Wings of Redemption (The Terra Nova Chronicles Book 3)

by Richard Fox

  “Which means our suspect used his five-finger discount. Pretty risky move on his part.”

  “Why’s it got to be a man?”

  Knight rolled his eyes. “He, she, shim. Whoever. Regardless, this stuff has to be inventoried, right? They’re ordered and made in batches, cases are numbered, everything’s tracked. So you either boost it during production, wait until it’s packed and ready to ship, or when it gets to its destination.”

  “The armory is probably the least likely of the three. Too many eyes and compliance checks.”

  “Agreed.”

  “So it’s either in transit or production.”

  Knight shook his head. “During transit’s going to be tricky too. You’ve got to deal with tampering with the records and shipping receipts. You leave the foundry with five thousand rounds, but the armory receives only forty-five hundred, people start to ask questions.”

  “Most likely a foundry worker, then.”

  “That’d be my guess.” Knight moved over to a flat-panel display on the wall. He tapped the screen, waking it up, and pointed to two buildings outlined in yellow. “These are the printers online for the last batch of militia ammo. I’ve already downloaded the personnel rosters for each and have the computer chewing through possible candidates.”

  “How much ammunition did they print?”

  “Records say a little over two hundred thousand rounds, but who knows if those printing records have been doctored or not. I haven’t contacted any of the factory managers yet, but we’ll need to get a look at their orders.”

  “Hold off for now. If someone’s taking rounds off the production line, we don’t want to tip them off by asking too many questions. If we spook them, we might never catch them.”

  “Doesn’t it feel weird?”

  “What’s that?”

  “You know, working for the good guys for a change.”

  Martel sniffed and tossed the bullet fragment back. “There aren’t any bad guys or good guys, Eric. You know that. There’s dead and there’s alive.”

  Chapter 9

  Carson’s head throbbed. She grimaced, regretting her decision to turn down Moretti’s painkillers. Her HUD flickered slightly as she stepped over another exposed tree root, her hand on the charcoal-colored trunk. She paused, closing her eyes, trying to will the headache away.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “Carson?” Jena asked.

  “I’m fine.” Carson forced a pained smile.

  Jena hesitated, the Zeis woman’s expression making it clear she didn’t believe her. Carson nodded at a cluster of waist-high flowers. Sprouting from the end of each green stem were lavender pods, the size of two hands cupped together, covered in tiny spikes. Every few seconds, the purple hands would open, then close again, making no noise.

  “Reminds me of a Venus flytrap,” Carson said. At the Zeis’s confused expression, Carson explained, “A plant from our homeworld.”

  Jena nodded. “Triascus Grangier. Very poisonous. They feed on the pica lizards that live in the trees. I wouldn’t touch them. They’ve been known to put full-grown adults into comas for weeks.”

  Benit stopped on the other side of the plant, frowning. “Didn’t take you for a botanist.”

  “The Pathfinder Corps was originally established to be explorers—scouts, if you will. Contacting new races, cataloging worlds, relearning everything the Xaros spent centuries erasing.”

  Watching the flytrap close, Carson thought, I wonder if we’ll ever get back to that.

  The IR speaker in Carson’s helmet buzzed and Popov said, “Got another pylon in sight, Chief.”

  “Roger that,” Carson replied. “Let’s get it secured.”

  “Sent…est…one, ov…” Nunez’s transmission was garbled, static popping between every word.

  “You’re too far out, Moretti. Bring it in a bit,” West said. “These trees are playing hell with our comms, Chief.”

  “Bring it in, Nunez. Keep line of sight,” Carson ordered. She turned to Jena. “Another pylon. You think this could be the one we’re looking for?”

  “I won’t know that until I see it. But I can say—”

  “Heads up, I think I’ve got some movement to the north.” Jerry’s voice through the IR interrupted her.

  Carson held up a hand. “We’ve got incoming.”

  “Eyes up,” West said.

  “What’s wrong?” Jena asked, bringing her rifle up.

  “Hostiles approaching,” Carson explained, moving past the nasty-looking flower and heading up the hill for a better look. “Hale, what do you see?”

  “Five to seven military-age figures, approaching from the north. They’re armed and they’re definitely looking for something, Chief.”

  “Looks like we found our attackers,” Carson told Jena.

  ****

  Jerry exhaled a long, smooth breath through his nose like West had shown him, trying to slow his breathing and heart rate. With both eyes open, he peered through his gauss carbine’s optic, the red-dot reticle wobbling over what he thought was one of the enemy figures. It was nothing more than a shadow moving among the trees, but Jerry knew what he’d seen. The range designator in the top-right corner told him his target was three hundred meters away. He was in range, but the trees and brush in between made the shot impossible.

  During the flight to Yalara, the Pathfinders had run the Hale boy through an abbreviated Pathfinder familiarization course—eight days of movement drills, close-quarters combat and firing mechanics. The training had been brutal—well, as brutal as it could be onboard a starship. West kept reminding him that when they made it back to Terra Nova, the real training would begin, promising to run the boy through a full Pathfinder Qualification Course.

  He’d taken a knee behind a fallen tree, using its charcoal-colored trunk as both cover and shooting platform like Birch had shown him.

  “The more stable your weapon, the better your shot,” the senior Pathfinder had told him.

  Jerry, Nunez, and Popov had found themselves on top of a tree-covered hill, overlooking a long, narrow valley. To his left, a thick row of trees and bushes hid a rocky cliff at the edge of a canyon that cut through the jungle for kilometers in each direction. At the bottom of the canyon, a wide, fast-flowing river roared, though this far up, the sound was little more than a whisper.

  Despite focusing on his breathing, blood pounded in Jerry’s ears.

  Popov knelt down beside him. “What do you got?” Without using their IR channel, her voice was slightly muted through the helmets.

  Jerry pointed. “Eleven o’clock, three hundred meters out.”

  Popov scanned in the indicated direction but shook her head. “I don’t see anything.”

  “They’re out there,” Jerry promised.

  “Drones up,” Birch said.

  Three tiny triangles appeared on Jerry’s HUD, marking the drones. They flickered as they spread out, their connection spotty. He held his breath for several seconds and thought he could hear them buzzing as they passed overhead.

  “Looks like ten hostiles,” Birch said. “Everyone getting telemetry?”

  “Targeting’s spotty,” Nunez said.

  “Don’t forget,” Popov said. “Stay low, watch your footing. Tripping on a loose branch or a root would really ruin your day.”

  Jerry nodded.

  “Jena, Benit and I are moving up,” Carson said. “Jerry, Popov, Nunez, you handle alibis, got it?”

  Popov answered before Jerry could. “Roger that.” Then to Jerry, she said, “We’ve got clean-up duty.”

  Jerry frowned.

  “When they start to retreat, we move in and cut them off.”

  “Gotcha,” Jerry said, returning his attention to his gauss carbine’s optic. His pulse quickened when he realized his target had disappeared. He panned across the landscape, looking for targets. “They’re gone. No, wait. There.”

  A group of shadows off to the left moved between large trees, keeping low
, weapons up, searching.

  Control your breathing, he told himself.

  “Alright, people,” Carson said, “clear shots, don’t put yourself into a bad spot, stay behind cover. Make the enemy come to you.”

  “Just don’t shoot one of us, OK?” Popov asked. “Finger off the trigger until you’re ready to kill.”

  “Got it,” Jerry said, rubbing the pad of his index finger against the smooth alloy of the receiver just above the trigger.

  “Moving,” Carson said.

  Jerry lined up the reticle of his optical sight on one of the Zeis, the reticle dancing a figure-eight across the figure. He blew out a long breath, trying to slow his heart rate and control the bouncing sight. He had to focus on keeping his finger from sliding down onto the trigger.

  “Easy,” Popov said under her breath. “You don’t want to—”

  A lone shot tore through the silence, echoing through the trees. Jerry flinched, looking up from his sights, trying to see where the shot had come from. Another shot rang out, then another. Then chaos fell over the jungle.

  “Contact!” Carson shouted, her voice slightly distorting over the IR.

  “Engaging,” West said.

  Three figures moved through the trees, backing away from the Pathfinders’ attack, bursts of orange light flashing through the leaves and branches. They were moving from left to right, across Jerry’s field of fire.

  “Wait for a clear—” Popov started.

  Jerry squeezed the trigger. The gauss carbine spit out three solid tungsten rounds, the electromagnetic firing system reducing the weapon’s recoil to virtually nothing. The bullets tore through the jungle, shredding leaves and chewing through tree bark, but missing his intended target.

  “Shit!” He adjusted his grip and fired again. Missed again.

  “Control your shots,” Popov barked, making her way around a cluster of trees, obviously looking for a better shot. A second later, he heard the psst psst psst of her carbine. “One down.”

  The two remaining warriors ducked for cover, disappearing behind separate trees only to peer out from behind them and return fire. Bullets zipped past Jerry’s helmet, smacking into the tree behind him, sending chunks of bark spraying. As bits of wood rained down, he dropped to the ground and crawled to his left, getting away from the incoming fire.

  “Contact right!” Nunez shouted through the IR. “Engaging!”

  “Jerry,” Popov said. “Stay down!”

  Jerry pulled himself around the base of the tree, almost rolling into Popov in the process.

  “Watch it!”

  “Sorry.” He got to a knee, bringing his rifle up as Popov continued to fire. He looked right and saw Nunez ducking back and under fire.

  “Target down!” West said over IR.

  “I have two more to the north,” Moretti said.

  Another barrage of bullets zipped through the air around Popov and Jerry, shredding bark and leaves, snapping branches.

  “Frag!” Nunez shouted over the IR. “Popov! Down!”

  “MOVE!” Popov shoved Jerry to the side, sending him tumbling over an exposed tree root.

  He landed on his shoulder and summersaulted down the hill, dropping his rifle, slapping his hands against the ground, searching for purchase. He bounced for several meters before slowing to a stop. Pushing himself to his knees, he turned, searching for his rifle.

  “Where’s my—”

  The explosion ripped apart the base of the tree, and the blast wave hit Jerry square in the chest, knocking him back. The back of his helmet smacked against another tree, sending stars across his vision. He rolled to his hands and knees, squeezing his eyes hard, trying to clear his head. He couldn’t hear anything over the constant ringing in his ears.

  Hands wrapped around his arms and he heard a distant voice. “Get up! Hale, let’s go! We gotta move!”

  “Wha…”

  Before he understood completely, Popov had yanked him to his feet and was pulling him down the hill.

  We’re going the wrong way, Jerry thought as his head cleared. My gun!

  Another explosion ripped through the air on the other side of the hill.

  “Wait!” Jerry shouted, pulling against Popov’s iron grip. “My rifle.”

  “Here.” Popov released her hold on him and his gauss carbine appeared. She moved behind a pair of charcoal trees, bringing her own rifle up and firing.

  As Jerry moved to her side, he saw Nunez crouching behind a fallen tree several meters away, changing magazines. The Pathfinder met his eyes after he’d finished the procedure and smiled through his visor.

  “What’s so—” He stopped short as something appeared in his periphery. One of the Zeis attackers was moving down the hill, not ten meters from Nunez, but from where the Pathfinder was positioned, he couldn’t see the alien approaching.

  The shot wasn’t great—the Zeis kept behind several trees, moving in a crouch—but Jerry fired a burst and missed, his tungsten rounds stitching into one of the trees, spraying bark. The Zeis ducked, running forward.

  “Nunez!” Jerry shouted. “Look out!”

  Nunez turned as the Zeis emerged from behind a group of charcoal trees, the alien’s rifle already up. The Pathfinder brought his rifle up and Jerry mimicked his movements with his own rifle, knowing somewhere in his mind that they were both behind the curve.

  Suddenly, in a flash of yellow and green, something burst through a cluster of tall, fern-like bushes. The Zeis lurched forward, eyes bulging as a pair of enormous jaws closed around his waist. Two massive furry paws wrapped around the warrior, one around his legs, the other around his chest, as its eight-inch claws tore through clothes, armor, and flesh. The Zeis let out a bloodcurdling scream, which abruptly cut off as the beast slammed him face-first into the ground.

  “Holy shit!” Jerry yelled, frozen in place.

  Its frame covered in green- and yellow-striped fur, the beast resembled a large predator cat from Earth. It had two sets of forepaws, sprouting from a double shoulder where thin black spikes protruded in various directions. Its long green tail swiped back and forth as it ripped and pulled at the Zeis.

  Nunez scrambled to his feet, backing away from the terrible sight.

  “Nunez!” Popov shouted. “Get back!”

  The cat shook its head, ripping flesh. It looked up, eyes locking on the Pathfinder, the yellow and green fur around its mouth dripping red. At the sight of the Pathfinder, the beast roared, dropping whatever it’d been chewing.

  “Nunez!” Jerry lifted his rifle and fired.

  The beast jerked back as if the bullets were no more than an irritating bug. It roared again. Nunez turned and ran.

  “RUN!” Nunez yelled.

  Jerry fired again, but this time, he didn’t wait to see the beast’s reaction as he turned and ran.

  “Holy shit,” Popov shouted, falling in beside Jerry. “What the hell is that thing?”

  He looked over his shoulder. The cat appeared to have forgotten all about Nunez and was now charging straight for him and Popov. “Just run! Run! Run! Run!”

  The beast covered half the ground between them in two bounds, jumping off trees and rocks, as agile as any cat Jerry’d ever seen. It came down hard on a moss-covered boulder and paused to let out a gut-turning roar. Its maw opened wide, revealing double rows of razor-sharp teeth, each one longer than Jerry’s hand.

  Still running, Jerry’s boot caught something and he shouted in pain as his foot twisted, sending him sprawling forward. He managed to get a knee and both hands under him before slamming into the ground. The beast roared again and images of being torn apart flashed in Jerry’s mind.

  “Hey!” Nunez’s voice rang in Jerry’s helmet. “Over here, you big, furry bastard!”

  Jerry pulled at his boot, kicking at the branch it was caught on. “Come on! Come on!”

  The beast jerked to the side, stepping down off the boulder, its head swinging toward Nunez with an angry, ear-piercing roar.

  Popov�
�s hands wrapped under Jerry’s arms, pulling. “Get up!”

  “I’m stuck! Boot’s caught!”

  The beast turned back, facing Jerry and Popov and growling. It took several careful steps toward them then jerked again.

  “No! Here! HERE!” Nunez screamed.

  “Nunez?” Carson asked over IR.

  Popov slammed her boot down on the branch, snapping it. Jerry pulled his foot free as Popov pulled him upright.

  “Let’s go!” she yelled.

  The beast roared, climbing to the top of the boulder again, twitching under Nunez’s fire.

  “Oh, shit,” Nunez said, his voice wavering.

  “Come on!” Jerry yelled.

  “Nunez, Popov,” Carson said. “Report!”

  Nunez stopped firing and took off at a sprint, running down the hill. Popov pulled on Jerry’s arm, heading down. “Move it!”

  Popov and Jerry paralleled Nunez down the hill, jumping over rocks and weaving through trees. Ahead, the thick row of foliage lined the ravine they’d seen on the way here.

  We’re running out of room to run, Jerry thought, looking over his shoulder.

  The beast tore through the jungle after Nunez, knocking over trees and ripping through underbrush. Nunez had a good head start, but the cat-like creature was fast. Faster than seemed possible.

  “We’ve got to help him!” Jerry said, slowing. Before Popov could tell him different, he brought his rifle around, found the cat in his optics and fired.

  His first shots missed, but he quickly corrected, getting on target and connecting with several rounds. The beast roared, whipping its head around, looking for the source of the attack. It found Jerry.

  Ahead of the cat, Nunez dropped into a hole under a thick tangle of exposed roots, disappearing from sight. The beast turned its attention back to the Pathfinder, claws ripping, fangs gnashing.

  “Hey!” Jerry yelled, firing again. The cat roared, either in frustration or pain—or both. Jerry didn’t know, nor did he care. His focus was on saving Nunez. “Get away!”

  His gauss carbine went dry with a click. He looked down at the empty weapon. “Crap.”