s life, during the Second Galactic War. He’d racked up more saved lives since then, but if his inclination drove him to sacrifice himself along with Johansen, it would make a dark day even darker.

  I really don’t want to lose that big lout.

  The Ixan managed to pin Tort to the regolith, and it swung its pistol toward the Gok’s face. Tort caught his adversary’s wrist, but their difference in strength quickly became clear as the Ixan’s gun progressed steadily toward Tort’s head.

  Unfortunately for the Ixan, making it on top had also given Gamble a clear shot. He took one, then he took another.

  His third shot sheared through the softer fabric at the Ixan’s armpit, meant to enable range of motion but also offering a distinct vulnerability for Gamble to target. His shot must have hit something vital, or maybe it was simply enough punishment to put the berserker off its game.

  Either way, it keeled over, an
d Tort pressed the advantage, slamming his ham-like fist into the Ixan again and again. The Gok picked up his heavy machine gun, which had fallen to the regolith nearby, and he sprayed bullets all up the Ixan’s body.

  That seemed to do it.

  After beating the Ixan, reaching the two structures only involved dispatching a couple more Gok, which seemed like child’s play in comparison.

  “Patch me through a visual as you take the bigger structure,” Gamble said.

  It took five minutes for a private, who’d been chosen for his hacking as much as for his proficiency with a shotgun, to bypass whatever security was on the entrance.

  Once he had it open, the marines began with a flashbang tossed into the front room, and then they piled inside. Gamble continued scanning the moon for targets, glancing every now and then at the feed in the corner of his vision. His soldiers cleared room after room, confirming exactly what he’d suspected: the Gok and Ixa had sent everything they’d had against the shuttle. Thanks to the Vesta’s guns and the marines’ resilience, it hadn’t quite added up to enough.

  The generator, it turned out, was down a long flight of stairs, likely meant as another failsafe, in that it couldn’t be taken out from orbit. It had required a ground assault to accomplish its destruction.

  “All right, marines. Set the charges and get out of there,” Gamble said.

  Chapter 61

  No Such Luck

  The forcefield went down just as the Gok ships were nearing it, their intention obvious: to pin the Vesta’s Air Group against the energy barrier and wipe them out, away from the protection of their base ship’s heavy artillery.

  No such luck, Husher thought as his supercarrier moved out from the confines of the moon, once more free to go anywhere in the galaxy it wanted.

  Here is good, for now. “Coms, tell Commander Ayam that half his Air Group’s on missile defense duty, while the other half is to harry the Gok warships and screw with their lateral mobility. Tremaine, what does our arsenal look like?”