Invasion (The K'Tai War Series Book 1)

by PP Corcoran

  Now it dawned on the Kem Tak officer where this was going. A fleeting glance at the blank face of Jolel, responsible for so succinctly dispatching his partner, convinced him to follow Lady Kara’s lead.

  “I believe you are correct, my lady, and my report will reflect that belief.”

  “Very well, you are dismissed.”

  The Kem Tak officer abruptly found something of great importance to do as far from Kara as physically possible.

  “Word of what has happened here will spread like wildfire, my lady,” cautioned Jolel. “Feelings between the Kem Tak and members of the Legion are already tense. News of the section leader’s actions, no matter how honorable they were, will be viewed for what they were. A legionnaire forced to sacrifice himself to remove a stain on the Legion’s honor, caused by orders from a Kem Tak officer who had no honor.”

  The pair walked slowly back to Kara’s command transport in silence, each contemplating the inevitable fallout of what had happened at a nondescript farm. Neither realized that a pivotal turning point had been reached.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Welcome to the Resistance

  DAY FIFTY

  Sue decided she hated every living bug that crawled, walked, flew or otherwise occupied any part of Agate’s bio sphere. The annoying little buggers had found every patch of bare skin and obviously decided that Sue tasted very nice, for her body was itchy from head to toe and it took every ounce of her will not to scratch and rub her already raw skin. Sue and DeWitt found themselves a perfect spot to keep an eye on the third and final cache of weapons and supplies on this side of the Scraggy River that had been placed by order of Colonel Reynolds as part of Plan Shadow.

  So far, they were one and naught. It had been three days since they had witnessed the execution at the farm, and though neither of them discussed it, it was never far from either of their thoughts. Sue had seen a lot of things in her past life, things that would probably turn even DeWitt’s hardened stomach, but the one thing she could not abide was the needless slaughter of innocents. As she lay in her hiding place, all thoughts of bugs were pushed to the back of her mind as the face of a white-armored K’Tai filled her vision.

  A sharp nudge from DeWitt’s elbow alerted her to something happening, and the face of the K’Tai vanished in an instant, to be replaced by the sight of two marines emerging warily from the edge of a wild grass field. The native grasses were a deeper green than those found on Earth and tended to grow much taller, well over six feet; ally that with the marines’ mottled green-and-brown uniforms, and that explained why neither DeWitt or Sue had spotted their approach. The marines separated, one heading to the northern edge of the small glade while the other took the south.

  “Scouts,” whispered DeWitt from beside her.

  Sue was glad DeWitt had convinced her to set up their little bolt hole further away than normal, because these guys knew their business, for they were going right to the edge of the glade before starting a thorough inspection of the surrounding grasses and woods.

  Sue and DeWitt remained as still as statues for nearly twenty minutes while the two scouts concluded their task. Seemingly satisfied nothing was untoward, they settled themselves at opposite ends of the glade. From where the scouts had appeared originally from the long grass, a steady column of marines ghosted into the glade. Sue counted twenty-eight, and to her eye they looked tired, but their movements oozed professionalism. Without a verbal command being uttered, they fanned out to the edges of the glade, providing security for what Sue guessed was the small command element of three who gathered around a gnarled old weather-beaten tree near the center of the glade. The marines remained fixed in their positions for another half hour; the only sound was the gentle breeze causing the long grass to shift like waves on the sea and the chirping of birds in the trees. Eventually, a runner left the central group and worked his way along the line of marines. As he passed, every other man relaxed, the majority rolling on to their backs and savoring some fresh water from their canteen before breaking out a ration bar, their buddy remaining alert to any threats.

  “So how do you want to play this?” asked DeWitt quietly.

  “Cautiously,” Sue replied and was about to expand on her plan when, without warning, the marines in the glade below dropped whatever they were doing and grabbed up their weapons. Sue became very still, hunting for a threat. Had the K’Tai found them? What had spooked the marines?

  The answer came in the form of a single, rather large man in civilian clothes who stepped into the glade, an ugly tri-barrel held in both hands above his head. Two marines grabbed him, forcing him to his knees and relieving him of his weapon. As Sue watched on, he was escorted to the middle of the glade. Through her optics, she could see him talking animatedly to a marine she presumed was in charge. By the disbelieving expression on the commander’s face, she could tell whatever the civilian was telling him was not going down well. After a few minutes the commander stood back, hands firmly placed on hips in a ‘well, prove it’ stance. The civilian half-turned and waved at an apparently empty clump of thick trees mere meters from the huddled command group. As if by magic, several figures separated themselves from the dark tree trunks. If Sue hadn’t witnessed it with her own eyes, she wouldn’t have believed it. This second group were perfectly concealed, not only from the marines who had set a perimeter up around them, but also, perhaps more impressively, from herself and DeWitt, who had observed the glade since before dawn--and Sue was no slouch when it came to this kind of work.

  “Now who are these boys? ‘Cause they ain’t some hick militia unit,” asked DeWitt.

  Her marine companion hit the proverbial nail on the head. To get the drop on a highly trained marine platoon in the middle of a war zone, you needed to be at the top of your game. Sue got an inkling as to who these interlopers might be; now all she needed was confirmation. A tap of a control on the side of her M89’s sight brought the newcomers into sharp focus. Although their uniforms were like those worn by the marines who gawked open-mouthed at them, there were subtle differences to the camouflage pattern. Sue’s eyes shifted to the newcomers’ weaponry and her suspicions were confirmed. In each pair of hands an Advanced Combat Rifle hung. Panning along the group, she counted them off before a low whistle escaped her lips.

  “Special Forces, DeWitt. An A Team, no doubt about it.”

  Her companion gave her an incredulous look. “How the hell did they get here?”

  “Well, why don’t we go down and join the party and you can ask them?” came a lilting, singsong male voice from behind them.

  DeWitt reacted like a flash, rifle muzzle swinging around, finger already squeezing its trigger as it centered on a shadowy figure hunched over them, only to have Sue push the weapon off target. When he tried to bring it back on aim, Sue was already on her feet, her lithe body blocking his view.

  “Hey, honey, know where a girl can get a cold beer around here?”

  If her reaction to the threat confused DeWitt, then the words spilling from her mouth were enough to send his head spinning.

  “I think I might have a couple of cold ones going spare,” answered Dave Carter before Sue’s hot lips smothered his mouth.

  #

  When the marines, the Pathfinders of Captain Gregory, Sue (accompanied by the ever-present DeWitt), Dave, and Jacob held their impromptu council of war in the glade, the information exchanged in relation to K’Tai movements and operations prompted a brief, heated discussion.

  The marines of, Dave learned, First Platoon, Delta Company, were under command of a baby-faced lieutenant who went by the name of Prus. Normally Dave would dismiss a junior officer, but the older man could not help but notice the sergeants and other NCOs reaction when he issued his orders. Dave heard not a single word of disapproval or a moan from them. He came to understand why in short order. This junior officer had been in command, in combat for over a month and hadn’t suffered a single casualty. Enough in any marine’s eyes to earn respect, and was re
flected in his marines’ actions.

  A consensus was reached and a plan of action formulated. DeWitt would lead the Pathfinders under Gregory, and a small number of marines with Prus in command, back to the point where Sue and DeWitt had emerged from the area the K’Tai cleared with defoliants and booby traps. Colonel Reynolds needed to know what operational units she still had on this side of the Scraggy River, and they agreed the bonus of Gregory’s A Team would impact on her future planning.

  Gregory’s communications specialist, Corporal Collins, would be heading back to the cabin with Dave, Sue and Jacob. Collins heard that as the K’Tai equipment covering the kill zone detected anything electronic, the marines used simple heliographs to pass messages. Collins suggested a solution: run an old-style fiber-optic cable with send/receive units on either side of the kill zone. The cable itself consisted of no moving or electronic parts, so the K’Tai monitoring equipment would not register it.

  Prus pointed out a small flaw in the corporal’s plan. Neither the marines nor the Pathfinders carried the required equipment. With a grin, Collins reminded the gathering of the Design and Fabrication Unit sitting in Dave’s basement. Punch in the correct codes, and the DAFU would happily manufacture the required articles.

  When the groups went their separate ways, Dave and Sue at last caught up. On hearing Jodee and Chris were safely ensconced at the cabin with a certain Kyle Henderson, Dave was forced to rein in Sue’s breakneck pace on the two-day hike back to the cabin. He understood her heartfelt desire to be reunited with Jodee and Chris, but that desire needed to be tempered with caution.

  Dave and the Pathfinders came across no sign of K’Tai activity in the immediate vicinity of the cabin; however, as they swept further toward Gemini City, they came across several burnt-out farms and abandoned vehicles, the damage was consistent with heavy fighting.

  When Sue related the story of what she witnessed only a couple of days and a sparse thirty kilometers distant, the pair dropped into a stony silence, each wanting to be alone with their thoughts as they tramped onward through the relative peace and quiet of the thick forest surrounding them. That night, as the sun dropped below the horizon and the air cooled, Dave and Sue snuggled close, wrapped in each other’s arms for what seemed like the first time in an eternity. Collins kept his distance, allowing the couple a modicum of privacy, before hastily setting up a trip wire around their overnight camp so all three could get their much-needed rest.

  The second day’s hike was uneventful and they made good time, so it was late afternoon when they stepped into the bright sunlight bathing the cabin in its warmth. Sue broke into a dead run as Jodee let loose a high-pitched shriek of delight and caused a sleepy Chris to emerge from the cabin’s doorway. Bounding down the porch’s steps, he joined in the tears and hugging of his sister as she held tightly to the mother she thought she had lost.

  Kyle Henderson appeared at the edge of the cabin with a broad smile of relief and happiness. The scene was almost a typical, if emotional, family reunion, but, the loaded carbine Kyle carried hinted at the new, twisted, reality of the Carters’ life.

  A heavy hand rested on Dave’s shoulder and was accompanied by the deep voice of Jacob. “Enjoy it while you can, Dave, for I fear there will be much heartache ahead.”

  Nodding slowly, Dave watched the outpouring of joy and happiness before he took a breath and let out a heavy sigh. “I know, Jacob, and I hope we’re ready for what’s to come. This is going to be a long, dirty war.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Judy

  DAY FIFTY-EIGHT

  Prince Tarat, youngest son of the Gerent, stared unseeing through the narrow slit of his face covering and drank in the sight of the near endless sand dunes which covered the entire face of Rabald. Deep in thought, the young prince failed to notice the desert breeze tugging at his clothing as he struggled to make sense of his thoughts. Did his father, the Gerent, not understand the consequences of his brother Sidal’s actions? Could the cries of ordinary people demanding change go unheeded? Did the Gerent not comprehend that they stood on the cusp of not only an Imperium civil war but now a far greater conflagration? War with the League could only end badly for the Imperium. Tarat was a student of history, as was Sidal; however, unlike Sidal, Tarat learned from the mistakes of the past. Rig taught not to underestimate your enemy and, by invading Agate and making an enemy of the humans, he believed Sidal had grossly overestimated his hand.

  The League spent the years since their victory over the Lorentian Confederation not only replacing the losses they suffered during the conflict, but also replacing those losses with technically superior ships. The League Battle Fleet was considered by its peers among the other star-faring nations as a force to be reckoned with, and Tarat feared Sidal was blinded by the comparative imbalance in hull numbers between the Imperium and the League.

  Each new week heralded another Magnate bringing his noble house, and the forces loyal to it, to the side of the secessionists. The forces Tarat could now call upon might still be a fraction of those that Sidal and the old Imperium had to hand, but Sidal’s massed fleets were forced to portion out their strength in a vain attempt to protect every possible target, while Tarat could pick and choose where to concentrate his fleet. Inevitably there would be a single reckoning, a great battle, that would decide the fate of the Imperium, but that day was not today. If the doctrines of Rig had taught the young prince nothing, then it had taught him patience and to bide his time.

  Tarat pulled his thick cloak tighter around him as a heavy gust of wind sent searching grains of sand between its layers. His eyes searched out the setting sun through the yellow-tinged clouds, and beneath his mask a smile tugged at his lips. Biding his time did not, however, mean doing nothing. The burgeoning smile became a grin as he wondered how the humans would react if they knew the source of the intelligence pointing toward a K’Tai invasion of Agate had come, not from a highly placed officer in the K’Tai military, but was carefully laundered information from various informers loyal to himself, which simply appeared to be from a single source and was intentionally delivered to the humans. An axiom from his study of human history came unbidden to mind, and it succinctly summed up the secessionists’ current strategy.

  ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’

  Now, standing alone on the battlements, Tarat realized the tipping point might be upon them. He and his supporters would soon step out of the shadows to fight the true fight for the heart and soul of the Imperium.

  #

  Robert Matheson pursed his lips as the tactical plot flashed a change before steadying. A fresh set of data blocks indicated the arrival of three more megatonne interstellar freighters. You had to hand it to old man Henderson, when he made a promise, he came through.

  When Robert had broached his idea with Admiral Helbrunn upon the return of the bruised Task Force Scorpio to the Doberman system, he had fully expected to be laughed right out of her office into the waiting arms of the fleet’s psychiatric specialists. To his surprise, Helbrunn’s face had broken into a feral grin and she had ordered him to make it happen.

  Sitting with Helen Del Mastro in the confines of his day cabin afterward, sharing a stiff drink, he had had the sinking feeling that perhaps he had bitten off more than even he could chew. How did you build and maintain a secret base, a stone’s throw from K’Tai occupied Agate, from where you could launch raids, recover, reequip, resupply and do repairs? To top it all off, Helbrunn had casually informed Robert as he had stood to leave that not only would she be making good the losses incurred in his first raid, but also that she intended to expand his force twofold. He was sure she was trying to give him heart failure.

  Well, with a hell of a lot of hard work and the unexpected help of one Mr. Maddix Henderson, what had once been a seemingly impossible task was a reality.

  The bridge of LPN Cheetah was a hive of activity as Robert’s staff worked day and night to make his idea a reality. Cheetah floated serenely at the heart of
Battle Fleet’s latest, and to Robert’s best knowledge only, deep space port. It didn’t even have a name, just a designation: DSP 01. The nearest star system was over a day’s hyper away, and even if you were inclined to visit it, you would find nothing but a white dwarf surrounded by the decaying remnants of planets, asteroids, and comets.

  Around Cheetah were gathered the other ships of Task Force Scorpio, now numbering twelve heavy cruisers, sixteen light cruisers and four fast attack carriers. Additionally, Admiral Helbrunn had rounded up a squadron of fleet colliers and repair vessels under the command of Commodore Filippo Formisano. The commodore was of Sicilian descent, even though he hailed from New Carthage in the Helios Sector, and he made sure anyone who would listen heard all about his ancestors’ more… interesting adventures with the law enforcement of the time. Whatever his blustering, Formisano had been a godsend. Robert still had no idea, and honestly didn’t want to delve to deeply into, where the commodore had managed to procure half the spares with which he and his crews and made good the repairs to Scorpio. His colliers had also been able to fully replenish Robert’s depleted stocks of Asps. What Robert couldn’t replace were the fighter wings and their precious pilots, that he had been forced to abandon in order to save Louise Alderman’s precious carriers. In Formisano’s own words, ‘The impossible he can do tomorrow. Miracles take a bit longer.’

  Well, Maddix Henderson must have gotten word that Robert needed a miracle, for those arriving freighters carried enough brand-new Lancer fighters, Cyclops surveillance birds, stores, munitions and the crews to go with them to completely fill his carrier’s bays and then some.

  Task Force Scorpio was preparing to return to Agate and this time it was going to give the K’Tai more than just a bloody nose.