Counterstrike: The Separatist Wars Book 2

by Thomas Webb

  Shane considered his question. Shemi was a pulse energy genius. One who’d somehow managed to crack inter-dimensional science, even if it was just to create a tiny pocket of subspace. His knowledge would come in handy. But demolitions? Ordnance? Shane had done some minor work with the missile and bomb crews before, back when she was with the 151st. And that was only for her own personal curiosity. But still. . .

  “Guess that would be me,” Shane said, not quite recognizing the sound of her own voice.

  Gina shook her head. “No,” she said. “No way. You’re getting the hell out of here. I should have already sent you back up.”

  “No,” Shane said, her pulse quickening. “You know as well as I do that Shemi and I are our best shot at this. It’s not like any of us will survive if these things go off. You may be team lead when Hale’s gone, but you don’t get to order me around. Not on this one.”

  Gina’s ferocious growl turned into a grimace, then a frown. In the end, she gave in. It was the only choice she, or they, had. She looked at the floor and nodded.

  Shane keyed her comm unit to the command wave. “TOC this is Valkyrie. What do we need to do? Over.”

  “Valkyrie this is the TOC,” X37 said. The AI’s voice was, as usual, for too chipper for the gravity of the situation. Shane could swear X37 was smiling through the comms. “I can talk you through the process, Valkyrie. And please—let me reassure you. Even the most novice EOD technicians who attempt to disarm explosives enjoy a 39% rate of survival.”

  Shemi frowned. “Does your AI realize that what it said is the exact opposite of reassuring?”

  “Please give me a visual of the device,” X37 said.

  Shane focused her field of vision on the explosive, then switched her shooting glasses’ optics to ‘Broadcast.’ “How’s that TOC? Do you have visual?”

  “We have visual Valkyrie. Oh my,” the AI said.

  Shane didn’t like the sound of that. Now it was her turn to frown. “What’s wrong TOC?”

  “The device is more sophisticated than I had envisioned.”

  “Can it be disarmed?”

  “I believe that together we can disarm it,” X37 replied. “It will just take me a moment to analyze and create schematics.”

  “Shemi,” Gina said. “Make yourself useful while we wait. Go grab those EOD tools and bring them up here.”

  The young scientist nodded. He took off to get the tools from his fallen countryman. Less than a minute later he returned, panting and holding Chege’s pack.

  “TOC this is Valkyrie,” Shane said. “We’re ready when you are.”

  “Please remove the secondary cover,’ X37 said. “Slowly,” the AI added.

  Four tiny screws attached the secondary cover to the device’s faceplate. Shane took a driver from the EOD tech’s toolkit and pulled the miniature peristeel screws from the panel. She then eased the panel off, all too conscious of the digital readout counting down toward zero. Four minutes thirty-nine seconds to zero, to be precise.

  “Very good,” X37 said, watching the scene play out through the visual feed. “Now—you must disconnect the pulse engine from the power source, then disconnect the power source from the explosive material.”

  “Okaaaay,” Shane said, drawing it out. “And how do I do that?”

  “This relay looks familiar,” Shemi said, studying the device. “I believe I can disconnect the pulse engine.”

  “Will we be in the clear then?” Gina asked.

  “Negative Razor Two,” X37 said. “The pulse material simply amplifies the blast. The device will still have a secondary power source, which will have to be removed from the explosive material.”

  Shemi began to confer with X37 on the schematics of the device’s pulse engine. What X37 didn’t know, Shemi had an educated guess for. After a couple of tense minutes, Shemi held the pulse engine cradled in his arms.

  “Halfway there,” Gina breathed.

  Shane glanced at the countdown. One minute forty seconds and counting,” she said.

  “You must now remove the device from its power source,” X37 said.

  “How do we do that?” Shane asked.

  “Please refer to the dual connections on the devices immediately to your left and right.”

  Shane peered at the tangled mass of wiring before her, wary of the pulsing mass of volatile, still-active energy on the wall in front of her. She tried not to think about what would happen if the mass shifted, setting the whole thing off. Chances were, she wouldn’t even have time to realize what was happening before it was all over. Thank God for small favors.

  Shane spied the two devises next to the main explosive. Each was several feet away. A quick check showed her he double ports she thought X37 was talking about. “These?” she asked, pointing to the two outlets.

  “Precisely,” the AI replied. “It is critical that you pull the ports at the exact same time. As the ports are planted on separate devices, this action will require two people.”

  “Don’t look at me,” Gina said, still eyeing the surrounding area and the platforms above. “Somebody’s got to keep your asses secure while you make sure we don’t get blown to whatever passes for Cetovian hell.”

  Shane wiped her brow with her forearm and turned to Shemi.

  “You’re looking at me?” he said, his voice strained.

  “No one else around,” Shane said. She felt sorry for the brilliant young scientist. “I’m afraid we don’t have a choice.”

  Fat beads of sweat sat on Shemi’s forehead. His hands shook visibly as he set the pulse canister down. To his credit, he swallowed hard and walked around to the device on the left. Shane moved to the one on the right.

  “Are you both in position?” X37 asked.

  “Affirmative,” Shane said, nodding.

  “Very good. You may proceed to disconnect the ports on your own count.”

  Shane exhaled. “Ok Shemi—on my three. . “

  “Wait,” he said, sweating underneath the short twists of hair on his head. “Do I pull when you say ‘three?’ Or do I wait until after you say three?”

  Shane’s eyes narrowed. For someone who was a genius, Shemi wasn’t the brightest star in the galaxy. “When I say three, Shemi.”

  “Ok.”

  Ready?”

  “No,” he replied. “Not in the slightest.”

  “One,” Shane began.

  She didn’t blame him. She wasn’t ready either.

  “Two,” she said, praying the entire time that this would work. Finally, they could wait no longer.

  “Three,” Shane said. She pulled the port.

  Shane had always imagined her death. She’d always thought she’d want to close her eyes when she bought it. She figured it would probably be flying in deep space. Or maybe a crash landing. Or an STA missile launched up her ship’s ass. An explosion, in space or in the sky, was the most likely scenario. She figured there’d be fire.

  Either way, she actually kept her eyes open now as she waited for the end. If she was to die, she’d do her best to die brave.

  But however she was meant to go out, it wouldn’t be today.

  The device deactivated with a whine, as if it were a hydrogen engine shutting down. The numbers on the readout froze at thirty seconds, blinked twice, then disappeared.

  A wave of relief washed over her when she realized what happened. The bomb was disarmed.

  “Well that was non-climactic,” Gina said. “No pun intended.”

  “I will take it,” Shemi breathed. “Now to stabilize this thing.” He pulled a case with a silvery, metallic foil from his pack and began covering the pulse canister.

  “Welp, looks like we’re still alive,” Gina said. She looked at Shane. “Or have I died and gone to heaven? And now I’m seeing an angel?” A big, goofy grin spread across her perfect cheekbones.

  Shane’s heart melted. “I can’t believe you said that with a straight face.”

  The comms interrupted the moment. “Are you clear?” Lima
asked, the concern causing his voice to waver.

  “We’re clear TOC,” Gina said. “I thought you said this was complicated?” she added, the question aimed at X37.

  “I did Razor Two,” the AI replied. “It was more so than I had imagined. There were multiple false wires. Did you not see the bundle? Fortunately, the bomb maker did not bargain on a state of the art AI deciphering the device.”

  “That almost sounded arrogant,” Gina said.

  “Not arrogant, Razor Two. Accurate.”

  If it was possible for an AI to have a shit-eating grin, Shane bet X37 was wearing one.

  “Contact left!” One of the royal guardsmen holding the perimeter shouted. Pulse rounds flew before they could react.

  “Get Down,” Gina hissed, reaching behind her with one hand, ripping Shane to the floor. She dropped to a knee, her free hand shouldering her rifle and firing. “Stragglers!” Gina hissed. “They just keep comin’!”

  With Shane behind her, Gina sighted in and sent rounds downrange. Shane dragged Shemi behind a duracrete column, scrambling to retrieve her own rifle. She’d set it down during the tense moments with the bomb. Now she regretted not just letting it hang from its sling.

  “Get your ass down!” she told the scientist. She grabbed for her rifle. The bright flash of pulse rounds scorched into the duracrete all around them. Soon burn marks surrounded Gina’s position.

  “Gina!” Shane shouted. “Get to cover!”

  Gina ignored her, instead standing from a knee to a low crouch. The first round took her in the shoulder, jerking her backwards. From behind, it looked like the next one hit her square in the forehead. She dropped with a grunt.

  “Gina!” Shane screamed.

  Shane raced forward, her own safety forgotten in the midst of her pain and rage. Her sole focus, her sole reason for being, became taking out the Separatist who’d shot Gina. She spotted him, honing in like a space to space missile. Rounds streaked past her close enough to smell ozone, close enough to feel the superheated air graze past her cheek. She ignored it all.

  Shane rushed straight toward him, opening up. She heard screaming. It wasn’t until she’d emptied her pulse mag into the attacker that she realized the screaming was her own. The Separatist went down in a sizzling heap, paying for what he’d done with his life.

  “Shane!” A huge green forearm grabbed her up, lifting her from her feet. Her rifle whined with the effort of producing pulse fire on an empty magazine. She was still pulling the trigger. She was still screaming.

  “It’s over,” Lash whispered. “The Separatist is gone,” he assured her. “They’re all gone.”

  “Gina!” Shane screamed again.

  Shemi and several KRG guardsmen were already hovering over the downed Green Beret, patching her blast wounds. Shane watched, breathless, as Shemi checked her pulse.

  “She’s alive,” he said.

  Shane almost cried with relief. “Why isn’t she moving?” she demanded, still struggling to escape Lash’s grasp.

  “She’s unconscious,” One of the KRG operators said. “The pulse round grazed her skull. Her helmet took the brunt of it.”

  “Christ in the stars,” Shane uttered.

  Lash let her go. She dropped to her knees, stood as quickly as she could, and stumbled to Gina’s side. She cradled Gina’s head in her lap as the Kushite guardsmen worked to stabilize her. Gina’s shoulder wound was a through and through. An angry red gouge ran along the side of her head, so charred Shane smelled the stench of burnt hair and seared flesh. Her helmet lay off to the side, scorched and half-melted.

  “Razor Two this is the TOC. What’s happening?” Lima demanded over the comms. “Give me a sitrep!”

  “TOC this is Razor Four,” Shane heard Lash say. His voice sounded distant. “The devices have been disabled and accounted for.”

  “What has happened?” Lima asked.

  “Razor Two is down,” Lash said. “I repeat-Razor Two is down.”

  -24-

  Hale raced through the labyrinth of duracrete and piping, past the building-sized generators and up a side ramp. If he remembered correctly, the ramp led to a stairwell entrance that would take them to the hotel’s loading and docking bay. Kris trailed behind him, right on his heels. Somewhere along the way, they’d picked up two KRG commandos. That was good. Hale was betting they’d need the extra firepower before this was through.

  Ramsey and his cohorts had come this way. It was his job to get them. It was capture or kill, and Hale didn’t care which. He only hoped Shane and Zombie could disarm those explosives. If not, his efforts would all be for nothing. If not, there was nothing they could do about it. And if not, chances were that he, his team, and a hell of a lot of other innocent people would be dead before they even knew what hit them.

  Hale, Kris, and the commandos leapt onto the stairs, sprinting up three levels until they reached the top landing. A short corridor led to a door marked ‘Loading Area.’

  “Up ahead,” Kris whispered.

  Underneath his helmet, sweat poured from Hale’s forehead. He was sucking wind after a serious firefight and a three-story sprint. His side burned something fierce. The docs had told him after the surgery that he needed to take it easy. The synthetic flesh required time to bond with his natural skin and muscle tissue. Maybe he’d pushed too hard, too soon, after being injured so badly? No, that wasn’t right. He’d definitely pushed too hard and too soon after being injured so badly.

  Kris, on the other hand, wasn’t even breathing hard. Tauranians were a tough race. Impervious to cold, able to survive in the depths of space for short periods of time, and apparently equipped with marathon-level cardio. Tauranus was one planet he was thankful Earth had never had to face off against.

  Hale slowed as they entered the corridor. He moved off to the side, and Kris and the commandos fell into a natural stack behind him. Hale held at the door, waiting for the signal to move. When the last shooter was set, a shoulder squeeze passed up the line told him it was go-time. He gripped the door handle and pulled.

  The Marine hit the entryway in a low crouch, button-hooking right and clearing along the wall. The space was open and bright, the structure supported by sturdy columns and flooded with fluorescent lighting. The smell of hydrogen exhaust and synthetic lubricant from the shipping vehicles hung in the air. The scent of damp duracrete from the rains earlier that evening lingered.

  His rifle scanned left and right over the loading bay. He saw no movement, and no heat sigs registered in the optics of his shooting glasses. The bay was deserted, which meant Lash and Anesu had at least managed to clear the lower levels of the hotel. How long would it take to evacuate a building of this size? And would it even make a difference with pulse bombs capable of taking out several city blocks?

  “Clear left,” Hale announced.

  “Clear right,” Kris said.

  “The center is clear,” one of the commandos reported.

  Hale felt more than heard them approach behind him. There was the shift of armor and gear, the creak of gloved hands clutching weapons tighter. “They are on foot,” one of the guardsmen, a severe looking man with a scar across his face, said. His hair was pulled back in tight braids. “They could not have gone far.”

  Hale surveyed the docking bay in a single glance. “Only one exit to the outside,” he said. “That’s where they went. Let’s move.”

  Hale pointed his rifle skyward and took off at a run. Seconds later they found themselves outside the open bay, double-timing down the loading ramp and into the cargo staging area. A short driveway led to a gate, and then to the city streets beyond. With no other visible escape routes, Hale took the driveway.

  His feet pounded the street as they ran to the tracked peristeel gate. Someone had left it wide open. He ran straight through, skidding to a stop when he hit the street. The local authorities had blocked off the main thoroughfare around the hotel—standard operating procedure for any type of emergency. On the opposite side of the street,
they’d moved the growing crowd of onlookers back, behind a shimmering blue energy line. Hale frowned. It wasn’t nearly far enough. If the building came down, all those people would be collateral damage.

  Hale didn’t blame the locals. They were still in the dark on the exact threat they were dealing with. Even if they did know, there was no way they could evacuate enough people fast enough to make sure everyone in Shangjai was safe.

  Hale checked the faces in the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ramsey or the fighters he’d fled with. “We were right behind them,” he said, desperate for a sign of where the terrorist had run. “Where the hell is he?”

  “There!” Kris hissed, pointing toward a tunnel leading down into the city’s subterranean bullet train stations. Hale followed where Kris pointed. Mixed in with the crowd, he spotted a set of blue workman’s coveralls disappearing below street level.

  God bless her natural Tauranian night vision, Hale thought. He lunged into a run, with Kris beside him and the commandos close on their six. The four of them darted across the street, narrowly avoiding being hit by an emergency services vehicle. The angry Andarian driver slammed on his air brakes and shook his fist. The curses in the Andarian’s native tongue faded into the background as Hale ducked the blue energy line and dove into the crowd. He fixed his sights on the entrance to the train tubes below.

  They soon shoved their way through the crowd of myriad beings, eliciting several screams when people noticed their weapons.

  “Stop!” A local police officer shouted.

  Hale ignored him—he was too far away to manage to get through the mass of citizens and give chase. They sprinted down the moving staircase leading into the depths of the bullet train tubes, taking them in great leaps. A holo indicator turned from green to red, emitting an angry buzzing sound when they jumped the payment station gate.

  When they were clear of the entrance Hale signaled them to slow, his rifle whipping instinctively into his shoulder. They’d need to clear the platform, unless they wanted to rush headlong into an ambush. He scanned the station area, walking in a low crouch. The holographic Heads Up Display in his shooting glasses presented no targets.