by Elliott Kay
“There! I saw it! Right there.” Sanjay tilted Phoenix on her trajectory so he could point to the spot the spot on the main canopy projection. “The beam came from that peak!”
“Keep it in sight,” said Lynette. She turned to her sensors, hoping to narrow it down to actual coordinates. “Veronica?”
“Recon One, Phoenix,” her XO said without missing a beat. “We think we spotted an enemy weapon emplacement in the mountains. You okay if we make a quick detour?”
“As long as you can join back up to cover us on landings, go for it,” came the reply.
“Sanjay, go,” said Lynette, though she already felt him gun the engines.
“You think this is the one that hit St. Catherine on her way out?” asked Elise.
“Could be. Val, get ready,” Lynette warned. “We can’t afford more than a couple passes at this thing.” Phoenix rushed over dry plains, low enough to kick up clouds of dust in her wake. “Sanjay, I get the feeling you have a plan?”
“Yes, I do,” he replied. “Might want to crank up the internal gravity.”
“Aw shit,” grunted Veronica. She didn’t need another warning, nor did Lynette need to look over to see where the XO’s hands would be at her controls.
“Sanjay, are you sure you don’t need me to call a plan?” Lynette offered.
“Nope. I’m good.”
Phoenix rocketed toward the steep ridge of mountains, keeping low enough to crash headlong into the slopes. Too close for the comfort of anyone else on the bridge, Sanjay hit the counter-thrusters to decelerate fast, but the system hardly let Phoenix brake in mid-air. As the ship reached the mountains, Sanjay pulled up hard and spun the yacht over to rise inverted.
Internal artificial gravity protected everyone from the awful effects such motions would have on the body. It helped prevent nausea, too, though the sudden spin on the main visuals on the canopy screen spoke directly to more than one stomach.
Lynette saw mostly rock and shadow in the mountains. Phoenix didn’t linger for a long look, speeding up into the sky. On the canopy, red crosshairs appeared over a deep patch of darkness among the rocks. “Val, you see it?” asked Sanjay.
By then, they were in the clouds. Nobody could see anything. “Yeah, I’m good,” came their gunner’s voice.
“I’m not,” complained Elise.
“Kinda need to actually see, though,” Val added.
“On it,” said Sanjay.
Again, the counter-thrusters fired hard. Sanjay bled off speed rapidly, almost bringing Phoenix to a stop. Then he pointed the nose down again. Lynette grabbed the armrests of her chair. “Aw, hell,” she exhaled.
Darkness and clouds spread across the canopy until suddenly they did not. Phoenix dove into that same range of rocks and shadow again. Lights in red, yellow, and orange flared across the canopy screen as Val opened up with lasers and the Interceptors even before the crosshairs reappeared on the screen. Small explosions flared all across the darkened rocks with the first hits of solid shells. Sanjay kept Phoenix in her dive until one such explosion turned much larger than the rest.
The ship curved hard to port before they touched the flames, breaking out of the mountains and over the desert again—sideways.
“Bridge, this is guns,” came Val’s insufferably satisfied voice. “Target is fucked.”
“Can we flatten out now?” asked Veronica.
“Y’know, down is still down in here,” said Sanjay.
“The horizon isn’t supposed to run vertically on the screen,” she snapped back.
“Okay, fine,” the bo’sun replied, righting the ship. “Just taking a look at the desert.”
“We’ve got fifteen cameras for that,” said Lynette. She was on them now. Anchorside wasn’t yet on the horizon. Only a navigational marker sat in its place. Between Phoenix and the city were her three shuttles in need of escort. Little else of interest appeared on her screens.
“You okay?” Veronica asked. Her voice didn’t come over the net, nor did it carry across the bridge. The XO was right beside her.
“Fine. I’m used to Sanjay’s driving.”
“Not what I meant.”
“I can’t think about that now. It’s not as important as the rest.”
“He’ll understand.”
Lynette shook her head. “Really thought I was being silly, y’know?”
Veronica squeezed her shoulder. “Can I tell you a secret? If anybody on this boat thought you were being silly, we’d have said something. You know he’s in the middle of this somewhere. This is almost exactly what I expected.”
“You did not expect a war zone full of alien psychos,” Lynette countered.
“Lyn. C’mon. Who are we talking about here?”
* * *
“I put a claw hammer in a guy’s eye socket,” said Tanner. “It was as ugly as it sounds, and it still wasn’t enough to put him down. He was up fighting again in under a minute. Do not underestimate their ability to shrug off pain.”
The squad listened intently as he spoke, some looking back with skepticism and others with a grim resolve. Tanner stood with Dylan at the front of the main cabin with their backs to the cockpit. The rest sat shoulder to shoulder in the Vanguard geared up with weapons and gear. Everyone kept the visors of their helmets racked back. The second squad in the other Vanguard likely had theirs down so they could watch the briefing as if they were there in person.
“So you got any ideas about what does work?” called out a rough-looking woman in the back with a riot gun in her hand. Bandoleers of ammo cartridges hung from her shoulders, probably in a variety of shells. Her nametag labeled her Clayton. “We get that they’re tough and the armor stands up to lasers. What’s the other side of it?”
“Same as fighting any other body armor,” said Tanner. “The joints still need flexibility. It isn’t built for severe impact. Shoot for the head whenever you can. Those helmets don’t give a lot of shock absorption. You might not penetrate, but you’ll ring the bell pretty good. And if they don’t have those shields braced it’s still pretty hard to stand up against a bullet. These guys are strong, but they aren’t that strong. Tag ‘em before they get set and they’ll stagger.”
“Huh. Stagger,” grunted the guy closest to Tanner. “Great.”
“That’s what your grenades and the heavy weapons are for,” Dylan spoke up. “Remember your training for combat against powered armor. I know it’s been a while. The insurgents can’t exactly afford to field that stuff. But you’ve been trained. Put it to use.
“You’ve heard the basic layout. You have a description of the main target. This is their base, so any other disruptions we can cause are worthwhile, but stick to the mission. It doesn’t do us any good to get bogged down. Keep moving until we’re done. Any questions?”
“Yeah,” answered a heavyset grunt in the center of the cabin. A ruddy face hid under his helmet and a day-old carpet of stubble. “Didn’t I hear on the news you’re all fucked in the head, Malone?”
“Not the sort of questions I meant, Sanders,” said Dylan.
“But it’s relevant, though. Right?” He pointed to Tanner. “I’ve seen the stories. You know what this guy did. His own people couldn’t trust him. Now we’re supposed to take his word on all this alien shit?”
“I did a hitch in NorthStar Security,” said another grunt with the name Voligny on her chest. “Lost a lot of friends in Archangel.”
“That’s enough,” Dylan snapped. “You’re professionals. Act like it. These assholes want to waste everyone on the planet. I’ve seen the evidence. Malone is in as much danger as the rest of us. He knows where we’re going and he knows how to handle a gun. That’s good enough for me. It’s good enough for the rest of you. Suck it up.”
From the back of the cabin, a man tagged Andrade held up his hand. “Major, I’ve got a real question: what’s the plan if this crazy shit doesn’t work?”
“Then we fight our way out and think of something else,” said Dylan. “
If we can’t do that, we go down fighting—which is the other reason Malone is here. If this doesn’t work, he buys it like the rest of us. Good enough?” she asked, glaring at Voligny and Sanders. The big man tilted his head. Voligny crossed her arms and looked to the back of the cabin.
Dylan reclaimed her seat. Tanner strapped back in beside her. “I’m getting a strong sense of high morale out of this group,” he said.
“Nobody has to put on the tin soldier act in this company, Malone. Precision Solutions is for grown-ups who don’t need any ‘by your leave’ boot camp etiquette bullshit to keep everyone in line. They’ll perform in the field. That’s all that counts. And I meant what I said: If this doesn’t work out, it’s your ass like the rest of us.”
Tanner snorted. “Why do you think I came to you guys for this instead of the insurgents? Those poor guys are all stuck living here. If anyone should have their ass on the line it’s the people getting paid to make everyone else miserable.”
“Shit.” Dylan glared back at him. “You really are a self-righteous asshole.”
“Is that what you call someone when you’re pissed off because they’re right?”
“The people here signed up for this job. They signed contracts.”
“Those contracts were written in bad faith, they got screwed, and their kids got stuck with it when they didn’t sign up for any of this.”
“You get a chance to review all your parents’ contracts and obligations before you were born, Malone? Or did you grow up with what you had like everybody else?”
“It’s a bullshit system built to exploit people and you know it, Dylan. At least now you have a chance to do something to make it up to them by…” He shook his head. “Nah.”
“What?”
“I was gonna spout some nonsense about you having a chance for a redemption or something like that, but it’s too silly to finish. Saving your own ass isn’t redemption. It isn’t even heroic. It’s just survival.”
“Oh, and you’d know about that, wouldn’t you, Malone?”
“Yep. All the people with the biggest microphones never listen. It’s the crazy thing about fame. Some people don’t give a fuck who you are or what you want. They only care about who they want you to be. Or what will make them money.”
“We’re coming up on the target now,” came Brody’s voice over their headsets.
Dylan abandoned her conversation with Tanner. “Platoon, link up and get set,” she called.
Everyone slipped their helmet visors down. Heads-up information appeared in an outline at the edges of Tanner’s vision, along with an inset screen showing the transport’s forward view. He busied himself killing off less important information like the Vanguard’s speed and altitude. The shadows of sand dunes rushing by told him all he needed to know.
The small roster of platoon members and their status gave him something worth knowing, at least. Like many such systems, he had a live count of all his ammunition and the status of his weapons. He’d have preferred the protection of the full faceplate of an Archangel Navy helmet and its simpler display, but at least the expense of this piece provided some extra options like night vision adjusted to conditions on Minos.
He had a decent load of weapons, too. Aside from the Diamondback tucked against his chest, Tanner wore a high-powered automatic pistol on one hip and a laser-heated knife strapped to his opposite leg. His gloves held magnetic threads along the palm and fingers for enhanced grip and hardened knuckles for a sharper strike. Though they couldn’t fit him for full body armor on such short notice, his borrowed fatigues were rugged and well-insulated. Precision Solutions at least bought good gear with its blood money.
He only lacked for grenades or heavy weapons. Dylan wasn’t about to trust him that much. By contrast, the platoon sported plenty of the former, from thermals and explosives to even a few rare sonic grenades. Sanders carried a Hailstormer, a beast of a weapon with twice the power and far more ammo capacity than Tanner’s Diamondback. Clayton’s riot gun would fire a number of loads from gas to shots designed to fragment and ricochet on impact. Andrade could deliver wide blasts of concussive force with his airburster. A few squad members even wore plasma carbines on their hips.
Yet everyone knew their wealth of weapons and gear wouldn’t save them from disaster in the air. “So we’ve got no way of knowing if we’re being tracked, right?” asked Clayton. “Could’ve been watching us since we took off and we’d never know.”
“We run that risk with every airdrop,” said Sanders. “Either the warning systems do some good or they don’t.”
“Seems crazy they’d have a base with no air defenses.”
“They didn’t shoot us down when we took off out of here,” said Tanner. “We surveyed and dug for weeks without finding any structures besides that big door. Gun emplacements would draw attention. They wanted to hide.” Then he shrugged. “They’d be morons to leave the place completely undefended now, obviously.”
“We’ll find out in one minute,” said Dylan. “On your feet.”
The squad obeyed. Half of the passengers in the cabin leaned their backs against the doors. The other half, without enough space to do the same, had to turn around and lean against them. Practicality and some measure of mistrust put Tanner with his back to the door while Dylan leaned back against him. She was only a few centimeters shorter. Her helmeted head rested against his shoulder.
“Thirty seconds,” warned Brody.
On the inset screen in his heads-up display, Tanner saw the canyon stretching out ahead. The Vanguards had flown past the canyons in a wide path in hopes of concealing their intentions, but now made for the target in a straight line. Rather than flying into the canyon, the aircraft would pass over the great doors and keep going.
One of Dylan’s confidants stood beside her, leaning against Sanders at Tanner’s side. “You ever do one of these drops, Malone?” asked Juntasa.
“I’m zero-g combat qualified,” he said. “They gave me a cool little badge and everything.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Five… four…” Brody called out, overriding all other chatter. “Three… two… one! Drop!”
The doors snapped open, dropping everyone out through the sides. Almost simultaneously, a low tone shuddered through the air like a single, unnaturally long bass beat. The antigrav pulser dropped from beneath the Vanguard with the squad, allowing for a slower fall.
Tanner’s head and stomach launched into all their usual objections about inconsistent gravity, but in almost the same instant he had bigger problems. Human and humanoid shapes burst out of the sands at the edge of the canyon. Some looked up with a sharp red glow.
No one had time to cry out a warning. The Regents cut down the second Vanguard in a flash of laser heat and explosive results. The first aircraft caught a pair of blasts along its tail end, igniting more flames and sending the Vanguard veering off along the side of the canyon. Distracted and alarmed, Tanner lost control of his fall.
The desert hit him hard all across his back and his shoulders. A loud crash overwhelmed the baffles in his helmet as the Vanguard crashed into the ridge over the canyon. Tanner forced his eyes open to a night lit up with bright yellow rays and desperate gunfire.
Chapter Thirty-Four:
Tenacity
“The situation will likely be chaotic and fluid. Defense of the civilian population will remain your top priority until instructed otherwise. Any other objective is secondary.”
--Marine Deployment Orders, Minos Task Force, August 2280
The Minoan sentinel whirled around over Tanner’s sprawled form, shield in one hand and a spear extended in the other. The guy was close enough to kick. Tanner jammed his Diamondback into the sentinel’s gut and pulled the trigger instead.
It didn’t fire. He’d hit the safety so it wouldn’t go off during the jump. Only the impact of the muzzle against his foe’s armor bought him enough time to react. With the
sentinel off-balance for all of half a second, Tanner swept one foot up behind his leg and brought the other in against the side of the sentinel’s knee. His opponent crumpled with a sharp cry.
The world was a strobe-light cacophony of gunfire, screams, the rush of energy weapons, and booms from the destroyed Vanguard. Tanner hardly tracked any of it. He hadn’t even gotten up off his back. Instead, he threw the safety on his weapon, twisted toward the enemy pushing himself up from the sand, and put the muzzle against the Minoan’s head.
A five-round burst erupted from the Diamondback, creating a shower of sparks and blood. A sliver of metal pinged against Tanner’s helmet. Something hot cut along his jaw, unprotected by the visor. Adrenaline and fear drowned out the pain.
Regents and sentinels fought his comrades in a close-quarters brawl of firearms instead of fists. The burning wreckage of the Vanguard atop the ridge gave off plenty of light. Tanner inhaled dust and smoke as he looked for a target or somewhere to pitch in.
Some mercenary Tanner didn’t know shouted for him to stay down, raising his weapon to his shoulder. A Minoan spear burst through his chest from behind before he fired. The sentinel went down in the next heartbeat, struck at point-blank by a shot from Clayton’s riot gun. She stepped in over his fallen body to finish the job with another blast barely two feet from his body.
Turning from that danger, Tanner found a black shield rushing up at him in a sweeping arc. On instinct, Tanner flung his left arm over the slab of metal before it swatted him aside. He couldn’t save his footing, but he pulled the sentinel down with him. A yellow ray shot into the sky as they fell. Whatever the sentinel had intended with his dramatic move, at least Tanner had spoiled it. He threw a stomping kick at the Minoan, too, connecting only with armor and giving his heel a jolt of pain.
Tanner sat upright, hoping to finish the sentinel off with another burst of gunfire. The sands exploded around them with the loud, electric thump of an airburster. The concussive wave threw Tanner onto his back while a body flew overhead. He didn’t see who or what it was and couldn’t care. His opponent got to his hands and knees. Tanner waved the Diamondback along the sentinel’s side with the trigger down, ending their fight.