A Pale Dawn
Page 42
“I’ll be back,
“Jesus Christ,” he heard Ensign Fenn over the radio, “what did you just do?”
“I saved all our lives,” Jim replied. “Report if your Fae are evacuating?” They all did. “Okay,” he said, “when the enemy comes for you, don’t resist. They’ll want us alive and our Raknar intact.”
“Then what?” Sergeant Kleve asked.
“We survive,” Jim said. His radio suddenly came alive with a weak orbital relay.
“Jim, are you okay?”
“Nigel?” Jim asked, surprised.
“Yes. We have the battle in hand here. What’s your status?”
“Untenable,” Jim said. He heard the sound of Nigel yelling something in Persian to his dropship pilot and getting a reply.
“We can be there via suborbital hop inside of ten minutes.”
“No,” Jim said. His data showed five Hussars battlecruisers skimming the upper atmosphere at a shallow angle. From his piloting experience, he knew how dangerous that was. Those ships could not land, they were all risking a fiery death. Dozens of dropships were lifting off to intercept them—Human mercs fleeing. It was a rout. “One of the Hussars ships will be in position to get you in five minutes. Go.”
“No!” Nigel roared. “I will not leave you behind. No more left behind, I say. No more!”
“Nigel!” Jim yelled back. “You’ve learned so much just since I’ve known you. I…I respect you, Nigel. You’re my friend.”
Momentary silence. “You are my friend as well, Jim Cartwright.”
“Then if you are my friend, you will escape and come back for me later. If you come down here, you will only get yourself captured.” Silence. “If you come down here, your father was right about you.”
“Damn you, Cartwright,” Nigel spat. There was a long pause, and for a second Jim despaired, but then Nigel transmitted again, “Against my better judgement, we’re going for orbit.”
Jim heaved a sigh of relief. “Good man.” The signal broke up for a second.
“You as well, Colonel Cartwright. Khodâ negahdâr—may God protect you. I will see you soon.” He lost the signal. Jim watched the Hussars ships skim the atmosphere. Missiles rose up toward them. While most were swatted down, a few made it through, but the ships continued on their course despite the damage. The data relays began to break up as ships moved out of range, and a troop transport flyer hovered outside his Raknar, hundreds of weapons pointed at the mecha.
Jim laughed. How easy it would have been to swat them from the sky like the insignificant bugs they were. Instead, he climbed from the cockpit, opened the armored door into the smoke-filled light of a ravaged São Paulo, and held his hands high in surrender.
* * *
Micky Finn Hangar, Houston Starport, Houston, Texas
“Bold Warriors are ready,” Major Sulda said.
“The Proud Fists are also ready to go,” Gage added. “What’s the mission?”
“We have been betrayed by the Merc Guild,” Nigel reported. “They have attacked Human forces all across the planet during a ceasefire, and they have killed many honorable warriors. We’re going to show them what happens when they make us angry.”
“Not fighting fair makes Lumar angry,” Sulda said, “and when Bold Warriors get angry, we kill!”
“Good,” Nigel said. “Follow me.” He led the two companies north of the hangar to where his four dropships waited along with the two dropships the Horde had arrived in. He had spoken with his pilots while the Lumar were forming up, and crewmen were waiting at two of them.
“Know where we’re going?” Nigel asked as he jogged up.
“The pilots have the brief, and we’re ready to go,” one of the crewmen said. “As soon as the troops are aboard, we can go.”
“Great!” Nigel exclaimed. “Our window of opportunity on this is probably very small.” He turned to his officers. “Get everyone into the dropships; there’s one for each company. Don’t worry about sitting down—we won’t be traveling far. We’re going to take a page out of history and do a vertical envelopment. You’re now part of the air cavalry.”
Gage smiled as he realized what Nigel was proposing. “I like it, sir.”
Sulda, on the other hand, was confused. “Not understand, sir.”
“That’s okay,” Nigel said. “Get aboard the dropship. I’ll explain it on the way.”
The Lumar quickly got loaded onto the dropships, packing themselves in like sardines. Although it would have been uncomfortable for Humans, the big warriors didn’t seem to mind having their personal space invaded. The craft lifted and flew east, never going more than five feet above the ground, except to pass over the perimeter fence. Nigel briefed the troops as they traveled east and then south along the road. The ramps were left extended, and Nigel took quick glances out the back to track their progress. Having spent a lot of time in the area, he recognized the landmarks as they skirted around the starport.
The pilots dropped to the median between the lanes of traffic, staying behind—or as much as they could, anyway—two large hover trucks as they went about their business. Nigel could see a look of astonishment on the face of one of the truck drivers, but the pilots must have given him some sort of signal because he nodded and sped down the road with the dropship using his truck as cover.
The perimeter road curved back to the west, and the dropships rose slightly, crossed the perimeter fence, and landed behind the Tom’s Total Terrors’ hangar. Nigel jumped down the ramp, and the Lumar followed behind him in a wave. Nigel reached the end of the hangar and paused, not wanting his mech to make any noise that might call attention to their presence. The Bold Warriors went around one side of the hangar, while the Proud Fists went around the other.
“Hit them, Valenti!” Nigel ordered once the Lumar were in position. “Hit them now!”
The Asbaran Solutions and Golden Horde CASPers jumped as one, soaring into the sky to fire down on the Tortantulas, who were much easier targets than the Flatars who rode them. Although the enemy troopers fired at the airborne CASPers, the heavy, mounted weapons on the Tortantulas couldn’t be elevated high enough to be effective. Which meant the Flatar could only use their handheld hypervelocity pistols and the Tortantulas their laser rifles.
Still, Nigel’s troopers weren’t invulnerable to the fire, and one of his troopers fell from the sky as he watched. “Charge!” he ordered the Lumar, and the humanoids raced toward the Hellcats’ hangar in a near solid line abreast. Nigel toggled his jumpjets, roared into the sky, and zoomed toward the enemy line. Although he wanted to fire, he held off so that he didn’t give away the Lumar. They were halfway to the enemy, who were looking to the sky, trying to shoot the CASPers in an oversize duck hunt.
With eyes literally in the back of their heads, it was inevitable the Tortantulas would eventually see the Lumar running toward them, and the enemy began to turn to meet the threat coming from behind.
Nigel triggered his comms. “Now! Firing line. Open fire!”
The Lumar lumbered to a stop and fired at the Tortantulas in a firing line reminiscent of a Revolutionary War British formation. Both sides were horribly exposed, although the Lumar were worse off, and Nigel could see the Lumar start dropping as more of the Tortantulas turned to face them.
“CASPers drop!” Nigel commed. He killed his jumpjets and dropped like a stone into the battle. He turned them on, full force, just before touchdown, roasting a Flatar/Tortantula pair, then slamming to the ground on top of a dismounted Flatar. The rest of the Asbaran and Horde CASPers dropped amid the Merc Guild forces, and the Lumar ran forward, yelling their battle cries as they joined in the melee.
The battle was far more pleasurable this time. The odds were in their favor from the start, and Nigel was able to remain detached as he strode through the mayhem, cutting off spider legs and slicing hypervelocity pistols in half before removing tiny Flatar heads. It wasn’t as satis
fying as killing MinSha would have been, but his company was actively engaged in recovering their planet from aliens, and he smiled for no other reason than he had been allowed to participate in it.
God—whichever God you believed in—was good.
* * *
Micky Finn Hangar, Houston Starport, Houston, Texas
“We are surrendering.”
Sansar heard the words, but it took a minute for them to register. Wait, that was Jim’s voice! She shot the Flatar next to her in the head with her MAC—a massive amount of overkill—and stepped out of the melee.
She found Nigel on her system. He didn’t appear to have heard, as he jumped twenty feet into the air to crash down with a burst of flames on a Tortantula’s head.
“Nigel, did you hear that?” she asked.
“What?” he answered after bending over to skewer the Tortantula with his arm blade. The alien collapsed to the ground, and he stepped back from the scrum.
“Jim just transmitted on the emergency comm net that he was surrendering.”
“What?” Nigel asked. “I had that turned off. Just a second.”
He shot a Flatar that got too close, then came up on the net. “Jim, are you okay?”
“Nigel?” Jim asked. He sounded surprised.
“Yes. We have the battle in hand here. What’s your status?”
“Untenable,” Jim said.
Nigel called over the local net. “All pilots, stand by for immediate dust off; destination São Paolo, Brazil. All Asbaran and Horde forces, stand by to disengage.”
“We’re ready,” the lead dropship pilot called. “We can leave immediately. I’m also getting the recall notice from the Pegasus—all forces are withdrawing from Earth.”
“Fuck that. The Cavaliers need help in Brazil. How long will it take to get there?”
“Uh…are you sure, sir? Pegasus was very specific about the fact that we need to leave now, or we’ll get left behind.”
“Damn you! I pay you to fly, not to whine like a little baby. How long will it take to get to Brazil?”
“Ten minutes, sir.” The pilot sounded cowed.
Nigel came back up on the emergency net. “We can be there via suborbital hop inside of ten minutes.”
“No,” Jim replied. “One of the Hussars ships will be in position to get you in five minutes. Go.”
“No!” Nigel roared. “I will not leave you behind. No more left behind, I say. No more!”
Sansar’s pilots and her intel support began broadcasting the withdrawal message and the fact that they needed to leave now!
The Merc Guild fleet was incoming, and they had an overwhelming amount of ships. The Hussars were good, but they had no chance. They were fleeing. She also heard the call that Alexis was dead and realized Nigel had missed it while his comm net was turned off. There’s no telling what he would do if he knew that, too. She stepped behind Nigel’s CASPer and reached for the canopy jettison handle, ready to blow it and drag him—kicking and screaming, she suspected—from his mech and into the waiting dropships, if that’s what it took.
“Nigel!” Jim yelled back. “You’ve learned so much just since I’ve known you. I…I respect you, Nigel. You’re my friend.”
Nigel’s mech stopped and stood a little straighter. Sansar’s hand rested lightly on the jettison handle; she paused as silence reigned on the net for a moment.
“You are my friend as well, Jim Cartwright,” Nigel finally said. Sansar wrapped her hand around the release, not sure how this was going to go. On her right monitor she could see an Asbaran CASPer approaching, its pilot likely wondering what she was doing behind their commander.
“Then if you are my friend,” Jim said, “you will escape and come back for me later. If you come down here, you will only get yourself captured. If you come down here, your father was right about you.”
“Damn you, Cartwright,” Nigel swore as he jerked into motion. Sansar quickly released the handle and withdrew her hand. “All Asbaran and Horde forces back to the dropships! Follow me!”
Nigel turned and jumped back toward the Tom’s Total Terrors’ hangar, and Sansar instructed her dropships to meet them there. She watched for a second as the troops broke contact and fled to the south, firing twice at alien mercs who looked like they were going to pursue the fleeing CASPers. Most, however, appeared stunned the force that was winning would suddenly turn and flee. After another second, she turned and boosted for the hangar, too.
Nigel touched down, leading the mass of retreating troopers toward the dropships at his fastest pace. “Against my better judgement,” he said, “we’re going for orbit.”
“Good man,” Jim replied.
“You as well, Colonel Cartwright,” Nigel transmitted as he reached the first dropship and began waving his troopers in. “Khodâ negahdâr. I will see you soon.”
Sansar reached her dropship and turned to provide fire support for her troopers as they piled in. The Tortantulas must have had a good leader; the aliens were now in hot pursuit of her forces. The last trooper made it onboard, and she turned and raced up the ramp. “Go! Go! Go!” she yelled.
Motion along the floor of the dropship caught her eye as a large grenade rolled to a stop next to her.
“No!” Staff Sergeant Flint yelled. He grabbed the grenade and threw himself through the gap between the rising ramp and the bulkhead of the dropship as it started to rise. The grenade detonated as he hit the tarmac and his suit’s icon went red.
There was no need to go back; Flint’s monitor showed he was dead. Sansar got a last glimpse of the starport as the ramp closed, and the dropship roared into the heavens. A single CASPer lay on the tarmac where Flint had jumped onto a grenade for her. His death was just one more in a long list of crimes that Peepo would be made to atone for.
It was Sansar’s last view of Earth, this time. But she would be back, and next time, by Blue Sky Above, Peepo would be made to pay. She would find Peepo and kill her. If it was the last thing she did.
* * *
EMS Pegasus, Earth’s Upper Atmosphere, Sol
“How is our profile?” Hoot asked, panic evident in his voice.
“It’s going to be fucking tight!” Pleek yelled. She had to yell to be heard over the roar of Pegasus’ passage through Earth’s ionosphere. The hull was well above 1,000 degrees and climbing. The ancient battlecruiser’s overpowered attitude control thrusters were burning at 110% output to maintain the angle of attack. And through it all, none of the crew were controlling the ship.
God damned AI, Hoot thought. I finally get my first command, and I can’t command a toilet!
a voice said in his head.
Hoot almost jumped out of his feathers. It was like a standard pinlink-to-pinlink comm, but not quite the same. The words were just there, like he’d said them to himself.
“Who is this?” he replied in the same manner.
Entropy, Hoot thought. The Ghost.
“Are you flying the ship?”
“Why? What are you doing?”
“Captain,” Flipper said, “we have dropships coming up on intercept!”
Hoot turned and looked at the Tri-V plot. At least a dozen dropships were rising from the planet’s surface, burning their engines hard to match the plummeting ship’s course. Too many, though, far too many for them to pick up. But then he saw they weren’t the only ship skimming the atmosphere.
“We’re with you, Pegasus.” The voice of Captain Jormungd from Phaeton was a confident hiss. “We don’t know how you’re doing these course calculations, but we’re with you.”
Hoot saw all the Egleesius-class were following Pegasus. None of them in as steep of a dive as his ship, however. All the dropships coming up would be intercepted for pickup. He’d never seen anything like it.
“Tha
nk you,” he said. There was no reply. He glanced at the fleet tactical board. Lieutenant Colonel Kowalczy had assumed overall tactical command after Colonel Cromwell was betrayed and murdered by her own longtime XO. The fleet rising from the moon was massive compared to the Winged Hussars. He’d done the only thing that made sense and ordered a retreat.
He was a good fleet commander. Maybe not as good as Alexis Cromwell, but good. He had the other squadrons slingshot into a far orbit, accelerating all the way. They would easily reach the stargate before the enemy could intercept them.
Hoot thought at first they should fight, until the sensor drones picked up another fleet dropping toward Earth from the direction of Mars. It was led by a ship far bigger than a battleship. A dreadnought? Nobody knew—only that it was huge and had a full complement of escorts. Lieutenant Colonel Kowalczy’s call had been a good one. Maybe the only one.
Over the next few minutes, dropships matched course and latched onto Pegasus’ hull in highly risky maneuvers. Only one failed to clamp on and Ghost actually maneuvered Pegasus to the dropship for a second attempt. Pleek watched the maneuver with her jaw hanging in stunned disbelief.
The last few to match and dock were the ones from Asbaran Solutions and the Golden Horde, fresh from their evacuation from Houston. Missiles rose from Earth’s surface and pummeled the five meteoric battlecruisers. Pegasus rocked from a hit, alarms sounding.
“I’m on it,” Afeeko said over the intercom, dispatching his damage control teams.
On the tactical board, the enemy fleet was falling toward Earth to cut off the Egleesius ship’s route of escape to the stargate. As the five ships orbited back out into space, they would come into weapons range.
“Winged Hussars,” a voice said over the radio, “this is Admiral Galantrooka on the New Era. If you surrender, quarter will be given.”
Hoot checked the Tri-V, verifying that the rest of the Hussars had reached the stargate. He clicked his beak nervously as he watched until the stargate opened, and the fleet escaped. He gave a contented chirp and smiled. “Admiral Galantrooka, this is Captain Akoo of EMS Pegasus. The Winged Hussars are nobody’s prey.” He changed his radio to the command frequency. “Jump when ready.”