by CH Gideon
Frozen Fire
Metal Legion™ Book Two
CH Gideon
Caleb Wachter
Craig Martelle
Frozen Fire (this book) is a work of fiction.
All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.
Copyright © 2018 by Caleb Wachter & Craig Martelle writing as CH Gideon
Cover artwork by Luca Oleastri, Typography & Logo by Jeff Brown
LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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First US edition, December 2018
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Frozen Fire Team
Thanks to our Beta Readers
Micky Cocker, James Caplan, Kelly O’Donnell, and John Ashmore
Thanks to the JIT Readers
James Caplan
Terry Easom
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Contents
Prologue: The Nexus
1. Insertion
2. Frozen Hell
3. Keeping the Peace
4. Brinksmanship
5. Illumination
6. Contact
7. The First Thread
8. Offense vs. Defense
9. Ambush
10. Jemmin Assault
11. Aftermath
12. Asymmetry
13. Command Decisions
14. Symmetry
15. The Duel
16. Frigid Fury
17. Battlefield Diplomacy
18. Tight Wraps
19. The Jemmin Conspiracy?
20. The Exclusive Report
21. Chairman of the Board
Epilogue: A Heart-to-Heart
Author Notes - Craig Martelle
Books by Craig Martelle
Other books from LMBPN Publishing
Prologue: The Nexus
“Event horizon in three minutes,” the warship’s helmsman reported as the faintly wobbling, ring-shaped gate loomed before the kilometer-long Bonhoeffer. The gate was wide, a thousand meters across the inner margin of the metal structure. Terran scientists had concluded that the League’s gates pre-dated human civilization and, possibly, humanity itself.
The Dietrich Bonhoeffer followed a ballistic trajectory toward Jump Gate New America 2. Tension flowed like waves from a star gone supernova. The venerable assault carrier drew steadily nearer the gate that connected the Terran colonies through what the Illumination League called the Nexus.
“Gate handshake protocols established,” called the comm officer, and to Lieutenant Colonel Lee Jenkins’ eye, the gate seemed to briefly shimmer as ink-black ripples fluttered across its otherwise blank surface. The gate was large enough to fit a Terran dreadnought, which was nearly fifty times the volume of the Bonhoeffer. The dreadnoughts had been specifically designed to be as large as possible and still fit through the gates.
“Steady on,” acknowledged Colonel Li Yu, the ship’s hundred-year-old commanding officer.
The Bonhoeffer was the only ship commanded by a colonel. Non-Fleet personnel were only permitted to crew select warships deemed essential to a given branch’s ongoing operations. Terran Armor Corps once had its own fleet, but funding had been cut incrementally, and over time, only a single mighty warship remained under direct command of the armor branch.
Jenkins, standing at the back of the Bonhoeffer’s bridge, shuffled his feet nervously as the vessel crossed the one-minute-to-go mark.
This was not his first time passing through the Nexus, but only once before had he been present on the bridge at the moment of transit. He intended to savor the experience. The ship was at condition two, per standard gate-transit protocols, and that condition would persist at least until they reached their destination: the Naga System. The men and women of the Bonhoeffer’s crew were trained professionals, and operations proceeded fluidly despite the indisputable anxiety of the situation.
“Thirty seconds,” the helmsman reported mechanically.
“All hands, this is Colonel Li,” the ship’s CO announced over the intercom. “Prepare for gate transit in twenty seconds.”
Jenkins would have been lying if he tried to say he wasn’t nervous about passing through the gate. Approach velocity, angle, rotation, EM profile, and a dozen different measurements of the ship’s mass and displacement needed to be precisely balanced in order to successfully pass through an artificial wormhole. Failure to properly calibrate a gate-approach-vector had resulted in nine warships being destroyed during transit in Terran Republic history.
“Event horizon in three…two…one…mark,” the helmsman announced, and as he spoke, the murky black disc of the wormhole gate was replaced by the image of a particularly massive, multi-colored gas giant.
“Transit successful,” the ship’s navigator reported. “We have arrived in the Nexus system.”
“Receiving League Peacekeeper Fleet ID challenge,” the comm officer reported.
“Transmit our credentials and itinerary,” Colonel Li replied staidly as a dozen warship icons flickered into being on the tactical plotter positioned prominently in the command center. That dozen quickly grew to over a hundred, and Jenkins forced himself to relax as he knew that at least half of them were a match for the Bonhoeffer.
And at that moment, they all had their guns trained on the Armor Corps warship.
“Credentials and itinerary acknowledged,” Comm reported. “I’m receiving a P2P link request.”
Jenkins cocked his head, making brief eye contact with General Akinouye, who seemed as surprised as he was.
“Accept the link,” Li commanded, and a moment later, the image of a Jemmin appeared on the screen.
The Jemmin were remarkably similar to humans. They were bipedal, featured external paired organs such as eyes and ears, and largely interacted with their environments the same way humans did. They relied upon the same basic senses, had fingered hands with opposable thumbs, and organized themselves along similar social lines to those used by humans.
But in spite of those similarities, the differences were striking.
They had grey, porous skin with the barest hints of blue near their facial features. Their mouths were lined not with teeth, but rows of flexible bone plates that were more than capable of tearing through meat and bone alike. Their ears were long slits which ran from midway up their necks to the tops of their heads, and their noses were recess
ed rather than prominent like human noses. And none of their external organs were quite symmetrical, though a consistent left-right bias seemed indiscernible to Jenkins.
Still, it was their eyes—gray, featureless, and unblinking—that stood out the most.
“Human warship Dietrich Bonhoeffer,” the Jemmin’s auto-translated voice greeted, “this is Illumination League Peacekeeping Cruiser, Azure Spire. Your destination star system is under quarantine. We advise, for your safety, that you return to your home star system and wait until we declare it to once again be transit-safe. Acknowledge.”
“Azure Spire, this is Dietrich Bonhoeffer actual, acknowledging your transmission,” Colonel Li replied neutrally while tapping out commands which, when received by the helmsman, saw the carrier’s engines fire and drive the venerable warship toward the Naga gate. “Our mission to the Naga System is considered top priority. My orders are to proceed there without delay, secure Terran interests in accordance with our lawful rights, and await further instructions from my government. Acknowledge,” he finished, his lips pursed in a thin line as he returned the Azure Spire CO’s command.
“Transmission acknowledged, Dietrich Bonhoeffer,” the Jemmin replied in the flat, emotionless tone of the auto-translator. “Acknowledge receipt of this duly-issued warning regarding the Naga System’s current status.”
Colonel Li quickly examined a data packet, which he brought to General Akinouye for review. The ebony-skinned general nodded after reviewing the document and affixed his signature to it.
“Azure Spire,” Colonel Li declared, forwarding the document to the comm officer, “we are transmitting our acknowledged copy of your warning.” His lips twisted into a smirk. “We appreciate your concern for our well-being.”
“Transmission received. Proceed to the Naga gate and do not deviate from the indicated route,” the Jemmin said before cutting the link.
“Frosty,” Akinouye muttered just loud enough for Jenkins to hear. He leaned toward Jenkins and added, “Prepare for a hot drop.”
“Yes, General,” Jenkins agreed, having already issued orders to that effect. Better to be unnecessarily over-prepared. The alternative would get people killed.
The Bonhoeffer adjusted course and speed, as directed by the IL Peacekeepers, and soon the main viewer was filled with the image of their destination wormhole gate. Clustered around the most massive gas giant in the Nexus System, the gates assigned to humanity’s sub-set of the FTL—faster than light—network were relatively close to one another. The other League species, and even those species like the Vorr and Arh’Kel who were no longer parties to the Illumination League but retained access to their wormholes, were similarly clustered at roughly equidistant points from the rest of the non-League worlds.
Dozens of Arh’Kel warships soon appeared on the farthest edge of the Bonhoeffer’s tactical plotter, and Jenkins could feel the atmosphere in command and control, the CAC go taut as the contacts were called out in the sensor pit. There was little real risk of a confrontation in the Nexus, but the bad blood the rock-biters had earned in recent decades made every human present take note at seeing their longtime enemy’s warships maneuvering well within weapons range.
“Steady as she goes, Helm,” Colonel Li said firmly, and the stiff shoulders around the CAC relaxed, if just a bit as people resumed focus on their duties. “Triple-check our approach vector to the Naga gate,” he added for good measure.
“Aye, sir,” came a short burst of acknowledgments as the Bonhoeffer moved toward its destination. At their present speed, they would arrive in just under an hour. During that time, Jenkins observed no fewer than one thousand distinct sensor contacts appear on the tactical plotter, with eighty percent of those icons belonging to the Illumination League Peacekeeper Force.
Every single League member species was represented in the ILPF’s ship roster, but Solar humanity’s representation was pathetic by comparison to most. Just thirty warships bearing Solarian heraldry were present, and none of them made any effort to contact their Terran brethren as the Armor Corps drove toward the Naga gate.
“One Minders,” grunted General Akinouye in muted disgust. “A hundred billion people call Sol home, sixty times as many as live in the Terran Republic, and they can’t even be bothered to present a credible presence here at the beating heart of the Illumination League? Pathetic.”
Jenkins quirked a brow in mild surprise. “The Terran Republic’s official stance on Terran-Sol relations is one promoting reunification.”
“Nobody on this deck is stupid, Colonel,” Akinouye said pointedly. “When our wormholes were locked out by the League for seventy years—which only happened because of those One Minders’ inflexible, collectivist mindset—the humans of Sol and those of us in the Terran Republic took radically different paths. We had to survive without interstellar commerce, and developed our own technology as a result, which is why we’re able to stave off the Arh’Kel even though they outnumber us fifty-to-one.” The veteran general sneered contemptuously. “When the gates re-opened, Sol was a little too eager to run into the League’s open arms while we learned how to stand on our own. Nothing that’s happened since Sol joined the League has suggested reunification is anything but a pipe dream. So ‘official stances’ are nice in theory, but reality on the ground is another thing entirely.” He inclined his chin toward the tactical plotter. “Sol and the League deserve each other. We Terrans deserve better, which is exactly what we’re going to build. One brick at a time if necessary.”
“Yes, sir.” Jenkins nodded, a slow smile spreading across his face as the Bonhoeffer made its final approach to the Naga gate.
“Thirty seconds to event horizon,” the helmsman called out.
“Angle and velocity aligned,” the navigator reported tensely.
“Gate handshake protocols established,” reported Comms.
“All hands,” Colonel Li raised the crew over the intercom, “prepare for gate transit in twenty seconds.”
The transit timer counted down on displays throughout the ship. As the Bonhoeffer reached the event horizon, Jenkins felt his breath catch for those last few seconds.
Then, just as had happened an hour before, the dark, impenetrable wormhole was replaced by the image of a planet. But unlike the gas giant in the Nexus System, this one was monochrome teal and featured a dazzling, silvery ring system, not unlike those of Saturn.
“Transit complete,” the helmsman reported as the Bonhoeffer’s engines fired and the ship’s course was adjusted.
“Contacts,” Sensors called out, “multiple contacts in orbit of EO-5293.”
New icons winked onto the tactical plotter, one after another, until thirty-eight warships appeared in orbit of EO-5293, a planetoid known colloquially as “Shiva’s Wrath.”
“Break it down,” Li commanded.
“Twenty-three Jemmin warships squawking ILPF idents, Colonel,” Sensors reported. “Fifteen warships squawking Vorr codes.”
Li’s brow lowered as he turned to General Akinouye. “The briefing indicated no more than six Vorr warships would be present.”
“That was our intel,” General Akinouye agreed grimly. “Apparently the Jemmin disapprove of their presence in this star system.”
Li nodded, satisfied that the Armor Corps’ ranking member was being straight with him. “All hands,” he raised his voice, “this is Colonel Li. Set condition one throughout the ship. I say again: set condition one throughout the ship.”
The XO confirmed the order, and Jenkins knew that meant his time on the bridge was at an end. He turned to leave, but the general motioned for him to stop. “Stay, Colonel. I want you as up-to-speed as possible before we drop you on that ball of ice.”
Jenkins nodded before giving Li a deferential look, to which Li nodded approvingly before resuming his duties. “Helm, increase acceleration to make least-time orbit of Shiva’s Wrath.”
“Least-time orbit, aye,” the helmsman acknowledged before adding, “estimate low-orbit in twe
nty-three hours, eighteen minutes, Colonel.”
Li turned to Jenkins. “I hope you people trained for a hot drop. I can’t risk hanging between two battle fleets poised to tear each other apart.”
Jenkins flashed a confident smirk. “You give us a survivable approach trajectory and we’ll be fine.”
“Good.” Li nodded, though he seemed unconvinced.
As was so often the case, Jenkins felt significantly less confident than he let on. But he had done his level best to prep his people for a hot drop. He just hoped he’d done enough.
“Come on, you monkeys!” Captain Xi Bao snarled at the scrambling rookies as last-minute preparations were made to the drop-cans, which the mechs would ride to the surface of Shiva’s Wrath. “Podsy’s dates move faster than you, and they’re all dead!” she shouted as a nearby worker tripped over her own boots and fell, sending a loose-packed crate of ration bars skittering across the deck. “Trying to get a purple tag, is that it, Quinn?” Xi barked as the woman hurriedly picked up the scattered bars and refilled the crate. “Bucking for a doctor’s note so you don’t have to go to work like the rest of us?”
“No, ma’am!” Quinn replied. She was the green Monkey assigned to Lieutenant Ford’s Forktail.
“Then why in God’s name are you trying to make out with my deck?” Xi barked. “Get those bars loaded into your mech. Move! Move! Move!” she yelled as the harried Quinn did precisely that, entering Forktail’s drop-can and disappearing from sight.