by Jay Allan
He slammed hard against the rock wall, grabbing as much cover as he could from the enemy fire. He moved down the meter-wide slip of ground, back pressed against the sheer cliff. He couldn’t see the techs…they were too far ahead and it was too dark. But there was only one way they could have gone, and he moved forward, stumbling over the loose rocks as he accelerated to a slow run.
* * *
Hargraves reached around, pulling a grenade from his belt. It was his last one, and he knew he had to make it count. He was sure there were at least two enemy soldiers down behind the rock in front of him. He’d caught their movement several times as they’d worked their way forward, and now they were within twenty meters.
He knew what they would do, at least what two Marines would do. They’d come around different sides of the rock, force him to react in one direction or the other. He’d hoped his people could hold off their attackers indefinitely…at least while their ammo lasted. But these were skilled troops, far more capable than any he’d ever faced, and that included the Union FRs. They outnumbered his people too overwhelmingly. If he didn’t order his survivors to bug out now, none of them would get away. Assuming it wasn’t too late already.
He glanced at his chronometer. Nine and a half minutes. Close to ten. But it wasn’t ten…and Marines kept their promises. His people would hold out another thirty seconds. Then they would get the hell out of here.
He tensed his legs, and then he sprang up, pulling his arm back and throwing the grenade. He felt the urge to watch, to see if his aim had been true. But his instincts took over, dropping him to the ground, hard, painfully, just before a stream of bullets zipped by overhead. A couple seconds later, he heard the blast of the grenade and, he thought, a muffled cry. He looked up, toward the rock. The sound had seemed spot on, just in the right place. But he knew he wouldn’t know if he’d taken out his enemies until he made a break for it. He’d know he failed when the bullets slammed into his back.
His eyes dropped again to the timepiece. Ten minutes, ten seconds. It was time.
“Alright, Marines…let’s get the hell out of here!”
He turned and threw himself up into a low crouch, moving as quickly as he could without straightening up. He scrambled over the rough ground, seeing his people do the same. There had been eight of them when he’d sent the techs away, but two of them had been hit in the firefight. He knew Lipton was dead, but he wasn’t sure about Garavick. “Go,” he shouted into the com unit. “Back to HQ!” But he didn’t follow. He moved off to the side. He couldn’t leave. Not without checking on Garavick.
He could see the shadowy image of the Marine, lying partially covered by the high tufts of grass. He scrambled forward, dropping to the ground next to unmoving figure. He let out a deep breath. It looked like Garavick was dead.
“Sarge…” The voice was weak, soft. But it told Hargraves all he needed to know. The Marine was still alive.
The sergeant turned his head, looking all around. He could hear the sounds of enemy soldiers moving forward, but none near him. The Marines had put up a fierce fight, and it seemed their attackers were moving cautiously.
“Alright, Rich, this is probably gonna hurt like fuck, but we ain’t got no choice right now. Try not to scream, eh? You’ll just lead them right to us.”
He reached his arm under his comrade, pulling hard and pushing his head under Garavick’s shoulder. He couldn’t carry the Marine, not without standing up and making a perfect target of both of them. But he could help the wounded man crawl. If they could get a few hundred meters, the scrub became a lot taller and rougher…perhaps even enough to hide them.
He pulled hard, and Garavick winced, biting down, clearly struggling with the scream that wanted to burst from his lips.
“Hold it together, Rich. I know it hurts, buddy.”
Hargraves staggered forward, his knees driving painfully into the rocky ground. Garavick wasn’t the largest man in the platoon—thank God!—but he wasn’t light either. It was all Hargraves could manage to move them both. He wanted to rest, to take a breath. But there wasn’t time. It would be a miracle if they got away. If he stopped, whatever small chance they had would turn to zero.
He rasped in a deep breath, lurching forward again. Garavick let out a soft whimper, but he held back the cry of pain.
“Hang on, Rich…just hang on for me man.”
Hargraves took another breath. Then he lurched ahead. Another half meter. That much closer to cover.
But he could hear the troopers behind him, closing.
He kept pushing, but he knew the hard truth. They weren’t going to make it.
* * *
Tomas Rivera was scared. He was so profoundly fucking terrified it took all he had to keep himself from dropping to his knees and emptying his stomach. But he knew he had to keep moving. The refinery was just ahead, and he’d be damned if he’d let whoever the hell invaded Santis get what they had come for. He might not be a Marine, but he understood what an enemy was. And if all he had left was defiance and spite, then those would have to do.
“Let’s go, guys. The sooner we plant these explosives, the quicker we’re out of here.” He was struggling to control the shivering. He and his companions were wet from the waist down, their soaked pants already starting to freeze around their legs. They’d only had to move a few dozen meters through the almost-frozen water, but Rivera couldn’t remember anything so painful.
He didn’t know if they would encounter any guards. He was taking his people to a secondary entrance, one deep in a fully automated area of the plant. It was likely—possible at least—that there would be no defenders in place.
He moved forward, looking all around as he did. They were slipping out of the total darkness, into the faint glow that surrounded the plant. The land widened out here too, the cliff dropping quickly down to sea level and opening into a wide plain. It was easier ground to traverse, but if there were any enemy soldiers in the area there was a far greater danger of being spotted.
Rivera moved forward, his legs feeling like sacks of wet sand, resisting every effort to push forward. The cold, the fear, the fatigue…he didn’t know how he managed to take each step. But he did, and his companions did too. In a few moments, they were walking around the edge of the refinery. The walls were metal, rust-resistant, but still covered in a thick coating of slime and debris from the crashing waves. The main entry to the control center was around to the other side, higher up, farther from the sea’s fury.
Rivera could hear the sound of the giant intake valves farther out, sucking in millions of liters of seawater. Santis’s oceans had a far higher percentage of the precious hydrogen isotope than those on most occupied worlds, but it still took massive volumes to produce meaningful quantities of the nuclear fuel.
“The entrance should be just up here.” Rivera had only been down in this area of the refinery once, and he’d only seen the door he was seeking from the inside. But he knew it wasn’t far.
He was also aware that many of the lower levels of the refinery were highly radioactive despite the bots that frequently scrubbed the area down. It was unhealthy certainly, even more so than the planet itself was, and he suspected if they wandered into the wrong spot, they could get a lethal dose. But there was no choice, no other way.
He walked another twenty meters, turning as the building recessed inward…and he saw the door. He ran up, his eyes settling on the locking mechanism. He still had his passcard, but he didn’t know if the enemy had reprogramed the locking systems. That would be a considerable project, he knew, one they might not have completed yet. But if they did, his card would do little more than alert them to his presence. Still, it was a chance he had to take. The door was tough, and the only way they’d get in would be to blow it. And an explosion wasn’t going to do anything to aid their stealth.
He paused, staring at his hand for a few seconds before he pulled off his glove. The cold was biting, and his fingers were quivering, almost uncontrollably. He man
aged to get the card from his pocket, and to finally swipe it through the small track.
He held his breath for what felt like ages, but he knew was less than a second. Then he heard a click, and the door slid open.
Warmth. Heat. The climate-controlled nirvana of the refinery’s innards beckoned. He leapt inside, not looking, almost not caring what might be there. But there was nothing. Nothing but a smooth, sterile hallway…and a level of warmth he hadn’t felt in more than a week.
His companions ran in, as drawn to the heat as he was. He just stood for a moment, and then he turned toward the entrance and pressed a small button. The door slid shut, and the last traces of the frigid cold were gone.
The three of them stood where they were, silent, savoring the precious warmth.
Chapter Seventeen
CFS Dauntless
At the Krillus Transwarp Link
307 AC
“We’re coming through, Captain.” Atara Travis stood on the bridge, her hands on the back of her chair, eyes focused on her workstation screen. “Passive scanners activated.”
“Very well, Commander.” Barron sat, staring at the main display, waiting for the scanner data to flow in. He almost gave the order to commence active scans, but that would give Dauntless’s position away…and the more he’d thought about it, the more convinced he’d become that he would find the invader near the planet Santis.
The trip through the transwarp link had been interminable, almost three hours with nothing but the strange pale blue glow of the portal as Dauntless moved along at thousands of times lightspeed…and as its captain tried to decide what he expected to find.
“Passive scans negative, Captain. Nothing out of the ordinary.” Travis’s voice was hard, and Barron thought he heard skepticism there, even as she told him there was nothing. Barron was inclined to agree. He didn’t necessarily expect the enemy to be waiting just beyond the transwarp line. But he did expect a fight somewhere in the system.
“Let’s not take any chances. Yellow alert. Activate all primary and secondary batteries. Duty patrol to the launch bay.”
“Initiating yellow alert, Captain. Duty patrol to…” Travis’s voice changed to the stone cold tone she used in battle. “Energy readings, Captain. Straight ahead.” She dropped down into her chair, her face buried in her console. “It could be scanner buoys, or…”
“Battlestations. Engines on full power, Commander. Bring us around immediately.” Barron didn’t know what was waiting ahead of his ship, but he had a bad feeling. And his instincts usually served him well.
“Battlestations,” Travis repeated. The bridge was bathed in glowing red light from the battlestations lamps. “Full thrust, Captain.” Travis activated the shipwide com. “All crew, strap in, prepare for high thrust maneuvers.” She put a hand to her headset for a second. Then she turned toward Barron. “Engineer Fritz reports we’ll have full thrust in thirty seconds, sir.”
“Tell her fifteen, Commander.” Barron’s bad feeling became an urgent foreboding. He slapped his hand on the com unit, connecting to his engineer even though he’d just ordered Travis to do it. “Fritzie, I need full thrust now…damn the risk.”
A thought passed through his mind. He was being reckless, taking a real chance of overloading the reactor just to escape some unproven threat. Then Dauntless shook hard. The danger was no longer unproven.
“Incoming fire, Captain.” Travis spoke calmly, though Barron knew his first officer was anything but. They’d been in the system less than five minutes, and they were under attack. Whatever battle they had come to fight…it had begun.
“Some kind of lasers, Captain. One hit, amidships. Damage report coming.”
Dauntless shook again.
“Fritzie, I need that thrust. Now!” Barron hadn’t seen all that much action in his career yet, but he could tell from the hardness of the shaking that the guns firing at his vessel were heavy ones.
“Active scanners, Commander. I need to know what’s out there.” Whatever enemy they were facing already knew they were there.
“Active scanners powering up, sir.” A second later: “Full thrust engaging.”
Barron felt the pressure as Dauntless’s massive engines blasted at maximum power, overwhelming the capacity of the dampeners to absorb the g-forces. He leaned back to offset the discomfort from feeling three times his normal weight, trying to get comfortable.
“Active scanners report a cluster of buoys ahead. Power readings are off the charts now, sir. Whatever they are, they’re strong.”
Barron cursed under his breath.
You damned fool. You knew there was an enemy here…and you blundered right into the system.
“Secondary batteries…fire at will. Target all platforms and destroy them.” His weapons could clear the buoys; he was sure of that. But the trap—and that’s exactly what he knew it was—would serve its purpose, at least partially. Dauntless would take considerable damage in a straight up fight with the laser platforms, leaving his vessel at a tremendous disadvantage later, when it faced whatever was waiting for them. And there was no longer any doubt something was waiting.
His orders to maneuver around the spread of weapons might just be enough…depending on how many there were. The mighty thrust was even now altering the battleship’s vector, moving it out of the buoys’ primary firing arc. Dauntless was still taking damage, but with a little luck she’d escape the worst of it.
“Secondary batteries firing, Captain.”
Barron’s eyes moved back to the main display. The ship’s AI had projected yellow cubes representing the buoys. They were off to the side of the blue oval that depicted Dauntless’s position. Barron could see his ship moving farther from the deadly weapons platforms. But the ship shook again, another hit. They weren’t out of range yet.
He gripped the sides of his chair, keeping his composure, his eyes darting around the bridge, checking on his officers. Few of them had seen any real action before, but they were performing well, and there was no panic, no discernible fear.
“Commander Travis…” His eyes dropped to his screen, scanning the readout. Blue squadron was on duty. “…Blue squadron is to launch at once and assume a defensive position.”
“Yes, sir,” Travis snapped back. Then, a second later: “Blue squadron, you are ordered to launch at once and conduct combat space patrol operations.”
“Blue squadron leader, here. Launch order acknowledged, Commander Travis.” Jake Stockton’s voice was hard, confident over the com. Stockton was a cocky sort, just the type to do well in the fighter corps. But Barron knew there was more to Dauntless’s ace pilot than just bravado…and he was glad his elite squadron had pulled the duty shift.
A moment later, less even, Barron felt the familiar lurches of his ship. Not hits this time, but fighters launching. His mighty Blues. Fifteen pilots he’d put up against any in the Confederation…or the Alliance. He might be wasting time and fuel with the launch, but he’d already been caught careless once. He didn’t intend to let it happen again.
“Blue squadron launched, Captain.”
“Very well, Commander. Order Red squadron to the bays. Just in case.”
His eyes dropped to the display. His gunners were earning their pay. Over two-thirds of the laser buoys were already gone, and Dauntless had moved out of the arc of those that remained. He stared at the screen, watching as his batteries cleared away the last of them.
“Scanners?”
“No further contacts, Captain.”
“Report from Blue squadron.”
“Blue squadron reports all clear, sir.”
“Damage reports?” Barron caught the hint of an ozone smell coming from the air vents. Something was fried.
“We’ve lost hull integrity in three compartments, sir. None of them vital. But we took eleven casualties. Six dead, five on the way to sickbay.”
Barron felt the reports of the crew losses like a thunderbolt. He had served in peacetime, not war. That didn’t mean he�
��d never lost anyone, but it had always been an isolated accident involving one or two crew members. They hadn’t been in the system for an hour yet, and six of his people were dead. He thought of his grandfather’s battles, of the thousands killed, blown into space, incinerated in their dying spaceships.
How did you do it? How did you stay focused while people were dying all around you? People who followed you, men and women you were responsible for?
He pushed the thoughts aside. If he didn’t keep his head clear, didn’t do everything he could to bring Dauntless through this, he would lose a lot more than six of his spacers.
“Captain, Engineer Fritz reports a fifty percent power drain in C and D sections. She says one of the hits must have ruptured a conduit. She’s got a team working on it, but she has no estimate on repair time yet.”
Damn.
That meant half his primaries were out. At least.
“Advise her that is a priority affair, Commander. Meanwhile, cut thrust. I don’t want to accelerate further until we get a better read on the system.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“And order Lieutenant Stockton to take Blue squadron into the system toward Santis. He is to advance as far as fuel status allows—or until he detects any enemy vessels.”
“Yes, sir.”
Barron leaned back and sighed softly to himself. He didn’t know what kind of enemy he was facing, but whoever it was, he or she had taken him by surprise and won the first round. He had little now but guesses, but he was sure about one thing. The laser buoys at the transwarp link were the work of a methodical commander, a cautious one.
And probably a smart one.
Yes, he’d lost the first round. But he didn’t intend to let that happen again.