The ‘guard’ holding the pistol on Denver reached up with his free hand and undid his mask vent. When it fell away, instead of seeing the wearer’s face, there was a familiar black face mask underneath. In another second, the figure’s helmet came off completely, revealing another black-clad commando. The figure let the discarded helmet clang to the floor, dart pistol still pressed against Denver’s head.
“How disappointing,” he said, in mockery of Denver’s earlier words.
Denver scowled, and Nathen saw his arms tense, fingers tightening around the magnums as his eyes shifted from the figure in his peripheral vision to the other one who had taken out the entire assault team single handedly in a matter of seconds. The commando forced the muzzle harder into the back of the Denver’s head.
“Don’t even think about it. Drop them.”
Denver growled, but after a second he reluctantly released the dual magnums. The heavy pistols clattered to the floor, but the commander made no effort to raise his hands in surrender.
“You’ve already failed,” Denver said. “Most of your team is down, and the entire compound knows you’re here. There’s no way you’re leaving this facility alive. And I won’t be a hostage.”
The figure holding the gun was quiet for a moment.
“Well,” he said, lowering his aim to the commander’s back. “You’re right about one thing.”
The figure pulled the trigger and put an electrodart right into the commander’s back.
The older man gave a loud groan as the projectile unleashed its fury on him. Denver staggered to the side and collapsed completely, exhaling loudly in discomfort. As soon as the commander settled, the figure lowered his aim and walked over to Nathen. The numbness had seized Nathen’s whole body, so all he could do was watch. The one who had shot Denver motioned to the other still-mobile commando who had eliminated the entire assault team.
“I got the Commander, Doc. You help the others.”
“Roger, Sharps.”
Sharps, the ESC who had shot Denver, knelt down next to Nathen, holstering his dart pistol. It was a strange contrast to behold: The black-clad commando dressed in colorful Vorch armor. Before doing anything else, the newcomer reached up and pulled off his black face mask, revealing his face, though Nathen already knew who he was. Trenton Baxter, aka Sharps, had finally arrived. The commando rested a hand on Nathen’s numb shoulder, giving him a sympathetic look.
“Rough night, huh sir?”
With that said the newcomer unsnapped the shoulder straps on the tactical training vest and pulled Nathen’s armor off. With the straps loosened, the vest powered down. Nathen inhaled with audible relief as the numbness vanished from his body. He coughed with residual pain and curled his fingers in, working the feeling back into his hands. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
“Yeah,” he said. “Rough night.”
Trent stood up and dropped the vest on the ground, offering Nathen a hand. Nathen accepted it, swallowing his pride, and unsteadily got to his feet. His legs ached with terrible cramps, but he ignored the discomfort. The compound was still swarming with guards, but without the vest on there was no danger of being disabled anymore. With Trent behind him, Nathen stepped over to where Jason Denver was lying and knelt down, leaning over his CO. Denver’s eyes were open, and they watched Nathen as he reached up to the shoulder straps on his tactical vest.
“I think we’ve both had enough for tonight,” he said. He snapped the vest off, and as the armor powered down, Denver exhaled with relief.
“Spit. Death sure does sting,” Denver said, forcing a smirk. “Those electrodarts pack a punch.”
Nathen glanced at the red splash on his discarded training vest. “Yeah, well, that kinetic clay is no picnic either. Couldn’t you have just shot us with real bullets?”
On its own, the kinetic clay bullets Denver had used were merely deterrent rounds, for use in crowd control situations and the like. But the tactical vest Nathen and his team were wearing would react to the heavy impact and induce full rigor. Tactical training vests were an offshoot of the Encounter Body Armor Company’s prisoner submission vest, which did the same thing.
Nathen cocked his head at his CO. “It didn’t shock you too badly, did it?”
Denver sighed, still lying on the floor, resting. “I’ll be all right. Woe unto an old soldier in this day and age.”
“Well, when that happens the only thing for an old soldier to do is get the younger ones killed,” shot back Nathen, “As you so vibrantly demonstrated just now.”
Nathen knew Denver had to be in his mid to late sixties, though he’d never been sure what his actual age was. The man was the die-hard type, though, and would stick around for many years to come.
“Yeah, well,” coughed Denver, hauling himself into a sitting position, one arm folded tenderly behind his back. “I must amuse myself somehow, mustn’t I?”
Denver lifted his arm and spoke into a wrist-mounted comm. radio.
“That’s it, gentlemen. Exercise over. Return to standby.”
With that, Denver hit a switch on his wrist comm., and the many disabled ‘Vorch’ warriors around the room jolted as their vest’s suddenly deactivated. One of the nearer ones pushed himself into a sitting position and spat a lengthy strain of vulgar in Vor.
“De’fir tey nerc tona vahken rax’tar forna jer-…”
The soldier reached up and practically ripped his mask vent off.
“…-stupid stench of dogspit!”
The very Human soldier ripped the Vorch helmet off and flung it at the wall, where it bounced off and rolled up against another Vorch pretender. One by one, the various guards pulled their helmets off, revealing regular Humans underneath. Off to Nathen’s side, the rest of his team was recovering as well. The one latecomer, still disguised in Vorch armor, was going from one member to the next, making sure all were okay. Lucas Donique, or “Doc”, was the team medic. While the medic worked on the injured, Phillip Norsehill came stumbling through the door, hanging off the shoulder of one of the training Vorch who had shot him. The tech expert lifted a hand tremblingly, head lolling from shoulder to shoulder.
“I’d like to tank everyone fhor coming to mai fyuneral,” he announced, acting dazed and disoriented. “I gnow id’s hard, bud I’m in a bedder place now… Oh, everyone’s dead.”
Nathen reached up and pulled his face mask off, silently cursing his commander for his little prank. His sweaty brown hair was a disheveled mess. The stuffy indoor air did little to revive him once his mask was off, but at least he wasn’t quite so hot anymore.
“So,” Nathen said, making sure to keep the anger from his voice. “I’d like an explanation now as to why you just killed me and my team.”
Denver shrugged. “This session was to teach you just one thing. And one thing only.”
“And what would that be?”
Denver grinned. “Shoot first, ask questions later.”
“Because otherwise there might not be a later,” concluded Nathen. “Got it. On the other hand, I would like to believe this is going to be a rare occurrence. I’m fairly confident that there aren’t many Humans out there who would throw their lot in with the Yew Alliance.”
Denver waved a finger at Nathen, patting his pockets as he searched for his cigarette packet.
“You know better than that, commander. You, of all people. Or have you already forgotten about the Rapture Brigade?”
Nathen frowned. The Rapture Brigade was a footnote in Nathen’s past. Several years ago, just before he was recruited to be an Elite Stellar Commando, he was working with another special-forces team. The Rapture Brigade was little more than an organized group of fanatical terrorists, who believed the redemption of Humanity lay in the hands of Alien Intervention. Nathen killed their leader, scattering the survivors to the wind. He’d succeeded in beating the extremist group. But a lot of innocent people had died first.
Nathen grimly pushed back the memory. “No, I haven’t forgotten. But
I try not to think about that.”
Denver shrugged. “It’s in the past. Just don’t forget it. History can be a good teacher, no matter how painful the memories.”
Nathen’s attention was diverted as the last members of his team were released from the training vests. Jonathan was the last to be unhooked. The stealth expert levered himself into an upright position and leaned forward, holding a hand up to his face as he muttered under his breath. Nathen didn’t want to know what Jonathan was doing to Denver in his mind right then. Nathen turned back to his CO.
“Well sir, while I appreciate that you personally involve yourself in our training sessions, I’m going to respectfully request…” Nathen leaned in closer and lowered his voice. “Not, to do this again.”
Denver scowled. “What exactly do you mean by that?”
Nathen straightened up and crossed his arms.
“Just a suggestion, sir. Just because I didn’t shoot my commanding officer on sight doesn’t mean I’m losing my edge.”
Denver chuckled at Nathen’s statement.
“Really? I can name quite a few soldiers who would shoot me without a second’s thought. Two of whom are standing right behind you.”
Nathen looked over his shoulder and saw Jonathan and Kyler standing several feet away, grumbling and swearing under their breath. They’d both been shot twice. Nathen couldn’t help but grin.
“I don’t doubt that, sir.”
Denver sighed and extended his hand. “Anyway. I think I can assume you won’t make the same mistake twice, commander.”
Nathen took Denver’s hand and shook it. “Bet my life on it.”
Denver smiled and patted his pockets once more in search of his cigarettes. He sighed when he couldn’t find them.
“Blast. I could have sworn I had them with me. I was smoking one a second ago.”
Nathen glanced past him and saw a white box laying in the swivel chair Denver had occupied minutes ago. “Did you check your chair, sir?”
Denver arched an eyebrow at Nathen and looked behind him. “My… Oh, there they are. I’m getting old.”
He walked over and picked up the box, walking back over to Nathen as he jiggled it a bit.
“There we go,” he said, pulling a stick out of the pack. “Let the lung rotting commence.”
“You know those are bad for you, sir,” pointed out Nathen, disapprovingly.
Denver lit it with a compact lighter and took a drag, blowing smoke out his mouth.
“What are you, my mother? There are worse ways to die you know.”
“I can’t think of any,” sighed Nathen, knowing he couldn’t talk sense into him.
Denver puffed on the cigarette a few times. Nathen resisted the urge to recoil as his CO blew some smoke his way. Denver held the cigarette between his fingers and let his arm drop to his side, looking about the control room. All the Vorch impersonators were up and tenderly helping each other toward the door, leaving their vests, helmets and weapons lying where they’d been discarded. Nathen’s team stayed, discussing the various kills they had accumulated on the way in. Once all the non-commandos had exited the control room, Denver flicked some ash off his cigarette and exhaled deeply.
“I have a surprise for you, Knight.”
Nathen held a hand up. “No more surprises tonight, sir. I don’t think I can handle being shot again.”
Denver chuckled and reached into his breast pocket. When it came back out, there was a folded datasheet tucked between his middle and index finger. Denver held it out to Nathen, who took it unsurely. He unfolded the page, which was printed with a “Top Secret” heading. He scanned the info presented to him, then re-read it.
Nathen reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, slowly feeling his bangs pull back and slide onto his forehead as his hand passed. He looked squarely at Denver, wondering if this was one of his tricks.
“What’s this?”
Denver stuck his cigarette between his teeth. “What’s it look like?”
Nathen glanced down at the datasheet in his hand. “It… looks like a transfer order. You’re transferring someone away from my team?”
“Not away, commander. To. I was just noting that you’ve been short one member for some time now.”
“Yes,” started Nathen, realizing where this was going as he tucked the folded transfer order into his chest pocket.
The standard roster for his team was supposed to be eight: A leader, a tactician, a gunner, a sniper, a medic, a stealthist, a speaker, and a mechanic/technician. Team Alpha had been missing a translator for quite some time now.
“How long has it been? Eight months?” asked Denver.
Nathen paused to think about it. “A little more than that, I think.” He turned toward Helen, who stood nearby with her arms crossed. “Bayonet. How long has it been since we had a speaker?”
“Eight months, twelve days,” she said, barely having to think about it. She looked over at the two men with curiosity. “Why?”
“Well, I’ve been sitting on my hands, waiting for you to pick someone as a replacement for months now. The Elite Stellar Commandos have always operated outside the normal channels and chains of command, so you’ve had the liberty of hand picking your team personally. But I get the sense that you’ve been dragging your feet. Without a proper translator, your functionality is severely compromised. I can’t allow that, Knight.”
“I disagree,” protested Nathen, firmly. “With all due respect, our abilities have not been severely compromised. We’ve gone along just fine without an eighth member, without any trouble at all.”
“You’ve been bench warming for eight months, Knight. Ever since Crane died.”
Nathen tried to hide his cringe, but it was obvious the subject stung. “His death could have been avoided with a little ‘feet dragging’.”
“Maybe it could’ve,” mused Denver, breathing smoke out between his lips. “But you evade the point. You’ve gone without for too long. I’m pulling the only rank that you officially have to report to. Mine.”
Nathen was quiet a moment. Helen stood by, keeping silent, knowing not to interrupt. Nathen watched Denver puff on his cigarette, trying to decipher what wasn’t being said. He could refuse. Just as much as Denver could insist. Did he have the resolve to delay what ultimately had to happen? After a second, Nathen crossed his arms, lifting his chin as he stared down his CO.
“Why now?” he asked. “You’ve let me slide this long without a translator. Why suddenly take the choice out of my hands?”
Denver stared at Nathen for a moment, then sighed and reached back into his breast pocket. It came out with another datasheet, folded just like the last one. He handed it to Nathen without a word. Nathen took the page and thumbed it open. This one stunned him even more than the unexpected transfer order. He stared hard at the words, feeling his throat tighten:
-[Top Secret]-
-Clearance: Upper Echelon.-
-Orders: Immediate re-activation. All assets.-
-Prep for imminent deployment.-
The orders were short, but said an infinite amount to Nathen. His mind reeled back nine months, to the Saturn military space station at Navpoint Vantage. He remembered, with terrible vividness, what had happened there that day. When the bombs fell and the torpedoes struck and the fighters were inside the perimeter before the first alarm had gone off. Nathen remembered the URH fleet getting torn to shreds by the terrible, sleek, silver and gray ships.
The day the Yew Alliance declared war on the United Race of Humanity.
Denver huffed out a breath of swirling smoke, knowing what Nathen was thinking.
“That went out an hour ago,” the commander said. “To all sectors.”
Mass mobilization. Of all Humanity’s armed forces.
That had never happened before.
Nathen folded the datasheet and creased it between his fingers, taking a deep breath like he was preparing to dive into deep water.
“So it’s really happenin
g then.”
Denver nodded. “It is.”
Nathen carefully tucked the datasheet into his shoulder pocket, next to the transfer order. He’d end up incinerating both of them later, as per security protocols. But this explained why Denver didn’t just call them over the superluminal communications network. The lid on the galaxy was about to go flying off.
After all these months, the Human race was finally going to war.
“So you came all this way to tell us in person?”
Denver nodded. “It was important enough to warrant a personal touch. This… hasn’t been made public, yet. Over the coming week it’ll leak out, just before the awareness dam bursts. I still can’t say much about when, how or who in the big picture of things. But I wanted you and your team to know that you’re going to be very busy in the coming months.”
“Alright,” Nathen said, pushing on. “What about this translator? Can you tell us anything about him?”
“Her, actually,” Denver said as he flicked some of the ashes off onto the floor.
Nathen cringed, feeling like he was getting hit with too many unexpected surprises. “I do wish you’d consulted me beforehand, sir.”
“Well, it’s your own fault for messing around when you should have been looking for a new speaker!” an irritated Denver snapped, seizing the attention of the rest of the team. “And now the choice has been taken out of both our hands. We’ve got no more time to waste.”
Nathen hung his head, running his hand through his hair and feeling the slickness from the sweat. “You’re right, you’re right. I took my time about it. I just wish you’d told me before issuing her transfer.”
“It was spur of the moment,” admitted Denver. “Her unit was about to ship out, so I had to act fast, or lose her. Don’t question me on this.”
“Fair enough.”
“Don’t worry, Knight. Relax. I picked her myself. Been watching her for quite some time now. Got a good feeling about her.”
Prime Alpha (Planetary Powers Book 1) Page 4