Renegades (Expeditionary Force Book 7)

by Craig Alanson

  Soooo, I thought as I rubbed my chin. “The proposed operation to breach the control center is flat-out impossible, Skippy.”

  “That’s what I told Smythe, but- Wait. You’re the one who is supposed to figure out how to make the impossible possible. Joe, I am very disappointed-”

  “Not this time. This time, I need to make the impossible unnecessary.”

  “Um, maybe I’m missing something here?”

  “You always do, Mister Magnificent. The Bosphuraq in the control center will become suspicious when Smythe’s team enters the control center, and the self-destruct fails, and the battlestations in orbit then fail to fire on the moon?”

  “Correct,” Skippy agreed slowly. “Still don’t see how that helps us.”

  “It will help if the Bosphuraq have no reason to launch the signal rockets.”

  “Ohhh-kaaaay. Still not following you. Perhaps you do not understand the-”

  “The point of signal rockets is to call for help after the battlestations fail to follow protocol and fire on the moonbase, right? What if there was another reason why the battlestations did not act?”

  “Oh for- if you are going to suggest the battlestation crews are too busy trying to finish that crossword puzzle, I swear-”

  “No joke, Skippy. Look, you are showing the battlestations false images and messages from a boring, ordinary, nothing special day at the moonbase, right?”

  “Um yeah, it is such a day of routine boredom that I call it ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day On’, get it? Hee hee.”

  “Truly hilarious,” I rolled my eyes. “You are also showing the command crew of the moonbase true images of a peaceful day aboard both battlestations?”

  “Yup, that makes it easier for me, I only have to fake the message traffic. Why do you ask?” His voice carried that tone of intrigue that meant he was dying to know what I was thinking.

  “Because I want you to show the moonbase images of a rotten, awful, no-good day aboard those battlestations. Show the moonbase images and feed them messages that both battlestations, and you better include the research base on the planet, have all been infiltrated and are under attack. That is why the battlestations are not firing on the moonbase, because they can’t. And there is no point sending up signal rockets, nobody on the battlestations or the planet can help the moonbase, they have too many problems of their own.”

  “Ooooooh, that is devious even for you. I like it!”

  “Uh, wait.” I felt a familiar chill, the type that meant I had forgotten something important. It was the kind of feeling you get when you toss a jacket in your car trunk, close the trunk and realize your car keys are in the jacket. And your phone is in the jacket. And you’re far from home and it is getting dark.

  That has never happened to me, but it happened to a guy I know, who just looks like me.

  Anyway, a thought hit me too late. “Um, Skippy? Does Smythe have to continue this op at all? If you can fake data that makes the moonbase think the two battlestations and the research base have been compromised, will the command crew of the moonbase hit the other three places for us, without Smythe doing anything more?” Shit, had I put Smythe’s team at risk for nothing, because my brain was too freakin’ slow?

  “Good question, Joe, the answer is no. Remember, the entire purpose of the moonbase is to protect the research station on the surface, that is why the research station was positioned directly below the moon’s geosynchronous orbit. The moonbase does not have orders to fire on the planet, nor does it have orders to fire on the battlestations, because the battlestations are not in line-of-sight of the research base. The moonbase is a threat to the research station but the battlestations are not.”

  “Crap. Damn it, then we do need to continue this operation. Oh, hell, it was worth a shot, right?”

  “Joe, I have learned from painful experience not to dismiss any of your stupid questions, because they are part of whatever bizarre and lunatic thought process you use.”

  “You call my questions stupid all the time!”

  “I never said your questions weren’t stupid, you dumdum, just that the mush in your skull somehow finds asking stupid questions to be useful. Hey, while I would simply love to continue berating you, Colonel Smythe is approaching the control center and he needs to know whether to proceed with the assault. While we have been talking, he has been asking me for advice on how to take out the command crew before they can launch the signal rockets.”

  “Good point.”

  Poole held up a hand as Frey and Smythe approached. “Sir, if we’re going to breach that blast door with explosives, we need to hold here,” she warned.

  Smythe trotted up to Poole, examining her dented and scorched armor. Her suit reported success in repairing most of its functioning, but it could not take much more damage without a reduction in combat effectiveness. About the woman inside the suit, Smythe had only vague medical data and he had to trust that she would tell him if she couldn’t do her job. “No need for explosives, Skippy can open the door for us. Captain Rowe,” he called the former Delta Team leader, “what is your status?”

  Smythe could hear weapons fire in the background as Rowe replied. “We’re still engaged. Nothing is going to fly out of here-” his words were interrupted by something big exploding. “Sorry, Sir, there is still one enemy killbot active, it’s taking potshots at us from behind a baffle, and we can’t get a clear shot at the damned thing. Our combot is able to use its weapons but it is damaged and can’t move,” he knew Smythe could see that unit’s diagnostic report. “I estimate we’re facing eight to ten enemy, at least two of them have armor.”

  Smythe pursed his lips. He had been hoping Rowe’s team could be disengaged from the hangar area to help with the assault on the control center, but he could not risk allowing the Bosphuraq at the hangars to have freedom of action. Even with their spacecraft disabled by the Delta team, the birdbrains might be able to launch a missile above the stealth field, and if that happened it would not matter whether the control center was taken successfully or not. “Very well, Rowe, continue to engage. Keep the enemy away from anything they could use to send a signal above the stealth field, do not risk clearing the area room by room.”

  “Understood,” Rowe acknowledged and the signal cut off.

  Smythe looked at the four people with him. “Right, then, the five of us will have to do this by ourselves. Poole, we have a sticky situation, the Bosphuraq in the control center have signal rockets they can launch above the stealth field, we need somehow to get to them, to all of them, before any of them can launch a rocket.”

  “Uh, hey, Smythe,” Colonel Bishop broke into the conversation. “That will not be a problem.”

  Smythe looked at Poole in astonishment before he replied. “Sir? Why not?”

  “Hmmf,” Skippy sniffed. “The ‘why not’ is because Mr. Buzzkill Joe is being a dick and doesn’t want you to have any fun.”

  “Sir,” Smythe addressed his commanding officer, “I am completely fine with postponing any sort of fun until we return to the ship. What is your plan?”

  Bishop explained, and Smythe shook his head once again in wonderment at the cleverness of their commanding officer. “The birdbrains down here have no reason to think launching signal rockets will do them any good. That is bloody brilliant, Sir.”

  “Thank you. Skippy is giving the Bosphuraq in the command center a good show-”

  “Oh yeah I am!” The beer can announced excitedly. “That show has thrills, chills, something for the whole family. It’s missing a car chase and it’s a little thin on romantic subplots, but I’m doing the best I can under the circumstances. What matters to you is the Bosphuraq in the command center now think they are on their own for the moment, the battlestations and the research base are dealing with their own problems. What I am showing them matches what the moonbase crew saw before I took control of internal sensors, all four facilities are under attack by Kristang assisted by Thuranin combots. Um, tell me when you’re ready
, so I can open the blast door for you.”

  “Wait,” Smythe held up a finger though Bishop was likely not watching. “We are still taking a small risk that some frightened Bosphuraq doesn’t panic during our assault and launch a signal rocket regardless, because that is what he was bloody trained to do.”

  “Crap!” Bishop groaned. “You’re right, you’re right. Damn it, I was proud of that plan. Pride goeth before a fall, I guess?”

  “Not necessarily, Sir,” Smythe assured him. “It would be good to reduce the risk somewhat. Skippy, this is the only blast door you can open?”

  “Unfortunately, yes,” the beer can confirmed. “The others are all physically locked. This one has the locking pins held just outside the slots they retract into, I am able to do that with a magnetic field I am creating by siphoning power from a conduit near the door. By the way, my hold on those pins is slipping, and a couple Bospuraq have gotten curious about why it looks like the pins are not fully seated but the door sensors show it is securely locked. So, whatever you’re going to do, do it fast.”

  “Got it,” Bishop let out a long breath too close to his microphone, making Smythe flinch at the roaring sound. “I also got an idea. Do not correct my grammar, we don’t have time!” He warned the snippy AI. “What data have you been showing the birdbrains in the control center?”

  “None, why?” Skippy was annoyed. “You told me to keep them blind so they couldn’t direct the defense against the STAR team.”

  “Good. So, the birdbrains in there have no idea what is going on outside the blast doors? They don’t have communications with the defenders?”

  “Nope, I cut off their comms like, a microsecond after I took over their AI, just like you told me. I shouldn’t have to explain this to you, Joe.”

  “I appreciate the update. Colonel Smythe, one thing I have learned is that if you control the enemy’s communications, you can control their actions. Skippy, I want the birdbrains in there to think their defenders won, that the assault team is dead.”

  “Um,” Skippy paused, puzzled. “Why?”

  “Because I also want you to fake calls from the security team leader, stating that they captured one invader alive, and he or she wants to bring the prisoner into the control center for interrogation by the base commander.”

  “What good would that do?” Skippy still didn’t get it. “They will know the truth as soon as I open that door.”

  “Because,” Smythe had caught onto Bishop’s idea. “There will not be only one door opening. Am I right, Sir? You want this fake security team chap to request another blast door to be opened, not just this door in front of us.”

  “Correct, Smythe,” Bishop sounded happy that the STAR team leader understood the concept. “The Bosphuraq in there will manually release the locking pins, then Skippy can force the door to open quickly. With two doors open, your team can overwhelm the control center. Skippy, can you modify the actual video, to make it show an intense firefight but all the assault team gets killed, except one prisoner? Oh, and make it look like the assault team had some sort of fancy gizmo that scrambled comms, and the defenders just turned off the gizmo so they can talk to the control center.”

  “Ooh,” Skippy was bubbly with enthusiasm. “Ok, I can do that, I am creating the fake video and sensor data now. Hey, what if I did something cool like add a couple Easter eggs in the video, like, hee hee, I show that all the dead Bosphuraq are wearing red shirts? Get it?”

  “Do not do that, you moron!” Bishop shouted. “No freakin’ Easter eggs!”

  “All right, all right, no red shirts. You never let me have any fun. Video is ready- wait. Uh, now it’s ready. I had to delete a really nifty image showing that the assault team arrived through a Stargate in the crawler garage. Did I forget anything else? Crap, give me a minute here.”

  “Colonel Smythe,” Bishop said, “up here I am pretending that I am choking a certain beer can, so you don’t have to.”

  “Ok, done!” Skippy was again triumphant. “All the Easter eggs have been removed, even the really cool one that showed the assault team was armed with Ghostbusters-style proton packs. Can I release the video now?”

  “Not yet,” Smythe held up a hand. “I would prefer you request them to open,” he reviewed a schematic of the control center. “This door. Poole, take your team there now, call when you are in position.”

  Poole and her team raced off without asking questions, they knew what Smythe wanted. Less than half a minute later, she called. “In position, Sir. No sign of opposition.”

  “Now can I release the video?” Skippy pleaded.

  “Please do,” Smythe agreed with a glance at the mission clock. They were way behind schedule.

  Poole tensed as Skippy reported the inner locking mechanism was being retracted, less than two minutes after he showed the fake video. “That was fast,” she muttered to herself, but Skippy heard her.

  “Yup. The moonbase commander is very ambitious and wants a promotion, he knows that allowing his base to be invaded is not good for his future career prospects. He hopes that capturing and interrogating a prisoner will help the battlestations and the research base fight off their own attackers, remember that is what the birdbrains in the control center think is happening.”

  “I remember,” she whispered, irritated that the beer can wanted to chat when she needed to focus.

  “Sadly, the moonbase commander is unlikely to see his prospects improved by-”

  “Can you shut up, please?”

  “Fine. Locking pins are fully retracted. I will force the door open in three, two, one, now!”

  It was a slaughter. The personnel in the control center had all gotten into pressure suits and acquired weapons from a locker, with three of the suits being powered armor, so the STAR team was not facing easy targets. Smythe’s team did have the advantage of surprise and the advantage of enemy foolishness; the Bosphuraq in the control center were celebrating their apparent victory over the unknown attackers and all but one of them had lifted their helmet faceplates or even removed their helmets entirely. Two of the birdbrains equipped with powered armor had taken off their helmets in a show of bravado, one of them even set the helmet down on a table out of arm’s reach. Smythe thought his team’s surprise entry to the control center would have been a valuable learning moment for the enemy if it had been a training exercise. As it was, few of the Bosphuraq lived long enough for their brains to store their language’s version of OH SHIT in short-term memory before those memory cells were splattered all over a wall or console.

  Poole, Roark and Burke concentrated their fire on the only enemy equipped with a full set of powered armor, and there they used their third advantage; their rockets had been fed targeting coordinates from Skippy before the door opened. Those coordinates changed rapidly as the enemy reacted to the danger and Skippy reacted faster, feeding updated targeting data to armor-piercing rockets fired by Poole’s team. All three rockets hit within a microsecond of each other, two impacting center-mass in the enemy’s chest and the other striking the neck area, cleaving the unlucky Bosphuraq’s head off to ricochet off the ceiling where the helmet left a big dent and long smear of blood.

  “Clear! Cease fire!” Smythe ordered as he and Frey took out the last of the enemy on their side of the command center. He did not want any stray fire to damage a console they needed for the next phase of the operation. “Skippy, what are we to do next?”

  “First, you are to accept my sincere congratulations and admiration for yet another amazingly successful operation against impossible odds. You can save your own lavish praise for me until you are back aboard the Dutchman. Next, here’s what to do-”

  The instructions were fairly simple, complicated only because the moonbase’s main weapons required an anachronistic set of physical keys to authorize use. Searching the dead Bosphuraq yielded only two of the three needed keys. After a brief panic, Frey located the safe where the third set of keys was reported to be stored, and simply used her pow
ered suit to rip the safe out of the wall, then she and Burke tore it open to find the precious keys inside.

  “Skippy,” Smythe called as he, Poole and Frey simultaneously turned their keys. “Weapons are authorized. You need to hit all three targets before any of them can react to the attack.”

  “Yup, no problemo. The battlestations do not have energy shields active, so I could use only single-reactor ignition on them, but what would be the fun of that? The research base on the surface always maintains one layer of shielding, however as the maser cannons of this base were designed to punch through the shields of a Jeraptha battleship in one volley, that research base will get crispy real quick. For all targets, I am programming masers first, followed quickly by railgun darts. Then missiles because, hey, why not? It’s not like we’re saving them for a rainy day. Truthfully, by the time the missiles get to the research base, I think all they will do is bounce the rubble around. Unless we get lucky and hit far enough down where the Bosphuraq are storing atomic-compression devices. Oooh, I would love to see that, it would be a massive secondary explosion. Ok, ready. Colonel Smythe, press the bright blue button on the console to your left, if you don’t mind.”

  Jeremy Smythe did not at all mind pressing the bright blue button. First, the stealth field surrounding the base flickered off, so its effect would not distort or deflect the outgoing maser beams. Next, the truly giant maser cannons fired within microseconds of each other, two cannons targeted at each orbiting battlestation and the remaining five cannons firing on the research base directly below, or from the moonbase’s point of view, directly overhead. After the maser cannons fired their pulses, darts leaped from railguns installed deep beneath the surface. Launch tube doors, which had been jammed shut by a beer can during the STAR team’s assault, opened and a flock of missiles soared upward, seeking their targets.

  In the case of the battlestations, the missiles needed to turn on their active sensors to seek targets, because those formerly powerful battlestations were in shattered pieces by the time the tardy missiles showed up for the party. Coordinating with each other, the clusters of missiles chose targets, their electronic brains arguing because there were more missiles in flight than worthy targets available. The only target worth hitting was a single dropship that was carrying an engineering team, sent to investigate the power surge at the moonbase. The pilots of that dropship, immediately understanding that going to the moonbase would be a very bad idea, cut power and engaged stealth. The sophisticated Bosphuraq stealth field would have provided excellent concealment, except that the cloud of missiles had nothing else to do and focused their efforts on competing to be first to locate and kill that single, pesky dropship. The task of finding the stealthed dropship was made much easier, because the dropship had to maneuver radically to avoid being struck by debris from the destroyed battlestations. Within less than a minute, two missiles impacted the dropship less than a microsecond apart, and the other disappointed missiles were left to mope around in cruise mode looking for targets.