Chains of Duty (Survival Wars Book 3)

by Anthony James

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  IT QUICKLY BECAME apparent that something was wrong.

  “I have negative launch on five of the tanks,” said Hammond.

  Duggan contacted the Terminus. “We have multiple failed launches. Damnit, tell me what’s happened!”

  It was Lieutenant Reyes who answered. “We’re not sure, sir. There are no system errors on the launch hardware. Commander McGlashan is doing her best to rectify the situation.”

  “Keep me informed,” said Duggan curtly. “Less than two minutes in and it’s already going wrong.”

  “We’ll do our best,” said Reyes.

  The three soldiers in the control room had their eyes on Duggan, unasked questions clear on each of their faces. The course and destination of the tank was pre-programmed into its mainframe. There seemed little point in deviating yet.

  “We make no changes,” said Duggan. “They’ll have to get this fixed and send the others to meet us.”

  Duggan checked the status reports for the tank’s critical systems. Perhaps there had been some unrecorded damage from the engagement with the Dreamer warship. It didn’t take long to reassure himself there was nothing to cause concern as far as the tank itself went. All the gauges and readings were exactly where they should be.

  “We should land in ten minutes,” said Corporal Hammond. “Let’s have a look at the external sensors and see where we’re going.”

  He activated the largest screen in the cockpit, which filled the area with a startling amount of light. Some tank crews found the main screen distracting and kept it turned off.

  “Trasgor, eh?” said Quinn. “I’m sure I’ve seen this place before.”

  “Yeah – it’s round, grey and cold. A perfect holiday destination,” said Reed.

  “It’s my dream that one day I’ll be sent to a planet full of palm trees and beaches,” said Quinn.

  “It’d be just our luck to find it covered in hostile lifeforms.”

  “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

  Duggan let the conversation wash over him. The words were comforting in a way, reminding him of fellowship and cameraderie. After another minute, the urge to contact the Terminus became too great and he requested another channel.

  “Where’re my tanks?” he asked.

  “Still in the hold where you left them, sir,” said McGlashan.

  “Any progress on finding out what went wrong and getting it fixed?”

  “Not yet, sir. We’ve confirmed there’s no damage to that area of the ship.”

  “No damage?” asked Duggan. “That means there’s a failure between the AI and the launch tubes.”

  “That’s what I thought and I’ve checked it out. I can’t see any problems.”

  “Unload the soldiers from the remaining tanks and send them to one of the transport shuttles. They can come to the surface that way. Leave the tank crews in place and you can launch the remaining five vehicles once you’ve discovered the fault and fixed it.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll get on it right away.”

  The minutes passed and a grumbling noise pervaded the interior of the tank. The noise gradually increased in volume, though not loud enough to drown out conversation.

  “Gravity engines boosting at sixty percent of maximum output,” said Hammond. “They’re guiding us in to the landing place. We’re going to set down right where we want to be.”

  Duggan spoke to the Terminus again, in the final minutes before the tank landed. There was no apparent cause for the launch failure and McGlashan had narrowed it down to a likely fault with the ship’s AI. It was mystifying, since the brain of a warship had so much redundancy a failure of any sort was practically unheard of. The transport shuttle wouldn’t be loaded for another few minutes. Duggan told McGlashan and Reyes to keep on with their efforts to fix the problem.

  “Here we go,” said Hammond over the internal comms. “Landing procedures underway. Keep your sick bags ready.” The comment about sick bags wasn’t too far from the truth and it wasn’t uncommon to feel nausea when a vehicle like this one decelerated. The tanks were programmed to come in fast, and then slow down at the last possible moment to make them less of a target. The main viewscreen showed an image of pitted, uneven ground, before Hammond switched the display off. The tank’s engines howled and Duggan swallowed to keep on top of the rising nausea. The sensation remained for too long, but then it passed abruptly.

  “We’re on the ground, with weapons and propulsion good to go,” said Hammond. “Awaiting your instructions, sir.”

  Duggan pulled up a topographical view of the area on his tactical display. They’d landed fifteen kilometres from the target, which made it eleven to the edge of the energy shield. The surrounding area was bumpy and uneven, thickly covered in a layer of gritty dust and pebbles. The sky was clear and visibility was good. The tank was in a wide channel, with rounded sides and a depth of a hundred metres or so. It prevented them from getting a sight of the artefact, but also gave them cover from any ground attack. There’d been nothing threatening so far and Duggan had taken a chance by having them land as close as this, relying on the Terminus’ ability to deal with anything that showed up outside the energy shield’s perimeter. Time was short and he wanted to get business over with as soon as possible.

  “Terminus, do we have an ETA on that shuttle?”

  “They’re loaded up, sir. Another minute and they should unlatch.”

  “Good. Have them land at our position.” There was little choice other than to wait for the other troops to arrive.

  “Sir?” said Chainer, with concern. “The shuttle won’t undock.”

  “What the hell is going on?”

  “We have no idea. It must be a symptom of what’s affected the other five tanks.”

  “I thought the Galactic class was meant to be the Space Corps’ pride and joy.”

  “That’d be the Crimson, sir. The Terminus is pretty beat up. I’d say it’s put up a decent showing so far.”

  “Just get me those tanks, Lieutenant, and the shuttle. I don’t mind being killed by enemy fire, but I certainly don’t want to suffocate in the hull of a tank.”

  “This baby’s got enough power to sustain us for months, sir,” said Hammond. “Plenty of time for them to rescue us.”

  Duggan wasn’t convinced a rescue craft was coming any time soon, though he didn’t say it. The occupants of this lone tank were effectively stranded on the surface of Trasgor, with no guarantee they’d have any support either from the Terminus or from the Space Corps. It wasn’t that the Corps had no loyalty to its own – there was simply no appetite to throw men and materials at a lost cause. Duggan had his own code of honour, but he couldn’t blame his superiors for refusing to send a fleet every time they lost a soldier and it wasn’t realistic to expect them to change. He looked at his wrist to check the time - he’d not worn a watch in years and this was a habit he’d never managed to shake.

  “We’ll give them another fifteen minutes to fix whatever’s wrong and then we’ll make our own way to the target.”

  The fifteen minutes passed quickly. Duggan checked with the Terminus several times to see what the holdup was. He hoped for answers and a resolution, and got neither.

  “There’s definitely no hardware fault,” said McGlashan. “I’ve checked for damage numerous times and there’s nothing. I feel as if I’m knocking my head against a wall.”

  “Could there be an emergency override in place from the AI?” asked Duggan. “Maybe the life support is giving it a false reading that’s telling it to keep the ship sealed.”

  “That doesn’t explain why you got away successfully.”

  “No, it doesn’t. I’ve seen enough things go wrong to know the underlying logic isn’t always easy to spot. Keep on it, we’re beginning our agreed route towards the target.”

  “Okay, sir. Good luck.”

  A notice on Duggan’s screen informed him the line to McGlashan was closed. He let Corporal Hammond in on the news whic
h he’d already overheard. “We’re not waiting any longer. Take us towards the target.”

  Hammond wasn’t a man to delay. Even while he acknowledged the order, he used the tank’s control bars to feed power into its gravity engine. The vehicle lurched once and then moved away, hovering a couple of feet above the surface. Any larger stones which lay in its path were knocked aside by the immense weight of the Colossus tank.

  “It’ll be fifteen or twenty minutes until we reach the perimeter, sir,” he said. “Less if you want us to push our speed.”

  “Steady as she goes for the moment, Corporal. There’s a time to walk and there’s a time to run.”

  Duggan spent the minutes watching the topographical display of the terrain. He called up the feeds from several of the external sensors in order to get a feel for what was outside. The channel twisted left and right. It was reminiscent of a riverbed, though the parched, barren surroundings of this world gave the impression there’d never been water here. It was daytime outside and the sensor feeds were razor-sharp, showing the ruggedness of the land ahead. They were amongst what might be described as hills, which were low and unevenly shaped. Without soil or plant life to smooth off the jutting edges, everything was angular with not a curve to be seen. It was harsh and unwelcoming, though Duggan hardly noticed.

  The terrain readings sent down from the Terminus were highly detailed. The target object was in a wide, curved valley, with steep sides that sloped to heights of up to thirteen hundred metres. The artefact itself was on the floor of the valley and rested on an area of flat ground. There was no way to tell if the positioning was by accident or design, which made it hard to guess how the defences would be arranged. That was assuming the Dreamers had left something behind to repel a ground assault.

  “This channel tapers off a few hundred meters ahead and when we come out we’ll be in an exposed position,” said Hammond. “There’s no cover for the following two klicks until we reach the perimeter.”

  “We’ll be hidden from the pyramid when we reach the shield,” mused Duggan. “Once we’re through, I’d say we can proceed at least a couple of klicks along the valley before we’re in direct sight of the target.”

  “You don’t think the perimeter will be defended, sir?” asked Hammond.

  “We have to assume it is,” said Duggan. He checked the maps again – once the tank left the channel, it would need to cross the side of a gentle slope. This slope became steeper until it formed the left-hand valley wall. Whatever defences the Dreamers had positioned here would likely have a shot at the oncoming tank. The vehicle’s shape was designed to deflect sensor pings but in reality, it wouldn’t fool anything remotely sophisticated. After that, all it had to rely on was armour and brawn. Duggan had a thought. “Stop the tank, Corporal Hammond. I need to speak to somebody on the Terminus.”

  “That’s done, sir.”

  Duggan used the onboard comms to reach the warship high above. “Lieutenant Breeze, for the removal of doubt, if we can’t fire into the energy shield, are the enemy able to fire out of it?”

  “No, sir. The shield will block incoming and outgoing - they’ll have to drop their shields to fire out. Their spacecraft was doing the same and I’m sure whatever’s on the ground will suffer the same limitation.”

  “We’ll shortly be in line of sight of any perimeter defences. If their shield goes down, be sure to launch missiles from the Terminus at whatever you can see.”

  “No such luck, sir,” said Breeze. “They’ll not be stupid enough to leave themselves so vulnerable. The shield will go off and come back on within a hundredth of a second. There’ll be no time for a missile to reach its target.”

  “Any sign of my tanks or soldiers?”

  “Commander McGlashan is shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders.”

  Duggan laughed bitterly and closed the line. “I’m going to wring someone’s neck for this,” he said.

  “It’d be nice to have the others with us,” said Quinn.

  “More glory for us,” laughed Reed. “Another story to tell the grandchildren.”

  Duggan motioned for silence, to allow him to think. The tank was the safest place for the troops and also the largest target. He made a decision and acted on it. “I want everyone apart from the crew outside,” he said.

  “They’ll be unprotected,” said Hammond.

  “I’m afraid that in this instance, it’ll be us taking the risk,” said Duggan.

  “Sir?”

  “We’re going to stick our heads out and see what shoots back.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Hammond without missing a beat. He used the internal speakers to instruct everyone to put on their spacesuit helmets. “Lieutenant Ortiz asks what I’m playing at, sir.”

  Duggan was pleased to find her on the single tank they’d managed to deploy. She evidently hadn’t known Duggan was onboard as well. “Tell her to stop asking questions and get outside.”

  “Message relayed,” said Hammond. “We’re empty apart from the four of us.”

  “Take us carefully ahead, Corporal. Once we leave this channel we’ll be showing our face to the enemy. Be ready to backtrack if there’s a response.”

  The Colossus tank’s engines powered up again, carrying it in near-silence up the slope and out of the channel. The eleven soldiers who had been left behind watched the heavily-armoured block of metal from a distance of three hundred metres. They were safe between the cocooning rock walls around them, while the tank became exposed to whatever might lie ahead.

  In the cockpit, Duggan and the crew watched their various tactical screens nervously. This was the moment which would decide if this part of the overall mission was going to be a success or failure.

  “Something’s locked on!” said Quinn, calmly and clearly.

  “Take us back!” said Duggan.

  It was too late to escape. A surface-launched projectile sped outward from the shield, following a low, flat trajectory towards the tank.

  “We’re not going to make it,” said Hammond, his mouth unable to complete the words before the inbound slug connected with the tank.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THERE WAS A HIDEOUSLY LOUD CLANG, accompanied by the screeching of tortured metal. The remaining occupants of the tank felt it rock under the force of the impact. Another strike followed four seconds later, while Corporal Hammond pushed the tank to maximum velocity as he reversed it towards the channel. The hull of the tank shuddered under one final blow before its profile finally vanished from sight in the safety of the channel below.

  “Crap, we’re going to look like a piece of cheese after that,” breathed Hammond. “Give me a damage report.”

  “There’s a minor drop in output from our engines. Weapons okay, sensors okay. They must have deflected away from our armour, sir.”

  Duggan tried to ignore the ringing in his ears and collated the sensor reports about what had hit them. “I read that as three dense metal strikes from a high calibre artillery piece,” he said.

  “That’s what it was,” said Quinn. “A coil gun, somewhere ahead. It’s a damn good job we’re not in anything smaller than this, else I reckon we might have been completely disabled.”

  “Or dead,” said Hammond, speaking the word Quinn had avoided.

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “What now, sir?” asked Hammond. “We’re tough as hell, but we can’t take that level of bombardment over two klicks. If they weren’t behind a shield, we could try duking it out with them. There’s no fixed emplacement that can stand more than a single round from our main turret.”

  Duggan knew this wasn’t an idle boast – he’d seen what the main cannon on one of these tanks could do. His brain spun through the possibilities. The most important result from this was that the Dreamer defences had shown themselves, yet without getting a kill.

  “We need the rest of those tanks,” he growled. He patched into the Terminus’ comms system. “Did you get that?” he asked.

  “Y
es, sir,” said Chainer, with hints of excitement in his voice. “They dropped their shields three times for about a hundredth of a second on each occasion. It was more than long enough for us to get an idea of what’s down there. We’re just running through the data.”

  “Give me an outline, Lieutenant.”

  “There is a total of eight guns covering the pyramid, arranged equally around the perimeter. They’ve done a poor job, sir. They have almost no overlapping fire and the ship’s AI calculates there’s only a two hundred and fifty metre area where you’ll be under fire from two of the guns at the same time.”

  “One is more than enough, Lieutenant. They’re high calibre, high velocity weapons and they’re hidden behind an energy wall that our weapons can’t penetrate.”

  “We’ll give you whatever support we can, sir. I’ve sent you a picture of the nearest emplacement – we got a good view of it.”

  A rotating three-dimensional image appeared on one of Duggan’s screens. It showed a spindly metal frame with a tube running through the middle. A larger alloy cuboid squatted at the rear, presumably to house the power and ammunition. It looked unusually elegant, even if it didn’t give away any clues as to the best way to combat it. In fact, Duggan couldn’t see a way forward. He could have someone take remote control over the tank, send it towards the shield and hope the onboard weapons system had enough grunt to fire the main turret at precisely the right time for the projectile to arrive in the split second the energy shield went down. He didn’t need the Terminus’ AI to run a simulation to know the plan had little hope of working. The tank’s main turret was slow to reload – at least two seconds between each round. There were the two plasma launchers on the shoulders, but they had a reload time of between fifteen and twenty seconds. The Colossus was designed to shatter defences with outright force, rather than with finesse.

  “Was there any sign of life?” asked Duggan. “It would be nice to know what our enemy looks like.”

  “The emplacements are unmanned, sir. The central structure is too dense for our sensors to penetrate.”