by PP Corcoran
Turning on her heel, she had left the nameless male where he lay, struggling to catch his breath. Kara never whispered a word about the incident to anyone, especially her father, for he would have undoubtedly hunted down the young man, who had so offended his only daughter, killed him without a second thought, and damn the consequences. For a man hailed as a military genius and commander of a legion of 50,000 of the most feared warriors in the Imperium, each of whom had sworn a personal blood oath to follow his every order, he was completely irrational when it came to his daughter.
The screaming of an aero fighter’s engine going to full power brought Lady Kara back to the task at hand. She tracked a missile on a finger of flame rising from behind the fort’s walls, and the fighter’s pilot must have seen it, for he attempted to whip his fighter around in a tight turn in the narrow airspace filled with protruding high-rise buildings. Like one of Lady Kara’s prize hunting Rokkas, the missile closed in on the fighter despite the pilot’s best efforts. A bright flash was followed by the dull boom of an explosion as the missile impacted, flipping the fighter on its back and nearly ripping one wing completely off. With no more control, the lithe little bat-wing fighter ploughed into an unmoving grey edifice, its fuel cells and remaining munitions exploding in a blast that sent pieces of the craft and building flying in all directions, showering the K’Tai soldiers that had been sheltering around the building’s base with rolling, brilliantly hot plasma fire and shrapnel, killing many and badly injuring the remainder.
Lady Kara staggered as something impacted on her breast plate, forcing her to go to one knee.
“My lady, are you injured?” cried Larav as he moved close to her. The Valan bodyman moved with a speed that Larav could not hope to match, interposing his own body between the kneeling Kara and the remainder of her retinue, a wicked looking Hadak, a curved dagger, appearing as if by magic in his hand. Larav stopped dead in his tracks; imperial law did not allow any other than a full-blooded K’Tai to carry weapons of any description, yet here was a lowly Valan holding a blade in the presence of not only himself, an officer of the Legion, but of a high born of a noble house. To Larav’s astonishment the remainder of Lady Kara’s retinue, rather than disarm the Valan, formed a tight circle around the bodyman and his mistress, their weapons leveled outward, ready to engage any potential threat. Larav’s view was now obscured, but from within the circle of black armor came a strong, commanding female voice.
“I am unhurt, Jolel, please lower your weapon. I am sure you are making the Commander uncomfortable.” Like a parting wave the black-clad K’Tai surrounding Lady Kara seemed to melt away, to reveal the Legion’s commander once more standing upright, holding something in her right hand which glinted in the sunlight. The Valan stood once more meekly behind her; of the blade he had carried there was no sign. Kara opened her hand and there on her palm lay a jagged, evil-looking piece of reinforced composite. With her left-hand Kara was fingering a fresh scar on her breast plate, the body armor cut nearly through to the skin, a puzzled look on her face. “Ironic, is it not, Larav?”
“I’m sorry, my lady, I’m afraid you have lost me.”
A short, incredulous laugh escaped Kara before she spoke. “That I was nearly felled by a piece from one of our own aero fighters rather than by the enemy.”
Now Larav understood the source of his Lady’s amusement, though he did not share it. “Indeed, my lady. I for one am glad that I don’t have to explain to the Legion that the navy were responsible for robbing them of your presence. It would have led undoubtedly to some… awkward moments.”
The sound of a second, louder laugh filled the air as Kara appreciated Larav’s avoided predicament. “Indeed, Larav, that is a conversation that I thank Rig you do not have to have.” With a wide sweeping arm, she gestured toward the embattled Fort Sheridan. “So how do you intend to secure this position? Surely poorly armed militia cannot hope to hold out against the might of the Legion.”
Larav beckoned over one of his small headquarters staff, who obediently produced a compact image slate, which he activated and held up for Kara to see. On the slate lay a prostate human figure, or most of a figure. The entire right side of the figure was an unrecognizable charred mess, but the remaining left-hand side was covered in a distinctive mottled brown and green camouflage uniform. Lady Kara touched the slate, expanding the image until it focused in on the collar. In subdued black was a stylized eagle, a lightning bolt clasped in its talons descending on a globe, the emblem of the League Corps of Marines. Kara tapped the image and it zoomed out again to show once more the burned and blackened uniformed figure, which she now regarded with more respectful eyes as she contemplated this new information. Pre-invasion intelligence briefings had stated that Agate’s defenses consisted of a Border Patrol cruiser squadron made up of a handful of old type cruisers, frigates and destroyers, while the actual ground defenses were completely reliant on locally trained militia, good for nothing more than the occasional run-in with brigands and providing assistance to law enforcement to put down civil disturbances or aid when a natural disaster struck. There had been no mention of regular, well-trained troops on the planet’s surface or anywhere else in the system. Kara contemplated this new information as those around her waited silently; all the while, energy cannon rained their fire down on the fort’s defenses. Lady Kara was a woman of action; however, this desire for action was tempered by a sound understanding of the larger strategic picture, an understanding learned at the knee of the Imperium’s premier tactician, Lord Harvik. Although never having faced League marines in personal combat, their reputation preceded them. Ultra-tough, ultra-reliable, these marines would fight to the last man, and in their very defeat they would be held up as a shining example of defiance to the K’Tai. This was something that could not be allowed. The human population must be shown the overwhelming power of their new masters. Watching the impact of the energy cannon being shrugged off by the fort’s shields, she gave her orders.
“Commander Larav, continue with your bombardment of the enemy position, use it as cover to withdraw the Legion and redeploy them to encircle the position at a safe distance. When the encirclement is complete, instruct the fleet to raise the position to the ground using orbital bombardment. I want nothing left of it but ashes and glass. Understood?”
“As you command, my lady.” Larav gave her a short bow before he began to issue his orders, though Kara ignored him as she continued to watch the impacts of fizzling energy dissipating like raindrops on a window as the humans’ shields were hammered by her artillery. Closing her eyes, she said a quiet prayer to Rig for those she had just condemned to their fate, for Rig taught that to honor the bravery of your enemy was to do honor to yourself. Prayer complete, she held out her hand to her Valan bodyman, Jolel, who passed her the battle helm he had been holding. Replacing it on her head, she and her entourage headed off to meet the transport that would take them to inspect the mines which had, after all, been the main objective of the invasion.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Run to the Hills
H HOUR PLUS THREE
It had taken Jessica Reynolds over an hour to carefully work her way past the ever-thickening numbers of K’Tai soldiers that appeared to be completing an encircling maneuver around Fort Sheridan like a circle of black army ants, constantly in motion but with a single-minded purpose. It had struck Reynolds as odd that she had not come across any further batteries of enemy energy cannon; in fact, it looked more to her like the K’Tai were going to lay siege to the fort, and that made no sense to her tactician's brain. Reynolds’ mind switched gears. OK, I’m the K’Tai commander. I would want to overcome an enemy strong point such as the fort as quickly as possible, freeing up what are undoubtedly badly needed units for other tasks. After all, I have a city of slightly over a million to subdue, never mind the outlying areas and the all-important mines, so no matter how many troops I had begun the invasion with, resources will always be stretched, it’s the bane of all military
operations. So, what the hell are they up to? Unable to come up with a suitable answer to the problem, Reynolds pushed the nagging thought to the back of her mind as she went down on her belly on the soft, lush grass that covered the grounds of Riverside Park. On a normal summer’s day, the park would be filled with adults absently minding their laughing, playing children. Not today. The park was abandoned; even the Agate version of birds, strange multicolored flying creatures that resembled something from Earth’s prehistory, had fled the conflict that was ravaging the city.
Wriggling more than crawling up the low rise, Reynolds poked her head over its lip and surveyed the ground to her front. The green grass of the park rolled softly away from her, broken occasionally by wide gravel paths that meandered throughout the park. On a slight rise, perhaps 100 meters from where Reynolds lay was a children’s play area, full of brightly colored slides and swings surrounded by a low fence. In one corner was a clump of transplanted pine trees grafted on a native species so they could prosper in the rich, fertile Agate soil. The pines had successfully made the transition from Earth to Agate and were slowly but surely pushing out the local species. It was the area to the left of the trees that Reynolds was focused on, however. The ground there dropped away sharply, before rising just as sharply a few meters later. Any casual observer would have disregarded this out of place feature, but, this piece of ground had seen the hand of man, it had been excavated by machine before being recovered with grass. Hidden from view was the entrance to a storm drain which linked Gemini City’s complex interwoven rainfall system out to the Scraggy River. It was this system that the marines of the 182nd Battalion were using to extract themselves from Fort Sheridan. Or at least that was the plan, thought Reynolds.
Plan Shadow had been conceived by Reynolds and her second in command, Major Agani, as more a planning exercise for the junior officers rather than a realistic option. Nobody in their right mind could conceive of a situation where the entire battalion would be trapped within the walls of Fort Sheridan, but that was the problem Reynolds had posed to the assembled newly minted lieutenants of the battalion only a few short weeks before, following the battalion’s enforced training cycle. How do you extract the entire battalion while under enemy fire with the fort’s energy shields raised? The faces of the young officers had reflected the impossibility of their task while Reynolds and Agani had exchanged a mischievous grin as they left the room to have a relaxing drink in the officers’ mess.
By the end of the week, it seemed that Reynolds and Agani’s problem had the fledgling commanders completely stumped. The growing consternation of the junior officers had led to a bout of sarcastic good-natured ribbing from the more senior platoon leaders. Even the militia who maintained Fort Sheridan on a day to day basis had gotten in on the act, a fact which did not go unnoticed by either Reynolds or Agani. What had started out as a way of making future leaders of marines think outside the box was rapidly morphing into a joke at the battalion’s expense. On the Friday evening before dinner in the Officers’ Mess, Reynolds was dismayed that the less experienced among them had failed to find a suitable solution to the problem. The scowl on her face reflected her obvious unhappiness. Several senior lieutenants and the odd captain allowed themselves a small smile as their more junior colleagues squirmed uncomfortably in their seats under Agani’s admonishing gaze.
Reynolds and Agani were sitting in their usual position at the head of the long dining table that seated the battalion officers in order of seniority. The more junior you were, the more distant you were from the colonel, something for which many in the room were now grateful. Reynolds anger steadily grew, more with herself than with her officers, for placing them and the battalion’s reputation open to the militia’s puns. Noticing his colonel’s agitation, Agani leaned in close to her and spoke in hushed tones.
“I think we can agree that this is getting out of hand, so why don’t we bring in the big guns and put this to bed once and for all?”
Reynolds was willing to grasp at any straw that would see an end to her and the battalion’s pain. With a nod, she gave her assent.
“Do what you must, Major.”
Rapping the tabletop with his knuckles to get the gathering’s attention, Agani stood and began to speak, his gruff voice filling the now silent room.
“Ladies and gentlemen. On Monday, the colonel and I presented some of you a tactical problem that you have yet to solve.” A few faces flushed red in embarrassment, while some suddenly found mundane items hanging from the walls or the floor covering intensely interesting. Anything not to meet the major’s cold eyes.
“I do not see this as a failing on your part, however.”
Agani’s unexpected statement brought the bowed heads back up as all eyes in the room now focused on the battalion’s second in command as he continued speaking.
“It is the responsibility, no, the duty of more experienced officers to nurture those under our tutelage in the ways of command, be that tactics, administration or the thousand and one other parts that allow a marine battalion to run like a well-oiled machine. The 182nd Battalion is such a machine, and this…” Agani let a fleeting smile play on his lips. “Let us call it a hiccup, shall we.” The sound of nervous laughter rose from the far end of the table. “The Colonel and I will not allow the battalion to be embarrassed by this… hiccup any longer, therefore the task of finding a solution to the tactical problem now falls to the platoon and company commanders. You have a week. Enjoy your meal.”
Reynolds lifted her coffee cup as Agani regained his seat, using the cup to mask her lips as she spoke in a near whisper. “That’s put the fox among the chickens I hope this plan of yours works, or things are going to get very uncomfortable around here with our friends in the militia.”
Agani replied in the same hushed tones. “Ma’am, it better, because if it doesn’t, then that only leaves me to figure out how I would get us out of here and I’ll be honest with you. I haven’t got a clue how I would do it.”
The pair descended into mundane, absent-minded discussion for the remainder of the meal. Each working over the problem in their own head, in the event that the more experienced officers of the battalion failed to solve a problem of their own conception.
Much to Reynolds’ relief, two days later Captain Ashgrove, the Reconnaissance Platoon leader, presented himself to Agani with a somewhat unconventional solution. Of all her officers, Reynolds should have known that Captain Ashgrove would have been the one to solve her seemingly unsolvable puzzle. The battalion’s Reconnaissance Platoon consisted of the best marines in the entire battalion. Ashgrove demanded they be at the peak of physical fitness, exhibit the ability to solve complex mental and tactical problems, and be able to work in small teams or as individuals, dependent on the mission assigned to them. The demands that Ashgrove placed on the marines under his command went double for himself and his officers. Ashgrove had honed the marines of the Reconnaissance Platoon into warriors that any special forces unit, never mind another marine battalion, would be proud of. Reynolds was in little doubt that Ashgrove would be leaving the battalion soon, he might have a large ego but his skills as a marine backed up that ego. At Reynolds’ urging Ashgrove had applied for and been accepted for a place on the Joint Special Warfare Course, seen by many as the gateway into the murky world of units like the Special Operations Regiment. The SOR was ‘the’ Black Ops unit. SOR missions came direct from the highest levels of government. Nobody was even sure what the true strength of the SOR was. In her entire career, Reynolds had never had the dubious privilege of coming across SOR operatives, though she did know a couple of her peers that had, and in hushed conversations in secluded corners, what they had shared with her had persuaded Reynolds that she was glad that they were on her side. The Joint Special Warfare Course was held on Eriti Prime in some back of beyond compound. Successful students were rarely seen again, while those who did not pass the grueling course were sworn to secrecy as to what they had seen and done. This only added
to the intense speculation as to what occurred behind the compound’s high fences and stringent security. Hence, when Agani entered Reynolds’ office with Ashgrove in tow, the colonel struggled to keep the relief from her face. Pushing her chair back, she nonchalantly crossed her legs to project an air of calm, while internally she prayed that her self-imposed burden was about to end.
“With your permission, ma’am?” said Ashgrove as he produced a data chip from his uniform pocket. Inserting the data chip into a slot in Reynolds’ smart desk, there was a short hum as the desk verified the chip, before the desk’s inbuilt projector burst into life. Agani obligingly lowered the office’s lighting. Hovering in midair was a blue three-dimensional rendition of Fort Sheridan. Ashgrove tapped a command into his uniform blouse’s wrist comm, and four points spread equidistant around the fort’s imposing outer walls were highlighted in yellow.
“As you know, ma’am, Fort Sheridan is protected from energy and kinetic weapons fire by the shielding generated by the equipment housed at these four points. The shields extend above the fort and along the perimeter rail…” Another command, and a solid yellow line appeared, snaking its way around the perimeter walls. “The perimeter rail is constructed of a Hydravokal composite material which channels the power of the energy shield, ensuring it doesn’t simply dissipate into the ground.”
Reynolds was forcing herself to be patient as Ashgrove recited facts that any high school student would be familiar with. Some form of energy shielding was commonplace in modern human life. Prohibitively expensive to construct and maintain, energy shielding ranged from the minimal power-demanding weather shields used to keep unwanted wind and rain from the more exclusive holiday resorts, to the immensely power hungry defensive shields used by military instillations such as Fort Sheridan or naval ships. Ashgrove manipulated the image until it showed a plan view from above of the fort, the perimeter rail surrounding it out to the edges of the encroaching buildings of Gemini City before continuing.