Doom Star: Book 06 - Star Fortress

by Vaughn Heppner

  “Wrong!” Ricardo said, as he sat up.

  “You are not Marten Kluge,” Gomez said.

  “No. I am Captain Ricardo Sandoval of the Martian warship Pancho Villa. I will follow the example of Sub-Strategist Circe.”

  “Her?” Gomez cried. “She was a fool. She could have come to Mars and saved a planet. Instead, with ruined ships and low on ordnance, she seeks her doom in the Neptune System where the cyborgs are strongest. Do not seek to emulate her.”

  “To win, one must attack,” Ricardo said. It had become his holy creed.

  “Staying alive is the first prerequisite for that,” Gomez said. “We cannot even achieve step one. I’m afraid you live on illusions.”

  “You are breathing. Therefore, you are alive. Now tell me, from which direction are the cyborgs coming.”

  “The north,” Gomez said, as she looked away from the screen.

  “Thank you, Secretary-General. I must go, as I have a defense to run.” Ricardo switched her off and brought back the tactical map. So, it was the north… He switched on the communicator and began to issue orders to his men.

  Thirty-four minutes later, Ricardo wore his armored suit, rebreather and clutched his gyroc rifle. He stood outside a rounded, ferroconcrete-protected SAM site. Three tracked fighting vehicles were ready and filled with the last Martian Commandoes. The men were poorly-trained compared to those who had died these past months. But you fought with what you had and made do.

  “There!” a man said in his headphones.

  Ricardo flicked on his helmet’s HUD. He saw the enemy: three big-bellied transports flying low over the valley floor. They were old civilian lifters, put to use by the cyborgs. The enemy cannibalized everything.

  As Ricardo watched, the giant, ferroconcrete shell guarding the SAMs whirled open. Three missiles ignited, firing one after another. Like long torpedoes, they sped low over the terrain at the enemy.

  “Kill them,” Ricardo whispered. “Kill all of them.” With his HUD, he saw metallic chaff spilling from the transports, attempting to confuse the missiles’ sensors. Then the transports lumbered higher, and bay-doors opened.

  “No,” someone said.

  Tiny, metallic-colored humanoids spilled out of the transports. Those would be cyborgs, deadly, unbeatable melds of machine and flesh. Some of them might even have been Martians several weeks ago. Their jetpacks flared, giving them lifting power or acting like parachutes.

  The missiles hit. Orange fireballs billowed. Metal parts rained onto the valley floor, raising red geysers of iron-oxide dust.

  “It’s go-time,” Ricardo said, climbing into his IFV—Infantry Fighting Vehicle. It had four 30mm auto-cannons, two Chavez missile tubes and 77mm of armor, half that of a Martian tank.

  The three armored vehicles lurched as they headed toward the enemy: those who had landed and shed their jetpacks. Ricardo turned on the vehicle’s scanner. Because his men were so ill-trained, he had to perform gunner duties as well as being the commander. In seconds, he acquired a target. Individual cyborg troopers bounded with incredible speed and agility, and moved one hundred meters at a leap.

  Two jets appeared in the red sky, coming in from the north. They had Planetary Union markings.

  “Watch them,” Ricardo said.

  At that moment, a beam stabbed down from the heavens. One of the jets separated because of the red slash. The surviving jet jinked hard, screaming toward the bounding cyborgs. Three canisters dropped from its fuselage before the red beam sliced it into pieces, too.

  “Why don’t they beam at us?” one of the crewmembers asked.

  Ricardo switched the setting of his screen. He brought up the enemy satellite as seen from a Martian space vehicle. The last two Planetary Union drones—hidden until now in near orbital space—zoomed at the laser-firing satellite. The two drones represented the last precious military reserves of Mars Command.

  “We had to wait until we saw which satellite they used to launch the attack,” Ricardo said.

  “What are you talking about, Captain?” a frightened Commando asked.

  Just what he’d said, that seemed clear enough. They had to wait and see which satellite the cyborgs attempted to maneuver into position. It wasn’t easy getting the right angle to beam down into this valley. It meant the satellite had to be almost on top of them.

  “If they want to save the satellite, they’re going to have to turn the laser on the drones,” Ricardo said. “That gives us a little time.”

  Ahead of them on the valley floor, the canisters hit. The flash of explosions took half the cyborgs down. The other cyborgs kept coming. The melds didn’t fear—they always kept coming.

  Their IFV began tracking the enemy. “Here we go,” Ricardo said.

  No doubt sensing the tracking devices, the cyborgs went to ground, crawling now, using every centimeter of terrain, the rocks, crevasses and outcroppings of stone.

  “Should we deploy outside?” a Commando asked from the second IFV.

  If this had been two months ago before Ricardo had gone into New Mexico Dome, he would have said yes. With these poorly-trained Commandoes…

  “Stay inside,” Ricardo said. “We’re going to use the heavy weapons to kill cyborgs.”

  Targeting lasers pinpointed enemies. Then machine guns and 30mm auto-cannons blasted, destroying seven cyborgs. Unfortunately, one of the melds got close enough to launch a hand-held missile. The squat missile had a short flight-time, too short for the IFV’s counter-battery fire to engage it. A fighting vehicle exploded.

  “Retreat!” shouted Ricardo. “Head back to base.” As he spoke, he took over his vehicle’s auto-cannons, firing into the likeliest position where cyborgs might be hiding. It must have worked. No more missiles came from those locations.

  Then six cyborgs bounded from hiding, rushing the retreating vehicles.

  “Firing arc sixty degrees!” a Commando roared.

  Three of the melds died under a hail of cannon shells. The heavy rounds punctured cyborg chest-plates and blew them backward. Two enemy troopers survived and latched onto an IFV. Together, the two cyborgs ripped off the vehicle’s main hatch. The first meld slipped down inside and then the second. Moments later, the IFV swerved hard, and it flipped onto its side.

  At the same time, a clang told of a cyborg landing on their IFV.

  “What do we do?” a Commando shouted.

  An awful metallic screeching began as the cyborg attempted to pry off the hatch. Then the hatch ripped off the IFV. As the machine bounced over the Martian terrain, Ricardo grabbed his gyroc and shoved the barrel through the hatch, firing. He killed the cyborg before it could drop its grenade inside the compartment. The grenade exploded outside the IFV.

  As the vehicle slewed over the red sands, Ricardo popped his suited head and shoulders out of the hatch. The cyborg was on the ground, struggling to rise. Ricardo shot it, destroying the creature.

  Then he centered on the flipped IFV. A cyborg crawled out of it. Ricardo fired his remaining gyroc rounds, killing the wretched thing.

  As he slid back inside his vehicle, one of the Commandos said, “Gomez is on the com, sir.”

  Ricardo turned on the screen.

  “You’d better get back here,” Gomez said. “There are more on the way.”

  Ricardo’s momentary elation dimmed. Couldn’t they ever catch a break?

  “You were right,” Gomez said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The Pancho Villa is ready for liftoff. The techs say it’s ready to go.”

  A strange feeling worked through Ricardo’s chest. It made it difficult to breathe. This couldn’t be true. He must be hearing things.

  “I thought the techs needed another two days before they were ready,” he said.

  “The Pancho Villa is good enough for liftoff,” Gomez said. “That’s what they said. Now is probably the last window of opportunity we’re going to get. They said a few more systems could be improved, but what would it help anyone
if they were all dead.”

  “I’m on my way,” Ricardo said. “Let’s do this.”

  ***

  Forty-nine minutes later, Captain Ricardo Sandoval strapped into his acceleration couch aboard the Pancho Villa. Once the last buckle clicked shut, he looked around at the command crew.

  Men and woman wearing Planetary Union space uniforms lay on couches in a circular chamber. They worked feverishly, checking and rechecking systems as the countdown began.

  A red light blinked on Ricardo’s screen. He switched it on. “I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but more enemy planes are coming in.”

  Ricardo swallowed in a dry throat. “How many are there?”

  “Radar says its five transports and seven fighters. They’re all former Martian Air Force craft.”

  Ricardo felt like asking what else it could have been. Then he silently berated himself. The SAM operator was staying behind, fighting the enemy, giving the Pancho Villa the chance to escape.

  “Concentrate your fire on the transports,” he said.

  “Yes, sir, and good luck.”

  He wanted to thank her. He wanted to acknowledge her courage. He found that sweat beaded his forehead. Why did it have to be such a close-run thing?

  “I’m getting a priority call, sir,” the com-officer said.

  “Who from?” Ricardo asked.

  The com-officer stared at him. “From a cyborg, sir.”

  “How did a cyborg get hold of our priority—” Ricardo fell silent. It was obvious how they had gotten hold of the channel. Mars Command had found people with slots or jacks in their heads. They were proto-cyborgs, plants, spies, assassins. For a time, everyone had to submit to a head check.

  “Put it on,” Ricardo said. He had never spoken with a cyborg before.

  The screen wavered and then a cyborg stared at him. The thing was a strange combination of machine and man. It made Ricardo’s flesh crawl and revulsion to churn in his guts. He’d read plenty of files on the melds and he’d met them in combat, but to have one actually looking at him…

  Its metal optical implants twitched. There was red pin-dot light in them. How could metal and flesh coexist? Then Ricardo berated himself. Men had been putting batteries in their hearts and screws in their joints for a long time. Cyborgs merely heightened the process and enslaved the brain, marrying it to computer functions.

  “You possess a warship,” the cyborg said in an inflectionless voice.

  Ricardo’s lips moved, but no sounds issued.

  “Our indicators show you will attempt flight in the warship,” the cyborg said. “This is unacceptable.”

  “What do you mean?” Ricardo managed to whisper.

  “We desire the warship intact. You will remain in place while we secure the vessel.”

  Ricardo gave a low-throated laugh. “Why would we do that?”

  The cyborg blinked several times as if processing the question. “You cannot escape, but you can damage the warship. This is unacceptable.”

  “Then don’t attack us,” Ricardo said.

  The cyborg’s head twitched. It happened very fast, making him think of a humanoid insect. “The warship cannot leave Mars. We desire it for our use.”

  Ricardo’s mouth was dry. “A moment please,” he said. He switched back to the SAM operator. “Are the planes still closing in?”

  “They’re almost in range, sir. Do you have further commands?”

  “Not yet,” Ricardo said. “Just make sure you destroy the transports first.”

  “I will try, sir.”

  Ricardo nodded, and switched the cyborg back onto his screen. “You must call off your attack while I meet with my commanders.”

  “Leave the warship and file into an assembly area,” the cyborg said. “We will thereby process you more smoothly.”

  “We don’t want to be processed. We want to keep ourselves just as we are.”

  “Your wants and desires are meaningless.”

  “Not to us,” Ricardo said.

  The cyborg now spoke slowly. “We will…bargain for the warship,”

  “Yes, we can bargain. First, call off the planes heading to Salvador Dome.”

  “The Web-Mind has agreed to process you last. You will therefore maintain your identities longer than other converted Martians.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not good enough.”

  “Explain.”

  “You have to move your planes away—”

  “They’re firing,” someone said in the command center.

  “Excuse me,” Ricardo said. He switched off the cyborg and turned on outer scanners. Veracruz missiles sped at the enemy. All of them were launching. The cyborg response was immediate. The fighters roared into the lead, and they let their anti-missiles fly. In seconds, there were explosions all over the sky.

  Ricardo groaned. So did others.

  Cyborg troopers ejected from the transports. Their jetpacks burned brightly as they floated toward the ground.

  Now cyborg-controlled fighters exploded as SAMs made it through the barrage. In seconds, several transports became orange fireballs.

  “Too many cyborgs are touching down onto the surface,” an officer said.

  “We need liftoff!” Ricardo shouted, switching to engineering.

  A harried man looked up at him. “There’s a glitch, sir. The ship might explode if we ignite now.”

  “It doesn’t matter!” Ricardo roared. “If the cyborgs reach us, we’ll be dragged to the converters. Fire the engines. If we explode, at least it will be a clean death.”

  The chief engineer stared at Ricardo, finally nodding. “Yes, sir. Ignition systems engaged!” he shouted.

  Ricardo’s chest hurt. This was too close. He remembered the cyborg then and switched back to the thing.

  “You must vacate the warship,” the cyborg said.

  “Yes, yes, I agree,” said Ricardo. “We’re afraid, however, that you are lying to us. To show us good faith, you must call off your troopers.”

  “Humans tell lies. This is known data.”

  “Cyborgs tell lies, too,” Ricardo said.

  “The concept is meaningless. You must vacate your warship immediately or face termination.”

  “You will lose the warship then.”

  “No. We desire the warship. We have a bargain.”

  “It’s not good enough. My people need assurances.”

  “You are dissembling,” the cyborg said. “I have been monitoring your eye movement and your facial changes. You are Captain Ricardo Sandoval of the Martian Commandoes and acting Captain of the Pancho Villa. I am instructed to tell you that dissembling will result in extreme pain once you are in our custody.”

  Ricardo’s features hardened, and he cursed at the thing. Then he switched it off. He felt as if he understood Sub-Strategist Circe now. Ricardo would give just about anything to be in the Neptune System as he launched nuclear weapons at the Prime Web-Mind.

  “Liftoff in ten seconds!” the com-officer shouted.

  Ricardo turned on the facility’s outer cameras. Cyborgs bounded toward the launching point. There must be over one hundred of them. A last transport with smoke billowing from two of its engines still headed for them. The transport must have been well back from the others. Ricardo didn’t know if a SAM had hit it or if the plane had taken off with engine trouble.

  “Five…four…three…two…one…zero.”

  An intense sound punctuated the end of the countdown. A small vibration occurred and immediately increased until Ricardo clenched his teeth as his head vibrated wildly. The shaking intensified and then upward lift began.

  “We’re taking off!” a woman shrieked.

  On his screen, Ricardo watched as the underground bay door overhead dilated open. The Martian sky greeted them.

  “Come on,” Ricardo whispered. “Get us out of here.”

  The roar became thunder and the warship Pancho Villa moved toward the opening, toward freedom and life.

  “I’m routing las
er controls to me!” Ricardo shouted. Likely, no one heard him. It didn’t matter. He took over, and he switched on the warship’s outer cameras. They shook too hard for him to use. Thinking fast, Ricardo switched on the SAM site’s cameras.

  The Pancho Villa slowly slid out of the ground. Three hundred meters away, cyborgs sped for them. The enemy wasn’t going to make it.

  With the shaking, it was getting harder to keep his hands on the controls. Ricardo switched camera settings. The last enemy air transport with trailing smoke was almost over them.

  They want to crash into us.

  Ricardo activated the laser, and he tapped the auto-tracking and fire pad. To his vast relief, he saw the ship’s red beam stab the transport.

  “We’ll beat you yet!” Ricardo shouted, as he shook his fist at the craft. Then, in horror, he saw cyborgs leap out of the bay doors. The transport was almost upon them, but breaking apart. Now jetpacks spewed thrust, and individual cyborgs dropped and thrust at the Pancho Villa.

  Ricardo shook his head. As the warship slid toward the sky, visibly gaining speed, several of the creatures attached themselves to the ship’s skin. With fantastic strength, five cyborgs tore their way into the accelerating vessel.

  An alarm sounded, barely audible over the roar and thunder of the engines pushing them toward space.

  This can’t be happening.

  Ricardo stared at his screen. No one could un-strap and face the cyborgs now. They were under too much G-force. If he shut off the engines, the Pancho Villa would not gain escape velocity and they would tumble back onto the planet. Either that or one of the captured satellites would fire lasers into them.

  “You haven’t won!” Ricardo shouted. Straining to keep his hand up, he switched cameras. Cyborgs crawled through the accelerating ship. One of the creatures forced a hatch, drew a weapon and shot the ten humans strapped to their acceleration couches.

  The next few minutes brought the horror home to Captain Ricardo Sandoval as the five cyborgs murdered fifty-seven humans.

  They beat us. They captured Mars. Now they’re going to get our only warship.

  “No,” Ricardo said. “No, they’re not.”

  As the Pancho Villa exited the Martian atmosphere, Ricardo punched in his commander’s password.