Counterstrike: The Separatist Wars Book 2

by Thomas Webb

  Shane scrunched her eyebrows, peering at the image of the magnificent building. “There’s another possibility we aren’t even considering,” she said.

  “What are you thinking Shane?” Lima asked.

  “We saw Leblanc’s workshop, but we don’t have solid intel on how many of the devices the Separatists actually completed before we took them out.” Shane touched all of the highlighted areas of the holo schematics a second time, turning them from orange to red. “What if they plan to hit all these areas? At the same time? What if they try to take out the structure and get the participants of the peace talks? They would accomplish everything they set out to do, all in a single stroke.”

  “A distinct possibility,” Lima said.

  “The probability of the Separatists hitting both targets is only slightly lower than the probably of either target being hit individually,” X37 chimed in. “Especially given the unknown variable of the number of explosive devices.”

  “So two possible targets,” Hale said. He looked around. “Any thoughts on how the Separatists might get in?”

  Shane nodded. “Or us, for that matter. Security will be tight as an airlock.”

  “We should be covered,” Lima added. “By my friends in Shangjai Planetary Intelligence. They can get us discreet access, while at the same time allowing us to work in anonymity.”

  Gina snorted. “Geez, old man—is there anywhere you don’t have friends?”

  Not for the first time, Shane wondered at how Gina’s tactical acumen could so easily coexist with her almost total lack of social intelligence. Sometimes it was enough to make Shane want to pull her hair out at the roots. Yet for some reason, she loved Gina Romero anyway.

  Lima, to his credit, ignored Gina. “Let us remember that this meeting is top-secret. Access will be granted to the highest level security clearances only. A strong visible security presence would tip off anyone who is watching that something is up. So any protection the delegation uses will be strong, but low key.”

  “I’d still expect the place to be locked down tight,” Hale said.

  Anesu’s eyes narrowed. “Yes. Even with Mr. Lima’s connections, it will be hard to infiltrate the hotel. Especially with the alert eyes of hardened security forces, all looking to spot anything that might be amiss.”

  “What level of coordination can we expect from the local authorities?” Shane asked. “Or the security teams for the delegates? What about hotel security?”

  Lima pressed his lips tight. “None,” he replied.

  Hale swore. “Not being able to coordinate with the local yokels won’t exactly make our job easier.”

  Lima nodded. “I understand. But I will remind everyone that as far as we are concerned, this is a zero-footprint operation. We cannot be seen as interfering with these peace talks in any way. Such could violate the terms of the discussions. Discussions which are already tenuous at best. Under no circumstances can we alert anyone to our presence, and under absolutely no circumstances are we to violate the United Nations sovereignty agreement with Cetov 9. Cetov 9 is a neutral planet, and we cannot jeopardize that neutrality with our presence. With the exception of my contacts, no one in the planetary government can have any idea we were ever here.”

  “Can we expect any agency support?” Shane asked.

  Lima shook his head. “Non-direct action only.”

  “We should probably consider that a ‘no.’” Hale said.

  “Could your United Nations Office of Clandestine Operations not offer assistance?” Anesu asked.

  Lima frowned. “Not even my old colleagues, I am afraid. Not with Outer Colonies factions meeting to potentially discuss peace. No, this is too hot. Even for them. We cannot jeopardize it.” Lima leaned over the tabletop. “Most times there is a certain degree of. . . leeway in these situations. But this time? There is no margin for error.”

  “Zero footprint,” Hale repeated.

  Silvio nodded.

  “And zero support,” Gina reminded everyone.

  “Yes,” Silvio affirmed. “I am afraid it is standard UNIA protocol if discovered.”

  “Deny and disavow,” Shane said matter of factly. The risks this op posed were multiplying by the second.

  “Great,” Gina grumbled. “We’re saving their peace negotiations, but if the Cetovians throw our asses in a secret jail the UN won’t even admit they know us?”

  “These are the risks of the job,” Lima said. “Risks which you fully understood when you joined, and which you are being compensated handsomely to take.”

  Gina held up her hands. “Okay—calm down there, dad. We get it.”

  Shane and Hale exchanged a look. They’d both been in similar situations before. Sometimes you didn’t have to like it. . . you just had to do it.

  Hale turned to Anesu. “You realize what this means? Are you and your people good with this?”

  “We are not part of the United Nations,” Anesu answered. “So we do not violate any rules of neutrality by being here. But if compromised, we will also be disavowed by the Kingdom.” She checked the shooters around her. Capable men and women, all. “My people are aware of this.

  “Wait one moment,” Shemi said. “Anesu-we could be disavowed? I don’t recall you mentioning anything about that.”

  The KRG troops rolled their eyes. Anesu placed a hand on the researcher’s shoulder. “Don’t worry Shemi. It will not come to that.” He smiled. “Have I ever let you down before?”

  Shemi shifted uncomfortably. “Well, there was that one time in—,”

  “Now that that we are agreed,” Lima interrupted, “we can get back on track. As I mentioned, I have a few connections with Planetary Intelligence. We will be allowed to land, set up, and operate, but only within certain parameters. Discretion must still be the watchword. If we somehow violate that discretion we will be—”

  “Up Shit’s Creek without a paddle?” Gina offered.

  Lima nodded. “Yes. Up Shit’s Creek, as Zombie so eloquently put it.”

  Hale laughed. He turned to their AI drone. “How’s your Cetovian, X37?”

  “Spi-zak,” the AI drone said. “That means ‘good’ in the local dialect,” the AI added, apparently responding to the blank stares around the table.

  “Alright,” Lima said. “So we are set?”

  “As set as we can be,” Hale replied.

  Silvio delivered a curt nod. “Good. I will check with the pilot, but there should be plenty of time for us to arrive and get the team into position. In the meantime, I suggest you all get some rest. The space lag can be quite harsh if it is something you are not used to.”

  Everyone disbursed from the temporary briefing space, turning to their own pursuits. Shane hung back, still staring at the schematics. Finally, after everything, they had a genuine chance to at least begin putting an end to the bloodshed caused by the Wars. To the senseless, decade-plus long waste of treasure and blood.

  She thought of the French commando, the young man who’d lost his life during she and Gina’s final mission as active duty members of the military. She looked for where Gina had gone off to, finally spotting her. The former UN special operations soldier had drifted over to the bulkhead to sit on one of the craft’s jump seats. Their eyes met. There was as much sadness n Gina’s dark brown eyes as there was in Shane’s emerald ones. Shane knew Gina as well as anyone in the universe, and she thought maybe Gina was thinking of the fallen commando, too.

  They had a solid plan for stopping Ramsey and United Les Space. With the ASI team and Anesu and her countrymen, they had an excellent team in place with which to do it.

  Shane only hoped it would be enough.

  -21-

  Ramsey and his team made their way through the Grand Nebula’s rear service doors, forgoing the atrium and enormous lobby entryway. The hotel stood as tall as the skyscrapers and other buildings in the downtown vicinity. The size of the building would be helpful—the vast amount of debris it generated would simply add to the chaos when they f
inally executed their plan.

  Ramsey noticed even the hotel’s service entrance boasted wide hallways. Everything was clean and bright, smelling of floor polish and disinfectant. The clanking of pots and pans and the back and forth shouting of the staff reached Ramsey’s ears as they walked by the hotel’s kitchens. He followed the corridor straight ahead, then took a left turn at the first intersection. Two Shemari, both dressed in dark suits, their grey faces grim, stood in front of a entranceway at the end of the hall. A sign behind them read ‘Authorized Personnel Only’ in bright, blocky red letters. A thin metallic bio scanner had been positioned a few meters in front of the hired security and the door—the same door Ramsey and his people needed to access. The former OC Militia soldier wasn’t worried, though. He and his people were ready.

  The taller of the two Shemari waved Ramsey forward, pointing to the black peristeel frame of the security device. “Step through the scanner,” the Shemari ordered.

  Ramsey wore blue coveralls, work boots, and a stolen ID tag. The image on the tag had been doctored to match his new face. The coveralls were a little loose, but that was actually useful. All the better for hiding the armor he wore underneath. The previous owner of the coveralls had been quite a bit heavier than Ramsey. That didn’t matter though, as the unfortunate technician he’d stolen them from would no longer be needing them.

  Ramsey breathed in and exhaled, calm and relaxed, his heartrate even and steady as he stepped toward the bio scanner. This was the least-solid part of the operation. Everything hinged on getting through this without a hitch, and there was no guarantee that the ULS devices they wore would fool the scanner tech. If this part of the op went sideways, the evening would take on a very different flavor than what Ramsey had in mind.

  Running through the op in his head, Ramsey’s thoughts suddenly turned to his old friend, Magna. He walked to the edge of the scanning field, thinking how with her skillset she would have been perfect for this. But Magna was gone now. Lost, like so many others, in service to the cause.

  Ramsey walked through the scanner first, his tool box floating on anti grav lifts and trailing behind him. He held his breath as the device’s indicator lights turned yellow, not letting it out until they lit bright green. He walked to the Shemari woman, grinning up at the stern face of the hotel’s specially hired security.

  “ID,” the Shemari grunted.

  The discreet comm unit and the bulge beneath the Shemari’s jacket weren’t too obvious, but they were there to see for anyone who knew what to look for. True to their reputation, the two security officers were both professional and formidable.

  “Here ya go,” Ramsey said.

  He handed the ID over with a smile. The Shemari scrutinized it, looking from the plasti-coated badge to Ramsey, back at the badge, then to Ramsey again. Ramsey’s forced smile widened.

  Unimpressed, the Shemari nodded toward the group’s upright tool boxes. “Open them,” she ordered.

  “Sure thing,” Ramsey said. “No problem at all. Say,” he began as he cracked open the fire response vehicle-red peristeel boxes, “is it true what they say about your people? I’ve heard you’re some of the baddest fighters in the known worlds?”

  The Shemari woman ignored Ramsey as she looked inside the toolbox. Her partner stood watch behind her, his eyes never wavering from Ramsey and his group. If this went the way they’d planned, the Shemari would see nothing except what they were supposed to—just sonic drills, pulse drivers, and photovoltaic energy meters, all nestled neatly in their individual foam cutouts. They’d detect nothing that a good environmental control technician or an energy management specialist wouldn’t have in their tool box.

  Ramsey forced himself to appear indifferent, but he watched the two hired Shemari like a Salusian hawk. At the first hint of trouble, he’d have no choice but to move. First he’d take down the woman, as he’d need to use her for cover. He’d grab her weapon, use it on her partner, then he and his people would finish them off and hide the bodies.

  As it turned out, Ramsey didn’t have to initiate his backup plan. The Shemari stood from her inspection and looked him over once more, before handing him back the ID badge.

  “You’re good,” she said, waving him through.

  “Thanks,” the Separatist soldier replied as he walked by. “You two have yourselves a good night.”

  A few minutes later Ramsey and fifteen hardened fighters dressed as maintenance technicians strolled through the secured service areas of the Grand Nebula hotel. Right on schedule, they headed down the ramp that would take them to the structure’s deeper sub-levels.

  “That was a close one,” Zahar said.

  Zahar was from the planet Haven—ground zero for the movement. He’d fought with Zahar, back during the height of the Wars. He was good soldier. He’d impressed Ramsey back then, and he’d also come highly recommended. Ramsey’s experience with him, combined with his reputation and his loyalty to the cause made him a good enough second in command for the mission.

  “The ULS scramblers held,” Ramsey said. “So we’re all the way in business now.” He hadn’t been looking forward to tangling with two Shemari. Especially without a weapon in his hand.

  “So we’re clear to proceed?” Zahar asked.

  “Affirmative,” Ramsey answered. Hopefully the rest of the op should be so smooth, he thought. He didn’t want to give voice to the notion. No reason to jinx it.

  Ramsey led his small band deeper into the bowels of the structure. Despite what they planned to do, he couldn’t help but marvel at the spectacle of the hotel, and the planet it was built upon. Cetov 9 was an advanced world, with all the technology that came along with that. The Cetovians maintained only a loose affiliation to the Allied Planets. Instead they preferred the more lucrative proposition of remaining a neutral world, thus allowing them to cater to the UN, the Allied Planets, and the Outer Colonies. They made the most of their supposed neutrality, raking in a fortune as a resort and host planet, willing to sell their services to anyone with the credits to pay. In Ramsey’s view they’d simply stood by, unwilling to give up their wealth as they watched the United Nations subjugate the Outer Colony worlds.

  The Cetovians, and the citizens of Shangjai in particular, deserved the collateral damage they’d get from tonight’s actions. All it took for evil to succeed was good people to stand by and do nothing. This time, those so called ‘good people’ would be the ones paying the price.

  They continued along the ramp until it ended at a peristeel landing. An industrial-sized set of stairs lead further down, underneath the hotel. A facility the size of the Grand Nebula required a tremendous amount of power. It needed environmental control systems robust enough to appease the comfort requirements of a multitude of biological lifeforms, all of them hailing from different worlds.

  Maintaining all that took vast resources, and infrastructure on a colossal scale. The place more resembled a manufacturing plant than a hotel sublevel, with piping running along the walls, and enormous duracrete columns supporting it all. The stairs went down several flights, until they reached the bottom floor. That was where the main generator sector was located. The mammoth twin generators stood two stories apiece, the behemoths required to run environmental systems that powered the Grand nebula and kept occupants of dozens of planets at their individual comfort levels.

  Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, Ramsey addressed the group. “Alright people,” he began. “I don’t have to tell you how important tonight is. You know your positions. We’ve trained for this. Now it’s time to execute. Any last questions?”

  There were none. Just set jaws and determined looks.

  “Good,” Ramsey said. “I didn’t figure there would be. Let’s get these munitions in place. It’s almost showtime.”

  They opened the false walls of the tool boxes, shielded from the screening by field scramblers, and broke out the components of their weapons. In less than a minute they had several fully assembled, fully functional S
TAR pulse rifles.

  Ramsey slipped one of the weapon’s slings over his shoulder. “Set security on those stairs,” he ordered two members of his team. “The rest of you—get your charges in place. We do this by the numbers, just like we planned.”

  Ramsey pulled out a pack of the specially designed explosives and headed toward his designated sector. Utilizing a specific blend created by LeBlanc, the explosives were undetectable using standard scanning equipment. With a substantially higher yield than a normal charge, if placed in the correct area of the generators the explosion would have a cascading effect. Each successive blast would grow in energy and output, the volatility increasing exponentially each time. When they were done here, the explosion would leave at least an entire block of Shangjai leveled and in ruins.

  Ramsey admired the masterpiece of explosive technology he held in his hands. LeBlanc had been a genius. His presence would be sorely missed. Yet another crime for the UN to answer to. For Soluções Avançadas Incorporadas-Lima, Hale, Mallory, Romero, and their two off-worlder puppets—to answer for. And they would answer for it. Ramsey promised himself.

  The Separatist fighter made his way to the main generator’s central exhaust port duct, attaching the device next to the support stanchion with ease. He then walked to each of the other areas, all preselected as weak points that could be used to inflict maximum damage.

  Ramsey personally inspected the placement of each explosive. During the training runs, their best time getting inside and placing all the explosives had been twenty minutes. Ramsey checked his chrono. For the real thing, they’d gotten it done in eighteen.