The Phoenix War

by Richard L. Sanders

  “Is the craft safe to use?” asked Sarah. No doubt relaying the question on behalf of Summers.

  “Yeah, it looks like it,” said Pellew. Glancing over the systems once more. He wasn’t an engineer or a pilot, but he had a basic understanding of starship controls—it was a required part of training—and all the lights and switches showed green.

  “We are sending coordinates to you. Investigate the source of the distress call and report. The Nighthawk will remain in parking orbit.”

  “Roger,” said Pellew. He closed the channel and then reactivated his helmet’s mic. “Okay people we’re taking this bird down to the planet. Seal the hatch and prepare for descent. Campbell, you’re a pilot—get your ass in here. The rest of you strap in.”

  “On my way,” said Campbell.

  “Emmett,” said Pellew, unstrapping himself from the pilot’s chair and moving to the co-pilot’s position. “Have any luck with that sealed compartment?”

  “Yes sir,” came the reply. “It’s a maintenance hatch. It gives access to the engine-room below.”

  “Did you search it?”

  “Yes sir. Nothing found. No one is here.”

  “That’s what I thought,” said Pellew.

  Campbell arrived and took the pilot’s seat. Nassar had already returned to the passenger compartment to strap in and prepare for descent as ordered.

  “What’ve we got?” asked Campbell, he took his helmet off and wiped the sweat from his face. Then he took in the spread of controls before him. “Oh a T-X Mark Three, not bad, not bad. This ship can’t be more than two years old.”

  “I have coordinates,” said Pellew, the lander had received them from the Nighthawk. Using the co-pilot’s controls he fed them to the helm.

  “Got them,” said Campbell. He pressed the transmitter. “Planetary Lander to IWS Nighthawk,” he said, leaning unnecessarily over the mounted mic. “We’re locked into those coordinates and preparing for descent. Please release docking clamps and confirm.”

  “Roger that, Lander,” said Sarah. “Cutting you loose now. Confirmed, you are now under your own power.”

  “Thank you, Nighthawk.”

  Pellew glanced at his display, it showed that the hatches were all secure but, in the interest of not being burned to death on reentry, he decided to make doubly sure. “Emmett, did you visually confirm that the hatch was sealed?”

  “Yes sir, its secure,” said Emmett. He was one of the original special forces soldiers that had been with the Nighthawk all along, and Pellew trusted him significantly more than most of the rest of the soldiers. Especially since half of them were mercenaries. He understood the mercenary mentality but he didn’t trust them to know what they were doing. Or to maintain discipline in the face of hell itself. Perhaps we’re about to find out if I’m wrong, he thought.

  “Sir, requesting permission to commence planetary descent,” said Campbell.

  Pellew checked the systems one last time. Everything looked good. “Permission granted.”

  “Aye, aye.” With that Campbell adjusted their velocity and angle and the window ahead filled with the planet moving toward them. At first it didn’t feel like they were getting any closer and then Pellew felt weightless again. The restraints held him tight and he watched the window fill with orange, bathing them in fire, as they rushed toward the planet’s surface.

  It was a discomforting experience but one Pellew was used to. He was just glad he didn’t have to be the one at the controls. He waited silently as Campbell and the vessel’s computer guided their accelerated reentry. Before long, the orange was gone, replaced by white clouds and blue sky.

  “Okay I’m approaching the target position,” said Campbell. “The coordinates seem to be a mountain range, see it? Just over there,” he pointed at the window. Pellew squinted and saw what he was talking about. From here it looked like a flat, perhaps slightly wrinkled landscape. But as they neared, he got a better sense of what it was.

  “There are a lot of cliffs and trees, that limits our options,” said Campbell, swinging the lander around. “Maybe if we—oh wait, there. That’s the spot. Beginning landing procedure. Hold on.”

  The lander swung low, sweeping in a circle around a mountain peak, as it descended rapidly. Campbell’s eyes kept switching between the window and the computer display. Pellew trusted that the man knew what he was doing.

  The craft slowed its descent rather suddenly and then gently floated to the ground. Hovering for a few seconds before achieving touchdown. And then, with a slight lurch, they had landed. Campbell hit a few switches and powered down the remaining thrusters. “Landing complete,” he said with a broad smile.

  “Wonderful,” said Pellew. He unstrapped himself and got out of his seat. “Now the question is, what is out there?” he stared out the window for a moment but saw only trees and rocks. No sign of people.

  He picked up his rifle and headed to the passenger compartment where he found the rest of his team geared up and ready to explore the planet’s surface, heavily armed. In total their group comprised fourteen people. The entirety of Operational Detachment Bravo which meant seven special forces soldiers including himself and five mercenaries, as well as two engineers—who he’d expected to need to assess the lander’s systems—and a doctor from the infirmary. Two of his soldiers had field medic training but neither had the expertise the doctor had. Unfortunately the three non-soldiers were also liabilities should the team run into trouble.

  “You two stay here,” Pellew pointed to the engineers. “The rest of you with me. Campbell will remain in the cockpit to trace the distress call and keep the bird ready for flight, in case things go badly for us and we need a speedy getaway.”

  “What about me?” asked the doctor. He had boyish looks and Pellew had seen him around plenty of times, something Andrews was his name.

  “You can come with us,” said Pellew. “But stick close and don’t do anything stupid.”

  The doctor nodded. He was the only one setting foot on the planet without a weapon. Pellew had offered him a sidearm but the doctor had refused. Babbling off something about wanting to save lives not end them. Some kind of self-righteous crap anyway, thought Pellew.

  “All right let’s move.”

  They popped the hatch and climbed down the ladder. Pellew was the first to feel his boots touch the soft brown earth. He raised his rifle and swept the area around the LZ. The others soldiers did the same and the group fanned out.

  “Clear,” said one of them.

  “Clear over here too.”

  “LZ’s secure.”

  “Campbell, can you get a fix on the source of that distress signal?” asked Pellew.

  “Yeah, you need to head due east of your position,” reported Campbell over the radio. “And then after two-hundred meters—” Pellew tapped the mute switch on his helmet because he thought he heard something.

  He squinted looking at the trees in front of him. I could have sworn I heard something, he thought. He shouldered his rifle and walked forward, into the woods. Thinking he heard it again. Like the quiet crunch of footsteps over twigs and leaves. He followed the noise. Taking a second to switch his helmet’s comm system back on. “I think I’ve got something over here,” he said. “East of the LZ, in the woods.”

  “On our way.”

  It sounded again and this time he knew for a fact he’d heard something. It was definitely the sound of footsteps. Pellew crouched, ready for anything, and stared into the green forest. Expecting to see someone emerge from the brush at any moment.

  Come on, you bastard, don’t be shy.

  He was right. After a few seconds a man appeared. Making no effort to conceal his presence. He looked about six feet tall, had receding hair, and wore a blue jumpsuit. He was walking directly toward the LZ. He must have seen the planetary vessel land, thought Pellew.

  “Stop where you are,” commanded Pellew, standing up and pointing the rifle at the stranger. “Hands on your head.”

  “
Hello,” said the man, complying with all instructions. “I was hoping you’d come.” His voice sounded oddly familiar. And then Pellew got a good look at the stranger’s face.

  “Well, I’ll be damned…” said Pellew. Then, over the radio, “Campbell, notify the Nighthawk that we found the source of the distress call. Tell Summers that she’ll never guess who we found.”

  ***

  Nimoux stared at the man in the climate suit pointing the rifle at him. His face was concealed by a helmet, mask, and goggles, but the markings on his shoulder identified him as a member of His Majesty’s Special Forces. Nimoux knew the symbol well, he’d worn it himself for five years.

  His first thought, when the sound of thrusters roaring overhead had woken him a little after dawn from his miserable attempt at sleep, had been that the prison guards were upon him. They’d tracked him down and were using one of their orbital landing craft to storm his position and terminate him. But then he remembered the distress signal he’d activated on the pedestrian transmitter—which was running dangerously low on power now—and he knew it was also possible that the vessel circling above had actually come to his rescue.

  Feeling starving, having eaten nothing more than a little uncooked squirrel meat and some berries that he was pretty sure were edible, and completely sick of the frigid nights and the creepy woods, he’d decided to take his destiny in his hands and head directly toward the sound of the aerial vehicle descending nearby, rather than hide from it. If this vessel was here to rescue him, then all the better. But if it wasn’t, then no rescue was coming, since the transmitter was so drained of power. And that meant he was stuck on this planet until he died, so he might as well hasten the inevitable.

  Of course, now that he saw the special forces symbol on the man standing before him, Nimoux was sure the soldier had come from the Nighthawk. They heard my distress call and decided to investigate. He was so relieved to see the man standing before him, he almost couldn’t process it. He felt drunk on his own dopamine.

  “Lafayette Nimoux?” the man said as he approached. Nimoux noted that he kept his rifle level with Nimoux’s chest.

  “That’s right,” said Nimoux. “But I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”

  The soldier let go of his rifle with his offhand and removed his helmet. Revealing a face that looked more suited to blockbuster movies than life as a soldier, he had a strong jaw and dashing good looks that made even his helmet-hair look chic. Nimoux recognized him at once from the Nighthawk personnel files he’d studied.

  “Sorry about that, my name is Captain Jason—”

  “Pellew, yes I know,” said Nimoux. “And before you ask, yes it was me who sent the distress call. I’ll explain everything but we must hurry, there isn’t much time.”

  As he spoke, several other soldiers converged on their position, weapons drawn, no doubt part of Pellew’s team. I hope you brought a lot, thought Nimoux, because we’re going to need them. He was eager to storm the prison despite his fatigue, hunger, and almost dizzying lightheadedness.

  “What seems to be the emergency?” asked Pellew.

  “About fifty kilometers that way,” Nimoux pointed, “there is a small extralegal prison colony. You must have seen it during your descent.”

  “We did see something,” admitted Pellew. “It’s a prison?”

  “Yes, and not just any prison. Whoever is running it has abducted several key members of the Imperial government, the military, and even heads of corporations—anyone with influence—and is keeping them there. Gather your men, we need to move quickly!”

  “You want to go back there?” asked Pellew, eyeing Nimoux’s disheveled appearance and filthy blue jumpsuit. “You look like you just escaped from there. Seriously, you look like hell.”

  “There are only a few dozen guards, and most of them are mercenaries. We need to eliminate them and seize control of the prison before it’s too late,” Nimoux’s voice carried his sense of urgency.

  “Before what’s too late?”

  “I believe they’re going to slaughter all of the prisoners soon and bury the evidence. We can’t let that happen,” he stared candidly at Pellew’s brown eyes. “Director Edwards is there. And so is Vice Admiral Harkov of the Fifth Fleet!”

  Pellew looked at him skeptically. Probably thinking that Nimoux had gone insane out here in the untamed wild of Gamma Persei Three. But he also must make square the fact that I’m here, looking like an escaped prisoner, thought Nimoux, which undoubtedly lends some credibility to my claim.

  “All right, we’ll check it out,” said Pellew. “Nassar take him into custody,” he nodded toward Nimoux. “You and Emmett keep a close eye on him. He’s ex-special forces—that’s right I study my enemy too, Captain Nimoux.”

  Two of the soldiers stepped forward and roughly grabbed him by the arms.

  “Everybody back to the shuttle, let’s go, move!” barked Pellew. He replaced his helmet as he jogged toward the LZ and spoke into its mic. “Campbell, get the bird ready for immediate takeoff. Tell Summers we’re going to check out the colony before we return to the ship, and tell her we’ve got Lafayette Nimoux in custody.”

  They reached the LZ and Nimoux was hustled onto the orbital landing craft. They sat him against the far bulkhead in a seat next to Nassar while Emmett stood nearby. The other soldiers piled in and braced themselves for takeoff. As soon as the hatch was sealed, the vehicle lurched upward, firing its thrusters in a controlled burn that gained them an altitude of a thousand meters in mere seconds.

  The craft banked starboard and Nimoux watched the tops of the mountains seem to shrink away out the window.

  Less than a minute after takeoff, they were dropping fast and low, descending on a new LZ and prepping for a combat landing. I’ve returned, thought Nimoux. And, as promised, I’ve brought the cavalry with me.

  ***

  “Commencing landing procedure,” announced Campbell. “Touchdown in fifteen seconds.”

  Seated at the co-pilot station, Pellew stared out the cockpit window and examined the colony below. As they’d neared the group of portable structures he had to admit it did look like a prison. The structures were uniformly bland, there was a yard with tower-like guard posts infrequently scattered about, and a large fence encircling the perimeter, clearly designed to keep people in rather than out. All that was missing was the prisoners themselves. Pellew didn’t see even one person. There were a few dust clouds near the ground that partially limited visibility, but not enough to conceal a lot of people.

  “Six seconds,” announced Campbell, their rapid descent slowed as he fired the landing thrusters.

  “Swing us all the way around, then set us down in the yard,” ordered Pellew. He wanted to get a complete look at the prison and he knew the best way to do that was from the air.

  “Roger,” said Campbell, he cancelled the landing procedure and increased their altitude.

  As the craft turned, completing its circle around the colony, Pellew spotted a large black circle near one of the main structures. “There,” he pointed. “In between those structures. Do you see that?”

  “Yeah, I see it,” said Campbell. “What the hell is that?”

  It appeared to be some kind of blackened, circular mound. “Let’s find out,” said Pellew. “Set us down over there.”

  “Yes sir.” Campbell lowered the nose of the landing craft and brought it around until they were hovering over the LZ. “Touchdown in three seconds.” They descended gently and landed with a slight lurch. “We’re on the ground.”

  Pellew practically leapt out of the co-pilot’s chair as he hurried to the passenger section. “Okay, ODB, everybody out, move, move, move,” he said into his helmet’s mic. As he exited the cockpit, he was happy to see his soldiers had already begun exiting the vehicle via the main hatch. Captain Nimoux remained seated and under guard.

  “Nassar, you keep an eye on Baldy here,” said Pellew, nodding toward Captain Nimoux. “Emmett, you’re with me.”


  “I’m coming too,” said Nimoux, a serious look shown in his eye. “You need all your men to deal with those guards, and I know the prison better than anyone else here.”

  Pellew considered that for a half-second. If there was a firefight, he’d want all the soldiers he could muster. Nimoux was ex-special forces, so he knew his way around a firearm better than any of the mercs. And Nimoux was the only one who knew the layout of any of the structures, which could prove tactically useful.

  “I made a promise to my friends that I would come for them,” said Nimoux, his unkempt appearance, swollen red eyes, and look fierce determination made him seem both crazy and sincere. “From one soldier to another, I’m sure you understand.”

  Pellew unstrapped his sidearm and tossed it to Nimoux. “All right, but you’ll do exactly as I tell you.”

  “Sir yes sir,” Nimoux flashed an eager smile.

  “Now let’s move!”

  By the time Pellew’s boots touched the soft sand, his men had finished sweeping the LZ.

  “LZ secure,” reported Second Lieutenant Garcia. She was one of the few female soldiers who remained on the Nighthawk.

  Pellew shouldered his rifle and looked around. The wind was blowing, shifting the sands and raising a thin cloud of dust. His helmet and mask protected him from the elements, but visibility was limited. He looked all around him and saw no one. Just dark dormant structures.

  “You two, you’re with me,” he said to Nassar and Nimoux.

  “Yes sir,” said Nimoux, shielding his eyes from the dust with one hand and holding the sidearm. He was the only one not wearing a climate suit.

  “Aye aye,” said Nassar, rifle at the ready.

  “The rest of you, secure that building,” said Nimoux, pointing to the nearest structure.

  “Roger.”