by Mark Wandrey
“What’s going on, Jim?”
The thing flew into the cavernous hangar, slowing via invisible forces, its huge demonic armored head swiveling to look up at Jim. One of its four arms moved to track him.
“Fire, just fire!” The arm lined up, and a meter-wide beam of star-brilliant coherent light punched effortlessly through the bay doors. Jim scrambled for a hold, any kind of hold, as the monstrosity’s head turned toward the beam burning through the bay dozens of meters away. An instant later, the massive bay doors, now compromised, exploded outward. The atmosphere of the bay was instantly consumed by the void, taking Jim with it.
* * *
“Daddy, what if I float away?” Jim hung to the handholds surrounding the hatchway. Thaddeus Cartwright floated a few feet away, holding his hands out.
“Remember the grippers?” Jim looked at the hand he wasn’t holding on with. The strap wrapped around his hand and wrist, a small slightly glowing disk sat in the middle of his palm. “Just touch the wall anywhere and you’ll stick, just like a fly!” Jim looked at his father, the fear evident. “Come one Jimbo, you can do it son!”
“But I’m scared, daddy.”
“Don’t be, daddy’s here. Just give one…little…push…” Jim let go and floated to the opposite wall, his father watching keenly. He put out both hands and smacked lightly into the wall, his hands almost sucking down onto the cool metal.
“I did it!” he cheered. Thaddeus Cartwright beamed proudly at his son.
* * *
The explosive decompression ripped at the cavernous docking, tearing everything, and everyone, toward the yawning abyss. Jim spun, his movements instantly transmitted into thruster impulses by his suit’s haptic computer. He sensed more than saw the support column approaching, and threw out a hand. The old memory of his father rang in his mind. One of those seminal moments of his childhood. Aboard Traveler on his first trip into space, Thaddeus Cartwright teaching his physically awkward son that zero gravity was fun, once you knew the rules.
As the evacuating atmosphere tried to take him with it, Jim recalled those lessons, and that the CASPer had many potential grapple points. The suit he wore was rigged for boarding actions, and he could literally magnetize almost every square inch. As he spun, he used his pinplants to activate that function, and the suit became a huge magnet.
He collided with the support shoulder first, with enough force to deform the massive metal column and slam him against his restraints. He saw stars, but didn’t look away from the Tri-V as it showed the alien machine flash past, spinning wildly. It reached out toward him, and an energy bolt flashed by only centimeters from Jim’s cockpit. Close enough that some of the energy arced and crackled off the suit. A dozen warning lights flashed, and the radio was destroyed.
He did his best to wrap the arm against the column, around the metal strut. The force of the decompression tried to pull him away, and the horrible scraping of the column against his suit screamed in his ears. Gale-force battled magnetic force, threatening to pull him into space. With no jump juice remaining and the radio destroyed, there would be no way for Bucephalus to find him amid the storm of debris ejecting into space.
A second later, the hurricane of escaping wind slowed and stopped. Internal doors had closed, isolating the bay, which was now in vacuum. His suit was damaged and leaking air. However, indicators said it was able to compensate for a while. He could feel Splunk moving, and knew she would be trying to stop the leaks and—hopefully—fix the radio.
He used the suit’s sensors to look for the alien robot. It had to be a robot, he decided. A deadly machine left as a trap to guard what Jim had found—a cache of data. Only, what kind of cache, and why was it here in the Karma system? The sensors alerted him to an object coming toward him. He activated the minigun on his arm, the only green-lit weapon, and shut down all the magnetic clamps except those on the arm opposite the gun. Come and get me, mother fucker, he thought.
Through the ravaged bay doors a dozen CASPers floated toward him, the lights on their suits casting in all directions. Jim safed the weapon and smiled.
* * *
Jim was strapped to the medical bed and waiting patiently as the ship’s physician examined him. He was covered in bruises from head to toe, and the doc confirmed Jim had a minor concussion as well as several hairline fractures of his left clavicle, the one he’d hit the support with. His suit was in somewhat worse shape. Adayn had just shook her head in bemusement and set about fixing it.
“You’re sure there was no sign of the thing?” Jim asked.
“Nothing,” Hargrave said. “Captain Wu launched drones to search for it. Not a thing.” Jim shook his head in concern. They’d gotten several good images of the thing from his suit’s recorders, including one of his laser beam bouncing off and being partially absorbed. Bucephalus’ shield techs confirmed the effect at least resembled shields, though it looked almost like the shield wasn’t a globe, but covered the machine only a fraction of an inch above all its surfaces. Rather like a skin-tight suit made of energy shielding. “We’ll keep looking, though.”
Jim doubted they’d find it. The machine had flown after him, which meant it had some kind of thruster system. After it was ejected from the station, it must have fled in another direction. It was still out there. “Okay,” he said. “Anything else in the station?”
“Just this,” Hargrave said and held out a slate. On it was a picture of a poorly lit bay. Inside were lines of cradles that weren’t too different from the ones they used to hold CASPers. Only these were each more than 100 feet tall. Jim smiled, and Hargrave shook his head. “That’s why you bought this place, isn’t it? Your little toys.”
“Little?” Jim asked, then laughed. “Have the handling team move Dash here for me.”
“Dash,” Hargrave grumbled, then nodded. He’d never approved of Jim naming the Raknar after a little horsey, as he called it. Jim had reminded him that Hargrave wasn’t in charge. “I’ll get it done.”
As Hargrave left, Jim saw Splunk floating by the doorway. The doctor glanced over at the Fae and nodded. “She’s been nearby the whole time we examined you.”
“Give me a minute?” he asked, and the doctor pushed off toward his office, and they were alone. “You saved me,” he said to the Fae, “back in the command center when that thing…”
“Adversary…
“Yes, adversary. When it was in my mind.” She didn’t say anything. “Was that a Kahraman?” She shook her heard. “How do you know it’s an adversary.”
“I know, Jim…
“This isn’t over,” he yelled after her, but there was no reply. Jim plucked the slate Hargrave had left from where it was floating nearby and examined it. They were certainly Raknar frames. Karma Upsilon 4 had been a Raknar-related facility. He grinned and started making plans.
# # # # #
About the Author
Located in rural Tennessee, Mark Wandrey has been creating new worlds since he was old enough to write. After penning countless short stories, he realized novels were his real calling and hasn’t looked back since. A lifetime of diverse jobs, extensive travels, and living in most areas of the country have uniquely equipped him with experiences to color his stories in ways many find engaging and thought provoking. Now a bestselling author, he has no intention of slowing down anytime soon.
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Caution – Worlds Under Construction
Titles by Mark Wandrey
Cartwright’s Cavaliers
Winged Hussars
Alpha Contracts
A Fistful of Credits
For a Few Credits More
The Good, The Bad, And The Merc
Earth Song: Overture
A Time to Die
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The following is an
Excerpt from Book One of the Revelations Cycle
:
Cartwright’s Cavaliers
___________________
Mark Wandrey
Available Now from Seventh Seal Press
eBook, Paperback and Audio
Excerpt from “Cartwright’s Cavaliers:”
The last two operational tanks were trapped on their chosen path. Faced with destroyed vehicles front and back, they cut sideways to the edge of the dry river bed they’d been moving along and found several large boulders to maneuver around that allowed them to present a hull-down defensive position. Their troopers rallied on that position. It was starting to look like they’d dig in when Phoenix 1 screamed over and strafed them with dual streams of railgun rounds. A split second later, Phoenix 2 followed on a parallel path. Jim was just cheering the air attack when he saw it. The sixth damned tank, and it was a heavy.
“I got that last tank,” Jim said over the command net.
“Observe and stand by,” Murdock said.
“We’ll have these in hand shortly,” Buddha agreed, his transmission interspersed with the thudding of his CASPer firing its magnet accelerator. “We can be there in a few minutes.”
Jim examined his battlespace. The tank was massive. It had to be one of the fusion-powered beasts he’d read about. Which meant shields and energy weapons. It was heading down the same gap the APC had taken, so it was heading toward Second Squad, and fast.
“Shit,” he said.
“Jim,” Hargrave said, “we’re in position. What are you doing?”
“Leading,” Jim said as he jumped out from the rock wall.
* * * * *
Get “Cartwright’s Cavaliers” now at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01MRZKM95/.
Find out more about Mark Wandrey and “Cartwright’s Cavaliers” at: http://chriskennedypublishing.com/imprints-authors/mark-wandrey/.
The following is an
Excerpt from Book One of The Psyche of War:
Minds of Men
___________________
Kacey Ezell
Now Available from Theogony Books
eBook, Paperback, and (Soon) Audio
Excerpt from “Minds of Men:”
“Look sharp, everyone,” Carl said after a while. Evelyn couldn’t have said whether they’d been droning for minutes or hours in the cold, dense white of the cloud cover. “We should be overhead the French coast in about thirty seconds.”
The men all reacted to this announcement with varying degrees of excitement and terror. Sean got up from his seat and came back to her, holding an awkward looking arrangement of fabric and straps.
Put this on, he thought to her. It’s your flak jacket. And your parachute is just there, he said, pointing. If the captain gives the order to bail out, you go, clip this piece into your ‘chute, and jump out the biggest hole you can find. Do you understand? You do, don’t you. This psychic thing certainly makes explaining things easier, he finished with a grin.
Evelyn gave him what she hoped was a brave smile and took the flak jacket from him. It was deceptively heavy, and she struggled a bit with getting it on. Sean gave her a smile and a thumbs up, and then headed back to his station.
The other men were checking in and charging their weapons. A short time later, Evelyn saw through Rico’s eyes as the tail gunner watched their fighter escort waggle their wings at the formation and depart. They didn’t have the long-range fuel capability to continue all the way to the target.
Someday, that long-range fighter escort we were promised will materialize, Carl thought. His mind felt determinedly positive, like he was trying to be strong for the crew and not let them see his fear. That, of course, was an impossibility, but the crew took it well. After all, they were afraid, too. Especially as the formation had begun its descent to the attack altitude of 20,000 feet. Evelyn became gradually aware of the way the men’s collective tension ratcheted up with every hundred feet of descent. They were entering enemy fighter territory.
Yeah, and someday Veronica Lake will...ah. Never mind. Sorry, Evie. That was Les. Evelyn could feel the waist gunner’s not-quite-repentant grin. She had to suppress a grin of her own, but Les’ irreverence was the perfect tension breaker.
Boys will be boys, she sent, projecting a sense of tolerance. But real men keep their private lives private. She added this last with a bit of smug superiority and felt the rest of the crew’s appreciative flare of humor at her jab. Even Les laughed, shaking his head. A warmth that had nothing to do with her electric suit enfolded Evelyn, and she started to feel like, maybe, she just might become part of the crew yet.
Fighters! Twelve o’clock high!
The call came from Alice. If she craned her neck to look around Sean’s body, Evelyn could just see the terrifying rain of tracer fire coming from the dark, diving silhouette of an enemy fighter. She let the call echo down her own channels and felt her men respond, turning their own weapons to cover Teacher’s Pet’s flanks. Adrenaline surges spiked through all of them, causing Evelyn’s heart to race in turn. She took a deep breath and reached out to tie her crew in closer to the Forts around them.
She looked through Sean’s eyes as he fired from the top turret, tracking his line of bullets just in front of the attacking aircraft. His mind was oddly calm and terribly focused...as, indeed, they all were. Even young Lieutenant Bob was zeroed in on his task of keeping a tight position and making it that much harder to penetrate the deadly crossing fire of the Flying Fortress.
Fighters! Three o’clock low!
That was Logan in the ball turret. Evelyn felt him as he spun his turret around and began to fire the twin Browning AN/M2 .50 caliber machine guns at the sinister dark shapes rising up to meet them with fire.
Got ‘em, Bobby Fritsche replied, from his position in the right waist. He, too, opened up with his own .50 caliber machine gun, tracking the barrel forward of the nose of the fighter formation, in order to “lead” their flight and not shoot behind them.
Evelyn blinked, then hastily relayed the call to the other girls in the formation net. She felt their acknowledgement, though it was almost an absentminded thing as each of the girls were focusing mostly on the communication between the men in their individual crews.
Got you, you Kraut sonofabitch! Logan exulted. Evelyn looked through his eyes and couldn’t help but feel a twist of pity for the pilot of the German fighter as he spiraled toward the ground, one wing completely gone. She carefully kept that emotion from Logan, however, as he was concentrating on trying to take out the other three fighters who’d been in the initial attacking wedge. One fell victim to Bobby’s relentless fire as he threw out a curtain of lead that couldn’t be avoided.
Two back to you, tail, Bobby said, his mind carrying an even calm, devoid of Logan’s adrenaline-fueled exultation.
Yup, Rico Martinez answered as he visually acquired the two remaining targets and opened fire. He was aided by fire from the aircraft flying off their right wing, the Nagging Natasha. She fired from her left waist and tail, and the two remaining fighters faltered and tumbled through the resulting crossfire. Evelyn watched through Rico’s eyes as the ugly black smoke trailed the wreckage down.
Fighters! Twelve high!
Fighters! Two high!
The calls were simultaneous, coming from Sean in his top turret and Les on the left side. Evelyn took a deep breath and did her best to split her attention between the two of them, keeping the net strong and open. Sean and Les opened fire, their respective weapons adding a cacophony of pops to the ever-present thrum of the engines.
Flak! That was Carl, up front. Evelyn felt him take hold of the controls, helping the lieutenant to maintain his position in the formation as the Nazi anti-aircraft guns began to send up 20mm shells that blossomed into dark clouds that pocked the sky. One exploded right in front of Pretty Cass’ nose. Evelyn felt the bottom drop out of her stomach as the aircraft heaved first up and then down. She held on grimly and passed on the wordless knowledge the pilots had no choice but to fly through the debris and shrapnel tha
t resulted.
In the meantime, the gunners continued their rapid fire response to the enemy fighters’ attempt to break up the formation. Evelyn took that knowledge—that the Luftwaffe was trying to isolate one of the Forts, make her vulnerable—and passed it along the looser formation net.
Shit! They got Liberty Belle! Logan called out then, from his view in the ball turret. Evelyn looked through his angry eyes, feeling his sudden spike of despair as they watched the crippled Fort fall back, two of her four engines smoking. Instantly, the enemy fighters swarmed like so many insects, and Evelyn watched as the aircraft yawed over and began to spin down and out of control.
A few agonizing heartbeats later, first one, then three more parachutes fluttered open far below. Evelyn felt Logan’s bitter knowledge that there had been six other men on board that aircraft. Liberty Belle was one of the few birds flying without a psychic on board, and Evelyn suppressed a small, wicked feeling of relief that she hadn’t just lost one of her friends.
Fighters! Twelve o’clock level!
* * * * *
Get “Minds of Men” now at: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0778SPKQV/
Find out more about Kacey Ezell and “Minds of Men” at:
https://chriskennedypublishing.com/imprints-authors/kacey-ezell/
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