“As a matter of fact, it was mine,” said Faulkner with a half twinkle in his eye. “Oh, don’t look so indignant, Major. I think you know me well enough to realize that everything I do is for a reason.”
“Yes, sir,” said the major, his interest piqued.
“And now that you are up and about, I was wondering if you might be interested in coming back to work for us. In a real job, not shuffling papers around, as you put it, though I should point that such work is, in its own way, just as vital.”
“A real job? You mean field work?”
Faulkner nodded.
“I’m in,” said the major without preamble. “Though to be honest, I imagined my days of working in the field were at an end.”
“Well, we won’t be sending you back across the border, that’s for certain. However, there’s a job going closer to home, and one for which I think you might be perfectly suited.”
“I see. What’s the brief?”
“Counter intelligence,” said Faulkner. “We’ve recently gained intelligence about a Combine cell operating within the confines of Tycho City. We already have a link – a captured informer who we believe we can turn and use to our advantage. However, as you are well aware, running a double agent carries risk, so how successful the endeavor will be remains to be seen.”
“And you want another avenue of attack.”
“Precisely. The bad news is that we have precious little to go on. The cell is led by a man known to us as Jacob. We have a description but not much else. What we do know is that he first made contact with the informer in a bar over on the east side.”
“The industrial sector. It figures.”
“That’s right. Not quite a hotbed of revolution but nonetheless home to a fair collection of militants, political activists and the like. It’s the logical place for the enemy to recruit agents.”
“I imagine a disaffected serviceman with a prosthetic limb might fit right in,” suggested the major.
“My thoughts exactly,” said Faulkner. “A malcontent, a man at odds with himself, his peers and the war in general, not to mention a man assigned to a post in the Fleet Liaison Office, one with access to a wide range of signals – signals that might be worth a great deal to the right person. A Combine spy, for example.”
“Which is why I find myself posted to Loyola Field...”
“Exactly. Think of it as a necessary adjunct to your new day job.”
“Understood.”
“Here’s your mission brief,” said Faulkner, handing over a file to the major. “You’ll pose as Staff Sergeant Dan Powers. It’s a persona you’ve used before, so there will be people who can confirm your identity should the enemy go digging. Of late, you have been assigned to a logistics group. Your injuries were sustained when Combine forces attacked your supply convoy – I imagine it’s close enough to the truth for you to paint a vivid picture of the experience. After a period of recovery and rehab, you’ve been posted to a desk job on Loyola Field, close enough to the capital to allow frequent visits. A set of medical and service records has already been prepared and embedded in the fleet database. And here,” he passed a thick envelope across the table, “are your necessary documents – passport, ID card, driving license and the like. I understand you report to the Fleet Liaison Office next week.”
“That’s right.”
“As you might imagine, no-one will be privy to your real mission. Not even your new CO, so remember to stay in character at all times. Other than that, how you carry out the assignment is entirely up to you. Just try to stay out of trouble, understood?”
“Roger that, sir. Is there any timeframe?”
“No. Just put yourself about and see what turns up. In normal circumstances, I’d say that the operation is a long shot, which of course is just the nature of the beast. On the other hand, over the past few months there have been signs of an increase in Combine intelligence gathering activity across the board. It could point to some kind of urgency on their part. If so, there is the very real possibility that they will overreach themselves, and that may provide opportunities – opportunities I have no intention of missing. So there you have it, Major. Any questions?”
“No, sir.”
“Very good. Keep us informed. Oh, and Major?”
“Sir?”
“It’s good to have you back.”
Chapter 9: Force Z
Trinity Base, Tycho
Commander Franklin looked at the figure gazing back at him from the mirror; it was not the same person he had known just a few months previously. The man before him had lost weight – several kilos – which had made him tighten his belt an extra notch and caused his uniform jacket to sag slightly at the shoulders. The face too was thinner, almost gaunt, but with a dark puffiness underneath the eyes. The eyes themselves were darting, as if expecting danger at every turn. But the greatest changes lay underneath and were invisible to the naked eye. As promised, Colonel Wolfe’s interrogation had broken him, completely and irrevocably. It was as if his very soul had been laid bare, picked over, dissected and then scattered to the winds. In a very real sense, the old Commander Franklin had ceased to exist. His memories were still intact, as was his guilt, but his hopes, dreams and desires had somehow vanished. Even the visions of the girl had ceased. She was part of the old regime. Franklin was now living in the new, a brand new order with rules and regulations he was bound to obey. It was the price of his life, and despite all his previous thoughts of ending it himself, it was a life he now cherished, one he clung to.
At precisely 08:00 he left his bachelor quarters on Trinity base and headed off to his new assignment in Fleet Operations. He was being watched, he knew – they’d said he would be; they’d advised him to accept it, live with it and take full advantage of the opportunity that he had been offered. And so he would. Commander Tobias Franklin, Desk 2B, Fleet Operations. His back straightened and he picked up the pace, striding along the sidewalk with a new found purpose. Above him, the morning sun broke through the cloud cover, causing nearby songbirds to unite in chorus. Franklin breathed in deeply of the morning air. It was good to be back, and it was even better to be alive.
* * *
Alliance destroyer Zenith
During the three decades since hostilities had commenced, over fifty new types of warship had entered service with the Alliance fleet. Over half of those had emerged in the first four or five years of the conflict as the Alliance geared for war and its industrial machine got into its stride. Some marks, poorly designed and rushed into service without adequate testing, were just as quickly rushed out again as something bigger and better came off the drawing boards. Even the best of the vessels from the early years were soon found wanting as both sides funneled billions of credits into weapons research. And then it became a race – a race to design ever more potent weapons, ever more robust armor and ever more powerful engines, installing them in vessels that would kill the enemy faster and more efficiently than ever before but still offer the very best protection to their crews. Always the mantra was bigger, better, faster. But however much the designers played with their slide rules, there were always compromises to be made, a trade-off between weapons, armor, speed, agility and range. Heavier weapons required bigger hulls, which required more armor. That meant more weight and the need for larger engines, and even larger hulls to accommodate the necessary fuel cells and still more armor to protect them. The circle was endless.
And so compromises were made. Well armed and armored ships paid a large forfeit in terms of speed and maneuverability. The fleet’s heavyweights – the battleships – filled this category. The battle-cruisers gave up a portion of their armor in return for improved speed and acceleration. And so down through all the lighter vessels, the cruisers, destroyers, frigates, sloops and corvettes, and finally to the fighters, who dispensed with virtually all protection in the quest for speed and agility.
Some years down the road, a historian might describe the Alliance inventory through
the conflict as a mixed bag; several truly abysmal designs which had cost more than a few poor souls their lives, a smattering of mediocre stop gaps, a selection of good, solid, workaday types and one or two excellent designs.
The same historian might reflect that just occasionally, the teams of architects and planners came together to produce an object of almost pure military perfection. One such example would be the latest Z class destroyer. It helped that a new lightweight, polymer armor had recently become available, as had a new type of power cell, less than half the size of its contemporaries. Upgraded weapons suites and engines just added to the bargain, such that the fleet’s recently commissioned Z Class destroyers were the very finest examples of their kind.
The Zenith drifted slowly in the void between Nerys and Falkrys, two of the planets that made up the shield. Fresh from its working up exercises, Zenith was large for a destroyer but smaller than the cruisers which made up the backbone of the Alliance fleet. She had the speed and agility of the former but all the firepower – and more – of the latter. Armed with Halo proton beam projectors, Banshee missiles and Gatekeeper point defense systems, she was designed to crush anything of comparable size and evade anything larger. The Z class destroyers were a new breed of warship with a new mission – to prowl enemy convoy routes and destroy shipping.
If there was a better job going anywhere in the fleet, Captain Tyrell would like to hear about it. He’d spent the last year testing out the Z-class prototype while working alongside the Zenith’s builders at the Tortuga shipyards. He knew every inch of the ship, he knew every quirk, every vice (there were always a few) and every virtue. And most importantly, he knew how to exact the absolute best from an already excellent vessel.
Off the Zenith’s bows lay her sister ships, the Zodiac and the Zephyr. The three Zeds had rolled out of the shipyards almost together. After three months of working up exercises – an endless series of drills and simulations – they were fuelled, armed and provisioned and in the captain’s own words were ready to rock and roll. All they were waiting on was the signal to proceed.
“Coded signal from Tac-com,” said the com officer. “Order 517 confirmed. Proceed best speed. Stout hearts.”
“Very good,” said Tyrell. “Signal Zodiac and Zephyr – make the jump to hyperspace on my mark.”
“Zodiac and Zephyr standing by.”
“Mark.”
The three ships shimmered against the blackness before disappearing into hyperspace in a blaze of light. Thirty minutes later they were nearing the Shield, with Combine space just beyond.
“Warp disrupter net dead ahead – within range in thirty seconds,” said the nav officer. “Transmitting deactivation codes.”
As the Zenith, Zodiac and Zephyr approached, the disrupter directly ahead shut down for the briefest of moments, powering back up as soon as the three ships had flashed across the border into Combine space.
“How long to target?” said Tyrell.
“At present speed, eighteen hours, fifteen minutes, sir.”
“Very well.”
Tyrell paced slowly around the bridge, checking each console as he passed by. Satisfied, he turned to the Zenith’s executive officer, Lt. Commander Baxter. “XO, I believe it’s time to address the crew.”
“All hands, all hands, this is the captain. You will be delighted to hear that we have just crossed into enemy territory and are now officially in harm’s way. In the unlikely event that you aren’t delighted, I regret to inform you that you have chosen the wrong profession. Our target for tonight is the Combine system of Sjhakar, a busy transport hub and home to a flotilla of cruisers and its associated escort group. We will be dropping out of warp on the edge of the system from where we will attack targets of opportunity. Our objective is to wreak havoc – hit first, hit hard and then retire before they have the chance to regroup. In other words, it’s payback time. This is what we joined up for. It’s what this ship was built for. Remember your training, listen to your officers, trust in your crewmates and we’ll do just fine. Captain out.”
“Nicely done,” said Baxter. “You even managed to make me feel inspired.”
“Piece of cake,” said Tyrell nonchalantly.
“Yeah, well let’s just hope that Combine commander at Sjhakar doesn’t share your motivational skills.”
“Have a little faith, XO.”
“Oh, I do, sir, I do,” said Baxter with a grin.
“Glad to hear it. Anyway, whatever he comes up with, it’s going to famous last words because we’re going to give him and the Combine a damn good kick up the ass.”
* * *
Alliance Intruder One-nine
Three light hours outside the Sjhakar system, an Alliance reconnaissance platform drifted silently in the blackness. The Intruder had entered Combine space twenty four hours previously, taking for itself the honor of being the first of its class to enter enemy territory. With a crew of two she was fast and above all stealthy. Major Doug Simms maintained a light grip on the control stick while his other hand rested on his knee near the throttle actuator. He didn’t expect to have to use either in a hurry but you could never be sure. Sitting beside him, the Intruder’s systems officer was monitoring the electro-magnetic and sub-space radiation emanating from within the Sjhakar system. Lieutenant Dan Jeffries was confident that he now had a clear picture of all the assets within the system, and with the Intruder rigged for silent routine he was equally confident that none of those assets would be able to locate him.
The first phase of the mission had been to skirt the border looking for a safe crossing. As soon as the opportunity had presented itself, Simms had darted across and then began picking his way to the target system, Jeffries plotting the positions of Combine defenses and border patrols as they went. Before arriving at Sjhakar they’d transmitted the intelligence to Alliance HQ in a subspace micro burst.
Their mission now was to stay covert but to observe all. And observe they did. During the twelve hours they’d been on station, Jeffries had constructed an accurate picture of all assets within the system. His top priority had been the location of the system’s defending warp disrupters. Two were far away on the other side of the system. The third lay almost dead ahead and was the Alliance’s gateway into the system. Now it was just a matter of timing. A coded signal from Tac-com told the Intruder that the assault force had crossed the border and was on its way, time stamp T minus twelve. Twelve hours to arrival.
Jeffries fed the data into his console and let the onboard computers do the rest. A timer on his weapons console counted down the seconds to launch. As the counter hit zero, a hatch in the Intruder’s belly flipped open and a pair of Lancer missiles dropped free. Far smaller than the ship killing Banshees, Lancers were designed specifically for eliminating warp disrupters, though they were equally adept at smashing satellites, orbital batteries or any other platforms that were incapable of maneuver. Once clear of the Intruder, the Lancer’s engines ignited and began accelerating the projectiles to their terminal velocity of point three light. The main engines would exhaust their fuel less within minutes; from there, small reaction jets would guide the missiles on the final leg of their journey, all the time homing in on the sigma waves emitted by the disrupters. The Lancers were solid shot, hit-to-kill kinetic rounds, the half kilogram ceramic warheads flashing to plasma on impact. A small warhead, tiny even, one that could be held in a child’s hand, but the ultra high impact velocity guaranteed that the total energy output was immense; both the warp disrupter and the Lancer would be reduced to their constituent atoms.
As the missiles sped away, Jeffries turned his attention to his threat board. The Intruder was stealthy but the Lancers weren’t; the electromagnetic footprint of the missiles’ launch would now be expanding outwards at the speed of light. By the time the Combine assets in-system picked up the signal it would already be too late – the disrupter array would be junk, but that didn’t mean they were safe from units outside the system.
“T
ime to relocate, I think,” said Jeffries.
“Agreed,” said the Simms. He brought the engines online and instigated a short range jump, dropping back into real space ten million kilometers from their previous position. “How are we looking?” he asked as the distant Sjhakar sun once more appeared in the far distance.
“The Lancers are running steady and true. Estimate impact in eleven hours fifty minutes.”
“Anything on the threat board?”
“Apart from our friends in system, not a whisper.”
“Understood. Powering down now. We’ll do our famous ‘hole in space’ act and monitor the ingress point until the good guys arrive.”
“Works for me,” said Jeffries. He was just settling back in his seat when an icon on his console began to flash. “Uh-oh, we’ve got another incoming sub-space signal from Tac-net.”
“What do you have?”
“After confirming the safe arrival of the strike force, we are to proceed home via the Haalikon system.”
“Haalikon?” said Simms. “That’s one hell of a detour.”
“Fleet intel wants us to have a snoop around the fringes of the system and see what our Combine friends have been up to recently.”
“Last time I heard, they’d been beefing up the defenses like there was no tomorrow. A shit load of orbital batteries and half a dozen hunter killer squadrons.”
“Yeah, I heard that too. Should be a lot of fun.”
* * *
Fleet Intel, Trinity Base
“Any news?” said Admiral Tarr.
“Tyrell’s ships entered Combine space about three hours ago,” replied Torrance.
“Does he know that the Combine have been tipped off about his arrival in Sjhakar?”
“Not in as many words,” said Faulkner. “The fewer people that know about Franklin’s involvement in the operation the better.”
“We told Tyrell to expect a reception committee, but nothing else,” said Torrance.
Across Enemy Space Page 10