“They’re light, sir,” replied the old soldier.
“Yes, I suppose it could have been a hell of a lot worse.” Sheridan looked around. “Where’s Captain Secco?”
“He’s forward with Second Lieutenant Mitchell’s platoon,” said Thomas, pointing at a burning building.
“Very, good. Standby for the order to withdraw, Master Sergeant.”
“We’ll be ready, sir.”
Of that, Sheridan had no doubt. His people were all highly trained and led by some of the finest young leaders in the Marine Corps. With his squad of Marines in tow, Sheridan ran in the direction of the flames. He spotted Captain Secco giving orders to one of his platoon leaders.
“What’s going on?” Sheridan asked Secco.
“Nothing, sir,” replied the captain. “The last of the Chosen bunkers has been taken. I was passing on to Mister Mitchell where I want his platoon to go during the reorganization.”
Sheridan nodded. “Sounds good; just don’t get too comfortable. Once Captain Cole passes on that he has all the prisoners on the ship, we’re out of here.”
“Right, sir.”
Sheridan keyed his mic. “Alpha-Guardian, this is Sierra-Six, have your team spread out and be prepared to cover our withdrawal.”
“Roger that,” replied the mechanized Guardian team leader.
Sheridan watched as the hulking armored fighting machines walked away from the cargo ship and took up new fire positions.
“Six, this is Alpha, I’ve got the last of the captives being helped onto the ship,” reported Cole.
“Excellent news,” said Sheridan, amazed at how slick the raid had gone so far. “How many did we rescue?”
“One hundred and ninety-seven people.”
The initial intelligence reports had claimed there were over three hundred former colonists being held on the planet. Like all reports, Sheridan had learned to take them with a grain of salt. You never knew the truth until you put your boots on the ground.
“Okay, I’m going to collapse the outer cordon and make my way to you.”
“Roger that.”
Sheridan passed the orders to his company commanders before cradling his assault rifle in his arms and walking with the Marines from Bravo Company back to the ship.
The sudden sound of a 30mm chain gun ripping through the air made Sheridan freeze in place. He turned his head and looked toward the sound. From out of the smoke and the flames, like a creature coming out of the pits of hell, strode a Kurgan fighting machine. It was taller and bulkier than a Marine Corps Guardian. Sheridan recognized it as a Ky-33. With its guns firing, the Kurgan machine brought down the closest Guardian in a hail of armor-piercing projectiles. With nothing blocking its way, the Ky-33 made its way to the cargo ship. With its chain guns, the Kurgan fighting machine would be able to turn the rescue ship into Swiss cheese if it wasn’t stopped in the next few seconds.
Sheridan looked over his shoulder at his close-protection squad. One of them was carrying a Hellstorm anti-armor weapon. “With me,” he yelled.
Sheridan knew the Ky-33 would be nearly impossible to bring down with its thick frontal armor. Instead, he ran past a burning Kurgan APC and jumped down into a Kurgan trench. Sheridan sprinted through the trench line until he came to a firing position. There were four dead Chosen soldiers sprawled out on the floor of the trench. Sheridan ignored them, leaped onto the parapet, and looked out over the field of battle.
The Ky-33 was closing in on the ship.
“Hellstorm gunner, on me,” yelled Sheridan.
A young Marine scrambled up and dropped to one knee next to Sheridan.
“Okay, we’ll only get one shot at this,” said Sheridan. “I want you to aim for the bottom of the fighting machine’s back. That’s where it’s most vulnerable.”
The private nodded her understanding and hefted the weapon onto her shoulder. Sheridan reached back and armed the projectile before tapping the gunner on the helmet. The air became tense as the Marine tracked the target for a few seconds before placing her finger on the trigger and taking up the slack.
Sheridan was sure she had waited too long when she pulled back on the trigger and fired the weapon. With an ear-splitting boom, the warhead sped toward the Kurgan machine. In the blink of an eye, the rocket slammed home and exploded. The Marines with Sheridan let out a loud cheer when the Ky-33, torn in half by the warhead, flew apart.
“What’s your name, Marine?” Sheridan asked the gunner.
“Private Okorie, sir,” replied the smiling young woman.
“Well, Private Okorie, you’re a lance corporal now. I’ll make sure the necessary paperwork is sent back to division HQ as soon as we’re off this planet.”
“Thanks, sir,”
“No need to thank me, you earned it. That was a one in a million shot.”
“Okay, Marines, let’s get back to the ship before any more of these things show up,” said Staff Sergeant Barnes, the squad leader.
Sheridan nodded. The sergeant was right. It was time to go. He climbed out of the firing position and waited until the rest of his team was with him before jogging to the open door of the cargo bay. He saw Cole congratulate Okorie before turning his gaze on him. Sheridan knew he was about to get an earful.
“Did it ever pass between your ears that Barnes and his people could have brought down that machine without you leading them?” said Cole.
Sheridan smiled at his friend and mentor. “You know me, Alan; I honestly hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
“Major, you’re not indestructible. I’m going to grab a seat at ringside when you try to explain to your wife why you had to run off and join a fight when you have competent leaders who know their jobs and could have fought this battle without you being here.”
Master Sergeant Hill, Sheridan’s new senior non-commissioned officer, walked into the cargo bay accompanied by a couple of lightly wounded Marines. He took one look at Sheridan and shook his head. “I hope for your sake, sir, that the XO has given you a piece of his mind. Because if he hasn’t, I will.”
“It’s okay, Master Sergeant,” replied Sheridan. “I’ve already gotten my jacking for the day.”
Hill grumbled something to himself and kept on walking.
“You two really need to work on your interpersonal skills,” said Cole, grinning at Sheridan.
Sheridan ignored the last jibe. “Alan, do we have everyone on board?”
“Hill was the last man.”
“Very well, let’s get the hell out of here and make the jump back to the fleet.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Cole, waving for the cargo bay doors to be closed.
The doors rose up and locked into place with the rest of the ship. The engines powered up and within seconds the ship raced up into the sky.
The vessel was crowded but not so much that a person couldn’t get around. Sheridan made his way to the bridge. Captain Kyn, the Kurgan Liaison Officer to Task Force Sierra-One was sitting in the captain’s chair. When Sheridan stepped onto the bridge, Kyn respectfully stood.
“Resume your position,” said Sheridan.
Kyn sat back down. He was a navigator by profession, but his ability to speak the Terran language had made him indispensable to the Combined Ceasefire Committee. For the past four months, Kyn had been employed as Sheridan’s LO.
“Status?” asked Sheridan.
“Sir, we are just entering orbit,” replied Kyn.
Several Terran ships appeared on the tactical screen.
“Captain Terrence, please contact the Ukrayina and have her fire a couple high-yield missiles into the mine entrance,” said Sheridan to his fire control officer.
“Will do, sir,” replied Terrence.
Sheridan watched on the screen as three missiles shot toward the planet’s surface. “Let’s see how many months it takes the rebels to get the mine operational again.”
“Sir, the navigator of the frigate Shilo has passed the jump coordinates to all our ships,” said Kyn
.
“Very well, Captain, begin your countdown.”
Kyn looked over at a clock on the screen. “Jumping in five-four-three-two-one.” In an instant, the world outside the cargo vessel turned black as it was enveloped in a jump bubble.
“If anyone is looking for me,” said Sheridan, “I’ll be below checking on the freed prisoners.” With that, he walked off the bridge and went to find Cole, who he knew would be with the sickest of the newly liberated colonists.
As Sheridan walked along, he contemplated how things had changed so dramatically over the past nine months when the Kurgan Empire began to tear itself apart in a destructive civil war. He couldn’t fault Earth’s president on insisting that all colonists and soldiers taken prisoner during the war had to be returned to Terran space before a lasting peace treaty could be signed. Across rebel space, teams like Sierra-One were busy rescuing people before they were murdered or pitilessly worked to death. It was an assignment Sheridan relished. He got to help people escape the brutal bonds of slavery and give the rebel Kurgans who had abused them a one-way ticket to hell.
Chapter 2
“Coming out of our jump in three-two-one,” announced Major Wendy Sullivan.
“Roger that,” replied her friend, Major Tarina Pheto-Sheridan.
The black void quickly vanished and was replaced by a massive gas giant which filled the cockpit screen. Twice as big as Jupiter, Kenor-3 was the largest of eight planetary bodies in the Kenor System. The planet was a brilliant light green at the poles with a myriad of swirling bands of white and pale blue throughout the middle of the world.
“I hope I never get tired of seeing things like that,” said Wendy in the backseat of the deep-space reconnaissance ship.
“Me too,” said Tarina from the pilot’s seat. Together since the beginning of the war, the two recently promoted majors found themselves delegated to the training cadre of the newly reformed First Special Warfare Squadron. Their boss, Colonel Wright, had at first refused but later after being badgered to exhaustion allowed them to fly a mission every second week to keep their skills up.
“My scope is clear,” said Wendy. “There are no ships in this system.”
“Okay, let’s deliver our package and return home for breakfast.” With that, Tarina applied power to her ship’s engine and flew toward a rocky moon.
Their target wasn’t the gas giant but one of its moons. Kenor-3D was the largest of the planet’s thirty-three moons. It had once served as a refueling station but, according to the Kurgan Imperial High Command, was now no longer in operation. As part of the ceasefire agreement, both sides were permitted to verify that the border space between the belligerents was free of any military bases, stations, or installations. So far both sides had kept their word.
Kenor-3D was locked to its orbit around the gas giant, meaning the same hemisphere always faced the planet. When they came within one thousand kilometers of the moon, Wendy began her scans.
“The surface is heavily cratered, and there is a tenuous atmosphere mainly made up of carbon dioxide,” reported Wendy. “There are large ice deposits well below surface indicating there could have been flowing water on the surface at one time in the moon’s past.”
“Have you located the old Kurgan base yet?” asked Tarina.
“One minute, please,” responded Wendy as she studied her screen. “Got it. It’s right where they said it would be.”
Tarina glanced down at her scope and saw the base come into view. Built inside a large crater, the former base of several dozen interconnected structures spread around four landing pads looked dark and deserted. “Any sign of power or life?”
“Nada. The base is nonoperational. The temperature inside those buildings is a balmy minus one hundred and forty-three degrees Celsius.”
“Sounds like a lovely spot to visit. Warm up the package.”
“Roger that. I’m activating the satellite, now.”
“Okay, I’m pulling us back to a distance of thirty thousand kilometers.” The ship pivoted around and sped away from the moon.
“All systems look good,” reported Wendy.
Tarina checked her computer screen and saw they were in position. “Okay, this is it.”
Wendy double-checked their position. “Looks good. Detaching the satellite in three-two-one.”
Beneath their ship, the satellite floated free. Its onboard computer fired its thrusters until it maneuvered into a stable geosynchronous orbit above the moon.
“Let’s make sure our little friend is in perfect working order before jumping back home,” said Tarina.
Wendy accessed the satellite’s computer and read the stream of information coming in on not just on the moon, but the entire star system. “Okay, I’m getting the usual readings of dust, dark matter, and Baryonic matter.”
“So nothing out of the ordinary to report?”
“That’s correct. Everything is quiet in this region of Kurgan space.”
“Okay then. Please, take one last look at your return jump calculations already inputted in the navigational drive, and we’ll be on our way.”
“Wait a second, Tarina,” said Wendy, tapping her friend on the back of her helmet.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m picking up a minute trail of tachyon particles.”
Tarina tried looking back over her shoulder. “Are you sure? Tachyons are purely hypothetical.”
“Check your screen. It’s barely a whiff, but the satellite is picking it up.”
Tarina glanced down. “Got it. It’s coming from just above the northern pole of Kenor-3.”
“Fleet intelligence is going to go into overdrive when this info gets back to them.”
Without warning, the feed coming from the satellite abruptly stopped.
“What the hell just happened?” said Tarina, tapping the side of her computer with her gloved hand.
“That wasn’t me,” said Wendy, checking her control panel for a warning light. “According to my screen, the satellite is still operational.”
Tarina’s instincts told her to be careful. Something was wrong. “Wendy, someone could be jamming us. Let’s get out of here.”
Wendy began to type in the confirmation code for their jump.
Tarina looked out their cockpit, praying that she didn’t see the telltale sign of a missile’s engine as it flew toward them.
“Tarina, I don’t know how or why, but I’ve been blocked from entering our jump code,” said Wendy, sounding puzzled.
The ship’s computer spoke. “Jumping in five-four,”
“Wendy, what the frigg is going on?” asked Tarina.
“Three-two.”
“I don’t know,” Wendy replied as she tried to override the ship’s computer.
“One.” The ship vanished. Cocooned in its jump bubble, Tarina and Wendy were now hostages inside their vessel until it came out of its jump.
“Any idea where we’re going?” Tarina asked.
“No, there’s nothing on my screen. Without sounding too much like Alan, our group conspiracy theorist, I’d say we just stumbled across something we weren’t supposed to see.”
Chapter 3
After a long conference call with his commanding officer, Michael Sheridan was looking forward to eating a light meal while he read the most recent mail he had received from Tarina. He opened the door to his quarters, juggling in one hand a tray with some food on it and a stack of files he needed to review before he went to bed in the other. The door slid open and Sheridan walked inside the darkened room. He placed his files down on top of his combat gear packed neatly by the door, reached over, and flipped on the lights. Sheridan almost jumped back in fright when he saw Alan Cole sitting at a desk. On the table in front of him was an unopened bottle of Scotch. Sheridan stammered, “Alan, before you say a word, this is not what it looks like.”
“Really, Major? Then just what the hell is it supposed to look like?” said Cole. His tone was firm.
“It’s not
mine. I swear,” said Sheridan, raising his right arm.
“Whose is it then?”
“It’s a gift for Captain Holland from his fiancée. She knew he’d find it if she kept it in her quarters, so she asked me to hold onto it until they got married.”
Cole pushed out a chair with his foot for Sheridan. “And when is that blessed day supposed to occur?”
Sheridan placed his tray on the table and took his seat. “In one month’s time.”
“I’m sure the good Captain Holland won’t mind if I get Staff Sergeant Moore to hold onto it for her,” said Cole, slipping the bottle into a pocket on his uniform. “He’s never touched a drop in his life. I’m sure it’ll be safe there.”
“I’m sure she won’t object.”
“That’s good because you’re not going to hold onto it anymore. Now, Mister, would you happen to have any more bottles hidden around your room?”
“No, that’s it.” Sheridan could see the suspicion in his best friend’s eyes. “Alan, you can search my quarters from top to bottom if you want but you won’t find any more liquor bottles.”
“I already have. I just wanted to hear it from you.”
A thought crossed Sheridan’s mind. “Say, how often do you search my quarters for booze?”
“I’m not going to tell you, but after our last encounter with Mister Williams, I could see that look in your eyes. Don’t forget, I’m also a recovering alcoholic. I bet you wanted a drink so bad you could taste it in your mouth.”
“You’re not wrong there. But it was far worse than that. For weeks afterward, I would get the shakes and break out sweating. If it weren’t for Tarina, I’m positive I would have torn my father’s ship apart looking for a drink.”
“Mike, ninety percent of all reformed alcoholics fail and have a drink in the first four years after becoming sober. I know; I fell off the wagon more than once. But I always got back on my feet and carried on. What you went through was only natural.”
“I know. Tarina saw I was having a hard time and had me see a substance abuse counselor. Together we put those long weeks behind me.”
Renegade (The Kurgan War Book 7) Page 2