Void Dragon

by William Kephart

  Still, they’d be surrounded shortly and from there things would only get more difficult. He rushed to make contact with Xia, plowing through the dust clouds that were beginning to settle.

  “Colonel Xia! Colonel Xia! Are you here?” he asked.

  One of the Ren troopers rose to her full height, looked at him, and nodded.

  “Montjoie? Any wounded?”

  The figure shook her heard.

  “Which? You don’t have Montjoie or you don’t have wounded?” he yelled over the sounds of flechettes wizzing and ground cracking. He had to move quickly. They were in a kill box right now. The flanks were already engaged and probably being driven towards them based on the escalating reports.

  Xia tapped a finger on her helmet three times.

  Damaged. Shit. Her infiltration suit was sealed and taking off your helmet in a combat zone was a really bad idea so Zhamisce decided any more information would have to wait.

  He made a hand signal for anyone near to rally to his position.

  “Okay, you two,” he said, indicated two marines to his right, “I want you to act as runners. Our objective is secure and it’s time to break out. We’ll begin a fighting retreat back to base. First platoon will act as tip of the spear, second platoon with me as rear guard. The rest of you will guard our flanks and screen Xia’s unit as we fall back. They have damaged gear and might not be able to fight themselves. Now go and spread the word as much as you can. We move in sixty seconds.”

  If Colonel Xia disagreed with his plan she didn’t exactly have the ability to object. At five or ten second intervals the members of second platoon rallied around him. They blind fired into the dust clouds to suppress the Enemy as much as they could. The wind picked up and he noticed their initial concentrated burst of fire had actually inflicted fairly decent casualties on the Enemy. Their broken, shredded bodies lay strewn about the brown and red pockmarked clay dug up by their flechettes. Good.

  From the sounds of things most of the action was well behind them now. The Enemy flowed around to avoid their fire like a river with a boulder in the middle. Battles in open ground were pretty flexible like that. Nobody stayed in one place for long.

  After the minute was up he ordered the retreat, his marines leapfrogging by fireteam, with each pausing to cover the other’s withdrawal in turn.

  He could tell that a hell of a battle was raging around him, but so far the rear guard was the eye in the storm. Experience told him it wouldn’t last. The Enemy would keep launching probing attacks until they found a weak point. They didn’t quit, not unless they were well and truly beaten.

  They passed over bodies on their line of retreat, some of the Enemy’s, some of theirs. About halfway to base he realized they were taking fire. An Enemy unit, company strength at least, was peppering them with inaccurate massed barrages. It would get accurate as they got closer, though, and nobody wanted that.

  Well, time to earn my pay, he thought.

  It was his fireteam’s turn to provide covering fire, so he turned around, took a knee, and let off a nasty burst of flechettes. The ground seemed to go crazy as Enemy return fire landed all around him. The dust and the shroud were doing wonders as cover but it wasn’t wise to stay in any place for long.

  He bounded backwards a few meters and fired again. This time it was pretty obvious he hit one as the Enemy trooper lost control of their jump jets and tumbled off the hill they’d been skimming.

  This pattern repeated itself several times as he fired, fell back, and fired again. The noise of the battle was dying down and he was starting to think the Enemy had finally given up when he realized the awful truth.

  Spiteful bastards. The Enemy had given up on the bulk of the unit so they settled for pinching off and destroying the rear guard. He caught sight of their pincers in his peripheral vision and knew he was about to be surrounded.

  They had only one chance now, a mad dash for friendly lines and the cover of their flak batteries, no more orderly retreat. Fire was coming in from three sides. If the Enemy managed to close the kill box they didn’t have the numbers to shoot their way out.

  Zhamisce made a hand sign and the whole platoon turned tail and ran for their lives. They did their best to move evasively but he couldn’t help notice a member of his squad dropping, and then another.

  The fact that the shroud was dying down wasn’t helping matters. Enemy fire was getting more accurate and Zhamisce felt the unmistakable sting of ricochets off his leg guards. Close. Too close.

  And then they were within sight of the base’s plasma flak. He summoned up one last burst of speed and pushed his jump jets for all they were worth.

  He felt the heat before he saw it. Purple fire burst out in all directions, driving the Enemy away. The plasma batteries were generally for anti-air use but they were effective enough area denial weapons against ground targets. It looked like he had only just made it. If he had been a second slower he’d have been barbecue.

  Zhamisce allowed himself a sigh of relief inside the perimeter. He was safe.

  Chapter 11

  “Cadet Wen. Cadet Wen.”

  Ugh. Her head hurt. She’d stayed up late reading one of the rare messages from her mother over and over. Wen Guiying had barely managed to stumble into astrogation class, and that was with well-over the recommended daily dose of caffeine and stims.

  “Cadet Wen, are you paying attention?”

  She plastered a winning smile on her face. “Of course, Professor Xiao.” Evil old bat.

  Professor Xiao was her least favorite by far, one of the dinosaurs that wrote their deep space fleet theory, theory that had never been tested, and was radically changed just as soon as contact with the Enemy taught them better, Wen would like to add.

  “Don’t get cocky, Cadet. Just because you’re the top in your class now doesn’t mean anything. Neither does your name,” Xiao reprimanded her.

  Nima smirked at that, not that it would keep him from eating her dust.

  “These lessons could save your life one day,” he whispered to her.

  Not bloody likely. She ignored him and kept facing the front of the class. “Of course, Professor Xiao.”

  Cadet Wen couldn’t be more bored. Astrogation was dry, the driest. All useless anyway, or so it seemed to Wen. She wasn’t interested in fighting like this. She wanted to fight like her mother, the Victorious Admiral. Admiral Wen, who blunted no less than three Enemy offensives, who cut off the invasion of Polaris Three and allowed the marines to retake the planet, that was who she wanted to be.

  Admiral Wen didn’t rely on staid linear battle tactics. She won before even seeking battle, like Master Sun himself. She used a fleet in being, raider groups, and cunning diversions to tie down Enemy formations, draw them out into smaller groups, and defeat them in detail.

  She loved her mother. She wanted to be her mother. But of course getting any kind of information out of her was next to impossible. Mom never likes discussing military matters, she thought.

  As for her father, she didn’t think about him much at all and felt ashamed, well, a little. He had been a mid-ranking civil servant who died on Chengdu at the start of the war. Wen never spent much time with him. Mother loved him though, or so she said, so the younger Wen went along with celebrating his birthday and her parent’s wedding anniversary whenever her mother was home, which wasn’t often to be honest.

  The war had put some distance between them, to be sure. Admiral Wen was often away, and even between operations could be called away at a moment’s notice to put out some fire or other. Wen decided she didn’t hate it. Her mother’s absence had really allowed her to spread her wings once she reached the Academy.

  She was popular and the top of her class, didn’t have many friends though, just sycophants, and a few ankle-biters like Nima who fancied themselves her rivals. Ha. That’ll be the day.

  Astrogation class was dismissed, mercifully, a few minutes later, and Wen made her way to xenostudies, a class she loved.

&
nbsp; The old home world produced plenty of fiction about what aliens might be like, but the reality was somewhat disappointing.

  You had the Borozi, praying mantis creatures the size of small dogs. They weren’t hostile exactly, just completely uninterested in outside contact. They left everyone alone and asked the same in return. Wen was fine with that; they weren’t very interesting anyway. Though she would have liked to see footage of them hunting. Their teacher believed them to be predatory carnivores and Wen supposed she agreed. They didn’t look like plant eaters at all, and might’ve even been scary if they were bigger.

  The Otanyans were all right. There was even some limited trade since they were omnivorous mammals and could eat Ren food, and vice versa. The few times Wen had tasted Otanyan food she found it too fatty, and somewhat bland, though she supposed that was to be expected. Their home world was pretty cold, at the far end of their native star’s habitable zone, and much of their society was underground, so it wasn’t too surprising they mostly ate animals with lots of blubber.

  It was a funny thing but the xenoscholars took it seriously. The Otanyans thrived in cold climates and were adapted to dark, subterranean habitats, and the Borozi lived in hot humid jungles. Neither was really interested in Ren planets. It was their explanation for the lack of conflict the galaxy had seen.

  Until now. The Enemy was unknown. They had no name, no face, and all attempts at communication had been ignored. A few dead bodies had been dissected, but that was highly classified, so she’d never seen even that much. They ignored the Borozi and Otanyans as well, only interested in us.

  Perhaps they were only interested in the Ren because they could use our planets? Well, they wouldn’t have them, Wen vowed.

  Xenostudies was a pretty standard lecture class, and Wen had already read the book so she zoned out for most of it. She was looking forward to some simulator time tonight. They might even let her handle something larger than an interceptor. That would show everyone that she could conn a dreadnought just as easily. They’d learn she was the best.

  Her mother’s message still bothered her, though. It was cryptic, as always. The censors eviscerated it, or more likely Admiral Wen had known what was and wasn’t allowed, saving them the trouble. But still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that mom was trying to tell her something, that something big was about to happen. But what? The message said she didn’t know when they would speak again. There was very little of the pro forma stuff Wen had come to expect, no small talk, no inquiries into her life, just the facts, with a few platitudes and a suspicious lack of detail.

  What are you planning, mom?

  There was no use dwelling on it. Perhaps she’d be hearing about another big victory in a few days. That would really round out the term. Only two more until graduation and Cadet Wen would become Ensign Wen, and perhaps then mother will let me in on her secrets.

  At class’ end a few of her classmates buzzed around her.

  “Do you want to eat with us off campus?” one asked.

  “I don’t know...” she replied.

  “You look tired,” another said.

  She felt tired. Losing half a night’s sleep had taken more out of her than she realized.

  “Perhaps another time,” she decided.

  The group looked dejected, but didn’t press her. They all knew she didn’t socialize much, and filed out to have their fun without her.

  “Hm, too high and mighty to spend time with your fans?” Nima said, walking by.

  “I’m not in the mood to trade barbs, Nima.”

  “Figures. You’re not as good as everyone thinks you are, Wen. I’ve noticed your grades are already slipping. That top spot will be mine.”

  In your dreams. “I’m sure you believe that, Nima, and I hope it helps you sleep at night.”

  “And are you sleeping at all?”

  Less so these days. “That’s none of your concern, Nima,” she said, more sharply than intended.

  “Perhaps it should be yours, Wen. I know your type, had everything handed to you based on family connections, no question of getting into the Academy, and coasting through life all the way to the top. Reality is about to hit. The crunch has begun and you’re not ready. I’ve worked my ass off for years to get here and come graduation everyone will know I’m better than the Victorious Admiral’s spoiled little princess.”

  Wen bit back a furious retort and walked away. He didn’t know anything. He didn’t deserve a reply.

  Still, when she went back to her quarters for a quick nap she found she couldn’t sleep. Ugh, Nima truly is my worst enemy. He even steals my sleep from me.

  The shock of adrenaline from their argument just wouldn’t go away, and in a secret part of her heart a seed of doubt had been planted. She was so tired, of everything. Nima didn’t know, but she had been working hard. Top marks at the best Naval Academy on Zhongxing were not easy to come by, but her nerves were beginning to fray. Could she keep it up? Everything at the Academy rode on your last term. The Fleet had no use for weak finishers. The business with her mother hadn’t helped matters at all.

  Where was she? Why the message? Something inside her knew this one was different, important somehow. There’s no point in ruminating over this; some simulator time is just what the doctor ordered.

  Wen loved the simulator. This had nothing to do with the fact that she was the best at it, not at all. When other cadets were paralyzed with indecision and shackled with the doctrine Professor Xiao had been hammering into their heads, Wen always had a plan, usually something new. She was the best interceptor pilot the Academy had produced in a decade, and while her handling of larger ships was still a work in progress, she was sure she’d figure it out in time.

  With seniority on her side she was sure of her ability to kick out whoever was there. Today, she would command a dreadnought! Her mother would be proud.

  Wen was just about to program a scenario when she was summoned to the Commandant’s office over the intercom.

  ***

  All the officers had gathered in Captain Wen’s old office. The situation was grim, and Major Zhamisce couldn’t help but feel pushed up against the wall.

  There was emotionless Commander Nima, acting Captain since Wen was missing, presumed dead.

  Lieutenant Commander Xinren looked tired and Lieutenant Tian looked even more tired, and he couldn’t blame them. While Zhamisce and his marines had their little adventure outside the wire they and their junior staff had been working non-stop to get the Void Dragon into some kind of functional state.

  Colonel Xia was there too, her pride perhaps a little chastised, or that might have been wishful thinking on his part.

  Captain Ogun, his XO, had been invited, but begged off, and Zhamisce agreed that a second attack was a live threat, so Ogun was out there even now reorganizing their defenses. I swear that man doesn’t sleep.

  He was junior here and knew it, despite what he’d managed to do. Lieutenant Tian, while technically the lowest ranking officer there, was in reality the most important, for only she could make the Void Dragon spaceworthy once again.

  “Perhaps it would be best if Tian briefed us on the technical situation before we make any further decisions,” Nima said.

  The engineer took that as her cue to begin railing off facts, “The superficial damage has been patched and the bulkheads reinforced with our fresh neosteel. From a structural integrity point of view the ship can handle deep space right this minute.”

  “And a greenshift jump?” Nima asked.

  “That’s...more questionable. The starboard energy sink contains a great quantity of complex, nano-engineered electronics, some beyond my ability to repair at present.”

  “So we’re stuck here,” Xia said.

  “Not necessarily. The core itself is undamaged. It may take more time to reach the threshold of the Gao Radiation Energy Event Nadir, but there’s no reason why we couldn’t reach it. Once that breakpoint is achieved shifting out is very possible.”

/>   “How much time are we talking?” Nima asked.

  “Assuming no other demands on the port energy sink, about five minutes.”

  “That’s not too bad,” Xinren said. “Dreadnoughts make do with that kind of jump rate all the time.”

  “But we’re not a dreadnought,” Nima said. “We can’t take five minutes of punishment the way they can. I wish some people would have remembered that.”

  Oh, that was low. “And the mission?” Zhamisce asked.

  “It may already be a partial failure,” Nima said. “Colonel Xia has the details.”

  This should be interesting.

  Xia raised herself up to her full height, taller than all in the room save Tian. “The Mountain Stronghold was cracked like an egg. I have a theory that the Enemy used a weak orbital bombardment. Dreadnought sized guns would pierce the crust of the planet but they might have something smaller, something more surgical.”

  That was an escalation, no doubt about it. “And Montjoie?” he asked.

  “No sign of him,” Xia said. “There was rubble everywhere, but the place crawled with the Enemy. It’s conceivable they have prisoners in the lower levels beneath the mountain, but we didn’t have time to check.”

  “If he’s being held in the polar region far to the north then he’s already beyond our reach. We’d need ten divisions to mount an offensive up there, if intelligence reports on Enemy strength are to be believed,” Nima said.

  “Anything else on the mountain?” Xinren asked.

  “We managed to set some charges on the chamber that received incoming greenshift transport and kill a number of their scientists. They’ll have a hell of a time getting any information out of it now.”

  That’s comforting, at least. The last thing we want is for them to figure out how to shift invasion forces right under our orbital defenses.