The Fallen

by Paul B Spence

  "Captain! I have ten enemy atmospheric craft on my plot! They are flying very low to the ground and appear to be on an intercept course with the Federation shuttles."

  Torenth sighed. "Of course you do. Communications, notify Lieutenant Simmons that he is go for launch. Tell him to intercept and destroy those fighters."

  "It's going to take time to prep and launch our fighters, Captain. We've been concentrating on launching shuttles. Best possible time to intercept is just over twenty minutes," said Lt. Commander Deirdre Dominica. "Those aircraft are going to intercept the last few shuttles before our people could get there."

  "I'm aware of that, XO," Torenth said. "Do you have a better idea?"

  "We could load the aircraft positions into our point defense system."

  "Our defensive systems were not designed to target objects in atmosphere, Deirdre. We'd have too great a chance of knocking out the very shuttles we're trying to protect." Torenth was thinking about his orders: if the Empire destroyed the shuttle with the troublesome commander aboard, it wouldn't bother him in the least. He had some very good personal reasons for not wanting Tebrey to make it back from this mission.

  "But, sir..."

  "We're not using them, XO," Torenth said with finality. He knew she was right about using the point defense lasers, but it was possible the shuttles would be hit. "We can't afford for the Federation to be able to say that the Concord destroyed those shuttles."

  "What would you like to do, sir?"

  "Tell Simmons to do what he can. Notify the Centaur of the enemy craft and tell them we are unable to intercept the enemy aircraft in time. Send them our tracking data; maybe they'll have some ideas."

  Captain Singh and Lt. Commander Santiago exchanged worried glances as they heard the message from the Arcadia. There was nothing they could do to help those shuttles; most of them would make it out of the atmosphere in time, but it was going to be close with the last few. Point defense was inoperable, and their small fighter complement had been destroyed in the fighting – not they had any pilots alive to fly them. The primary laser cannon on the front of the ship was be too dangerous to use so close to their own shuttles with most of their targeting systems out. The crew had stopped working to repair the ship and was finding and transferring wounded to the shuttle bays.

  There were not as many crewmembers, wounded or otherwise, as Singh had hoped there would be. Gamma-ray lasers didn't leave many survivors. Less than one hundred crewmembers, out of an original crew of over two thousand, waited for the shuttles from the Arcadia. Maria Johnson, the chief engineer, was rigging the engines to blow after they were all safely away. It wouldn't do to allow the ship to fall into Empire hands; they could learn too much about Federation technology from the wreckage.

  Singh had wept unashamedly when he gave the order. He loved his ship, and she had served him well over the years, but she was beyond saving. The battle had been a catastrophe. It was cold comfort to him that it wasn't entirely his fault.

  "Captain Singh?" His com crackled. "This is Captain Torenth. I have bad news and worse news, Captain."

  "Hit me with it," Singh said into the link.

  "Enemy aircraft just intercepted the last shuttle. It went down hard. It is possible there are survivors, but I'm going to have to call back my fighters."

  "Why?" Singh demanded.

  "The southwestern continent just launched missiles, Captain. They launched thirty ballistic missiles heading for our ships and five cruise missiles heading for their base."

  "I thought we knocked out all of the groundside launchers. You can't intercept?"

  "Looks like you took out the base on the eastern continent. We can probably get all of the ones aimed at us. We are moving to provide better point defense coverage for your ship, but if even one missile gets close enough..."

  "Yes, Captain, I'm all too aware of what the consequences of that would be. What about the missiles on the surface?"

  "No possibility of intercept from here. The enemy base will be over the horizon by that time. We could move to intercept them, but then we'd leave you open to the other missiles. Under the circumstances, it seems best to save those we can. Satellite imagery suggests that the cruise missiles are nuclear, probably low-yield fifteen-kiloton tactical warheads, if our info on the Empire is correct. If there are survivors from the shuttle that went down, and if they get to minimum safe distance from the nukes, we will rescue them. I promise you."

  "Thank you, Captain. I suppose can't ask for more than that."

  Lt. Commander Hrothgar Tebrey was battered and shaken from the crash, but not too badly injured. His powered armor was made to protect him from worse injury than this. Hunter was bruised, but his location near the starboard wing ramp had saved him from serious harm. Most of the other marines aboard had been killed, however. Some of them had died when the missile struck the shuttle. The missile had come in on the port side, blew off a wing and destroyed half of the passenger compartment.

  Tebrey had no idea how the pilot managed to crash land instead of just crash. She had brought the shuttle down mostly intact. Sadly, she hadn't survived for Tebrey to ask her how she did it, or to thank her. He did manage to drag six marines out of the burning wreckage and was running back in for more when the shuttle blew up.

  The blast lifted from his feet and threw him into the volcanic rocks. His armor protected him from most of the impact, but it still hurt like hell. Okay, so maybe I didn't make it through the crash as unscathed as I hoped, he thought. He turned off the biomedical display; he didn't have time to be injured.

  You okay? Hunter thought anxiously.

  I'm fine. His ribs felt cracked. We've got to get moving.

  Five of the marines were walking wounded, but the sixth had been badly torn up in the crash. Tebrey didn't think the man would live much longer, but he had other things to worry about. The sensors in his suit could detect the aircraft that had shot them down circling back around for a ground sweep.

  They were too exposed where they were.

  "Commander," called a hoarse voice.

  Tebrey hurried over to the badly injured marine. One of the other marines stood and shook her head slightly as he arrived. The man was in too bad a shape to move. "I'm here, Sergeant. Don't try to move. Help should be on the way soon," he lied.

  The sergeant smiled through the blood on his face. "Give me a rifle," he said. "We both know I'm not getting off this rock. Get my people as far away from here as you can and into safety. I'll do what I can to remedy our aircraft problem."

  "That's suicide, Sergeant."

  "I'm dead anyway, sir. We both know that. Let me make it count for something," he pleaded.

  Tebrey nodded sharply and handed him one of the plasma rifles salvaged from the wreckage.

  "Any survivors down there?" Singh asked anxiously.

  "I've got a few signals, sir. Lt. Commander Tebrey's signal is strong. He has a better transmitter in his powered armor," Mitchell reported. He and the captain were alone on the bridge, and the space that had often seemed crowded was achingly empty with so many people dead and the rest headed for the shuttles.

  "Notify the commander that he has twenty-seven minutes to get another twenty kilometers south of his current position," said Captain Singh. "Tell him about the nukes."

  "There's no way he can make it, Captain, not with those aircraft buzzing him."

  "Tell him anyway," Singh said. "Maybe he can find some shelter, or the blast won't be as bad as we think. We're just guessing about the yields on those missiles anyway."

  "Yes, sir," replied Mitchell. He didn't state the obvious fact that the missiles could also be much worse than they were estimating.

  Torenth's jaw tightened as he listened to the reports. He didn't know how the Rhyrhan emissary whom Admiral Shadovsky had mentioned could have known that Tebrey would become stranded on the planet. Every time it seemed like the commander was going to be okay, something else came up.

  He was tempted to order a nucl
ear strike on the commander's position. That would solve the problem, and he'd technically be following his orders. It would also leave a certain woman with whom he had become obsessed a widow. Torenth shook his head, appalled at his own thoughts; he'd never be able to live with himself if he did something so underhanded. He also knew better than to think that Ana wouldn't find out about it.

  He wondered then if that was what it was like with the Thetas: evil justified at first, until only evil remained. He shivered, not guessing that he was closer to the truth than he would ever know.

  Tebrey sent Hunter ahead to scout, and he and the remaining marines took up positions amongst the rocks. The sergeant had taken out two of the aircraft before they killed him. That left eight planes.

  He realized then that he hadn't even known the sergeant's name.

  Duncan, Hunter supplied. His nameplate said Duncan.

  Thank you. I won't forget you, Sergeant Duncan.

  "Here they come!" one of the marines shouted. The visual horizon was close because of the broken volcanic terrain, and the aircraft were almost on top of them before they had a firing solution.

  "Fire!" Tebrey ordered unnecessarily. Like him, the marines had all opened fire as soon as the planes were visible.

  Plasma bolts snapped out and smashed four more of the planes from the sky. The explosions from the low-flying aircraft loosened rocks and knocked a few of the marines from their perches. His people had surprised the planes; the enemy hadn't known exactly where they were until they started firing. The remaining four planes broke off and circled around for another pass.

  This time they came in lower and strafed ahead of them with particle beam cannon. Tebrey could hear screams from those marines caught by the beams, but he concentrated on firing on the planes as they screeched by overhead.

  Two more of the aircraft exploded, but another one dropped a small, half-kiloton-yield plasma warhead as it passed over their position.

  Tebrey found himself flung through the air to crash into a cliff face with spine-crushing force. His impact shattered the loose rock, and the last things he saw or heard were the rocks that buried him.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  The Arcadia moved to the far side of the battered hulk of the Centaur, where Torenth hoped to shield the survivors behind his much larger ship. The Empire missiles would be in weapons range in less than a minute.

  "Counter missiles away, Captain," Bharati reported. "Launching decoys and ECM pods."

  Torenth watched the thirty icons representing potential nuclear destruction come closer to his ship. His ship's counter missiles had launched at over thirty thousand kilometers per second; they took just under four seconds to close the distance to the enemy missiles.

  "Twenty-one missiles down, sir," Bharati said calmly. "I'm engaging with the point defense batteries."

  Laser cannon along the flank of the battle cruiser searched through the haze of enemy electronic countermeasures to lock onto the missiles.

  One by one, those missiles disappeared from Torenth's screens. He watched, helpless to affect the battle, as three of the missiles survived to come within twenty thousand kilometers...and kept coming.

  Torenth let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. "They aren't laser warheads," he said in wonder. He'd been sure that he was going to have to face the same weapons that the Centaur had. He was thankful he hadn't.

  Three pairs of titanic plasma cannon belched out destruction, and the remaining missiles disappeared. The boiled gasses of their immolation washed over the Arcadia harmlessly. The thermal superconductor on its undamaged hull could easily handle that level of energy.

  Far below them, around the curve of the planet, five small suns brightened the morning sky as the enemy cruise missiles vaporized their own base. Torenth had to wonder what they had been trying to hide.

  The sound of falling rocks awoke Lt. Commander Hrothgar Tebrey.

  Brother? came a desperate thought.

  Hunter? Tebrey was having trouble thinking. His head hurt. Where am I? He couldn't see anything. He blinked in confusion. Most of his suit's systems were on standby. He triggered the reboot sequence, and the visual display reactivated in his helmet, but it still showed nothing.

  You're buried under a pile of rocks, Hunter replied, relieved to hear Tebrey again. It had been an hour since the explosion. Tebrey's unconscious thoughts had been very faint, but now they were strengthening.

  Tebrey realized that he had arms and legs then, and pushed with all of the strength of his armored suit. Rocks slid away from him, and he stood, shaky, and looked around. He was dizzy and weak. His back hurt, and his head felt like he'd had a few too many drinks while enjoying shore leave and had forgotten to detox. The telltales from his medical suite were flashing red in dozens of places, so he banished the display again. It didn't matter what condition his body was in; he had to get moving.

  The yellow primary sun was just clearing the horizon, drowning out the faint glow of the smaller companion star. The visual display in his helmet switched from low-light simulated to actual view. The planet had more the appearance of a barren moon than that of a terrestrial world. The dirt was a coarse, cindery powder, and large tumbled stones were strewn all the way to the horizon. There was no sign of the other marines.

  Were there any other survivors? he thought to his companion.

  No, Hunter replied. They were all caught in the open by the explosion. Their suits weren't as good as yours. I was sheltered by the rocks.

  Damn. He'd promised Sergeant Duncan he'd take of them; one more broken promise. Any contact with the Centaur?

  No.

  What do you think of our chances?

  Honestly? I think we're dead this time, said Hunter. If I were as paranoid as you, I'd think somebody wanted it this way when they gave us this assignment.

  Tebrey snorted and settled back against a large boulder while he scanned through the tactical displays in his helmet. Admiral Meleeka may be a pain in the ass, Hunter, but she isn't working for the enemy. If this is enemy action, then she was fed false information and acted on that. I have faith in her. I don't think she will leave us here, either.

  I hope not, Hunter said. But even if we get off this rock, the Centaur isn't going anywhere, not with that damage.

  I know. Let's worry about that later.

  The low rumble of the remaining enemy atmospheric craft could be heard in the distance, getting closer.

  I've got two planes, incoming. You'd think they would've given up, or at least learned their lesson by now, Tebrey thought. They must have detected my suit's energy signature as soon as I rebooted it.

  Hunter glanced at him from the lee side of the boulder. They tried to get me earlier, while you were out. I think they really don't like us. Maybe they know we downloaded the information from their computers; must be important. Same drill as before?

  Yeah, Tebrey thought back. Take off running, and I'll hit them as they go over. He shut down all the non-essential functions on his suit to dampen his energy signature. It should work until they retuned. Hopefully.

  You steady enough for that?

  Do we have a choice? Are you going to shoot them down?

  Good point.

  As the rumbles got louder, Hunter leapt to the top of the boulder, the metal plating on his spacesuit striking sparks from where he landed. The giant cat waited a moment to make sure he'd been seen and then raced to the south, toward the original retrieval point.

  Tebrey checked the gauges on his cartridge plasma rifle. He was on his last clip; with only sixteen shots left, he would have to make each one count.

  As the planes screamed by overhead, he activated his systems, stepped out of cover, took careful aim, and then opened fire. Bolts of superheated atmosphere blasted out of the rifle and struck the first plane. It punched a hole into the fuel compartment, causing the entire craft to explode in an incredibly bright incandescent fireball. The last plane was almost out of line of sight, and he only clippe
d it. The aircraft went down directly to the south. Tebrey waited a moment for the explosion, but it didn't come.

  Hunter?

  It came down about six hundred meters ahead of me. It's relatively intact. Good pilot. It will almost be a shame to kill him.

  Any chance we can take the plane and head south with it?

  I said relatively intact, Hunter replied. As in, it didn't blow up when it hit, but it's on fire and doesn't look to be in any better condition than our shuttle was.

  I'd better kill the pilot anyway.

  Why bother? Hunter asked.

  Think of it as a mercy, Tebrey thought. It's not like there's anyone around to rescue him in this forsaken landscape.

  True, thought Hunter. You want me to wait for you?

  Yes, I do. I'll be there soon.

  Tebrey jumped from rock to rock to save time. His head and back still hurt badly, but he was steady enough with support from the drugs in his suit's medical suite. He was more visible on the rocks, but he didn't have anything on his sensors, so he wasn't too worried. He saw the smoke from the crash as he got closer.

  Anyone moving? he asked.

  No. Hunter was just barely visible to Tebrey. They came down too hard. There's somebody alive in there, though. I can sense her pain. We could just go on by. As you said, she'll be dead soon anyway.

  Getting tired of killing, old friend? Tebrey asked.

  Yes.

  So am I, but you never leave an enemy behind you. Besides, leaving someone pinned in a burning plane isn't nice. That isn't a good way to die.

  Hunter didn't reply, but Tebrey sensed his sigh of acceptance.

  The twisted wreckage of the plane was close now. Tebrey slung his rifle and drew his antimatter pistol. It was actually much more lethal than the rifle, just shorter-ranged. The blasts it fired would put holes in nearly anything. One powered jump landed him crouching next to the battered fuselage.