Without another word, the limber stealth expert slithered into the hatch, disappearing into the utter blackness. Nathen looked down the hallway for a moment, then sighed and began carefully lowering his injured leg into the hatch.
“He's not serious, is he?” Calico said, leaning over Nathen's shoulder and peering into the cramped hatch.
“He's not claustrophobic, that's for sure,” Nathen said, finally letting himself drop all the way in. He hit the narrow walkway a few feet down, grunting as pain shot up his leg. A moment later, Calico followed, landing nimbly. Jonathan waited impatiently nearby, arms crossed.
“I know you're a cripple,” he said, tilting his head in a 'tsk' motion. “But is that really the fastest you can move?”
Nathen ignored the jab. “I appreciate your concern. Which way to CC?”
Jonathan, almost completely invisible in the darkness, came close and pointed to the commander's right.
“That way,” he said. “While I'd normally say keep the lights out to avoid blowing your cover, I already know that's not going to happen, so...”
Nathen saw Jonathan reach something out to him. He took the round, discus-shaped object and palmed it on. The maintenance walkway flickered with a green organic glow. Jonathan handed one to Calico, as well, and the young speaker looked at the object with confusion.
“Bio-luminescent badges,” Nathen explained as he clipped it onto his uniform over his heart, feeling it pulse with each heartbeat. “Sktish tech. Powered by bio energy, for underwater ops. Good stuff.”
“It'll get the job done,” Jonathan said, snarkily. “Personally, I don't trust something that was designed to leech your body heat for power.”
Calico clipped hers onto her lapel, bypassing her oversized body armor, and pressed her palm against it. The badge glowed to warm green life under her touch, light peering through her fingers, helping to illuminate her surroundings for several meters.
“Weird,” she said, childishly fascinated.
Jonathan looked back to Nathen. “You've got light, and you've got direction. I've done all I can. Except for this.”
Jonathan raised a hand. Nathen looked at the black-gloved hand hovering in front of him, then took it in a firm handshake. Nathen offered a weak smirk to his stealth expert.
“If we ever see each other again,” he said. “I'll be very surprised.”
Harper uttered a low chuckle. “You can't get rid of me that easily.”
Nathen nodded, staring into the alien alloy at the ex-convict. “Good luck.”
When Nathen let go of the handshake, it was like releasing a hawk into the air. Without a word, and without a sound, Jonathan Harper turned and melded into the darkness, disappearing like a cloud of steam. Sometimes he wondered if Jonathan was supernatural in his apparent powers over darkness. He wasn't sure what would be scarier for the enemy - if he was just that good, or if he was truly a Fiend.
The ESC turned in the direction the stealthist had indicated. Hollow echoes sounded from far away, but the engineering decks were cold and still. With the main power out, nothing was functioning down here, which was probably the only way he and Calico were going to reach Central Command. Calico, adjusting her light badge on her collar, walked up on Nathen's right.
“Alright,” she said, taking a deep breath. “No offense sir, but I think I'd better take point.”
Nathen closed his eyes and nodded, resignedly. “Agreed. Just keep your ears open.”
Calico nodded, red bangs covering half her face like a veil as she looked ahead, lifting her pistol. “Affirmative.”
She walked into the dark, twisted mass of pipes and wires, head gently scanning from side to side as the shadows withdrew before the glow of her badge. Nathen let her get a few yards away, then let out a hissing sigh and leaned against the wall, cringing.
His leg felt like it was on fire.
He had to keep telling himself he could walk. It wasn't bad, it was just painful. Energy bolts were clean, but agonizing to the nervous system. Nathen wanted to stop and use the patch kit Fiend had lent him, but he couldn't take anything that would slow his thinking. Not right now. He could walk. It was just pain.
God, was it pain.
“Sir?”
Nathen opened his eyes. Calico was standing several yards away, looking back at him past her readied pistol.
“Don't fall behind.”
She jerked her head in a 'come on' gesture and headed off again. Nathen took one last, deep breath. When he let it out, the pain was under control. Leaving his Coyote and Denchura holstered, Nathen reached behind his back and wrapped his hand around Gordon's exotic Karl 9. He brought the gun out and locked the hammer forward with a satisfying crunch. Then, without further hesitation, Nathen advanced on the darkness.
***
The monumental Saperiah dreadcraft sat over the even larger starshield like an idle dragon guarding its horde.
The battle had been going on for half an hour, and the supreme dreadcraft had not so much as fired a shot. Ships were dancing and burning brighter than stars while lances of light chased starfighters through the black with winking explosions. Captain Rotan was growing restless.
When considering brawn, the Saperiah was more than a match for all the ships the Humans had brought. The powerful dreadcraft was designed to overcome the numerical superiority of the enemy. The whole circular 'eye' design gave the craft no real flanks, and a massive range of fire on all directions. Its rotating mantle of heavy hyperblasters kept the enemy from focusing fire on any one point, while also keeping up to half its charged guns on target at once. Nightmare-class dreadcraft, like the Saperiah, had a reputation for entering into battle with five to one numbers stacked against them and never even letting a shot past the mantle. A single Nightmare could absorb a punishing amount of damage under the command of an experienced captain.
Which was why it was so difficult to stay put.
The gritty, green-scaled Stelkan captain whistled out a sigh. He'd kept the Saperiah in reserve, to hold the hundreds of ships locked in dock at the starshield 'hostage'. The rest of the Yew craft had gone forth to slaughter the Humans. Not the most efficient tactic, but a guaranteed victory. There was just one problem. The Humans weren't being slaughtered.
Rotan grimaced as he watched the battle unfold on the war helm. He was still analyzing these new Human ships. Their appearance had been as unexpected as it was pleasing to the veteran war captain. Official data suggested that the Humans didn't even have a fleet worth engaging; certainly not after their defeat at Navpoint. But this proved the Humans weren't just recovering. They were improving. Rotan had been delighted to be the first to test them, and defeat them.
With each passing second, his attitude was changing. At first, his reaction toward the new, improved Human fleet had one been of respect. He admired that the Humans, as weak as they were, would try to imitate the power of the Yew Alliance in a sort of petty salute to their superiors. A sign that they would fight, and Rotan respected that on some level. It would be a good victory. But now, as the minutes ticked by, and casualties slowly mounted on both sides, Rotan's attitude grew darker and angrier as the battle mocked him, refusing to just end.
The Humans were supposed to fight well. They weren't supposed to have a chance at winning.
And that was what had Rotan baffled the most. The Humans weren't exactly getting slaughtered—their armor stood up a lot better than he'd anticipated—but they were still losing ships. Rotan's fleet had crippled five frigates and disabled the destroyer that enemy chatter identified as 'Colossus', as well as destroyed multiple sub-frigate Stormbolt torpedo boats, and an ever-growing tally of strike craft. His starcraft were bleeding the Human starships silly across the sky.
And yet they just. Would. Not. Die.
Rotan rolled his claws against each other, working every angle in his mind. It didn't make sense. The Alliance was still obviously superior. Their weapons were better, their armor was stronger, and their engines were more pow
erful. And yet the Humans wore them down, ganging up on Yew craft in carefully orchestrated ambushes, ignoring damage and losses. It was almost like… fighting the War Hive. The Human ships were disregarding the tactics of proper distance engagement and closing in to virtually point-blank range, crowding and cramping Rotan's constellations. The Human's own flagship super carrier had flat out rammed Rotan's best destroyer, the Darthen Project, to death! The massive carrier was now manually docking with the station's upper scaffold, balancing out the image with the Celestial Wind still docked against the bottom scaffold. Rotan briefly wondered what Second Admiral Merthal would make of all this when he returned, then promptly returned to the thoughts of killing Humans.
Who just. Would. Not. Die.
The battle was still in hand. But the situation dictated that Rotan change tactics.
“Battle manager,” he cawed, fluttering his black wings. “Send word to the fleet. Withdraw to the starshield. We're on the defensive.”
The Stelkan captain flinched, angrily. He couldn't believe the words coming out of his beak. The Humans were putting him on the defensive. He could accept being withdrawn against a proper enemy. The War Hive was often relentless and powerful, and harshly unforgiving. But this? This was just disgraceful. Rotan opened his eyes and tried to relax his twitching wings as the fleet starting drawing the Humans toward the new battle zone. One of the enemy assault frigates charged in, trying to scatter the organized Yew withdrawal. A blip on the war helm changed, indicating the Saperiah had an enemy in range of its long-distance weapons. Rotan's eyes glinted in a deathly glare.
“Target inbound,” he snapped, grinning inwardly. “Lock and fire on my command.” A pause. “Fire.”
The Saperiah opened fire and obliterated the Human frigate's frontal hull. A huge cloud of fire and debris expanded in front of the craft. The war helm registered a direct hit. Several seconds passed. Then the cloud cleared. The frigate was drifting, cold, dark, silent. But still intact. Rotan stared at the ravaged hulk that should have been so much metallic powder.
The Humans. Just. Would. Not. Die.
The rest of the Human battle group throttled in, swarming with fighter squadrons and corvettes, bombarding the constellation with torpedoes, chasing the Yew fleet back to their defensive positions, not giving them a moment to breathe even as the Alliance craft continued to bruise and bloody their noses. Even beasts knew to pull back when it hurt. Rotan scowled darkly as the war helm started highlighting targets within range.
“Fire at your discretion,” Rotan said, crossing his claws. “And do not stop until they are all dead.”
The Stelkan captain leaned back as the Saperiah activated its engines, finally coaxed into battle as the rest of the Yew craft took up support positions around its mantle.
Perhaps they had underestimated the Humans after all.
Chapter 49
The Orbit Angel, which had rattled with small arms fire and the sound of resistance, had fallen silent.
The upper section of the station was occupied by Yew boarding teams as they secured hard points, while the lower section of the station writhed with reinforcements. Human resistance had dwindled to next to nothing. The defiant sound of Coyotes and Caspers had stopped long ago. Now virtually all that could be heard in the lower station was the march of boots and the occasional alien tongue.
The Yew were systematically and efficiently sweeping the station on four fronts, spiraling in deck by deck. The four spearheads started at the outer edges and worked their way inward until they met up at the central axis, set up a foothold, and moved on to the next deck. So far, it had gone without a hitch. The primary goal was to take Central Command, which was squarely between Deck 15 and Deck 16. Currently sweeping Deck 11, heading for the central lifts, was War Prince Sylzoi, and his troop compliment of two hundred soldiers.
The Vorch was not reckless, nor a coward, leading his troops from the center of the formation. As it stood, Sylzoi's troops had made a hard push and were well ahead of the other spearheads, even General Scizzor’s progress. On top of that, they'd met with little resistance, and taken minimal casualties. Sylzoi ran his troops with crack discipline, and they advanced down the hallway, Flogs in rows of six, Vorch in squads of four, and Golos in pairs. As if it wasn't overkill enough, Sylzoi had several Flog-operated microtanks, which were just small enough to move through the station corridors and still have room to bring their blaster cannons to bear. The hum of their repulsors clashed with the station's artificial gravity, but the small, mountable armor was still nimble. Several Stelkans were riding on the backs of the microtanks, manning the top-mounted Z-Techs while the Flogs drove from inside. Even though it was just light armor, it was going to be five times more effective than anything that stood in their way.
The central axis was just ahead, and there was still no sign of resistance, or the other spearheads. At this point, Sylzoi reflected, it was just a practice march until they reached Central Command and waited for the other spearheads. If there had been any resistance to be found in the Humans, they would have counter attacked by now, and stopped them. The fight, as it was, had been taken completely out of the Human resist-
Sylzoi’s forward vanguard vanished in a flash as an explosion tore six Flogs to shreds.
The War Prince came to a sudden stop as the deck shook under the blast. There were alarmed exclamations from the forward troops as they dropped into defensive positions, so they could shoot past each other’s shoulders. The thick debris cloud from the explosion filled the corridor, just before it opened up into the central axis hub. Sylzoi scowled, powering on his wrist rifle and raising it up to his eye.
“Hold fast!” he roared, bringing the brief chaos under control. He switched on his phantom sights and used the holographic magnification in his eye to scan the front of his formations. That had been a Halberd mine, he told himself. Directional explosive. It had torn his six-Flog vanguard apart, and their ripped bodies now lay on the deck under the slowly dispersing cloud of debris as the low-powered emergency lights flickered.
A trap, he thought to himself, still scanning with his zoomed phantom sights. Likely left behind to slow us down. I should have suspected. It was reckless to-
Sylzoi stopped as his phantom sights flickered over something; a distorted image. The debris cloud was dispersing, slowly thinning or being pumped away. But there was something standing where it had been.
And it was big.
The War Prince lowered his phantom sights and blinked, making sure he wasn't seeing things. Standing over the bodies of his Flog vanguard was a towering, seven-foot tall alien. Sylzoi hesitated to call it Human, because it seemed to be entirely made up of guns, ammo, and armor. And it was blue, on top of everything else. Some of Sylzoi’s troops wore blue battle armor, but this thing didn't look like it was wearing armor. Like it was carved out of it, made of armor. For a moment, everyone just stared, trying to make heads or tails of this strange newcomer. Then, slowly, it tilted its head back, glaring at them with a smooth, faceless expression that sent a chill running down Sylzoi’s spine.
“King of the hill?” the avatar of war said.
Its massive, almost Golo-sized arms sprang up, and everyone saw too late the double thirty-caliber machine guns the alien was wielding. Sylzoi’s eyes widened as he threw himself on the deck.
“Cover!” he screamed, but no one heard him. The only thing anyone heard was the ripping scream of bullets from the double machines guns chopping apart flesh and armor.
It should have ended after a second. Sylzoi’s troops would have cut down the alien before he could get a second breath out. Except virtually all of his soldiers were dead before they could retaliate. Practically the second after the War Prince hit the deck, so did half his forward troops, either dead or wishing they were dead as they clutched at sucking bullet wounds, holding back their precious black, green, and red life blood. The attack was so fast, so brutal, so incredible, that in the five seconds of continuous fire, more than fifty Vor
ch, Flogs, Stelkans, and Golos were taken down.
Compared to the ease and perfect dominance thus far, this sudden turn of bloodshed terrified Sylzoi.
There was a heavy clang against the deck, and the War Prince risked raising his helmeted head. He found himself staring straight into the bottom braceplate of an armored assault shield. Sylzoi rose to one knee, but was unable to stand any further due to the Golo standing over him, bracing the shield and protecting the War Prince. The Golo soldier looked down, sporting a thirty-caliber bullet wound in its chest and two more in its arm. The heavy, horned alien breathed out in pain and looked down at Sylzoi.
“What... now?” the oversized trooper said concernedly in broken Yew Alliance Common, bullets pounding away at the armor plating. The muscle-bound creature flinched as a bullet pinged off the shield next to its head. Sylzoi scowled, mind racing, panicked at the absolute massacre of his forces. Most of his surviving troops had fallen back quickly, either taking cover around the previous corridor, or setting up staggered assault shields as they zapped away from behind armor with cell blasters and wrist rifles. The War Prince estimated that at least a quarter of his two hundred troops lay dead in less than thirty seconds, plus more wounded. After a second of thinking under fire, the War Prince looked back past the wounded Golo and whistled shrilly through his canines.
“Armor!” he called, fiercely. “Clear the path!”
Targets ceased presenting themselves to the big blue alien dressed in lethal weaponry. Sylzoi heard a few pained grunts and gunshots, followed by squelches as the deathbringer stood over his wounded victims and finished them off, one by one, daring someone to come out and stop him. Finally, someone did.
There was a rev of repulsors down the hallway. The blue alien looked up, lifting his machinegun arms and bracing his massive body for the next challenge.
Prime Alpha (Planetary Powers Book 1) Page 57