The Great Game Trilogy

by O. J. Lowe

“Several confirmed hits, sir!” one of the tactical officers offered. “Their shields held. Showing strong still.”

  “Repeat fire!” Criffen said. It took a few seconds, but the guns sounded again and again, dozens upon dozens of blasts peppering the shields to little effect. It’d soon be time to take more drastic methods. On the field of battle, he could see furious dogfights ongoing as eagles and HAX’s and Chargers spat deadly plasma at each other. “Snatcher, do you copy?”

  “Copy Admiral,” the voice of Captain Adetouni growled through the comms. “What would you have us do?”

  “Snatcher, I want you to move into an advanced position and hammer that thing with your gravity bombs. See if we can suck that shield off them. Carrion Crow, attack from the other flank and overload them with your unilasers. If we can get that shield off them, we’ll hit them from three different angles, compromise them. Fighter squadrons, one through six, keep the eaglefighters busy. You…”

  He looked at the readouts, more eagles were joining by the minute, threatening to tip it to Coppinger’s favour. “You might be outnumbered but you’re the best. Keep your wing-mates close, keep your enemies in your sights. Seven and eight, nine and ten, eleven and twelve, keep on the capital ships. Run interference in case any of those eagles get through.” Even enough mosquitos could bring down a mighty beast. One eagle on its own wouldn’t have much chance against a dreadnought like the Wild Stallion but fifty would pose a serious challenge hammering away at their shields with repeated rapier assaults. “The rest of you, move in on that ship for the time being, hammer it with slasher missiles. Do not use your laser cannons against it, it will not penetrate!”

  He paused for breath, smiled grimly and tried to brush down the adrenaline assaulting his system. Bounty Snatcher was already moving into position; he could imagine gravity bombs being readied for launch. They’d been intended to be used against something with a potent shield generator, they’d suck at those barriers, leaching power until it overloaded, a process that would be made swifter by the Carrion Crow hammering it with laser fire from the other side. Normally, shields sensed where a breach was imminent and focused maximum defensive priority to that area, reinforcing and holding up at the expense of others temporarily. Enough pressure in different areas and they’d overload. Military issue shields were considerably more powerful than civilian but hitting them in multiple places was still a considerable drain on the ability to sustain it. Slasher missiles weren’t especially potent against bigger targets, the projectiles split into multiple smaller blasts after being launched, but they’d do the job here. Especially in greater numbers.

  He smiled. For all those credits and its size, this airbase couldn’t hold out against them for long. Maybe, just maybe they’d be able to take it intact. And wouldn’t that be another medal just waiting to happen?

  They’d waited a few moments longer as Noorland had moved to the consoles in the hangar, starting the process of breaking into them. Although it wasn’t his forte, probably Will Okocha would have been a better choice, Al Noorland wasn’t too bad at it. Nobody would dispute his skills. Wilsin had been there when Arnholt had forbidden Okocha from going on the mission. Too important, he’d said. The rest of them probably should have been insulted but in a strange way, Wilsin felt proud he was here. To say this was important was understating it. Brendan’s golems continued to patrol the edges of the hangar bay, crushing the bodies beneath their giant feet rather than walking around them. Noorland slipped an automated hacking tool out of his pocket and into the console, tapping a series of rapid quick commands into it. Wilsin could see his brows furrowing, breathing quickening as he leaned over to the console and clucked his tongue. It wasn’t a good sign, rather one of frustration and Wilsin found that unnerving, perhaps more than anything else.

  “Few moments,” Noorland said, glancing around at them with an easy grin. His discomfort had faded. “Tricky system to break, but I’ll get it. Just another…” He hit a key, they all heard a faint beep. “Damnit! Hang on, hang on…”

  “Damnit Agent Noorland, quit playing around and work it out,” Brendan said angrily. He didn’t like theatrics, Wilsin remembered, Noorland did tend to showboat when people were watching his performance. He loved playing to the crowd, he was a master at it. “This isn’t a…”

  “Done,” Noorland announced cheerfully. “I’ll guide you all to your destinations, see if I can track down the objectives.” He jerked a thumb towards the exit, a thick sliding blast door already opening even as he did so. “Over there. That’s the start. Hurry back, yeah?”

  They were still here and with them another Taxeen stood half at alert, ready and waiting. This one, Nick couldn’t help but open fire on, sending a triple blast into his upper body and watching him go down, knives drawn but dry. He exhaled sharply, swept the stolen weapon around to check he was covered, before moving back into the cells. Now that the shit had hit the fan, he was almost feeling nostalgic for the prison cell. There’d been no doubt that was what it was, no two ways of looking at it. He found the right cell immediately, the woman in the Unisco flight suit had retreated to the back of it. She wasn’t alone in there, another guy sat down on the bed.

  “Who are you?” he demanded. “How did they get hold of you?” He scrambled to unlock the door, searching for the controls. Somehow, he’d work it out. “Unisco?”

  The man didn’t react. The woman, the Vazaran did, rising to appraise him coolly. “Perhaps.”

  He decided to take a chance. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

  “Do your best,” she said. Still amused.

  “Don’t rush to thank me then,” Nick said, fiddling with the controls. Idly he considered leaving her in there for a moment. The man on the bed finally looked up, grinned at him.

  “She likes her jokes,” he said. “Anything to keep the spirits up. You one of us?” He was also wearing one of the flight suits.

  “Not a pilot,” Nick said. He knew how to fly but he’d never had an aptitude for it. He could get from point to point with minimum fuss, Unisco made a point of insisting as many of their agents as possible could manage various vehicles, but there were some who were a lot better than others. Some belonged in a cockpit, looked more comfortable in them than they did on the ground. These two looked like pilots, the suits their badge of office. “Not a career one anyway. But a friend.” He hit the switch, the door ground open with a screaking sound that hurt his ears. He got the impression it hadn’t been opened for a while. “After you.”

  “You with the agency?” She finally looked interested. “How will we ever thank you?” Interested but still no mistaking the sarcasm.

  “Well,” Nick smirked. “I could use someone to fly me out of here. Soon. Got something I need to do first.” He clutched the weapon tighter to him.

  “Reckon they still got our HAX’s in storage?” the Vazaran asked, her companion shrugging at the question.

  “Hells if I know. I’d have slagged them first chance I got. Remove the evidence.”

  “What squadron?” Nick asked, curious. One way to work out if they were genuine. Things could be faked, given enough prior knowledge. And just because it wasn’t common, didn’t mean it wasn’t available.

  “Remnants of Wolf Squadron,” the man said, throwing a salute. “I’m Sergeant Ross Navarro, that’s Lieutenant Alexandra Nkolou.” The woman rolled her eyes.

  “And that’s why people call me Alex,” she said in a tone suggesting he should too. He wasn’t entirely sure why she resented being called Alexandra, but he’d humour her for now.

  “But I’ll oblige you,” he said. “Wolf Squadron? I heard you all got wiped out.”

  “Not all of us, clearly.” Nkolou wasn’t having it. She reached down to the fallen Taxeen, snapped one of the knives away his wrists, broke it off with a ruptured crack, Nick nodded in appreciation. She looked like she knew how to handle it, he said nothing. “You got any other weapons?”

  “Nope.” It wasn’t a lie. “Hangars are�
��” He turned back towards the doorway, trying to work out where they were, based on what he’d seen so far. “Back that way. Find a ship, wait for me, I’ll be as quick as possible.” He gulped, saw the looks on their faces and felt the weight of his conscience on his shoulders suddenly. Things were getting hairy out there by the sounds of it. Nobody knew how much time they’d have on here, all it’d take would be one lucky shot and the whole thing could go up. “Fifteen minutes. If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, or if you don’t hear from me, get out of here. No point you…”

  “What’s happening?” Navarro asked.

  Just for a moment, Nick felt lost for words. “Outside, there’s a five kingdoms fleet. They’re here to beat the bad guys. The bad news is…”

  “We’re right in the middle of the enemy?”

  “That’s about the sum of it,” Nick had to admit. “So yeah, we’re one lucky blast… or unlucky, depending on how you want to look at it… from being blown up. I’ll understand if you don’t want to stick around.”

  “So, what are you going to do?” Nkolou wasn’t going to let it go.

  “Got to try and kill her,” Nick admitted. “Claudia Coppinger. The brains behind all this. If I don’t make it, you got to find Arnholt, confirm that. Maybe he already knows, maybe he doesn’t but he needs to hear it from me.” He threw them the Unisco salute, fist clenched and tapped it to his temple. They returned it quickly and he felt the buzz of reassurance. “Divines be with you.”

  “You too,” Navarro said. “You got a name?”

  He smiled. “Nick. Nick Roper. If we all make it out, rendezvous on Carcaradis Island, we’ll celebrate it. Sound good?”

  “Sounds fantastic,” Nkolou smiled. It was the first time he’d seen it. Probably a sight many’d consider worth waiting for. “Don’t dawdle, yeah?”

  “No intention of it,” Nick grinned. “Good luck.”

  Chapter Sixteen. Battle Heat.

  “Just get the fucking job done and survive!”

  Terrence Arnholt’s silent prayer to Unisco operatives before any dangerous mission.

  The third day of Summerfall.

  They’d run into trouble almost immediately, the enemy resistance might have been trimmed but still there were enough to outnumber them, David Wilsin could testify. It felt like they’d hit every possible group in their push for the cells, under Noorland’s directions. He had to constantly reassure himself Al wasn’t doing this deliberately, that he couldn’t help where the patrols were based. That would have been massively unfair on their eyes in the system. They were pushed for time, he had to get them there as quickly as possible.

  He jerked the Featherstone above his head, fired blindly from behind cover, Derenko and Aldiss moved out under his support, he heard their own weapons erupt with the sound of fire. Muscle memory and instinct took over, he continued to point and shoot, any sense of higher thought lost as more came running towards them, all eager to shoot, all eager to kill.

  He didn’t know how many he’d done for personally, just that the body count was racking up and nobody had gotten hurt. At least not badly. Mel Harper had screamed when a stray shot had punctured her shield, grazing her shoulder, but she was still moving, if not freely. Wilsin allowed himself a glance at her. She’d live. Blood stained her armour, her face contorted in pain, yet still she continued to fire, if erratically. One combatant came out a side door nearby, weapon raised and Wilsin clubbed him to the ground with the butt of his weapon. He went down, a quick survey telling him he was the last. For the moment, silence, bar the ragged little gasps coming from Harper.

  “Wilsin,” Derenko called down at him. “Take care of Harper, catch us up in a minute. Get that wound patched.” By the sound of it, he’d noticed the erratic shooting as well. Wilsin reached for the pack on his waist, digging out some numbing agent and a patch. It wouldn’t be a perfect job, but it would mean Harper enjoyed a little less discomfort.

  “Roger,” he said, throwing him a nod. Derenko, Aldiss and Khan moved off, he noted the direction they’d gone before turning back to Harper who’d already peeled off her armour with great discomfort. It hit the ground with a thump, she staggered back to lean against the wall, her face screwed up with pain.

  “Damn,” she said, looking down at the wound. Her eyes were glazing over, her breathing laboured and the blood running freely down her arm. “That really, really hurts, yeah? Fuck me!” She spat the words out viciously.

  Wilsin said nothing, just moved closer, broke open the numbing agent and sprayed some into the wound. Her eyes went wide, she bit down a scream as the agent worked into the wound, he saw her leg spasm involuntarily as she clutched his wrist tight as she continued to swallow down any audible reaction. Screaming now wouldn’t be the best idea, there were still hostiles active out there. He could hear blaster fire in the distance, the rest of the team had run into opposition by the sound of it, even more outnumbered than before.

  “My hero,” Harper murmured as he started to apply the patch. At least the trembling had stopped, some semblance of recognition returning to her eyes with the absence of pain. Still she favoured her shoulder when she moved but it was manageable for her now. Or so he guessed, given she didn’t look like she was struggling. “Thanks, Dave.” If he’d looked down at her, he’d have seen her eyes go wide with fear. As it was, he muttered it was nothing, moved to put away the medical items. It was when he closed the clasp on his pouch that he realised the lights had dimmed in the corridor. David Wilsin blinked several times, not exactly sure why until he looked up. He blanched, swallowed a very deep breath and clutched his weapon tight.

  He’d seen him before. The big fellow. The missing link. The blank slate. Whoever he was, he looked a whole lot bigger up close. Especially with the fixation on Wilsin in his eyes and his arm coming back to hurl a punch.

  “Oh crap!”

  It was like getting hit by a mag-rail carriage, suddenly he was airborne, blinding pain rupturing through his chest as his armour was compromised and he hit the ground in an untidy heap.

  Unilasers and gravity bombs hammered into the shields from two different angles, Criffen could see they were having a gradual effect, if a slow one. No shield, no matter how strong could take abuse like this, continuous bursts of bright blue fire ripping into the shields side by side with the blinding white boom-blast from the gravity bomb that were followed by a sudden temporary absence of sound. Gunships swooped to follow up with slasher missile bursts, each of them sending pretty scarlet sparks over the shields and Criffen smiled at the report the shields were slowly being compromised. Let the Bounty Snatcher and the Lost Lucie deal with the shields, pound away until were no more and then his own ship would start to shred the airbase below with fire when they went down. It felt like the perfect plan. Getting past the shields would take all the firepower of those two ships, they’d withdraw and recharge while the Stallion moved in for the kill.

  Across the battlefield, eaglefighters and HAX’s and chargers were engaging each other furiously, blowing up as many of the enemy as were taken with them, the numbers rapidly thinning out by the second. Already they’d lost twenty percent of their attack force and the numbers showed no sign of slowing down. About the only saving grace was that they were taking them with them, eaglefighter numbers reduced by the same amount, no wait, more, twenty-two percent, twenty-five percent…

  The shields went down, not with a bang but with a whimper, he’d privately hoped for more of a show as the announcement came they’d been disabled. Airbase was no longer a defended target. He fought the urge to rub his hands together in glee. That was exactly what he wanted to hear. “Stallion move in for the kill,” he commanded. “Snatcher, Lucie, proceed to move out of range. We’re going to light this thing up now.”

  “Sir!” one of the analysts shouted, cutting off his train of thought. “The airbase’s weapons are powering up.”

  “What?!” Before now, they’d had no indication of weapons. Just that they were hiding behind shields.
Scans had failed to pick up any sort of weapon systems on board and suddenly he rounded on those analysts. “Where the hells did those come from?”

  The weapons lit up like a firework display, ten, twenty, thirty, forty… more than he could count… all erupted simultaneously, weapons systems easily on a par with the unilasers pounding the shields moments earlier but outnumbering them by a comfortable few dozen and suddenly they were bombarded with calls from the Lost Lucie, the dreadnought’s own shields rapidly overwhelmed and suddenly it was the hull being breached by corrosive fire, missiles suddenly launched into the fray. No ship could take that sort of abuse for long…

  Criffen had never felt so impotent as he watched the Lost Lucie explode in a fireball, a lucky shot hitting their fuel banks, hundreds of men and women lost forever. He exhaled sharply, collective gasps heard around the control centre. To be up against such firepower was unheard of. “Impossible,” somebody muttered, he was almost in agreement with them. For a few moments, the control centre resonated with stunned silence and then he remembered himself. He remembered where they were.

  “Nothing’s impossible. Get back to them now! The shields are down, we need to take these risks! Squadrons move in! Bombard them with all your firepower, you’ll be harder to hit. Watch out for eaglefighters on your backs. Bounty Snatcher continue to assault, back those fighters up. Sitting Target, do you record any survivors?”

  “Negative admiral.” The words came like a hammer, he tried to block them out. The important thing would be to not get caught out by the same trick twice. It did absolutely nothing for those already killed though.

  The metal ring flashed to life in front of them and Wim was momentarily surprised by it, only for a few seconds though. The portable projector on the floor of the shuttle winked into action, producing a tiny holographic figure, just a head and shoulders but one he didn’t find familiar. Madam Coppinger did though, it would appear.