Dark of the Void (Forged Alliance Book 1)

by Anthony James

  “The approaching enemy shuttles are preparing to deploy,” said Sergeant Tagra.

  Vance’s ability to cope with the number of variables was pushed to its limit. The nearest shuttle was north and it sped along the street towards his platoon, while the second was east and keeping pace. There may have been others, but the way the sounds reflected off the buildings made it impossible to be sure.

  Despite the short break for the engagement, Vance’s breathing was already becoming ragged and he inhaled deeply to reduce his heart rate. Then came a shrieking noise that went from quiet to all-encompassing in half a second, and the shuttle to the north exploded with such devastating completeness that Vance was sure it had been struck by a hellburner. Before the first realisation had fully formed, the next shuttle was destroyed with equivalent ease and Vance heard other blasts coming from elsewhere.

  Assailed by competing sound waves, pursued by Kilvar shock troops, and with an invulnerable twelve-thousand-metre enemy warship hunting the exium protype he was sworn to guard, Vance bitterly admired the depth of crap he found himself in.

  “Whoa this shit is crazy!” said Drawl.

  If the soldier said anything after that, Vance didn’t hear it. A shape – the promised warship - appeared out of nowhere, aligned directly with the street. He knew who was at the helm, but this was Vance’s first sight of the 1200-metre, Riot Mk V fleet warship Lost Boy. Its engines sounded like shit and the pressure they generated made him feel as if he was wading through treacle.

  Just when Vance thought his brain was dealing with all the stimulus it could manage, the Lost Boy’s railer guns fired. He’d experienced a proximity discharge before, but nothing like this. The warship’s fusillade was deafening, bestial and savage. High-calibre slugs pounded the street, ripping channels in the concrete and sending shards pinging against the alloy walls of the flanking buildings.

  Unable to resist, Vance spun to look. At least two railers were aimed into the street and their slugs raked in every direction. A running Kilvar soldier vanished completely and then the one after. Others were smashed to paste and still they came, until the railers had slaughtered every last one of them.

  The Lost Boy’s guns cut out and the relief Vance felt was immense, though not as immense as his gratitude for the intervention.

  A new link was made to his comms unit. “How’s it going down there, Lieutenant?” The voice was familiar – a reminder of old times.

  “Same as ever, Captain Montero,” said Vance. “The crap keeps on coming and we keep on going.”

  “The Lost Boy doesn’t want to stay in the air, let alone dodge missiles. Fleet Admiral Recker thinks the Kilvar won’t dare attack if I sit directly on top of the platoon.”

  Captain Nelle Montero had, many years ago, been under Vance’s command. She’d moved onwards and upwards, but she’d always be one of the squad.

  “I can’t say I agree one way or another, Captain, but damn I’m glad to see you.”

  “I’m glad to see you too, Lieutenant. You’d best pick up your feet.”

  “Try and keep up.”

  Holding his Rodan one-handed, Vance quickly fell into a rhythm and the soles of his boots thumped on the ground. Above, almost brushing the rooftops, the Lost Boy offered a physical barrier between the platoon and the Kilvar warship.

  “I feel like we’re running blind here, Captain Montero. What’s happening out there?”

  “A few members of the fleet are operational again, but we’re so down on power we’re sitting ducks. Not that we wouldn’t be sitting ducks anyway, but dying would probably feel better with the output gauge sitting on one hundred percent. Anyway, we’re hitting that Kilvar warship with everything and so far, it’s been a spitting in the wind exercise.”

  “How many mesh charges is that Riot packing, Corporal?”

  “Just the one, and if Fleet Admiral Recker has called it right, I’m not going to need it.”

  Vance didn’t need to tell Montero that once the Lost Boy’s mesh deflector was on recharge, the warship wouldn’t survive a single hit from one of those energy beams, and a couple of missile strikes would likely put it out of action as well. This was a time when everyone had to share the risk.

  “If you get hit, try not to land on top of us, Captain. My steel toecaps weren’t built to withstand a billion tons.”

  “I’ll do my best.” Montero’s voice turned serious. “Listen - if the mesh deflector goes off, take cover in one of these buildings and I’ll do what I can to make it seem like you’re heading a different way.”

  “There won’t be much time once the Kilvar start shooting at you, Captain.”

  “I’ve got backup coming as well – you’ll hear it when it arrives. The Fleet Admiral sure wants that exium prototype getting to its destination.”

  Vance couldn’t hear anything above the Lost Boy’s propulsion and when he looked, he couldn’t see anything of the sky either. It sounded like the Amber base was recovering from the surprise of the attack and he fervently hoped this late response wasn’t simply delaying the knockout blow.

  “Anything you hear, I’d be grateful if you’d let me know,” said Vance.

  “No need for gratitude, Lieutenant. We’re in this together, like it always was.”

  Switching channels, Vance updated the squad. The news that it was Captain Montero watching over them boosted everyone’s mood after the death of Private Arnold, and they ran faster still. A check of his HUD distance counter showed Vance there was a long way to go, but he was more determined than ever that he was going to make it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Less than two minutes after Captain Montero had talked about incoming backup for the Lost Boy, the sound pressure level in the street increased several notches until it felt to Vance like his chest was being constricted and it was an effort to draw in each breath. Added to this crushing new thunder was the ongoing sound of high explosives and the hammer crack of energy beams plunging into the Amber base. The Lost Boy’s guns and launchers weren’t silent either – its railers fired and its missiles burst from their clusters with dull booms of ignition.

  “Wave to the Kostralias and the Revistax, boys and girls,” said Captain Montero entering the platoon channel to deliver the good news. “Two of the Daklan’s finest annihilators and they’re here just for you.”

  “They got the battleships running,” said Drawl. “Things are starting to go our way.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure, Private,” said Montero. “I’m shooting down a ton of shuttles and sooner or later, something’s going to give.”

  Drawl was never one to let an opportunity slip. “Anyways, Captain, how come you’re flying the Lost Boy instead of the Lost Girl?”

  “She definitely lost her way, so the name is half-right,” said Carrington. “Captain Montero, if you want to return to the side of all that is right and holy, I’m sure the Lieutenant can make space for you in the platoon.”

  “Thanks for the invitation, Private. I’ll give it some thought.”

  Montero had more to occupy her time than talking crap with her former squadmates and she cut the channel. The brief reminder of past camaraderie was over and the realities of the situation came back at once.

  On the positive side, the Amber ground troops were far more in evidence than they had been only a short time ago, and Vance spotted platoons stationed on the corners ahead. The first soldiers only watched his approach and made no attempt to keep pace, having been ordered to cover the road behind, in case any Kilvar shock troops came this way.

  Five hundred metres later and Vance passed a company of soldiers waiting in a recessed area off the road, in front of one of the high-security buildings. Without saying a word, half of these soldiers kept pace behind Vance’s platoon, while the other half ranged ahead, their legs fresher and with more energy for a sprint.

  Two thousand metres further and Vance was finding it tough. His heartrate was elevated and his loadout seemed heavier than before. He didn’t doubt h
is fitness and he put his reduced performance down to the resonance caused by the warship flying over his head. No matter how much air he sucked in, it wasn’t enough.

  All around, smoke from the ongoing attack was gathering into thick, swirling clouds, which clung to the street and added a layer of murk to the advancing night. Although the filter in a combat suit blocked the particulates, it allowed some of the odour through and Vance felt grubby breathing it in.

  Still, he wouldn’t contemplate anything other than maximum effort and he exhorted his platoon to keep up. Everyone was feeling the same borderline exhaustion and the comms channel was mostly silent as the soldiers focused on moving forward.

  “Maybe we should take booster shots, Lieutenant,” said Private Bautista. Every soldier carried two injectors of Frenziol-15, a concoction designed to make a human or Daklan run and fight way beyond the usual limits of their body.

  Having taken enough boosters to last a lifetime in the Lavorix wars, Vance wasn’t feeling the need. Not yet and, he hoped, not ever. “Take one if you need it, soldier.”

  “Is this a competition?” panted Bautista in puzzlement. “Like, see who can go the longest?”

  “Shut up,” said Vance, not wanting to get into a discussion.

  “Maybe we’ll tell you all about it later, if you’re clever enough to listen,” said Corporal Hendrix.

  Vance didn’t see if Bautista took the needle. In truth, he didn’t have the energy or the interest to turn. Even after all these years, his body remembered what it was like to run on boosters and the craving was still there. The Frenziol-15 was different to the old mix, he’d often been told, but that didn’t make him want to try it.

  When I start slowing down, that’s when I’ll boost.

  Metre by metre, the distance to target fell and Vance didn’t allow his pace to slacken. The Lost Boy hovered overhead and the exchange of weapons continued. More and more soldiers appeared on the street, though everyone was on foot rather than in vehicles.

  “Still with us, Captain Flint?” asked Vance. The Loadout’s crew had remained calm during the engagement with the Kilvar, kept out of the way and fired their weapons effectively.

  “Still here,” Flint confirmed, his breathing laboured. “This situation can’t last.”

  Vance understood. The enemy were – to all intents – here for the exium and they were being denied it by warships sitting right on top of their target. It didn’t matter how many shuttles the enemy launched, the local fleet would shoot them down as quickly as they appeared and if the Kilvar wrecked the Kostralias, the Revistax and the Lost Boy, they stood a good chance of losing the exium beneath several billion tons of alloy.

  “What else can they do, sir?” asked Vance. “I guess we’ve caught them with a tactic they weren’t expecting. If they bury us underneath our own spaceships, they’ll need to wait for one of their heavy lifters to come and pick up the wreckage and I doubt they’ll have one parked nearby.”

  “I hope they’re as undecided as you think, Lieutenant.” Flint combined a laugh with a rapid exhalation of breath. “If they’re desperate enough, they could bury us anyway and then shift the debris using the warship above us. It would be messy and it might not work, but the Kilvar might decide its worth a shot.”

  Flint fell silent and Vance concentrated on running. So much about the enemy was a mystery and he wished he knew more. The key to success often came down to fine margins and understanding which way an opponent was likely to react. Right now, Vance was in the dark and he didn’t like it.

  “Your destination isn’t too far ahead, Lieutenant,” said Fleet Admiral Recker on the comms. “The avenue you’re running on comes straight up against the south wall of the research complex. Once you enter the facility compound, the nearest personnel entrance will be directly in front of you.”

  “How far to the airlifts, sir?” asked Vance. The research facility was huge and on his HUD map he’d located several lifts to the subterranean levels, the closest of which was more than six thousand metres from the entrance. Usually, access to those areas was by shuttle and that wasn’t an option unless the base personnel had figured out a way to get the transports flying again.

  “It’s a long run, Lieutenant. My first plan was to have the Lost Boy set down and you all climb onboard for a drop-off at the facility topside entrance nearest the lifts. If I order that, it’s my belief the Kilvar will shoot down the Lost Boy, thinking that we’re trying to escape with the exium.”

  “Could we get one of the topside shuttles working, sir? The Loadout would be big enough to keep us hidden as we fly up to the roof.”

  “We’re finding it hard getting any of the shuttles to accept the old control software. We can fix it, but not in time.”

  “You’ve got a plan, sir. I can hear it in your voice.”

  “Am I that transparent?” Recker gave a short laugh. “Lieutenant Vance, your records indicate your tank training is up to date.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Vance, wondering where this was leading.

  “There are two new Gundik tanks parked in the facility yard. RL Moseley is here with me and he’s run the maths – those tanks have the mass and thrust to punch all the way through the inner walls to your destination.”

  “The outer facility wall must be a dozen metres thick, sir. Plus, the tank has a ternium drive. How will we get it running?”

  “The outer walls are twenty-five metres thick, Lieutenant, which is why the Kostralias is going to make an opening for you.”

  “What about the ternium engines, sir?”

  “The exium prototype is designed with several uses in mind, Lieutenant. The first of which is to stabilise superstressed ternium. It does this by forcing alignment on the agitated…” Recker stopped himself. “Damnit, I’m sounding like RL Moseley all of sudden. What you need to know is that those posts studding the prototype’s outer surface are interface antennae. With the right instructions, the prototype should get the tank running. After that, you’ll climb onboard and drive the Gundik to the airlifts. I promise I won’t bill you for the damages. I’ll have someone calculate a route through the interior and send the details to your suit computer as soon as they’re ready.”

  Vance felt the intoxicating promise of order and chaos coming into conflict, where the line between the two was so fine that only the most tenacious or the downright luckiest could possibly walk it and survive.

  “I’m ready to put the plan in motion, sir,” he said. “How do I make the exium prototype do what we need it to do?”

  “RL Moseley can control the prototype remotely and he can send the relevant commands to the Gundik. All you need do is drive. I’m watching your progress from the bunker – I’ll contact you again when you’re in position.”

  The channel went dead and Vance found new wind. He ran hard in the darkness, skirting around vehicles and the other obstacles which littered the road. His troops came with him, each one giving their utmost to keep up with the pack. The smoke was thicker than before and in places was enough to reduce visibility way below Vance’s comfort level.

  “What’s up, sir?” panted Drawl, detecting Vance’s change in mood.

  “I’ll tell you when we get there, Private. If everything works out, we’re finishing the last six klicks in style.”

  “Intriguing,” said Raven.

  The wall of the research facility compound grew larger with each stride and Vance locked his gaze on its sheer surface, relying on peripheral sight to detect enemy movement. Not that he expected an attack with the fleet’s warships watching for Kilvar deployments and the thousands of ground troops who were evident in the area.

  Another street – equally wide – cut left and right at the end of the avenue and it formed a square around the facility’s perimeter wall. It also allowed Vance a view to the east and west that he’d been denied while running north.

  In both directions, above and between the buildings, an orange glow was apparent, partly shrouded by greasy smoke. Every sec
ond or two, plasma light flashed, and Vance spotted a Kilvar shuttle come down in a blazing fireball a couple of kilometres east.

  A guard station – which was little more than a cabin adjacent to the personnel door - protected this compound entrance, and a platoon of soldiers were in positions around it. As he approached, Vance half-expected – and wouldn’t have minded - to hear a couple of barbs about his fitness. Instead, the platoon’s commanding officer gave him a salute while someone in the cabin sent the command to open the door.

  “Good luck,” said one of the soldiers as Vance dashed past.

  The personnel door was three metres wide and similarly high, so the platoon wasn’t required to bunch up to pass into the tunnel cutting through the compound wall. A pair of miniguns were mounted on the alloy ceiling and they didn’t track Vance’s movement, leading him to wonder if they’d failed.

  Exiting the tunnel, Vance came into a massive compound, which measured five hundred metres from the outer wall to the inner wall and surrounded the facility. From memory, he knew this space was used as temporary storage for materiel requested by the labs and construction plants within the research complex, and piles of crates in every conceivable shape and size were stacked a few thousand metres west.

  “The Gundiks are directly ahead, Lieutenant,” said Recker on the comms. “RL Moseley will take remote control of the prototype.”

  Vance saw the tanks as well – they were angular shapes against the looming wall of the main research facility. “I can’t see an opening through the inner facility wall, sir,” he said, before Recker could exit the channel.

  “We’re holding the missiles until the last possible moment, Lieutenant. The pressure is building.”

  The channel went dead and Vance put in a final burst to reach the tanks. Recker’s last words had him worried and he hoped the base aerial defences weren’t about to fall. The Lost Boy remained overhead, but Vance lacked the breath to ask Captain Montero what was going on.