Counterstrike: The Separatist Wars Book 2

by Thomas Webb

  “Of course, Captain Mallory. Processing. Please standby.” It took only a second. “That vehicle is headed out of the city. Toward the travel interchange.”

  “What’s in that direction?” Shane asked.

  “There is a small air & space port along that route. A private one. Probability of the air & space port being the target’s ultimate destination is 87%.”

  “He’s heading off-world?” Shane asked.

  “It is possible.” Lima leaned over, keying up Hale and Gina. “Razor One and Two, this is the TOC. What is your status? Over.”

  “Banged up,” Hale responded, “but good otherwise. More than a little pissed off.”

  “Understood Razor One. What are you hearing from the local authorities?”

  “Standby, TOC.” A moment later Hale came back over the comms. “Local authorities are scrambling. They’re still reeling after the casualties they took in that blast. Now way they’ll be able to get a handle on all this before the target bugs out. Tell us you got something, TOC. Over.”

  “We got something,” Shane said, answering for them. Lima watched her green eyes trace the vehicle as it raced across the screen. “We’ve secured the target’s location. We’re watching him in real time.” Shane pulled up a holographic console. Her hands flew over the command keys. “I’m patching you both in now.”

  Soon the entire team viewed the same images. They watched together as the feeds switched between road speed monitor holos positioned along the travel exchange, went blank, then moved to the surveillance system at the gates of a private air & space port located several kilometers outside New Paris.

  “He’s running,” Hale said over the coms. “Should we head out there to try and grab him before he gets off-planet?”

  Lima shook his head. “Hold fast, Razor One. Let us see where he goes.”

  In the holo image, Leblanc rolled through the gate and out onto the tarmac of the private spaceport. The Separatist bomb maker screeched to halt, opening the door and bolting, leaving the vehicle where it sat. The air & space port was all but deserted. A lone craft, an older model civilian ship, sat at the edge of the runway. They watched as Leblanc sprinted toward it. Less than two minutes later the engines fired.

  “He’ll have to talk to the tower before he takes off,” Shane said. “Or to Galia’s Planetary Space Control before he clears orbit. Any way we can get audio on that craft’s communications?”

  “Attempting to bypass communications encryption,” X37 replied. There was a second’s pause. “Bypass complete,” the Artificial Intelligence said.

  “—two seven zero.” LeBlanc’s voice came over the wave.

  “Six-two-seven-zero, your flight plan is acknowledged,” the small spaceport tower replied. “Planetary Space Control is sending your vector now. You’re clear to fly.”

  “Merci tower. Six-two-seven-zero commencing flight.”

  Lima frowned. “Get me that flight plan, X37.”

  X37 emitted a chime. “Already anticipated and done, Mr. Lima.”

  The flight plan appeared onscreen, for all the team to see. Lima and Shane leaned in, checking the specs.

  “He must have filed this ahead of time,” Shane said.

  Lima nodded. “An emergency escape plan.”

  “Looks like he’s headed for Xenon Prime,” Hale remarked.

  “Why the hell would he be going there?” Zombie asked.

  Lima studied the course that had been plotted for the planet Xenon Prime. A backwater planet in the OC. Mostly agrarian. Hale and Zombie were right. It didn’t make sense.

  “Probably a false plan,” Lima decided. They were his enemies, but he gave credit where it was due. Filing a false flight plan wasn’t a bad tactic. Smart, actually. Once a craft was clear of planetary space, flight plans could easily be abandoned. The action was illegal, but not all planets enforced that law equally. The right credits in the right hands made it an easy ordnance to get around.

  LeBlanc’s transport lifted off from the tarmac. The craft pivoted, changed trajectory, then shot toward open space.

  “How much you want to bet he won’t head for the jumpgate to Xenon Prime?” Shane asked.

  “That is not a bet I’d take,” Lima said.

  “Can we get a vector on the ship?” Hale asked from the planet’s surface.

  “I’m afraid not Staff Sergeant.” X37 sounded appropriately apologetic. “The nav computer on Mr. LeBlanc’s ship is completely self-contained. Unless he utilizes his comms and transmits his destination, I am locked out.”

  “What about jump gate records?” Shane asked. “Any way we can get those?”

  Lima shook his head. “We do not have that capability. But I do know of someone who might. And it just so happens he owes me a favor.” Silvio pulled out his personal comm device and linked it to the briefing table. He keyed in, from memory, the code for a special section of United Nations Intelligence Agency operations. A second later the wave connected. Instead of a live image of the person on the other end, a standard privacy silhouette icon came up.

  “Silvio?” a monotone person on the other end asked.

  “Vladi!” Silvio said. “So good to hear your voice! Listen—I need a favor, my friend.”

  “Enough favors,” the monotone Slavic accent answered. “Every time I give you favor? I get nicoha in return.”

  Lima frowned. “Vladi. . . need I remind you about Rylus?”

  “Rylus?” Shane mouthed, an obvious question in her eyes.

  Silvio placed a finger to his lips in a hushing fashion.

  “Rylus,” the voice on the other end of the wave said. There was swearing in Belarusian. “Always Rylus. How long must I pay for Rylus, Silvio?”

  Lima laughed. “Not much longer, my friend. On that you have my word.”

  “Word. What good is word?” A sigh. “What are you needing this time, Lima?”

  “I need jump gate views,” Lima said, pouncing on the opportunity. “Time stamp t-minus one ten minutes.” Silvio pulled up the sector of space with the nearest jump gates to Galia, grabbed them, and flung them toward the privacy silhouette. “I am sending you the sector data now.”

  There was grumbling on the other end of the line, but a few seconds later images and data began flowing into the air above the holo briefing table.

  “There is data,” Vladi said. “Are we even now Silvio?”

  “Thanks Vladi.” Lima grinned. “Take care of yourself. We will speak soon.”

  “Wait,” Vladi began. “We must discuss-“

  Lima disconnected the wave. “X37,” he said, “please send Vladi something nice for me, will you?”

  “Of course Mr. Lima. Might I suggest a bottle of Chernov? It is an excellent brand, as I understand it.”

  “Thank you X37. Chernov vodka would be fine.”

  “Noted, Mr. Lima. And done.”

  “So Rylus?” Shane asked, her eyebrow raised. “Maybe you’ll tell me about that one someday?”

  “Maybe.” Silvio said.

  Maybe not.

  He pointed to the three-dimensional star map they were using to track LeBlanc’s ship. An image of the craft suddenly shifted, altering its course. “I see the target has diverted from his flight plan.”

  “Doesn’t look like that gate he’s head toward goes anywhere near Xenon Prime Nebara?” Zombie noted.

  The prior service Green Beret was right. “Where does that jump gate lead?” Lima asked.

  “Processing sir.” X37 moved away from the console banks to stand next to Lima and Shane. “That gate leads to the Alcor system.”

  Alcor? What in the hell is out there? Lima wondered. “Did you copy Razor One and Two?”

  “Good copy TOC. Sounds like we’ve got a lead. But me and 2IC don’t recall any Separatist activity that far out. We have no idea what the hell’s out there.”

  “My sentiments exactly Razor One. All the same, I think we will follow him and see where he leads us.” Lima turned to the AI drone. “What is in the Alc
or system? Do we have contacts anywhere in that system?”

  “There doesn’t appear to be much there, sir. A few low-mineral rock moons, and one frozen planet. As for contacts, I’m afraid we have very few. And what resources we do have are tenuous at best.”

  “Alright. Alert any assets we have in the vicinity. Razor One and Two—stand by for further instruction. I am sending reinforcements, along with your cold planet gear. It looks like you will be heading for the Alcor system.”

  -15-

  Gusts of snow blasted across the viewscreen of the Avenger gunship, piling into deep drifts below. Shane corrected for the bouts of wind as they headed toward the pre-selected landing spot. Two kilometers out from the target was as close as she dared to put the team down. Two kilometers out from a luxury chateau, situated at the foot of a mountain range on the northern hemispherical continent of OC Planet #31, otherwise known as the planet Hostia.

  Of all the Outer Colonies worlds, Hostia had been the very last to be settled. And with good reason. Few and far between were the humans who’d actually chosen to make Hostia’s frozen forests, mountains, and wastelands their home. A few more were unfortunate enough to discover that Hostia was the only place they could go, slipping onto the undesirable planet right before United Nations exploration of the cosmos temporarily ceased, now replaced by the effort required to wage the decade-long plus Separatist Wars.

  Shane’s thoughts drifted to her comrades, still on active duty. They were still at war. Were still out there fighting and dying. Meanwhile on Earth, the UN core planets, and a good deal of the Outer Colonies worlds themselves, life went on as usual. The inhabitants continued with their lives as if nothing was wrong. As if they weren’t all at war, with the fate of billions resting on the outcome.

  But wasn’t that why she was here in the first place? Wasn’t that why she’d agreed to work for Silvio Lima? To try and somehow make a difference? And if taking down Unites Les Space and its Separatist allies wasn’t making the kind of difference Shane wanted to, then she didn’t know what possibly could.

  Shane shook off her melancholy and got back to the mission. “We’re setting down now Trace,” she said, speaking over the command comm channel she and Hale shared. “Get everyone strapped in.”

  “Copy that,” Hale rumbled.

  The target structure was a chateau built at the base of a mountainside. The plan was to set the gunship down a couple of klicks out, have the team infil by way of foot patrol, then call for retrieval once LeBlanc was secured. This evening, Shane and X37 were playing the part of both transport and, if needed, cavalry. She hoped the latter role was one they wouldn’t be called on to perform.

  Shane ran a quick check of their instruments. “Level us off please, X37.” She eyed the topo map floating above her console. “Set us down on that flat space we scoped out. The one just above the hillside.”

  “Understood Captain,” the chipper AI replied. “Setting us down now.”

  The screen outside was a blur of wind and snow and forest, the trees twice the circumference of those on earth. Thankfully, the blizzard wasn’t twice as strong. Hostia was comprised mostly of snow and ice, trees, and rock. It was a rugged, cruel planet, with but one reprieve. There was a small continent in the southern hemisphere that actually had a ‘summer,’ if you could call it that, with temperatures reaching as high as a balmy 10 degrees Celsius. Having grown up in Wyoming, North America, Shane didn’t mind the cold. But continuous winter was a bit much, even for her.

  They’d researched the target, and having done some digging found that the Hostia property belonged to a wealthy Separatist family. One who’d made their fortune mining metals in an OC asteroid belt. The wealthy asteroid mining family visited Hostia infrequently, and then only for what were officially categorized as ‘vacations.’ UN Intelligence, however, told a slightly different story. The asteroid mining magnates and owners of the Hostian chalet were quietly loyal to the Separatist cause. When not serving as a winter playground to the wealthy, the place was a terrorist safe haven.

  “Shall I power down Captain Mallory?” X37 asked.

  Shane shook her head. “Only partially. I want us to be ready to move at a nanosecond’s notice.” Shane looked out the viewscreen and frowned. “With all this weather, we won’t be able to utilize our active camo. But should anyone be scanning for something, the snow should mask our energy signature well enough that we can keep the engines turning.” Shane unbuckled and stood. “You’ve got the helm, X37. I’m heading back to see them off.”

  Shane exited the cockpit without another word, knowing the ship was in good hands with the AI drone. She headed down the corridor, past the armory and into the rear cargo bay area. When she arrived Gina, Hale, Lash, and Kris were suiting up. This op would be conducted in full armor, specifically designed for cold weather operations. It would provide better protection against exposure to the elements, as well as the level IV UNIA armor’s standard strength augmentation and defense against basic pulse fire.

  An average human could only withstand Hostia’s temps for a short time, but for Lash most of all, the armor was an absolute necessity. His reptilian physiology prevented him from any sort of functioning in the colder temps. If exposed for more than a few moments, he would shift into a hibernation state. And if he remained outside for too long, he would eventually freeze to death.

  Shane went over and inspected the back plates and locks on Gina’s armor. The armor was white, with digital light and dark grey camo patterns, designed to break up the wearer’s outline. “Need a hand?” Shane asked.

  Gina turned her head and smiled. “Sure,” she said, even though she didn’t really need the help. Gina was a pain in the ass sometimes, but that smile of hers still caused Shane to melt whenever she saw it.

  Shane verified that the locks on Gina’s armor were engaged. While Gina checked and rechecked both her pulse rifle and sidearm, Shane watched Hale. Already fully locked and loaded himself, he inspected Kris’ armor, then did the same to Lash before making his way over to Gina.

  “You good to go?” he asked Gina.

  “All set boss,” Gina said. She mag-locked her pulse pistol in place on her right hip, then hefted her rifle.

  Gina had made a one-hundred-eighty-degree change since the team’s first rocky days together. Hale had shown Gina the respect she rightly deserved, and in turn she’d accepted his leadership and made peace with her slot as 2IC, or second in command. It was a rough start, but they were now functioning like the well-trained, experienced professionals Shane knew them to be.

  Hale inspected the seals and locking mechanisms on Gina’s armor a final time. “Yep. Looks good to me,” he said.

  Gina locked eyes with Shane. “I’ll see you in a few,” she said.

  Shane touched her shoulder. “Don’t be too long.”

  Gina gave Shane her customary wink, their own private ritual whenever Gina headed outside the ship. The former Special Forces soldier donned and sealed her helmet, then headed toward the rear ramp to converse with Lash and Kris before disembarking.

  Shane folded her arms across her chest. “I wish I was going with you.”

  Hale shrugged. “Don’t sweat it, Valkyrie. You’re better use to the team right here. You know,” he began, “one could argue that you’re the most valuable member of the team.” His blue eyes locked with her emerald ones. “You don’t have to prove anything. To any of us. You more than did that saving our bacon and flying us out of that first op. Not to mention how you held your own on OC #16 and Mios. Believe me . . . no one’s questioning your combat capabilities. In space or on the ground.”

  Shane wasn’t convinced. “Still . . .”

  “Hey,” Hale said. “How ‘bout you leave the ground pounding to the grunts for now?” He softened the admonition with a smile. “You’re the brains on this one, Shane. You just be ready to move this gunship in case we get caught out there.”

  “You can bet on that.” Shane’s eyes drifted to Gina, then back t
o Hale. “You’ll take care of my girl, right?”

  Hale laughed. “Honestly? It’ll probably be more like the other way around.” He must have seen something in Shane’s eyes. He got serious. “Zombie’s one of the best, Shane. You know that already. She can take care of herself. But I’ve got her six. Just like she does mine. We all do.” A wolfish grin crossed Hale’s features as he looked her up and down. “Now get that ass back up into the cockpit. We might need you.”

  Shane barked in indignation. “That comment could be construed as harassment, asshole.” A middle finger seemed the only appropriate response. She and Hale laughed.

  Shane turned to leave, but looked over her shoulder one last time. “Just so you know,” she said to Hale, “I’m going back to the cockpit because I want to. Not because you ordered me to.”

  “Last I checked, I’m in command on the ground,” he called as he headed aft toward the hatch and the waiting team. Hale put on his helmet and sealed it.

  “New rule,” Shane said. “Until you set boots on the actual ground, I’m in charge. You don’t like it? You can find yourself a new driver.”

  Hale turned and walked backwards, his hands up in mock surrender. “You win,” he said through the armor’s voice amplification system. “Wouldn’t want to mess with you, lady.”

  Damn right you wouldn’t, Shane thought.

  -16-

  Hale walked several meters from the gunship and took a knee, turning back to watch as the cargo bay ramp closed shut. He stood at the edge of the Hostian forest and took it in with a practiced eye.

  Dark trees, each as thick around as a duracrete skyscraper column, towered above him. Some sort of evergreen species native to the planet. Snow banks several meters thick sat piled around their gargantuan trunks. The snow fell at a heavy, steady pace, obscuring his vision. Hale switched to infrared, and was greeted by the sight of a world bathed in deep shades of blue and black. Not a single heat sig registered in sight. The ambient temp monitor in his helmet’s HUD registered the environment at a chilly minus-thirteen.