Dark Moon Arisen

by Chris Kennedy

  “—we have missiles in the black!”

  “Biter and Hrunting, screening actions.”

  “—Joyeuse is hit…”

  “—stay clear of Hippogriff’s firing solution!”

  “—splash that Maki light cruiser, yeah!”

  “—is hit, repeat, this is Offering, we’re hit, we’ve lost shields, trying to—”

  “This is Bucephalus.” Jim recognized Captain Su’s voice. “Offering was destroyed.” Jim swallowed.

  “Gallant Fox is beginning pinpoint attack on station defenses.”

  Then there was a minute of so much chatter, Jim couldn’t concentrate. He knew the reasons the Hussars were taking losses was twofold. One, they needed to take the facility as intact as possible. Two, the Hussars’ warships were limited to five Gs of maneuvering, the highest the merc transports were rated for, including Bucephalus.

  “How you doing kid?” Hargrave asked between labored breaths. The old merc wasn’t overweight, like Jim. In fact, he was probably underweight. However, the man was at least 60 years old, far older than most mercs serving in active combat roles.

  “Hanging…in there,” Jim said, gasping each word.

  “We’re almost there,” Hargrave assured him. He wanted to ask how the man knew, but the ship was rocked by a resounding impact.

  “Missile hits,” the ship’s TacCom said.

  “Damage Control to Deck Five, Section Three,” the DCC said. Another resounding impact, powerful enough to cause the thrust to falter. Jim’s eyes bugged out. If they lost thrust, Bucephalus would plummet into the gravity well of Golara 3. There would only be minutes to get power back and avert a fiery death. “Pressure lost, Decks Three and Four,” the DCC said. Thrust resumed, though slightly less powerful. Captain Su would be trying to keep them on target to their destination.

  A series of tiny shudders went through the ship, then nothing. The thrust began to lessen further. It wasn’t a sudden drop, though, but a measured decrease. “We’re through,” Captain Su said on the intercom to the drop ships. “We made it.”

  “How are the Hussars?” Jim asked, still breathing hard.

  “They lost a frigate,” she said. “One of the escort frigates, Hrunting, was pretty badly mauled. The cruiser Secretariat was hulled three times by particle cannons, but they’re still up. I don’t know how—their ships are tough!”

  “ETA to drop?” Hargrave asked.

  “One minute. Prepare for release.”

  “Thanks for getting us through, Captain,” Jim said.

  “You’ve got the hard job, Commander. Zhù nǐ chéng gong, good luck.”

  “Keep the engines running, Captain Su.” Jim changed to the company command channel. “A Company, report.”

  “First Platoon, First Squad, all up!” Buddha, his Top Sergeant, reported.

  “First Platoon, Second Squad, all up!” Lamb reported.

  “Second Platoon, all up!” Hargrave reported, his individual squad sergeants reporting directly to him.

  “B Company,” Jim called.

  “B Company, all up,” Major Alvarado reported.

  “C Company,” Jim called.

  “C Company standing by, under protest.”

  “Duly noted, Captain Wolf,” Hargrave said. C Company wasn’t quite ready for prime time; Hargrave and Jim had both agreed. Captain Marisa “Dire” Wolf didn’t agree, but she wasn’t paying the bills or writing the next-of-kin letters. They were suited up in Bucephalus, waiting. Jim thought she better hope they didn’t call on her, or they were deeply in the shit.

  “Drop in 20 seconds,” Jim’s dropship pilot announced. The two companies were split between eight Phoenix-class dropships. The older models only carried a single squad of CASPers. They were made with heavy assault in mind, where the troopers would be deployed under fire. Losses were expected, so a hit meant you’d only lose a squad, not an entire platoon.

  “Take your objectives,” Hargrave said to the individual platoon leaders. “Link up as fast as possible and secure as you go. Don’t worry about infrastructure, but remember we’re on a station! Go easy on the heavy ordnance.” A chorus of acknowledgements.

  “Ten seconds,” the pilot said.

  “Cavaliers up!” Buddha called.

  “Lead the charge!” they roared.

  “Three…two…one…”

  “Dropships away,” Captain Su said.

  With a bang, the eight Phoenix dropships were cast away, and all gravity disappeared. They floated for a second, then the smaller ship reoriented, bumping him around in his CASPer’s cockpit.

  “You doing okay, Splunk?” he asked. The Fae cooed and touched Jim’s thigh in the right leg of his suit. It was a familiar place, but he still wished he was in the expansive cockpit of the Raknar. His memory sang with the recollection of pure, undiluted power the Raknar gave him. Splunk had been more reluctant to climb into the CASPer, too. Their Raknar, Dash, remained locked to the side of Bucephalus for this stage of the operation.

  He suspected part of the reason was the reaming he’d gotten from Captain Su after he’d pulled over 60 Gs while bringing the Raknar over to Bucephalus from Upsilon.

  “In excess of 60 Gs,” she’d said, glaring at him floating in the ship’s medical bay while three doctors gave him scan after scan. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “I wasn’t,” he’d admitted.

  “You could easily have died,” Hargrave had snapped, not satisfied with his earlier chewing out.

  “Or holed the ship and killed yourself, and the entire crew,” Su had added.

  “I knew that wouldn’t happen,” he’d said, and glanced at Splunk floating nearby. “We knew it wouldn’t happen. The Raknar protected us from harm.”

  “How, exactly, did the machine do that?” the head physician had asked, still searching for answers.

  Jim had tried to find the words to describe it, but they hadn’t come. He’d gotten so far as to open his mouth, but then had been left like a fish trying to breath out of water. “I don’t know,” he’d finally said. The look the captain had given him had been very expressive.

  The Phoenix dropship lurched, and thrust shoved him sideways. They were no longer oriented with their backs toward the direction of the thrust now that the dropships were flying free. It was one of the disadvantages of the Phoenix, and part of why they’d fallen out of favor. Jim had been ready to place an order for newer vessels when everything had gone to shit.

  “Some flack,” the pilot said, and the ship began to maneuver. “The main batteries are still out, but the close-in defenses are operating.” Defenses designed to shoot down enemy missiles weren’t of great use against capital ships, but they could do fine against a 10-meter-long dropship without shields. He rode out the evasive maneuvers with grim determination. It wasn’t the first time he’d been shot at buckled into a dropship, and it wouldn’t be the last. This time, though, he wouldn’t be fired at a planet; they’d be fighting in space.

  “Phoenix Six is hit!” a woman’s voice called over the radio. His blood turned to ice. B Company, First Platoon, Second Squad. Sergeant Leilani Kalawai’s squad. He waited for more; it was all he could do.

  “Get it under control, Six!” another pilot called.

  “I got it,” the first pilot said, the strain evident in her voice.

  “I have a red light in Kalawai’s squad,” Major Alvarado said on the command frequency. “Looks like Warlock.” Private Scott “Warlock” Kuntzelman had been a Cavalier since just after they’d returned from their first cruise. He’d been recommended for corporal.

  The pilot was true to her word and kept the dropship under control. A few seconds later, they were all landing. Rather, they were clamping to the side of the shipyard control center. Nigel and his Asbarans were taking the yard and its two battleships, and the Cavaliers were going after the control center with its logistics, workshop, and warehouses, which were probably going to be more heavily-defended.

  “Clear and
down!” his dropship pilot called. “Good luck, Commander.”

  “Lift off and return to Bucephalus,” Jim ordered. “Get Company C ready, just in case.”

  “Roger that.”

  The large door on the back opened to space, and they began to disembark. The CASPers moved on puffs of gas from the maneuvering packs they wore. Most of Jim’s squad would be better in space with their Mk 8s; they were lighter and more maneuverable than his Mk 7. He banged the top of his suit’s cockpit on the back of the dropship’s door and exited, spinning.

  “Damn it,” he said, bringing the suit under control. He was the first out, and the last to actually clamp onto the metal hull of the control center.

  “Good to go, sir?” Buddha asked from a few meters away.

  “Yeah, just challenged,” Jim said, laughing a little. “Everyone out?”

  “We’re all set,” Buddha replied. The dropship released and pushed away with its RCS. Once it was at a safe distance, it used its more powerful main engines to accelerate toward Bucephalus. They were on their own.

  “All squads, make entry,” Jim ordered. “Weapons hot!”

  * * *

  Main Administration Spaces, Space Dock 17, Golara System

  “This is big boss office,” the Lumar said, standing in front of a rather—by space dock standards—ornate door. Nigel hadn’t seen anything along the way that would have made him think about breaking his promise to the Lumar officer. The dock was relatively poor, and the workers relatively rough in nature. Most of the bars had windows that looked like they’d been broken and taped up prior to the facility being depressurized. All in all, it looked like a blue-collar place where people came to work. Off-duty fun and excitement—beyond the bare minimum—would have required the workers to go somewhere else.

  Along the way, Nigel had also determined the Lumar officer—and his troops, for that matter—didn’t like the “big boss” very much. If the officer’s willingness to take the invaders to the boss’ office wasn’t enough, the troopers had also made some snide comments about the boss’ parentage and mating habits that had made it obvious. Interesting.

  Nigel tried the door. Although difficult with his CASPer’s hand, one thing was certain. “It’s locked,” he noted.

  “It always is,” the Lumar replied.

  “Do you have a key?”

  “No.” He turned and began walking down the corridor toward where his troopers waited. “You’re not coming in?”

  “Contract say I am not allowed in office,” Sulda replied. “Besides, big boss not treat us good. He say we’re not smart. I will stay down here, out of the way.”

  “Huh. Well that’s interesting.” Nigel turned to the corporal. “Apply the universal key, Taheri.” He stepped out of the way. “It’s all yours.”

  The corporal only had two steps to build up momentum, but that was enough. One thousand pounds of man and machine hit the door, and it flew off to the side to slam into the wall as Taheri flew across the room and slammed into a large wooden desk. Nigel’s suit registered a laser bolt that shot out the door.

  Nigel stormed into the large office to find a MinSha with a laser pistol taking aim at Taheri. One shot through the alien’s head ended the threat.

  “See?” he said, walking over to kick the laser away from the alien. “No problems killing the MinSha.”

  “Well done, sir,” Taheri said, getting to his feet. “Is that the reason we came here? To kill the boss?”

  “No, we came to see what was in his desk, his safe, and on his slate.” He grabbed the slate from where it had rebounded when the desk had been knocked out from under it and handed it to Sergeant Rahimi. “Work your magic.”

  The sergeant pulled out a cord and plugged it into the slate. While he worked, Nigel pulled the desk away from the bulkhead Taheri had smashed it into. The only thing interesting was a paybox full of credit chits, some of them fairly large. He stuck it into a leg compartment.

  “I thought you weren’t going to take anything,” Taheri said.

  “I gave my word not to take anything along the way,” Nigel said, “and I didn’t. The Lumar aren’t responsible for this office, so it’s fair game. Also, I consider anything a MinSha has as nothing more than a down payment for what they owe us.”

  “How much is that?”

  “Everything.”

  Nigel searched for a safe but couldn’t find one.

  “Sorry, sir,” Rahimi said after a few minutes, “but there isn’t anything I can find of value on this slate.” He turned it so Nigel could see as he scrolled through the listing via his pinplants. “Just some status reports on the battleships, personnel reports, shipyard status reports…things like that.”

  “Does it have a listing of all the ships in the shipyard and types?”

  “Looking for a new ship?” Rahimi asked.

  “No, I’m making sure we destroy anything they might be able to use against us later before we leave the system.” He watched the information go by. “Wait!” he said. “Go back.” He nodded. “That’s what I thought it said.”

  Nigel turned to Taheri. “You said there must be something really good here.” Nigel pointed to the slate. “I just found it.”

  * * *

  Bravo Arm, Space Dock 22, Golara System

  Sergeant First Class Amunson turned his exterior speakers to max and toggled the Reavers’ battle music. “Fire!” he ordered as “Ride of the Valkyries” roared through the passageway. Amunson put a laser bolt through the forehead of a Lumar coming toward him, and the giant humanoid’s advance turned into a tumbling spin. He scanned, looking for more targets, but most of the Lumar had gone down in the initial barrage. Not only were they bigger targets than the Goka, the large four-armed aliens were also far easier to kill.

  The Goka looked like oversized cockroaches, and their carapaces were almost completely laser-reflective. They were also extremely hard, and a glancing MAC round would often skip off rather than penetrate. And, as he’d expected, as soon as the Reavers started firing, a large number of Goka had skittered through one of the airlocks he could see. “Enberg! Watch out! Goka on the roof!”

  He fired at one of the approaching Goka—there were still plenty coming toward the Reavers’ barricade—and sighed as the bolt reflected off.

  The platoon put up a good fight—while their barricade had started only on the “floor” of the passageway, he had added positions on the ceiling, then had added firing positions on the side walls of the corridor as well. The troopers on the floor had an excellent firing position to hit the ones on the ceiling, and vice versa. Still, they didn’t have enough MACs, and he could see there would be leakers.

  Resigned to his fate, he attached his laser rifle to the leg of his CASPer, then he drew his combat knife with his left hand while his CASPer’s sword blade snapped out on his right. He could hear the horns of Valhalla calling…but he was going to kill some bugs first.

  * * *

  Pegasus One, Bravo Arm, Space Dock 22, Golara System

  “The LZ is hot!” the pilot cried from the front of the shuttle.

  Sansar knew the Jeha was a shuttle pilot, not a combat dropship pilot, and she was happy he’d gotten this far without totally freaking out. “Just get us down!” Sansar yelled in her best command voice.

  “I can’t!” the Jeha exclaimed. “There’s combat taking place and nowhere to land!”

  “Well, for Blue Sky’s sake, turn the damn shuttle around, and we’ll jump from here!” She slapped the button to lower the ramp. Although he wouldn’t go any closer, the pilot did spin the craft, and, within seconds, Sansar had an excellent view of the spirited fight underway on the space dock several hundred meters below. At least five CASPers, spread around the sides of the dock, were firing at a host of Goka. It was hard to tell how many as they dodged through the equipment, boxes, and structures on top of the facility, but it looked to be at least 20 of them. At least one CASPer was also floating away from the dock, unmoving.

  “Al
l Golden Horde units!” Sansar ordered. “Attack!” She jetted out the back of the shuttle, lining up a shot with her MAC on one of the bugs. She fired, but the speedy creature moved, and the round went through the space dock. The alien dodged behind a cooling unit, and she lost sight of it.

  “Let’s go,” First Sergeant “Mun” Enkh shouted over the comm system as she dove from the shuttle next to Sansar’s. Within seconds, the 42 soldiers of Alpha Company were out of the four shuttles and jetting toward the arm of the space dock.

  Sansar got a second chance at the Goka as it tried to race forward, and this time she was close enough to drill it with her MAC. The bug slammed into the dock, then rebounded into space, motionless.

  “First Platoon, clean up the bugs out here,” she ordered. “Second Platoon, with me inside!”

  Sansar found an airlock that had been breached and jetted through it. The battle was worse inside; the bugs had already advanced to hand-to-hand range and had overrun the Reavers’ position. Knowing the Goka wouldn’t surrender—it wasn’t in the psychopathic bugs’ natures—she dove into the melee with her troopers right behind her.

  * * *

  Bravo Arm, Space Dock 22, Golara System

  Sergeant First Class Amunson could hear the horns calling him home to Valhalla ever louder in his ears. His CASPer’s right leg had taken a knife through the joint and was inop. His own leg was in similar shape, as the knife had also penetrated his thigh. He’d used most of a medkit on it and had lost all feeling in his leg below his knee; he didn’t know whether that was a good thing or bad, but at least he wasn’t distracted by the pain anymore. That or the wet feeling from the blood floating in his suit.

  He’d locked the CASPer’s leg in full extension and continued the fight. It seemed like no matter how many Goka he killed, there were always more; perhaps because they were concentrating on him as his fellow troopers died. Amunson didn’t know—he didn’t care—all that remained was the mission. Keep the Goka out of the ship.