Aggressor (Strike Commander Book 3)

by Richard Tongue

   Nodding, she said, “I need Knight to be worrying about an internal threat. Clarke is loose on the station, and realistically, the best he can do is throw them off our trail for a little while. We've got to keep them distracted, and he's the only chance we've got to pull it off. He's on a real mission. Just not the one he thinks he's on.”

   “And his life is expendable. Is that it?”

   Turning to her, she raged, “Damn it, Susan and Jack are over there, and if this plan succeeds, both of them will be dead, and I don't even have the luxury of dying with them! Do I want that kid to die? Of course not. Will I order him to his death to accomplish a mission to save millions of lives? Yes. I will. That's what you wanted to hear, isn't it? That's what you needed to know!”

   “Ma'am...”

   “You've never had a command of your own. A non-com in the Espatiers, never in a combat role, and a few infiltration assignments here on Churchill. You don't know what true responsibility is, and I pray you never do, because sometimes it means sacrificing everything you've ever held dear if it gives you a chance of completing the mission.” Stabbing a control on the desk, she brought up a projection of the asteroid they were linked to, and continued, “This plan is crazy. Borderline suicidal. The odds of us living through it aren't particularly promising. And yet it's the best we've got.”

   “I just...”

   “Are you willing to die?” Mallory asked. “Let's go for a simple question. Are you willing to give your life, right now, if it will accomplish this mission. Save the lives of everyone back home. Even knowing that no one will ever know you did it, that your death will probably go down as nothing more than a training accident, or some intelligence cover-up. You don't get the hero's death. No movies, no books, nothing named after you.”

   “Of course I would,” Morgan said. “I know what's at stake here, and I'm old enough to know what wearing this uniform means.” She stepped forward, and said, “That kid doesn't know any better.”

   “Then he shouldn't have come out here in the first place. He made his decision, Ensign, as did we all, when he put on the damned uniform four months ago, and when he decided to come out here on some sort of mad crusade to rescue my daughter.” She gasped, and said, “And if you don't think for a second that I would trade places with either of them in a second, you really don't know me very well.”

   “Angel and I want to try a rescue mission,” she said, sliding a datapad onto the desk. “A fast shuttle run, escorted by the remaining...”

   “Denied.”

   “Vulcans. We think they can get a small strike team onto the station.”

   “They'd never make it through the fighter screen.” Shaking her head, Mallory said, And how is that leg of yours? I see you've come in without your stick. You planning on taking it with you on the assault? As for Angel, she'd take a run at it if I told her she could only use a thruster pack.”

   “The crew want to make the attempt,” Morgan replied. “Jack's been their captain for a long time, and they feel responsible for his capture.”

   “If I was over there, trapped on the station...”

   “Jack would be doing everything possible to save you.” Resting her hands on the desk, Morgan looked into her eyes, and said, “Just like he did for you at Abydos Base.”

   “We both know the situation is different.”

   “Only by degree.”

   “Damn it, if Jack was here, and I there, he'd been having this same argument with Finch, or Clayton, and you know it. This mission is too important to put at risk for two people, no matter who they are. If you...”

   “There's a viable rescue option on the table, Captain, and...”

   “There's a wild fantasy on that datapad, Ensign. I can't spare the shuttle, I can't spare the people, and I can't spare the time.” Taking a deep breath, she added, “Our first priority is the destruction of the station.”

   “But...”

   Raising a hand, Mallory interrupted, “I want you and Angel to come up with a mission profile for a shuttle to dock with the station during the battle we're planning right now. One shuttle. One pilot. No more. If we have a chance to bring any of them home, we'll take it. That's as far as I'm going to go. Understood?”

   “You'll give us our shot?”

   “If we get the chance, yes. But the destruction of that station remains the primary objective, and if your rescue mission gets in the way, it doesn't happen. Clear?”

   “Absolutely,” Morgan replied, moving to the door. Mallory watched her leave, then turned back to the small viewscreen, dominated by the cold mass of the asteroid. With a loud report, the first of the cables snapped into position, cracking against the hull as the work crew began to anchor the ship into position. She hardly heard the door sliding open, the figure walking into the room.

   “That probably helped morale immensely,” Sullivan said, standing by the door in the shadows. “They'll spend a lot of time planning a mission we both know you have no intention of permitting to launch.”

   “I might,” she replied with a sigh.

   “But you won't,” he said. “Because that fearsome tactical mind of yours knows that while it might be a good idea to allow a slight diversion now for the purposes of morale, in the middle of a firefight, the operation would be a suicide run at best. At worst, it could cost us the battle.” He folded his arms, and added, “You didn't used to be sentimental.”

   “I'd fly that shuttle myself if I thought there was a chance in a million of getting the two of them out.”

   “That's interesting,” Sullivan replied, a faint smile on his face. “The two of them. Not just Susan. And you're forgetting Clarke and his companion.”

   “According to Morgan, I've already written them off, sacrificed them for this glorious crusade of ours.” She shook her head, and said, “Six dead already. And more to follow. And don't think I'm not just as worried about the people we're fighting.” With a deep sigh, she said, “How many of them think they are on a legitimate mission, Mo? I'm going to be taking us into battle with Theseus...”

   “Kathy...”

   “With a crew complement of a hundred and twenty. Certainly the senior officers will know the mission, maybe some of the senior enlisted, but what about the lower ranks? Some Spaceman Third working as a maintenance technician, thinking he's doing his duty, serving his country, and I'm going to have to try and kill him. All of them.”

   “And it's eating you up inside,” Sullivan said. “Going into battle when we jumped into the system was easy. We didn't have time to think. There was an opportunity, and we took it.” He stepped forward, into the light, and said, “And we lost. We lost big.” Gesturing at the asteroid, the noise of a second cable locking into place ringing across the cabin, he said, “And in a few hours, we're going in again.”

   Nodding, she said, “We can't risk waiting any longer than we must. They're licking their wounds, and if I'm sacrificing Clarke, then I need to make sure he dies for something.”

   “He isn't dead yet,” Sullivan said. “That young man must be surprisingly resourceful to have made it out here at all. Don't underestimate what he might accomplish.” He smiled, then added, “And Jack will probably come up with something as well. He isn't dead yet, and neither is Susan.” His face dropped back into a frown, and he continued, “You've got a job to do, Kathy. A hateful, terrible job, but you're the only one who can do it. Never mind Morgan, Cruz and the rest. They don't like you, but they do respect you, and they'll follow you. That's all you need right now.”

   “And you, Mo?”

   “Me? I'm just smart enough to make sure I never end up in your shoes. Why do you think I turned down all those commissions they waved in front of me?” He smiled again, then said, “You'll think of a way through this. You always did in the War.”

   Mallory turned back to the starfield, and replied, “I just hope you're right.”

  Chapter 13


   Jack looked at the door, a smile on his face, then glanced across at Susan, sitting on the bed. With a crack, the door opened, revealing a pair of guards waiting at the threshold, both with pistols raised and at the ready.

   “Susan Conway? We're here to take you to interrogation.”

   “What, and leave me here all alone?” Jack replied, rising to his feet.

   “We'll be back for you later,” the guard said, leveling his pistol at Jack's head.

   With a smile, Jack took a step backwards, and replied, “Fine, but don't blame me for what happens next.”

   Susan took a cautious step forward, between the two men, then dropped to the floor, rolling into one of the guards as he scrambled to grab her. Jack raced towards the melee, balling his fists and slamming into the nearest man, sending him crashing to the floor, the pistol dropping out of his hands. Jack and the remaining guard locked eyes for an instant, then dived towards the pistol, colliding with each other and dropping to the floor.

   As he struggled with his assailant, he heard a loud report, and looked up to see Susan holding the gun in her shaking hands, a gaping wound in the guard's back. He pushed the dying man away, then walked over to his daughter, carefully taking the gun and sliding it into his empty holster.

   “I...”

   “Did what you had to do.” Before he could say anything more, he was interrupted by a wailing siren echoing through the corridors. He raced towards the door, tugging his daughter behind him. “Come on, Susan! We've got to go!”

   “Where are we going?”

   “Interrogation. It's the last place they'll look, and we need a hostage. Show me the way.”

   Taking the lead, Susan guided her father through the corridors, directing him along the familiar path to her questioner. Footsteps sounded in adjacent passages as the siren continued to wail, a guard stepping out of a door ahead of them, Jack bringing him down with a quick snap shot, another precious bullet expended to guarantee their safety. As their would-be attacker dropped to the floor, clutching his leg, Susan gestured at another passageway, and the two of them resumed their race.

   The door to the interrogation cell was open, the usual questioner waiting implacably at his desk, raising an amused eyebrow as Jack pointed his pistol at him, Susan looking nervously from side to side, waiting for the assault they knew was coming.

   “I had planned to speak to you later, Captain Conway, but if you wanted an earlier appointment, all you had to do was ask.”

   “Who are you?” Conway asked.

   “Senior Lieutenant Stewart Harrison. Among my many duties, I am Admiral Knight's Security Officer, both here and on Theseus.” He gestured at the pistol with his head, and said, “Are you planning on shooting me?”

   “That depends on how reasonable you're willing to be.”

   “If your grand plan is that my life can be bartered for your survival, I regret that my commanding officer's position on this matter is no different than your own.” Shaking his head, he said, “Now, perhaps we can talk.”

   “You've got to be out of your mind,” Susan said.

   “I will have friends here any time now, Cadet, and they will be most upset at the manner in which I am being treated.” He smiled, then said, “Return to your cell, and no action will be taken regarding the escape. That is the limit of the generosity I am willing to bestow.” A bead of sweat ran down the side of the man's face, and Jack smiled.

   “Liar,” he replied. “Move ahead of us. We're going to walk out of here, nice and easy, and you're going to tell your friends to let us go. We're going to a shuttle bay.”

   “Admiral Knight would shoot down your shuttle whether or not I was on board.”

   “We'll just see about that. Move.”

   Harrison stepped ahead of them, his facade cracking for a second, and Jack took a cautious step back to allow him to pass, keeping his pistol low by his side, covering his every move. Susan moved behind her father, and the group started to slowly walk down the corridor, a pair of grim-faced guards coming around the corner and heading towards them.

   “That's close enough,” Jack said. “Drop your guns.”

   “Do it,” Harrison said, glancing back at Jack with fear in his eyes. The guards dropped their pistols, and Jack urged his prisoner forward, walking past the waiting men. He glanced back at his daughter, almost imperceptibly shaking his head. They were heading into a trap, that much was certain. Harrison's switch had been too quick.

   Jack looked around, trying to get a sense of his surroundings, but the station had no signposts, no markings, no easy ability for him to determine his location. The walls were clean, pristine, the station too new to have acquired any of the distinguishing features that most orbital facilities possessed. If he had a datapad, he could have found his way around with ease, but giving the security forces the ability to track him was a mistake that would cost both he and his daughter their freedom.

   Turning down another passage, Harrison started to quicken his pace, trying to throw Susan and Jack off their stride. Glancing to the left, Jack saw a small maintenance compartment, a hatch leading into a tangle of crawl-ways underneath the decks, and took his opportunity.

   “Harrison,” he said. “Wait a moment. I need to ask you something.”

   The interrogator stopped, and said, “I thought you wanted me to take you to the shuttle bay?”

   Jack swung the pistol down at Harrison, butt first, sending him collapsing unconscious to the floor. Footsteps rang out of the deck from behind them, the trap sprung by his premature attack, and he reached for the hatch, tugging it down with a grunt, the lock reluctant to disengage.

   “Get in, Susan, and start moving!”

   “Where?”

   “Anywhere is better than here. Come on!”

   As his daughter crawled into the accessway, he saw a figure turning around the corner, and fired a quick shot on instinct, sending the guard scurrying back into cover, a black mark on the wall where the bullet had impacted. He climbed in after Susan, firing twice more at the wall, smiling as a crack began to open up, the siren changing from an intruder alert to a decompression alarm.

   Pulling that hatch behind him, he paused for a moment, listening to the airtight bulkheads slamming into position, isolating the damaged section from the rest of the station, waiting to hear the familiar hiss that would warn of escaping atmosphere.

   “I think we're safe,” he said. “Keep moving, Susan. The more distance we can open up, the better.”

   “Won't they be able to track us?” she replied, climbing up the shaft.

   “Probably, but I doubt the surveillance will be extensive, not in here. Besides, they don't have unlimited manpower, and I've still got four bullets left in this revolver. They'll be trying to work out where we're going to set a trap. I hope.”

   “Where are we going?”

   “Nowhere,” he replied, with a smile. “Nowhere specific, anyway. Hopefully their imagination will fill in the blanks for us. How are you holding up?”

   She shook her head, and said, “I killed that man. I shot him in the back.”

   “I doubt you killed him,” Jack lied. “The wound didn't look that bad. He's probably in their medical facility right now.” He paused, then said, “You saved our lives, and have nothing to reproach yourself for.”

   “How do you do it?” she asked. “Back in the corridor, you didn't even think about it, you just did it?”

   “Instinct. Training. Fear.” He shook his head, and said, “Believe me when I say that I hope you never need to develop instincts like that. Make a turn to the left. I don't want to get too close to the outer hull.” He frowned, then added, “Not that I'm that certain about our exact location at the moment, though.”

   “Shouldn't we be trying to escape?”

   “Not unless we knew where we were going. Churchill's probably playing hide-and-seek in the asteroids right n
ow, and they've got a fighter squadron and a battlecruiser parked outside. That bastard Harrison was right. They won't let us get away. Always assuming we're able to launch the shuttle. I'm sure they'll be doing everything they can to lock them down right now.”

   “Then we should contact Mum.”

   “Unless you've been hiding a communicator, that's not an option either.”

   “There must be a terminal around here somewhere.”

   “I've got no intrusion software, and even if I did, they'd trace us down in a heartbeat, and we'd have to wait around long enough that they'd have a chance to set up an ambush.”

   Turning to face him, Susan replied, “Then what can we do?”

   Frowning, Jack said, “Churchill will be launching an attack, probably soon. We've got to make sure that we're in position to take maximum advantage of it. Which means working out how to get to an escape pod at the very least.” He smiled, then added, “Better still, we can convince them we aren't on the station any more.”

   “How?”

   “This way.” He slid past her, moving into the lead, then ducked into a long, curving passage, with cables running on all sides, secured to the wall. Careful not to touch anything, he crawled through on his hands and knees, keeping his head down low, gesturing for his daughter to follow. As far as he could work out, they'd blundered into the data transfer relays, the primary information network for the station. He looked around at the connections, the junctions, knowing that he could do significant damage just with his bare hands, but they'd be able to make repairs in short order, and a temporary data blackout wasn't worth sacrificing their freedom.

   On they crawled, for what his aching knees was convinced were hours, until they reached the end of the tunnel, a shaft dropping down to a corridor below. He looked around, regretting having to leave their safe haven, knowing that the guards wouldn't dare risk a firefight in there for fear of doing something that couldn't be repaired.

   “Follow me, and do exactly what I do,” he said, climbing down the ladder, taking the rungs two at a time. Susan followed with catlike speed, easily matching his labored pace, and he swung down into the corridor below, dropping with his knees bent on the floor. On the wall was what he had been looking for, a row of escape pods, primed and ready to go.