Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6

by Chaney, J. N.

  I’d be just as mad, Magnus thought.

  And yet, for whatever reason, Piper had resurfaced in the Unity for Awen and Willowood to see. This was a good sign, of course. It also meant he and Piper would soon speak, and that gave him the chills. Magnus had conducted operations on a dozen worlds and in a hundred scenarios, but none made him more nervous than facing Piper again.

  As Magnus sent rounds downrange, he searched his heart again to see if he’d done anything wrong to harm the child. If this was his fault—and he believed it was—then making it right meant accounting for his wrongdoing. Magnus could have left her on the Spire. He could have kept her in Neith Tearness. Hell, he could have refused the mission to respond to the Stone’s cruiser in the first place.

  And where would that have gotten her, Magnus? The Bull Wraith would still have captured their ship, and the Paragon would have terminated the crew. No matter how many times Magnus played with outcomes, none seemed better than the one they were already in. And he hated it.

  But you could have protected her better, Magnus told himself. He’d been careless to let her wander into Nos Kil’s cellblock. And he really should have kept her away from the bloodshed, from the killing. Awen had insisted she was ready, and he’d gone along with it.

  Mystics, you’re a fool.

  * * *

  The fighting grew more intense as Granther Company neared Moldark’s quarters. Not only were there more troopers gathering in front of the last set of blast doors, but fixed defenses in the ceiling spooled up and fired on the advancing gladia. Despite the added heat, the mystic’s shielding held, which allowed the fire teams to take out their targets without fear of being hit. At least for the present.

  “How long can your people keep this up, Willowood?” Magnus asked.

  “A while,” she replied. “But with how fast they keep sending reinforcements, I doubt you’ll be getting munitions on those doors any time soon.”

  As much as Magnus hated to admit it, the older woman was right. This ship had plenty of troopers to burn, and now that Granther Company was outside the nest, the beasts were defending it tooth and nail.

  “Cyril,” Magnus said.

  “Right here. Copy, sir.”

  “I need an alternate way in.”

  “Right, right, right, gotcha. Searching now, sir.”

  Magnus watched as a new auto turret raced down a track in the ceiling to replace a compromised firing unit. The broken system dropped from the track like a spent ammo magazine, and the new auto turret started firing on the gladia. Its blaster fire raked up an invisible shield in front of Abimbola, focusing on his head. But the bolts exploded in a shower of sparks and smacked the wall with a loud popping sound.

  Using the NOV1’s holo sights, Magnus aimed at the auto turret and squeezed off a long burst. Blue bolts bit into the auto turret, spinning, bending, and eventually ripping the unit from the track. Within seconds, however, a new unit was speeding down the track to replace the one Magnus destroyed.

  “Cyril, whaddya got for me?”

  “It’s coming, sir. Yes, yes, yes, here we go. There’s a conduit chase directly below you. It runs east for ten meters before turning south again. It should bring you to a subfloor intersection with an access hatch that’s within your target area.”

  Magnus watched the new waypoints illuminate on his HUD as Cyril described the route. “You’re a damned genius, Cyril.”

  “Sir. Just doing my job, sir.”

  “Alpha and Bravo, you’re with me. Willowood, you too. Zoll, Bliss, and Robillard, think you and Paladia Company can keep these animals at bay?”

  “Absosplickinlutely,” Robillard yelled out as he dropped another replacement auto turret in the ceiling. “Just want to make sure you know what you’re doing with leading this element, LT.”

  Robillard had some balls questioning Magnus’s decision. But the guy wasn’t exactly wrong in his assessment. By the book, Magnus should not be leading a smaller secondary team, but, rather, staying put with the primary group. An officer couldn’t lead if he was stuck in a trench somewhere without eyes and ears on the field of battle. But this was Piper, and Magnus would be damned if he let someone else rescue the girl.

  “You question me like that again, and I’ll have you on KP for a year,” Magnus replied.

  “Just making sure.”

  “And you make sure your blaster doesn’t jam and keep an eye on everyone else.”

  “Roger that.”

  “And, all of you, if it gets to be too much, fall back to the hangar. We’ll find another out. But do not stand here and take a beating if those Unity shields waver in any way. You hear me?”

  A middle-aged mystic named Sion looked back at Magnus. He was one of Willowood’s cadre leaders. “I swear to you, Lieutenant, we will hold them off or die trying.”

  “And that’s all I could ask for,” Magnus replied.

  “Then you asked the right thing of the right people. Go. We’ve got this.”

  Magnus nodded once and then called out for Alpha and Bravo Teams to follow him back to the hatch. The subfloor cover was located on the left wall about a third of the way down. Saladin wrapped her claws around the recessed handles and jerked, tearing the hatch from its housing with a screech. She lay the cover aside and then looked to Magnus.

  “In you go,” Magnus ordered. One by one, the two fire teams and Willowood went through the hole, crawled down a ladder, and then turned east in the conduit chase.

  Magnus was the last down and called for the hatch to be replaced. Once he was satisfied with the fit, he crawled after the rest of the unit, heading east. Multicolored pipes and wires filled the tunnel on every side. The only thing not brimming with lines was the grated gantry he crept across.

  Despite their large bodies, the two Jujari seemed to have the easiest time on the narrow pathway. Magnus watched on his HUD as the group turned right at the junction and proceeded south. They crossed under the lateral hallway filled with troopers and soon passed the long bulkhead that made up Moldark’s quarter’s north-most wall.

  Up ahead lay another ladder and another hatch, this one in the observation hold’s floor. Magnus prayed to the mystics that there wasn’t something on top of it, or that it spit them out under some guards. Calling a last-minute move like this always came with inherent risks—none of which Magnus wanted. But trying to force their way through the front door would be even riskier, so he went with it.

  “Careful going up,” Magnus said, noting that Rohoar was the first person to ascend. “We want the element of surprise if at all possible.”

  “Copy that, scrumruk graulap,” Rohoar replied, using the now-endearing Jujari term for little hairless warrior. “It is time to retake our sister-child from the enemy.”

  “Hell yeah, it is,” Magnus replied, then watched as Rohoar climbed the ladder.

  29

  Forbes’s first platoon charged down the north corridor, knowing a TS40 was on its way. The gladia hugged the walls while Hedgebore kept the enemy pinned down with withering suppressive fire from their GU90s. Unless Forbes’s men could get mines under the massive Trench Sweepers, Magnus wouldn’t have a whole lot of shuttle left to evacuate in.

  “Hurry it up, gladia,” Forbes said over VNET as he clapped his hands. “I’m gonna be late for beers, and you all know how much I hate that. Don’t piss me off.”

  First platoon pushed north by twenty-three meters before the platoon commander ordered the unit to stop. Four engineers set mini VODs against the floor and then backed away, all while the GU90s railed against the enemy. The engineer used the force-direction feature to turn the grenades into surface charges that would blow small holes in the deck. Fire and smoke billowed in the hallways as more Paragon troopers tried to keep Forbes’s element from setting the traps.

  Concentrated enemy fire walloped an unfortunate gladia as he ducked into the tunnel. The rounds expended his shield and then tore through his Novian armor. In seconds, the man was thrown to the ground and h
auled back by members of his fire team. Nelson’s first platoon made the enemy pay dearly, dropping three troopers with relentless GU90 fire. The cannon drilled holes along the walls, accented by black smoke and fragments of charred Repub armor.

  Next, the engineers placed Azelon’s new LIMKIT4 landmines in the smoldering craters along the ground. Since the Trench Sweepers’ front plows removed anything protruding above surface level, the mines had to be recessed. Under normal circumstances, the LIMKIT4 would be buried beneath soil or artificial filling days in advance of enemy movement. But Forbes didn’t have that luxury. Instead, he played a delicate game where first platoon needed to plant the mines and get clear of the Trench Sweepers, but not so soon that the enemy had time to sabotage the ordinance.

  “We’ve got another TS40 northbound,” Lieutenant Wagoner said over VNET.

  Forbes turned to see the Trench Sweeper rumbling down the south tunnel, still a good hundred meters off, and proceeded by a half a company of Paragon Marines. “Get mines down, people. I do not want these bitches breaking our line. Might as well dig some holes on the east corridor while we’re at it.”

  Both platoon officers in charge registered receipt of orders and started their engineers forward.

  Forbes looked north again. The engineers placed the last of the mines just as the next wave of troopers appeared. Forbes hoped the enemy hadn’t seen the trap. To make sure, he ordered all units to focus their fire on the enemy advance—and none too soon. Behind them, Forbes caught sight of a TS40 coming around the bend.

  Built to clear passageways on starships and planets alike, the Trench Sweeper was a relic of a bygone era. Yet the vehicle was still more effective than anything built to replace it, which was a testament to its designers. Its boxy nose sported reinforced plows on four sides, tapering to an armor-piercing nose. Crude but highly effective, the TS40 could shave anything and anyone clinging to a corridor floor, wall, or ceiling, and deflect oncoming fire or explosions with ease. Once on the other side of any obstruction, its two platform-mounted double-barreled M109 guns raked any survivors. Since nothing had been designed to take its place, the TS40 and wider TS45 continued to find service in applications where enemies had barricaded themselves beyond the reach of more conventional ordinance.

  For all its belligerence, however, the Trench Sweepers had a fatal flaw, well-known by those who commanded them. Their belly was vulnerable to underground explosives. The Repub had spent years trying to reinforce this weakness, but there was only so much retrofitting that one machine could take. The added protection did manage to keep the units in combat longer, but they eventually broke down or failed altogether. And this was precisely what Forbes was hoping to accomplish—stop the Sweepers in their tracks, which not only kept the M109s from tearing up the shuttles but had the added benefit of blocking the central corridor from further troop movement.

  As the last troopers were put down by Nelson’s GU90 fire, Forbes’s engineers took cover around the corners inside the hangar bay. Forbes watched as a TS40 rumbled down the corridor, its blocky front-end consuming the entire hallway. The plow blades were extended, raking along the sides and throwing out sparks as the giant beast lumbered forward. He ordered a platoon ceasefire on the north tunnel as any attempt to thwart the vehicle’s advance with blasters was a waste of ammunition.

  Forbes held his breath as the TS40 trundled toward them, getting closer to the recessed mines. He pinged his platoon officer in charge and the assistant OIC to make sure they were on the ball. Munition detonation was an art, especially when adrenaline and nerves messed with the works. While he trusted his men, it didn’t hurt to back them up with calm reassurances.

  “You feeling good, Jackson?” Forbes asked.

  “Just waiting for Bessy,” Jackson replied, using navy jargon. “She’s taking her sweet ole’ time today.”

  “Just don’t go early—”

  “Or you’ll piss her off,” Jackson finished. “Roger that, Captain.”

  Forbes smiled, feeling more confident that Jackson had the timing under control. He had to resist the urge to micromanage things when the heat was on; learning to trust his men hadn’t come naturally to him. But the more training he got in the Corps, the more he realized that mission success was only achieved when leaders learned to trust their subordinates. Still, little reminders never hurt, especially when the enemy was driving TS40s toward you.

  The Trench Sweeper scooped up bodies as it neared the mine holes, grinding flesh and armor along the floor and walls. The beast’s methodical pace was relentless, filling the entire passageway with the low clank-clank-clank of its tank treads.

  “Wait for it,” Forbes whispered to himself, willing Jackson to hold. He looked back and forth between Jackson and the Sweeper, gauging the distance and holding his breath. Finally, the vehicle crossed over the mines. Forbes counted to three, knowing the exact time needed to ensure the engine compartment was lined up with the ordinance.

  “Fire in the hole,” Jackson yelled and activated the mines.

  A giant wuh-wumph blew underneath the Sweeper, and the vehicle leaped into the ceiling with a crash. Flames and debris shot out the narrow gap in the bottom, followed by plumes of inky black smoke. Even through his helmet’s noise reduction tech, Forbes could hear gears grind and the drive core whine. The Sweeper slowed until one of the treads came loose, which caused the vehicle to lurch to one side. When the unit halted, a cheer went out over the platoon channel.

  “That should keep them busy for a while,” Forbes said to Jackson.

  “Roger that, Captain,” the OIC replied.

  “Keep half your platoon at the tunnel to watch for any breakthrough, but I want the rest of your men helping to redouble the south tunnel.”

  Jackson acknowledged and got to work reassigning his gladia.

  Forbes had barely finished giving the order when Wagoner called for him. “We’re taking heavy fire, and the mines are—”

  Three LIMKIT4 mines detonated just beyond the south blast door’s mouth. The unmuffled explosion filled the hangar’s southside with fire and smoke, temporarily blocking visual contact with the advancing enemy.

  “Splick,” Wagoner yelled. Forbes could see that most of third platoon lay scattered on the ground along with most of the AT3M auto turrets and MB17 printable shield walls. He also saw body parts clad in both Paragon and Novian armor. Wagoner swore again for emphasis as he tried to get up.

  Forbes glanced at the man’s vitals and noticed his blood pressure was dropping and his pulse was elevated. “You’re hit, Lieutenant. Get yourself to the shuttles.”

  “Affirmative,” Wagoner replied, sending command authority to his AOIC who’d fared far better.

  “Nelson,” Forbes said. “I need focused fire down that corridor. We need new mines put down.”

  Nelson confirmed, and the GU90s sent concentrated fire downrange. The smoke glowed bright blue as the large-diameter rounds streaked down the corridor. Forbes watched in IR while Paragon forces who thought they could move freely undercover were gunned down as they ran.

  “Let’s use the screen,” Forbes yelled. “I want new mines out there!”

  The remainder of third platoon’s engineers, along with half of first’s, charged into the smoke and started planting more LIMKIT4s in the wide craters. Forbes wondered if the damage might be too much for the TS40 to maneuver over, but then he remembered some of the action the platform saw on Zarbanthia, and his doubts were dispelled.

  “Keep those mines covered, gladia,” Forbes commanded over VNET. “That cannot happen again.” Icons went up along his chat window.

  “TS40 eastbound,” second platoon’s LT said. Forbes turned to see a Sweeper swing around a corner and head toward the hangar threshold. It was only eighteen meters away.

  “Mines?”

  “Planted and ready,” the LT replied. There would be no second chances to replant mines if things went sideways in this corridor—the Sweeper was far too close. The good news was that there w
ere no Marines proceeding it.

  Forbes breathed a sigh of relief. Then he noticed a sentry turret drop out of the ceiling ahead of the TS40. It swiveled, and then pointed its barrel straight down…

  And fired on the LIMKIT4s.

  Like before, the blast filled the hangar’s west side with fire and smoke. The explosion flung gladia and equipment back toward the shuttles. Voices groaned over comms. One man screamed, gagged, and then fell silent.

  Forbes felt his adrenaline surge. There would be no time to replace the mines, which meant the Sweeper would make entry.

  “TS40 inbound, west side!” Forbes watched affirmation icons light up as north-facing units in both companies redirected to face it. Meanwhile, the engineers in the south tunnel regrouped behind cover in the hangar. “And watch for ceiling-mounted sentry turrets. They’re going for the mines.”

  As if summoned by his words, Forbes saw two turrets drop from the ceiling and start spinning toward the mines. He was about to call out the targets when one of Nelson’s GU90s barked out rounds that turned the two weapons into a molten spray.

  “Good shooting,” Forbes said.

  Nelson acknowledged the compliment, then to his company, he ordered, “Nothing else touches those mines.”

  Forbes turned his attention to the TS40 about to enter the hangar. “I want men on both flanks! You light that pig up the moment you see the soft part of its hide.”

  30

  “You lied to me,” Piper said as she ascended the steps to her grandfather’s chair.

  If the old man heard her, he didn’t show it. Instead, his hand remained on the armrest, chair facing the space battle. But Piper knew he’d heard her, and she grew angrier with each step. The renewed sense of defiance helped keep her awake—she was still tired from all her work in the Nexus. “You told me the Republic was bad.”

  “And it’s not?” he asked.

  Piper squinted as she walked around to face him. “Not like you are.”