Interceptor (Strike Commander Book 2)

by Richard Tongue

   “Angel,” Morgan ordered, “get back to the shuttle and start warming her up. I'll stay down here for the moment and mop-up.”

   “Right,” she replied. “We're going to need some help, though.”

   “Wagner,” McCormack ordered, snatching his daughter in his arms. “Two stretchers, on the double.” Looking down at the girl, he said, “Are you alright?”

   Turning to Mendez, now blissfully unconscious, she replied, “That woman, she pushed me out of the way. She saved me.”

   “As I'm sure she would say if she could,” Morgan said, walking towards them, “You're welcome.” She looked back to see two of the deputies racing forward with stretchers, carefully placing the wounded soldiers on them for transport to the waiting shuttle.

   “My daughter owes her, owes you all her life, and I don't even know her name.”

   “That's Spaceman First Class Mendez,” she replied. “I'm Ensign Valeria Morgan, of the Triplanetary Starship Churchill.” Glancing up at orbit, she said, “We were supposed to be here on a covert assignment, but I think that ship has well and truly left orbit.”

   He nodded, looking down at his daughter again, and said, “I'm just glad you were here. I hate to think what would have happened otherwise.”

   “All clear, Sheriff,” one of the other deputies said. “All the kids are fine. Their parents are on their way to pick them up right now.”

   “Better arrange for a medical check first, just in case.”

   “Already in the works, boss.” Glancing around, he said, “We can handle all this.”

   “No,” he replied, shaking his head. “We've got a lot of wounded people in there, collateral damage from the firefight.”

   “I took basic paramedic training,” Morgan replied. “Perhaps I can help. You should stay with your daughter. She needs you more than they do, right now.”

   Nodding, he replied, “You've already done more than I could ever ask for, but I accept. Fedorov will show you where to go. And thank you, Ensign. For saving my daughter's life.”

   “All part of the service, sir,” she replied, making for the airlock. Behind her, she heard a roar as Churchill's shuttle began its flight to orbit, carrying its load of wounded. She glanced up at it, then turned back to the hatch. Her people would have the best possible care, and she still had a job to do.

  Chapter 3

   Mallory looked down at the dying woman on the medical bed, Doctor Strickland doing everything in his power to save her life, but no matter what he tried, Nakadai's life signs continued to fall. Reaching down for her hand, she held it gently in hers, silently urging her to fight against the creeping darkness. It did no good. All the fight had been taken from her, and the young crewman's eyes slowly closed, her head falling to the side, the bleeping of the monitors reduced to a dull monotone.

   “Damn,” Strickland said, shaking his head. “I just...damn.” He glanced at the clock, and for the benefit of the recorder, said, “Time of death 0920 Zulu.”

   “You did everything you could,” Mallory said, her eyes locked on the dead woman on the bed. “There was nothing you could do.”

   “There's always something,” Strickland said, moving over to his other patient. “This time I just wasn't quick enough, nor good enough.” Gesturing at the sleeping figure on the second bed, he said, “Mendez will be fine. Nice clean shot through the shoulder. She won't be running around with a rifle any time soon, but she'll be up and about in a week.”

   “Thank you, Doctor,” she replied, moving to the door. Outside, in the corridor, Conway walked towards her, glancing into the room and shaking his head.

   “I'm sorry, Kat.”

   “Captain,” she answered, absentmindedly, walking towards the room she had commandeered as her office. The door slid open at her approach, and she stepped inside, sitting behind her desk, Conway following and taking the other chair. “Is there something you wanted?”

   “The Mayor's invited us down to the surface to meet with the civic leaders. He wants to talk about what we're going to do next. I think we should go see them together.”

   “I'll pass,” she replied. “You go down and take all the credit. You'll enjoy that.”

   His face froze into a scowl, and he said, “Don't be a fool.”

   She looked up at him, and said, “I've got something more important to do than talk to some self-important politicrat.” Tapping a datapad, she continued, “I've got a letter to write, though God alone knows when it'll get to Aiko's family.”

   “I'm sorry,” he replied. “I truly am.”

   Taking a deep breath, Mallory said, “I've known that kid since she was in the fourth grade. Did you know that?” She took short, ragged breaths, and continued, “Her mother was my Crew Chief, when I was running Shuttle Ops out at Triton. She taught me a hell of a lot about how to actually be an officer and a commander.”

   “She did a good job.”

   “When Aiko joined the Fleet, I got a nice letter from her.” A smile crossed her face, and she said, “She never admitted it, but I know she pulled a few strings to get her assigned to my command. It was just the sort of thing that she would do.” Glancing at the viewport, the comforting stars drifting past, she added, “She asked me to look out for her, to help her become whatever it was she was destined to be. And now I have to tell her that her destiny was to die in a firefight on some worthless rock in the middle of nowhere. How do I do that?”

   “I'm sorry,” Conway replied. “I never realized how sheltered a career you've had.”

   Her face flushed red with anger, and she said, “What the Hell do you mean by that? I served in the War, just like you did, and I saw enough of my friends die to give me nightmares for the rest of my life.”

   “True, but there's a difference. You weren't in command. I was. You had to watch your friends, your comrades, fall in action, but I had to order them into the fight in the first place. Knowing that some of them wouldn't be coming back, knowing that I was placing their lives at risk with every mission, no matter how unimportant.” Rising to his feet, he walked to the viewport, the planet just moving into view in the extreme right of the screen. “That's a special sort of nightmare, Kat.” He paused, and said, “I mean, Captain. It's a nightmare that leaves you screaming in the dark, yelling for the ghosts to go away, and it's something you never really get over. Which is probably just as well. If an officer didn't agonize over the loss of everyone under his command, I'd recommend his immediate removal from duty.” Turning back to her, he asked, “How many people have died under your command? When you were the sole commander on the scene?”

   “One,” she replied. “Out at Triton, actually. A suit malfunction. I tore the place apart trying to work out who was responsible, but we never cleared it up.”

   “That's different,” he replied.

   “Not to the man who died.”

   With a sigh, he said, “There's a difference between someone dying because of an accident, something that no one could have predicted or prevented, and someone dying because you ordered them into harm's way. That's what this is really about, and that's what's got hold of you.” Shaking his head, he replied, “The Fleet hurt you worse than it did me, didn't it.”

   “That was your doing,” she replied. “Oh, I might have taken back my maiden name, but enough of the mud still stuck that I spent ten years in one dead-end assignment after another, further and further away from anything that might have resembled a career.”

   “I'm sorry about that, as well,” he said. “If there was anything I could do to take back the past, I would, in an instant, and you know that.” With a thin smile, he said, “At least, I hope you do.” Looking up at her, he said, “You're a hell of an officer, Kat, and a hell of a combat commander. Better than me, with one difference. I've been in the fire, and you're getting your first taste of it, right now.”

   “How many people have died under your command?” s
he asked, quietly.

   Looking back at the viewport, he replied, “It's a strange thing. I couldn't tell you the number, maybe not even all the names, but every time I close my eyes, I can still see their faces, still conjure them out of the darkness.” Taking a deep breath, he said, “Do you want me to write the letter?”

   “No. That's my job.”

   He nodded, and said, “Then I suggest you remember this while you write it. Down on the surface, six children are with their parents right now, unwounded and unharmed. If she hadn't been on the mission, they would either have been dead or captured, hostages for the protection of a criminal organization we're going to have to smash. Maybe that was her destiny. To be at the right place, at the right time, to save the lives of those kids. There are worse things to die for.” His face darkened, and he added, “Trust me, I know.”

   There was a knock on the door, which slid across to reveal Bennett standing at the threshold, a pair of datapads clutched in her hand. She glanced to the side, then took a step in.

   “I hope I'm not interrupting anything,” she said, looking at Conway.

   “Not at all,” he replied, a little too quickly. “Have a seat.”

   “We've finished the sensor analysis, both of the system in general and the battle in particular.” Holding up a datapad, she said, “I can't find any obvious traces of the Stygians in this system.”

   “Damn,” Conway said. “Just another dead-end.”

   “Nevertheless, I have reason to believe that there is a Stygian site somewhere here, either on the surface of the planet or, more likely, somewhere in the rings. Possibly even the very base the pirates are using to operate from.”

   “What makes you say that?” Mallory asked.

   Bennett slid a datapad across the desk, and said, “Full sensor readings of the fighters that attacked us. Churchill's sensor suite has its limitations, but I was able to make out the identification number on one of them. Sierra-Nine-Nine-Two.”

   “So?”

   “Remember the Third Battle of Barnard's Star?” At their blank looks, she continued, “I'm not surprised, it wasn't a major engagement, though they blew it up for the public at the time. Two of our battlecruisers found a United Nations tender in orbit, protected by a couple of light ships. We managed to beat them off, and a prize crew took the ship.”

   Nodding, Conway said, “Now I remember. We captured it intact, prisoners and all. She ended up being taken into the Orbital Patrol, I think.”

   “And was lost at Fourth Ceres, six months later,” Bennett replied. “By then we'd off-loaded the fighters she was repairing. Twelve Corsairs.” Perching on the edge of the desk, she continued to read the report. “Two of them were dismantled by R&D, and the rest went off to Flight Testing at Titan for study. And there they remained, until now.” Tapping the datapad, she said, “Sierra-Nine-Nine-Two was one of them. According to the records, she's still out at the Junkyard, but I'm guessing someone decided to do a bit of scavenging.”

   Shaking his head, Conway replied, “Are you suggesting that someone managed to steal a squadron of fighters? Knight?”

   “Five years ago, then-Captain Knight spent eight months in charge of Flight Test. She'll have had a chance to get a good look at the inventory, and a few obsolete fighters aren't going to be missed. The current commander served under her for years, so she's got friends in the right places to give her all the access she needs.”

   “I don't like the implications of that,” Mallory said. “If she could get hold of four fighters, what else could she have taken when she left?”

   “We've got to assume she took all ten,” Conway replied. “And possibly more besides.” He frowned, then added, “If they were looking out for us, though, we'd still be under attack right now. We only destroyed two of them, and that still leaves a pretty strong attack force to throw at us.” Glancing at Mallory, he said, “I'm not sure we could stop them, and we could easily lose our whole squadron trying.”

   “Then they aren't looking for us,” Mallory said. “If we could follow the trail to this planet, then I'm certain they could, as well. They just got here first.”

   “But they haven't found what they're looking for,” Bennett replied. “Or they wouldn't still be here.” Looking around the room, she added, “And that leaves us with one hell of a tactical problem. I've taken a look at the base, and I don't see any way in.”

   Tapping a control, Mallory brought up an image of the asteroid, slowly rotating, and said, “They're dug into a crater, nice and deep, and are surrounded on all sides by missile emplacements. A capital ship might be able to do something about them, but we don't have anything like the firepower needed for a full-scale assault. If they have combat fabricators, and we've got to assume that they do, then they'll knock down anything we launch at them and still come out fighting.”

   Nodding, Conway added, “I wouldn't want to try and hit that base with what we've got. If I were them, I'd let us make a pass, knock down our missiles, then launch their interceptors to knock us out of the sky before we could come back around.”

   Bennett replied, “We can't launch an orbital bombardment anyway. Not unless we want to risk destroying the artifacts we came out here to find.”

   “Under the circumstances, couldn't we justify that as denying knowledge to the enemy?” Conway asked. “I don't like the idea much, but if we wipe out the trail so that neither of us can reach it, our mission is still accomplished, at least after a fashion.”

   “You're assuming that there's only one route to our destination,” Bennett said, tapping another control, bringing up a holoimage of a slowly rotating starfield. “Here are the pieces of the puzzle we've already found, the fragments from Karnak and Abydos. Somewhere in there is the Stygian homeworld, either a rogue planet wandering through the stars...”

   “I can't imagine how life could evolve on a world without a sun,” Mallory said.

   “Perhaps the aliens took their world with them when they started to travel through space,” Conway replied.

   “Either that, or a brown dwarf, something very dim, dark enough to have been missed in our surveys. Nothing impossible about that,” the agent replied. “We've found half a dozen stars within sixty light years of Sol in the last couple of decades, and there's plenty of evidence of other ones out there, somewhere.”

   “What's your point, Cass?” Conway asked.

   “We're not looking for shattered pieces of the same relic,” she replied. “This isn't a case of collecting all the bits of an ancient jigsaw and putting them together again. There are probably hundreds, thousands of images of that starfield scattered at Stygian outposts and ruins, and eventually we'll put a complete image together no matter how massive the destruction of their sites.”

   Nodding, Mallory said, “They've got the same information we do, at least at the moment, but they've also got a lot more resources than we have. One lucky find, and this race is over.” Shaking her head, she added, “If the trail dries up here, they'll have plenty of other leads to follow, and more ships to chase them than we do.”

   “Exactly,” Bennett replied. “Maybe some sort of assault...”

   “What with?” Conway asked. “We lost one-third of our attack force in its first battle, and counting you, we've got two Espatiers on board. Frankly, we've got to assume that we've only got Morgan and Angel, and they can't capture an enemy installation by themselves. Even if we had a full platoon, I wouldn't want to take the risk, not against defenses that strong.” He looked down at the image of the base again, and sighed. “I just can't see any way in.”

   “That's the problem,” Mallory said. “We haven't got enough intelligence, not to form a proper battle plan. Jack, you're going to have to make sure we get every scrap of information Sinaloa has gathered on that base.”

   “Not a problem,” he replied, “but you should go down there with me.” He smiled, and added, “You're the strategist
of this operation, remember.”

   “I'm afraid I'm going to be busy.” She gestured at the base, and said, “All we've got is the information taken by that long-range pass Dirk made, and he didn't get any closer than ten thousand miles.” Looking up at Conway, he said, “And while I know you love those old fighters of yours, their sensor suites are of the same vintage of this ship.”

   With a smile, Conway replied, “I'm not going to like this, am I.”

   “The shuttles we've got on board are the latest design, built for planetary survey work. One quick, low pass...”

   “Will get you killed,” he interrupted. “Assuming the missiles don't get you, the fighters will. They'll have plenty of time to see your approach and react in force.”

   “Not if I move quickly enough, and not if I...” She paused, and said, “Leave the tactics to me, will you?” Taking a deep breath, she added, “We've got to have this information if we're going to take down this base, and as far as I can see there's only one good way to get it. While you're having fun playing with the politicians, I'll fly the recon mission.”

   “Wait a minute,” he said. “If anyone's going to take that shuttle in, I am.”

   Raising an eyebrow, she replied, “I might not have fighter wings, but I'm actually a rather good shuttle pilot. Good enough for this mission, anyway. Besides, it's about time I led from the front.”

   “Sounds good to me,” Bennett replied. “I'll fly with you.”

   “Then that's settled,” Mallory added, before Conway could interrupt. “You go and have fun down there. Leave the work to us.”

   Shaking his head, he said, “Just watch yourself out there.”

   Glancing at the planet, she replied, “I think you're going to be taking more risks than I am. Don't assume everyone will be welcoming you with open arms.”

   “Paranoid.”

   “In my experience,” Bennett said, “paranoia is an excellent survival trait.”