by P. R. Adams
“You are clear to land at LZ, Lieutenant.” As Rimes talked, the squads jogged toward their designated positions: yellow squares Meyers had placed on the BAS display.
“ETA, two minutes,” Headey said.
As he jogged, Rimes flipped his focus back to the task force’s video feed. He shifted his view among the different angles every few seconds to try to get a sense of the engagement. The task force consisted of the Valdez, two signals ships, five missile frigates, and four scout ships—little more than shuttles with better weapons systems, tricked out flight controls, and a larger reactor. Although technically outnumbered, the Valdez was a match for any ship Rimes had ever seen, and the missile frigates were simply mobile weapons platforms. The enemy’s numbers concerned Rimes less than their unknown configuration. Task force scans showed ships of likely human design, which immediately whittled the potential attackers down dramatically: the genies or metacorporations. The genies hadn’t been a problem for years, and they weren’t likely to have shipbuilding capabilities. That left the metacorporations as the more likely attacker.
Rimes settled to his knees outside the area for the squads and reconnected to Meyers, who was squatting about ten meters to Rimes’s right. “Lonny, help me out here.”
“What’s up?”
“I’m trying to put some structure and reason to this attack.” Rimes scanned the LZ, suddenly unsure if even the assumption that it was safe was wrong. “If I can’t understand what’s behind this, I can’t build out tactics and strategy.”
“Sure.” Meyers’s voice was cool and distant.
Rimes sighed, frustrated. Meyers was doing exactly what he needed to do: playing devil’s advocate. “Okay. Why attack unprovoked? Why now? Did I miss something from our IB team?”
“Nope. I reviewed every brief for the last six months before we came here. If there were something, I would have seen it.”
The shuttles dropped from the sky, descending at a steep angle at top speed.
“An enemy with a sizable force. The only ships in that force that we’ve seen before showed up five years ago with no record of any manufacturer. They opened fire almost immediately. Any of this making sense to you?”
After a moment Meyers asked, “You’re thinking it’s metacorps?”
“Has to be, doesn’t it?”
The shuttles settled to the ground just as Rimes noticed a change in the engagement in orbit.
Brigston had arrayed the missile frigates in a rough five-kilometer cube formation around the Valdez and placed the fifth one above and nearly centered on the Valdez. The signal ships operated within that cube, one above and forward of the Valdez, slightly to port, and the other below and abaft, slightly to starboard. The scout ships also operated anywhere within the cube, their main job apparently being engagement of smaller craft that penetrated the frigate perimeter. The aft signal ship’s sensors had caught three of the gunships slipping beneath the formation, but when one of the scout ships responded, the gunships simply shifted their vector and darted toward the planet’s atmosphere. Rimes watched the scout ship’s camera until the gunships disappeared from sight.
Rimes searched the BAS for Meyers’s signal. He was on the shuttle at the far end of the LZ, with Sergeant Bo’s squad. Rimes switched to an open channel. “Lieutenant Headey, wait for my signal to dust off, please.”
“Uh, roger that, Colonel.”
“Thank you. Captain Meyers, a minute please?”
When Rimes saw Meyers dart from Headey’s shuttle, Rimes turned his back to the shuttles, killed all communications, and then opened his visor. Meyers settled at Rimes’s side and did the same.
“Three gunships hit the atmosphere less than a minute ago,” Rimes said. “They could be heading anywhere, but I have to assume we’re their targets. You know these shuttles can’t stand up to craft like that. I want your opinion.”
Meyers closed his eyes against a gust of wind that nearly bowled the two of them over. “We sure these are the same ships the genies had?”
“Basically. Scanners picked up a single rail gun turret, what looks like a couple of linked quad machine gun turrets, and missiles. I’d put their speed and maneuverability on par with the scout ships.”
“Troop capacity?”
Rimes brought up the sensor images and overlaid the genie fast assault craft they’d faced on Sahara five years before. “I’m going to say twenty per. Let’s assume they’re bringing down a company to be safe.”
“Shit. One day we’re going to have decent odds.”
Rimes smiled ruefully. “If that ever happens, I’ll have to pinch myself to be sure I’m not dreaming. I’m thinking we get into the mountains and use their size against them. Once the shuttles drop us off, they can seek cover in some of the narrower valleys. If the opportunity arises they could try to get numbers on one of the gunships.”
“We’ll be cutting it close, but there’s a great spot to infiltrate about forty klicks from here.”
Meyers opened a shared workspace with Rimes and brought up a topographical display. Rimes examined the map as Meyers laid down an optimal course to an area southeast of their position. It was filled with jagged peaks, outcroppings, sheer cliffs, and caves. Meyers pointed to a pair of peaks that formed an “L,” enclosing a narrow valley to the south. The cliffs to the north and east were sheer; to the west they were more manageable but still daunting. Five cave mouths glowed a pale green.
“Insert here, two squads overlooking this valley, two overlooking the west approach.” Meyers dragged a bright yellow line to clearly define the area. “If we have time, we mine that western cliff wall. Three of those caves connect, so we could reinforce as needed without exposure to strafing. I think our shuttles can handle the winds. They’ll have to take some risks bugging out, but this is exactly the sort of thing they’ve trained for. It’s the high ground. If they’re coming for us, they won’t have any choice but to assault us. Those gunships aren’t likely to have any serious ordnance onboard, and without something heavy, they’re not going to root us out.”
Seconds passed as Rimes looked the map over. It was a solid plan. The terrain would work in their favor. He would be a fool not to press the advantage. But something about the whole situation nagged at him. Whether genies or metacorporate mercenaries, the people who’d planned the attack had to know they were up against forces built around exactly this sort of situation. Although the attackers had clear numerical and even armament superiority, both would be nullified in the mountains.
“Jack?”
Rimes could feel the time slipping away. They needed to move quickly or risk losing their advantage. He disconnected from the workspace. “Let’s do it.” He closed his visor.
Meyers gave a thumbs-up signal and ran for Bo’s shuttle. Rimes jogged to the nearest shuttle, which held Sergeant Honig’s squad. As Rimes settled into his harness he brought up a channel connecting Meyers, the squad leaders, and the pilots.
“Let’s get in the air, Lieutenant Headey. Captain Meyers is going to give you your coordinates. We’ve got three gunships inbound, people. We can’t go toe-to-toe with them in these shuttles, so we’re going to see how serious they are about wanting to mess with the best. Captain?”
As Meyers reviewed his plan with the squad leaders, Rimes switched his attention back to the ship engagement in orbit. The gunships presented a serious challenge to Brigston’s task force, but his experience and flexibility were already countering that. One of the frigates was seriously damaged, and one of the signal ships had gone dark, but the attacking force was now the one suffering. Concerted missile barrages from the frigates had completely destroyed one of the attacking frigates and shredded two of the gunships. Another gunship was limping away from its latest strafing run, easy prey for a scout ship. And after laying down an initial barrage of missiles, the mysterious capital ship was doing little more than filling the void with projectiles that were useless against the Valdez’s gravitic field. It wasn’t a rout, but the engagement
now had more the tone of a delaying action than a brazen assault.
Why? If this was an assault, why not press it and keep all your gunships focused on the task force? Why divert twenty percent of your forces for a ground-based target before securing space superiority? The metacorporations have plenty of money. They can hire competent strategists and tacticians.
Rimes rubbed a crescent-shaped scar on the side of his head, a scar that had a lot of history to it. He hated not being able to unravel a puzzle.
Communications chatter drew him out of his thoughts. They were approaching the mountain ranges, descending and decelerating. He stole a glance at his shuttle’s belly camera feed. A blur of brown-gray rock, alternately bathed in sunlight and swallowed by shadow, flew past beneath. He tapped into the shuttle’s sensors and watched for the inevitable blips tracking the approaching gunships. Finally, the first one appeared. It was decelerating and changing its angle of descent. The ship was moving too fast to perform dramatic course changes, but it was already on their general bearing.
When the gunship didn’t change course, Rimes said, “Time to target, Lieutenant Headey?”
“Four minutes, twenty seconds.”
Rimes considered Headey to be one of the better shuttle pilots the task force had, and there weren’t any bad pilots in the task force. His voice was calm, and that was what Rimes needed to hear.
The second and third gunship blips appeared; Rimes traced their courses as they decelerated. Four minutes in meant four minutes out. Assuming the gunships matched the genies’ fast assault craft capabilities, they could be over the mountain range with a minute or two to spare. Rimes opened a private channel to Headey. “Lieutenant, those gunships are going to—”
“We know, sir. We’re ready for it. We’ll split off. At least one of us should get clear.”
A cold shiver tickled Rimes’s spine. He’d pushed for upgraded shuttles, but it had been one of the battles he’d lost with the Special Security Council. Like everything else it had come down to a choice: upgrading the shuttles or bolstering the dedicated task force with missile frigates. He simply hadn’t been able to justify leaving the task force exposed at the expense of more effective insertion and extraction operations.
“Two minutes,” Headey said.
Trying to keep any hint of desperation out of his voice, Rimes opened a private channel to Meyers. “Lonny, can you hack their communications?”
“Already on it,” Meyers said. “It won’t be easy. These shuttles don’t have the best surveillance and signals gear built in.”
“I know.” That had been another compromise.
Rimes switched his view from the belly camera to the task force engagement. Communications were degrading, but he could still get a sense of the battle. Everything was now a parry-and-feint, with half-hearted runs by the attacking gunships. The enemy frigates seemed fully committed to defensive fire, and Brigston seemed similarly focused on probing defenses and testing out tactics more than an all-out counterattack. With an exasperated sigh Rimes returned to the shuttle sensors.
His heart skipped a beat.
“Lieutenant Headey, did those gunships change course?”
Headey was quiet for a moment. “They did, Colonel. Heading now four-two.”
“What the—” Rimes loaded the area map and pulled back the view. He cursed beneath his breath and opened the channel to Meyers, the squad leaders, and the other shuttle pilots. “We’ve got a new heading. Change course to four-two. They’re headed for the research station.”
6
20 November, 2173. Sahara.
* * *
At maximum thrust the shuttles were more than three minutes from the research station and easily two minutes behind the gunships. Sealed inside his combat suit Rimes felt stuck in time, yet was still able to see each transition from one second to the next. His breath rasped inside his helmet, stale and foul to his senses. Sweat trickled down his face, stinging his eyes, salty on his lips.
“Sahara Research Station Five, this is Elite Response Force Battalion Commander Colonel Jack Rimes with a critical communication. Do you copy?”
Rimes rattled in his seat as the shuttle shimmied and lost altitude.
Seconds ticked by. “Sahara Research Station Five, this is Elite Response—”
“This is Sahara Research Station Five, Colonel Rimes. Go ahead.”
Rimes recognized the voice before the connection established video; it was Dr. Robert Vance, the station’s chief scientist. “Dr. Vance, listen very carefully. We’re less than five minutes out and closing at top speed. There’s an assault force of unknown origin and composition headed your way now. They are less than three minutes out. We know these people are hostile. They’ve fired on ERF assets with lethal intent.”
“What?” An exasperated smile twitched across Dr. Vance’s long, bookish face. “Is-is this an exercise, Colonel?”
“No exercise, sir. I need you to get your people to safety immediately. Can you put your security chief on the line, please?”
“Colonel Ri—”
“Doctor, every second counts.”
Dr. Vance’s mouth worked, but he said nothing, and then his connection closed.
Once more, seconds dragged on. At four minutes, eighteen seconds out, the research station initiated another video connection. The communication identifier showed Janice Gleason, the research station’s security chief. Rimes uploaded the data he had on the assault force.
“This is Gleason.” Gleason was middle-aged, short, and beefy. From her spiked, salt-and-pepper hair to her simple uniform, she gave off a no-nonsense, confident vibe.
“Ms. Gleason, this is Colonel Jack Rimes of the ERF. We talked a few days ago, when I brought my team on-planet.”
“Right.” Gleason sounded impatient. “Dr. Vance said there’s some sort of threat coming our way?”
“I’ve just sent you a profile on the assault force.” Rimes wiped sweat from his upper lip. “They’re not far out. Three gunships, anywhere from fifty to one hundred potential combatants. Those gunships are heavily armed: machine guns, missiles. We don’t know exact payload or armament beyond that.”
Gleason said nothing. She was clearly having trouble getting her head around the thought that an assault force was targeting them.
“We’re en route with our shuttles, but their ships are faster. What sort of security do you have available?”
Gleason swallowed. “There are three of us, five counting our medic and Dariusz. He’s our field engineer. We’re all trained on the small arms we use: Arvest-9s. That’s not going to take down a gunship, Colonel.”
“No, it’s not. Do you have some sort of emergency shelter?”
“Sure,” Gleason said hopefully. “Beneath the dorms. They can withstand all but the worst earthquakes. The storage facility’s the sturdiest, but it’s full of uranium and other ores. No one’s going to go in there.”
Uranium. Gold. Silver. Could that be what this is about? Sahara was turning out to be a treasure trove. Its former ocean floor alone had revealed surprising levels of rare minerals during initial searches. It was only a matter of time before the UN authorized full-scale mining operations, something best done before colonization efforts were even put forward for broad consideration.
And Sahara would be colonized. Eventually, it could be one of the most valuable colony worlds.
Not worth the lives lost. Never worth the lives lost.
“I want you to get everyone you can into one of those shelters. Get your security team armed and ready.”
Gleason nodded. “Yeah, the shelter door should stand up to small arms fire.”
Rimes doubted any shelter door could stand up to explosives, and he had every reason to believe the gunship passengers would have exactly that. Still, there was no value in alarming Gleason. “Do you have an automated vehicle? Something you could send away from the site to draw a gunship off?”
“No, but we do have a pretty fast crawler. It’s multimode. Da
riusz modified it like crazy. Once he gets it airborne it’s actually pretty frightening. No remote piloting, though. It was one or the other, and he chose speed.”
“All right,” Rimes said, hating himself for what he was about to suggest. “If you could get a volunteer to take that out, head due west three klicks, then veer due south, you might get a gunship or two to pursue. Bring them to us, and we’ll scrape them off.”
“Sounds like something Dariusz would enjoy.” Gleason paused for a moment, then her features softened. “Colonel Rimes, we—”
“Every second counts, Ms. Gleason.” Rimes tried to keep any hint of hopelessness out of his voice. They’re doomed, and there’s not a damned thing I can do to stop it. We have to try, though. We can’t just surrender. Rimes realized he was grinding his teeth. He felt helpless, like being in a nightmare—unable to run away, unable to act fast enough, and unable to shout a warning. If only it were just a dream, but people are going to die.
“Thanks, Colonel. Please hurry.”
Rimes disconnected and joined Meyers’s call with the squad leaders. They were reviewing potential attack plans. Rimes listened in the background as he analyzed the research station’s layout. Nine buildings arrayed in a semicircle, open to the west. It was situated atop an outcrop that rose twenty-two meters above the surrounding hills, roughly square at the top, a kilometer on either side. A single switchback descended the outcrop’s steep western face.
The station was extremely vulnerable to an aerial attack exactly like the imminent strike. The gunships could wipe away any resistance with a few strafing runs and land troops with impunity. They could have boots on the ground in under a minute. How long they spent inside the complex would depend entirely on their mission.
Rimes realized Meyers had just asked him a question. “Say again?”
“I was wondering what you think about hot dropping Bo’s squad here on the storage building rooftop and Morant’s squad here on the main research building?” Meyers repeated. “Take the high ground.”