by Jay Allan
And one that was far, far worse.
* * *
“Raptor…the flagship’s comm is down.”
Stockton jerked his head toward the comm unit, an instinctive reaction that served no real purpose. He’d been focused on selecting targets, directing the disordered clusters of fighters that had once been his splendidly-organized wings toward the places they could do the most good. He’d mostly ignored the comm chatter going back and forth, but this was Olya Federov, and he took everything Lynx had to say deadly seriously.
He flipped a series of switches, trying to raise Repulse. Nothing. Lynx was right…the flagship was off the air.
That can’t be good…
He turned toward his scanner, changing the setting from the enemy ships nearby to Repulse. It didn’t take more than a few seconds to confirm that the flagship had taken some kind of damage. Stockton’s first guess was it was bad.
And there were two enemy ships heading toward her…one of which had fired the deadly shot…
His hand jerked back onto the controls, firing up his thrusters and angling his vector back toward Repulse as he spoke into the comm unit. “All fighters within fifty thousand kilometers of my position…lock on and follow me. We’ve got two enemy ships moving in on the flagship, and the commodore needs our help.”
He pulled back hard, firing the engines at close to maximum thrust. He knew he’d have a better chance to organize a meaningful strike if he waited, organized the ships that would be following him in…but there just wasn’t time. He was barely going to make it as it was.
Getting there was going to burn up most of the fuel he had left. If he got there in time to save Repulse, he and his pilots were going to have to manage some kind of landing under combat conditions. If they didn’t save the flagship, they’d all be screwed…out of fuel and flying off into deep space, without any real hope of rescue.
He glanced down at his screen, watching as fifty or more of his ships began to change vectors, no more than half of them within the range he’d specified. He was far from sure most of them could make it before the enemy finished off Repulse, but he let them come anyway. The fleet had fought hard and inflicted more damage on the enemy than he’d dared to hope, but it was still as hopeless as it had been at the start. And things were getting close to the end. Even without the mad dash back toward Repulse, his squadrons didn’t have much time left.
Might as well end on a glorious note…
His eyes narrowed, focusing on his target, the nearest of the two enemy ships. Both vessels were damaged, but they weren’t outright crippled like most of the ones Stockton had sent his people after. He wasn’t even sure laser attacks from his birds could do enough damage to take them down, no matter how well targeted and executed. But he had to try.
He was staring at the screen when the lead ship fired again…another hit. This one wasn’t critical, he was almost sure of that as he watched the data coming in, but getting blasted again and again wasn’t going to help whatever damage control efforts were underway on Repulse.
He pulled the throttle the rest of the way back, his face twisted as the g-forces slammed into him. He’d get there with even less fuel than he’d expected…but he’d get there maybe a minute faster.
From what he could see, that minute could make all the difference.
Hang on, Commodore…we’re coming.
We’re coming…
Chapter Twenty-Five
Service Road A212
Troyus City, Planet Megara, Olyus III
Year 316 AC
“If our information is correct, the convoy should be here in the next few minutes.” Andi spoke softly into her comm unit, crouched down below a large transformer box along the side of the deserted service artery. Troyus City had been built from reclaimed swampland as the Confederation’s capital eighty years before, and no effort was spared to maintain its grandeur and beauty. But a large city—and Troyus’s population exceeded ten million—required massive amounts of freight and maintenance, everything from delivery trucks to refuse collection. Unlike cities that were centuries old, or even millennia, those who built Troyus had planned for all of this. There was a maze of service roads and passageways underground, and a network running on the surface between the blocks of buildings, hidden from the view of those on the public streets and in the many parks.
“We’re all set, Andi.” Jon Peterson’s voice was steady—mostly—but she thought she could hear something else there. It wasn’t weakness or fear, not in the veteran Marine colonel. Hesitation? She didn’t have a doubt Peterson was one hundred percent onboard with the plan, but she didn’t kid herself how difficult it had to be for the career Marine to launch an attack on other Confederation troops. They could call it a rescue all they wanted…it was also an attack.
That was tough to handle, even if all their people were armed with stun guns and non-lethal ordnance. They had deadly weapons, too, in case they were needed.
Andi, Vig, and the rest of her people waiting along a similar road, one leading out to the main network and to the spaceport. They were keeping an eye out for any problems on the route to the spaceport. It was the fastest way to take a prisoner to a waiting spaceship, and every bit of information Ethan Zacker had been able to obtain—from his shockingly wide net of intelligence sources—confirmed that Holsten would be brought this way…at this very time.
It had taken several hours to get her people in place. She’d brought them in a few at a time, working with Colonel Peterson to select their positions. If the convoy guards saw anything, smelled anything, suspected anything…the desperate rescue was doomed to failure. As it was, she was counting on the jamming Atara Travis was ready to provide to prevent the guards from calling for help. She’d didn’t have a doubt that the entire operation to bring Holsten to the spaceport was heavily monitored, that even with every safeguard she had in place, her people would have no more than a few minutes before an alert was sounded and half the military forces in Troyus City surrounded them all. Hell, Dauntless activating its jammers at full power would put the whole city into an uproar. She could just hope that the confusion lasted long enough for her to get the job done.
She didn’t like the idea of dying under any circumstances, but for all her past years on the fringe of outlawry, she found the idea of being executed as a traitor to be a very unpleasant end.
Then don’t screw up…you can do this…
She told herself that, and she tried to believe it, but she wasn’t sure. It had all sounded better on the drawing board, but now, crouched down in the damp predawn air, it seemed nearly impossible.
She reached down and pulled up the assault rifle she’d set down against the wall behind her. It was a real gun, but it was loaded with ammunition designed for dispersing mobs. By all accounts, the shots were painful, but they were unlikely to kill anyone.
Her hand slipped down to the ammo strap looped over her shoulder. She had half a dozen cartridges there, three more filled with the non-lethal slugs…and three loaded with deadly, armor-piercing rounds. She didn’t want to kill any Confederation personnel, and she was prepared to do anything she could to prevent that from happening. But if the guards were too heavily armored for the stun rounds to affect, or if something else went wrong…well, she’d have to make a decision then, and she and the Marines were ready for whatever that might be.
I don’t even know if these Marines would obey an order to switch to lethal ordnance…assuming I could give it.
She was still thinking about the situation, wrestling with her concerns, when she heard something. The sounds of vehicles approaching. She took a deep breath and tried to steady herself. Even as she did, her thoughts wandered, to a different group of Marines, waiting at another location. She felt she should have been there, too…no, she knew she should have. But Bryan Rogan had convinced her to go with the team rescuing Gary Holsten. Every man and woman in Rogan’s hand-picked group was a combat veteran of five years or more. The force was small,
but it was tightly organized, and however good she thought she was, she’d realized she would be a disordering factor. It was Rogan’s final point that had gotten to her…any slipup could cause the mission to fail, or even get Barron killed.
The words had struck at her deeply, and she thought about just how crazy the whole mission was to begin with, and how difficult it was going to be for Rogan’s people to get into the Senate’s holding facility and get out with Barron. None of that changed her determination to proceed, but she could feel the tension, the fear, in a way she hadn’t before…another gift from Ricard Lille.
Another reason to kill the bastard…as soon as I’m done here.
“All right, Jon…we’ve definitely got multiple vehicles coming, and at this hour I have to believe it’s what we’re waiting for.”
“We’re ready, Andi. Good luck to you.”
“Good luck to you, too.”
Her hands tightened around the rifle, and her legs tensed up, ready to spring forward.
Ready to do what had to be done.
Then her scanner went crazy, the neatly displayed dots representing the Marines and the small ovals standing in for the approaching transports vanishing in a storm of static.
Dauntless had begun jamming.
It was time.
* * *
Rogan reached out, his fingers slipping under the guard’s helmet, jerking upward—and trying to hold back, to keep himself from breaking the man’s neck as he slipped the stun rod in and shoved it against the exposed flesh of the soldier’s neck. Rogan had been a Marine for a long time, but this was his first actual operation where the rules of engagement called for only non-lethal force. He agreed with Andi’s instructions…the Senate was wrong to imprison the admiral, they were all sure of that. But the guards, or most of them were simply following orders. They were comrades of a sort, and while his Marines might look at them as less capable warriors, even as useless Senate lapdogs, the idea of actually killing any of them was horrifying.
The man let out a short yell, but only for a second or less. Then his body went limp, and he slipped to the ground, Rogan supporting him as he fell, trying both to minimize any injuries…and any noise.
Even as he was straightening up, Marines were racing past him, moving swiftly and quietly down the corridor. Andi’s ally from Confederation Intelligence had managed, somehow, to obtain plans of the secret facility, and so far they seemed to be accurate. His Marines had gone over the plan several times, but there had been no way to do any practice runs. They’d almost been caught sneaking out of the shuttle that brought them down from Dauntless…and they’d just managed to get into hiding without triggering some kind of alarm. Once they were stashed in the building Zacker had provided as a temporary hideout, Rogan had ordered his people to stay in place, not to so much as peer out a window. They’d brought water with them, and rations…everything they needed before the op began.
Now, they were inside the secure facility. Rogan didn’t know how far they would get without some kind of alarm reaching the guards. His people had left a dozen troopers behind, all of them stunned or otherwise incapacitated, but as soon as any of them were found, things would get crazy. Dauntless’s jamming was helping, at least it was causing a distraction, but at the cost of Rogan’s own comm and scanning.
He raced down the corridor, following the Marines that had jumped ahead of him. They knew what had to be done, and every one of them had his complete confidence. But he knew a hundred things could happen, anything from an unexpected sentry going by, to some kind of lockdown procedure that functioned even with the jamming.
The corridor was long, and the lighting was fairly dim. There was no place to hide or take cover, and he reminded himself that any guards who opened up on his people wouldn’t be firing stun rounds. He was authorized to use deadly force as a last resort, but he didn’t know what it would take for him to order his people to kill other Confederation soldiers.
Then he heard the sounds of firing up ahead…barely. His people had full silencing gear on their weapons, but then he heard three loud cracks. Someone firing back…with live rounds.
He rushed forward, trying to get to the head of the column. The firing slowed almost immediately, and as he reached the front of the formation, he could see a pair of prison guards down, one of them apparently unconscious, the other propped up against the far wall, looking up as four Marines pointed their assault rifles at him. Rogan walked up as one of his people, a sergeant, pulled out a small baton and leaned down, tapping the guard.
The man convulsed from the stun rod’s charge, and he dropped completely to the ground, unconscious now, like his comrade.
“All right, let’s move. Someone had to have heard those shots.” He pulled out the small tablet from his pouch and stared at it. His scans were all blacked, but he had the map stored in the unit’s memory. Barron’s cell was just down the corridor, perhaps another six or eight meters.
Assuming the intel he had was correct, of course, something his career had told him always to take with a healthy dose of skepticism.
He jogged down the corridor, a bit less cautious than he might have liked under most circumstances. But time was the enemy now…a fact that was confirmed a few seconds later, when he heard an alarm going off in the distance.
“We’re out of time,” he snapped, stopping in front of the door that his map told him led to the cell. He couldn’t waste time trying to get into the lock or hack the system. “Blow this thing open,” he said, waving to a pair of Marines carrying explosive kits.
He turned and looked both ways down the corridor. His Marines were spread out along both sides of the hall, covering the approaches to the cell. Dauntless’s jamming was powerful, and he knew it had likely interfered with at least some of the surveillance systems. But it was a damned certainty now that someone in the facility knew something was happening, if not exactly what. And that meant more guards would be coming.
“We’re ready, sir.” The Marines had affixed their explosives to the locking mechanism of the door. It was a small device, just enough to obliterate the lock and hopefully allow the Marines to force the door open.
“Do it.” Rogan stepped back himself, even as the other Marines did. A moment later, the charge detonated, blowing a hole in the wall about twenty-five centimeters in diameter. “Get it open…now.”
Rogan watched as three Marines moved forward, leaning against the door, forcing it open. At first it didn’t move at all, but then it started to shift slowly. Rogan’s stomach was twisted in knots. He was still wrestling with the fact that what he was doing was more or less treason, and he knew the chances of his people getting out, much less of the entire enterprise ending well, were small. Even worse, he imagined the door open and his eyes fixed on an empty cell, that his people had thrown their lives away not to save their beloved leader…but for nothing at all.
Even as he started to think again about that worst prospect, that all he’d done, convinced his Marines to do, had been a waste…he peered into the cell and saw a single figure standing there, tall and proud, despite his circumstances. He wore some type of prison uniform in place of his usual naval garb, but it only took Rogan an instant to recognize the brown hair, long for a naval officer, and the piercing gray-blue eyes.
Tyler Barron.
“Admiral…we’re here to get you out. We’ve got to move.” Rogan had a million things he might have said, but there was no time to waste, and the no-nonsense Marine part of him was in charge now.
“Bryan, what is the meaning of this? Do you realize how much trouble you all are in?”
“Yes, sir…but we’re in it already, so come with us. Please.”
Barron stood for a few seconds, clearly trying to decide what to do. He’d been framed, unjustly accused—there wasn’t a man or woman standing in the corridor who thought anything other than that. But it was clear Barron didn’t want to risk the lives of his people.
“Sir, we’ve got to get you out of here
. Remember why we came back, what’s coming. We’ve got to get you someplace safe, so you can get the word out…somehow.” Rogan had known Barron for years, and he’d expected his commander, and his friend, to resist endangering his subordinates. But even Barron’s selfless honor couldn’t overrule the threat the Hegemony posed to the Confederation.
Barron paused for just another second. Then he nodded and stepped forward, out into the corridor…just as all hell broke loose.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Bridge
CFS Repulse
Unknown System 20
Year 316 AC
“Captain Fritz…” Eaton knew badgering Fritz wasn’t going to accomplish anything, but there was nothing else she could do except sit quietly and watch her ship die around her. “…we’re running out of time.”
Repulse’s bridge was a mess, littered with loose cables and jagged bits of debris. The lights were mostly on, though some systems were running solely on backup power. The air was acrid, the scent of burned machinery and smoke burning her lungs with every labored breath. The last hit had been a bad one, damned bad, and Sara Eaton’s great flagship was in trouble.
“I know, Commodore. We’re on it…doing everything we can.” Fritz sounded distracted, which was the surest sign of just how serious the damage was. The engineer was clearly busy, probably with half a dozen things at once, as she answered the commodore’s call.
Eaton sighed softly, trying to keep it to herself, with limited success. The damage was repairable. It was just a question of how long it would take, and if Repulse would survive that long in her current state. Eaton only knew that because Fritz had already told her, right after the engineer had restored some of the internal comm systems. The comm to the launch bays was still out, as it was to most of the decks with crew quarters. But she had her link to engineering restored, and to gunnery as well, and those were the most important ones now.