Fulcrum Gun (Savage Stars Book 4)

by Anthony James

  It was difficult to keep focus on the destination below and Recker’s eyes constantly sought out the other sensor feeds. In the dark band between surface and blasts, he spotted a roiling, surging movement, as if a billion creatures of shadow came hungering from the depths of the explosions.

  His brain caught up and he saw that it was smoke and debris. He turned his gaze to one of the other feeds, where a pillar of smoke was rising with apparent laziness into the sky, spreading outwards as it went. Recker wasn’t fooled – he knew that the incredible turbulence in the forming mushroom cloud would be calamitous to almost anything caught within.

  “What do you intend, sir?” said Aston, her pupils wide.

  “We have to identify the Lodor bay,” said Recker, his eyes on the underside feed.

  The two possibilities identified by Burner were flat areas of alloy-clad ground – such that might conceal bay doors - and had mercifully escaped the worst of the shockwave, though buildings had collapsed nearby. He stared hard, wondering if he might spot a clue that Burner had missed. The southernmost area was a kilometre from the end of one of the shipyard’s construction trenches, while the second possibility was five kilometres north-east and positioned between two other trenches.

  “Which one?” growled Recker. He positioned the Fulcrum a thousand metres overhead, its hull parallel with two of the largest construction trenches. Like all the others, they were empty, their half-built spaceships probably taken out and flown off to power the Gateway which had brought Recker and his crew to the Lempi system.

  “Still checking, sir.

  “Lieutenant Burner, I need to pick one now.”

  “I can confirm surface doors in both locations. I’ll update the overlay.”

  The red circles on the feed became squares, highlighting the outer edges of the doors.

  “Both too small for the Fulcrum to fit through,” said Recker. “Thickness?”

  “Designed to withstand a sustained bombardment, sir. Sensor pings indicate the presence of an open space approximately eight hundred metres beneath both the southern and north-eastern doors.”

  “Explosives are a big risk, sir,” said Aston. “If the doors are thick, they might withstand several missile strikes. We have no way to guarantee that a million tons of alloy won’t go crashing down onto anything below. If that happens to be the CX1 module…”

  “I know it, Commander.” Recker drummed his fingers. They needed to get the CX1 module out of the bay intact. He was sure it was tough enough to withstand a few minor impacts, but if it was hit by falling debris it might either stop functioning, or be knocked so much out of shape that it would no longer slot into its position in the Tri-Cannon.

  “The world is about to turn dark,” Eastwood warned.

  Recker had been keeping an eye on the incoming wall of smoke created by the nuclear explosions. As it came closer, it seemed to increase in speed and height. In less than thirty seconds it would cross the Oracon-1 perimeter and a minute or two later, the entire base would be engulfed.

  “Lieutenant Burner, is Oracon-1 still comms dead?” he asked, in case the EMP had interfered with the hardware he assumed the Lavorix had installed to keep the station off grid.

  “Yes, sir. No receptors anywhere.”

  “There’s power,” said Eastwood. “I’m getting readings from four huge sources which must be the main base generators.”

  “Which means the doors will open,” said Recker. “We’ve just got to push the right buttons down on the surface.”

  “A deployment?”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  “If we take it as given that the Lavorix had ground troops stationed in Oracon-1, then it’s possible some of them survived,” said Aston.

  “That was a hell of a big shockwave, Commander.”

  “I know.” She held his gaze.

  Recker gave a half smile. “I don’t know who I’m trying to fool, Commander. Or even if I’m trying to fool anyone. The Lavorix didn’t die. Not all of them in any case.”

  “We’ve got two targets, sir,” said Aston. “That means splitting our forces, and we don’t have enough to begin with.”

  A thought came to Recker. “Where are the Lavorix likely to have installed their comms-blocking hardware on Oracon-1?”

  “The wise money would be on the main comms hub, sir.”

  “Where is the main comms hub? And could we storm the place, fix it and then order the Lodor bay doors open?”

  “I can’t give you a definite answer, sir. However, the first problem is that Oracon-1 is served by four comms hubs – one next to each of the corner landing fields. None of those look in good shape and since the comms block is still in place, that means either the Lavorix hardware is elsewhere, or the comms hubs have underground levels. Getting to those might be tough.”

  Burner wasn’t done listing the potential issues and Recker lifted a hand to halt the outpouring. “Thank you, Lieutenant. If there are four possible targets, it’s enough for me to rule out that approach.”

  Just when Recker thought he was going to have to split his troops, Larson hit the jackpot. “Sir, I think I know which one is the Lodor bay.”

  “Tell me.”

  “This one to the south, sir. I checked out the tech specs of the CX1 module and discovered reference to hardware that interfaces with the mesh deflector modules on the Tri-Cannon. That hardware has a unique signature we can detect using a certain…”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant,” Recker interrupted. “If you’re confident the module is south, then that’s where we’re heading.”

  The smoke from the nuclear blasts had billowed across much of the base by now, leaving the Fulcrum in an oasis of comparatively clear air. So far, the remaining Lavorix warships hadn’t shown up on the sensors and soon they’d have a much harder job of locating the battleship. Gamma rays, dense smoke, and other particulate crap would reduce their sensor visibility significantly. The Fulcrum would be similarly affected, but at least Recker and his crew knew where their target was located.

  “Now we just have to get inside,” he said.

  “Finding the way down isn’t so easy,” said Burner.

  “I’ve detected numerous power sources in the nearby buildings which may be lifts,” said Eastwood. “I can’t tell you where any of those lifts go.”

  “It’s only the comms which are offline, sir,” said Burner. “Anyone on a high enough security tier should be able to obtain directions from one of the ground terminals.”

  “And that’s what it comes down to, doesn’t it?” said Recker. He bared his teeth in thought. “Back on Kemis-5, I gave the soldiers personnel access to the Fulcrum, which should allow them to move freely through Oracon-1 as well. I can upgrade their access to full crew level in a few seconds.”

  “Will it be enough?” said Aston.

  They both knew the answer was a resounding probably not.

  “I’ll go,” said Recker. “We don’t have time to piss about.”

  Aston might have objected, but she did not. It was her duty to point out the alternatives and here she knew the pressure of the situation meant that taking this risk was the best course of action.

  The smoke closed in and the settling instrumentation on Recker’s console told him of ongoing seismic activity, along with howling winds carrying enough gamma radiation to kill an unprotected human in seconds. The levels were high enough that even a combat spacesuit would only provide a temporary defence.

  “Good job the booster drugs negate some of the effects,” said Aston, thinking the same thing as Recker.

  “Not forever,” said Recker.

  He jumped to his feet and wrenched open the weapons locker which had long ago been emptied of a few Meklon sidearms and filled with his crew’s guns and ammunition. Once he’d pulled a gauss rifle free from the rack, he stuffed a couple of magazines into his leg pockets and then turned to find the sensor feeds had all turned grey. Burner and Larson were doing their best to find a lens filter that would c
ut effectively through the particle-saturated air. A few dim shapes became visible on the ground and Recker guessed the view wouldn’t get much better. He welcomed the cloak of near darkness.

  “Commander Aston, the Fulcrum is yours.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll hold here for as long as possible.”

  “I’ll download the sensor data for Oracon-1 into the suit computers, sir,” said Burner. “It should help you find your way in all that smoke.”

  “Thanks,” said Recker.

  “I reckon you’ve got an hour before the smoke starts thinning, sir,” said Eastwood. “After that, another few hours during which the Fulcrum and any of our soldiers out in the open will become increasing visible to enemy spacecraft.”

  Recker nodded acknowledgement. He didn’t pretend that an hour was a realistic timeframe for completion of surface operations. As fast as possible was the only commitment he could make to himself.

  He left the bridge at a run, leaving Burner to communicate with the soldiers clustered around the forward airlock. Recker joined the squad channel and announced himself. He received an instant response on a private channel.

  “Sir, the levels of outside radiation are too much for the suits – at least if we’re exposed for more than an hour or two,” said Corporal Hendrix, her voice taut and her breathing shallow. “My strong recommendation is for every soldier to take an advance booster shot. Sergeant Vance agreed and we’re all riding the wave.”

  “What about the Daklan?”

  “Them too. We had spares. Sergeant Shadar didn’t like it, but he gave the order. Seems like he and his squad prefer life over agonising death by radiation poisoning. Who’d have thought?”

  “So on this mission we’ll be fighting side-by-side with a bunch of wired Daklan?”

  “It’s going to be fun.”

  “The word I’d use is interesting, Corporal.”

  “That too, sir.”

  Recker didn’t like taking boosters and he’d seen too many soldiers become dependent on them as a way to get by. Still, the drugs had their uses and he slowed for a moment to pull out a cylindrical metal injector from his pocket. He held the end of the device against his thigh and pressed the button on the side. The needle lanced through his suit and squirted a dose of Frenziol-13 into his veins. With the injector empty, he dropped it to the floor and ran on.

  Hendrix was still in the channel and he guessed she was waiting for confirmation that he’d taken the shot. Or for something else.

  “Done,” he said. “Stay safe out there, Corporal.”

  “Yes, sir. You too.”

  She hesitated like she was about to say something else and then she closed the private channel, leaving Recker wondering if he should have gone further himself.

  Stupid, stupid, he rebuked himself, not sure exactly what he was angry about. He got his head down and concentrated on making it to the airlock as quickly as possible. Before he was halfway there, he felt the change in the battleship’s propulsion which meant it was coming to land.

  The passages close to the airlock were crowded with soldiers – twenty-two Daklan and twelve humans in total. Plus Recker. For anything small scale, the platoon was experienced enough to sweep aside most similarly sized opposition forces. The trouble was, Recker didn’t believe anything on Oracon-1 was likely to be small scale. On top of that, the Lavorix had been fighting for years as well and that meant they had plenty of veterans in their ranks. Recker wanted to believe that impending victory had made the aliens soft, but fooling himself wasn’t easy.

  He opened a comms channel to the bridge. “I’m in position,” he said.

  “Copy that, sir. Be ready to disembark. We’re landing directly between the two construction trenches. – if you head directly south, you’ll find yourself walking over the closed Lodor bay. I’d bring you nearer, but the only way to do that is to land directly on the doors. Given how much the Fulcrum weighs…”

  “It’s not worth the risk,” said Recker. “We’ll cover the ground on foot.”

  “And we’ll watch from above, sir.”

  “Don’t forget about the Lavorix spaceships.”

  “Not a chance.”

  Recker cut the channel. The Frenziol-13 had worked its magic, making his skin tight and cold, and instilling him with a physical and mental alertness beyond anything a good night’s sleep could bring. Part of him feared how it made him feel.

  Aston went for speed over subtlety and dumped the Fulcrum hard on the ground, directly between the two docking trenches. A groan of stressed landing legs was accompanied by a jarring in the floor which the life support didn’t fully suppress. The sound of the exit ramp’s motors came as a faraway drone.

  “Move!” yelled Vance on the comms, an order which was repeated by Sergeant Shadar.

  The soldier in front – a thickset brute of a Daklan called Zivor got moving, the weight of his two-handed repeater adding a sway to his shoulders with each stride. Recker followed, his fingers wrapped tightly around the barrel of his gauss rifle.

  In the few moments before he came to the exit ramp, Recker’s mind confronted the possibility that neither he nor his crew had given voice to. If the Lavorix had been here for so long, perhaps they’d already guessed at the significance of the CX1 module and taken steps to destroy it. Maybe they’d taken it elsewhere.

  Recker entered the airlock and the HUD on his suit helmet flashed up a message advising him about the critically high levels of gamma radiation. The air here was murky and through the exit opening in the floor it was darker still. He brushed away the fears and the doubts, and the familiar sense of calm readiness filled his mind.

  Chapter Twenty

  Climbing down the exit ramp was like entering a nightmare world. The smoke brought with it a darkness that, while not absolute, was beyond the capabilities of the sensors in the combat suits. Five metres ahead, Zivor was already reduced to little more than an outline and the soldier in front of him was hardly more than a half-sensed shape. Recker switched on his movement detector at once and the situation improved enough that he could see the soldiers on the ground moving into position.

  Aside from the smoke, the winds buffeted Recker. They weren’t constant, rather they shifted direction and speed, as if they were determined to knock him from his feet. The wind was dense with grit, which it flung gleefully against his suit. Soon that alone would be enough to erode the material protecting him from the radiation.

  Underlying everything was a low moaning sound produced by the passage of air and heard even above the battleship’s engines. Every few seconds, the noise of it would increase in volume, becoming something between a howl and a whistle. Then, it would drop once more and the moaning would resume.

  Clutching the rail, Recker descended as rapidly as he dared. Sergeants Vance and Shadar ordered the soldiers to spread out away from the Fulcrum’s landing legs, and they waited for instructions. Although the Daklan and humans were almost – dare Recker think it – brothers in arms now, Shadar and his squad would still only accept orders from Recker, which had prevented him from implementing a more streamlined command structure.

  “Commander Aston, we’re on the ground,” he said.

  “Copy that, sir, I’ll lift off at once.”

  Immediately, the battleship’s boarding ramp began to lift upwards and the beating resonance of its propulsion drowned out the sound of the wind, albeit only briefly. The Fulcrum climbed rapidly into the sky, disappearing into the gloom in moments. Its engine note persisted for a second or two longer and then that too, was gone.

  Recker already had a target destination in mind and he paused briefly to check the Oracon-1 base map on his HUD. The Lodor bay doors were south and, beyond them, a huge, low building looked as if it might house a cargo lift for carrying construction materials to the subsurface areas. Two smaller flanking buildings were likely intended for personnel, and those personnel would require a method of getting underground.

  “We’re heading for that southern clust
er of buildings,” said Recker. “They got hit by some debris, but from the air they look more or less intact.” He raised his voice. “Let’s move!”

  The soldiers spread out and began a fast jog away from the deployment point. Recker found old habits the hardest to break and he positioned himself near the front. To his left, the hulking shape of Sergeant Shadar kept pace, the Daklan loping in an easy gait that covered the ground without apparent effort. Three metres right, the newly promoted Corporal Nelle Montero held her gun across her chest and her head moved constantly in search of danger.

  Even with the movement detectors active, Recker didn’t think it likely they’d spot any Lavorix from more than a couple of hundred metres. He hoped the enemy helmet sensor tech was no better than that used by the HPA, since he was relying on that to level the playing field.

  He half-turned in order to check the positions of the other soldiers. Their orange-highlighted shapes were all around him and without the movement detector to see them, Recker would have felt the isolation far more than he did. However, when he stared ahead, he could have been truly alone – one man running through an encompassing darkness.

  “I reckon about five hundred metres to go,” said Recker on the officer channel. He took pride in his fitness, but with the boosters, he felt he could run forever and his breathing was hardly laboured even with his loadout and Kavlon’s moderately high gravity.

  “No sign of movement,” said Shadar. “Yet I do not believe we are alone.”

  Recker heard an unexpected rumbling and the ground suddenly shifted beneath his feet. The shaking built rapidly, prompting him to slow to maintain his balance.

  “Quake!” yelled Vance.

  The quake passed in seconds without causing injury. Recker was thankful they were in the clear space between the two construction trenches. Had they been amongst piled debris, some of it might have come down onto the platoon. It was a warning and Recker was grateful for it.