Open Arms (On Silver Wings Book 7)

by Evan Currie

  “I have been better,” Kriss responded. “However, it seems that I will yet live…to fight another day.”

  “It’s better if we stay split up until a dust-off can be arranged,” Sorilla said. “I don’t see any sign of pursuit, but this is their land. If anyone can sneak up on us, it’ll be them.”

  “We saw no signs of pursuit either,” the other Sentinel said. “We watched after we broke contact. After the chaos from the air assault faded, the enemy milled about for some time, then picked up their bodies, as well as ours, and withdrew back toward the colony.”

  “How many did we lose?” Kriss asked.

  “Two.”

  Sorilla looked down. “I saw three of ours go dark.”

  “Five losses,” Kriss considered. “How many of theirs were eliminated?”

  “Forty-three, we counted,” one of the Sentinels responded, grinning. “Not the best exchange ever recorded, but far from the worst.”

  “Against those pansies, we should have done better,” Sorilla growled. “Fucking amateurs.”

  “Certainly.” Kriss nodded wearily. “Skilled soldiers, with those weapons and the time they had to prepare, should have destroyed us. We would have made them pay dearly, but we should not have escaped, let alone inflicted the casualties we did.”

  Sorilla dropped into a crouch, sighing. “No way these losers took out your people, Kriss.”

  The Lucian Sentinel gritted his teeth, but gestured in agreement.

  “They are rebels, no doubt, but they’re not the ones we want most.”

  “We’ll clean up here,” Sorilla said, “then move on to the other world. Maybe the organization we want will be there.”

  “Perhaps,” Kriss said, dully.

  “We know someone is shipping…what did you call them? Blanks?” Sorilla asked, getting an affirmative gesture. “That kind of illegal weapons market doesn’t just go to some group of nobodies like these people. Sell them weapons? Sure. But state of the art blanks, like this?”

  Sorilla got up and paced.

  “We’re dealing with an organization that is deeply entrenched in the Alliance,” she said. “They’re delivering incredibly valuable military-grade ordnance to losers like these local fools…and just letting them play with it? When I was with the Fifth, I’d never have just handed a bunch of local yokels those sorts of munitions without supplying a training team. You’d have to be completely insane to just dump military-grade weapons on a bunch of idiots like this and then leave them to their own devices.”

  “Perhaps they are meant to distract us,” Kriss suggested.

  “I could get the exact same results with a few lots of obsolete gear that no one in your command chain would have even blinked at,” Sorilla said. “You said yourself that weapons are regularly sold to Alliance protectorates.”

  “True enough,” Kriss conceded. “That leaves us with nothing then.”

  “None of us are investigators,” Sorilla said, “but we have more than nothing. We have a local militia with weapons they shouldn’t have. That’s reason enough to come down on them like hammers of the Gods. Maybe we pick up some more evidence in the mess that’s left over.”

  Kriss laughed, grinning at the other two.

  “I rather enjoy the way you think,” he said. “That would be a rather satisfying way to proceed.”

  “Yeah,” Sorilla said. “Yeah it would.”

  *****

  USV SOL

  “We have the intelligence, sir.”

  Ruger looked up as the chief petty officer marched up to him. “He talked?”

  “The prisoner tried to hold out,” the chief said, “but with the asset to provide enough information to check him when he lied, it wasn’t hard to check his bullshit.”

  Ruger nodded, gesturing to the map table. “What do we have then?”

  “The target area is one of the original colonist lots,” the chief said, pointing to the map. “These days it’s where the upper class live so they can keep out the riffraff.”

  “I was under the impression that Eri was one of the…um, upper class?” Ruger asked.

  “Yes, sir, but Mr. Eri seems to be young and rebellious. He apparently moved his primary home out to be closer to the fields that his family controlled,” the chief said. “Something the hoi palois apparently found rather distasteful.”

  “So, the airfield we tracked the aircraft to?” Mattan interrupted, steering the conversation back.

  The chief shifted. “Private, but communal, field. Used exclusively by the original controlling families only.”

  “Well, that’s something, isn’t it?” Mattan grumbled. “So, were they observing, or were they hoping to grab someone or something after the strike?”

  “We haven’t been able to sweat that out of the prisoner yet. Working on it.”

  “That’ll do for now, Chief,” Ruger told him. “I think we have enough to proceed. Keep us updated.”

  “Yes, sir.” The chief saluted before turning and leaving.

  Ruger looked over to Mattan. “Call Aida. We have a new mission directive for her.”

  “Most of her team is up here now.” Mattan frowned.

  “She’ll make do. She always has before.”

  *****

  Night was falling across the desert when the call from the SOL came through. Sorilla had settled into a small indent in the ground above the lip of the ditch and was keeping watch with the full array of her scanners.

  “Colonel Aida, SOL.”

  “Go for Aida,” Sorilla replied automatically.

  There was a brief pause before a familiar voice replaced the comm officer’s.

  “Hey, Sister,” Mattan responded. “Have some new intel for you, and new mission directives.”

  “Bring it on, old man,” Sorilla said, a hint of a smile playing at her lips.

  “We have two areas of interest for you,” Mattan told her. “Sending to your system.”

  Sorilla noted the push notification of the new mission locations pop up on her HUD and opened them with a thought. Two places on the colony were lit up on her map, along with intel files for each.

  “Short version?” she asked.

  “Location A is the location of an airfield that an unidentified aircraft redirected to shortly after Viper One went operational. We think they were planning on grabbing something, or someone, and changed their mind when the Saddleback opened up with its gun.”

  Sorilla snorted. “A pissed Saddleback will make damn near anyone reconsider their priorities. What’s location B?”

  “That’s where the armor, and bodies, of our fallen were taken.”

  “Mission accepted,” Sorilla responded without hesitating. “What’s the window for backup?”

  “We can drop a squad on you almost any time, of course, but we’re not sure if a full drop ship deployment is in the interests of the mission,” Mattan told her. “It’s your call.”

  “Hold them ready for now,” Sorilla decided. “I’ll take what I have here and scope things out. If I need help, they’ll be, what, twelve minutes out?”

  “Fifteen if you want the drop ship. Twelve if they sleep in the tubes.”

  “Tell them sweet dreams, old man.”

  Mattan chuckled. “You got it, Sister. Good hunting.”

  “It always is,” Sorilla answered. “Stay tuned. I’ll be in touch. Aida out.”

  She killed the comm link and leaned back so her head was hanging over the edge of the ditch, switching to open air.

  “Hey, we’ve got a mission. You mission-ready?”

  Kriss looked up at her, grimacing as he sat up.

  “I am.”

  Sorilla looked at the others, who simply got to their feet and looked back, and she nodded.

  “Let’s go. All of you.”

  *****

  Corporal Nicky Farrel shifted from where he was lying, covered in dust and dirt in a shallow depression, a push notification shifting his focus from watch duty to his HUD. He checked the information
, then opened up a short-range comm channel.

  “Wakey wakey, everyone,” he said. “Vacation’s over.”

  Sand and dust moved nearby, revealing the remaining seven members of the operational detachment A-team as they broke from their cover and rose to their feet.

  Warrant Officer Brackston checked the notifications. “The colonel has intel. We’re to meet up with her and the Alliance guys on our way to check out an unidentified aircraft that apparently decided to reconsider its flight plan when the Saddleback opened up on the ground forces.”

  Nicky snorted. “I’d reconsider my life decisions if I thought I was about to cross that bad boy.”

  Several others laughed openly, but the warrant officer cut them off.

  “Once we clear that objective, we’re to recover Jackson, Briggs, and McKinnon,” he said seriously. “So pucker up, boys. Time to go recover our own.”

  *****

  They came out of the desert in two groups, dust swirling in their wake.

  Sorilla nodded to the warrant officer as the two groups joined up just east of the active fields.

  “Warrant Officer Brackston.” Sorilla nodded as the rest of the A-team joined up with her and the five remaining Sentinels. “Are the men ready to roll?”

  “Hoo-ah, Lieutenant Colonel,” the warrant officer replied instantly. “Running defense sucks, ma’am. Looking forward to playing offense.”

  “Well, good news there, Warrant Officer,” Sorilla said. “I’m in a mood to be offensive.”

  “Good to hear, ma’am. What’s the plan?”

  “Well, from what our friend,” Sorilla sneered a little at the word, “told the old man, or whoever he has doing interrogations this time, an unidentified craft we tracked lead right back to the colony’s top families. We’d like to know who was behind the force we encountered and why they wanted to assassinate, or kidnap, Eri.”

  “How about why they decided to do it when we showed up?” Nicky snorted.

  Sorilla turned to look at the corporal. “I assume they intended to blame us for whatever it was they were going to do.”

  “So we lost three good men because they wanted patsies?” Brackston growled.

  “That’s about the short of it.” Sorilla nodded.

  “You do know, ma’am, that for that we’re going to have to make this hurt, right?” Brackston asked.

  “Right there with you, Warrant Officer,” Sorilla said as they walked. “Let’s just be sure of our targets before we pour on the pain. Clear, Warrant Officer?”

  “Crystal, Lieutenant Colonel.”

  Satisfied, Sorilla refocused her attention. “The only question is do we handle this in the order the old man gave us, or do we go get our own first?”

  “We do not put the mission at risk.”

  Sorilla glanced to where Kriss was stiffly walking along with them, flanked by his Sentinels.

  “No,” she agreed. “No, we don’t. However, there are good case arguments to be made for reversing the order of the mission. I’d like some more intelligence before we bust up the local robber barons, if only to see if we can get anything on their security before we try breaking it.”

  “You think we can get that where they took the bodies?” Brackston asked.

  “If you were grabbing advanced combat armor, beyond what SOLCOM had access to, where would you take it, Warrant Officer?” Sorilla asked.

  “Wherever SOLCOM told me to, ma’am.”

  Sorilla chuckled. “And where would that likely be?”

  Brackston gestured in concession. “A secure facility, where the armor could be examined.”

  “And from my experience, secure facilities are goldmines for all sorts of intelligence.”

  *****

  USV SOL

  “How are they doing?” Ruger asked, walking over to the display table.

  “Sister and the others met up outside the fields. They’re heading into the colony again now,” Mattan said.

  “Good,” Ruger said. “How long before they hit the airfield?”

  “Assuming they proceed directly to the target? Four hours.”

  Ruger looked at him sharply. “What do you mean, ‘assuming they proceed directly to the target’? You issued orders, mission priorities?”

  “Of course I did. You heard me,” Mattan said. “And I fully expect Sister to evaluate the situation on the ground and make her own call. She always was good at that, even the first time I met her…raw boot, straight off the Q-course. She called out an eight-year vet, a staff sergeant, because he’d gotten a cultural indicator wrong. She was right, of course, but that didn’t save her from his wrath.”

  “You step in?” Ruger asked.

  “Hell no. I helped him punish the uppity little bitch,” Mattan laughed. “Right or not, you don’t call out your superior without consequence. She took her licks, like a good little soldier, then went right back to work. If Sister thinks she has the right of things, you’d need a warhead to move her.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Ruger admitted. “Not one of her best features, but I’ve been willing to put up with it because she’s the most experienced soldier in SOLCOM and her results speak for themselves.”

  “You put up with it,” Mattan chuckled. “I actively kept her on my teams because of it. In the field, Admiral, when you’re out of contact for weeks or more at a time, the ability to make decisions in the absence of orders, or even that seem to go against orders but ultimately advance the mission, is a priceless skill.”

  “SOLCOM agrees,” Ruger said with a shrug. “That’s why she was accepted when she applied for deep space training. I was an intel man before the war. Didn’t get involved in the field until I made admiral, ironically enough.”

  Mattan snorted. “You were an intel weenie your entire career until you made admiral? That’s ludicrous.”

  “General,” Ruger sighed, “you never applied to SOLCOM, which means that while you may know how bad things got in the war, you really have no idea. In the first month we lost damn near every skilled spacer we had. I’m not exaggerating. Aida is currently the most experienced deep space officer in SOLCOM, and she has been almost since the day her first SOLCOM squad died.”

  “So you got promoted to field work, what? Because no one else was available?”

  “Only a grunt like you would call what happened a promotion.” Ruger rolled his eyes. “Mattan, I took the field position because no one else could do the job. I wasn’t promoted; I voluntarily stalled my career because the job needed to be done. Same reason your golden girl got on the fast track. We needed people do jobs that we didn’t have anyone for, so some of us got pushed into positions we weren’t ready for.”

  “That’s war, Admiral. No one is ever ready for it.”

  Chapter 18

  “Now that,” Sorilla said as she knelt under cover of a copse of trees, “is what I would call a guerilla base.”

  She had ultimately decided to redirect her team to the location of the bodies before making a decision about which objective to focus on first. They had followed the locator beacons in the armor suits to what Sorilla recognized as a pretty classic guerilla, or terrorist, training camp.

  “Get a count on forces, categorize weapons, vehicles, whatever else comes up,” Sorilla ordered, gesturing to the Forces men. “Kriss, if you spot any Alliance tech we need to worry about, I’d appreciate a heads up.”

  Kriss just grunted, issuing similar orders in what she had come to recognize as a Lucian battle code that she had yet to crack.

  “I’m going to dive the suits,” she said, leaning back against a tree and closing her eyes as she linked into one of the captured suits, trying not to think about the fact that she would be looking through a dead man’s eyes in the process.

  Her eyes reopened inside the guerilla base, inside the armor of Corporal McKinnon.

  The armor was in lockdown; the death of the wearer secured all classified intelligence, wiped all but the basic identifiers, and put the armor itself one step a
way from a hardware wipe. So far the enemy forces hadn’t attempted any intrusive examination of the armor, so the systems were still mostly intact.

  Sorilla looked around, positioning herself. The armor had been left in the back of a truck, propped up on a couple other bodies taken from the battle. She checked, but neither of them were Lucian or in SOLCOM armor.

  The warp blast that had killed the man whose suit and implants she was using hadn’t done too much to the hardened armor, thankfully. Unfortunately, armor was of little value against a space-time warp, which was one of the reasons Lucians didn’t bother with the stuff. Sorilla didn’t need to access the internal scans to know that the body was little more than jelly.

  The suit scanners were in decent enough shape, however, and she used them across the field of view she had to get an idea of what kind of forces were in the camp and what they’d be looking at when it came time to pull out the bodies.

  They were training, unsurprisingly.

  What put her off was the fact that they were doing so in an incredibly stupid way. Target practice with an Alliance warp blaster was akin to learning how to aim a small nuke. Aiming it wasn’t the issue. Making sure you didn’t kill your own people…that was a bit more of a problem.

  Sorilla observed everything the suit could see, making mental notes and logging anything solid she saw before disconnecting from the armor and opening her eyes back in her own body and armor.

  “They’re so twenty-first century it hurts to watch them,” she said as she got up from where she’d been sitting. “I’m not ruling them entirely out—it’s always possible that they have a few prodigal minds in the bunch somewhere—but by and large these are the sort of idiots we send rookies in to cut their teeth on.” She shrugged, glancing over at Kriss. “Initial recommendation is leave them be. Use them to train your recruits, but these idiots aren’t a threat to anyone but themselves.”

  The Lucian snorted, clearly enjoying the evaluation. “I would be inclined to agree, so far, and will take that under advisement.”

  “What about the bodies?” the chief asked from where he was kneeling. “We’ve scanned another eighty combatants in the camp…probably only forty or so that are really ready for a fight though.”