Shadows of the Gods: Crimson Worlds Refugees II

by Jay Allan

  “Yes, sir. Seven thousand kilometers…”

  Duke stood like a statue, a graven image like something carved from a cold block of marble. His eyes stared straight ahead, and in them a fire raged.

  “Five thousand kilometers, sir…” Barret’s voice was showing the strain. Five thousand kilometers was knife-fighting range. But still, Duke stood in place, focused, cold.

  “Four thousand…”

  The bridge was silent, the crew staring at their captain…waiting.

  “Three thousand…”

  Duke didn’t move. He simply stood there, his head locked straight ahead. “Fire,” he said simply, without emotion.

  “Fire!” Barret repeated as he launched the torpedo.

  “Four gees, Mr. Barret,” Duke said calmly. Course preset number two.”

  “Course number two, sir…four gees.”

  Jaguar lurched hard forward, the feeling of heavy gee forces again slamming into the crew. Duke’s legs buckled briefly, but he managed to hold himself firm, at least for the few seconds he had to.

  “Cut thrust,” he snapped, his eyes staying fixed forward, not even looking toward the scanner display. Jaguar was past the target and in the clear…he knew it without looking.

  “Yes, Captain. Cutting thrust.”

  Duke stood there, still unmoving, a barely detectable smile creeping onto his face. He knew…he knew without looking, with a certainty that eradicated all doubt in his mind. An instant later, he heard the bridge break into cheers…but by then it was old news to him. The Gargoyle was gone. Jaguar’s torpedo had torn apart its containment…and the First Imperium warship had vanished in the almost indescribable fury of matter-antimatter annihilation.

  One more First Imperium ship in hell…

  * * *

  Mariko sat on the floor, just below her command chair. The AI had shut down, the lasts bits of stored battery power gone, save just enough to power a single com unit. Her people had a few hours of life support left, but their momentum had taken them far past Saratoga…away from the battle and deeper into the outer system.

  She had no idea how the battle was going…or had gone. For all she knew, her people were the only five left in the fleet. Erica West was a gifted officer, but the last glance Fujin had seen of her display before it powered down had shown a whole new force moving in…more than enough to wipe out the last of the task force.

  She glanced across the cockpit, her eyes settling on Wainwright. She was impressed by the young pilot. She’d seen a lot of hotshot types lose their shit when things went bad, but not him. She knew he had to be scared…hell, she was scared to death, so if he wasn’t he was made of sterner stuff than her. But he didn’t show it. He just sat at his station, looking down over the dead instruments…as if he was waiting for them to come back to life so he could plunge back into the fight.

  Fujin was sorry…for all of them, of course, but especially for the pilot. He was so young, so talented. What a waste. She thought of herself and realized she was only six years older than he was. Was that really possible? It felt like a lifetime to her…

  “Commander Fujin…”

  It took a second for her to realize the com unit was crackling.

  “Commander Fujin, do you read me?”

  It was Admiral Hurley!

  She scrambled up and across the cockpit toward the only working com unit.

  “Admiral…this is Fujin.”

  “Mariko!” Greta Hurley was as stone cold as officers came, but there was a burst of excitement in her voice. “We found you just in time…we were about to turn back.”

  “It’s good to hear your voice, Admiral.” She let out a long breath.

  “We’ve got to move, Mariko. The task force is moving out…we’ve got to get back or we’ll both be stuck out here.”

  Fujin felt a wave of relief. The fleet must have won the battle. “Yes, Admiral. But our screens are dead, our AI shut down. We’re out of power…all we’ve got is another ninety seconds of com.”

  “We’ll be there in three minutes. Get your people down to the lower egress port. And hurry. We’ll be lucky if Saratoga is still there by the time we get back.”

  “Yes, Admiral. We’re on the way…”

  She turned and flashed a glance at her crew. “Alright, boys. You heard the admiral. Let’s move our asses!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Research Notes of Hieronymus Cutter

  We are far below the surface of the planet now, well over a kilometer. I expected to find extensive facilities below the city, but I was unprepared for the true enormity of these ruins. There are tunnels everywhere, some blocked by ancient collapses, others still open, at least partially. And everywhere there are the signs of war, of a battle fought untold eons ago.

  We have found unfamiliar bits of equipment, faint signs of a potential group of combatants other than the First Imperium bots we have come to know so well. But there is nothing definitive, nothing that gives assurance we have found anything but previously unknown ordnance used by our familiar enemy. Could there have been a rebellion here? Could one ancient Intelligence have fought another for dominance of this world? There is no way to know, at least not unless we are able to find more evidence…and analyze it correctly.

  But now we have encountered the enemy again. We can hear the sounds of combat in the distance…the camp is under attack. Perhaps I have pushed too hard, insisted too resolutely that we must continue to explore. But my motives were sound…we must learn more about the First Imperium, and how to defeat it. Still…the cost. We have been attacked many times, suffered heavy losses. And now the main party is again in danger.

  We must return now, rush to the aid of the rest of the expedition. Then, after the enemy is beaten back, perhaps we will discuss our next options. I still long to continue, to press on into the depths of this great metropolis. But I must speak with Ana…and with Duncan. We must all agree, and if we do not, we must turn back together.

  I hear more sounds of battle. Closer. Behind us now too, along the forward line where Sergeant McCloud’s Marines are deployed. Now between us and the camp. We are cut off…under attack.

  Trapped.

  X48 System – Planet II

  In the Ruins of “New York City”

  The Fleet: 127 ships, 29807 crew

  Cutter spun around, his hand dropping to his pistol…to where his pistol had been. The tiny weapon—Frasier had called it a ‘pop gun’—had been far too weak for serious combat. The Marines gave him a high-powered assault rifle as a replacement after his last scuffle with the enemy, a far more useful weapon against a First Imperium warbot than the handgun had been.

  He reached around his back, slipping it from the harness and pulling it in front of him. It was heavy, cumbersome, and it took him a few seconds to get used to having it in his hands. He hadn’t fired it yet, and he could feel the tension in his arms as he imagined the weapon’s kick.

  The first dull explosions in the distance had given way to the sounds of a full-scale battle back near the camp. The initial blasts of the enemy attack had been answered by the return fire of the Marines’, the intensity rising as the scale of the combat increased.

  Bruce was already moving back toward the camp, his own rifle gripped tightly in his armored hands. “We’ve got to get back, Dr. Cutter,” he snapped, waving his hands toward the four other Marines lined up to the side. “All of you,” he yelled. “Let’s go…”

  His words were suddenly drowned out by automatic weapon fire coming from the other direction…and much closer than the camp. Cutter knew immediately, it was McCloud’s squad. And it was clear they were in heavy combat.

  “Fuck,” Bruce spat under his breath, scrambling to a halt. He waved to the Marines who had stopped short behind him. “The camp will have to take care of itself for now. We can’t let the enemy get in behind us.” The four men spun around on a dime and began moving in the other direction…plunging into the darkness after McCloud’s people.

&nb
sp; “Doctor…”

  “I’m with you, Kyle,” Cutter snapped back.

  “Maybe you should find a place to…”

  “I’m with you, Kyle,” he repeated, surprising himself with the grit in his voice. “We’re all in this together.”

  “Okay, Hieronymus,” Bruce answered, sounding not at all pleased about it. “But Major Frasier is going to skin me alive if anything happens to you…so I’m begging you to stay behind me and take some cover.”

  Cutter nodded, but he didn’t drop back. He was terrified, and it was taking all his endurance to stay firm, to keep moving forward and not to run off into the darkness in a mad panic. He knew he probably should go and hide. He had some armor on, but nothing like the Marines’ fighting suits. And his knowledge and ability were crucial to the fate of the whole fleet. But none of that mattered to him, not right now. He couldn’t abandon the Marines…he wouldn’t.

  The sounds of gunfire grew louder as he ran forward, and then he could see shadowy figures up ahead…McCloud’s Marines, pinned down in a depression along the edge of the tunnel. It looked like two of them were down, and the others were heavily engaged.

  “Sergeant…report!” The Marines had buttoned up their helmets, and Cutter heard Bruce’s voice through the small headset clipped to his ear.

  “The shit’s hitting the fan, Lieutenant.” McCloud didn’t sound scared, but there was a sense of urgency to his voice. “You better pull back and get the doc outta here. My boys’ll hold ‘em.” Cutter could hear the Scottish accent coming out in the big Marine’s words…a sign of stress, he guessed.

  “Doctor Cutter, the sergeant is right,” Bruce said, his voice raw, tense. “I’ll send two of my Marines back with…”

  “No.” Cutter’s voice was sharp, firm. “I said I’m here with you, and I’m staying.”

  “But…” Bruce let his words trail off into a sigh. “Okay, Hieronymus, but remember you don’t have real armor.”

  Cutter twisted uncomfortably, pushing and shoving against the breastplate and thigh guards that were bruising the hell out of him just from moving. It sure felt like armor…though he knew what Bruce meant. There was armor and then there was armor. And the latter was the toughest personal protection known to man, each suit powered by its own portable nuclear reactor. By comparison, he knew he might as well be wearing a bathrobe.

  Cutter stared down the corridor, trying to get a glimpse of the enemy bots, but all he could see was the flash of automatic weapons fire. He froze for a second, uncertain what to do. McCloud’s men were up ahead, perhaps six or seven meters farther forward. Bruce’s four Marines slipped off to the left side, taking position behind McCloud’s squad and opening fire.

  Cutter felt Bruce’s hand on his arm, gripping firmly, pushing him down against the wall, into cover just before a blast of enemy fire ripped through the air above them.

  “Stay down, Hieronymus. There are at least a dozen of them.”

  Cutter just nodded. He had no idea how Bruce could tell how many First Imperium bots were out there, but he was inclined to believe the Marine.

  “We’re pinned down here…stay low or you’re going to get your head blown off.”

  “Got it,” Cutter said, trying to keep his stomach from evacuating its contents.

  “We’ve gotta get out of here,” Bruce continued. “I’m gonna order McCloud’s guys to pull back in two sections…then, once they’re in position back here, we’re going to go. Then we’ll keep alternating, twenty meters at a time. You understand, Hieronymus?” Bruce was speaking slowly, meticulously.

  “Yes…” It was all Cutter could force out of his mouth at first. Then: “I Understand.”

  Cutter crouched low, feeling as if the projectiles flying over his head were a millimeter away. He felt himself scrunching lower, pushing farther below the chunk of exposed rock he was using as cover.

  “Alright, McCloud,” Bruce said, “we’re pulling out of here. Let’s get your people back…by odds and evens.”

  “There’s more activity coming down the corridor, Lieutenant. I think they’ll be on us the second we pull back.”

  “There’s nothing we can do about that, Sergeant. We’ll just have to hold them back with the leapfrogging.” A short pause then: “Evens, stand firm. Odds…move out.”

  Cutter could hear the sounds of McCloud’s odds moving back. They took a few steps, maybe half a dozen, and then all hell broke loose. The existing enemy fire doubled in intensity…and then a volley opened up from the direction of the camp, but much closer.

  One of the Marines to Cutter’s left yelled and fell hard to the ground. The other three—and Bruce and Cutter—spun around immediately and opened fire.

  Cutter felt the jarring of the assault rifle, and he realized his shooting was wild, uncontrolled. He released his finger, pausing for an instant before firing again, this time concentrating, trying to target the enemy warbots. He had no idea if he was hitting anything, but his fire felt truer, better.

  Suddenly, he felt Bruce’s armored hand, grabbing him hard, pulling him up and shoving him forward a few meters. Then moving lower as the Marine’s armored hand shoved him downward…and out of the direct line of fire. He tried to steady himself, repositioning to resume his own shooting, but he stumbled and fell, dropping the rifle as he did and falling hard into the stone.

  He let out a yell as he slammed down hard, struggling to ignore the pain from the fall. His hands were scuffed and bloody, and his left leg throbbed where his knee had slammed into the rock floor. There was fire all around, and he could see another one of the Marines down.

  Bruce was crouched down about a meter and a half away, staying low, returning fire from behind cover. “You okay, Doc?” the he yelled, his voice thick with concern.

  “I’m okay,” Cutter answered. He hurt like hell, but he knew he wasn’t badly injured, just banged up a little…and he wasn’t going to complain about getting a few cuts and scrapes when two Marines were already dead…or at least critically wounded. He reached out, feeling around until his hand felt the cool metal of the rifle. His fingers clawed at the weapon, pulling it up and grabbing it with his second hand.

  He looked up…and his eye caught motion, an enemy warbot, moving toward Bruce. He felt adrenalin pouring into his bloodstream, the thunderclap of his heart beating in his chest. His eyes locked on the robot, cold, focused. He wasn’t thinking, wasn’t trying to remember what to do…he just let his instincts take control, instincts he didn’t know he had. His hands moved quickly, bringing the rifle to bear, even as the First Imperium bot was turning its autocannon to fire on Bruce.

  “Kyle!” he howled, screaming into the com as his finger pulled back fiercely on the trigger, firing the weapon on full auto. His eyes were locked on the target…and somehow his aim was true. Dead on. The bot was pushed back by the stream of fire, its own shots going wide, missing Bruce.

  He released his finger, and the fire ceased, the weapon moving aside, angling downward as he stared out at the scene. But the enemy bot wasn’t finished, not yet. He was looking right at it, but it took him a second to realize the First Imperium warrior was still active…and that it had turned its focus to him. He felt the sound of his heart in his ears, and a wave of panic began to take him. He screamed to himself to fire, but he just stood, stunned, transfixed. It was only a second, perhaps less, but somehow he realized it was too long. It had been his mistake…he’d let up, ceased fire too soon. Of all people, he should have understood the punishment a First Imperium bot could absorb, but he hadn’t. He’d given away his victory, and now he knew he was going to die.

  His eyes were fixed on the bot’s autocannon. His fire had wrecked one of the fearsome weapons, but the other was still functional, its deadly maw turning toward him. He felt the tension in his body, his instinctive effort to move away, to dive for cover. But he was too late…and there was nowhere to go.

  Then he heard the shots, the sounds of automatic fire ripping through the air. He gritted his teet
h, waiting for the pain, the blood and gore as the projectiles ripped through his body. But there was nothing.

  The sound…that wasn’t First Imperium fire!

  His head snapped around, and his eyes focused on his enemy. The bot had fallen backwards, its second autocannon torn from its body…along with a huge part of its midsection. And Kyle Bruce was standing over it, his assault rifle still firing into its savaged remains.

  Cutter moved over to the side, bringing his own weapon to bear. But he could see immediately the warbot was dead. He stood still for a few seconds…then he felt the strength drain from his legs, and he stumbled, struggling to stay on his feet as the flow of adrenalin dropped away.

  “It’s alright, Doc…it’s finished.” Bruce’s voice was better than Cutter’s but it was clear the Marine was a little shaken up too. They’d each just looked death in the face and lived to tell about it.

  Cutter tried to answer, but his throat was dry, the words absent. He just nodded…and looked back at the wreckage of the machine that had come half a second from killing him. Then he felt something…Bruce’s hand, heavy, strong from his powered armor.

  “C’mon Doc…I know it’s a shock, but we’ve got more of these things coming, so I need you to snap out of it…focus.”

  “Okay…” It was all Cutter could get out, but that was enough.

  “Good…now pop that half-empty clip and put in another one.” Bruce reached behind Cutter, grabbing a cartridge from the scientist’s ammo belt and pushing it into his hand. “That’s right,” he said, as he watched Cutter snap the clip in place.

  “Now stay down, Doc. Grab some cover and the second you see anything…blow it the hell away. And don’t stop shooting next time, not until you’re sure it’s dead.”

  * * *

  “Ronnie is out there! And Lieutenant Bruce and his people.” Ana Zhukov was crouched behind a shattered chunk of stone, her carbine gripped tightly in her hands. She was staring back at Frasier with a look of desperation in her eyes. “We’ve got to get to them.”