by Scott Moon
“You are right on top of Robedeaux. Latest satellite view shows him close to your position,” Lacy said.
Priest did something he had never done in his entire career; he ran ahead of his squad. His fire team leaders, Peterson and Green, shouted at their people to pick up the pace. No one sounded happy.
Pushing himself and his equipment, he thought of nothing but catching Dr. Robedeaux. Friends he had lost, sacrifices he had made, years he had spent trying to decipher the reason for the doctor’s importance meant nothing in the present moment. There were many theories. Most centered on the man’s ability to end the war with the Dissident Union. Perhaps it was an uncharitable thought, but he couldn’t help but notice every time they looked for Robedeaux, they took a mauling from the DU.
Priest realized he was clutching his jaw, which made it impossible to activate communications links. He heard Lacy saying something, excitement in her voice, and sensed more than understood he was about to meet the man thousands of people had died to find.
He forgot about the second person Lacy had mentioned until an old marine barred his path to the small structure concealed against the side of a hill. Incredibly, the nametag on his tattered and out-of-date uniform marked him as Captain Connelly.
“That’s close enough, Marine. I don’t have a lot of ammunition left, but I’m a pretty good shot,” the stranger said.
Priest waited for his fire teams to surround the camouflaged building. He heard them checking over his comlink and tried not to alert the old officer to their presence.
The man smiled.
Priest knew the expression; he wasn’t dealing with some kind of rookie. “My name is Gunnery Sergeant Robert Priest and I’m here to take Dr. Robedeaux into custody.”
The man considered the information and took his time to reply. Then he spoke in a husky voice that carried through the thickening evening air. “We’re at an impasse. I have only one job and that’s to protect the doctor. Your fire team isn’t as sneaky as you think.”
Priest tried to peer inside the structure. Something wasn’t right. Plywood leaned together like old men hiding a bottle of whiskey from their wives. The soldier was too confident. He had to know he was facing Recon veterans.
“The doctor is protecting the UNA and Humanity in general. That’s something we must agree on before we go further,” the old soldier said.
“I mean no disrespect, Captain Connelly, but I have orders and we’ve been looking for Robedeaux for a long time.”
“I know you have. And he’s ready to give a debriefing. Otherwise, he would never let you catch him.”
“1st Platoon to the Alpha,” Lacy said. “Give me the dimensions of that structure.”
Priest wanted to answer, but Captain Connelly watched and listened with keen attention. The man knew Priest was communicating with his platoon leader. Anything he said now would give away too much information to the stranger.
“Tell me something, sir. Do you have family in the SMC? I trained young man named Kevin Connelly,” Priest said.
The old marine inhaled as though gut-punched but recovered quickly. “I imagine you’re talking about my grandson.”
Lacy spoke over the comlink. “I need the dimensions of that structure, soonest.”
Priest wasn’t as adept as some with sending text messages covertly. Without looking at his work, he hoped he conveyed to Lacy that he was stalling until more units from Recon could surround the hiding.
“Goddammit, Priest, that’s a bunker head. Robedeaux is probably getting away right now. That old man is the one stalling. Blow past him and catch the doctor.”
Captain Connelly smiled almost apologetically as the expression of realization filled Priest’s visor. He stepped out of the way.
Priest resisted the urge to run him over anyway out of pure frustration. He yanked on the hatch door and found it locked.
Of course.
Without hesitation, he pulled the MSRG from his back and blew the handle and lock through door.
“Alpha on me. We’re going in.” He dropped into the bunker system. The primitive arrangement had no lighting. He switched to night vision and infrared. Under the initial structure were three small rooms in a tunnel. Peterson’s fire team cleared the rooms.
“Green and Fire Team Two — with me,” he said. They rushed into a long hallway. “Peterson, take custody of Captain Connelly and hold him for interrogation. In fact, bring him down here. He can show us the way.”
Time passed slowly as Peterson forced Captain Connelly down the first ladder.
“Corporal Peterson, there is no need to lay hands. I can climb all by myself,” Connelly said.
“Sir,” Peterson said without hesitation. “Yes, sir. Please pick up the pace.”
To his credit, Connelly didn’t try to use his rank and authority to outright refuse. He was a captain but had to be AWOL. His uniform and gear were from another age.
“I need to know why my friends keep getting killed to find Robedeaux,” Priest said as he took custody of Connelly and gripped his upper arm to move him down the hall.
“Without Robedeaux, the Dream-rider will complete his Siren-nix army and cleanse this system of human life,” Connelly said.
“Not sure what a Dream-rider is,” Priest said. He pulled Connelly back and ordered Green to clear the subterranean intersection.
Moments later, Corporal Green reported. “No booby traps, no hostiles.”
Priest considered his prisoner. “Talk as we move. I don’t want to have to beat it out of you.”
“Is that how we do things in the SMC now?” Connelly asked.
“Don’t push me,” Priest said. “An entire planet and thousands of lives are getting shit-canned for your doctor. I want to know why and I want to know how to stop it.”
“Dr. Robedeaux doesn’t have all the answers. If he gets trapped by your bureaucracy, he will never learn them.” Connelly ducked into a new tunnel, followed by Priest and several SMC Marines. “You should be more worried about the Dream-rider and the Guide.”
“You’re my guide,” Priest said.
Connelly led him deep into a maze of DU tunnels built in stages. “Do you want lights? This area has been abandoned by the Dissident Union.”
Priest checked his team and gave Connelly a nod.
The lights came on and they continued.
“I wonder if all of this was here during the first Brookhaven war?” Peterson asked.
“They are continuously building to prepare for the Siren-nix swarm,” Connelly said. “It won’t be enough.”
“How can you know that?” Priest asked as they entered what looked like a control room.
Dr. Marc Robedeaux stood from a bank of computers. “He knows because I told him, or used him as a conduit, if you want specifics.”
Priest motioned his squad to surround the doctor and block the exits.
“There are two forces in the universe, the Dream-rider and the Guide. What do you think they have in common?” Dr. Robedeaux asked.
“That’s above my pay grade, but I think you will have time to explain it before I get you back to the intel guys,” Priest said. Not wanting to make a mistake and lose custody of this man again, he controlled his anger. “My boss says you can stop the DU war. I’ve lost enough friends on this planet. Just keep that in mind before you try something stupid.”
Doctor Robedeaux looked sad and tired. “You’ve won the Second Brookhaven War. In a few weeks, even your thick headed generals will realize the DU have thrown everything they could stockpile against you, sprang every trap, and called in every last favor. That conflict is done. The problem is the Nix rebellion. They fed Void Trolls into this war without understanding what they are or why they fight.”
Priest spoke to Peterson on a private link. “Tell Lacy we have the package and request armor for transport. I’m not taking chances this time.”
“Roger,” Peterson said.
“So what are the Void Trolls?”
Dr.
Robedeaux smiled. “Travelers.”
“Oh, that’s all. My boss thinks they are murderous berserkers who smashed her against a boulder,” Priest said.
“Where are the Void Trolls found? Where are their homes?”
“They live on asteroids.”
“Not exactly. They lie dormant on asteroids. Until someone wakes them or they fall into the orbit of a planet capable of sustaining life. What they are — how they behave — depends on who wakes them and why. A soldier makes them soldiers. A farmer makes them farmers,” Dr. Robedeaux said. “They are travelers, Sergeant, colonists made to adapt.”
“Fascinating.”
“The Guide knows their home world, but steers our fleets around their system.”
Priest stared at the man, waiting for confirmation of the armored transport vehicles he needed to move the doctor back to headquarters.
“The Dream-rider might also know but has become entwined with Siris over the eons. Neither entity is a friend of humanity.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Priest asked. “I know why I am listening, to stall, because nothing you are telling me brings my friends back.”
“I was hoping you might help me as Captain Connelly has over the years,” Dr. Robedeaux said.
“Then you are not as smart as you think you are. I’m taking you in. Don’t get your only friend killed trying to free you. Recon doesn’t give second chances.”
46
A Complicated Surrender
“Admiral,” Commander Ford said, “the Dissident Union Fleet is trying to surrender.”
Danzig saw what was happening and understood the reason. The DU Fleet was on the run. Neither his officers nor his tactical computers had made sense of the small swarm of pursuing ships, fewer than a hundred, moving with martial precision like he had never seen. The only evidence the mysterious squadron was dangerous was the fact that a force hundreds of times as strong was fleeing their advance.
“UNA Fleet, this is Admiral Fanestock. Please acknowledge.” Static broke apart his words. “We are in distress.”
Laughter rippled across the bridge.
“Their mighty fleet is running from less than a hundred small ships?” Lieutenant Mud asked, pausing from his work. “I think we can beat these jokers.”
Danzig watched the screen.
Ford and Roberts remained silent.
“What kind of ships are in pursuit of the DU Fleet?” Danzig Robedeaux asked.
“Unknown class, type, or affiliation,” the sensor officer said. “I suspect they represent the vanguard of a much larger force.”
Danzig looked to Roberts for his opinion.
“Sounds plausible,” Roberts said. “Why else would the DU run from them?”
Danzig looked at Ford. “What are your thoughts, XO?”
She hesitated only a moment. “I say we pass through the DU formation and engage the small pursuing fleet without delay. Perhaps we can seize the advantage.”
“By rolling back the unknown enemy’s vanguard?” He didn’t make her answer. “I agree. Comms, advise Admiral Fanestock we accept their surrender and they must move aside for us to engage the unidentified vanguard ships.”
No one on his bridge liked his decision.
“We will be at the mercy of the DU Fleet when we pass through their formation,” Roberts said. “And there must be a reason they are running from these ships.”
“Understood, Captain Roberts. We will continue toward the unidentified vanguard ships,” Robedeaux said.
There was a peculiar rhythm to space battles, a sense of urgency even in the slowest moments. He performed inspections of the bridge, engineering, secondary control center, and flight line before the UNAS Majesty passed through the DUF ships. Between tasks and situation briefings from his staff, he watched hundreds of large ships and thousands of small ships part around his carrier group.
A private yacht caught his attention, sleek white hull with solar collectors reminding him of sails despite their sleek design and durable ceramic and steel construction. Civilian ships had much in common with warships: they all needed propulsion, navigation, radiation shielding, life support, and sensors. Everything else varied by the age and design of the ship.
The yacht faded away as the UNAS Majesty and her attendant ships passed. A squadron of fighters cut across the view screen in the distance, perfectly positioned to protect the flank of the group. Robedeaux was extremely proud of his crew and his pilots. When he ascended to admiral, several of his protégés came from all corners of human space to join Red Carrier Group 1.
Most probably understood he was being raised high enough to fall, but they came.
He’d never felt so blessed. Suddenly terrified he would fail those who believed in him, he headed toward the bridge for the engagement with the unknown ships.
The door closed and his guards positioned themselves in their corners. Captain Roberts looked exhausted by the last several hours of work. Commander Ford had that tired and energized look he loved and appreciated. A true warrior, she thrived in combat conditions.
“Comms, do we have any news from the Fleet or Central Command before we begin?” he asked.
The young officer checked his notes, eyes twitching toward the screen several times as he tried to disguise when he was reading straight from the latest high-level communication.
“Give me the short version, David,” Robedeaux.
“Yes, sir. Your brother has been located. He’s safe and sound. The DU forces on Brookhaven haven’t surrendered but are defeated. You will be required to attend a summit meeting regarding what has been learned about the DU, the Void Trolls, and the Sirens of Siris.” He paused. “RFCG2 and 3 are en route. Blue Fleet is prepared to send aid if you need it.”
Robedeaux waited for the bad news.
“Fleet Command advises you are required to hold the line for seventy-two hours.”
“Thank you, Comms,” Robedeaux said. “Do you think it will be all right for us to obtain a full surrender of the DU fleet?”
Everyone on the bridge laughed.
Robedeaux listened into his fighter squadrons as they made first contact with the small antagonist fleet.
“Dagger One, we are within weapons range and hailing the enemy.” The voice was calm and professional. “No response, we are moving to force their compliance. Majesty, be advised they are only sending one ship to meet our squadron.”
“Majesty to Dagger One,” Robedeaux said. “Does it look like an emissary of some sort?”
Dagger One didn’t answer.
“Comms, raise the Wing Commander of Dagger One,” Robedeaux said.
Tension filled the bridge.
Robedeaux noticed one of his guards shifting from foot to foot.
He looked around to check the rest of his crew. They understood why Dagger One failed to answer.
“Admiral, Dagger One is gone. Dagger Two and Crossbow One are moving to investigate.”
Robedeaux took three slow breaths.
“Three full squadrons have been eliminated,” Captain Roberts advised after checking over the sensor officer’s shoulder. “We have one report identifying the hostiles as being from Siris, although the markings and hull designs were not described in detail.”
“Pull back the small ships. Form the wall and saturate that area with countermeasures,” Robedeaux ordered.
Commander Ford made eye contact.
He said nothing. Saturation bombing an area of space was costly and inefficient, a tactic he famously denounced more than once.
“Comms, please advise Fleet Command we will be returning with the captured DU Fleet and will require all Red Fleet resources to prepare a new area of engagement to meet the Siris threat, if that is truly what it is,” Robedeaux said.
Looking around, he did not like what he saw in his best officers — men and women who he believed were the best in the entire Fleet. “We have captured the DU Fleet. Ground forces are in control of Brookhaven. Don’t forget victory befo
re we’ve taken a moment to enjoy it.”
Nervous laughter worked around the bridge.
“Status update?” he asked.
“The pursuing fleet is no longer pursuing,” the senior sensor officer said.
“Commander Ford, you have the bridge. Captain Roberts, walk with me a moment.”
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