“Tell them to activate every unit in the system. When those soldiers are finished training, I want them ready to deploy.”
Adeline frowned.“Shouldn’t we pull them all in now, sir? Why the delay?”
“Because they’re green,”Jerry said.“Most of them haven’t seen a day of real combat. Pulling them out of training now will only shake them up more. Better to let them finish.”
Admiral Walker, looking much worse for wear, nodded and began to dial his phone.“I can have half of their force mobilized on Earth by the end of the month. The rest we can have standing by.”
An aide knocked on the door on the opposite end of the room. Jerry waved the young staffer inside. Shouldering past the people in the crowded room, he dropped a printout in front of the Chief of Staff.
Jerry looked down at the note, rubbing his face with his hands.“Alexander, it’s from the Nangolani.”
“And?”
“They’ve been tracking the group that fled from Tallus. If their trajectory remains the same, they’ll be nearing Eros within the next twenty to seventy hours.”
The High Chancellor couldn’t help but laugh. He lost control of himself, smacking the table. Tears streamed from his face as he fought to regain composure. The room stared, uncertain how to react. Finally, Alexander let out a breath and shook his head.
“Yeah, that sounds about right.”
* * * * *
Cameron sat inside his pod, staring out at the vast empty tunnel. Had it been days or months or hours since he’d been sucked into the void? Did it matter?
He reached into his flight suit, pulling out his silver cross and tossing it into the air. It floated in the zero gravity, but drifted steadily toward the right side of the cockpit. Strange, he thought. It’s like we’re moving at different speeds. He picked the cross out of the air and stuffed it back into his pocket.
It was warm inside the cockpit, much warmer than he’d expected. Space was frozen and awful, making the ether a tropical paradise in comparison. Given his oxygen reserves, he figured he would die of starvation before anything else. It wasn’t a terrible way to go. He flipped a few switches, trying to activate the engines for the fiftieth time. The cells shuddered and coughed and remained cold. Still dead.
“Okay,”the pilot said, letting out a long breath.“Let’s figure out Plan F then.”
- IV -
Josh and Dax’s team crouched behind boulders just off the road. The intersection behind them was as close to perfect as they could find for a linear ambush. The sharp turn hid their emplaced mines, and the HMG team could face down the road and open fire before the trucks would ever see them. If Alpha responded the way he needed them to, this was the exact spot to take.
The plan had been broken down into three phases. Alpha had numbers, so dividing and conquering would have been the easiest approach. But the enemy also had time on their side. All they had to do was survive with more than twelve soldiers and they would win the event. If Josh attacked too brazenly, the guard would come up and they would be unable to wreak any more havoc. Everything had to fall like clockwork. A small mortar attack would seem like a desperate move by Delta to thin the herd. This would prompt a scouting party to go out and harass the team as it tried to leave. Since sending out ground troops would take too long, Josh figured Alpha’s CO would use the trucks to make quick work of the enemy. As this was the only navigable avenue, the squad would lay in ambush and take out the truck party.
Their chances of success were beyond marginal, but they had to try. At the very least, they would go out with such a fight as to earn bragging rights for the whole of Charlie.
“Mortar team set,”Alexa called in over the radio. Josh tapped Dax on the arm.
“Are you ready?”Josh asked.
Dax nodded, giving him a thumbs up. His DaVinci lay at his side, ready to be used at a moment’s notice. The rest of his team was divided just off the road, HMGs pointed at the bend and security on the ambush point. Alexa and the rest of the squad was spread around the area, mortars at the ready. Josh pulled his radio to his chest, his hand thumping with the steady beating of his heart. He squeezed the handset and brought it to his lips.
“Send the thunder.”
* * * * *
Staff Sergeant Zev Perez stood outside the commander’s quarters and sulked. The sun had been up for hours and the temperature already topped 116. Sweat poured down from the band in his helmet and dripped into his eyes. It felt as though a burning weight rested on his back, and his fingers blistered when they gripped the hard plastic of his rifle. This wasn’t his first tour on Kronos, but the heat never got any easier. His mouth tasted of sand and foul combat rations. Every time he moved, clouds of red dust billowed off his muscled frame. But now he stood as still as stone.
With only two days left in the exercise, the Captain had decided to call it quits. No more offensives, no more raids. With Charlie company down to a handful of soldiers and Delta content to hide, there was no real reason to risk a single life—simulated though it may be—in any more missions. The soldier in Zev screamed at the idiocy of it all. Hiding in a fort was no way to finish a training exercise.
He’d been to see the commander every day since the order, screaming until his throat was raw. The raid on Charlie had been executed to perfection, and he saw no reason to not use the same tactics on Delta. If their intel was right, they could easily take out what remained of the company. Even if they lost a few soldiers in the attack, it was worth it to ensure Delta was wiped out of the game. Beyond that, it was the right call tactically. Had this been a no bullshit ground war, leaving an enemy to regroup and rearm was the worst call to make.
The First Sergeant agreed, but was too spineless to stand up for one of his soldiers. It was not a sentiment the Staff Sergeant shared. Zev stood a head taller than anyone in the unit and didn’t mind using his size as a tool for negotiation. And there was no limit to how far he would go for his joes.
As he stood there, Zev’s gaze wandered around the base at the rest of his unit. Soldiers ambled lazily from building to building, or loitered in the courtyard. Some sat at tables playing cards while others rested in the shade. Their weapons hung on their backs, out of easy reach, or remained in their bunks. They looked like men on leave rather than in active combat. An enemy would capitalize on their apathy, but nothing less than an attack would shake them from their state of mind.
The door opened and the commander stepped out into the sun. He wore his combat boots and trousers, but only a royal purple undershirt under his combat vest. The officer shielded his eyes with one hand and stifled a yawn with the other. Zev almost spat. How was this the same man who had guided them through the last few months? It was nothing short of a miracle that they had survived at all. Still, respect for rank had to be maintained. Zev came to attention but did not salute.
“Sir, Staff Sergeant Perez reporting.”He waited for the commander to put him at rest.
Captain Redmond grimaced as he stretched. His muscles were tired, but the expression was actually meant for the troublesome NCO. They’d done this dance almost every day for the last few weeks, and he didn’t see why he had to keep up the charade. He was in command, Zev was supposed to follow. It should have been as simple as that. But the veteran E-6 didn’t know when to let off.
“Sergeant,”the Captain said.“Nice to see you this early.”
Zev remained ramrod straight.“It’s actually near eight, sir.”
Redmond checked his watch.“So it is. What can I do for you on this fine scorcher of a day?”
“I thought we could revisit our conversation. Sir.”
The CO started walking away. Zev shook his head and fell into step, allowing the commander to be just slightly forward and to the right. As they passed other soldiers, young privates and sergeants openly saluted the captain. He cheerfully returned the gesture. It turned the sergeant’s stomach. No field discipline. And they’d done so well the first month.
“Sir, we’re
less than forty-eight hours from endex. I really think it’s time we sent the scouts out to try and locate Delta’s position.”
Redmond groaned.“Not this again. Zev, we’re not in combat. This isn’t the war. Why risk losing points unnecessarily when all we need to do to win is stay put and enjoy the end of the hot season?”
“Because it teaches bad habits to the soldiers.”
“Does it?”Redmond gestured around.“We have PT every day, classes on tactics and guerrilla warfare. Hell, we even have Specialist Martel teaching the soldiers about local insurgent groups. I think we’re giving the men the training they need to succeed.”
Zev stepped in front of the officer.“They’re walking around like we’re in the middle of an amusement park. Some of them have leave their helmets on their cots next to their rifles when they head to the mess. It’s a disgrace.”
“At least they’re leaving their vests on. We wouldn’t want to be accused of cheating.”The commander’s face hardened.“Zev, I’m tired. We’ve been through this again and again. I’m not going to budge now, with only two days left. You’re a good soldier, but this conversation is over. Now head back to your bunk before I lose what’s left of my patience.”
Zev was about to say something less than respectful when he heard a sound come from far away. A dull thump, followed by several more in rapid succession. At first he wondered if he’d imagined the sound, but several of the guards in the towers were looking somewhat spooked as well. Seconds later a shrill whistle sounded overhead.
A guard in the east tower pointed skyward.“Incoming!”
Zev dove into the captain, dragging the officer down just as the mortars hit. The projectiles exploded above the ground, raining simunition pellets down onto the earth. Four soldiers on their way to the latrines took the brunt of the first attack. Their suits activated on contact with the flechettes, taking them out of the fight. Redmond crawled toward his quarters, but Zev held him fast.
“There’s more incoming,”he shouted.“Stay down.”
The commander shoved away from Zev, running low across the courtyard. He was only a few feet away when the next two rounds came down. The first exploded near the mess hall, killing another soldier as he stood in the doorway. Captain Redmond took the second full force, sending him flying into his bunk. The sedatives had kicked in before he hit the ground. Tents collapsed under the barrage, poles and canvas falling in a heap. Smoke and dust billowed from the impacts, and thousands of small craters ringed each area where the pellets had come down. Bodies lay out on the ground, each grinning in pleasant slumber.
As the sound of the explosions died out, the first sergeant ran into the yard, rifle in hand. He shouted to the quick reaction force, who were struggling to muster near their trucks. His own uniform was neat and clean, the last set of fatigues he’d brought to the field. First Sergeant had wanted to head home comfortable, not dragging half the desert with him. Now his beet-red face dripped sweat as he charged toward the front gate.
“Get the fuck out there and find whoever is shooting at us!”
The scouts quickly ran to their trucks—soft-topped J10s or“Jackals”—and headed for the gates. Engines roared to life, blowing clouds of sand from the exhausts. Soldiers in the towers quickly opened the metal doors, allowing the trucks to rush out. The rest of camp, the better part of the two remaining platoons, began policing their dead and preparing for a counterattack. Even with adrenaline running high, training beat nerves and allowed the men and women to work swiftly and efficiently. Downed friends were moved into a shaded area to await pick-up by the safeties. No sense in letting a simulated injury turn into a second-degree sunburn. The damaged tents were repaired or simply discarded in a far corner of the base. Others found their weapons and donned their armor, preparing to repel attackers.
Zev pulled himself off the ground, brushing dust from his uniform. Across the field one of the junior officers had taken charge of the company and was barking orders. The sergeant paid him no attention, but grabbed his rifle and ran back toward his platoon. There was still an enemy to fight, and he was going to be ready for them when they came.
- V -
Jonah admired the CEO’s office as he walked around the room. The man knew how to decorate, or at least whom to pay to do so. Tall oak bookcases—real wood, not imitation—lined the wall by the floor-to-ceiling windows. Thick, leather-bound books filled the shelves, separated sporadically by pictures of Arnold and his family or knickknacks he’d accumulated on his travels. Skulls of monsters the man had hunted on distant worlds hung on massive placards. Many rare paintings sat high above the door, their beauty not lost on the rebel leader.
The desk was a marvel. Rich mahogany, carved into a modest yet intricate design, and neatly organized from top to bottom. Each section of the furniture had a purpose, and not a single paper or pen was out of place. An LT33 quantum computer sat in the very center, the monitor tilted at a comfortable angle, casting a blue glow over the plush leather chair by the wall.
Soldiers of the Red Hammer marched the halls of the Galactic Media Tower, securing hostages in the many meeting halls. The two hundred soldiers Jonah had brought along were finding it hard to manage the near eight thousand men and women left behind when the Sky Rail was attacked. They’d blown the passageways on the thirtieth and fiftieth floors, knocking out any way for the police or military to break in, but that left a lot of civilians to babysit. Ten soldiers were needed on the top floor to man the Anti Air cannons, lest someone try to land on the roof or any of the seven pads around the building. It left precious few bodies to guard the hostages.
A young soldier hobbled into the room, favoring his right leg. His black armor was scored with lines of white where he’d taken fire. He stopped in front of Jonah and waited to be acknowledged, slinging his carbine over one shoulder. When he took off his helmet, the rebel leader was struck that the boy couldn’t be past eighteen. Jonah held up a hand as his phone rang.
“This is Jonah.”The voice on the other end spoke quickly, spitting out a stream of information. The rebel nodded, pulling at his beard.“I understand. Thank you for the effort.”He tossed the cell onto the desk and sighed.“Tallus is a total loss. Burton and the Federate bit off more than they could chew with these xenofucks.”He turned back to the waiting trooper.“Speak, brother,”Jonah said, leaning against the desk.
The soldier ran a gloved hand through his sweat-drenched hair. He looked like he’d been through hell and back.“We’ve secured another hundred. It’s getting pretty tense down there.”His right eye was swollen near shut, and a cut on his lip still oozed blood.
Jonah gestured to the boy’s limp.“How did that happen?”
The soldier smiled sheepishly.“I was jumped by some rent-a-cops on the hundred and tenth floor. Took a charge to the leg.”
Jonah smiled.“Zapped you?”He laughed.“You are one tough hombre.”
“It was nothing, sir. Just thirty thousand volts or so. His buddies were laying into me pretty hard before I caught one with my repeater. He’ll live, but he will need some help pissin’for a while.”He pulled back the plate over his thigh, revealing a spidery network of burnt veins visible through a tear in his trousers.“Left me a nice mark.”
The rebel leader leaned over and pulled up the pants leg over his right shin. A long, purple scar ran from just under his knee to the top of his ankle.“Bomber dropped its payload over my mine shaft during one of our night raids. Brought down a few tons of rock onto my leg. If it hadn’t been for my sergeant, I wouldn’t be here today. Spent a month laid up in one of our underground clinics, swaddled like a newborn babe.”He sat back upright.“Always good to have a souvenir of places you’ve been. Someone get this hero a drink. He can sit a spell before heading back into the breach.”
“Thank you, sir.”A guard walked over and helped the young man to a chair, handing him a bottle of water and a protein chip.
All eyes turned toward a commotion at the door. Victor came into the room with
his entourage of security guards. He dragged a man in an expensive brown suit in front of Jonah and threw him to the floor. The soldiers formed a ring around the prone hostage, keeping their weapons trained on the unarmed man.
“Found us a real gem,”Victor said. He spat on the ground.“I present to you Gregory Kent, the star reporter of Galactic News America.”
“Put your weapons away,”Jonah said.“You’re scaring my guest. And Vic, don’t you ever spit on my good carpet again.”He knelt down by Gregory’s face and peered into the man’s eyes.“Do you know who I am?”Gregory nodded.“Good. That’ll make this go a little faster. I want you to know I have no intention of harming you. However, the man who brought you has every intention of throwing you out the window if you misbehave. You won’t misbehave, will you?”Tears in his eyes, Gregory shook his head.“That’s very good, Mr. Kent. You should know, I respect what you do. Freedom of speech is a sacred oath, fought for by every generation for the last few centuries.”He leaned in close, until his breath caused Gregory to blink.“But that doesn’t mean I appreciate the names you’ve been calling me.”
“Please,”Gregory sobbed.“Don’t kill me. I’m just a reporter. I read lines on the teleprompter.”
Jonah backhanded him, cracking his nose.“You read the lies put before you without thought, and you began to believe them yourself. I wonder, do you think at all? Is it even worth me sparing your life? I’ll bet there are a hundred men and women downstairs who would jump at the chance to take your place in front of all the citizens of humanity.”
“This business is all politics.”Gregory nursed his bleeding face.“I had to follow the party line. I was reporting on county fairs and little kiddy pageants before I got this gig.”
“You’re a dog jumping at scraps,”Victor said. He pulled out his pistol and pressed the barrel against the reporter’s face.“How old were you during the Mars Uprising? Eight? Ten?”He brought his fist back to crack Gregory again, but Jonah held up a hand. Vic sneered and holstered his weapon.
When the Stars Fade (The Gray Wars) Page 20