My Life: An Ex-Quarterback's Adventures in the Galactic Empire

by Colin Alexander

  “At your order, Command,” Ruoni said.

  When it comes to getting odd looks from one’s bridge crew, I must hold the record but that base was the key to the whole battle. The Carrillacki had nearly taken it, certainly should have taken it, and their commander should have been shot for failing to do so. With the opportunity in front of me, my intuition screamed that this was the move to make. Still, the force would be a random selection of crew who had never fought in a ground action before, and I had no one really qualified to lead them. Ergo, I’d better do it. Reaching this conclusion didn’t exactly make me happy. I had always called my own plays, and had never been loath to call my own number, but there had never been so much riding on a single decision. I just hoped that my legs weren’t shaking too visibly as I walked off the bridge.

  The full armor for the bridge crew was stored in a locker just outside the bridge. I suited up as rapidly as I could, leaving the helmet and fasteners for later. The intercom boomed out, “All designated personnel will rendezvous with Strike Force Command at the attack boat three bay,” as I hurried down the corridor leading away from the bridge.

  The connecting corridors of the ship were empty. The only people I saw were a damage control party that had ripped out a section of wall trying to fix a blown vacuum seal door. By the time I reached the designated dock the rest of the strike force had assembled and most of them had already donned their full armor. There were thirty-one of them in my force, thirty-two if you count me. They were spread out across the dock in no particular order, a collection of individuals rather than a unit. Seeing who Strike Force Command was had an immediate positive impact on their bearing, but did nothing for their lack of organization. I had no doubt that they would fight hard, quite possibly to the last Srihani if I ordered it, but it would take more than just élan to win this fight. Then I spotted two of my senior engineers, both ex-Fleet officers, in the group.

  “Engineering,” I called out, “who’s running your section?”

  “Senior Assistant Engineer knows the job, Command,” the older of the two answered. “You did ask for all nonessential personnel.”

  I had to grin at that. “All right. You two are now section leaders. Break this group into two sections, and each section into two squads. Quickly.”

  “At your order,” came the reply in stereo.

  While they took care of organizing the force, I finished adjusting the armor clamps and dogged down the helmet. It felt odd wearing the suit. This would be the first time I had participated in an assault since we had been able to afford the full armor. I pulled a blaster from the weapons locker and clipped it to my belt. My own weapon was lying in my cabin. That wouldn’t have happened to Jaenna; she was never without hers.

  Finally we had everyone armored, in the boat and strapped in. Karwan, one of the regular attack boat pilots, strapped himself into the pilot’s seat. I strapped into the copilot’s seat. Of course, I wouldn’t have had a prayer of landing the boat if anything had happened to Karwan but no other member of the force could have done it either. Karwan’s backup had been a casualty of one of our earlier encounters, and the other pilots were with Jaenna.

  Andrave came on the comm as soon as we had broken free of the ship. “Strike Force Command reports the situation on Gadjeen in essentially unchanged, except for additional casualties,” he said. Meaning, it would probably not stay unchanged much longer, so get your ass in gear, Danny-boy.

  “This is Strike Force Two Command,” I replied. “Communication acknowledged.”

  Karwan fired the thrusters and sent us plummeting toward the surface of Gadjeen. An attack boat isn’t a landing boat, although it can be used that way on an airless world. That is, it can if the pilot is skilled. Karwan was—another ex-Fleet officer. We settled gently on a flat plain. It had been an uninterrupted flight. There had been no activity from Gadjeen’s weapons.

  A small domed structure stood a hundred yards or so from the boat. There was a gaping hole in its wall, the first evidence I’d seen of the surface fighting. The boat’s locks popped open and we scrambled out. There was no fire from the dome. We had no time for a careful leapfrog advance, so I moved the force forward in a rapid charge. There was still no fire. When we reached the dome, it was clear why. The Carrillacki had fought their way in through that dome earlier. There were a half-dozen bodies scattered on the floor, some apparently killed at close range. We moved past them to reach the passage leading underground.

  All along the underground corridors, we saw remains of the earlier fighting. Blaster marks scarred the walls, ceilings were caved in and walls were blown out. There was an unbroken trail of bodies and parts of bodies. None were ours. Jaenna hadn’t come this way. At each intersection, I expected an ambush, but it never happened. Possibly, the units fighting at the command center were the only other people still alive in the base.

  When we reached the connector that led to the inner corridor, we found signs of action. At the far end of the corridor, we could see a salient of rubble. From its protection, Srihani fired into the inner corridor. Others fired from positions along the connector. Most of the lights had been shot out, but the fighters could be seen by infrared.

  “Strike Force, this is Strike Force Two Command,” I called over the comm. “We are behind your position and available to reinforce you. Please advise.”

  In response, a figure emerged from a side door. He moved swiftly down the connector, using a skating motion in the low gravity. He stopped when he reached my position.

  “I’m Strike Force Communications,” he said. “You are?”

  “Strike Force Two Command.” I didn’t recognize the voice. Whoever he was, he hadn’t been Communications when they’d left the ship.

  “Glad to see you,” he said. “It’s getting to be a close thing here. If you’ll come with me,” he started back down the corridor with me behind him. “They can fire into the lower quarter of the corridor, so watch your step when we get close.”

  Just before the intersection, he turned into an open door. I followed. The room was pitch-black, so there was no way of telling what its original function had been. By infrared, I could make out two figures in one corner. They were bent over a map illuminated by a handheld light. One of them straightened as I came over.

  “You are from the Francis Drake?” It was Jaenna. I would have loved to have seen her face when she heard me reply, but infrared doesn’t give much detail and won’t let you see through a visor. There was a distinct pause before her next question, though.

  “How many do you have?” she asked.

  “Thirty-two.”

  “Good. Let me show you our problem.” She pointed to the map. “We have this salient here, and another one at the end of the adjacent corridor. There is also an active force, probably garrison, at the far left hand end of the corridor, but we can’t support each other because of the curve. The Carrillacki, what’s left of them, have a series of barricades and fortified rooms along the inner corridor. From where we stand, we can cover the entrances to the command centers. If most of them went for it in a rush, some of them would get in, but they could never hold us out here. As it is, though, if we charge them, we get cut to pieces.”

  “Lovely. How did you ever wind up with this?”

  Jaenna sighed. “I’ve talked to some of the garrison survivors we picked up here and it sounds like the center’s changed hands several times. Carrillacki had some sleeper assassins planted in the base, but their coordination with the space attack was poor. There was a real wild melee here earlier. Best I can tell, the Carrillacki had cleared the center but no longer had enough troops to both hold the perimeter and put the base back into operation. When we showed up, they were trying to set up a strongpoint defense out here to free up troops to work on the center. That pinned them down and, so far, has kept them from getting back in.”

  “How can we help? I think that sending more troops over that wall is just going to make a bigger pile of corpses.”

  �
��Basically true,” she said. “What I have in mind is a little less direct.” She stabbed a finger at a section of corridor on the map. “A sizable part of their force is behind two large barricades thrown across the corridor here. They also occupy two or three rooms in the inner wall of the corridor in that section.” She paused. “There is a service passage that adjoins that outer wall. I’m planning to blow it in, then throw a force through the hole, right into them. If we clear that section, we can fire from there into their other main position and take that by assault. I can’t safely pull enough troops from here to do it, but if you have thirty, we can do it.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” I said. That is, by comparison with a frontal assault. When the wall blew in on the Carrillacki, we would have a fair chance to cut them down before they could get organized. Of course, in the dark, with only the suit’s electronic beacon to tell friend from foe, the prospect of being shot by one’s own troops was as least as great as that of being shot by the Carrillacki.

  Twenty minutes later, I was crouched along with the rest of my force in the service passage that ran adjacent to the Carrillacki position. The passage was pure black. It had had lights when we entered; the darkness was our own doing, so as not to present targets when the wall went. I doubted that the Carrillacki would be ready for us. The intervening wall was not thick and enough chemical charges had been planted in it to put it into orbit. Each squad took its position flanking the mined section. By virtue of rank, I was closest and had the detonator. I took a deep breath and pushed the switch. A sixteen-second countdown began to flash in each helmet, a glowing red number against a field of jet. God, I hoped we had mined the right section of wall.

  One, said the counter. Then zero. There was a flash and debris flew. Dim light from the other side filtered through the slowly settling dust and rubble. For an awful moment, the scene was a frozen still-life.

  I screamed “Get the bastards,” and leaped into the hole, blaster firing. That was just what the troops needed. The dust around me was filled with purple blaster trails. Close behind the shots came my troops.

  Chaos reigned on the other side of the wall. We had caught the Carrillacki off guard. I saw several of them slump in that first charge, beams flaming through their armor. Then we were among them and it was blasters at close range, no quarter given or asked for. I spun around and found myself faceplate to faceplate with a Carrillacki. I swung the blaster at him and caught him in the helmet. The force of the blow sent him staggering backward. Before he recovered, I put a beam through his helmet. The moment I looked up, I saw another one drawing a bead on one of my troopers. I fired again, the purple streak ending in a spurt of flame at the juncture between helmet and suit. In front of me, the crisscrossing beams turned the area between the barricades into a zone of death. A few Carrillacki tried to hold out in the rooms along the inner wall, but they fell to determined charges. It was all over quickly. Ten of my Srihani were down, a gruesome bill for such a short action, but none of the Carrillacki survived.

  From one of the barricades, I could see the other end of the corridor. There the remaining garrison forces had been bottled up by more Carrillacki. Now, however, the tables were turned, and it was the Carrillacki who were caught between two enemies. They were going nowhere; there would be time to deal with them later. First, I positioned my survivors so they could support Jaenna’s attack.

  “Strike Force Command, this is Strike Force Two Command. Count eight from now.” Again the red countdown flashed in the helmets.

  When it reached zero, we opened fire all along the wall, pouring it into the Carrillacki across the corridor. Simultaneously, the remainder of the strike force erupted from their salients and charged the Carrillacki position. Amidst the purple beams in the corridor, I saw the red discharge of a heavy blaster. Then, our troopers were on the Carrillacki barricade, some falling, but most going over the top. When the shooting subsided, we did an about face and began to pick off the Carrillacki in front of the garrison troops.

  Not long after, I stood in the command center with the garrison commander. The lights were on and air pressure had been restored. There were signs of the fighting all around us, burns and blood across the instrument consoles and seats, two small piles of bodies, one on each side. I could see multiple scorches across my own armor. Jaenna came in as we were discussing the mechanics of putting the base into action. She was carrying the heavy blaster I had seen in action before. It was almost as long as she was tall. She asked how we were progressing.

  “Pretty well, I think,” I said. “Garrison Command says that at least thirty percent of the remote weapons are operational. We should be able to burn some of the Carrillacki ships before they figure out what happened. By the way,” I turned to the Imperial, “this is Strike Force Command from the Francis Drake.” I indicated Jaenna.

  “Strike Force Command? A female?”

  “Yes,” Jaenna said. She brought the tip of the blaster up in front of his open faceplate. “Is there a problem with that?”

  “Ah, no.” He paused to choose his words. “I apologize if I gave any offense. None was intended. You will grant me, however, that to find a female commanding a strike force is highly unusual. Even more unusual than for a freebooter to fight with the Fleet.”

  “True.” He was correct there. Jaenna lowered her blaster and the tension eased. “You never know, though,” I said. “New emperor, new rules.”

  Chapter 21

  I suppose it was a victory. We did, after all, drive off a superior force, destroying or crippling more than half of the attackers, nine ships in all. The moonbase, still in Fleet hands, remained operational. Those are the usual elements of a victory. The price, however, had been painfully high. From the Fleet squadron, only half of the ships survived. It was worse with the Lusserani. Only one of the five ships that had started the battle was still operational. And what of the four freebooters I had led into the battle?

  Tomao, who had survived so many space battles in the past, did not survive this one. Our search found no trace of the Avenging Sword, not even a clue to how its crew died. Skulls, too, was completely gone. The Cursed Wonder we found. Demril, however, was no longer “the lucky.” What was left of his ship was drifting toward Gadjeen when we overtook it. It had been shredded by beams and shot, one side blackened and partially blown away by a missile that must have detonated just outside the hull. Five of his crew were still alive in the wreckage, but Ramorir could do little more than shrug when we brought them on board.

  Ginyera’s ship we picked up in orbit around Lussern. We learned that he had attacked two Tomarillio ships that had just finished off a Lusserani ship that had been trying to interdict them from bombarding the planet. He had blasted both of them but his ship, even though it had survived the engagement, was no longer spaceworthy. The engines were rubble and a lucky shot had smashed the bridge. The survivors of his crew, though, were in good spirits. They were proud of the account they had given of themselves. We signed most of them on, which replenished our own losses.

  Ginyera himself was another matter. He had barely survived his triumph. The strike on the bridge had destroyed both his legs and opened his lower abdomen, spilling out his guts. Only luck, if you could call it that, had blown him through the entrance to the bridge before the pressure doors sealed, preventing the vacuum from finishing him. Not long after we brought him in, Ramorir came to tell me that it was hopeless. There were facilities in the Inner Empire that could have repaired even that damage, essentially by growing new parts from cell samples of his organs, but Ginyera could not live long enough in a ship’s medical unit to reach them. Even if that were possible, it was unlikely that they would treat a freebooter. There would be no such help on Lussern; the Carrillacki had seen to that.

  Ramorir and I went together to give Ginyera the bad news. He was awake, alert and comfortable thanks to the synthetic endorphin Ramorir had dosed him with. Our supply of that was also limited, and greatly in demand. Ramorir said his piece. When h
e was finished speaking, Ginyera looked at him, then nodded, without saying a word. Quickly, Ramorir drew his blaster and shot him in the head. The move caught me totally by surprise and it was as much fatigue as control that kept me from jumping backward. I was glad, at least, that I had not yielded to curiosity before and asked Ramorir why the Medical Officer was walking around with a sidearm after the battle was over.

  The toll in space, of course, was only a fraction of what had happened on the planet. Seen from Gadjeen, without magnification, it was hard to tell that anything had transpired. The face of Lussern looked the same as any other Srihani world. In close orbit around Lussern, however, a bad case of nuclear acne was obvious. Craters and slag marked most of the major cities. One area at the juncture of two rivers caught my eye. There must have been something important there once, because there now was only a cluster of overlapping craters surrounded by charred ground.

  I had the opportunity for an even closer look three days after the battle, when Jaenna and I settled to a soft landing on Lussern at the request of the acting Imperial Governor, who was also the acting Squadron Commander. His primary job, which he held in addition to those, was captain of the Tireless, one of the surviving Imperial warships. He was the senior of the remaining Imperial captains and also the senior surviving Imperial official in the system.

  The command post from which Lussern was being run was located in a physical education facility in a town of twenty thousand on the coast of Medmar, the larger of Lussern’s continents. A small spaceport, sited near the town and still operational, accounted for the location. Equally important, the town had also survived the battle unscathed.

  Ringing both the spaceport and the town were miles of hastily constructed shelters. These housed the survivors from a major metropolitan region to the north of the town, a cluster of cities that had been turned into radioactive rubble by Carrillacki missiles. With only one viable evacuation route, the populace, what was left of it, streamed south toward the town. They were still pouring in when we arrived.