Supercarrier: The Ixan Prophecies Trilogy Book 1

by Scott Bartlett

  “They hit hard and quick, ma’am,” Davies answered over a platoon-wide channel. “We’re pinned down, here.”

  “How many?”

  “My squad’s outnumbered, two-to-one at least.”

  “Sit tight. We’re moving up from the south-east to support. Wahlburg, set up a flank from the west. Maintain your rear guard, Ryerson.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Strange,” Caine said as her hand dropped once more to her weapon. “I expected them to engage us from their base. It’s like we flushed them out just by arriving.”

  Husher considered for a moment. “I think it’s a fluke that they’re engaging us at all. I bet they got word of our arrival, but not which direction we’re coming from. They moved to flee the area and happened to run into us.”

  “If you’re right, they’ll disengage as soon as they can. But it makes no sense for them to give up their base so quickly. It’s within easy reach of at least four Ocharium mining operations, and we know that’s their favorite type of target.” She shook her head. “Anyway, we don’t have time to debate it. Let’s move!”

  Husher had some theories about why the radicals might be disengaging, but he favored breathing over talking as he ran. The squad double-timed through the dusty city, and it took everything he had to keep up with Caine and the others.

  The streets themselves were empty, as though the locals had developed a sixth sense for danger and knew better than to remain outside. Living in the Bastion Sector, I’m not surprised.

  Davies’s voice blared over the short-range radio. “Sergeant, the radicals have disengaged. There was a break in the firing, and it took me a minute to figure out what happened. Looks like they’re headed your way.”

  “How soon?” Caine barked.

  But Husher didn’t need Davies’s reply to know how soon. The glint of a muzzle from a nearby alley told him everything. He trained his rifle on the radical kneeling in the shadows, just as the man started to fire.

  Chapter 3

  Contact

  “Contact!” Husher shouted redundantly as gunshots echoed off buildings and he squeezed the assault rifle’s trigger. He’d aimed for the chest, but the kickback sent his spray upward, terminating in the man’s face, which the Ocharium-enriched bullets obliterated.

  Sergeant Caine had taken a round in the chest. Her body armor would have absorbed it, but Husher knew that still hurt like hell. Even so, she showed no sign of the pain. “Fall back!” she screamed. “Defensive positions!”

  They trotted backward into an alley, and Husher chose a rust-covered dumpster for cover. Caine ducked into a doorway opposite him. She tried the knob, but it was locked.

  “There’s a door over here, too,” he hissed, motioning behind him.

  “Try it.”

  He did. It opened.

  Caine nodded. “Take Leng and see if you can get a firing solution from an upper floor.”

  Inside, they found a store selling bolts of colorful fabric. A head poked out of a storage room behind the counter, disappearing when Husher spotted it.

  “How do we get upstairs?” he shouted.

  “Other door,” came the reply.

  The two soldiers exchanged glances, and Leng shrugged. They took the door to the right of the counter and dashed up the stairs they found beyond it. As they neared the top, more gunfire reached their ears from outside.

  A dwelling sat over the shop, presumably the shopkeep’s. Taking a second to reorient himself, Husher headed in the direction the radicals would attack from.

  “Here,” he called back to Leng. “The kitchen. There’s only one window, though.”

  “I’ll find another.”

  “No way. Watch my six. We don’t know which side the shopkeep’s on, and the radicals will figure out we’re here pretty fast.”

  “Okay.”

  Husher hit the button to raise the window and eased his muzzle past the frame. Something made him look up, and he spotted a radical with the same idea they had—positioned in a second-story window on the opposite side of the street.

  The radical’s attention was on the ground below. Husher took careful aim. If he missed, he’d only get into a prolonged firefight, squandering the advantage they’d gained by coming up here.

  He squeezed off a round, and the target went down. A wave of shock hit him as he realized that was the second life he’d ended this morning.

  He’d killed three people before this, but those had been spread out over a prolonged campaign, and they’d been enemy pilots he’d taken out from a Condor. Today was the first time he’d ever watched someone die, and it made him realize he’d been treating his first kills like a video game. These were far more real.

  “Hey,” Leng said behind him. “You all right?”

  “Yeah.” Husher took a deep breath and refocused on the street. Another radical holding a grenade was creeping toward the alley where Caine and the others were hunkered down. The enemy approached at an angle that concealed her from the marines’ view. She kept glancing upward, no doubt conscious of the gunfire that had originated from Husher’s position.

  “Another target approaching your position with a grenade,” Husher said over the short-range. “I can distract her with suppressive fire.”

  “Execute,” came Caine’s reply. “Now.”

  Husher fired, and the target reacted immediately, scrambling backward. She reached down to activate the grenade, but Caine popped out of the alleyway below, firing a burst that found the target’s neck. She hit the ground and stopped moving.

  As quick as Caine had emerged, she ducked back into the alleyway. Wow. Husher admired her willingness to put herself in harm’s way to protect her squad.

  “Look for further targets and report, Husher,” the Sergeant ordered.

  Husher did. He saw nothing else that moved. “Clear,” he replied. “They’ve disengaged again, as far as I can tell.”

  He and Leng made their way back to ground-level. “Good work, First Lieutenant,” Caine said once they’d reunited. “I was starting to think you considered this a class field trip.”

  He nodded in answer. Probably the closest thing I’ll get to a compliment today.

  They made their way through the streets to the city center without further incident, only to find the radicals’ base looking deserted.

  “Could be a trap,” Caine muttered. One of the members of her squad was a nanotechnician, and she had him deploy a nanodrone first, patching the feed into everyone’s helmets to get as many eyeballs on it as possible.

  “Looks as empty as your bunk, Wahlburg,” Ryerson remarked.

  “Emptier,” Wahlburg said, whose squad was still patrolling their perimeter. “I do use my bunk to sleep, you know.”

  The nanodrone turned a corner, revealing something Husher didn’t like at all. “Wait a second,” he said. “This is a hospital.” The feed showed a bed with an IV machine sitting next to it, tubes dangling, looking forlorn. When the drone turned, they saw a torn map of the surrounding region, with the locations of Ocharium mining facilities marked by red tacks.

  “The radicals were using a hospital for their base,” Caine said, her voice devoid of emotion.

  “We can’t destroy that,” Husher said. “We should radio up to Keyes about this, so he can update our mission objective.”

  “Yeah,” Caine said. “Okay.” She fingered the touchpad on the side of her helmet, executing a gesture that would connect her to the CIC of the Providence.

  “We have our orders,” Keyes said once Caine expressed their concerns to him. He spoke on a wide channel, so they all could hear. “It does no good for me to verify them with Command, because they’ll answer as they always do in these situations. Like it or not, completing these missions is how the Providence avoids getting decommissioned, which is an outcome I will not allow to happen.”

  “But this will turn the region against the Commonwealth even further,” Caine said.

  Keyes sighed, his voice laden with em
otion. “Trust me, executing orders like these disgusts me just as much as it does you. But the alternative is graver still. Keyes out.”

  “This is exactly what the government wants,” Husher said. “Actions like these help the radicals’ cause, driving up their recruitment and resulting in ever-escalating terror. Greater terror justifies a greater Fleet response, which feeds more profits to the Darkstream war machine.”

  “Sounds like we have a conspiracy theorist in our midst,” Ryerson said.

  “Shut up,” Caine said, though her voice lacked its vigor from before. “All of you. You heard the Captain. Go inside and set the charges.”

  Chapter 4

  An Engaged Citizenry

  They blew the hospital, and the reaction from the locals was more or less immediate. On their way back to the shuttle, they soon found themselves surrounded by enraged citizens, who yelled at them in at least three different languages, including English.

  “Keep an eye out for anyone armed,” Caine said over the short-range. “Standby to engage.”

  Radio communications were the only way they could hear each other, now. Otherwise the crowd’s tumult overwhelmed their voices.

  “We can’t shoot civilians,” Husher shot back. “The entire Bastion Sector will revolt.”

  “We can if they’re pointing guns at us, Husher. Politics take a backseat to the lives of my platoon. Problem?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Good.”

  The mob surged closer, growing less fearful of the marines’ artillery by the second. One man got in Ryerson’s face, and the marine shoved him back, pointing his gun at the man’s head.

  “Steady, Ryerson.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Husher. You’re a diplomat, right?”

  “Xenodiplomacy, God damn it! I have some training in xenodiplomacy!”

  “Good enough for me. If you have any ideas, now’s the time. I can’t read your mind. I’m not a Kaithian.”

  Ryerson spat, and it came close to landing on a civilian. “Screw diplomacy. They’re only a bunch of Ardent-worshipers.” He gestured savagely with his gun, and the crowd near him shrank back a little. “That’s why they’re so radicalized. Ardent’s the Ixan god, for crying out loud.”

  “It has nothing to do with that,” Husher said, feeling bile creeping up his throat. The combination of adrenaline and his disgust for soldiers like Ryerson, who swallowed Commonwealth propaganda whole, was not doing much for his digestive system.

  “What’s it got to do with, then, Mr. Court-Martial?”

  Husher struggled to keep his cool. “They’re angry because of shit like this. Blowing up hospitals. Propping up dictators in the region. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. The government isn’t trying to calm this region down, they’re trying to fire it up. It lets us justify coming in for their Ocharium.”

  “Okay, you two are worse than useless,” Caine said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Wahlburg, check the map on your heads-up. Do you see the square, three streets from our location?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “I want you to establish a perimeter there. Give our shuttle lots of space to land. We’re going to push through this crowd to that square. After that, I’m gonna ask the captain for a stiff drink to celebrate a casualty-free mission. Are we clear?”

  “Clear, Sarge.”

  “Clear.”

  “Ryerson?”

  “Clear.”

  They began to shoulder through the throng, and the shouting grew louder. Some of the insults in English even started to get to Husher.

  “UHF scum!” one woman hollered.

  “Sellouts,” a teenager shrieked. “Sellout prostitutes! You sell out your own species!”

  At last, they reached an alley that provided a defensible bottleneck, allowing the marines to rush through to the next street while Caine, Husher, Leng, and Ryerson held off the crowd. Someone raised a baseball bat overhead, and Husher caught it before it could descend, leveling a stern finger at the would-be assailant, who retreated.

  “All right,” Caine said. “That’s everyone. Let’s go meet our shuttle.”

  As they turned to follow, a sniper rifle went off above their heads, and Leng collapsed against the nearby building. Husher stared at the blood that welled up from Leng’s ruined face.

  “He’s gone. We have to go.”

  In a daze, Husher knelt next to Leng, his hand hovering over the downed man’s still frame.

  “Husher, he’s gone! Look at his vitals.” Caine sent them to his heads-up and grabbed his arm at the same time, yanking him down the alleyway. The crack of a second sniper shot followed instantly, scoring the building where Husher’s head had been.

  That woke him up. He glanced at Leng’s vitals. Flat-lined.

  He ran after Caine.

  Chapter 5

  Darkstream

  Tennyson Steele smoothed his suit over his prodigious stomach, wondering whether there was anything to this new diet his wife was trying to push on him. Should I bother with it? The feel of the pashmina under his fingers distracted him from the matter of his girth.

  He placed those fingers on the heavy mahogany door before him. Cool, smooth. He smiled and pushed it open.

  Calvin Godfrey, Darkstream Security CEO, grimaced when he saw his CFO enter the room. “Steele. Get out. I’m busy.”

  “Oh, I won’t take up too much of your time, Calvin.” Steele strolled to one of the two chairs in front of Godfrey’s desk. The cushion sank under his weight, accommodating him nevertheless. The chair was designed to support fat businessmen like him. He almost chuckled at the thought, but restrained himself. It wouldn’t do to confuse the poor man.

  “Have you given any more thought to my proposal?” Steele asked. The lump of mirror-like Ocharium ore on Calvin’s desk always caught his eye, but he refused to let himself get distracted by it.

  “Only to how absurd it is. We can’t go to the board with that rubbish. You must be out of your mind.”

  “I think you would find the board quite receptive, actually.” His eyes crept to the ore again. How he loved to play with it, marveling at its strange properties—like how it always weighed more than its mass should have allowed. “Our profits are flat-lining. The Bastion Sector has ceased to be a reliable source of growth. And the public has truly soured on the idea of any more fighting. We have to do something.” Instead of the ore, Steele plucked a piece of clean, white paper from Godfrey’s desk and started working on a piece of origami.

  “Yes, and that’s why we have our populist friend running for President of the Commonwealth on a platform of stopping war. Sonya Hurst will ride that popular sentiment into power, at which point she’ll turn around and approve the next round of invasions.”

  “That’s a stopgap measure at best, Calvin.” Steele brought one corner of the paper to meet its opposite, creasing down the middle with a steady hand. “The public will quickly figure out that Hurst’s anti-establishment posturing was a facade, and when they do they’ll be even angrier.” The paper unfurled in his hand, and he made a second crease that crisscrossed the first. “And then we have this new movement within the Ardent religion, promoting peace even in the face of persecution. It’s gaining popularity in the region. Soon, we could find ourselves bombing a sector full of radical pacifists. How do you suppose those optics will play in the media?”

  Calvin was shaking his head, causing his jowls to jiggle.

  At least I don’t have jowls. I’m lucky my fat just makes my face looks like an extension of my neck.

  “I always knew you were an idiot, Steele, but it’s only now that I’m realizing the magnitude of your stupidity.”

  The words made it so Steele couldn’t stop a smile from breaking out on his face. I’ve played Calvin exactly right, haven’t I?

  “Why are you smiling, you cretin? Your idea for increasing shareholder profits is illegal. Plain, old-fashioned, no-loopholes illegal. You do realize that, right?”
>
  The paper had taken a diamond shape in Steele’s hands, and he continued to fold as he maintained eye contact with Calvin, pausing only to adjust his glasses. His response was quiet enough that Calvin was forced to lean forward to hear it: “Do you realize we are legally bound to increase shareholder profits? That’s what it means to be a limited liability corporation, Calvin.” Steele reached inside his suit, producing a sheaf of papers onto which he’d printed a series of photos. Without another word, he tossed them onto Calvin’s desk.

  “What is this?” The CEO shuffled through the papers, and as he did his sneer slowly faded away.

  The photos showed Calvin Godfrey’s family going about their daily routines, on their way to work, school, soccer practice, whatever.

  “Life is so funny, isn’t it, Calvin?” Steele said. “No one is totally secure. We all have countless points of vulnerability that plague us every day, times when we’re at the mercy of pretty much anyone with bad intentions.”

  “What are you trying to say, Steele?”

  Tennyson Steele stood, holding up the completed paper crane so Calvin could admire it. Then he made a fist. He let the crumpled mess fall onto the desk.

  “We’ll be going ahead with my plan.”

  Chapter 6

  UHS Buchanan

  “And here’s our complement of shuttles,” the marine said, sweeping her hand in a gesture of mock seriousness. “This completes our tour of the UHS Buchanan. Unless you’d like a tour of the shuttles themselves.”

  “That’s quite all right, Corporal Simpson. I think I’ve seen enough for today.” Senator Sandy Bernard leaned against the thick window that looked out on the six shuttles, sitting out there in their depressurized chamber. Corporal Trish Simpson took up a position beside her.

  The unlikely pair stared out at the shuttle bay in silence for a moment, and the senator pushed her brown hair out of her eyes for the hundredth time that day. Why do I still have bangs? She always meant to tell her hairdresser to cut them off, but inevitably they got into a heated discussion about the state of the galaxy instead, and she forgot all about it.