A Pale Dawn

by Chris Kennedy

  “What?”

  “Yeah, Peepo just offered Alexis Cromwell a ceasefire to negotiate a truce.”

  “Do you think it’s legitimate, or is she just stalling for time?”

  Laverno shrugged. “No idea, ma’am. Who knows with that Veetanho? She’s never doing what she seems, unless she is because she wants you to think she’s not. Trying to figure her out makes my head hurt. That’s what we have intel people for.”

  “And what do they think?”

  “They don’t know for sure.”

  It was Sansar’s turn to shrug. “In that case, we’ll continue on with the plans, as if hostilities were still underway, aside from actually shooting anyone, until we know more.”

  “Sounds good, ma’am.” He indicated the last of the mercs, who were just getting onboard the shuttle. “We’ll get these mercs fed and into some CASPers so they’re ready to fight.” He paused as another thought came to him. “Almost forgot to mention—you’re never going to guess who appeared a little while ago. Out of nowhere, Sinclair’s Scorpions just showed up on-planet. Apparently, the Merc Guild wiped out all their dependents—they’re ready to get into the fight and grab a little payback, too. Their suits don’t have any ammo so we’re going to loan them some of ours until we can get them resupplied.”

  “You’re going to take the Scorpions to Elmendorf along with the mercs we just liberated?”

  “Yes, ma’am. The CASPers we pre-positioned are still up there in the hangar. We also have a contingent at the Bjorn’s Berserkers hideout. Once we get the mercs you just recovered fed, we’ll link up with Scorpions, grab the CASPers at Elmendorf, and be ready to roll wherever we’re needed. We’ve got the transport to hit anywhere on the planet.”

  “Well, you better get on it, then,” Sansar said. “Some of those mercs probably need some medical attention. And clean clothes…they will definitely need those.”

  “We have all that onboard the shuttles, ma’am. We’ll get them patched up and into new uniforms. I even have contracts onboard to make them temporary employees of the Golden Horde, so everything is legitimate in case anyone asks afterward.”

  “I like your positivity,” Sansar said with a smile.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You say ‘afterward’ as if there was never any doubt that we’d win, and we would be around for an accounting.”

  Laverno smiled. “There was never any doubt. We’re the Golden Horde. How could we lose?” He saluted, turned, and ran up the ramp into the shuttle, already calling out orders. Within seconds, the ramp retracted, and the shuttles leapt into the air.

  Sansar watched as the shuttles quickly became specks and then disappeared completely, only to be replaced by two more dropships arriving and landing in the compound. She nodded once as she reflected on what her XO had said. For the first time in a long time, she finally felt like they could win. It would be nice if Peepo would recognize the obvious—that they were going to re-take Earth—and would work out some kind of settlement. But even if she didn’t capitulate, their victory was almost a foregone conclusion. The Horde would soon have three more companies’ worth of troops to aid in the assault on Houston, if needed, including the ones she had with her.

  “All right, everyone, into the dropships,” she said as the ramps came down. “I want to be in position in Houston if the ceasefire fails.”

  * * *

  Houston Starport, Houston, Texas

  Nigel hoped by staying high that he could reach the reinforcing Besquith troops before the aliens saw his forces. It didn’t happen as the aliens had an anti-aircraft vehicle as part of the group, and Nigel’s missile warning system began flashing red while they were still a half mile out. With a burst of flames that was easy to see, a missile lifted off from below, and—nearly as one—eighty pairs of eyes turned and looked up at them.

  “Troops with rockets—take out that damn anti-aircraft system now!” Nigel ordered as the missile blew up down the line of troopers, killing a member of Second Platoon.

  The antiaircraft gun on top of the vehicle came to life, spitting 30mm rounds, as a second missile lifted off. The vehicle was destroyed by return fire from three of Asbaran’s troopers, but not before a second member of Second Platoon was blasted from the sky.

  “We’re easy targets up here,” Nigel said as guns on the four APCs started rotating in their direction. “Everyone land!”

  Nigel dropped to the ground, followed by most of the company, and he raced toward the Besquith troopers. Most were still firing into the sky, and he shot one of the wolves before they realized he had landed. A rocket slammed into one of the APCs, and he checked his battlefield display. Several of his rocketeers had stayed airborne and were trading fire with the APCs. A second APC blew up as troopers poured from it. At the same time, another trooper’s icon went red.

  “Attack!” Nigel yelled. He would make their sacrifice worthwhile. His blade snapped down on his right arm, and he drew his pistol with his left as he raced forward, his troops at his side. He reached the Besquith troopers as the last APC exploded, followed quickly by the last rocketeer being blown from the sky, then he was into the enemy mercs and too busy to watch anything but the next Besquith trying to kill him.

  The Besquith were traveling in a column four-wide. Nigel triggered his jumpjets just as they hit the enemy formation, and he crashed down on the first alien in the left column and bowled over the next several before running out of momentum. Then he was up and in motion, the Mk 9 CASPer more fluid and responsive than any mech he’d ever piloted.

  A thrust through an armored chest, followed by a spin to pull the blade out, ended in a pistol shot to the face of the next opponent. A yellow light appeared on his monitor. He ignored it and shot the next Besquith. Red lights appeared. He ignored them, losing himself in his dance of death. The pistol went dry; he dropped it, and his left arm blade shot out.

  His right knee locked up, hindering him, so he compensated with bursts from his jumpjets, jumping forward to impale and backward to disengage, landing on his foes when he could. More red lights only caused him to fight more furiously.

  Motion to his side, and he swung his right blade, the left one having broken off at some point—he couldn’t remember when. A metallic figure off to one side swept away his blow with its arm blade. Dimly he recognized the CASPer as “friend” and spun away to attack the next Besquith. After a few seconds of spinning around and looking for the next target he saw there weren’t any, and he slowly came back to himself. He realized the voice in the back of his head he was ignoring wasn’t his conscience, but a voice talking to him.

  “Colonel Shirazi, sir!” First Sergeant Thomas Mason, his senior enlisted, yelled over the laser link. “It’s over!”

  Nigel blinked several times, then asked, “What?”

  “The attack,” Mason said. “Peepo and Alexis just called a ceasefire in place. We tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.” He pointed to the carnage surrounding Nigel. “Apparently you were too busy to notice? Or was it that you just didn’t want to stop?”

  “Where’s the—” Nigel had started to ask where the rest of the company was, but then he’d realized the mutilated and mangled wrecks of a company’s worth of CASPers—all the Mk 9s he had—were intermingled with the bodies of about three companies-worth of Besquith. He alone had survived. “Where’s the rest of our troops?”

  “They’re back at the hangar trying to dig in, so we’ll be ready in case the ceasefire collapses.” His voice changed, becoming softer. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” Nigel said. He felt…Is this what being ashamed felt like? If so, he didn’t like it. He remembered going into battle knowing the odds were against them, knowing he needed to keep the Besquith reinforcements from reaching the main body of his troops. He had stopped them…but at the cost of his entire company of troops and all of the new Mk 9 suits. There must have been a better way—something else he could have tried. He could have—no, he should have done better.
>
  “I…I lost myself,” Nigel added, realizing that’s where the feelings came from. People were counting on him to keep his head and make rational decisions, not to give in to some sort of berserker lust for battle. “I haven’t had that happen since I was a child…”

  “Is your suit okay?” Mason asked. “From out here, I have to say it looks like shit. I think your right leg is out, if nothing else. And you’re going to need a high-pressure hose to clean off the gore; it’s probably in all your joints.”

  Nigel focused on the icons on his display, intentionally ignoring the forty-two red icons denoting the troops laying all around him. The only weapon that wasn’t red was the right arm blade, and as he looked at it, he could see it was bent and had a number of nicks in it. His right leg had locked in maintenance mode, and his CASPer only had a few systems still in the green; most were yellow, and there were far more in the red than green. And he was out of jump juice.

  “This suit is pretty trashed,” he finally admitted. “I’m out of jump juice, too.”

  “Well, let’s see if we can reclaim one of the other ones here,” Mason said. “Doesn’t look like anyone in Alpha Company is going to need theirs anymore. Let’s get you into a new one and get back to the hangar while the peace holds. There are enemy mercs all around our position. The Horde is sending some folks, but we’ll have to manage until they get here.”

  * * *

  The Raknar Fist, São Paulo Starport, Brazil, Earth

  Jim lay suspended in the harness aboard his Raknar, shivering from the after-effects of Akee and being submerged in alien goo for hours. It didn’t usually feel like this, but, of course, he’d never spent time in Zha Akee participating in actual combat before. Like usual, his detailed memory was foggy on exactly what he’d done, and it forced him to use his pinplants to run back recordings.

  “Holy fucking hell,” he gasped as São Paulo’s starport tank farm went up in a non-nuclear—yet very convincing—mushroom cloud. How many civilians just died, he wondered. Over his shoulder on her customary perch, Splunk was munching a meat snack and talking. Jim was glad Alexis had managed the ceasefire.

  One of the most recent additions to the Raknar cockpit was a series of small Tri-Vs. The 3D projection displays were ubiquitous in CASPers; one created a virtual environment in front of the operator’s face in all models from Mk 5 through Mk 8 so the operator wasn’t in danger of catching a round through a viewport. The Mk 9 didn’t need it; they were operated entirely through pinplants. The Raknar operated via dozens of sensors that combined data and projected it into the driver’s brain, sort of like the pinplants in CASPers, only infinitely more detailed. During Akee, the driver didn’t feel like they were in the Raknar, they joined with their Fae and they were the Raknar.

  Jim moved over a few centimeters and saw Splunk talking with another Fae, or rather Dusman. It looked like Peanut, who was Ensign Fenn’s partner. He recalled seeing Splunk with Peanut a lot during the time since he’d returned from their trip, and that her friend was a male. He watched her mannerisms closer and for the first time saw more than friendship.

  Holy shit, he thought, he’s her boyfriend! A bittersweet smile crossed his face. Despite the betrayal, he missed the intimacy he’d had with Adayn. It had all been so good, before it became so bad. With an effort, he pulled his thoughts away.

  “Mays, you there?” he sent on the radio.

  “Yeah,” Mays replied, amidst a number of grunting and banging sounds.

  “Any luck with the repairs?”

  “Some,” he said. “These legs are surprisingly crowded for a 30-meter-tall machine. Aura is down in the housing trying to weld together a temporary fix.”

  Jim nodded. May’s Raknar was still operational for short jumps with one of its two thrusters out in that leg, though only just barely. The mecha were designed by the Dusman—that much was obvious—as many of the serviceways and access shafts only fit their tiny frames. The Human operators could help, though. Jim tried to imagine the Lumar wedging their huge bodies down there, and couldn’t. He guessed they would just stay in the torso, mostly.

  “Do the best you can,” Jim said, “but don’t take too long. This ceasefire might not last long once negotiations begin.”

  * * *

  EMS Pegasus, Hangar Deck, Geosynchronous Orbit, Earth, Sol System

  Alexis floated into the hangar and waited while her crew prepped a shuttle. During combat operations, the hangar was only used for drone launch, recovery, and rearming, and it had taken the flight ops team every minute available to get a shuttle ready. The deck officer floated over as soon as she and Paka entered from the lock.

  “Captain,” Ensign Lana Eastman said, “the shuttle is almost ready.”

  “Any problems?” Paka asked.

  “No, XO,” Ensign Eastman said. “The hangar deck reaction mass tanks are low from operations, so it took an extra minute to transfer some in from main tankage.”

  Alexis nodded and watched the hangar crew work. Four Humans, two elSha, and a Jeha worked together without concern for what species the others were. This was the dream of the earliest Winged Hussars commanders; she doubted it was Peepo’s dream. More than anything else, she hoped by talking to the Veetanho merc commander they might find out why this war was happening and how to stop it.

  Ensign Eastman waved to her then pointed at the shuttle before saluting—the shuttle was ready. Alexis returned the salute and, with her XO, floated across the hangar deck toward the craft. Paka entered first while Alexis looked at the crew, who were all watching her. Nobody said anything, though she knew what they were likely thinking: I hope she can pull this off. She hoped she could, too.

  Paka took the pilot station, Alexis the copilot. There were a dozen empty couches in the back as the shuttle was configured for passengers. As they went forward, Alexis noted a pair of survival bags stowed just behind the cockpit. As usual, the hangar deck crew were on their game.

  Alexis and Paka were both in uniform. Alexis wore her black jumpsuit with gold stripes and a golden eagle on her epaulet, while Paka wore the common Veetanho onboard clothing—a loose-fitting vest trimmed in gold with a silver oak leaf on the collar. Paka also had an equipment bandolier holding some tools and a sidearm. Alexis wore a simple belt with a holstered slate and sidearm. She fully expected to be disarmed before meeting General Peepo, but that didn’t mean she’d be helpless.

  “Shuttle One, prepare for hangar deck decompression,” the hangar deck pri-fly, or primary flight controller, announced.

  “Ready for vacuum,” Paka answered. There was a whooshing sound as the atmosphere was sucked out of the deck. It quickly tapered off as the air pressure became too low to convey sound. The hull gave a few pops and creaks as the pressure dropped. “We show relative zero,” Paka said.

  “Roger that,” pri-fly responded. “Equalizing.” A valve opened and what air couldn’t be sucked out was lost to space. “Equalized, we are opening the hangar bay doors.” One of the four ten-meter-wide doors slid into the deck below and a half circle of Earth became visible. “Shuttle One, releasing clamps.” A bong! announced the cessation of magnetic conductance and the shuttle floated upward.

  Paka immediately used her thrusters to stop the movement and push them toward the exit. “Pri-fly, Shuttle One, we are in the black.”

  “Acknowledged, Shuttle One, safe flight.”

  As soon as they’d come aboard, Alexis had linked with the shuttle’s computers via her pinplants. Using the shuttles’ numerous cameras, she watched as the view of her home, EMS Pegasus, slowly came into view. It started with the hangar deck, then more and more of the cigar-shaped ship came into focus. Various scorch marks and scars were visible; blemishes on the Egleesius-class vessel were like beauty marks on a mature woman. The ship was home to her earliest memories, and so iconic to the Hussars as to be recognizable almost anywhere in the galaxy.

  When the bow of Shadowfax came into view, she was jolted back to the present. Pegasus was no longer the
only Egleesius-class ship in the Hussars, but one of five. The shuttle banked and eventually all of Pegasus’ sister ships were visible, the blunted point of their bows pointing toward the western hemisphere of Earth, 35,000 kilometers below. Down where thousands of Humans were fighting to take back their world.

  From reports she’d heard, some were also fighting to keep the aliens in charge. Entropy, she thought, why did I have to wait until now to first set foot on my race’s home world?

  Ghost asked.

  “I really don’t know,” she admitted. Her mother had been to Earth and had visited the blue world during Alexis and Katrina’s lifetime. She vividly remembered her mother telling them a story about how her Jeha chief engineer was nearly attacked by a group of Humans at the Saint Petersburg starport. Attacked because he was an alien. Maybe that was the day she decided Earth wasn’t a place she wanted to visit.

  “Atmospheric interface in five minutes,” Paka said.

  Alexis glanced at the rear camera view. The five Egleesius ships were tiny elongated shapes. She only knew which ship was Pegasus by its position in the formation. In minutes they would be too far away to tell. There was a bump from behind the cockpit, and she used the interior camera to look. One of the survival packs had floated loose.

  “That could be a problem,” Alexis said.

  “I’ve got it,” Paka replied. She unclipped from her seat and gracefully pushed to the rear of the cockpit. Alexis took the controls.

  * * *

  Elmendorf Field, Anchorage, Alaska, Earth

  The six shuttles landed on the pad in front of the large hangar at exactly the time the Varangian Guard had been told they would, and Kayla Hanson shook her head. The Merc Guild had to have someone inside the Human’s organization. How else would they have known when to expect them?