Silent Running (The Hope Island Chronicles Book 3)

by PJ Strebor

  For two days the Pruessens had been tracking Nathan through the undergrowth. Every time he set an ambush for them, Saxon had read his move. Each time they deployed their teams to surround his position, forcing him to withdraw. To run. “I really need to kill this square head fucker.”

  Because their helmet’s visors tinted over to compensate for the intense sunlight, Nathan couldn’t make out individual faces. However he could sense Saxon and Reinhardt from the rest. The Athenian spook was proving to be a real pain. Maybe I can kill him, just a little bit.

  As he fled from the danger signals he considered his options. Each one ended with his death, but he had to do something. It would be only a matter of time before they’d corner him. “There’s always another plan, another solution,” he whispered.

  ***

  The armor clung to Orson’s sweat soaked body like a heated straitjacket. With a start of recognition he found his quarry. Under his helmet his smile stretched his face. The stress of being hunted relentlessly for two days had an effect on him. Telford finally made the mistake Orson had been waiting for.

  “Sergeant Kratt,” Orson shouted, “he’s three hundred meters ahead of you.” Orson’s grin widened. “His back is to a sheer cliff, so he can’t run. Spread out and get him.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Kratt took his four marines plus nine well-armed crewmen in the direction indicated. Cornered and outnumbered Telford’s luck had finally run out. He may hold the high ground but in this dense jungle he couldn’t cause the same havoc as he’d done in the city. Orson considered the odds of thirteen to one were too much even for this sneaky bastard.

  Beside him Reinhardt cradled his rifle across his chest.

  Orson continued to track Telford. Odd, he’s not moving. Finally giving up? No, something’s not right here.

  “Fuck,” Orson said.

  “What?” Reinhardt asked, tensing.

  “I’ve lost him.” Try as he might he couldn’t read him. “He’s blocking me.”

  “Saxon, watch out, he’s heading directly for your position,” Coppins yelled over his comm.

  Orson brought his rifle to his shoulder and looked for any movement. Lucky for him that E 811’s sensors had spotted Telford.

  He saw movement, foliage being swept aside. He raked the area with an automatic burst from his pulsar rifle. Reinhardt did the same, at kill setting. Orson rounded on him. “Drop the weapon or I’ll kill you.” As soon as Reinhardt complied Orson switched his rifle to kill setting and aimed at Reinhardt’s head.

  The first bullet struck Saxon in the abdomen, spinning him around. He raised his weapon and switched to stun. That one second delay was enough for his opponent. Running full tilt toward him Telford held his sidearm in one hand, his arm fully extended. Telford’s second bullet hit him in the chest. And the third. Reinhardt had just recovered his weapon when he was hit in the left side of his stomach. Then another bullet tore through his leg. Both men fell to the ground. Telford ran past them and disappeared into the forest.

  Orson felt the cold hand of death descend, as the darkness took him.

  ***

  Nathan was tempted to stop and examine Saxon’s face. However, he didn’t need his Prep, to know that soldiers were closing on his position. He sprinted toward his next ambush position.

  Locking an image of his daughter into his mind temporarily blocked Saxon. Having an image of Ellen in his mind while killing a man would haunt him.

  “Let’s see how clever they are without Saxon,” he whispered. He still had the boat’s sensor net to deal with, but with Saxon out of the picture that wouldn’t be an issue. Slowing his pace he came to a stop. He took only two modest sips from his half-filled canteen. From his pack he removed the sensor suppressor harness. Once donned, he moved on and awaited the enemy.

  ***

  “I’ve lost him, Captain,” the tactical officer said.

  “How?”

  “Dunno, sir.”

  “Dunno, doesn’t cut it sailor,” Coppins said, “where the hell has he gone.”

  “Captain, he’s not carrying a pulsar, so I can’t track its energy signature,” the TO said.

  He rubbed his chin for a moment. “The only way he could completely disappear from my sensor

  net would be if he’s wearing a sensor suppressor harness. If he is then I can’t track him.”

  “Comm coming in, Captain,” his exec said.

  “Let’s have it.” He waited a few seconds.

  “I say again, am returning to the boat with casualties aboard, please have medical personnel standing by.”

  Coppins nodded to his exec who contacted the sickbay. He keyed his external mike. “Who am I talking to?”

  “Sergeant Kratt, Captain.”

  “Who’s down?”

  “Captain Reinhardt is wounded but should be okay. I don’t think Commander Saxon is going to make it.”

  “Bring it on home, Kratt, we’ll be standing by.”

  “Aye, skipper.”

  Coppins shook his head. “Who the hell are we tracking? The grim reaper?”

  ***

  As the enemy soldier approached his position, Nathan fired one shot into the man’s chest. He moved position, waited for an enemy soldier to show himself then blew to top of his head off. Seven to go.

  He moved again as enemy rifle fire cut through the surrounding jungle. They’re still using stun setting. Isn’t that nice of them. He returned fire, catching one of the enemy in the shoulder. Nathan slapped another magazine into his rifle. Ammo was running low so he backed into the scrub and made his way to one of the way-stations he’d prepared two days ago. He had set up six caches of food, water and ammunition and had exhausted three of them so far.

  At a good distance from the pursuing enemy he stopped for lunch.

  CHAPTER 50

  Date: 13th October, 326 ASC.

  Position: Planet Reynolds. Northern Quarantine Zone.

  Captain Coppins paced the briefing room’s deck. Four days of tracking the reaper had gotten ten men killed and four in the hospital. Still no result. His external comm. beeped.

  “Captain.”

  “Sir, it’s Sergeant Kratt.”

  “Go ahead Kratt.” This can’t be good news.

  “I’ve lost two more of my men, skipper” Kratt said. “I’m down to three warm bodies.”

  He wants to call off this insanity. So do I, but I’d face a court martial if I did.

  “I’ll send you some replacements.”

  “Respectfully, Captain, it won’t make any difference.” Coppins had never heard that tone of defeatism from the seasoned marine. He was as tough as they came. “We track him, he waits for us, sets an ambush and men die.”

  Coppins felt sorry for Kratt but could do nothing about it.

  “We all have our duty to perform, Kratt. Carry on.”

  ***

  Kratt signed off. “Fuck.”

  “What’d he say, Sarge?” The corporal’s tone contained a pleading element that Kratt could completely understand.

  “The skipper said carry on.”

  “Until there’s none of us left?”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Head east,” Kratt said.

  “But his tracks are heading west.” The marine smiled. “Oh.”

  Their raised heads and smiling faces told Kratt that they approved of his decision. The boat couldn’t track their quarry, so they’d be none the wiser. Enough of his men had died. He and his three men would not sacrifice themselves on a hopeless mission.

  “Let’s go.”

  ***

  Nathan sighted through his scope at the four Pruessens. Too far away for a shot but close enough to read the signs. They’d picked up his tracks; he’d made sure they would. Now they were heading in the opposite direction.

  “Smart boy,” he whispered. “Now to phase two.”

  ***

  “What’s their condition, doctor?” Coppins asked.

  “Captai
n Reinhardt will be up and about in a few weeks.”

  Port Dortmund’s superior medical facilities had convinced Coppins to transfer his wounded here.

  “And Commander Saxon?”

  “I’ve operated, but to be honest I don’t know how he’s still alive. I pulled thirteen fragments from his chest and abdomen.”

  “Thirteen?” Coppins asked.

  “The three bullets fragmented upon entry. I managed to remove all of them but they did terrible damage. Frankly, he shouldn’t have made it off the table. Something in this man refuses to die. Remarkable.”

  “So he may live?”

  The doctor shrugged. “If I went by the book he shouldn’t be alive, so your guess is as good as mine.”

  ***

  “What can I get for you, sir?” the barman asked.

  “You wouldn’t have Oceanian beer by any chance?” Nathan asked.

  “I have, but it’s pricey.”

  Nathan nodded. After four days in the rain forest, twenty minutes under the hotel’s hot shower had washed away the bulk of his sweat and grime. He almost felt human again. A cold beer and a first class meal would complete the job.

  The sensor suppressor harness, had chafed his skin during his trek to the hotel. He had to conceal it under his clothes until he found himself in a place surrounded by thousands of people. The beer arrived and he took a long sip and sighed.

  Right. Tonight, I get the hell out of Dodge.

  ***

  As the sun dipped below the horizon Nathan finished packing bags. A knock at the door. He grabbed his pistol, fitted the silencer, and held it behind his back. Opening the door the valet handed over his freshly cleaned Pruessen naval uniform. After giving him a generous tip he closed the door and dressed.

  Fifteen minutes later he exited the cab at the Port Dortmund spaceport and with a bag in each hand strode across the tarmac. Being a civilian facility the security was practically nonexistent.

  Five E boats were sitting on their skids with their fantails down. Nathan approached the closest attack boat and looked for a sentry post. Seeing none he strode up the ramp formed by the lowered fantail and into the boat. At the end of the boat bay a hatch opened. A Pruessen sailor stepped into the bay then propped in place. A man in his late thirties, a chief petty officer with the nametag Kellerman.

  Nathan smiled. “How are you doin’.”

  “Ah, good,” the chief said. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

  “Transfer.” He held out his hand. “Vogel.”

  The Pruessen took the offered hand. “I guess I better see your transfer orders.”

  “Sure thing, Chief,” Nathan said, lowering the bags to the deck. Reaching inside his jacket, his hand closed around the handle of his Glock. He drew the weapon from its holster and pointed it at the sailor’s head. “Keep your mouth shut and hand me your sidearm. And Kellerman, do it slowly.”

  Using thumb and forefinger Kellerman removed his pulsar pistol and handed to Nathan, who tucked it into his waistband.

  “Take me to engineering. And get your hands down.”

  The CPO lowered his hands but didn’t move. “You’re the one we’ve been tracking.” Nathan nodded. “You killed a lot of my crew mates.”

  “They were trying to kill me.”

  “No they weren’t,” Kellerman spat. “We’re all under strict orders to capture you. If anyone killed you they’d be dead themselves.”

  “I’ve seen Pruessen hospitality before and I’ve no intention of being captured again.” He examined the stern faced NCO. “Are you chief of the boat?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many crew aboard?”

  The Pruessen set his lips into a tight line.

  Nathan sighed. “I could have killed you, but chose not to. If it makes any difference to you, I give you my pledge as a commissioned officer that I won’t kill you if you cooperate.”

  “I’m no traitor, Vogel. Or whatever your name is. So you may as well kill me.”

  “Very well, on your knees.”

  Kellerman held his chin high and did not budge. Nathan moved behind the chief and kicked him hard in the right thigh. The Pruessen staggered forward and Nathan pushed his onto his knees. Placing his pistol into a shoulder strapped holster, he retrieve the pulsar and pressed the barrel against the Pruessen’s head.

  “I’m sure you’re willing to die for your duty but if I pull this trigger, even on the stun setting, it will fry your brain. Probably not enough to kill you but you’ll spend the rest of your life as a drooling excuse for a man, wishing only for the bliss of death.”

  Kellerman must be scared but also stubbornly determined. “Get on with it then.”

  He might be Pruessen, but by god he’s got guts.

  Nathan shot him in the middle of his back then dragged the limp body into a nearby storage room. Removing Kellerman’s external comm he fitted into his left ear.

  “Now,” Nathan whispered, “if the layout of this boat is anything like a monitor, engineering should be on the next deck down.”

  He assumed that the boat would have some crewmen on shore leave. But how many were left aboard? Taking the access ladder to deck three he made his way aft till he came to the door marked Engineering. It had keypad entry but the green light indicated that the hatch had been left unlocked. Nathan stepped inside. The set up was not dissimilar to a monitor. Far more cluttered and lacking in sophistication but everything appeared to be in the right place. A young ensign manned a station on the port side of the boat. Silently, Nathan stepped up behind him and pressed the barrel of his pulsar pistol against his throat.

  “How many personnel left aboard?” he whispered into the young officer’s ear. The blood immediately drained from his face and his bottom lip quivered. Nathan pressed the barrel hard into his neck. “How many?”

  “T- twenty.”

  “Is your senior engineer aboard?”

  He nodded vigorously. “Reactor room.”

  “Turn around, Ensign.”

  The terrified junior officer couldn’t be more than twenty-one. Nathan read his nametag.

  “Winkler, listen to me very carefully. You can live through this day if you cooperate. Do that and I give you my word that you won’t be harmed. Understand?”

  More vigorous head shaking.

  “Very well. Now, what’s the condition of your buffers.”

  “They’re at fifty percent,” Winkler said, rushing his words. “Captain always wants fifty percent in case of emergencies.”

  “Right,” Nathan said. “Begin recharging them to a hundred percent.”

  The Ensign pointed to a console. Nathan stood aside to let the kid do his work. The Pruessen worked diligently for several minutes. The hatch to the reactor room swished open. A full-grade commander froze in place upon seeing a man with a pistol pointed at him. Nathan gestured him forward with a crooked finger.

  “What the hell are you playing at,” he glanced at the nametag, “petty officer Vogel. By God you’ll stand a general court-martial for this. Now stop this nonsense and give me that weapon.”

  “Sure thing,” Nathan said, then stunned him in the chest.

  Stepping up to the engineering console he saw that the power levels to the buffers were at seventy percent and rising rapidly.

  “How long, Winkler?”

  “About ten minutes, sir.”

  “Have you done bridge orientation?”

  “Yes, sir. It’s s-o-p.”

  “Can you leave this to recharge.”

  “Sir?”

  “Does it have an automatic shut-off?”

  Winkler nodded.

  “Good, come with me.”

  Making his way toward the bow, with Winkler leading the way, he came to the weapons bay. Nathan quickly found the controls he needed. He poured power into the buffers of the two forward pulsars. Satisfied, he reset the security codes on the two entry points.

  After retrieving his bags he headed to the bridge. They made it there without encountering a
ny other crewmen. The bridge hatch was sealed so he had Winkler open it.

  Nathan changed the security code and did the same to the other bridge access points and the briefing room hatch. The bridge layout resembled a monitor although the helm controls were crude by comparison. Instead of touchpad controls there were buttons and switches. It appeared that both navies favored a straight forward set up but this navy’s technology lagged decades behind that of Athens. While the buffers finished topping up Nathan activated the helm controls, which had been left on standby. He ran a quick diagnostic.

  “Winkler, how long?” The young officer sat at the Pruessen equivalent of the D-O’s station.

  “Almost there, sir.”

  “Right. Seal the boat.” Winkler hesitated, until Nathan palmed his sidearm.

  “Aye, sir, sealing the boat.”

  “Make us space ready.” Nathan stood behind Winkler’s station patiently watching as the readings on the panel changed from red to green.

  “We’re good to go, sir,” Winkler said. “Green across the board.”

  Nathan strapped into the helmsman’s seat and brought the pulsars online. The boat lifted from the apron and he turned her away from the spaceport before taking her to two hundred meters. Hovering the boat he pointed her nose down and targeted the first boat. Fearing massive civilian casualties, he couldn’t employ torpedoes, which would destroy the spaceport and the nearby town. Under a massive wash of pulsar fire the first boat’s weapons array blew apart. The next one lost her port skid, heeled over and crashed onto the apron. He did the same to the other boats until they resembled beached sharks.

  Try pursuing me now, fuckers. His smile turned grim.

  Satisfied with his night’s work, he took the boat into orbit and pointed her due west.

  Throughout the attack Winkler had sat at his station as if frozen in place. Nathan took his place beside the Ensign at the Captain’s station.

  “We’re all dead,” Winkler said. A tear ran down his face.

  “Open a boat-wide channel so I can speak to the crew.” He shook Winkler to snap him out of his shock then handed him his comm.

  “Channel open,” Winkler said.