Without Mercy

by Eric Thomson

  The chameleon coating on their armor turned them into eerie shapes partially blending with their surroundings, not unlike human-sized earth clods. Until that is, they became strange bumps on building walls as the lead soldiers shuffled up to the mercenary barracks and what Saari had tagged as the headquarters.

  His helmet’s built-in friend or foe recognition receiver identified Major Salminen making her way toward the latter on the heels of 4th Platoon. The chatter of carbines on rapid fire showed the guard detail was finally snapping out of surprise-induced paralysis. The deeper cough of E Company rifles answered them almost at once, and yelps of pain rose above the din.

  A pair of remote weapons stations opened up on either side of the breaches made by 1st Platoon. The initial bursts were badly aimed, then one of the troopers from 4th Platoon took a hit in the chest, mercifully absorbed by the armor, but he still went down under the impact. Moments later, bunker busters, shot by members of Saari’s platoon took both of the RWS out of action. Those on the camp’s far side remained operational, but their fields of fire were hampered by huts housing the precious workforce.

  Two troopers took position on either side of the guard hut doors and yanked them open. Instantly, their fire team partners each tossed a grenade cluster through the opening. Five seconds later, the clusters exploded, spewing death. Then, the grenadiers stormed through the opening, weapons at the ready, followed by their wingers and the rest of 3rd Platoon. As they moved through, shouts reached Saari’s ears while reddish light flashed behind plastic windows.

  Meanwhile, the half of 4th Platoon that accompanied Major Salminen was carrying out the same sequence at the doors to the headquarters building. Although Saari would prefer accompanying either of his colleagues in dispensing death and destruction, his job was to protect the gunships, and he quickly dispersed his two sections around them. The soldiers adopted a kneeling position, rifle butts against the shoulder and heads on a swivel.

  A new whine above them told him Gus Purdy’s shuttle was now flying top cover over Ruby One, looking for mercenaries trying to outflank the attackers or outside reinforcements, improbable as they might be, after retrieving Vallin and Bergstrom. But the fight was over in minutes.

  Forty mercenaries might suffice to intimidate four times their number into working the mine. They were, however, woefully unprepared for an attack by regular Commonwealth troops.

  By the time Salminen called on the platoon leaders to report, the guard barracks and headquarters building were nothing more than empty shells, littered with the corpses of black-clad men. A quick count followed by a sensor sweep proved there were no survivors. Other than the trooper from 4th Platoon, alive but badly bruised by the direct hit, this half of E Company came through virtually unscathed, though several battlesuits would need mending.

  Some prisoner huts, on the other hand, bore smoking holes, though no sounds came from inside to indicate wounded prisoners.

  With the battle over, Salminen called on Saari to join her by the HQ building while 4th Platoon ransacked it, searching for intelligence.

  “Show me again where the Kattegat Maru folks are housed, Karlo.”

  “There.”

  He pointed at the second last hut on the left.

  Salminen switched to the company push.

  “Okay folks, now comes the hard part. Separating our people from the general population without fighting off deportees looking for a seat on the gunships. I’d rather not hurt any of them. Arik, the location is as per plan. Secure, open, and confirm. Karlo, follow me.”

  “Roger.”

  With a few hand gestures, Command Sergeant Arik Ritland sent his alpha section to break open the designated hut’s door. Two soldiers, covered by their wingers, made quick work of the lock and cautiously pulled it open a crack. One of them threaded a probe through the opening and glanced at his sensor screen.

  “Clear. The inmates are mostly hiding under their bunks.”

  Salminen, with Saari to act as her cover, slipped into the building. Once inside, she said, “I’m a Commonwealth Army officer here to recover certain people of interest. My soldiers and I won’t hurt you. I will call out names. When you hear yours, please stand, take your personal possessions and exit through the door behind me. If your name isn’t called, stay where you are. We know what folks look like, so don’t try a fast one. Once I collect those I want, I’ll give the rest of you instructions.”

  She called the first name, Eugene Ross, Kattegat Maru’s second engineer. When no one moved, Salminen added, “Carrie’s waiting for uncles Gene and Steph, who hid her in the shielded cubbyhole. Let’s make sure she’s not disappointed.”

  A ragged-looking man wearing the standard gray coveralls tentatively stood, followed moments later by another, older one wearing a short beard. Saari ran their faces against the images on record once again and nodded. Eugene Ross and Stephan Fennon.

  “Over here, gentlemen.”

  Then, without prompting, nine more men and women climbed to their feet. The rest of the eleven from Kattegat Maru’s crew held in Ruby One, revealing themselves without being named, as Salminen had hoped.

  “Carrie’s here?” Stephan Fennon asked in a low voice as he neared the woman with a major’s oak leaves and four-pointed star on her armored chest.

  “Not on Hestia, but in orbit, aboard our ship. A Navy ship. Kattegat Maru is with us,” she replied in a voice pitched low so only Fennon could hear.

  Incredulity warred with relief in the merchant engineer’s eyes.

  “How’s Carrie?”

  “On pins and needles waiting for this mission to succeed. A fine young lady, your niece.”

  “What about the others? Aurelia — Carrie’s mother — and the rest of our crew?”

  “At the other mining camp. They’re being rescued as we speak. You’ll see them in orbit.”

  Salminen gestured over her shoulder, conscious of the deportees watching them intently, their fear ebbing with every passing second.

  “Please exit this hut.”

  Fennon nodded once and led his relatives past Saari and out into a night air redolent with the scent of ozone, burned plastics, and charred flesh. When they were gone, Salminen spoke again.

  “We can’t take everyone with us, and for that, you have my apologies. But those who kept you captive are dead. This camp and the mine belong to you now. There are vehicles in the motor pool with which you can reach the free settlements where you’ll be reasonably safe. Please do not interfere with our departure. Your fellows are still locked in, but you’ll find opening their huts an easy task once we’ve left. Good luck.”

  She and Saari slipped out through the half-open door before any of the inmates could react. The pair standing guard outside slammed it shut, but didn’t lock it again.

  Out in the open square, Salminen’s half of E Company, minus 1st Platoon, was hustling the eleven Kattegat Maru crewmembers aboard the gunships before jogging up the aft ramps themselves. The four that landed during the initial assault lifted off in a swirling cloud of dust, leaving Command Sergeant Saari and his soldiers to wait for Gus Purdy’s craft.

  It landed moments later as the first curious deportees crept out of the unlocked hut, but none dared interfere with Saari’s departure. His last glimpse of the slave labor mine was a pool of light at the heart of an alien darkness on a planet far from his species’ world of origin. And of tiny gray figures cautiously fanning out across the camp, wondering what their future held, now they were free.

  Moments after Ruby One faded into the distance, Saari listened to Lieutenant Puro report his half of E Company, including Sergeant First Class Mattis’ and her two sections, was extracting with the rest of Kattegat Maru’s crew. They took only two non-fatal casualties, both in 2nd Platoon.

  The Ruby Two guard contingent, on the other hand, suffered one hundred percent fatalities. Saari settled back in the gunner’s seat, a satisfied smile on his face — 1st Platoon would not be paying for the post-mission vodka. In
fact, everything considered, his troopers deserved a double tot. Thanks to their recon, it couldn’t have come off any smoother.

  — Fifty-Two —

  With Iolanthe’s space doors once more shut and the gunships settling in their usual spots, Petty Officer Harkon released the inner airlocks. Carrie Fennon, quivering with impatience ever since Major Salminen called to say E Company recovered every one of her relatives alive, if not in perfect physical condition, gave Dunmoore an impatient glance. Harkon, who caught the look, chuckled.

  “I suggest you let the soldiers sort things out before you go running into the middle of it, Apprentice Officer,” he said in a fatherly tone. “They’ll not thank you for rushing their homecoming.”

  “A good suggestion, PO.” When she saw the anguish in Fennon’s eyes, Dunmoore relented. “We can go in and watch, but no more. A captain waits until her people report. She doesn’t chase after them.”

  “Yes, sir. Understood.”

  Dunmoore led Carrie through the airlock, then assumed the parade rest position to one side. The young woman imitated her though she remained visibly excited.

  Gunship aft ramps came down one after the other and armored soldiers trudged off with slung weapons and raised helmet visors. They wordlessly formed up by platoons at the center of the deck, between the rows of shuttles.

  Meanwhile, Chief Dwyn and a few bosun’s mates came through the airlock at the opposite end, ready to round up the rescuees and take them to sickbay for a checkup.

  Dunmoore’s communicator chimed for attention.

  “Yes?”

  “Holt, sir. Unless there’s unfinished business on Hestia, might I suggest we break out of orbit and head for home?”

  “Do it.” The first gray-clad, unkempt, and thoroughly bewildered civilians emerged. “Dunmoore, out.”

  Dwyn, with uncharacteristic gentleness, did her best to round them up in a coherent group. Meanwhile, Salminen dismissed E Company to barracks and the inevitable hotwash, the Army’s version of an after-action debrief.

  A tall, thin, middle-aged, woman, the last of the twenty-five Kattegat Maru crewmembers, came out of Lieutenant Puro’s command shuttle. As her inquisitive eyes turned toward them, Dunmoore saw the striking resemblance to Carrie beneath the cuts and bruises.

  Unable to muster any further restraint, the younger Fennon, teary-eyed and sobbing with joy, abandoned her dignified stance and raced across the deck to embrace her mother. After waiting until both regained control of their emotions, Dunmoore gave Dwyn a nod to say go ahead with the rest, she’d take care of this one, and joined them at a more stately pace.

  Carrie turned around to face Dunmoore. She wiped away a stray tear with her uniform tunic sleeve and smiled.

  “Mom, I want you to meet Captain Siobhan Dunmoore of the battlecruiser Iolanthe. Sir, may I present my mother, Aurelia Fennon.”

  Dunmoore stuck out her hand.

  “A pleasure, Captain. Welcome aboard.”

  “Captain.” Fennon’s hand was hard, bony, and dry, but her grip felt strong, vital, that of someone who never gave up. “Lieutenant Puro and my daughter tell me we owe you our deepest thanks. Ours and that of the unfortunates who took passage in Katie.”

  “It was a team effort, and if it weren’t for Carrie’s courage and determination, we might never have succeeded. Your daughter will make a fine officer once she sits for her examination boards. She’s a credit to you and your ship.”

  Fennon senior glanced at Fennon junior and smiled although the split lip made it visibly painful.

  “Carrie’s good at seeing things through to the end. I suppose stubbornness is in the family genes.”

  “There’s a long story behind our meeting here today, Captain, and I’ll be glad to share it with you over a cup of something hot, or perhaps a glass of something strong.”

  “Or both.”

  Dunmoore nodded.

  “Both it shall be. But right now, my ship’s surgeon, Doc Polter, needs to give you a full checkup. Carrie can show you the way and stick around. After that, my people will bring you to a compartment we’ve set aside as temporary quarters so you can eat and rest.”

  “What about my ship?”

  “We temporarily pressed Kattegat Maru into naval service as an auxiliary, so she isn’t mistaken for a prize. But as Carrie can tell you, she’s in the competent hands of a relief crew under my second officer, Emma Cullop, who was in the merchant service before the war and knows freighters inside out. Once Doc Polter pronounces you fit, we can discuss Katie’s immediate future. However, I would prefer if we retained control until we’re out of the badlands and back where the Navy holds sway. Your ship remains a target for those who commissioned the piracy, and I won’t rest easy until we’ve brought you to a naval base where your return home and Kattegat Maru’s handover will be formally registered.”

  “Why formally?”

  “You were caught up in Enoc Tarrant’s machinations and meant to vanish, leaving only an empty ship and a mystery, a plan you foiled by hiding Carrie in a shielded cubbyhole. Tarrant was working on behalf of a person or persons unknown, but who don’t forgive failure, from what he gave me to understand. I’m sure they would dearly like to undo what my ship and I did to bring Katie, her crew and her passengers back into the land of the living. But neither Tarrant nor whoever hired him will try once the Fleet publishes your ship’s return to civilian duty. Provided you stay away from outlaw colonies in the Unclaimed Zone, and more importantly, Kilia Station.”

  “What did Tarrant want with my ship?”

  “We don’t know, and probably never will.”

  “Yet he remains a threat to us?”

  “Yes, which is why I’m loath to hand over control just yet. Better she remains in the hands of an experienced Navy crew as a Fleet Auxiliary.”

  “Very well.” Aurelia Fennon’s instinctive displeasure at not regaining her ship at once was clear in the way her lips tightened, but she nodded graciously. “As you said, there’s much to discuss after I see your surgeon. Again, thank you for rescuing us. We owe you and your crew our lives.”

  “Take your mother to the sickbay, Carrie.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Fennon junior came to attention and saluted, startling her mother.

  “Did they press you into service as well?”

  “No, mother. But Captain Dunmoore has been teaching me what she can about the attributes of a good officer. And perhaps a tour in the Navy would be a valuable experience. I understand they take merchant officers on a wartime short service commissions if they’ve passed their boards.”

  “We’ll discuss that later,” Fennon senior growled.

  Dunmoore watched mother and daughter leave the hangar deck arm in arm, and felt just a tiny pinch of jealousy, one quickly pushed aside. Her own, now long-deceased mother was no spacefarer. Quite the contrary. Yet growing up without her had left a void she only rarely acknowledged. After a mental shrug, Dunmoore headed back to her day cabin.

  Mikhail Forenza intercepted her inside the hangar deck airlock, proving he’d watched the return from the shadows, even though hiding wasn’t necessary since his face no longer resembled that of Mostar Quantrill. Instead, he looked precisely like the man Dunmoore first met in the Cervantes system.

  “I trust you didn’t let on that this stemmed from a dispute between Commonwealth government agencies, Captain?” Forenza fell into step beside her.

  “No need to worry. The names SSB and Colonial Office didn’t pass my lips, nor will they. As far as Captain Fennon is concerned, this mess falls squarely on Enoc Tarrant and the unknown persons who hired him to commit an act of piracy for reasons we can’t figure out. I don’t want those honest spacers falling deeper into your rabbit hole, Ser Forenza.”

  A cold smile pulled up the corners of his lips.

  “Honesty being a relative term since they traded with outlaw colonies and a known den of thieves.”

  “In part at the Colonial Office’s behest, let’s not forget.” D
unmoore returned the smile. “But I’ll bow to your greater knowledge of relative honesty.”

  “Touché, Captain. And thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For rescuing the innocent victims caught up in my sometimes deplorable line of work. You may not believe it, but I care about limiting collateral damage to the greatest extent.”

  She turned her head to study his guileless expression and snorted.

  “I believe you’re actually telling the truth, Ser Forenza. And for that, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee in my day cabin. We still need to discuss a few details.”

  “Indeed. That we do.”

  They remained silent for the rest of the way, but once behind closed doors, Dunmoore said, “As much as I want to, we can’t visit the other outlaw colonies with deportee labor camps, and free those. I’m sure you understand why.”

  “I do. Rescuing Captain Fennon’s crew was a onetime thing, an operation carried out under the doctrine of hot pursuit. It was not in execution of Fleet orders under a policy of freeing involuntary colonists beyond the Commonwealth’s legally defined sphere. That you released their fellow detainees and terminated the slavers, while a pleasing outcome, was incidental to your mission.”

  “Just so. But I will recommend the Fleet consider sending a task force to deal with Kilia and the outlaw colonies on humanitarian grounds.”

  “Which the government won’t allow — if the Admiralty even makes such a proposal.”

  Dunmoore sighed.

  “True. Unfortunately. Since I received orders to join a newly established task force and place myself under a rear admiral’s direct command, Iolanthe won’t be at leisure to carry out any unsanctioned missions as the privateer Persephone. In fact, technically, Iolanthe is already absent without leave since my reporting date passed while we were getting you out of Blayne Hersom’s stockade.”

  “More’s the pity. But even with the best will in the universe, you can’t save everyone, Captain. Consider what you’ve achieved so far a significant victory against those who would use human beings as mere chattel. Destroying their Hestia operation will prove costly. The deportation scheme needs to finance itself because it can’t be funded out of governmental coffers, so that’s a considerable setback. Then there’s the small matter of setting me free to report back and offer testimony, which will have longer-term repercussions.”