by Jay Allan
“Yes, sir.” Clarkson had 50 troops under him. Cooper Brown had tried to make him an officer three times, but he’d refused the commission. Clarkson was at home close to his troops. He was a sergeant at heart, and he couldn’t see himself as anything else. Brown respected his wishes to remain an enlisted man, but he gave him a lieutenant’s billet and put him in command of a front line platoon anyway. “I estimate 18 hours to complete phase one fortifications.”
“Very good, sergeant. You’re running a day ahead of the units on your flanks.” Krantz had expected good news – Clarkson was one of the best men they had. But he was still surprised how much progress 4 th Platoon had made. It was always hot out on the rocky plains south of New Sydney, but the last two days had been unseasonably brutal. Krantz knew Clarkson had a lot of Marine vets in his unit, but he still didn’t know how he kept them moving at the pace he did. “Keep up the good work. Krantz out.”
Clarkson turned and walked back along the line where his troops were busily digging. How many of them, he wondered, would be alive in a week? He didn’t know what was coming – not even Cooper Brown knew – but he had a bad feeling. He wasn’t part of the high command, and he didn’t have access to whatever meager intelligence Brown had, but his gut told him they were in big trouble…and it had never been wrong yet.
He’d match his militia against any raiding force…even enemy regulars in powered armor. He’d been in the field against every enemy the Alliance had fought, and he’d face any of them again if he had to. But there was something different this time. In spite of the heat and the almost unbearable sun, he felt a strange chill down his spine. Not even his iron discipline was enough to keep his mind from drifting…wondering what the next week would bring. His thoughts were dark, grim. What is coming here?
Raptor shook to her very core, and her reactor almost redlined half a dozen times…but she held together. The ship’s AI and its small squadron of maintenance bots kept everything running as her straining engines continued to build velocity.
Riley Calloway lay in his acceleration couch, trying to cling to consciousness. His desperate maneuver was pushing his ship to the limit…and exposing his crew to g forces well beyond maximum sustainable levels. Calloway was hurt; he could tell that much. His shoulder was dislocated…or his arm broken. He wasn’t sure. He could feel the pain, but it was abstract, fuzzy…his mind couldn’t quite place the sensation.
If they survived this run they’d have fatalities. The part of his brain that was still functioning was certain of that. Suffocations, probably, and maybe broken backs and necks. There was nothing to be done about it though…if he hadn’t engaged his crazy plan they’d all be dead already, vaporized by the massive detonations of the incoming missiles.
Those missiles were still gaining, but if Raptor held together for another half hour they would zip right past Adelaide’s orbital station. It wasn’t a true fortress, not even close, but it did have significant point defense batteries. At close range and firing on the flank of the missile volley, the shotguns and lasers of the station would tear into the enemy ordnance. Maybe – just maybe – it would be enough to get Raptor and her crew out of this mess.
Calloway and his people were out of the fight, at least this part of it. Raptor’s AI and the crew of Adelaide’s orbital station would determine the outcome now. Riley’s last lucid thought was that it would be close. Then he drifted off into a dreamlike state. An instant later he was awake, and the crushing g forces were gone. The acceleration padding on his couch retracted, and he sat up…and lurched forward vomiting. Most of the rest of the bridge crew were doing the same.
A glance at the chronometer confirmed that an hour rather than an instant had passed. He could feel the cloudiness in his head receding, the result of the massive stimulant injection his couch’s med system had just injected. His entire body ached, but his shoulder was something different entirely – it hurt like fire. He winced and reached his other arm instinctively to the injured spot as he looked around the bridge.
“Lieutenant Khan, damage report.” The crew members were shaking themselves out and turning toward their control boards…all except Khan. She was lying motionless on her couch, her arm hanging limply over the side. “Lieutenant Khan?” Calloway was unstrapping himself from his couch as he called to her. “Sylvia?” Still no response.
He stood up quickly…and almost fell. He was still disoriented, and he had to grab for the arm of his chair to keep himself from collapsing. His shoulder was pure agony, but he wasn’t thinking about that now. He staggered across the tiny bridge toward Khan’s workstation. The medibot should have responded by now, he thought. It was only then his mind cleared enough to realize the extent of the damage all around the bridge. One of the main conduits had partially fallen, and it was hanging, still attached to the ceiling from one end. There was wreckage strewn everywhere.
“We were hit.” He spoke to himself in a whispered tone. The damage was too heavy to be from the acceleration alone. He stumbled as he reached Khan and he grabbed the edge of her couch to stabilize himself. She was dead; he could see that immediately. The best he could tell, she’d vomited during the maneuvers, and under the tremendous pressure she’d choked to death. She was lying on the couch, her head tilted at an unnatural angle, still-open eyes staring lifelessly back at him.
Calloway turned away. He’d been in battle before, more times than he liked to remember, but he’d never gotten used to losing people. Especially bridge crew…they had a special relationship with the captain, almost like family. It didn’t matter how many times he went through it – it hurt just as much every time. The suicide boats were small, and their tiny crews tended to bond more closely than those on the massive battleships.
“Raptor Control…report.” Calloway turned to move back toward his chair, but as soon as he let go of Khan’s couch his legs began to wobble. He staggered forward and grabbed one of the structural supports to stabilize himself before taking the last few steps. I shouldn’t be this weak, he thought. Then he realized what it was…radiation.
“We are approximately 4.2 million kilometers from Adelaide. We are moving at a velocity of 0.009c on a heading of 194/76 relative to the planet.” The AI’s voice was a little off…the com system was functioning, but clearly not at 100%.
So, Calloway thought, the plan worked…at least partially. “Continue report.”
“Raptor has sustained damage from two warheads. The primary effects are the result of a 4.5 gigaton detonation approximately 5.2 kilometers distant. Damage has been sustained to a number of systems. I will display a complete list on your screen. The crew has also received a harmful level of radiation exposure, ranging from 30LD to 85LD depending on location and shielding. Sickbay is non-operational, and only one medibot is functional. I have dispatched it to treat critical cases and administer anti-radiation therapy to the crew. I do not yet have casualty figures compiled.”
“Engine status?” If they couldn’t get the engines started again they’d just keep heading off into deep space. There was no one out here to come and rescue them. Calloway didn’t relish ending his days frozen solid as the captain of a ghost ship, careening forever into the depths of the galaxy.
“The engines are currently shut down and undergoing repairs. I have begun a diagnostic check for damage suffered during the recent period of redline thrust output.” The static on the comlink was getting worse. Calloway could make out what the AI was saying, but the interference and background noise were getting worse. “The reactor is currently operating at 10%, providing power to primary ship’s functions only until I complete a maintenance diagnostic and review of its systems.”
“Can you do something about the com?” Calloway had his hand pressing the earpiece into his ear. “It’s really bad.”
“The main internal communication system was severed in sector B2. I have temporarily rerouted traffic, but the secondary lines have suffered damage as well. I will attempt to clean up the audio and reduce the bac
kground interference.”
“Very well.” Calloway leaned back in his chair and winced as the pain in his shoulder flared up. He shifted to the other side, taking the pressure off the injury, and he pulled up the automated ship’s log on his screen. He wanted to know just what had happened over the past hour while he was in his delirious stupor. He was amazed at what he saw.
Raptor had indeed raced past the orbital station as Calloway planned it, the enemy missiles close behind and gaining. The station’s point defense tore into the spread, but the attack still left a group of missiles intact and on Raptor’s tail…more than enough to bracket and destroy the small ship.
Then, an instant later, Stingray came around from the other side of Adelaide. She had almost no velocity, but her timing was perfect. She launched a spread of ECM countermeasures that drew most of the remaining missiles off on a vector leading away from both Raptor and the planet. Then her crew unloaded with their own lasers and shotguns, destroying most of the rest of the warheads. Only two detonated close enough to Raptor to have any effect, and just one of them was in the serious damage zone. Somehow, amazingly, Calloway’s ship had survived the first round.
“We just got the final transmission.” Cooper Brown sat on a folding chair in his makeshift headquarters. His legs fidgeted nervously as he spoke, and his boots scraped lightly on the rough stone floor. “Stingray was destroyed. They hit her with some energy weapon from almost double our own laser range. Hopefully she was able to transmit some data on it to Raptor before they finished her off.” That information could be crucial to the war effort. It was the first serious data they had on the enemy’s energy weapons and, once again, they were superior to anything the Alliance possessed. “They took out the orbital station and satellites with the same weapon.”
Jacob Meklin’s face stared back from the portable com unit, his expression grim. “Any word on Raptor?” Meklin’s face bounced around the screen – he was walking down a corridor holding his ‘pad as he spoke.
“We got a flash message from Captain Calloway. Raptor has heavy engine damage and he’s had to restrict the reactor to 40% output. Apparently one of the containment chambers is cracked.” Brown tried angling his head, but finally he couldn’t take Meklin’s face sliding all over his screen. “Jake, can you hold still for a minute? You’re making me seasick.”
Meklin laughed, briefly breaking the tension. “That’s pretty impressive, wouldn’t you say? Since there hasn’t been a sea on this planet for forty million years.” He stopped walking and leaned against the wall, holding the ‘pad steady in front of his face. “Better?”
“Much. Thank you.” Brown squelched his own short laugh. “Anyway, Raptor’s decelerating, but with their present reactor and engine capabilities, it’s going to be days before they can make it back.” Any brief trace of amusement was gone from Brown’s face. “The station’s last report indicated one of the enemy ships had broken off. Projections strongly indicate a course to intercept Raptor.”
Meklin was silent for a moment, but his expression confirmed he knew just what that would mean for Captain Calloway and his crew. “Hornet?”
“As far as we know, Hornet is still undetected. We can’t be certain.” The third ship in Calloway’s squadron had been ordered to remain hidden and not to intervene in the battle taking place. Her mission was to stay intact so she could transmit data on the enemy ground forces once they landed – intelligence that General Holm and the Marines needed desperately if they were going to have a chance of mounting a successful defense against the invaders.
“Are your people ready, Coop?” Meklin’s tone changed, became grimmer. It was bad enough thinking about the naval crews up there, but Cooper’s militia were citizens of Adelaide. Those were Meklin’s friends and neighbors up there in the trenches, waiting for God knew what.
“Yes.” Cooper’s voice was just as somber. He’d done everything he could, but he knew his forces had no real chance to win the fight that was coming. “We’ve got the approaches to New Sydney and Johnston covered. The troops are dug in and as ready as they can be.”
“You’re positioned to cover the shelters too then?”
“Yes. Most of the civilians are in the tunnels under the Wings.” The Wings were the two mountain ranges that flanked the capital of New Sydney. They were honeycombed with mining tunnels that had been hastily converted into shelters for the planet’s civilian population. “Johnston and the other settlements are a side show. The main battle will be around New Sydney.”
Meklin sighed heavily. “Ok, we’re sealing up the shelters now. After I sign off we’ll be going silent.” He paused for a few seconds. “Take care of yourself, Coop.” There was a sadness in his voice he couldn’t hide. He didn’t expect to see Brown again.
“Good luck to you too, Jacob.” Brown was no more optimistic, but he had put on his warrior persona. If he had a fight ahead of him – no matter how hopeless - he was going to think about winning, not worry about losing.
There was a sudden commotion down the corridor from Brown. “Major! We have landing craft inbound.”
“Got to go, Jacob. It’s showtime.” He smiled one last time at his friend and cut the link. He looked around the small headquarters for a few seconds before grabbing his helmet and rifle. “Captain Krantz, take over here. I’m going to the surface.”
Riley Calloway leaned back in his command chair, trying to find an angle that didn’t make his shoulder hurt like hell. It was dislocated – badly – and the tendons and ligaments were torn to shreds. The medibot had set it crudely, but with Raptor’s sickbay a pile of junk metal, there was only so much that could be done. At least the injections had offset the radiation dose he’d received. Between that and the stimulants, he was alert and aware. More aware than he wanted to be…at least with regard to the losses his people had suffered.
Raptor had been hit hard. She was limping along on one-third power, still decelerating so she could turn and head back toward Adelaide. She had twenty dead from her complement of 87, and many of the rest, including her captain, were wounded.
Calloway had watched Stingray meet her end. He couldn’t help but feel the loss even more keenly since Captain Heinz had taken her vessel from the relative safety of its hiding place to save Raptor from the enemy missiles. Calloway hadn’t been able to repay the favor…his ship was still zipping away from the scene, its damaged engines and reactor struggling to decelerate. It wasn’t like the shattered Raptor could have done anything to save Stingray anyway, but it was hard to sit helplessly and watch friends and comrades die alone and unaided.
Stingray had done her duty until the very end, transmitting close in scanner reports to Raptor right to the last second. And that data was crucially important indeed. Stingray - and Adelaide’s orbital facilities - had been torn apart by an enemy energy weapon…one with almost twice the apparent range of the heaviest Alliance lasers. The data had already been sent to the Commnet station for rapid transmission back up the line. The forces massing behind Adelaide needed to know what they would face. The 18 th Squadron was on a thinly-disguised suicide mission, but eventually the Alliance would make a real stand someplace. Calloway’s people had increased the chances for that battle to be a victory, and that gave him some comfort. If they were doomed men and women, he thought, far better to die for something rather than for nothing.
Raptor and her crew were likely to join Stingray very soon. Their scanners had detected one of the enemy vessels veering off in their direction. They’d survived the missile barrage, but they’d made a spectacle of themselves doing it. Calloway knew the chance of going silent and slipping undetected into the void was nil, and now he had his confirmation.
The enemy vessel was close enough to launch missiles, but it had not done so. Apparently they were planning to finish off Raptor with that energy weapon. Calloway didn’t know if that was simply a tactical choice or if it indicated a limited supply of missiles, but he reported it anyway, sending another pulse transmission t
o the Commnet station.
They’d get a close look at that new weapon…far too close. Calloway set the ship’s AI to record and retransmit data until the last second. That would be Raptor’s final service, he was pretty sure of that. The ship was tactically ineffective; its weapons systems were all non-operational. All it could do now was share a view of its demise with comrades who might be able to use that information in some future battle.
“Ensign Carp, begin startup sequence for lifeboats Beta and Gamma.” Raptor had four small escape pods for use in abandoning ship, but only two were still operational. “Program for overload.” The ships had a capacity of 24, but he needed to get 33 people on each…everyone still alive on Raptor except himself.
Carp hesitated, turning briefly to look back at the captain. “Do it now, ensign.” Calloway’s voice was gentle, not the normal scolding he’d give an officer who dithered in executing one of his orders.
“Yes, sir.” Carp’s voice was tentative, but he turned toward the workstation and began entering the required program.
Calloway leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. The bridge, which had been quiet already, was utterly silent, save for the sound of Carp’s fingers tapping on his board. I can do this last duty alone, he thought…I can give my crew a chance to survive. How much of a chance he didn’t know. Even if they escaped detection, they’d be marooned in lifeboats behind enemy lines. But even a fleeting hope was better than none. A small smile crept across his face.
“Who the hell are these guys?” Lopez was a Marine veteran and one of the best men in the platoon, but he sounded scared…scared shitless.
“Cut the chatter, Lopez.” Sergeant Clarkson was scared too, but he was still managing to hide it. “It’s just another enemy. You getting picky all of a sudden?” Clarkson’s troops were dug in along a 200 meter frontage. Their left flank was set on the fringe of the Eastern Wing, and their right was covered by 3 rd Platoon…Lieutenant Mitchell’s troops. Clarkson couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather have there than Eva Mitchell. She’d won her sergeant’s stripes fighting in Erik Cain’s brigade on the Lysandra Plateau during the final battle on Carson’s World. That was all anyone had to say about any Marine, even one who was retired now and serving in the militia.