Abyss Of Savagery
Wolfpack Book V
by
Toby Neighbors
Abyss Of Savagery, Wolfpack Book 5
© 2018, Toby Neighbors
Published by Mythic Adventure Publishing, LLC
Idaho, USA
All Rights Reserved No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any print or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Copy Editing by Julie Duke
Books By Toby Neighbors
Avondale
Draggah
Balestone
Arcanius
Avondale V
Wizard Rising
Magic Awakening
Hidden Fire
Fierce Loyalty
Crying Havoc
Evil Tide
Wizard Falling
Chaos Descending
Into Chaos
Chaos Reigning
Chaos Raging
Controlling Chaos
Killing Chaos
Lorik
Lorik the Defender
Lorik the Protector
The Vault Of Mysteries
Lords Of Ascension
The Elusive Executioner
Third Prince
Royal Destiny
The Other Side
The New World
Zompocalypse Omnibus
We Are The Wolf
Welcome To The Wolfpack
Embracing Oblivion
Joined In Battle
Jack & Roxie
Dedication
To the men and women who volunteer for service
thank you.
And to my rock, my joy, my love,
you are the best thing in my world,
I love you Sunshine.
Toby Neighbors Online
www.TobyNeighbors.com
www.Facebook.com/TobyNeighborsAuthor
Instagram @TobyTheWriter
On Twitter @TobyNeighbors
Chapter 1
There was something insidious about their large, inky black eyes. In some ways, the Pergantee looked like children. Their bodies were small and frail, their heads too large, their expressions always seeming to imply shock—as if they have just been denied a simple request. Yet their eyes betrayed their danger. They were like the eyes of a great white shark: passionless yet sharp, emotionless yet always seeking a weakness to exploit.
Dean knew better than to get too close. He was on a Kroll ship that his platoon had recently captured. The Kroll had all been put down, but the Pergantee were a threat he still had to deal with. Dean saw the short, gray-skinned aliens as a possible asset; he just needed a way to deal with them without losing his leverage or endangering his mission. Within fifteen or sometimes even twenty feet of contact with the strange aliens, the Pergantee had strong extrasensory abilities. Three of them in close proximity working together could project images into a human mind, change memories, and even sometimes take control of a person for a short time. There were eight of the sad-looking aliens in the cage on the Kroll longship. None had been found on the other longship or harvester vessel, but evidence of their work was obvious.
The Pergantee—or Grays, as they were often called—were technologically advanced beings. The Kroll had the ability to fuse together different types of ships to create large vessels with the goo which they expectorated, but it took knowledge of mechanics, physics, and cosmology to make everything work together the way it should. Dean had wondered just how an avian species could possibly build the intricate ships that carried them among the stars, and he finally had his answer.
It seemed clear that the Grays were prisoners, although how they’d been captured was a complete mystery to Dean. The Grays built all kinds of ships, from large vessels that could carry hundreds of their kind to small flying saucers with barely room for two. The only thing that was consistent about their technology was the ability of the alien ships to move at speeds that defied the law of physics. As far as Dean knew, the Grays had never been captured. There were rumors throughout history; the most popular had been following the Roswell crash in 1947. Many people believed that the United States government had at least one living Pergantee, and perhaps as many as three, but since mankind still couldn’t achieve or even understand the technology of the Grays, Dean had his doubts.
“We need to get one out of there,” Dean said.
“Kind of a dicey proposition,” Chavez said. “I don’t like the thought of what they might do to our brains if we give them a chance.”
“Back home, we deal with cattle by forcing ’em through a chute,” Ghost said. “They can only move in one direction, and a little electrical prodding helps motivate ’em.”
“We don’t have time for that,” Dean said. “And I’m not going to lower myself to their level by torturing them.”
“There must be a reason they’re being held down here,” Chavez said. “Why not in the holding cells up top?”
“My guess would be they don’t taste good,” Ghost said. “You can eat rattlesnake, but I don’t recommend it.”
“This space is reserved for the workers,” Dean offered. “They were willing participants on some level.”
Only two of the Grays stood facing Dean, Ghost, and Chavez. The others were slumped onto the floor, some sitting against the cage, while the rest were curled on their sides and appeared to be sleeping. They looked miserable, but Dean knew that he couldn’t believe anything the Pergantees said or did. He needed answers, but he would have to keep in mind that the Grays were master manipulators with strong mental suggestion abilities.
“So, you want to pull one of them out of there?” Chavez asked.
Dean gave the question some thought before answering.
“No, not yet. They’re contained, and I can’t see how they might interfere with our plans. I want them watched, though—we can’t afford to take any chances. I’ll have Harper move a few MSVs down here so we can keep an eye on them without tying up unnecessary personnel. We’ve got a lot to do, and I can’t waste time playing mind games with them.”
“Folks back home will know what to do with them,” Ghost said.
“Or we could just smoke ’em all now,” Chavez suggested. “We know they tortured our people. I don’t think they deserve any consideration after that shit.”
Dean remembered hearing the report from the tortured Recon Specialist Chavez had found on another part of the alien harvester ship. The Grays had done horrible things to the Recon Specialists who survived the initial assault ordered by Rear Admiral Chancy, when EsDef sent an armada of six ships to fight the three Kroll vessels that had moved into orbit around Cymru in the New Wales system. After losing six ships and eight platoons of Off World Force Recon Specialists, Dean’s single platoon had done the impossible and captured the Kroll ships, but only after the Kroll had invaded Cymru and captured thousands of the colonists.
“That’s not our call,” Dean said, wishing he had more time and resources. “We’ll let the brass decide what to do with the Pergantee. I want answers, but for now, we leave them here.”
“I’ll take first watch,” Ghost said. “I don’t have much brain power for the little bastards to fool with.”
“Good—thank you, Sergeant,” Dean replied. “I’ll send Harper down ASAP.”
As Dean and Chavez left the maintenance shaft where the Pergantee were held, Dean began to tick through a mental checklist of things that needed to be accomplished. The first priority was getting the refugees from Cymru back to their planet, which meant flying the Kroll harvester—something he wasn’t even sure they would be able to
do yet. But the Navy personnel his platoon had rescued from the Kroll ships were hard at work figuring out how to pilot the huge Kroll vessels, led by Esma Dante, who had managed to fly the smaller tug vessels the Kroll used to capture other ships. Dean had faith in the professionals he worked with, but he was in charge of the mission until they reached the Sol system with the captured enemy ships, and there was still plenty of work to be done.
Dean’s Recon platoon was on security detail. They were all tired and most were nursing injuries, but the colonists were not dealing very well with being captured and held against their will on the alien ship. Many had never been off-world. The anti-technology culture of Cymru meant that many were dealing with shock and trauma as well as fear and grief. The sooner they were off the alien ship, the better.
The displaced naval officers weren’t much better. The EsDef ship commanders weren’t accustomed to having nothing to do. The blame game was already in full swing, with plenty of fingers pointing to Rear Admiral Chancy, who was being treated among the injured by Corporal Landin and a few of the colonists. Dean knew he would have to get everyone busy doing something and feeling useful again if they were going to finish the mission without turning against each other.
“I need you to see if you can find and access the captured EsDef ships,” Dean told Chavez. “If we’re going to fly the Kroll ships, we will need to communicate. And there should be food and medical supplies still on board.”
“That’s a good idea,” Chavez said.
“Find out what still works and let me know as soon as possible.”
“Copy that.”
The last thing Dean wanted to do was to return to the harvester and face the hundreds of people all expecting him to solve their problems. Yet he couldn’t shirk his duties. And he needed to find Esma to get an update on their progress toward piloting the alien ships. Fortunately, a plan began to form in his mind. He needed to get everyone working together, and he hoped he could avoid the egos that could certainly wreck all his efforts.
“Captain, you read me?” Corporal Robb Landin asked over Dean’s comlink.
“Loud and clear, Corporal,” Dean replied.
“We have a problem, sir.”
“What is it now?” Dean said, trying to keep the frustration from his voice.
“It’s the Rear Admiral. He’s insisting on taking command. He even ordered me to remove my helmet so he could give you orders, sir.”
“Don’t take off your helmet,” Dean said. “This is till a combat op and SOP still applies. Tell him I’m on my way there now.”
Dean wanted to scream. It was just like the arrogant rear admiral to insist on taking command. What Dean really wanted to do was to punch the smug commander right in the face, but he knew that was the wrong response. Dealing with Rear Admiral Chancy would require a delicate touch. Dean’s history with the man wouldn’t make things easier, nor would the fact that many people were saying it was the captured rear admiral who had urged the colonists to surrender to the Kroll.
“Tallgrass, give me a report,” Dean said.
“I have all the ship’s commanders and executive officers near the nest structure,” she replied.
“Good, I need you to bring them to sickbay. I’ll be there soon.”
“Roger that, Captain. We’re on our way.”
Most of their operations were being done on the huge Kroll harvester. The colonists were being kept in the massive aviary in the center of the saucer-shaped vessel. The injured had been moved to one of the holding rooms that lined the outside of the ship, including two members of Dean’s Recon platoon.
Private Cody Loggins and Sergeant Emile Owando were both out of commission. Landin had been able to pop Loggins’ shoulder back into place and immobilize it with the FAS private’s armor, but he was in no shape to help until he got some rest. Owando was a different matter altogether. A mechanized Kroll fighter had blasted the Heavy Armor Sergeant with both of its steady-state laser cannons. The double onslaught had burned through his titanium-hydrogen alloy shield and burned the South African’s back. Landin had removed the ruined battle armor and field-dressed the burn, but the medic’s supplies were limited and the burns were extensive across the big sergeant’s back. The decision had been made to keep Owando sedated until they could get him the help that he needed.
There were nearly thirty colonists with injuries that ranged from broken bones to dangerous lacerations. They had all been neatly laid out in one of the big holding cells where the glass wall had shattered. Some of the enlisted naval crewmen had been assigned to clear the glass and were helping Corporal Landin as best they could. The biggest problem in the makeshift sickbay was a lack of supplies.
Dean had just passed through the gooey tunnel that connected the longships to the Kroll harvester vessel when he was met by Esma and her team of operators and engineers. She was beautiful as always, but there was a gleam of excitement in her eyes that made Dean feel weak in the knees just looking at her.
“We did it,” she said. “We figured it out.”
“You can fly the Kroll ships?” Dean asked.
“We have propulsion and navigation,” she explained. “None of the controls are labeled obviously, but we know we can get the ships back to Sol.”
“What about the colonists?”
“We’re still working on that,” she admitted. “There’s a huge difference between piloting in space and flying a ship in atmo, but we’re getting close.”
“We found the environmental controls, sir,” said a tall operator. The name on his fatigues said O’Brien, and he wore the double gold bars of a captain. Dean wasn’t sure why the man was calling him sir, but he didn’t mind. “We’ve got the lights up to maximum in the aviary.”
“It isn’t as bright at you might think,” Esma said. “But it’s helping.”
“The gravity drives are all intact,” said another man.
“And we’ve found their power supply. It all looks to be in good shape,” said a woman with a narrow face and hooked nose.
“The harvester is recharging,” Esma said. “It looks to be about halfway at this point. We should be ready to fly it once it’s completely charged.”
“Good,” Dean said. “Excellent work, everyone. I’m frankly amazed at what you’ve accomplished. You have my gratitude and appreciation. I’ll be noting your contributions and naming you all in my report. For now, we need to continue working. Captain Dante, would you and your senior officers come with me?”
“Yes, Captain,” she said with a mischievous smile.
Dean led Esma and three other officers down to the makeshift sickbay. A crowd was already gathered in the curving passageway. Dean turned up the volume on the speakers of his battle armor. He wanted to ensure that everyone could hear him.
“Please let me have your attention,” Dean said.
“No, Captain!” Rear Admiral Chancy came storming out of the sickbay. “This is now a naval operation, and as the senior officer, I am in command.”
His rant caused the entire crowd to raise their own voices. Some were protesting the rear admiral, while others were in support of him. Dean let the crowd release some of their pent-up tension before raising his hands and turning his external speakers to full volume.
“Settle down, settle down,” he ordered. “This is a Recon operation, and as such, I will ensure that our mission objectives are achieved. That said, I will need everyone’s help.”
“We are commanders,” Chancy argued. “We will not take orders from a trigger-pulling grunt captain.”
“The ships you commanded have been captured,” Tallgrass said calmly.
“And without the heroic actions of Captain Blaze we’d all still be prisoners,” Admiral Kento Matsumoto said. He was a shorter man, thick through the chest and shoulders, with deep lines around his eyes. Dean had never met the man, yet he felt there was something trustworthy about the Japanese admiral. His solemn tone added a weight to his words that brought the group to silence for a mom
ent.
“Am I mistaken in thinking that your orders are to return these aliens ships to Sol, Captain?” Chancy said, pronouncing the last word as if it were an obscenity. “What, pray tell, do you know about piloting space vessels? Or navigation, for that matter? You are a Recon Captain, perhaps a good one—few would argue that point. But you aren’t qualified to carry out this mission.”
“Someone thought he was,” Esma snapped. “That’s why he was given the assignment.”
“Look,” Dean said, once more raising a hand in a placating gesture. “This isn’t about rank or ego. It’s simply about getting things done that we need to accomplish. The brass has plans for these vessels, and therefore we must get them back to the Sol system. And I need all of you working together to accomplish the mission.”
“I think, as rear admiral, I know best how to utilize our resources and get the job done,” Chancy snarled.
“You knew how to get our Recon platoons killed and our ships captured,” Vice Admiral Dole spoke up, his dark brown eyes revealing his utter contempt for RA Chancy.
“And what of the rumors that you were cooperating with the Kroll?” said Vice Admiral Newberg, whose blonde hair and icy blue eyes made him stand out in the group of commanders.
“That’s a lie,” Chancy thundered. “I would never betray the human race.”
“Some are saying that you encouraged the colonists to surrender,” Admiral Matsumoto said.
“I did no such thing,” the enraged rear admiral shouted.
“I have heard you encouraged the Pergantees to torture the captured Recon specialists,” Admiral Ruth Aviv said quietly. She had light brown skin, piercing gray eyes, and dark, shoulder-length hair, which she wore in a ponytail.
It was the final straw for Chancy. He lunged for the Israeli commander, one hand raised to strike her, but Tallgrass stepped in front of Aviv. Dean was in motion to restrain the rear admiral, but the outraged Chancy struck before he could be stopped. It wasn’t clear what Chancy hoped to accomplish by hitting the fully armored Demolition Specialist, but Tallgrass was even faster than Chancy. She caught his fist in her hand, stopping the blow halfway to its target. For a moment, the rear admiral didn’t move, the rage on his face morphing into terror. Dean and Landin grabbed Chancy’s arms just as he collapsed. A long wail or moan—Dean wasn’t sure which—escaped the rear admiral, and his body shook with sobs.
Abyss Of Savagery Page 1