Trident Fury (The Kurgan War Book 3)

by Richard Turner

  A loud cheer erupted from the men and women of the squadron as they shook one another’s hands and told their friends that they’d see them again when the job was done.

  Wright moved over beside Tolinski.

  She held out her hand. “Thanks for letting me in on this one, sir. I thought I was doomed to be stuck behind my desk until the war ended.”

  Wright shook her hand. “XO, you’re the best pilot for the job. If you fail, we all fail. I know that you won’t let us down. I’ll see you back on the transport.”

  “That you will, sir.”

  They smiled at one another for a second, before turning and making their way to their ships. Throughout the launch bay, the sound of people and equipment moving about filled the air. The First Special Warfare Squadron was once again preparing to go into harm’s way.

  “Sir, the last of Colonel Wright’s ships have jumped,” reported Captain Killam.

  Admiral Sheridan nodded. “Task force status?”

  “Sir, the Saratoga has reported that she is ready to deploy. The missile cruiser, Ford, and the destroyers, Churchill and Algonquin, are good to go. The support ship, Arctic, will be reporting in shortly.”

  “What about the transports and the ground forces?”

  “All twelve landing craft have given us the green light, and Colonel White is already busting my chops asking when we’re going to get under sail.”

  Robert Sheridan chuckled. No one could fault the Marine colonel for his zealous desire to get the mission done. “Please pass onto the good colonel that we’ll go when I give the order and not a nanosecond before.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The clock on the tactical display counted down toward zero. Admiral Sheridan glanced over at it and saw that they would begin their jump into hostile territory in precisely forty-nine minutes. He felt a pang of anxiety in his stomach. The men and women who made up the task force numbered close to ten thousand, twice the number of the people they were going to rescue. He had tried to par down the number of people and ships going but each time he did, Killam had a viable answer as to why he thought they needed every last ship and person in the task force. The admiral knew that to go any smaller was to invite failure.

  “Sir, I noticed that you didn’t leave the operations center for a bite to eat tonight,” said Commander Roy.

  Admiral Sheridan looked over and saw his aide holding a tray. On it was a sandwich, an apple, and a tall glass of water. “I must have forgotten to eat.”

  Roy handed the tray over. “Sir, you’ll be no good to anyone if you don’t keep your strength up. I know you. You’re not going to rest until it’s all over. So if you must insist on pushing yourself, at least eat something from time to time.”

  “Thank you,” replied the admiral as he took the tray and sat down in his chair.

  Roy shook her head and moved over to speak with Killam. Sheridan had no doubt that she was telling Killam to keep an eye on him. He chuckled to himself. He had the best staff in the fleet and he knew it. They had become more like family than any other officers he had ever worked with in his long career. He took a bite of his sandwich and tasted tofu. He made a quick mental note that if Roy was going to look after him, she would have to feed him non-vegetarian food. For now, he would eat his meal and enjoy it.

  Forty-nine minutes later, Admiral Sheridan gave the order. On the tactical screen, he watched as the task force jumped away from Illum Prime and sped toward Kurgan space. In roughly twenty-four hours, he would know if the listening station had been destroyed and if it was safe to proceed with the flight to Klatt. He made himself as comfortable as he could and watched the timer countdown. With the task force in motion, there was nothing for him to do but wait. His thoughts turned to his son. He prayed that he was still alive and they would soon be reunited.

  Chapter 25

  “All clear,” reported Sergeant Urban, looking down at the screen on his monitor.

  Sheridan took a quick look at the screen, nodded, and handed it back. He looked over at First Lieutenant Toscano. “Okay, if we’re not back by midnight tonight, go with the assumption that we’re never coming back and you’re in charge. Keep a sharp eye out and keep developing the intelligence picture for the fleet. They’re going to need to know the ground truth when they arrive.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Toscano. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks. Hopefully, we won’t need it.”

  Cole said, “Stay alert, everyone. The Kurgs aren’t stupid or lazy. They found our hiding spot last time using a robotic hunter-killer. It would be like shooting fish in a barrel if they were to stumble upon you lot trapped down inside this cavern.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes peeled,” said Urban.

  “Well, that seems about it,” said Sheridan. “Shall we get going?”

  Cole nodded and began to climb up out of their shelter. Sheridan quickly joined him. On the top of the mesa, they hunched down and ran for a gully they intended to use for cover. After the scorching temperatures during the day, the nighttime air was a welcome change. Above in the night sky shone millions of stars. None of which looked even the remotest bit familiar to Sheridan. He was thankful that there was only a sliver of a moon hanging low on the horizon.

  Sheridan brought up his thermal binoculars and quickly surveyed the mining complex. Aside from a dozen or so Chosen guards walking around looking bored out of their minds, the camp was silent. He handed off his binos to Cole while he pondered their next move.

  “I don’t think they’re going to let us waltz up to the front entrance and ask to see the prisoners,” said Cole. “There has to be another way in.”

  “I didn’t see another entrance.”

  Cole grinned. “Yeah, but I do.”

  “Where?”

  Cole gave back the glasses and pointed. “There’s a door about one hundred and fifty meters to the left of the main entrance. Can you see it?”

  It took Sheridan a few seconds searching to find what Cole had seen. “Got it. I wonder what it’s for?”

  “I’m no miner but if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say at one time it was the way in for the foremen and mine owners. Even Kurgs can’t be seen rubbing elbows with the prisoners.”

  “I don’t see any cameras or sensors facing that way.”

  “Neither did I.”

  Sheridan spoke into his headset mic. “Sergeant Urban, swing your camera over to the mine entrance and then pan to the left about one hundred and fifty meters. You should see a door.”

  “Got it,” replied Urban in Sheridan’s earpiece.

  “Okay, now search the area for any heat signatures or scanning devices invisible to the human eye.”

  A minute later, Urban reported, “All clear.”

  “I guess we just found our way inside,” said Sheridan as he put his binoculars away.

  As silent as a pair of jaguars on the prowl, Sheridan and Cole made their way down off the hill and over to the closed door. Sheridan keyed his mic, “Urban, can you see us?”

  “Affirmative, sir.”

  “Okay, we’re going in. I suspect we’ll lose comms once were inside the mine.” With that, Sheridan looked over at Cole, who reached over and tried the door.

  “Bugger,” said Cole. “It’s magnetically sealed.”

  “Step aside,” said Sheridan as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a slender plastic card. He inserted it in the door crack just above the door jam and pushed down. A second later, with the electrical circuit interrupted, the door slid open. Both men darted inside a darkened office with their weapons at the ready in case they ran into any trouble.

  “Clear,” announced Sheridan when he saw that they were alone.

  Cole reached back and closed the door. He lowered his weapon. “Sir, you were supposed to leave your ID back on the Colossus. Not that I’m complaining right now.”

  “It’s not my ID. It’s my ration card. I forgot to take it out my pocket when we left. It doesn’t have my name on it, so no harm, no fo
ul, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Where did you learn a trick like that?”

  “My mother used to go out a lot when my father was away. So she would lock me in my room at night when I was a young boy. It didn’t take me long before I figured a way out.”

  “Thank God for that. Now, what do you want to do?”

  “I want to take a quick look around the room to see if we can find a plan of the mine.”

  As quiet as they could, they dug out their flashlights and began to search the office. It took less than ten seconds before Cole found a schematic of the mine hanging on the wall.

  “Bingo,” said Sheridan as he studied the diagram. The mine went down for twelve floors. There were dozens of shafts dug out from each level. He was intrigued when he saw at the bottom of the mine there was a train tunnel that led to the ore processing plant hundreds of kilometers away.

  “Does it say where the prisoners are being held?”

  “It sure does,” Sheridan said, pointing to a floor three levels below theirs. “It says they are housed in a series of large caverns. There are thirty-three in all. Some hold about one hundred prisoners while some of the larger ones can accommodate more than one thousand. The guards and administrative personnel are on the first two floors beneath us.”

  “Yeah, and I bet the Kurgs have the POWs stacked in there like cordwood.”

  Sheridan pulled the map off the wall, folded it up, and handed it to Cole. “For safe keeping in case we get separated.”

  “I take it you want to take a look around.”

  “I sure do.”

  Cole looked down at his uniform. “I hate to point out the obvious, but we kinda stand out in our desert attire.”

  “Time to get us some new clothes,” replied Sheridan with a glint in his eye. He edged over to a door at the other end of the office and listened for a few seconds before cracking it open. He could see a long, dimly lit tunnel heading down into the mine. He closed the door and stripped off his helmet and tac-vest. He handed it along with his rifle to Cole before taking a suppressor and screwing it into the barrel of his pistol. “Master Sergeant, it’s best if you stay here. If I’m not back in thirty minutes, head back to the rest of the team with the map.”

  Cole placed a hand on Sheridan’s arm. “Keep your head down, sir, and be back in twenty, or you’ll never hear the end of it from me.”

  Sheridan nodded, opened the door a little wider, and slipped out into the tunnel. He looked both ways before deciding to head down the tunnel and into the mine. He counted on the monotony of guarding sleeping prisoners to act in his favor. With his pistol hidden behind his back, Sheridan did his best to stay in the shadows. After a couple minutes of walking, he heard some men talking as they made their way down the tunnel. It sounded like they were having an argument. They were close, perhaps only seconds away. Sheridan looked around, saw a stack of boxes, and ran to hide behind them. He dropped to one knee and grabbed hold of his pistol. The voices soon sounded like they were right next to him. Sheridan held his breath, afraid that his ragged breathing would be heard. The two Chosen warriors stood next to the crates and bitched about an assignment they had been given. Silently, Sheridan prayed that they would just do as they were told and carry on down the passage. After what seemed like an eternity, the two men turned and moved away. Sheridan waited until he couldn’t hear their footsteps anymore before popping his head up to look around. Once more he was alone.

  “Friggin bellyachers,” commented Sheridan under his breath.

  He was about to carry on when someone in the dark coughed, scaring Sheridan. In one fluid motion, he brought up his pistol and took aim. He edged forward looking for the man who had made the sound. Sheridan was stumped. He couldn’t see where it had come from. Again, he heard the unmistakable noise of a man hacking and coughing. It sounded like the man’s throat was full of phlegm. A few seconds later, he caught a whiff of a foul odor. Sheridan did not need to be told that the noxious smell was coming from dead bodies. All of a sudden, light shot out into the tunnel as a dirt-encrusted tarpaulin hung from the roof was pushed aside. Sheridan threw himself against the wall and watched as a man stuck his head out and spat on the ground before letting the makeshift door fall back into place.

  Although he didn’t really want to, Sheridan had to know what was going on behind the canvas. After making sure that no one was around, he walked over and pulled open the tarp. With his pistol held straight out, he stepped inside. In under a second, he regretted his decision. His stomach turned when he saw dead bodies lying in bunk beds that reached from the floor to the roof of the room. The hair on the back of his neck went up. The Chosen soldier he had noticed was nowhere to be seen. The smell of death was overpowering. He fought the urge to be sick. There were piles of clothes taken from the corpses lying on the floor. Sheridan had no doubt they would be handed off to new prisoners arriving at the mine. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a box on a nearby table. Sheridan moved over and took a quick look inside. His blood began to boil when he saw gold teeth, rings, and jewelry lining the bottom of the container.

  “Who the hell are you?” demanded a Chosen soldier as he moved out from behind one of the bunks. He appeared to be about fifty years old, had a couple of days’ growth on his dirty face, and looked as if he hadn’t washed his uniform in weeks. The man stood there staring at Sheridan. He did not have a weapon in his hand. Instead, he was holding a blood-covered saw.

  Sheridan turned his pistol on the man. “What is going on in here?” he asked in Kurgan.

  “Why are you out of your cell block?”

  “I asked you a question,” Sheridan’s tone left no doubt that he wanted an answer. “What the hell is going on in here?”

  The Kurgan chuckled. “Can’t you tell? This is the morgue. Every day people die by the dozens. Someone has to deal with them once they’re dead.”

  “What are you doing with the saw?”

  The Kurgan went to take a step toward Sheridan only to have the pistol aimed at his heart. He froze in his tracks.

  “The saw . . . what are you doing with the saw?”

  “The boxes they give me to put the bodies in are too small, so I have to make the remains fit.”

  A wave of revulsion washed over Sheridan. “What do you do with the bodies once you have put them in their boxes?”

  “Cremation. It happens every third day as the sun goes down. But you should know that.” The Kurgan studied Sheridan for a moment. His eyes widened. “May the Lord protect me. You’re wearing a clean uniform. You’re not one of the prisoners.”

  “Correct,” replied Sheridan as he pulled the trigger. His pistol fired without making a sound. With a stunned look on his face, the Kurgan fell to the floor with a hole blasted through his heart. Sheridan walked over to the corpse and nudged it with his foot. He was sure that the man was dead; he just wanted to be positive. Sheridan had no idea when the next cremation ceremony was going to take place, but he doubted the man got many visitors. However, if his body were discovered, the Kurgans would know someone was in the mine. He bent down and dragged the corpse as far back in the room as he could and then stripped the clothes off the dead man’s body. He picked up the man and dumped him on a bunk with several other corpses. As much as it made his skin crawl, Sheridan knew that the Chosen’s garments would prove to be invaluable. He wiped his sweaty hands on his uniform before picking up the dead Chosen’s uniform as well as some of the discarded prison work clothes. He hurried to jam them all into a bag he found on the floor. At the tarpaulin, Sheridan listened for a few seconds before moving back out into the darkened tunnel.

  He glanced at his watch and saw that time was not on his side. He had pushed his luck and he knew it. With his pistol in his right hand and the bag of clothes in the other, Sheridan made his way back to the office where Cole was waiting. Rather than barge in and risk being shot by his friend, Sheridan knocked lightly once and whispered, “Don’t shoot, it’s me.” He opened the door, slid inside
, and found himself looking down the barrel of a pistol.

  Cole lifted his weapon and flicked the safety on with his thumb. “You’re cutting it fine. I was getting ready to leave.”

  “I know. It couldn’t be helped.”

  Cole’s face soured. “Jesus, sir, what the hell is that smell?”

  Sheridan held up the bag. “These clothes are our way down into the mine.”

  “Frigg, the smell is making me gag.”

  “You had best get used to the smell as we’re going to be wearing these clothes when we come back.”

  Cole shuddered. “I guess it’s too late to ask for another assignment.”

  Sheridan shook his head. He took back his combat gear from Cole and rushed to put it on. He moved to the front door and keyed his headset mic. “Sergeant Urban, this is Sheridan, is the coast clear?”

  “Rodger that. A Kurg patrol walked past your door about a minute ago. However, they’re already out of sight.”

  “Drones?”

  “None in sight.”

  “Thanks. Stay alert. We’re on our way back to you. Sheridan, out.”

  Sheridan looked at Cole. “Come on, let’s get back to our people before our luck changes and we run into another Kurg patrol.”

  Cole opened the door and took a quick look around before stepping aside for Sheridan. They hunched down and sprinted for a rocky outcropping at the base of the hill. When they were a few meters shy of the cover, Cole tripped over a rock, hidden in the shadows, and fell to the ground. His rifle made a racket as it slid along the rocks. Sheridan turned and hurried to help his friend back up to his feet.

  “My rifle?” said Cole, looking all about.

  “Here,” said Sheridan, picking it up and handing it over.

  Before Cole could say thanks, Urban’s voice boomed in both of their headsets. “Drone! Five hundred meters out and coming in fast.”