“How many?”
“They estimated about a million, if they can find the transport for them.”
“That many,” said the Admiral after a whistle. “That is very good news.” And we might be able to save twenty to twenty-five million of them between here and Command Base. Which sounded really great, until he remembered that there were over six billion of the Klassekians. “I guess the next question is, do we have more transports coming?”
“That is the bottleneck, so far,” agreed the Commodore. “A general recall is out for all Command ships to head this way, but you know how that goes.”
Nguyen knew how that went. There were scores of exploration teams, pairs of ships, out on sweeps through the unexplored areas of this arm. Some of them would be out of contact for months, some for half a year. No one knew where some of them were, since they might change plans depending on what they found on earlier stops. Meaning that it might take months to get most of those ships here, if ever.
Supply ships and escorts were also part of a constant stream from the Empire to the Exploration Command base that was located about five hundred light years outside the borders of friendly territory. They brought parts, antimatter, food, and replacement personnel. Some of those ships could be added to the evacuation, but not all of them.
“Headquarters has also sent requests back to the Empire for more ships, but you know how that goes.”
Yes, thought Nguyen. We’re involved in a war, and shipping is precious at this time. If it had been peacetime, the Empire would have sent a thousand ships out here to rescue these people, without thought of recompense. That was just the way most humans were. But diverting ships that might be needed to protect and supply Imperial citizens, no matter how precious a resource these aliens might be, that was another thing.
“All we can do is all we can do,” said Nguyen, wishing it wasn’t so. “Get your cargo unloaded and down to the planet as soon as possible. And I want the orbital factories up and running in twenty-four hours. As soon as the asteroid miners are ready I want them transporting raw materials.”
“Yes, sir,” said Khrushchev, sitting up straight in her chair. “We’ll get right on it.”
Nguyen nodded, terminated the com, and started up another one, this time linking with the Marine Colonel aboard one of the transports.
“Colonel Margolis,” answered the petite redheaded woman on the holo.
“Colonel. I understand you brought a platoon of Force Recon with you.”
“Yes, sir. Forty-three of the baddest Marines this side of hell.”
“I have a mission for them.”
Chapter Twelve
When we first sent out the call for volunteers for Special Ops; Naval Commandos, Army Rangers and Marine Recon, we really expected to have trouble filling the quota. After all, who would want to give up three or four decades of life for the chance to put their lives on the line on hazardous missions. We underestimated the call of adventure to young people. After all, who could resist the lure of becoming a literal superman.
Field Marshal Ceasar Mgombi, Commandant, Imperial Marine Corps, the Year 721.
JANUARY 11TH, 1001. D-175.
The humans seemed to come out of nowhere. One moment the two Honish officers were walking down the street, returning from dinner, anxious to get back to their planning. The next six humans, not armored like most of the ones they had seen, came from the shadows and surrounded the pair. Both were trained warriors. They didn’t panic, but moved into defensive positions, their hands reaching to the butts of their sidearms.
Klassekians on average could move much faster than humans. They could run faster, jump higher, and respond quicker. But not these humans, who seems to blur slightly as they ran ahead and grabbed the tentacle bunches of the aliens before they could draw their weapons.
The officers strained against the iron sinews of the Recon Marines, and met their match in creatures that were much stronger than they looked. In moments they were on the ground, some sort of strapping over their breathing and speaking orifices, limbs bound. The humans picked them up and ran with them, through the darkness of back alleys, then up the stairs of a building. Once on the roof, they were deposited into some kind of aerial vehicle, where humans in body armor took charge of them, and the unarmored ones ran back to the stairwell and disappeared.
The vehicle leapt silently into the sky and turned in the air, accelerating away, to deliver its captives to the nearest human compound. Minutes after arrival they were on a shuttle headed toward one of the human ships in orbit, where they would become subjects in the interrogation of their species. Intelligence already knew they were guilty. They had been recorded in their offices discussing activities that were intended to sabotage the rescue efforts of the humans. They were low enough on the totem pole where their absence might not be noticed for several days, but hopefully with enough knowledge that could prove useful for the planning of further missions by the Recon Marines.
* * *
Klanar airfield was not the largest in Tsarzor, but it was easily secured, and it was not serving its intended purpose at the moment. For the last several days thirty shuttles, twenty-five standard and five assault, had been landing, taking on passengers as fast as they could, and lifting almost silently back into the air. From there they had climbed rapidly into the sky, breaking the sound barrier within moments, to rendezvous with the liners Centauri Queen and Jadpur.
The movement had been going on day and night, as Klassekians lined up in the heat of the field, mothers holding the tentacles of their litters of children, groups of adult siblings talking among themselves, some verbally, others just sharing their minds.
Battle suited Marines were in evidence along the perimeter of the field, while a pair of sting ships flew slowly over that same perimeter. Further out, hundreds of local troops sat in their positions, alertly guarding their part of the outer perimeter against the expected action of those determined to stop the evacuation.
Some of those natives were gathered in front of the entry gate of the airfield, chanting, waving signs, peaceful so far. Their signs demanded that the evacuation be stopped, and warned that the humans were liars, who wished to capture as many Klassekians as they could for their own nefarious purposes. What those nefarious purposes were they could not say, which to the evacuees made them even more to be feared.
Lt. J’rrantar walked part of the perimeter, checking on the men in his platoon who had been detailed to make sure nothing got near enough to the field to attempt a shot at the shuttles. The huge Phlistaran’s armor was bristling with attached weaponry, a heavy particle beam mounted on his back, barrel extending over his right shoulder, a rocket launcher on his flank. His people made powerful ground troops, able to wear large suits that allowed for a lot of firepower. Unfortunately, they weren’t able to effectively hug the ground like their smaller humanoid comrades, and climbing was also out of the question, though the flight functions of the suits somewhat made up for that.
“Report,” came the call over the com, and the Lieutenant looked up for a moment, even though he knew he would not be able to see the ship it was coming from. William Clark was at the edge of the atmosphere, hovering there on grabbers, ready to provide any fire support that might be needed.
“All calm and quiet so far, ma’am,” he reported to Captain Albright. He looked over at the gate, three kilometers away, and zoomed in to see the protesters parting before a convoy of native armored vehicles that were escorting a score of trucks. The protesters waved their signs more energetically, and the volume of the yelling increased in the Marine’s audio pickup. Several protestors ran after the trucks in their peculiar sliding motion that moved them so quickly along the ground. Soldiers on the trucks pushed them back with rifles. One, who tried to grab onto a weapon, took a buttstock to his face for this trouble.
“About what we expected.”
“Well, keep a close watch, Lieutenant. There’s a reason they call it the unexpected.”
The com went dead, and the Marine officer checked the status of his platoon on his HUD, then looked back at the field, where the last six shuttles were being loaded, Klassekians moving in orderly fashion onto the vehicles.
It hadn’t been his call of course, but over half the people getting on the shuttles were adults. He would have preferred that they got as many children as possible off planet. His own people were very devoted to their children, and he couldn’t think of many things worse than saving his own hide while a child was left in danger. But the powers that be wanted enough adult litters that they could take immediate advantage of their quantum entanglement ability.
“We have aircraft on approach,” came a call over the com, identified as the Senior Chief in charge of the naval ground crew. “Multiple contacts.”
An arrow appeared the Lieutenant’s HUD, pointing toward the contacts. The sting ships overhead took off, accelerating up to multi-Mach in seconds.
“Total of eight contacts,” continued the Chief, keeping the Marines informed.
The sting ships should be able to take care of them, thought the Marine officer. The Imperial atmospheric fighter/attack craft could track and fire on a score of targets at the same time, and he doubted a fighter aircraft from one of this world’s powers could knock one of the sting ships out of the air.
“Alert,” called out another voice over the net. “Six contacts, incoming from the south southeast.”
Now that was a problem. There was no way the sting ships could deal with all of their targets and turn around in time to take care of these newcomers. J’rrantar sent out his own alert at that moment, making sure that his own antiair gunners were ready for action. If worse came to worse, the regular suits could take some shots.
“Get those shuttles back on the ground,” called out the Lt. Commander who was in overall charge of the operation. “Get them out of the line of fire.”
Two of the shuttles were already in the air. The furthest up looked like it might be able to accelerate out of the area before a furball developed. But the Commander was taking no chances, and both craft dropped back to the ground.
Flashes on the northern horizon showed that the sting ships had engaged whatever it was they faced. A flash from the south indicated that something had fired on something, and the tactical display updated to show that Clark had taken the aircraft under fire, knocking one from the air with a laser.
And we still don’t know what they are, thought the Marine, watching the display for updates. Not that it really mattered. This was a no fly zone for anything that didn’t belong to the Empire, out to fifty kilometers in every direction. Anything entering that zone was assumed to be hostile, and would pay for it.
Another flash to the south, and then the dots of low flying aircraft appeared, flying faster than sound and outrunning their own roar. A missile rose from one of the heavy suits, flashing out to hit one of the now obvious fighters in a fraction of a second. That craft exploded in a ball of fire that rained flaming debris all over the ground. A second suit fired, and another aircraft went down, leaving two on approach.
One of the fighters must have locked onto a target, and missiles dropped from the weapons compartment underneath and headed for one of the shuttles. Six weapons, all of which detonated well short of their target, engaged by the on-board lasers of the shuttle targeted and the particle beams of a dozen Marine suits.
The fighters, totally unmarked craft that had a passing resemblance to front line Tsarzorian aircraft, roared over the field, objects dropping from beneath them. More particle beams buzzed up, hitting all of the bombs and one of the fighters. The bombs exploded, and the fighter went into a forced bank as one of its wings came off. It went into a spin and headed for the main gate. Another particle beam struck the fighter, which broke into pieces before striking the ground within the crowd of protesters.
Shit, thought J’rrantar, sending out the orders to his people that locked them in place. He knew most of them would want to go running to the rescue, but it was important they stay on the defensive. Search and rescue would be coming down from the naval force in orbit, as well as from the native services. Looking at the ball of fire that was rising over the center of what had been the crowded group of Klassekians protesting the evacuation, he thought that most of the effort would be wasted. Those within the blast radius were dead or dying, the rest had already fled away from the heat.
A last crack in the air captured his attention, and he turned back to see the last fighter as it exploded in the air on the way out, the foliage on the ground beneath giving evidence to what had downed it. Clark had gotten another one with her lasers. Minutes later the all clear as sounded, and the grounded shuttles lifted into the air, accelerating away to get to the liners as soon as possible.
And one of the sting ships was missing, which meant the Marines had to go out and find the pilot.
* * *
“We’ve found her ejection capsule, sir,” came the call from the squad leader in charge of the search team.
“What about the Warrant Officer?” asked J’rrantar, not liking that the Sergeant hadn’t announced finding her.
“No sign. There are a lot of tracks, though. Including the marks of some kind of tracked vehicle.”
“Clark. This is J’rrantar. Do you have a track on Warrant Officer Sung?”
“No, sir, Lieutenant,” answered the Petty Officer who was tracking all ground personnel from the ship. “We had her up until about forty seconds after her capsule came down. Then she just disappeared.”
“Well, shit,” cursed the Phlistaran Marine. “Sergeant,” he yelled into the com, switching freqs. “I want you to spread out. Find her. I’m going to send second squad out to help you.”
“Belay that order, Lieutenant,” came the voice of Captain Albright over the com. “I don’t want you weakening your perimeter by sending any more Marines out. I’ll get in touch with Colonel Margolis and see if he can get some more people down there. And search and rescue.”
“Understood, ma’am,” said the Marine, not liking the order at all. “Sergeant. Try to find her. Follow that vehicle track. That’s the most likely means of getting her away. But keep a close eye out around you. I wouldn’t be surprised if they set up an ambush.”
“Yes, sir,” said the Sergeant, and J’rrantar’s HD blossomed with the icons of microdrones launched by the Marines of that squad, joining those that were already out scouting their perimeter. A quartet sped ahead, following the tracks, while the others spread out and reinforced the perimeter scan.
Find her, by the Gods, thought the Lt. He didn’t really want to think what the people they were fighting would do to the pilot, but he was sure it would not be pleasant.
* * *
Warrant Officer Melissa Sung looked up as the lid of the coffin like conveyance they had placed her in was raised. Her battle armor was still sealed, the aliens having no means of really forcing it open without killing or severely injuring her. She was surprised they had been able to capture her, but a combination of her confusion coming out of the ejection capsule, their proximity and swift strike, and the sticky strands they had surrounded her with had combined to take her, despite the augmentation of the suit.
She tried to contact the ship through her suit com, then on her implant when that didn’t work. The Warrant figured that the box must have been shielded from electromagnetic transmission, which meant she was probably not being tracked from space either.
“Get the human out of there,” said one of the aliens after the lid was open, his speech translated by her implant.
She tried to call to her people again, and again could not find the carrier wave. Looking up at the ceiling she could see why, as it was crisscrossed with a web of wires that extended down the walls. A goddamn Faraday cage, she thought. Not really a high tech solution, but no less effective for all of that. As long as she was within that web of wires, no signal she sent could leave the room.
A quartet of big males lifted he
r out of the box, struggling with the weight of her armored suit. They carried her to a heavy chair that seemed to be made just for the purpose of holding her and set her in it, then lashed down her arms and legs. Another came along and sprayed her with a liquid that dissolved the strands that had been holding her immobile.
“Your people do not know where you are,” said one of the aliens, pushing his masked face up close to her visor. “There will be no help coming for you.”
“What do you want?”
“Information. But first, let us get you out of that suit.”
“No way, asshole. If you think I’m coming out of my suit so you can torture me, you are one daft SOB.”
“I do not understand these terms,” said the Klassekian, making a head motion that the Warrant Officer thought meant a negative. “But you will be given a choice. You can either open up your suit and get out, or…”
He motioned with his left tentacles, and a pair of males came walking up, carrying medium sized cylinders with flat ends. One placed an object on her helmet, the other a cylinder on her chest. Both cylinders stuck to where they were placed, and the males flipped switches on them which caused lights to come on while a beep sounded.
“What are those?” asked Sung, having an idea, and not liking what she was thinking.
“Shape charges. They have been bonded to your armor, and will detonate in about two minutes. I am not sure how much damage they will do to that wonderful piece of protective technology, but each device is made to cut through about a half meter of our best armor. Perhaps they will do nothing to your armor. Or maybe they will blast large holes in your armor and injure you, possibly kill you.”
The alien moved away, backing, keeping his eyes on the human. “The choice is yours, since we have no way to get that armor off of you without destroying it, and possibly killing you anyway.” He looked at a device. “You have one minute and thirty-five seconds to decide, if my translation into your time units is correct.”
Exodus: Machine War 1 Supernova. Page 14