Asbaran Solutions (The Revelations Cycle Book 2)

by Chris Kennedy

  “Two seconds,” the pilot announced. “Hold on!”

  The two seconds seemed to last an eternity, then the ship crashed, sending everything not tied down flying through the cockpit like a giant’s shotgun blast. Something whizzed past Nigel’s nose to hit the bulkhead next to him and fell to the floor. His helmet. Damn it; that would have been a lot more useful on his head.

  The floor shifted and fell out from underneath him, and Nigel slammed into the starboard bulkhead, where he looked up at the front of the cockpit at a weird angle. His helmet rolled to a stop next to his chest as if in accusation.

  “Nicely done,” the copilot said, unstrapping with one pair of hands while the other held him in place.

  “Thank you,” the pilot replied. “Thanks for the help.”

  “What…what happened?” Nigel asked.

  “We lost a motor toward the end,” the pilot said. “We crashed, which destroyed the starboard struts; we lost just about everything else on the starboard side when the ship fell over onto it.”

  “But we can fix the struts and fly out of here, right?” Nigel asked.

  “Not likely,” the copilot replied. “You’re lucky to be alive. The pilot did an emergency cross-connect of the motors which squeezed a little extra thrust out of the starboard motor; if it weren’t for that, we’d just be stains in the ship’s wreckage.”

  “We can’t leave here?”

  “Not in this ship. Not without a major shipyard overhaul. There is, however, a ship on the other side of the landing area. If you want to leave, you’d better go capture it.”

  “Hang on; I’ll tell Mason.” Nigel extricated himself from the wreckage of his seat and its surroundings. Standing on the starboard bulkhead was disorienting.

  “Mason can’t do it,” the pilot said. “The rest of your company left the ship as soon as we landed. They are almost to the Besquith’s hangars. If you want to capture the ship, you’ll have to do it.” He pointed out the cockpit canopy, and Nigel could see a frigate-sized ship about half a mile away.

  “Well, I’ll tell Mason after they finish the assault,” Nigel replied.

  “That will be fine,” the pilot agreed, “unless there is a crew onboard the ship, and it takes off, leaving us stranded here.”

  “Could that happen?”

  “Of course. I don’t know if anyone is on it. The only way to find out is for someone to go over there. At the moment, that someone is you. We’re not going. We’re pilots, not combat troops.”

  Fear of attacking a ship single-handedly warred with his fear of being stuck on Bestald.

  “I’ll be right back,” Nigel finally muttered, his desire to get off the planet finally winning out. He made it to the cockpit door, but then had a thought. “How many…umm…how large do you suppose the crew of that ship is?”

  “There’s no way to know,” the pilot said. “It depends on how close they were to launching it. There could be anywhere from just a few guards on watch to the entire crew, along with embarked troops.”

  “Wonderful,” Nigel said, his head down. “Here I go.”

  Nigel went through the troop compartment to get his weapons and found several troopers still onboard. “What’s going on?”

  Corporal Epard looked up from the soldier she was treating. “We had a couple of casualties from that ratfuck of a landing we were treated to.” She nodded at Private Allen who was sitting off to the side. “Thunder’s got a broken arm.” She leaned forward to close the eyes of the soldier she’d been working on. “Watkins didn’t make it.”

  The medic stood up and strode over to the weapons rack and snatched a rifle from it.

  “Where are you going?” Nigel asked.

  “I’m going to go get some payback,” the medic snarled. “I can’t kill the pilots until we’re off this rock; I thought I’d start with killing some damn wolves.” She walked toward the loading ramp, which extended out from where the ship lay on its side.

  “Wait!” Nigel called, grabbing a rifle of his own. “I need you to come with me and help me capture the other ship here. Our ship is broken, and it’s the only way we’re going to get out of here.”

  Epard drew up sharply. “Capture a ship? Just the two of us?” She stared at Nigel for a few seconds and then added, “Why the fuck not?” Under her breath she added, just loud enough to be heard, “What else could go wrong today?”

  “I’ll come,” a voice said from behind Nigel. He turned and saw Private Allen struggling to his feet. “I can still shoot a pistol.”

  The soldier grabbed a couple of pistols, stowing them in pockets, then turned toward Nigel. “Okay,” Thunder said, “I’m ready.”

  Hanger Two, Blood Drinkers’ Base, Bestald

  “Let’s go!” Mason transmitted as he waved his troops forward. He spared a glance at the group of Tortantulas as they skittered off to the left toward Hangar One and flinched as one of them launched a claw-held surface-to-surface missile at something it saw inside the hangar. The missile detonated with a ‘wumpf’ and blast of heat Mason swore he could feel from several hundred yards away. The Tortantulas chattered happily over their assigned frequency, and a second missile ravaged the interior of the hangar. The Tortantulas advanced, spraying fire indiscriminately throughout the hangar and joking happily over the radio. They seemed happiest when they were blowing things up.

  “Hey, Breetar, keep ‘em somewhat under control, would you?”

  “They were promised wholesale slaughter,” the Flatar replied from his position on the back of Zzeldar. “I don’t think that’s going to be possible.”

  “Well, do what you can, okay?” Mason shook his head and focused on his target, refusing to be distracted by the explosions that continued to the left. The command hangar was right in front of him. If they were going to find what they were looking for, it would be there.

  “Jammers on?” Mason asked.

  “Since we hit the ground, Top!” Sergeant Sam Bush reported. The platoon’s intel specialist, he ran both the jammers and electronic exploitation. “Jamming all frequencies except the ones we’re using.”

  “Good, keep it up!” Still no movement in the hangar. Damn it. “Murph! Horsey!”

  “Yes, Top?” replied Staff Sergeants Donald ‘Murph’ Murphy and Dean ‘Horsey’ Wynhorst.

  “Murph, take your squad around to the left of the hangar and look for a way in through the front. I think they must be setting up a welcoming party for us since they haven’t come out to play. Horsey, take your squad around the right side of the hangar. No one goes inside the building until I say so.”

  “Got it, Top!” The two squads split off toward the ends of the hangar.

  That left Mason with the XO and the 20 effectives from second platoon. As they approached the enormous hangar, he realized just how thin the force was and regretted sending the two squads from first platoon around to the front. He entered the shadow of the building and slowed to a walk to give the other platoon time to get into position.

  “Remember, there may be a human female here we’re looking for named Amanda Spivey, so make sure you mark your targets.”

  The hangar was nearly empty, which emphasized just how vast it was. A dropship was the cavernous building’s only occupant, located nearly a quarter of a mile to the left with its port engine partially disassembled on the ferrocrete next to it. Aside from the dropship, there were a few stacks of parts and some boxes scattered around, but very little other cover available. Mason could see why the Besquith weren’t waiting for them out here—they would be much better able to defend themselves inside the office space portion of the building…where they could also set traps for his men.

  Mason wished they’d been able to bring the CASPers; if they had, the unit could have waltzed through the hangar as if they were at a Sunday dance. All of a sudden, his laser rifle felt woefully inadequate.

  A trooper to the right fired, then all hell broke loose. He dove forward behind a large crate, looking for the target. Glass shattered in
a number of places as it hit the floor to the front of him and laser beams scorched in from the sides. “What have you got?”

  “Movement up high in the windows,” Sergeant Todd Salter replied. “There’s at least three or four of them up there!”

  Mason looked up from the shattered glass and saw a series of small windows about four stories up. There was no way for the humans to get up to them; however, they were also too high to make effective sniping platforms. Anyone who wanted to shoot down at them would have to lean way out the window, exposing themselves to return fire.

  “Nuisance fire from the right!” Staff Sergeant Jamie Howe reported. “Looks like two or three of them were hiding behind some pallets of shit, but they’ve run off.”

  “About the same over on the left,” Staff Sergeant Jill Cox added. “Looks like three Besquith. Corporal Vitali is hit, but not bad. The Besquith we saw just took off; they’re gone.”

  Mason shook his head. He hadn’t even noticed the windows up there. He had been too busy looking for ambushes in the crates that he had forgotten to keep his head on a swivel. Damn, he was getting too old for this crap. What else could go wrong?

  “Top, this is Colonel Shirazi,” Nigel transmitted. “Can you send out a couple of squads when you get a chance? We need help capturing the frigate.”

  Cargo Bay, Besquith Ship Beheader, Bestald

  Nigel stared out the back of the cargo bay. With the ship lying on its side, the ramp extended straight out from the left side of the gaping hole. The ramp was useless, and it was a long way down.

  “I’ll go first,” Corporal Epard said. Without waiting for confirmation she slung her rifle, sat down at one of the corners and slid to the edge, her feet dangling into the opening. Grabbing hold of the edge, she slid the rest of the way out and was gone.

  “I’m out of the way!” she yelled back up.

  “Coming,” Private Allen said. He jammed the pistol he was still holding into a cargo pocket and followed the medic. Even with one hand, he still made the dismount look relatively easy.

  Which left Nigel staring at the opening yawning in front of him. He hated heights, and the drop was high enough to make him really uncomfortable.

  “Coming, sir?” Corporal Epard yelled, jolting Nigel from his reverie.

  He had to do this, Nigel knew, or he would never have the respect of the men and women of the company. This was his big chance to show his worth. Eyes locked on the far bulkhead, he slid to the edge.

  “Drop your rifle to me,” the medic called.

  Nigel looked down to find where she was and immediately wished he hadn’t; the horizon tilted, and he had to snap his eyes back to the bulkhead. Without looking again, he held the rifle over the edge and released it.

  There was no clattering noise, so he figured Corporal Epard had caught it.

  Which just left him.

  Without breaking his visual lock on the bulkhead, he reached out and took hold of the edge. Before he could think about it, he leaned forward and started sliding into the abyss. As his butt left the edge, he had a change of heart and tried to lean back into the ship; all he succeeded in doing was to hit the back of his head on the edge. Hard. While his helmet blocked most of the damage, it stunned him, and he didn’t think about the landing. He hit with his right leg nearly straight, wrenching his knee, and he collapsed forward in a heap. At least the battle armor kept him from hyperextending it.

  A hand slid into his armpit and helped lift him from the ground.

  “I’d have to give that landing about a ‘three,’ sir,” Private Allen said, helping Nigel to his feet. The pain in his knee was incredible, but Nigel thought he could walk…at least a little. “You’re supposed to drop and roll,” the private added helpfully.

  “Yeah, thanks,” Nigel replied. “The next time I have to jump out of a crashed spaceship, I’ll try to remember that.”

  Nigel scanned his surroundings, amazed at the devastation they had already caused, and the attack had barely begun. Smoke rose from the opposite end of the field. Nigel guessed that was where the missile system had been; all that was left now was a crater and several small brushfires. The starport’s tower hadn’t fared much better; although the tower had too much mass for the dropship to completely crater the structure, it had been obliterated, and pieces of it lay scattered for half a mile in every direction. The platoon was entering one of the two massive hangars; the other was already burning in several places.

  Nigel turned a little further to the right and saw their target. Positioned across the landing area from the tower, the spaceship had been saved from the bulk of the destruction…but it also made it a long run from where the threesome currently stood.

  “Want me to take a look at your knee?” Corporal Epard asked.

  “No, we don’t have time. We need to capture that ship before it takes off. Let’s get going!”

  The two troopers started off at a jog, and Nigel was quickly left behind. “Wait up!” he yelled. “I’m hobbling as fast as I can go.”

  The troopers turned and waited for him to catch up. As he approached, Nigel could see a frown on the medic’s face. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” she asked. “Thunder has a broken arm, and you’ve got at least a sprained knee, if not worse. I’m the only trooper fully combat effective, and my primary job is to fix our casualties, not cause the enemy more. Wouldn’t it be better to wait for Top Mason and the others to get back and assault it as a company? Who knows how many troops are waiting inside that thing?”

  “I’d love to,” Nigel grunted as he hobbled past her. “But that’s our ride home. If you can promise me that someone won’t try to leave with it before Mason gets here, I’m all for it. Otherwise, I’m going to go secure it. By myself if I have to.”

  Epard watched as her boss staggered on, her mouth hanging open.

  “Last one there buys the first round when we get back,” Thunder challenged, and chased off after Nigel.

  “You’re both crazy!” Epard exclaimed. “But I ain’t buying,” she added as she leaned forward into a sprint. She was sure she could beat the colonel, but passing Thunder would be tough.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eighteen

  Hanger Two, Home Base, Bestald

  “How many of them are there?” Lieutenant Treb-Sa asked as the corporal ran into the company command post on the fourth floor of the hangar. Recently recruited to the Blood Drinkers, the lieutenant had been the most expendable of the company’s officers, and therefore the one chosen to stay behind and watch the base while the rest of the company was on-mission.

  “I only saw eighteen of them entering the hangar,” Corporal Pres-Al replied. “They looked like humans, but they didn’t have any of their big, armored suits with them. If that’s all they brought, it’s a pretty small force for a full-on assault.”

  “That isn’t much of a force for an assault, and in most cases, we would eat them alive. However, they may have sent some of their soldiers around to the front and, with everyone gone, we’ve only got 10 people left to stop them.” He turned to his communications technician. “Have you been able to recall any of the troops stationed at the tower?”

  “No sir,” replied the tech. “They weren’t answering earlier, and now the humans appear to be jamming us.”

  “The slackards over in the tower are probably sleeping through all of this. Can you reach any of the other merc units close by for assistance?”

  “No sir, the jamming is too strong.”

  “Entropy. Okay, they are here for a reason, and the only one I can think of is to get our files. With the power off, we can’t erase our logs. Put all of the drives into the safe, and we will defend it with our lives, if necessary. Eventually, the planetary forces, and maybe some of the other merc units, will arrive to see what is going on. We just have to hold them off until additional forces get here.”

  “As directed, I placed some explosives on the entryway doors,” a private said as he ran into the room. “Besides that, al
l we have are a few of the old lasers left in the armory; all the good weapons are with the companies. We won’t be able to hold them off for long.”

  “What about our ‘guest?’”

  “I have hidden her cage,” the private said. “They probably won’t find it…and if they do, they will pay a price.”

  “Good,” the lieutenant said, “We will hold them off as long as is necessary, and then we will kill them and feast on their flesh. It is the Blood Drinker way.”

  His troops howled their acknowledgement.

  Hanger Two, Blood Drinkers’ Base, Bestald

  The platoon froze as a distant howl could be heard. A primal shiver went down Mason’s spine.

  “Well that’s creepy,” Private Parker said. “Reminds me of the wolves back home.”

  “What do you do when the wolves prey on your sheep?” Mason asked.

  “You shoot ‘em, Top, you know that.”

  “I do, and that’s what we’re going to do with these bastards. There must not be many of them here, or they would have met us in force.” He pointed to a door. “Jernigan, get some breaching charges on that door.”

  “Want me to try it first and see if it’s open?”

  “No, it may be booby-trapped. I want to blow it open. Besides, they know we’re here; stealth isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

  Private Jernigan pulled a roll of advanced det cord out of a pocket and ran forward to the indicated entryway. Starting from the floor, he ran a double line of cord around the frame of the door, the molecular adhesive holding the cord in place. He inserted the detonator and ran back to Mason. “All set!”

  “All right, everyone clear the area in front of the door. I don’t want anyone hit if they’ve got something nasty waiting on the other side.” When he saw the area was clear, he nodded to Private Jernigan. “Blow it.”