“One last thing,” Merthal said, gently rubbing the wrinkles under his ear with the flat of his claw. “Send for reinforcements. Sub-admiral Kotu should still be on standby in the Haitus System. Our reserves can be here within the hour for the cleanup.”
Captain Rotan perked up, expectantly. “We have permission to engage, then?”
Merthal's expression remained cold.
“Erase them,” he ordered. “And when you're finished, destroy the starshield. And every ship therein.”
Rotan's green scales ruffled in anticipation as the phantom communicator broke up and the hologram dissolved. Merthal brushed it aside and let his aide pick it up as he watched the war table display the Human battle group position for the jump to lightspace. Which they were already in. Merthal sighed, whistling through his nose.
Never trust a traitor.
The image on the cracked war table shimmered as, in the blink of an eye, the entire Human battle group shot from the edge of the system to just a few miles from the station, weapons already spinning up.
Merthal shut down the war table as the station began to rumble with distant explosions.
Chapter 44
Helen and Doc could only stare at the pile of smoldering, contorted, charcoal figures that had once been living Humans.
They had detoured through the barracks to find survivors to rally on their way to Central Command. The smell of charred bones, melted flesh and metallic slugs had led them to the troop barrack's rinse room. The floor outside the jet-shower tubes was slick with water, blood, guts, and other unmentionable smells. The corpses wore Infantry uniforms, undershirts, and sleeping attire. Not a single ballistic vest or armored combat uniform on anyone. No amount of washing would ever remove this stain from the station.
The bodies had been unceremoniously piled against the rinse room wall. There was no way of telling whether they had been dead at the time the Yew had begun their... target practice. Hundreds of blast caps from slugfests littered the floor, while the wall was decorated with bullet holes and energy boils. The evidence around the two ESC’s pointed to a very large and prolonged outpouring of fire; one to which the Humans had not contributed. Most of the corpses were twisted and unrecognizable. Bodies were literally fused together from the sheer amount of raw power that had been emptied into them via cell blasters. The floor of the rinse room had a thin carpet of depleted cells that cracked under the boots of the ESCs. Helen had gone mute when she’d first laid eyes on the scene, and even after looking at everything for a full minute, she had no idea what to say. Well, almost no idea.
“Those aliens are going to burn for this,” she growled, fists clenched at her sides. “Burn long and hard. I swear.”
Doc didn’t respond to her words, simply going from corpse to corpse and trying to apply some level of dignity while emotions surged within. Helen motioned down the hallway with her Casper.
“Doc, I’m sorry, but we don’t have time to give the dead the respect they deserve. We’ll be back, though. I promise.”
Doc responded grimly. “What gives you the idea we’ll be coming back?”
Helen started to speak, then shook her head.
“Would you rather grieve over the dead or fight for the living?”
A shot ricocheted off a wall somewhere down the corridor. Doc instantly picked out the origin of the shots. Several more shots were fired, making Helen and Doc instinctively take cover near the center stalls, looking toward the rinse room doorway. Helen turned to Doc, looking intense.
“Those were assault rifle rounds,” she said, her ears straining to hear more. Doc nodded.
“Yes. Probably some guy scared half out of his mind, firing at the first thing that moves.” Doc furrowed his brow as he continued. “But on the other hand…”
The distant sounds of crackling blasters, and the shouting of alien tongues echoed back to them.
Helen bolted for the door. Doc started after her, reaching out.
“Helenade, wait up!”
“No time to wait up!” Helen snapped over her shoulder. “And don't call me Helenade!”
Helen dashed out the door and swung right, toward the sound of gunfire. Doc followed behind, checking over his shoulder as they ran. No more gunshots sounded, but there were a few heated spits from cell blasters, and they were getting closer. The two ESCs dashed from the troop barracks to the administrative officer stations, leaving the tight, spartan corridors behind in favor of wide waiting chambers and cushioned benches. Finally, after slowing down to scan the environment, Helen stopped at a corner, grabbing Doc as he caught up and pushing him against the wall. Just around the corner, in the foyer to the custom's station, several voices chattered angrily in Vor. There was a loud zap and a whine of heated metal, followed by an alien curse. Helen just barely stuck her head around the corner and pulled back. She closed her eyes, muttering under her breath. Doc tried to edge closer to take a look, but Helen pushed him back.
“What is it?” he asked, quietly.
Helen opened her eyes. “Advanced assault squad, from the carrier. Nine Vorch.”
They heard another cell blaster zap, another swear.
“They're trying to get into a barricaded office,” she said, reaching up and twisting the hair-tie holding her long hair up. “I'm guessing by the shots we heard, there's someone inside.”
Doc clicked the safety off his Casper and squeezed the handgrip. “Alright, let's take them now, while their backs are turned.”
Helen turned to Doc and smiled with a fierce look in her eye. “Nine Vorch in full battle alloy armor against submachine gun ammo? Good luck downing them all.”
Helen pulled the hair-tie out and shook her hair loose, letting it dump across her shoulders as she took a deep breath and handed her Casper over to Doc. “Hold this for me.”
Doc took the submachine gun in confusion as Helen reached into her white and black uniform. The medic looked at the warrior with a frown, then hefted the Casper's grip into his hand.
“I got a plan. Let's go-”
“Oh,” Helen said, as if something just occurred to her. “One second. Hold that thought.”
Before Doc could say anything more, Helen ducked low next to the corner and skipped an ESC breaching charge across the polished floor. A second later, the charge went off with its distinctive blast, and the frustrated Vorch voices screamed in surprise. Doc blinked in alarm as Helen leaped to her feet and disappeared unexpectedly around the corner, with her pistol and knife in hand.
“Let's dance, scum suckers!”
Doc scrambled to his feet, swearing at his own slowness as multiple gunshots and blaster zaps pounded the air. Doc swung his double Caspers into firing positions and came around the corner, simultaneously bracing himself not to hit Helen as he opened fire on the Vorch. Except he didn't need to.
The last shock trooper hit the deck a heartbeat before Doc got his Caspers up. Helen stood in the middle of the breaching charge's small crater, with a cloud of hot debris settling around her. Her hair was curving down her back like a slipstream. The Monenite warrior looked like she'd just launched from the heavens and killed everything around where she'd landed. Her Denchura was entirely depleted and smoking, and her combat knife was broken off in one warrior’s faceplate. Helen looked to her left, then to her right, then slowly relaxed her fighting posture, clearing her throat and looking toward the medic.
“Sorry. You were saying?”
Doc shook his head, vehemently. “Nothing.”
Helen shrugged, looked down at the defeated Vorch, and then banged twice on the energy-boiled door with the butt of her pistol.
“Hey!” she called, dumping her broken knife hilt on the floor. “You can come out now, whoever's in there.”
No response. Doc walked up to the door and handed a Casper to Helen before knocking on the metal door.
“Anyone there?” the medic called.
“No!” someone shouted. “Now shove off!”
Doc sighed and leaned against
the wall. “It’s okay, they're all dead. It’s safe to come out.”
A long pause ensued. Helen and Doc could hear voices mumbling inside.
“I can only do so much,” Helen said, loudly. “I can't kill them again.”
Silence from the other side. Then, after a moment, something rattled the door from the inside.
“We've got grenades,” a muffled voice stated. “If there's Vorch out there, we'll use them.”
A second passed, then the damaged door disengaged its locks. It took a little coaxing, but after a second the metal door slid aside, mechanics groaning in distress. At first, looking into the darkened room, the ESCs saw nothing. Just a load of data storage banks and a few administrative desks that had been turned over as cover. Helen darted her eyes to Doc and back at the room.
“It’s clear,” she announced. “Come out.”
A second later, the muzzle of a Coyote peered over the edge of the barricade, followed shortly by an infantry helmet and goggles. Doc waved, to show they were friendly, and alone. After a second's pause, the man looked over his shoulder.
“Looks good,” the soldier said.
From behind the overturned desks, one other soldier stood up pushing his goggles up to take in the newcomers. The soldier sneered with the contempt of a cat who had seen a dog.
“Oh great,” he said. “White Sun. As if the Yew weren't bad enough.”
Helen casually held her opposite arm, letting her Casper dangle downwards.
“As the one who pulled your bacon out of the fire, I expect more gratitude from now on.” Helen turned her eyes to the right, staring through the doorframe. “And are you going to just stand there clutching that grenade all day or are you going to come out and say hello?”
A hand appeared from around the corner, holding a grenade as non-threateningly as one could manage. The holder came out into sight, glancing over Helen and Doc to check the space beyond for Vorch. When he saw them splayed all across the floor, he relaxed a bit. The man was in a soldier’s uniform, but his helmet and goggles were missing, and a bloody bandage was unprofessionally wrapped around his leg, just above the knee. After a second, the soldier spoke.
“You guys with us, or with them?” he said in a guarded tone.
“We're paramilitary,” answered Doc. “Under contract to Orbit Angel for the duration of a training exercise.”
The soldier scoffed. “We sure aren't training now.”
“Clearly not,” Doc said, eyeing the soldier's hand. “This conversation might be a little less awkward if you put that grenade away.”
“Yeah, well, forgive me. I’ve had a long day,” the soldier jerked his head to the bloody bandage around his leg, “ 'Training', you know?”
Doc tried to break the tension. “That looks bad,” he said, nodding to the poorly-bandaged leg wound. “I'm a medic, so-you-know.”
“Good for you.” The soldier lowered his grenade and stood aside. “Fine. Paramilitary, huh? Well, whatever. Doesn't make any difference now.”
Doc stepped toward the soldier, but the man stopped him and jerked a thumb behind him.
“I’m fine. I’ve got a few friends you might want to look at though.”
The soldier turned and limped several steps into the room. Doc swept inside and immediately picked out two men who were slumped against the wall out of line of fire from the door, wrapped in makeshift bandages over various injuries. The grenade soldier tossed his explosive from one hand to the other and turned to his friend behind the barricade.
“We got any medipacks left?”
The soldier shook his head, grimly. “Nah, man. Smitty had the last of 'em when he got spiked at the barracks.”
The grenade soldier turned to Doc. “Got anything with you?”
Doc responded by unbuttoning his uniform and pulling one side open, revealing rows of pockets and slots filled with medical field supplies. The grenade soldier said nothing more, and allowed Doc to get to work on his friends. As he did, Helen moved just inside the room and stopped.
“Okay, let’s talk.”
The soldier cast her an amused look. “Let me guess… You’re the nurse.”
“No,” Helen shot back, flatly. “I put bullets in people, I don't take them out.”
“I believe you,” concluded the soldier. “Alright, if we're going to survive this, I don't mind making friends with a few mercs. Private Sean Rey, Orbit Angel active troop division.” Sean nodded to the two men who had first emerged from behind the barricade. “Private Doug Philmore, Private March Jerol.” Sean turned his introductions to the two wounded soldiers against the wall. “Charles, and Levan.”
Helen looked the sorry group over. “This is everyone you have?”
Sean nodded, unhappily. “Trust me, I wish there were more.”
“We heard their blasters before we saw them,” explained March, stepping out from behind his barricade. “We tried to regroup, but we got backed into this corner.”
“There's no one left to regroup with here,” Helen said. “Everyone's dead except for you.”
“Well spit,” swore Doug, staying behind his barricade. “Then we're screwed.”
“Ah, crap,” muttered Doc, interrupting the moment. He was examining a slugfest injury in one of the wounded soldier’s arms. “I can see the slug in there. Looks like it split the bone. If I don’t get it out, I can’t properly bandage this wound. And it sure won’t heal right.”
Helen looked around the room. “Well, gentlemen, unless you'd rather sit here and wait to bleed out, we were just taking a stroll down to Central Command.”
“Heck yeah,” Private Doug said, hopping over his barricade. “I ain't staying here.”
“Alright, guess I'm in,” shrugged March.
Sean held up a hand. “No, wait a sec. We don't know these people. I heard there were Humans helping the Yew. How do we know we can trust them?”
“I'm sorry,” Helen said. “I couldn't hear you over the sound that my new Vorch skin rug was making.”
The Monenite warrior turned and walked out of the room, hair swaying against her back. Sean stared at the door for a moment, then turned to his friends.
“Uhm...” he started.
“Dibs on first date,” said Private Doug, acting fast.
A few minutes later, the infantrymen emerged from the room carrying their gear and their wounded comrades. Doc had private Levon on one shoulder, trying to carry his Casper in his other. Helen was waiting at the entrance to the corridor, standing guard with her Casper. When the men approached, she looked up.
“Any idea how many others might have made it?” she asked. Sean, who was bringing up the rear like he was herding his comrades with a removable leg, shook his head.
“Our radios went down just before the attack,” he said. “Last I heard, Third squad and Seventh squad were almost to Central Command.”
“Sounds like that's where most of the Yew boarding teams were headed,” Doc said. “We have to assume there's heavy fighting where we're going.”
“Right,” Helen said, motioning to the five infantrymen. “Be ready.”
Chapter 45
The group moved on slowly due to the wounded, but the infantrymen seemed comforted by their slight boost in numbers. Helen remained silent, covering each turn and flickering shadow with her submachine gun. After encountering the forward assault team of Vorch, the ESCs at least were expecting to encounter more heavy resistance the closer they got to Central Command.
Five minutes into their uneventful walk, they began to worry.
Oddly enough, no gunshots or energy discharges could be heard echoing against the walls. There were no screams, no shouts... no sounds of any kind aside from the pulse of the station's air cyclers. The silence bothered Helen, considering how close they were to what was supposedly the heart of the conflict.
Several minutes passed in eerie silence while the group of seven simply trooped along, watching very carefully for any sign of danger. After a time, Helen reached a part
icular corner and stopped. Doc crutched up beside her with Private Levan still leaning on his shoulder.
“What's wrong?”
“That's weird,” she muttered, concernedly. “I thought I heard something... whistling.”
Helen turned down the hallway, looking for any sign of danger as she listened.
Private Doug frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t hear anything…”
“What's it matter?” groaned private Levan, breathing too loudly into Doc's ear. “If it’s quiet, then that means the coast is clear.”
“Or it means the Yew finished killing everyone and waiting to ambush us,” Private March said, in reprimand. “Didn't think about that, did you?”
“No, I was thinking, 'Good God, I wish I could dig this metal slug out of my bone.' Can we get moving?”
Doc grunted and lifted Levan's arms off his shoulder, handing the private off to his able-bodied comrades. The Alpha medic moved up to the co-commander's side, cautiously.
“Helen?” he whispered.
“It’s so quiet,” Helen murmured to herself, squinting down the corridor. “Why is everything so quiet?”
Doc shifted his grip on his Casper, feeling edgy. “You think they're waiting for us.”
Helen shook her head. “I think they're dead.”
Doc looked over at the proud Monenite warrior. After seeing her plunge headfirst into a crowd of aggressive, resilient aliens, it was hard to imagine why she was hesitating. The look on her face said she couldn't explain it herself, either. After a second, Helen blinked and shook her head.
“Let's move,” she said. “CC's up ahead.”
The group continued on, uncomfortably haunted by the silence. It kept everyone on edge. Finally, they reached the last turn which led to the Orbit Angel's Central Command.
That's where the first body was.
Doc, who was in the lead, stopped and nudged the body of the Flog with the toe of his boot. The small, wolf-rodent alien was stone cold dead. Its mouth was open, tongue lolled out past its teeth. It was lying on its side, with its cell blaster nearby. Its eyes were open, staring wide as though it had seen something surprising before it had died. The others stopped behind the medic as Doc looked up and down the hallway. He moved several meters to his right, where two more Flog corpses lay. The medic scratched his head, pondering.
Prime Alpha (Planetary Powers Book 1) Page 53