Lupell looked at the golden peace medallions on the sides of the stolen mag pistol.
“The Yew Alliance are our saviors, not our enemies.”
Nathen felt like he'd just been punched in the gut with a railgun.
“I knew it,” he said, disbelieving. “You're the Rapture Brigade.”
Lupell looked up, smiling knowingly. “Surprised? I thought you would be. After all, it was you who stopped us last time... Nathen Brampton.”
Nathen felt his skin go colder than a vacuum could ever make it.
Lupell arched an eyebrow. “What? Did you think we would forget the face of the man who ruined us? Major Brampton of the Marine's First Elemental Division? Trust me. We have not forgotten.”
Neither had Nathen. The commander swallowed.
Three years ago. Jackal Nebula. Tysol System. Sierra Harbor. Operation Uppercut. He'd still been in the Marines back then. He was a Major, leading an undercover deployment to Sierra Harbor in response to increased threats from Vorch rogue clans. The Yew Alliance denied any involvement, claiming it was an independent clan of Vorch, which is why Nathen and his men went in as 'independent Humans'. There was still peace between them then, but that didn't stop the Yew from testing their limits by kicking them under the table. They'd arrived expecting to find Vorch. Instead they'd found the Rapture Brigade.
Nathen had quickly uncovered a plot by the extremist group to sabotage the harbor's defenses and give control to the rogue Vorch clan. He'd put a stop to it, but the Brigade had not gone quietly. In the end, he'd been forced to put a cap in their leader's head before the day was done. They never heard from the “rogue” Vorch faction again, and in the following months, the Yew Alliance fell oddly mute on the whole subject. That had put an end to the bloody Rapture Brigade.
Or so Nathen had thought, until today.
“You came crawling back. After all these years.”
Lupell sniffed, thoughtfully. “Imagine our surprise when your marine ID popped up in Port Ive. Nathen Brampton. Our number one enemy. We had other plans, of course. The Yew needed reports on our force readiness, troop movements, where our ships were going. We were already well underway setting up Port Ive to fall. But once we got a glimpse of your face, we just couldn't pass up the opportunity.”
“How did you beat us to the Menturion System?”
“We were already there,” Lupell said, triumphantly. “Baiting the Yew for our future, grand unified peace. Our man on the ground gave us your exit trajectory, and simple navmaps and deduction did the rest. You fell right into our waiting arms. It really wasn’t that hard to figure out, knowing you. The Yew worked out the plan that would allow you to leave after your successful—though ultimately useless—mission on Cravac.”
Nathen felt his fists tighten as Lupell smiled, wickedly.
“Looks like this time, you weren't prepared for us.”
Suddenly the overhead speakers were filled with the classic blare of a red alert, one that should have been activated when the Yew first attacked. Only the Yew were already aboard, which left one possibility. At Lupell's side, a private comm unit started beeping for attention. Lupell glanced down at his side, then eyed past the sights of the Karl 9 at the commando. Nathen stared down the traitor and gave a half-smile. Something was finally going his way.
“I think you'd better answer that.”
***
On the other side of the system, the void dilated like an eye, crackling and popping as, for just a moment, hyperspace met realspace. There was a series of flashes, and then the void ruptured as a massive vessel exploded from hyperspace.
Hyperluminal energy stripped off the hull of the Castle-class super carrier Magnum Opus as the vessel sent a resounding sweep through space with its sensors. The carrier came to a halt shortly after its reversion to realspace, slamming on its forward thrusters. Battle armor retracted from interlocked positions and formed barriers like medieval parapets around the carrier's cannons and point-defense emplacements. Finally the super carrier's primary weapon, its reactor-powered bombardment battery, fired up as space lit up all around and started ejecting Human ships into realspace.
A rainbow of hyperluminal streams streaked all over for miles as more than fifty ships burst from hyperspace. Frigates, Destroyers, and entire squadrons of sub-frigate Stormbolt torpedo boats flocked together. As the battle group started to take shape, the heavy armor retracted from the carrier's bridge like a knight's visor, letting the starlight flood in. In the multi-layered command center, sitting in the centrally-located fleet command chair, was Admiral Jason Denver.
The older man scanned the starline through the Magnum Opus' battle screen, picking up details as the long-range sensors began identifying and highlighting distant targets. In seconds, the super carrier had isolated the system's inhabitants and identified the Orbit Angel. As well as thirty-plus Grade-A Yew Alliance starcraft.
And a dreadcraft.
“Captain Wesler,” Denver called, looking down at the lower-tier captain's chair. “Move us into position and prepare for jump. We're going straight at them.”
Captain Wesler, a red-headed man in his early forties, nodded his assent and began issuing commands to his crew.
The Admiral pressed a switch on his chair.
“Attention all ships,” he spoke, clearly. “Form up on the Magnum Opus and prepare for imminent enemy contact. All weapons cleared for maximum damage.”
The battle group split into three wings, with the Magnum Opus in the center, flanked by two destroyers, the Red King and White Dash. Denver's other two destroyers, the Titanic and the Colossus, each had their own wings of frigates and sub-frigate Stormbolt torpedo boats. The older, Grade-C Behemoth-class destroyers were big, but weren't nearly as powerful as the brand new Grade-B Brawler-class destroyers.
Denver settled into his chair and watched as the battle group locked their co-ordinates in and calculated a synchronized jump. Most of the ships under Denver's command were of the new Grade-B category. Many of the frigates were hot off the shipyards, and the Castle-class Magnum Opus itself was a grand improvement from the previous generation Grade-C Palace-class carrier. It was a defining moment for the HSN, stepping up into the arena that they had not set foot in before. Up until this moment, the Yew Alliance had never even seen Humanity with a Grade-B ship, or anything that even came close to competing with the Yew’s Grade-A fleet.
Denver couldn't wait to see the look on their faces.
“Battle group deployed,” came the call from Captain Wesler. “Ready to jump at your command, Admiral.”
As the bridge blared an alert for the imminent light jump, Denver reached inside his jacket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. As he shuffled the pack, he touched the comm again to speak to the entire fleet. The holoscreen flickered on in front of the Admiral's chair as he broadcast his image to all the ships under his command.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he spoke with defining authority. “I won't blither on with any lengthy speeches. This is a time to spill blood, not words. The Yew have come here with the intention of collaring us. All bets are off. If they won't respect us as Humans, then we'll rip into them like dogs!”
Denver pulled a single stick out of his pack and clamped it between his teeth. Once he put his pack away, he pinched the cigarette between two fingers and held it out for the screen to see.
“I want first blood by the time I finish this cigarette. Ashes to ashes.”
He retrieved his lighter and nodded to Captain Wesler. The Captain of the carrier nodded back and started the ten second countdown to the light jump. Denver clamped the cigarette in his mouth and looked straight at the holoscreen, holding the thermal lighter up.
“Here's to a good war.”
Denver snapped the lighter on, just as the battle group simultaneously jumped into the dazzling vortex of lightspace.
***
Lupell slowly lowered his comm unit. The traitor tried to keep his cool but couldn’t hide his growing panic from Nat
hen. He slowly returned the comm unit to his belt, keeping the rocket pistol trained on Nathen. The commando smiled.
“That can't be good for your plans.”
Lupell exploded.
“You had some hand in this, didn’t you?”
Nathen crossed his arms, still smiling cockily. “Do you want to re-weigh your options before you make your next move?”
Lupell began looking like a caged animal. His empty hand was twitching, nervously. Nathen knew this was not the plan. Even if the Alliance came out on top at the end, Lupell was finished as their inside man. They were never going to trust him again after this. After a second, his face set with grim determination.
“This isn't the end,” the traitor said shakily.
Nathen calmly took a step forward, arms crossed.
Lupell took a step back, brandishing Gordon's gun out in front of him.
“This changes nothing!” Lupell said, angrily. “We can still salvage this! The Alliance can still be bought with loyalty!”
Nathen took another step forward.
Lupell stepped back and grimaced, clutching the Karl 9 with both hands. Nathen didn't flinch. Lupell started sweating.
“You can't deny it!” Lupell shouted, insistently. “Sooner or later, you're going to have to face the facts! We don't know how to fight this war!”
Nathen stepped closer, staring the traitor down with a smile as his covered hand covertly worked its way inside his uniform toward his Denchura. Lupell swallowed, thinking frantically as the mag pistol shook in his hands.
“I just wanted peace!”
Nathen grinned smartly.
“You'd better put that gun down,” he said, eyes flashing. “You're getting peace all over the place.”
Lupell set his jaw and sighted the pistol, steaming furiously.
“I'll blow your 'peace' all over the walls, you-”
POW!
The sudden, loud gun blast sent a shock through Nathen's body. The commander jolted, grabbing his own chest in search of a bullet hole. He was surprised to find his chest was entirely intact. Nathen frowned, just as Lupell toppled forward, face first on the floor. The Karl 9 skidded across the deck and came to a rest at Nathen's boots, Alliance peace medallions glinting up at him. Nathen looked up, past where Lupell had been.
Calico Trast was standing about ten feet behind where Lupell had been, her Denchura IV held in a steady shooter's stance. The girl had a steely look in her green eyes as she steadied her breath. She was wearing an oversized ballistic vest over top of her white and black White Sun uniform, and she'd somehow procured a bandoleer of grenades and was wearing them on her back. Her eyes were fixed on the motionless form of Lupell, who's captain's uniform was turning a deeper crimson red from the single gunshot wound to the back. Nathen finally broke the tension.
“Good shot.”
Calico inhaled and looked up, as if suddenly remembering Nathen was there. Her eyes darted back to the body of Lupell as she managed to relax her posture a bit.
“Is he dead?” asked Calico, a hint of instability in her voice. Nathen scooped up the Karl 9 and cautiously knelt down to feel for a pulse. After a second, he stood up with his answer.
“He's dead,” Nathen said, tucking the Karl 9 into the back of his belt. “Can't find a pulse. Nice shot, by the way. Center mass.”
Calico finally lowered her pistol and issued an uneasy, lopsided smirk.
“I was only going to wound him.” She shrugged. “You're right. I flinch when I shoot.”
Nathen looked at the young, red-headed speaker for a moment.
“But you didn't freeze.”
Calico looked up at Nathen. Then she gave a nervous chuckle.
“Yeah. I guess I didn't, did I?”
Nathen walked back, stepping over the body of 'Rass' and picking up the Coyote and ammo off Dan's body. “Where have you been all day, anyway?”
“Station Archives,” the girl said with a shrug. “Studying. I knew I was under suspicion and I had some stuff to think about, so I… laid low. Tried to stay out of everyone’s way.”
Nathen walked back to Calico, checking the assault rifle. Calico shifted her feet and anxiously scratched at her ear.
“I don't think I'm cut out for this.”
“Don't think what?” Nathen asked, cracking the chamber open and checking to see if a round was already in place.
Calico looked apologetic as she tilted her head at the floor. “I'm just not good enough to be a real Alpha.”
Nathen looked over at her, questioningly. Calico sighed and shook her head.
“I never should have agreed to this, knowing I couldn't compete. You deserve someone better.” Calico looked up, her face serious. “You deserve a speaker who's actually the best.”
For a long moment, Nathen stood, uncertain of what to say. Calico waited calmly for a response. Nathen rested the assault rifle on his shoulder and ran a hand through his hair, thinking. After a second, he stepped forward and put a hand on the girl's shoulder.
“I think I already found her,” he said.
Calico laughed, short and brief, shaking her head. “I'm not like you guys. I'm not a born warrior or a natural fighter. The best I can do is shoot someone in the back, and that's hardly elite material.”
Nathen stood back, planting his hand on his hip. “Trast, what you don't understand is that, at the end of the day, we're not the Elite Stellar Commandos because someone says we are. Being the absolute elite is not just about strength, or skill, or even how many kills you have. You don't get to be an ESC just by being the best. You get there by choosing to be the best, no matter how weak or strong you are.”
Nathen flipped the Coyote over and propped the assault rifle up on its muzzle, waving a hand at the body of Lupell.
“So, are you going to believe in the best of Humanity within yourself? Or will you deny it, like this man did?”
Nathen flipped the Coyote up into his arms and winked at the young speaker before striding past her down the hall. Calico stood for a moment, listening to Nathen's footsteps drawing further away. She turned the words over in her head, thinking. Then she looked down at the Denchura IV in her hand, and cracked a shy smile.
“Huh,” she said. “Thank you, sir.”
She turned and hurried after Nathen before he got too far away.
***
Merthal tapped his claw on the portable war table in front of him. The gathering of Yew races in the temporary forward command post within the Orbit Angel's cafeteria was both tense and quiet. The various aides and bodyguards around him were respectfully silent, yet obviously uncomfortable. Sub-admiral Danter stood to Merthal's left wing, the position of submission. Merthal said nothing, letting the silence hang as he watched the image of the Human battle group emerging from hyperspace on the outer edges of the system.
His claw tapped, restlessly.
The image was being transmitted from the Saperiah. The massive dreadcraft had been the first to detect the hyperspacial emissions. Its humongous mantle of weaponry acted as a great sensor array. But it wasn't for nearly another ten minutes that they had seen the Human ships popping into realspace. At the speed of light, actual visual confirmation would be behind real-time at this distance. Which meant that the Humans were already on their way.
Retreat, at this point, was not an option.
Merthal’s claw dug into the portable war table’s screen and dragged a long, jagged scratch in its surface, cutting a line across the Human fleet. Sub-admiral Danter flinched as the high-pitched noise shrieked in his ears. Merthal tapped his claw again, mind working rapidly.
Never trust a traitor.
Merthal reached over and lifted a phantom communicator from one of his aides and placed it over the war table. The communicator warmed up and projected a hologram toward Merthal. The admiral waited for the connection to boost through the Celestial Wind's array and bounce out to the Saperiah. After a few seconds, the dreadcraft's captain—a gritty, green-scaled Stelkan named Rot
an—appeared to receive the call, perched on his command post. Captain Rotan eyed the camera pointed at him for a moment with a steely raptorian gaze, then turned his head fully toward the Admiral.
“Admiral Merthal,” the captain of the Saperiah said. “You received our transmission.”
Merthal didn't nod, and didn't respond. Rotan scowled, wings fluttering behind him, leathery and black.
“We are taking up defensive positions across the Human's starshield. They will not be so eager to fire on their own trapped ships.”
Merthal blinked, tiredly. “I'm beginning to think we've underestimated these Humans, Captain Rotan.”
The green-scaled Stelkan captain shifted his position, rolling his claws against each other.
“Or the Humans overestimate their chances,” he said, cackling. It was clear he could not wait to dive into battle against these new and intriguing enemy ships. “We will fight to the death, while they will merely fight until they tire.”
Merthal opened his eyes and looked down at the war table's scratched screen. The Human ships were beginning to form around their disturbingly large carrier. That super carrier, and most of its escorts, were far better built than any of the ships they had trapped in the starshield. Better than any ships the Humans were reported to have.
Never trust a traitor.
Merthal turned his eyes up. “Captain Rotan. As the Celestial Wind is preoccupied, I am linking all command protocols to the Saperiah. You are in command now. Any and all communications will be sent to you.”
The green and black Stelkan worked his controls. “We have confirmed command, Admiral. The Saperiah is now the flagcraft.”
Merthal started signing off, but thought of something else.
Prime Alpha (Planetary Powers Book 1) Page 52