Invasion (The K'Tai War Series Book 1)

by PP Corcoran

  H HOUR PLUS FIFTEEN MINUTES

  GEMINI CITY

  A grunt escaped the lips of Jessica Reynolds as she was flung against the side of the flitter, as her driver screamed around a corner and swerved to avoid yet another abandoned vehicle in the middle of the street. The flitter yo-yoed back in the opposite direction and only her tight grip on the dashboard prevented her from landing in the driver’s lap, not that he would have noticed. Reynolds’ orders to him were explicit, get them back to headquarters as fast as he could, and that was exactly what he intended to do. In fact, Reynolds was pretty sure he was relishing the opportunity to push the flitter as hard as he could. It wasn’t like he was going to be stopped for speeding by a traffic cop. Since leaving the governor’s mansion, Reynolds hadn’t seen a single cop, though when they had entered the city proper, they had plenty of evidence that there had been scattered fighting taking place. Burning vehicles, both civilian and police, littered the roads and sidewalks.

  The governor’s mansion was on the opposite side of the city from the barracks where her marines of the 182nd battalion were based, and the fastest way to reach the barracks was straight through downtown with its forest of gleaming office buildings. As they had entered downtown proper, it struck Reynolds as eerily quiet. Of the civilian population, they were few and far between. Reynolds had caught a glimpse of a few running figures, but it appeared that the majority had heeded the governor’s warning to stay indoors and seek the relative safety of their buildings’ basements. She had lost contact with her headquarters almost immediately after giving the order to implement Plan Shadow. Although the communication loss had not been unexpected--after all, disrupting your opponent’s communications was a standard tactic in any military operation--it still concerned her. She needed to know what was going on if she was to have any influence on the outcome of this battle. A thousand decisions needed to be made, and she could only trust that her officers were executing her plan as she would have wanted. Reynolds reigned in her anxiety as she silently urged her driver to go faster.

  As if the urgency of the situation needed emphasis, the vehicle they had just careened past was peppered by K’Tai pulse rifle fire as enemy soldiers attempted to hit the speeding flitter. Reynolds craned her neck to look behind her and get a look at the enemy soldiers that had been using them as target practice, and that simple maneuver probably saved her life as the front canopy of the flitter shattered into a million pieces. The flitter veered sharply to one side before slamming into a parked heavy lift flitter. The impact threw Reynolds’ head forward until it made painful contact with the dashboard. Stars filled her vision. Through the pointed pain in her head from where it had struck the dashboard, Reynolds struggled to get her eyes to focus, immediately regretting shaking her head to rid her vision of the dancing stars as a wave of dizziness washed over her. Reynolds touched her hand to her forehead and it came away wet and sticky with blood.

  “Pass the med pack, Carver,” ordered Reynolds as she wiped the blood from her hand on her pants leg. When the driver didn’t immediately reply, Reynolds turned her head gently to stop the stars returning.

  “Shit!” Where the unlucky marine’s head should have been, there was only the twisted rear corner of the heavy lift flitter protruding into her vehicle’s cockpit. Gingerly twisting further in her seat, Reynolds reached into the back of the wrecked interior, searching for the med pack which was now buried under a mountain of equipment that had come loose during the crash. Reynolds’ efforts were hampered by the fact that the impact had partially collapsed the roof of the flitter, forcing the various pieces of equipment into a veritable wall of debris. Finally, Reynolds located the med pack and had just about managed to get her fingers around its grab straps when her eye caught movement out of the shattered rear window. Thoughts of the med pack were replaced with the more urgent need to locate her rifle as three K’Tai soldiers advanced down the deserted street toward her vehicle. Seconds later she realized the futility of her search. Her rifle had been in the weapons rack directly behind her head. With the collapse of the vehicle’s roof as the stationary heavy lift flitter’s rear end had scythed into her speeding vehicle, bringing it to its unplanned halt, the weapons rack had been crushed and along with it Reynolds’ rifle.

  The marine colonel was not defenseless, however. In one smooth movement, a compact ten-millimeter full auto machine pistol was retrieved from its normal home in her thigh holster, coming as if of its own accord into a firing position. I’ve got to get out of this flitter, I’m a sitting duck in here, thought Reynolds. Without taking her eyes from the approaching K’Tai, she reached out with her free hand and by touch alone found the door opening catch. Reynolds kept a wary eye on the effective tactics of the approaching enemy soldiers. At any time, at least one went to ground to provide cover for his two comrades as they advanced, then one of the advancing pair would find a fire position and cover the rear man’s advance. The marines used a similar method; they called it keeping one foot on the ground at all times. It was probably the most effective way of covering ground while still providing the best protection to advancing troops.

  Time to move, marine, Reynolds chastised herself, tapping the door release. Instead of coming smoothly open, the door refused to budge, and the mechanism let out a loud whine in protest as it tried to force the buckled door clear of the frame. Reynolds’ hand came off the catch as if she had gotten an electric shock. The whining noise abated, but it had been enough to alert the approaching K’Tai that the mangled wreckage might still contain life. As one they opened fire, and pulse rifle rounds pinged off the light armor of the marine flitter and flew through the interior, through the smashed rear window, striking the pile of equipment that now provided a barrier for the trapped Reynolds, who was doing her best impression of a hedgehog as she curled up in the foot well, frantically searching for an exit. The K’Tai fire slackened momentarily, so Reynolds took the chance to poke her machine pistol over the top of the equipment providing her a makeshift barricade and fired a long, unaimed burst of ten-millimeter rounds out of the rear window. The K’Tai response was immediate. An avalanche of pulse rifle fire impacted the vehicle and its contents, forcing Reynolds once more into the foot well. Through the flying debris kicked up by the impact of the rounds, Reynolds weighed up her options. Her door refused to budge, but she could probably squeeze through the shattered side cockpit window; the only problem was that the second she stuck her head up, the K’Tai would turn it into a bloody version of Swiss cheese. The front windshield was out; the impact that had shattered the toughened glass had also squeezed the flitter’s roof down, turning the front of the cockpit into a narrow slit. The protruding rear of the heavy lift flitter and the decapitated body of Marine Carver blocked any exit on that side of the vehicle. With her other options exhausted and the flitter still rocking from the impact of enemy fire, Reynolds’ fingers flexed on the machine pistol’s grip. The side window it is, then. You never know, thought Reynolds, I might get lucky and manage to get out and kill one of the bastards before they get me. Reaching up with her free hand, she gripped the shattered window frame and with a yell of defiance exploded out of the wrecked flitter.

  #

  The unmistakable sound of pulse rifle fire echoed down the canyon-like walls of the skyscraper-lined street, causing Dave to step further into the meager protection provided by the shop doorway while he scanned the road ahead for signs of K’Tai soldiers. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Kyle had heard the firing also, for he too had taken cover with only the top of his head showing over the front hood of a rather expensive looking bright green flitter. For a moment Dave broke into a smile as he imagined the hours of polishing it had taken to get the flitter looking so dazzling, and how Kyle’s rough jacket and body armor must be leaving long, deep scratches in the finish. Dave was shaken out of his revelry by a burst of new firing, differing in sound to the steady pulse rifles; this sound was sharper and higher pitched. Yeah, somebody’s having themselv
es a fire fight up ahead, thought Dave, as he weighed the options of going around whoever it was and finding another route to the pusher station. Checking that Kyle was still down in cover, Dave pulled up the street map he was navigating by on his wrist comm. The frown that creased his forehead as he worked out an alternate route was one his wife and kids would easily recognize as one of annoyance, followed by dismissal of something that was wasting his time. The alternate route would take them three blocks west before cutting back north, and with the way the K’Tai were taking ground, he seriously doubted that they could reach the pusher station before the K’Tai controlled that entire area. They were already behind time, probably due more to his own cautiousness than any other factor. Dave listened more intently this time as the sound of pulse fire rang down the street, trying hard to distinguish between individual weapons. The spacings between the shots indicated no more than three or four possible shooters. The K’Tai normally worked in groups of three, so that would make sense. However, the return fire was from a single shooter. A machine pistol, if he was hearing it correctly. Dave’s eyes flicked to the comms icon hovering in his glasses’ left lens, activating his secure link to Kyle.

  “OK, kid, here’s the plan. We carry on moving up the street just like before. When we get to the next junction, you stay put and cover my ass while I go deal with the noisy neighbors. Got it?”

  “Got it,” came Kyle’s voice in his ear.

  The sound of more pulse rifle fire, heavier than before, was answered by a short burst from the machine pistol. As if spurred on, Dave sprinted off in the direction of the fighting, pausing only when he had reached the corner of the block, crouching behind a large piece of fallen masonry. A few seconds later Kyle’s out of breath voice sounded in his ear.

  “In position, Dave. I have a decent view around the corner to your nine o’clock.” Through Kyle’s words, Dave could make out his heavier breathing. Dave recognized the sound as the kid struggled hard to keep his mixture of excitement and dread at impending action in check. Rather than try to explain how to throw the image across to his glasses, Dave simply overrode Kyle’s system and clear as day, the view from Kyle’s position was overlaid on Dave’s vision. Three K’Tai were advancing steadily on the mangled remains of a military flitter, laying down a constant fire as they did so. Pulse rifle rounds were impacting its partially flattened roof and buckled passenger side jutting out from under the rear repulsor housing. Anyone surviving that impact had only the flitter’s armor to thank, but even that armor couldn’t stand up to the K’Tai’s sustained fire for long. A fleeting thought came to Dave. In a matter of minutes this fight would be over and the K’Tai would move on, allowing Kyle and himself to go on their way unhindered. The warrior part of his brain screamed derision at his callousness. Yeah, and if that was you trapped in the flitter wouldn’t you want someone to help if they could? Decision made, Dave moved smoothly into action. A flick of his eyes brought up the targeting menu in the left lens of his glasses.

  Multiple Targets?

  Select.

  Designate Targets Now?

  Select.

  An aiming reticule appeared and Dave tracked it across the overlaid view from Kyle’s glasses until it hovered dead center on a K’Tai soldier’s black-clad back.

  Select.

  Methodically Dave moved to his next target.

  Select.

  And then the final K’Tai.

  Select.

  Ammunition Type?

  Dave scrolled down the short list until his eyes rested on the one he was looking for.

  Penetrator?

  Select.

  At the blinding speed that only a computer processor could work at, the information was sent to the CAR 56’s fire control system, the correct type of round was moved to the top of the firing queue within the weapons magazine, and the designated targeting information passed to each round’s pinhead-sized electronic brain, which obediently carried out a diagnostic to ensure it was functioning correctly. The smallest fault would be reported to the weapons fire control system, which would automatically cycle the round out of the fire order and replace it with a fresh, fully functioning round. Checks complete, the rifle reported back to the chip in Dave’s glasses, which reacted by informing Dave via a visual queue. This entire procedure had taken the glasses and rifle under a second to complete.

  Fire When Ready blinked the blood red, emotionless phrase in the left lens.

  In one flowing motion Dave stepped out from cover, the CAR 56 already up in his shoulder, held in tight in expectation of the weapons recoil, finger resting lightly on the trigger. As the muzzle cleared the corner of the building, the sight of the three K’Tai soldiers came into view. Seemingly of its own volition, his finger caressed the trigger and the shot was away. The triple crack of the assault rifle had barely reached Dave’s ears before the guided, hardened penetrator rounds found their targets. At a range of slightly over thirty meters the K’Tai armor would easily shrug off a normal round, not so the penetrators. Specially coated at the molecular level to make them harder than any typically available armor, each round passed easily through the reinforced back plates of the K’Tai body armor, shedding the round’s outer casing as it did so to release tens of millimeter-long razor-sharp barbs. The kinetic energy of the rounds’ initial strike compressing and squeezing the K’Tai’s inner organs would probably have been enough to ensure the deaths of the soldiers, but the CAR 56’s designers didn’t work in probabilities. The sharpened barbs ripped through the K’Tai turning his upper chest cavities into finely sliced and diced meat, and sinew.

  The fight was over before Dave’s shots finished reverberating off the walls of the surrounding buildings. The three K’Tai soldiers lay sprawled in the street where they had fallen, blood beginning to seep from beneath the seals of their armor. Dave approached the bodies warily, weapon still raised, ready to reengage if he saw the slightest flicker of movement. Kyle moved up beside him, face pale and eyes wide as saucers. This was undoubtedly the first time he had seen a dead body, maybe not, but most certainly the first time he had witnessed death in such a sudden and violent form.

  “Don’t sweat it, kid. It was them or us, remember that,” Dave said in a level, matter of fact voice. Kyle slowly nodded, though his eyes never left the lifeless corpses. The kid will bounce back, thought Dave. He’d better, because there’s likely to be a lot more of this before we get out the other side.

  The briefest flash of movement by the front of the heavy flitter past the crumpled military vehicle brought Dave’s rifle up, his finger resting lightly on the trigger as he stepped sideways to interpose his body between Kyle and whoever was hiding there. Dave called out to them without lowering his aim.

  “Come on out, soldier boy, all the bad men have gone away.”

  A mottled green and brown camouflage uniform detached itself from the front of the heavy flitter and stepped fully into view, the ugly wide snout of a machine pistol held in steady hands unwaveringly pointed in Dave’s direction.

  “It’s marine, actually,” corrected Reynolds, her trained eye thoroughly appraised the imposing male: body-form bio-reactive camo uniform, light weight clamshell armor and, if she was not mistaken, the latest CAR assault rifle held confidently and recently used, evidenced by the dead K’Tai lying at his feet. Whoever this man was, he was not militia.

  “Colonel Jessica Reynolds, 182nd Marine Battalion. And whom do I have to thank for the helping hand?”

  “Why not just call me a concerned citizen, Colonel, and let’s leave it at that,” answered Dave in his best non-committal tone.

  The figure hovering behind her nameless rescuer popped into view. Reynolds caught a glimpse of a mop of light brown hair atop youthful high-cheekbones and quizzical eyes. Father and son, mused Reynolds. That would explain the obvious protectionist stance of the older man. A spot of blood dropped on her right eyelid, causing her to blink rapidly to dislodge it. Her actions did not go unnoticed by the older male.


  “Nasty cut you have there, Colonel. You got someone who can fix that for you?” observed Dave.

  Reynolds touched her fingers to her forehead and they came away covered in bright red liquid. There was a med pack somewhere in the tangled remains of her flitter that would take time to find, if at all. Reynolds scanned the nearby buildings, windows, and the abandoned street. No doubt her little fire fight would have attracted unwanted attention. She needed to be on her way, now. A shadow fell over her and she started as she realized the older male was now standing only a pace from her. How the hell has he covered the distance between us so quickly and not made a single sound? You’re getting sloppy, marine, Jessica berated herself.

  Dave looked the ragged cut over with an appraising eye. “I can patch you up long enough for you to get where you’re going.”

  Jessica recovered from her surprise at his near cat-like movement abilities. Whoever he was, he had saved her butt from the K’Tai, so it was unlikely he meant her harm.

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  With a few deft moves Dave produced a pristine white sterile pad from a pouch at his waist and applied it to the cut on Reynolds’ forehead with enough pressure to cause her to wince. After a few seconds, the now bloodied pad was removed and Dave got his first clear look at the injury.

  “Nothing to worry about, Colonel, I’ve seen worse.”

  Reynolds saw an opportunity to learn more about her mysterious benefactor. “And where would that have been? Dealt with a lot of combat wounds, have you?”

  Dave’s only answer was a low grunt as he retrieved a contraption that resembled a small roller-type dispenser and pushed it hard against the top of the wound and ran it down the length of the injury. As he did so, she felt the skin on her head tightening as the liquid gel the roller released formed a more solid, airtight seal over the wound, pulling the two ragged edges of skin together and staunching the flow of blood. With another grunt Dave stepped back to admire his handiwork, moving Reynolds’ head from side to side with one hand on her chin as he did so. Satisfied, he released her and returned the dispenser to its pouch.