Heirs at War (The Marmoros Trilogy Book 2)

by Peter Kenson

  Inside was a short corridor with doors to right and left and another controlled access door at the end. The door to the left was shut but the right hand door was ajar, with light and sounds of voices emerging. Baltur selected a flashbang from his backpack and lobbed it through the doorway. The voices went silent, moments before the stun grenade exploded. Their visors darkened automatically as they crashed through the doorway in a routine they had practised in the simulator. David and Jeren went in high, Baltur and Carl low, and the four occupants of the room died without returning fire.

  The four men had been sat round a table in the centre of the room, playing a game of dice. The table and chairs were now overturned and the oil lantern they had been using, was spreading a pool of fire across the floor. There was nothing else in the room apart from a weapons rack by the door. In the far corner was a second door that David opened cautiously to reveal a flight of stairs leading up into the main palace. He listened for a few seconds but there was no indication that their attack had been heard and no sound of anyone approaching.

  “Carl set yourself up opposite this door,” he ordered. “No-one comes down those stairs. Baltur, seal the outside door to the courtyard. I don’t want anyone sneaking in behind us that way. Jeren, let’s go check out the cells.”

  The access panel on the internal door yielded easily enough and they ran down the passageway towards the cells. One of the doors was half open and they could see the bodies of three Belsi soldiers inside.

  “What the hell happened here?” Jeren exclaimed, pushing the door wide.

  “I suspect this is Rachel’s handiwork,” David replied. “One of them isn’t wearing his protective collar and he died with his gun in his hand.”

  “Then where is she? What…”

  They were interrupted by a heavy thumping on the door of the next cell. They looked round to find Mackay peering out through the grill.

  “I assume you must be Captain Mackay,” David said.

  “Didn’t think you looked like Belsi. Who are you?”

  “We’re friends of Rachel. Please stand well back from the door.”

  Mackay stepped quickly backwards as David melted the lock with his blast pistol. Before he could move, Jeren pushed past him into the cell.

  “Where’s Rachel? What have they done with her?”

  “They took her away. Said they were taking her to Bargas.”

  “Who took her?” David asked.

  “Some officer with a couple of heavy duty storm troopers in tow. I think he said his name was Sitrona.”

  “Intelligence chief. How long ago was that? Before or after the sonic boom.”

  “Is that what it was? About two or three minutes before.”

  “That means they’ve got about fifteen minutes start on us. Mackay, you’re welcome to tag along but I can’t wait for you.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll keep up. I’ve got a few scores to settle.”

  “Okay, you’ll find some weapons in the next cell that their owners no longer require. Take what you want and follow us.”

  Chapter 27 - Belsia

  Bargas was some considerable way beyond furious. Unfortunately the heat his anger was generating did little to raise the ambient temperature of the room. The audience chamber was cold and draughty at the best of times as the wind howled around the palace, outside the windows. Now, however, it was howling around inside the palace, through windows that lay shattered on the chamber floor.

  To make matters worse, the power supply to the palace had failed… again. He made a mental note to have the head of the supply grid arrested, tried and executed; not necessarily in that order. All around him, servants were hurrying with glow-lamps and portable heaters in a well-rehearsed routine for dealing with power cuts. By the time Commander Sitrona arrived, there was sufficient light to be able to see the full extent of the damage. Every window on both sides of the chamber had been blown in, pictures and wall-hangings had been ripped down and everywhere one walked, there was the crunch of broken glass underfoot. In one corner of the room, medics were treating those unfortunate enough to have been caught by the shards of flying glass.

  “What the hell happened?” Bargas demanded as soon as Sitrona was within range.

  The intelligence chief had a communicator pressed to his ear as he approached. “We’re still trying to assess the situation, Excellency, but the palace appears to be under attack.”

  “Under attack? Why hasn’t the alarm been sounded?”

  “Sir, all electrical systems are down. It’s not just a supply grid problem. The alarm system was on its own circuit with an independent power supply, but it’s completely dead. And it’s not just the palace. Everything’s blacked out for twenty klicks around and all communication links are down. Some military specification communicators like this one are still working, but the only places I’ve been able to contact are the underground bunkers at Military HQ and my Intelligence Centre.”

  “Who would dare to attack us here?” Bargas roared. “The Ystrad don’t have the capability. And who’s this with you?” he continued, noticing Rachel for the first time.

  “Ah yes, your Excellency, allow me to present Queen Rachel of the Ystrad.”

  “The Ystrad bitch? You have her?” He walked over and studied her as she stood tight-lipped with each arm in the firm grasp of a guard. “She doesn’t look much, does she? Are you sure it’s her?”

  “Oh it’s her all right. She’s just killed one of my best trackers. And he was wearing his collar.”

  Bargas’ hands instinctively went to his throat to check his own collar was in place.

  “No, don’t worry,” Sitrona reassured him. “She can’t break through a full shield but the trackers use a different type of collar; to enable them to work.”

  “Well we seem to have got two for the price of one here. Looks like we caught her just in time. What do you say, Trast? Another few months and we’d be hunting babies all over the universe again.”

  Special envoy Trast joined in the general laughter. “Do the Ystrad know you have her?” he asked. Bargas looked enquiringly at Sitrona.

  “I don’t know,” he confessed. “I haven’t had a chance to interrogate her yet. She was picked up yesterday leaving Ystradis on that smuggler’s ship.”

  “The reason I ask,” Trast continued, “is that, if they do, the attack on the palace may be part of an attempt to rescue her.”

  “Then let’s kill her now,” Sitrona shrugged. “Interrogation would be fun but it’s hardly necessary. In a few hours’ time there won’t be any Ystrad left alive to rescue her.”

  “Not on Ystradis,” Trast replied. “But what if they’re already here?”

  The smile on Bargas’ face had changed to a worried frown by this time. “What about the bunker?” he asked. “You said the underground bunkers are still operational.”

  “I haven’t tried to contact the palace bunker,” Sitrona replied. “But if the other two are operational, there’s a fair chance that it is also. It’s certainly the most secure room in the palace. I’ve already asked General Nassad to send more troops here to help guard the compound. If we secure ourselves in the bunker, we’ll be safe until he arrives.”

  Bargas turned to Trast. “How are the preparations for the attack coming on? Has all the virus been loaded into the warheads?”

  “Yes. That’s what I came to report. Professor Berkovis and his assistant are staying aboard to supervise the actual launch, but all the preparations are complete.”

  “You murdering bastards,” Rachel shouted. She stamped hard on the instep of one of the guards who grunted in pain and relaxed his grip sufficiently for her to tear an arm free. She swung round quickly to punch the other guard in the face but Bargas moved even faster, stepping in close to deliver a brutal uppercut to her jaw. Rachel slumped against the one guard and the other one quickly reclaimed her free arm. Between them, they hauled her upright again and Bargas slapped her across
each cheek until she opened her eyes.

  “There’s no point in struggling,” he told her. “There’s nothing you can do to save your people now. I’ll give the order for the attack as soon as we get to the bunker.”

  “What do you want me to do with her?” Sitrona asked.

  “Kill her… no wait. Bring her along. She can watch her people die and then, when she’s the last Ystrad alive, I’ll kill her myself.”

  ***

  “Sir, I’m detecting a power build-up in the ships in orbit around Belsia.”

  “All of them?” Michael asked.

  “No sir. It’s the Belsi cruiser and two of their frigates that look as though they are preparing to get underway. There’s no change in the power readings from either of the Vostovian ships or the third Belsi frigate.”

  “I wonder where they’re off to. Any increase in comms traffic?”

  “Local traffic between the ships and the surface, sir. Nothing more than you’d expect from a squadron of ships preparing to leave orbit.”

  “There’s no change in the two patrol frigates around Ystradis,” Frank reported. “They’re maintaining current course and speed. But once that cruiser gets underway, the threat level increases significantly. I recommend we move to general quarters, sir.”

  “Very well. Make it so, Number One. Is there any indication that our presence has been detected?”

  “No sir. I would have expected a significant increase in comms traffic in that case as well as course changes from the other ships. But it’s a very strange time to be conducting fleet manoeuvres. It has to be related in some way but I can’t see the connection at the moment.”

  “My thoughts also. Comms, get all this information off to the Admiralty and copy it to the Salamander. Have we got an update on the Fleet’s ETA yet?”

  “The admiral’s cancelled all current assignments and units are converging on this system from every different direction, sir. But the ETA of the first elements is still over thirty hours,” Ewan replied.

  “So we’re still going to be on our own for a while longer. Any change in orders, sir?” Frank asked

  “No, we stand fast. The Destructor is still the biggest threat. We monitor those other ships but we stay in position to intercept the Destructor if she moves.”

  ***

  David led the way up the stairs from the guardroom. At the top was another door leading into the main palace corridors but his helmet sensor was not showing any warm bodies on the far side so he opened it cautiously and looked around. The passage was completely dark although he could see a faint glow coming around the corner at one end. The tactical map displayed on his visor showed that the glow was probably coming from the central complex of rooms and that, he reasoned, would be where they would find Bargas… and Rachel.

  They trotted down the corridor towards the light, accompanied by the sounds of glass crunching underfoot. To move silently under these conditions was next to impossible. The sensors showed that the next corridor was occupied so David dropped flat to peer around the corner at floor level. He surveyed the scene for a few seconds and then got back to his feet to brief the others.

  “Okay, this next corridor leads directly into an antechamber before the main throne room. Unfortunately, at the far end there is a permanently manned checkpoint with a weapons detection gateway and what looks like toughened glass panels on either side. We could try to fight our way through it but, by the time we did, they’d have reinforcements coming at us from all directions.

  “We don’t have time to find a different route and I suspect that, if we did, we would find another checkpoint on it anyway. So it’s time for Plan B. Carl, Baltur take Mackay’s weapons and hold his arms. Mackay, you’re going to have to make like a prisoner again.”

  They quickly organised themselves into a prisoner detail and David led them round the corner towards the checkpoint. As they approached, an officer stepped into view behind the gateway and ordered them to halt.

  “Who are you? Identify yourselves,” he ordered.

  “Captain Malkos, Special Forces,” David replied. “We’re taking this prisoner to Bargas.”

  “President Bargas is in the secure bunker.” A note of suspicion crept into his voice. “Why is there no unit insignia on your armour? Take your helmets off; let me see your faces.”

  “We’re Special Forces, you idiot. We don’t have a unit insignia. And we can’t take our helmets off because they’re the only bloody comms system that’s still working in this shit-storm.”

  The officer still looked doubtful and his hand was edging towards his sidearm. David lifted his visor and stared at him. “There, is that better? This is one of the pilots who led the attack on the palace,” he said, indicating Mackay. “His ship crash-landed just outside the compound and we dragged him out. Bargas wants to talk to him immediately and you’re wasting my time. Now stand aside.”

  Without waiting for a reply, he strode through the silent gateway, as useless as all the other alarm systems in the power outage, and stopped just short of the young officer. The guards on either side of the gate raised their weapons hesitantly and looked at their officer for orders. The man returned David’s stare for a few seconds before his nerve broke and he moved to one side, signalling his men to stand down.

  “Go straight through the doors on the far side of this room and turn right into the audience chamber. Directly behind the throne, there’s stairs cut into the floor. Down one flight there’s a guard post outside the lift to the secure bunker. The lift’s probably not working but the guards there will direct you.”

  David thanked him and dropped his helmet visor again before leading them through the antechamber. The stairs behind the throne were displayed on the tactical plan in their helmets and they cut through the scenes of confusion without being challenged. The helmets were all linked by a secure comms channel but David stopped at the stairs to brief Mackay.

  “Take your weapons back but keep them out of sight. I don’t think bluff is going to get us much further but we can try. Carl, don’t use the railgun if you can help it. It’ll make one hell of a racket in a confined space.”

  The big man grinned as he slung the railgun over his shoulder and loosened the straps on the battle axe. At the foot of the stairs an officer sat behind a desk, while two troopers in full battle armour stood to attention in front of the lift doors with assault rifles in their hands.

  “You can’t come down here,” the officer said. “This is a secure area.”

  “We’re taking this prisoner to Bargas,” David replied. “He wants to see him urgently.”

  “The bunker’s sealed. Nobody can get in there now.” The officer’s brows creased in a frown. “Who are you anyway?”

  “Oh no, not again,” David muttered as he raised his blast pistol and burned a hole through the officer’s chest.

  The two troopers reacted quickly but Carl anticipated them. The blade of the battle axe glittered blue as it smashed through the first guard’s rifle, breaking the weapon in two and scattering what looked suspiciously like two gloved fingers and a thumb across the room. Carl raised the axe high on the backswing and brought it crashing down through the second guard’s shoulder to embed itself in his chest. That guard died instantly but the other trooper was writhing in agony on the floor until Baltur drove his long knife under the man’s chinstrap and up into the brain.

  To the left of the lift were some stairs that went down in flights around the outside of the lift shaft. David checked that the stairs were clear and then, just on the off chance, jabbed a finger at the lift button. To his surprise, the mechanism whirred into action and the lift begin to rise from below.

  “The lift must be on the same supply as the bunker,” he said. “We can’t use it ourselves but it might make a diversion. Carl, load these bodies into the lift and hold the doors open while we go down the stairs. When we’re at the bottom, I’ll call you. You push the down button, that one there, and
get out before the doors close. Then follow us down the stairs.”

  Carl nodded in agreement and took hold of one of the dead guards, as the others crept silently down the stairs. David held up a hand to stop them just before the final flight. The helmets showed four targets opposite the lift doors and another four at the far end of the corridor. He ordered Carl to release the lift and, when he could hear it moving, risked a quick look round the corner. All four guards were covering the lift doors with their assault rifles and none of them glanced in his direction.

  He took two frag grenades out of Baltur’s backpack. “I’ll take care of the ones at the bottom,” he told them. “You concentrate your fire on the ones at the far end of the corridor. Mackay, when you get down there, hit the floor and try to use the dead bodies as cover. It’s not much but it’s the best I can offer.”

  When David heard the lift doors opening, he lobbed the two grenades down the stairs and ducked back around the corner. There were shouts of alarm from below but no time to move before the twin blasts filled the air with flying shrapnel. They ran down the stairs into a cloud of dust from the damaged walls. Pieces of shrapnel were embedded everywhere, including the armoured bodies of the guardsmen. Three of them were obviously dead but the fourth tried feebly to raise his rifle in their direction. Baltur quickly thrust his knife through a broken joint in the man’s armour and the rifle fell to the floor.

  A pattern of laser fire erupted from the far end of the corridor, aimed randomly into the dust cloud but some of the beams struck home. Spots of intense heat flared up for a few seconds before the Biridium armour dissipated the energy across the whole of their suits. Neither side could see the other directly because of the dust, but the targeting systems in the helmets were not affected and enabled them to concentrate their fire on the closest warm body.

  Without the Biridium component, the Belsian armour was nowhere near as effective at dissipating the energy and the image on their visors, rapidly grew in intensity. With a scream of pain, the targeted soldier collapsed to the ground, still glowing brightly, and they switched their attack to the next target. By that time, Carl had joined them at the foot of the stairs, with the railgun in his hands and added his fire to the rest. The stream of projectiles from the railgun paid no heed to the physics of heat transference and smashed straight through the armour of the remaining guards.