The Crucible (The Ember War Saga Book 8)

by Richard Fox

  He snatched a grenade from his belt and lobbed it into the air. It bounced on the trailing side of the hill with a muffled boom. His rifle quivered, ready for another high-powered shot.

  A massive Ruhaald energy cannon rose over the hilltop. Hale swung his rifle around and took aim.

  He didn’t see the jagged bolt of electricity coming, but he felt it when it hit his chest. Searing pain stabbed through his body and sent him to a knee. His left arm refused to move, but he managed to take poor aim on the cannon by sliding his rifle along his knee.

  Hale pulled the trigger and the recoil knocked him into the dirt. He saw flaming debris burst into the air—his last shot must have connected. Hale tried to sit up, but his suit refused to budge. His UI went fuzzy, a slew of error icons crossing his visor before the entire thing shut off with a blip. He felt something grab his ankle and pull him over exposed rocks.

  He managed to get his chin up. A Ruhaald had him and, within seconds, had pulled the Marine into a gap between the hills and into a gully.

  A heavy alien boot kicked Hale in the side hard enough to flip him onto his side against a rock wall. He tried to move, but his power armor held him like a vice.

  Clicks and pops of Ruhaald language flooded Hale’s ears. A many-tentacled hand clamped over his helmet and hauled him into the air. Hale saw nothing but an alien palm and felt his feet dangling in the air.

  A roar filled the air and Hale fell to the ground. The Ruhaald that held him backpedaled, fumbling for a pistol on its hip. The concussion of a doughboy rifle slapped the air. The alien slammed against the rocks, its torso blown open by Hale’s rescuer.

  Nickel stood over Hale, rocking back and forth as his bulky rifle spat death.

  Light from the muzzle flashes glinted off a Ruhaald helmet looking down over the top of the gully.

  “Nickel! Nickel, look up!” Hale shouted, desperately trying to move an arm and touch the doughboy.

  An alien jumped down and landed on Nickel, deflecting his next shot into the wall and blowing rocky shrapnel into the air. Nickel fell against the wall, struggling to swing his weapon to bear against the alien pressed against him. The Ruhaald stabbed a blade down into Nickel’s shoulder, piercing the armor and earning a pained grunt from the doughboy.

  Nickel dropped his rifle and ripped the alien away with his uninjured arm, then he swung a haymaker. His massive fist hit a jagged rock sticking out from the wall and shattered it, and the blow continued into the side of the Ruhaald’s face, knocking the alien’s head clean off. A spray of blood shot out from the severed neck and Nickel kicked the body aside.

  “Sir?” Nickel grabbed Hale by the chest and shook him. “Sir OK?”

  “I can’t move, Nickel. I need you to carry me.”

  Nickel, his face a mess of bleeding cuts and split lips, nodded. The doughboy glanced to the side, then shot to his feet. He raised his good arm over his head and beat it against his chest, bellowing a war cry.

  A bolt of lightning struck Nickel in the side. He backpedaled, his hand against the smoking tear in his armor. Another bolt hit him in the chest, knocking him off balance. A third shot sent him to his knees.

  “Sir…” Nickel crawled forward, blood dripping from his lips. “No hurt.”

  Nickel fell over Hale, shielding him with his body.

  Hale heard the thump of heavy footsteps, then Nickel was pulled away.

  Tuk popped Nickel up onto his knees. Nickel looked at the alien with hate-filled eyes and struggled weakly.

  “Tuk, stop!” Hale shouted.

  The Ruhaald took the ceremonial blade off Hale’s armor, then held it into the air.

  “No! Take me! Take me!”

  Tuk slammed the blade into Nickel’s skull and, after a second, pulled the knife away and let the doughboy fall to the ground. The Ruhaald wiped blood from the blade across his armor, then pointed the tip at Hale.

  “We will have our scion.”

  The snap of gauss fire filled the distance.

  Tuk tapped the dagger’s hilt twice against his chest, then turned and ran off.

  Hale twisted his head to Nickel. The doughboy lay motionless, a pool of blood seeping into the dirt around him. The Marine reached over, then collapsed to the ground. The din of battle faded away minutes later.

  Steuben rolled Hale onto his back.

  “Captain? Say something.”

  “Help him.”

  “There’s nothing to be done.” Steuben looked aside and said, “Get his feet.” The Karigole grabbed Hale beneath his shoulders as he and another Marine lifted him up.

  They carried Hale down the hillside. Dead doughboys lay where they died, crumpled against rocks, many still holding their weapons. The smell of burning plants and spilt blood hung heavy in the air.

  Pain grew against Hale’s chest, digging through muscle and bone like a slow-moving talon. Hale’s breathing became shallow and his vision darkened. He closed his eyes and fought against the pain assaulting his body, and the ache spreading from his heart.

  ****

  The aid station beneath Camelback Mountain smelled of iodine. Yarrow adjusted a lamp over his captain’s chest and clicked his tongue as he looked over the wound. Hale, naked from the waist up, sat on a gurney. Yarrow sprayed disinfectant across the swatch of burnt flesh on Hale’s chest then the corpsman peeled open a patch of synthetic skin and stretched it across the wound. Hale, his head turned to the side, didn’t seem to notice.

  “Second- and third-degree burns, a cracked rib.” Yarrow kneaded his fingertips along the edges of the patch. “Your armor took the brunt of that hit. The electricity fried your power systems. Better that than you, am I right?”

  “Who else did we lose?”

  “They targeted the doughboys,” Cortaro said from the other side of the small curtained-off exam area. “Minor injuries to soldiers and Marines.”

  “How many did we lose?”

  Cortaro folded his arms across his chest. “All of them. They followed you up the hillside before the rest of us even realized what was happening. Squids cut them down before most could reach you.”

  “And Elias? Caas?”

  “They got in a scuffle with scorpion tanks. By the time that fight was over, the rest of the Ruhaald had fallen back to waiting shuttles.”

  “How’s the pain?” Yarrow held up an auto-injector. “I can give you something that might leave some of the sting,” he said, holding up a second auto-injector, “or something that won’t let you count to ten for a few hours.”

  Hale sat up, his brow furrowed.

  “Where’s Matthias? Bolin?”

  “Matthias is in surgery. He’ll be fine,” Yarrow said. He swallowed hard and glanced at Cortaro.

  “I’m sorry, sir.” Cortaro stepped aside and opened the curtain. There was one other lit exam room, the shadow of a laden gurney cast against the flimsy walls.

  “No…” Hale struggled to his feet and slapped Yarrow’s hands away when the corpsman tried to hold him back. He ripped the other curtain aside and found Bolin, eyes closed, mouth slightly agape, chest still.

  Hale went to his brother’s double and braced himself against the gurney, his arms trembling.

  “He…we lost him two hours ago,” Yarrow said. “I don’t know if it was from shock, the stress of the evac or…”

  “My blood,” Hale said.

  “The transfusion was a risk. I take full responsibility for this,” Yarrow said.

  “No. I’m the commander.” Hale touched his chest. “My decision. My responsibility. It’s my fault he’s gone. I’m the one that killed him.” Hale gave Yarrow a dirty look. “Why am I learning about this now?”

  “I told him to keep it quiet,” Cortaro said. “You were fighting to keep it all together. Word about the lieutenant would have been poison, and you…I know who he looks like, sir. This isn’t something you should have dealt with in the middle of all the chaos.”

  “Yarrow. Leave.” Hale pointed to the door.

  The corp
sman jabbed an auto-injector against the back of Hale’s neck and left the room.

  “I failed him.” Hale touched Bolin’s face and gently closed the dead man’s mouth. “All of that…for nothing.”

  “No, sir, not for nothing. You saved the rest of the firebase. Another two dozen men and women are alive right now because you led them out of darkness. You understand that?”

  “He’s gone. He’s gone forever.” Hale lowered his head.

  “Sir, tell me why we left Phoenix and risked everything for a firebase full of soldiers and doughies.”

  Hale sat on a bench, wincing as he put weight on an arm.

  “We don’t…we don’t leave people behind.”

  “If you knew that we could not have brought them all home, would we have gone?”

  “Of course.”

  “What if we only brought one back?”

  “Worth it,” Hale nodded slowly.

  “That’s right. You led on that mission because of who we are. Did it because of who we are. Don’t abandon anyone to the enemy.”

  Hale made a pained laugh. “I left Torni behind.”

  “No, she chose to save civilians over herself. She made the same decision you would have. This is war, sir. You can do everything right and still lose. As time goes on, you’ll kick yourself, you’ll struggle. But when it’s time to close your eyes and sleep at night, you’ll know you did everything you could have.”

  Cortaro grabbed Hale by the shoulder. “You’re a fine officer, sir. I’d follow you through the gates of hell.”

  Hale gave him a slight smile.

  A shadow passed over Hale. He looked up and found an open pack of cigarettes in front of his face.

  “You could use this,” said Durand, clad in her flight suit.

  “Marie? How did you get down here?” Hale looked from her to the cigarettes.

  “We cheated. Have a smoke, it cost three months of pay for your Standish to find this pack of Gauloises.” Durand gave the pack a little shake.

  Hale took one out and pressed the tip against a small dark patch on the side of the pack to ignite it. He took a deep drag and coughed. Looking down at the patch of synthetic skin over his chest, he shrugged slightly.

  Cortaro shook his head when Durand repeated the offer.

  Durand blew smoke out of her nose and leaned on the wall next to Hale.

  “You look like shit,” she said.

  “Nice to see you too.”

  Hale took another puff and gave a satisfied grunt.

  “There must be a very good reason for you to be here and not on the Breit,” Hale said, “and for you to come looking for me.”

  “Ouais.” Durand tapped ashes into a biohazard disposal box. “Valdar has a plan. It sounds like a suicide mission to me, but…” Her shoulders made a very Gallic shrug. “Naturally, he wants you in on it.”

  “Tell me.”

  Durand laid out the scheme.

  Hale burned his cigarette down to the filter and snuffed the ember out against his body glove.

  “When do we leave?” Hale got to his feet with a wince of pain.

  “Your Karigole friend is getting everyone else loaded up. So, as soon as you’re dressed,” Durand said, “but the window for this to work closes in maybe six hours. Vite vite.”

  “We need a hacker.” Hale looked at Cortaro.

  “We know someone who knows someone. I’ll take care of it. Meet you at the flight line.” Cortaro hurried away.

  “Hey…” Durand looked at Bolin and frowned. “He looks like your brother.”

  “It’s complicated.” Hale pulled his bodysuit over his exposed chest and zipped it shut. “Those bastards have Standish, Bailey and Egan. I’m not going to lose them too. Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Standish scrubbed his breastplate furiously. Shaking his head at the effort, he drew his Ka-Bar and ran the point into a crease, removing a congealed mass. He, Bailey and Egan sat beside the omnium reactor. Egan snored softly, his chin against his chest.

  “I’m going to smell like low tide for the rest of my life,” he muttered.

  Bailey, sitting on a stack of ammo boxes, sucked on a tube of nutrient paste. She smacked her lips and held the tube out to Standish. He opened his mouth and accepted a mouthful of the deep-red substance.

  “Tomato soup? That’s new.” He spritzed his armor with an alcohol solvent and ran a cloth over his legs.

  “Nah, cherry pie.” Bailey squeezed the last of the paste into her mouth and tossed the empty into the omnium receiver. There was a flash as the garbage transformed into moldable energy.

  “Why don’t we just make me some new armor? Armor not despoiled by a Ruhaald septic tank,” Standish said.

  “Because the thing’s making bullets and aegis plates. We’re not going to put the rest of us at risk so you can smell like a rose,” Bailey said.

  “This thing can make anything you put into it?” Standish looked at the scanner box in the center of the reactor.

  “Think so. Why?”

  Standish’s eyes narrowed as an idea came to him.

  “No,” Bailey shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

  “You don’t even know what I was going to suggest.”

  “I know you, you thieving lout.”

  “Alleged thieving lout.”

  The lamp over the workstation blinked rapidly. Standish gave Egan’s feet a gentle kick. The Marine came to with a snort and grabbed his rifle.

  “Ghost boy wants you,” Standish said.

  “What now?” Egan got to his feet and sniffed the air. “Dear Lord, light a match.”

  “Ask him if this smell will come out!” Standish shook his brush in the air.

  Egan went to the lamp and put his helmet over it. There was a brief conversation before Egan set his hands onto the control station and shook his head.

  “Well?” Bailey asked.

  “Either of you heard of a neutron inhibitor?” Egan pecked at the keyboard and the omnium reactor hummed to life.

  ****

  The long, heavy box Standish carried by a handle forced him to walk lopsided behind Egan, who had the other end.

  “Amazing how long these hallways get when you’re carrying something heavy,” Standish said.

  “Almost to the bunker, quit complaining,” Bailey said from ahead of the other two Marines.

  “I hated ammo-box drills during Strike selection,” Egan muttered. “‘We’ll never do this in the field,’ they said. ‘This is just a haze,’ they said.”

  “Here.” Bailey stopped and reached up to grab a ring welded to a hatch on the ceiling. She stretched but managed only to brush her fingers against the metal.

  “Bollocks,” she said as she stepped aside and Egan grasped the ring and slid the hatch open.

  “Sorry, Bailey, you must be this tall to ride the space-war ride,” Standish said.

  Bailey gave him the finger as she climbed up Egan and into the bunker. She lowered a hand and helped guide the box through the hatch.

  “Don’t bump it,” Egan said. “It’s precision equipment.”

  “That does what, again?” Standish jumped up and floated into the microgravity and hard vacuum of the bunker. He glanced through the firing slits and saw a glint beyond the dome. A segment of a Naroosha silver ship passed like a shark’s fin between the Crucible’s thorns. He swallowed hard as the enemy vanished.

  “Something about forcing free neutrons to decay within femto-seconds and making nuclear explosions impossible.” Egan slid open a panel and tapped on a keypad.

  “Oh, that all?” Standish edged away from a body that had come unmoored. “So we just flip a switch and leave, right?”

  “Ibarra’s worried the enemy could find the source of the dampening field. He wants us to stay with it and activate it on his signal,” Egan said.

  “What? You’re telling us this now?” Standish asked. “How long are we supposed to sit out here waiting for them to find us?”

  “You’ve got
a hot date, Standish?” Bailey asked.

  “Egan turns that thing on and it becomes a giant ‘kick me’ sign, correct?”

  “Ibarra said he’ll arrange a distraction. If we don’t do this right, a bright-white flash of light may be the last thing every man, woman and child on Earth ever sees.” Egan gave the case a gentle pat.

  “No pressure. That neutron thing sounds like radiation—we gotta worry?” Standish’s hand brushed past his crotch.

  “You have any free neutrons in you?” Egan asked.

  “I don’t know, do I?”

  “Movement.” Bailey crouched next to a firing slit. All around the Crucible, Naroosha ships left their refuge amongst the thorns and glided toward the moon.

  “That our signal?” Standish asked.

  “No.” Egan watched as a small light on the base of the IR transmitter flickered on and off. “You’ll know it when we see it.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Stacey ran her hands against the rounded corners of the conduit room, searching for a seam or gap between the panels that might lead to a way out, a weapon, anything to make some manner of progress out of her confinement.

  “Bet they could flip a switch and send me home,” she said. “What’re they waiting for?”

  The door slid open and a pair of ambassadors armed with dead crystal spears entered, the points leveled at her.

  “Did you destroy the trees in the atrium to make those?” Stacey put her hands on her hips and shook her head.

  “No weapons on Bastion,” a cherub-faced man said.

  “So here we are, the pinnacle of technology in free space, armed like savages. Can your AI convey irony?” Stacey slid one foot back and half turned her body from the armed men. Fighting unarmed against spears wasn’t something she knew how to do and she knew any such contest would end badly for her.

  Pa’lon stumbled through the door, his hands bound together with strips of cloth, his elbows wrapped tight against his sides. Wexil kicked his knees out and grabbed the Dotok by his collar.