by Aer-ki Jyr
“We’re not sticking around to eat, are we?”
Mason glanced around outside the booth. “We’ll linger a bit. They have anything good here?”
“Not that I can eat.”
“Your problem,” he said, smiling at the faceplate. “Get us some snacks and whatever Varsa would like, but nothing that will take more than half an hour.”
“Get you some snacks you mean,” he said, running through the menu with Varsa.
Two weeks later the Mandoshan freighter arrived in the Dechma System, following the client’s ship by less than a day. Mason’s small jumpship was much faster and could have arrived within 34 hours, but he didn’t want to get there before the client did, which would make things awkward. This way the Bataranks would know that they’d been hired and weren’t here on some other action, and he hoped he might be able to pull some live intel from them during the operation, given that they had eyes and ears everywhere, and the Marauders needed to eliminate all of the militants and not leave so much as one around to cause trouble after they left.
That would be sloppy business, and if the Bataranks were going to scare off more poaching of their planet in the future by hiring the Marauders, they need a clean and efficient sweep of the malcontents to drum up the fear in anyone else that might think the planet an easy mark.
The jumpship was called the 17, which simply meant it was the 17th interstellar-capable ship that the Marauders had acquired. They didn’t name them like Star Force did, and this one had been bought from the local market to make it blend in with this region of the galaxy rather than bringing in an ADZ craft that would stand out like a sore thumb. If they wanted to attract attention and intimidate someone then that was the way to go, but more often than not the Marauders preferred a less than auspicious entrance.
That said, the Mandoshan freighter wasn’t really a Mandoshan freighter anymore. It had been hauled back to the ADZ and gutted, literally, with everything interior being junked and sold for spare parts while maintaining the outer shell. That shell had been used to build a new ship within, using ADZ technology that was far superior to what the locals here possessed. That meant the Marauders could use the Mandoshan freighter to move about anonymously, but still have the muscle necessary if they needed to fight their way out of a situation, or out run one. As far as they knew, their gravity drives were considerably better than anything the nearest 50 systems had to offer, meaning they could literally go where they wanted, when they wanted, without anyone able to follow them.
The Marauders didn’t make use of that function often, preferring to keep the capabilities of their ships a secret aside from the ‘foreign’ models they threw about every now and then, but this operation was small scale enough to fit everything they needed in this 620 meter long/wide freighter, though to make it a proper jumpship nearly a third of the internal volume had to be dedicated to housing the engines and power core.
Mason had brought a crew of 8 with him to Tieor, then grabbed another dozen or so personnel that were on station there, including Le’han’trel, leaving the base in the hands of Krivan, a junior but trustworthy member of the mercenary organization. With everyone originating from within Star Force, finding people that could be relied upon wasn’t a problem, plus they didn’t have local affiliations or history to muddy the waters like some of their competition did.
When they entered planetary orbit of Numchalla, they took their time and made a thorough scan of the surface using their own equipment before heading down to the largest spaceport on the somewhat backwater world. It boasted a population of 23 million, but saw those Bataranks scattered across numerous cities and villages, leaving them without any one stronghold to work out of. The city of Yiivala was the largest, and where their client had informed them that they should land their ship, for there were only a handful of slips large enough to accommodate their vessel on the surface.
As they queried the local controller during the atmospheric descent, they got a panicked message from their client indicating that the militants were currently in Yiivala and were demanding payment from the shippers coming and going. Mason replied that they’d take care of it, then he told the pilot to land them as if nothing were amiss before heading back to the equipment room via a detour through the lounge and training area.
“Change of plans,” he told Le’han’trel as he was working with a set of free weights. “There’s a reception committee at the spaceport, so gear up. We need to introduce ourselves.”
“Meaning?” the Protovic asked, his face aglow as he set the weights in their nearby storage rack as several other strike team members did likewise.
“Our quarry seem to be taxing the shipping traffic coming through the spaceport.”
“Ah,” he said, understanding. Le’han’trel was glad it wasn’t an actual reception committee. Those political shenanigans were boring as hell.
Mason led the way out and met up with the others in the equipment room where a few of the mercs were waiting rather than getting into their armor.
“You want all of us?” one of them asked.
“Better safe than sorry,” Mason said, opening his locker and pulling out the pieces of the Reen-made armor that had been custom fitted to his frame years ago. It wasn’t up to Star Force quality, but since they didn’t sell military equipment to civilians, others specialized in that market and the Reen had the best personal equipment available. Despite the fact that they themselves were huge quadrupeds, they knew how to make adequate armor for Humans and other bipeds. “And I don’t want any of them getting away, so be ready to run down multiple targets. Jackson, get the Valerie prepped. Their fighter is in the air to intimidate the shippers to pay the price.”
“You want that captured or scrapped?” the ex-Star Force Regular pilot asked.
“Preferably captured, so we can sell what’s left of it.”
“I’ll try and be gentle,” he said, pulling on a different set of armor than he would have worn had he been going in with the infantry.
Mason clicked the various pieces of armor onto his body, locking them in place then testing to make sure all the joints were secured. He pulled the helmet on last, finding the fit reassuring, for he’d spent hundreds of combat hours in this suit, and hadn’t yet had to replace the headgear.
The others dressed in similar armor, all of which was painted dark blue with red stripes going down the outside of the arms and legs. Their weapons had also been painted the same color of red, with the plasma rifles being custom fitted with an extra component slung under the barrel. A typical modification, but whereas most individuals would have added a rocket launcher, flame thrower, or some other type of area of effect weapon, the Marauders had purchased a stun mod that gave them the ability to take down targets without killing them, though it was nowhere near as effective as the stun weapons Star Force used, nor could it pass through armor.
That meant most enemies they faced had to shot to be disabled, with the stun mostly being useful against unarmored opponents. Reports were that the militants wore a hodgepodge of armor, so it was likely that they were going to have to be taken down the hard way or forced to surrender…though without a translator handy during a firefight there wasn’t going to be much opportunity to offer one, unless they bad guys just threw their weapons down and their hands up.
Once he was fully equipped he and the others moved to the internal hangar and three auxiliary exits, one of which was on the top of the craft. They waited inside until the freighter had set down, then listened to the communal comm channel for Mason to give the word.
“I need a target count,” he said, looking at the vid screen next to the closed hatch that showed what was outside before you opened the opaque door. “I mark two to port.”
“Got another aft.”
“Three starboard fore.”
Mason waited a moment, then the pilot finally added, “Someone’s coming up to the ship, heading to the main bay doors.”
“Lower them, but stay out of sight in
side. I need a team topside.”
“On it,” Ray’so’mal said.
“Le’han’trel, take the bay team. I’m flanking.”
“Copy.”
Two mercs wearing full armor minus the helmets, escorted a third individual that wore casual clothes plus a hip-holstered pistol over to the ship’s lowering ramp as the apparent leader began speaking rapidly in Klixet, making demands for the crew to come out and them being given access to inspect the cargo, citing something about a maintenance fee when a flash of blue armor ran out from the left side and barreled down the ramp.
Le’han’trel rammed the merc on the left in an unarmed tackle before he could bring his weapon up, in typical Protovic fashion, then as the other two turned and backed away from the pair and tried to draw their weapons a slightly delayed pair of blurs followed him out and took them down, but not before the unarmored Selofan got a shot off into one of the Marauders.
The chest shield held up, barely, until physical contact was made and that ripped through what was left of the cheap energy barrier and the militant was knocked to the ground. The Marauder rolled off him, grabbing his pistol as he did so, then another Marauder followed him up and shot the leader with a stun blast of hazy green energy that left him groggy but still conscious. A second shot solved that problem, then the other Marauders coming out of the ship helped wrestle the armored mercs to the ground and disarm them as a few plasma shots were heard elsewhere around the bay.
Mason was the recipient of those shots, three of which missed but one hit him in the left pectoral, soaking into his energy shield as the militant shooting at him from afar turned and ran when he saw two more armored soldiers following. The Human swore and sprinted after him, ducking into a side doorway and trying to keep within sight. The pudgy alien was slow, but he had a head start through unfamiliar terrain.
After two fleeting glances through the confines of the spaceport Mason lost him, only to see pointing arms from the surrounding crowd telling him to go left. He didn’t know whether to trust them or not, but he figured why not and headed off that direction as opposed to just choosing one at random.
The hallway went through several curves, then quickly exited onto a city street where a blue plasma streak shot past him and hit a bystander. Mason visually tracked it back to the source and sprinted off after the militant again, this time with clear street to work with as the crowds backed away from the weaponsfire.
He might not have been in as good of shape now as he had been when in Star Force, but he hadn’t lost much of his speed and used it now to run the bastard down within 20 seconds, not bothering to shoot back until he got within a couple of meters of the target. A shower of sparks blew out from the impact point on the militant’s unshielded armor, but apparently the plasma shot wasn’t enough to get through to the ugly thing’s skin.
Not wanting to try for a head shot, he sprinted up closer and jabbed the barrel of his rifle into its back, tipping it forward and tripping it up on its own feet. Mason jumped into the air as it happened and came down with a stiffened knee on top of the militant, disorienting and knocking the breath out of him as the ex-commando made the takedown.
He put the muzzle of his plasma rifle in the guy’s face and held it there, giving him the idea that it would be a good idea to stay down and stay put. The militant complied and Mason held him in place until his backup caught up to him, then the Marauders pulled out some easy-snap restraints and took the guy prisoner.
Mason glanced back the way they’d come, remembering the bystander that had been shot, then he punched the exposed head of the guy once for the sloppy shot before hauling him to his feet and dragging him back to the ship when he refused to walk.
7
With the floor of the landing bay secured and the main doors on the 17 open, the pointy end of the Valerie eased out of the ship, hovering into the clear and staring down the handful of people that were still in the bay, some of which were now coming out of the woodwork knowing that the Marauders were here under contract and feeling safe enough to have a look around now that the short-lived fireworks were over.
But they weren’t, and as soon as the Valerie got clear of the ship by a good dozen meters or so it kicked up its anti-grav and gained altitude, picking up the nearby militant fighter about a mile off as it circled about lazily. That demeanor shifted as soon as the Marauder got his craft above the retaining walls around the bay and into view, with it accelerating towards him in a quick curve off its former heading.
The Valerie’s shields went up, offering more than enough protection against the plasma weapons of the primitive fighter. The Valerie itself was armed with plasma, but not all versions were equal and Jackson knew he could down the fighter with ease. That wasn’t the mission, however, plus they were over the city right now and he needed to draw it off to keep from hitting anyone below.
Making it look like he was running, the Marauder accelerated to the east, holding back from full thrust otherwise he’d outrun his pursuit. It didn’t take long for both of them to pass over the city’s edge, for it wasn’t that large, and a few kilometers was all the distance he needed before the grassy plains took over. As soon as both fighters were in the clear the Marauder stopped playing impotent and executed a tight, sweeping turn that the opponent tried to mimic…and failed.
Two full rotations around and the merc was on the militant’s tail. He popped a golden ball of plasma against the hull, confirming that it had no shields as it melted/exploded a small section just behind the cockpit. The pilot kept the yield on the plasma low and peppered a few more key spots as the enemy fighter tried to evade, but with the superior design of the Valerie the Marauder was able to keep with it and, so long as he was patient, was able to line up all the shots he wanted.
Eventually one of the small probing shots hit the engines and the fighter dropped from the sky during a loop low to the ground. He’d waited for that moment to fire the last shot, hoping to knock it down when it only had about 30 meters of altitude to fall from. The stubby ship hit nose first, digging a short trench into the grass before the momentum flipped it over in a somersault that crunched various edges in, like the fighter was being punched into a wad of metal, but no explosions resulted and the craft finally came to a rest amidst some small brush fires, more or less intact.
“Bird is down,” the pilot reported. “Need a recovery team asap.”
Jackson brought the Valerie into a low hover and drifted it around a square patrol pattern as he waited, looking to see if the pilot would come out or not, as well as to keep anyone else from venturing out to the crash site from the city or the tiny dwellings nearby.
Too easy.
Two weeks later Mason was on the perimeter of the militant stronghold with two other former commandos, neither of which he’d served with previously in Star Force, but the way they trained their people made it easy for them to link up without any prior knowledge of each other. These two were both Human, with Frank having been Axius and Zaeb mainline. The pair had been with Mason on numerous missions, mostly those that required a bit more muscle than usual, and he liked keeping them close, for as a trio they were virtually impossible to stop.
Frank carried an auxiliary shield generator in a backpack, while Zaeb and Mason were packing extra weapons. No explosives, for they wanted a clean strike, and their plasma rifles were more than adequate to burn through any doors that needed removing.
The trio of ex-commandos moved along a ditch, splashing through the bit of mud in the center in the dead of night and moving up to a bridge that held a guard station. The depression was deep enough to cover them from view and the station was on the exterior side of the trench, focused on incoming traffic without any windows to the inside. Mason had checked on that from afar during the reconnaissance run the previous day, for ever since the Marauders had started picking off the scattered militants across the planet they’d begun retreating here and turtling up.
Not concerned with the sounds of their footfalls,
the trio ran through the ditch along a now empty grazing field. No one was out and about the exterior perimeter, and even if they were it would have been on the other side of the fence that tracked the inside of the little-used waterway. They needed to get to target quickly, and the longer they lingered the better the chance of someone spotting them out of pure luck, hence the running.
Most of the base defenses were well inside the perimeter, waiting for someone to cross the bridge or come over the fence and through the fields by foot. Taking the guard station would do little to hamper the defenses, in fact, it was basically a decoy setup, for if anyone hit it the rest of the base would immediately know and go on alert. That made it a sacrificial lure designed to pull the Marauders in, but Mason was going to take it anyway.
He was in the lead as they came up on the bridge, then stopped short of one of the two support beams that came up out of the dirt to hold up the short structure. Pulling his plasma rifle out he hesitated for a moment, letting the other two catch up from the few steps behind him that they’d been running to avoid a lucky shot from taking out all three. He pointed up the side of the ditch, with Frank jumping into the lead and scaling it on all fours.
When he got to the top he pulled out a pistol and moved up to the base of the structure, looking around as the other two climbed up more slowly using just their legs and a balancing hand. There were no lights on this side, save for what was on the bridge, and they didn’t shine on anything other than the road. The ambient glow brightened the area a bit, but the sky was hazy and the trio appeared as nothing more than weak shadows as they circling around and came in the guard station’s front side.
Frank sprinted across the opening, firing a plasma shot through one of the windows with it blowing apart the glass and turning it into shrapnel that bounced off the militants’ armor, startling them out of their relaxed poses as they drew their weapons to try and target the enemy as he shot from left to right across their view.