“Here!” Finally, the young man appeared. “Let this officer forward, Djembe.” Deacon pushed through and grabbed Halloran’s elbow, propelling him toward the gun.
At that moment the man saw Halloran’s gun. “Drop that!”
“Um, I think I’ll hang onto it, if you don’t mind.” Halloran took a chance. “You did give them to us for protection, correct? Well, here we are.”
“Djembe, we’ve got Prax on our tail—there’s no time for this!” Deacon kept pushing on Halloran. “This one will agree to your terms. Let’s get boarding!”
The man—apparently called Djembe—finally stepped out from his cover, still keeping his pistol trained on Halloran. “But he’s not a Gray.”
They were face to face. Halloran, in a quickly calculated move, handed his gun to Djembe. “Here. Tell me what you need from us to take us away.” He held his breath.
After a long moment of looking at the new gun in his free hand, Djembe leaned around Halloran and looked at the assembling crew, then glanced sharply at Deacon. “Too heavy.” But his own gun hand dropped a few inches.
Halloran tried again. “Let me see your ship, Captain.”
Djembe looked at the gun again, then Halloran. “I ain’t no captain, Captain. I’m a pilot.”
“Alright, pilot. Show us what you got.”
With a dirty look at Halloran, Djembe turned towards the passage he had been guarding. With a wave of the gun, he motioned for them to follow. Halloran’s gun he tucked into his belt.
Chandler was there at Halloran’s ear, whispering. “We need to move. I heard a plane landing nearby as I went into the hole.”
“I’m doing the best I can here, XO.”
They followed Djembe down a steep ramp and into a large opening. Halloran immediately recognized a underground hangar; the rows of lights across the ceiling and floor as well as mounting points located along the walls; clearly this was some sort of aircraft storage at some point.
In the center of the space sat a black, boxy craft that looked more like a Lego creation than a sleek vessel that could take them away. It was sizable, however; Halloran guessed about twenty-five meters in length.
The man Djembe pointed. “The Imani. She’ll get you off-world in a hurry, provided we don’t get blown out of the atmosphere by a Prax destroyer first.”
“Okay, what next?”
Djembe stood back and looked up the ramp at the assembling sailors. “Get ‘em aboard. Ramp is open at the rear. Seat ‘em and strap ‘em wherever you can find a spot; not enough jump seats for all this group.” He looked unhappy.
Chandler stepped up. “Are you saying you can’t take everyone?”
Djembe shrugged. “It won’t be easy. I had asked the kid to just bring you,” he poked Halloran in the chest. “So we could talk.”
“Leave some behind? No way.”
“Sir, can I talk to you a moment?” Chandler touched Halloran’s elbow.
When they were off a few meters, Chandler said softly, “I’ll take some of the stronger men and stay behind for this trip.”
“What!” Halloran lowered his outburst, looking back at the crew. “No, I won’t risk it.”
“You heard the man, sir; we need to cut some of the load. You take the bulk of the crew and get to safety, then come back for us.”
Halloran waved. “Chief, come over here.” When the man arrived he whispered, “Commander Chandler thinks he should take a contingent of men and stay behind, in order to ensure that this ship can escape without overloading it.”
Reyes didn’t flinch. “Sir, I volunteer to stay with the XO.”
“What’ll you do? Where willl you go?”
Chandler waved a hand. “We’ll melt into the background, blend in until we hear from you, sir.”
“I don’t like it, Skip.”
“What choice do you have?”
“Hey Captain sir, we need to go…now.” Deacon was nervously looking back up at the cave entrance past the Americans gathering at the foot of the ship’s ramp.
Halloran looked back to Chandler. “How many, and how do we decide?” The other officers knew that he wasn’t actually asking, but was doing the math himself and talking out loud. He raised his voice. “Alright, ladies and gentlemen; get the wounded on board and the woman crew first.”
As the group began to move he called Zhang and Antonov over. “We’re going to split up the group, with some able-bodied men staying behind with Commander Chandler and Admiral Zhang.”
Both Zhang’s aide and Chief Reyes began their outbursts simultaneously.
“The Admiral must board that ship!” protested Vice-Captain Chen.
“I said I’m staying…” Reyes complained.
Halloran laid a stern look on the Chinese men. “Here, in this place, you report to me. I need you at my Commander’s side until we come back. Chief, I want you with the larger group of crew; they’re your team to manage while Antonov and I figure out what happens next.”
After a moment, Reyes nodded. “Aye, aye, sir.” The two Chinese officers didn’t look happy, however.
“Pilot, a word?”
The man stepped briskly over. He looked the worse for wear, but Halloran could definitely sense a military bearing about him, making his obvious distaste for “Fleet” people more disconcerting. “How many need to stay to make sure your ship can fly?”
The man looked shocked. “You’d leave people behind?” Clearly he hadn’t thought they’d actually do it.
Halloran laid a hand on his shoulder. “You’re risking a lot for us. I want to make sure it pays off; we’ll just have to come back for the balance of my crew ASAP.”
The man frowned. “ASAP?”
“As soon as possible.”
Deacon was there. “His name is Djembe.”
Halloran nodded. “Right. Okay, Djembe. How many men?”
Djembe considered, looking around. “Maybe ten or twelve large men.”
Chandler looked annoyed. “I wish I could understand this annoying language.”
Halloran looked at Deacon. “Do you have more of these devices?” He tapped the implant that allowed him to understand the native language.
Djembe started. “I have enough for all—at a price.” He indicated a box on the ground nearby. “There.”
Halloran tapped Chen. “See to it that everyone gets a unit right now.”
The Chinese man frowned at the order but jumped toward the box.
Zhang nodded. “We will do this thing, but you must return, Captain.”
Chandler grabbed the Admiral’s arm. “He will. Now help me pick some guys. Get someone at the top of the entrance with a gun.”
Chapter 28
Calxen waited by the hole in the building, rifle at the ready. “Kalyx.”
His Second landed on the ground next to him, leading four other Xu warriors. “Here.”
Calxen melded arms with him. “Good to see you. Now let’s bag some humans.”
The team wedged into the hole and turned on their weapons lights, illuminated the passage. No time to waste, thought Calxen as he broke into a run at the head of the team. The humans were only minutes ahead but anything could happen; he’d learned a long time ago not to tempt fate with sloppy actions. Decisiveness was now required.
At a run they penetrated beneath the human city. Kalyx took the lead in order to protect his master—Calxen appreciated his subordinate’s loyalty despite his desire to push into the front himself.
Within a minute they had rounded a multitude of corners, leading with their weapons and finding only empty passages ahead. The humidity rose and the temperature fell until all the Prax soldiers were distinctly uncomfortable. Calxen silently cursed the seven suns that made him have to chase prey into dark, damp holes like this. But still, the thrill of the chase warmed him from within.
He was just beginning to think that the humans had somehow eluded them when Kalyx lifted a gloved hand. “Voices, Commander,” he whispered into his comm.
“Proceed.” Calxen motioned to the rest of the team behind him.
Several turns later they stepped carefully into an open area where the passage separated and had partially collapsed. Keeping along the wet stone walls, the team separated to scan the exit corridors.
One of the team, Malxon, keyed his comm. “I have the sounds of movement down this corridor.”
Calxen was just looking across toward Malxon when a human face popped up above a section of wall near the edge of his vision. With his lightning-quick reflexes Calxen shifted his rifle and sent a plasma bolt toward the target. The face disappeared as the weapons discharge lit up the cavern.
“This way!” Calxen charged across the open space and rounded the low wall.
A human dressed in an odd green-and-black mottled uniform lay in a heap at his feet. Calxen shoved the body with his boot to roll it over. A clean hole was bored through its skull, just above the nose and between the eyes, which were open and unseeing. A perfect shot.
With a smug smile Calxen looked further down this passage. Immediately he heard an unusual, rising whine emanating from it.
“Lord, this human was armed.” Kalyx held up an antiquated Earth weapon.
“No matter. Proceed!” He leaped over the body and sprinted down the passage, scraping his visor hard on a low-hanging rock outcropping that he’d not noticed. With a curse he crouched lower and pushed his rifle ahead of him, hearing the others rush in behind.
The whine rose, filling the passage with its reflected vibrations. With a growing sense of dread, Calxen charged around several more corners to find himself at the head of a steep, metal ramp seemingly cut from the rock itself.
The ramp led down to a large space that was well-lit and obviously old. In the center a good-sized vessel was slowly lifting from the deck, testing its antigrav. But what caught Calxen’s attention was the rear ramp that was in the process of closing. Through the opening he could clearly see a Prax holding on and looking directly back at him. Axxa. Next to the Prax was a tall human male, who was speaking and pointing toward the ramp.
Several of his team fired at the ship with their plasma rifles, but the distance was just a bit too much for snap accuracy. As they knelt to steady their aim, the ship tilted its nose and began to float away from them, toward a large opening beyond it.
It was too much for Calxen. With a roar he leaped down the ramp, firing as best he could. But the dampness on the metal caused his footing to slip and he needed to grip the handrail to avoid the shame of a fall. The team was firing at the departing ship but Calxen knew that the vessel, clearly a military design, would have some basic energy deflection tech. He needed to get closer.
At the deck he broke into a sprint and fired into the almost-closed loading ramp. At least one or two of his bolts penetrated into the ships interior, but then the pilot pushed the engines forward and it accelerated down through the opening and into a wide tunnel.
With more curses directed at the seven suns, Calxen skidded to halt and yelled into his comm. “We made contact! The humans are flying in a small military ship of some unknown variety!”
No response.
Kalyx skidded to a stop alongside him. “No signal this deep, Commander. It must be a shielded facility.” The bitterness dripped from his lips. “These humans find new ways to outwit us.”
Calxen extended an arm and shoved Kalyx hard, stumbling him. It was an uncharacteristic move that displayed his anger. “They are weak! We must return to the surface and regain contact with the Center!”
The team assembled around him looked uncomfortable and fingered their lowered rifles. In the silence, in the distance, the receding whine of the human ship could still be heard.
Regaining his composure somewhat, Calxen exhaled and began jogging back toward the ramp, looking left and right for any lingering targets. The space was piled around the perimeter with storage crates but his heat sensor detected no humans hiding among them. Relieved to be moving again, the team followed.
When they reached the dead human Calxen ordered, “bring his head for identification later.” As one of the team drew his blade, Calxen didn’t pause but began his run back to the surface, intent on regaining communication and ordering the Prax planetary defense grid to search for a new contact. Most of all, he wanted to get back to his ship and give chase himself. He knew that every minute that elapsed made tracking the human ship more problematic.
A sharp edge on one of the stone corners caught his suit’s leg and stumbled him against the opposite wall.
Kalyx steadied him. “Lord, comms may be restored at this depth.”
Calxen lifted his arm to speak into the unit. “Commander security forces.”
A garbled response came back through. The security commander’s voice, repeating a message.
“A little further, Kalyx!”
As they ran, Calxen cursed the inadequate comm technology. He was cursing much this day, he realized with frustration. But I will have them, even if I must chase them into space.
Chapter 29
Between Luna and Earth
The Raleigh was taking intense plasma fire. As the two fleets jockeyed for position, vessels came between those Praxxan warships aiming at Tarsa’s flagship, a distraction that Tarsa wasn’t averse to at the moment.
“How are the shields holding up?” He called.
The Captain replied, “Still managing to deflect all incoming.”
“Any weak points?”
“Stern section six has a generator at sixty-two percent, Commander.”
Tarsa nodded. The Captain knew his ship; Tarsa needed to focus on the battle.
Still in its initial phase, the engagement was proceeding extremely well for the Fleet. The wedge tactic was splitting the Prax front into two distinct groups of ships, and the divided phalanx of Fleet assets were engaging them heavily and keeping their commanders from quickly regrouping. Watching the three-dimensional display hovering in the air before him at the flag station, Tarsa could see the patterns emerging in the apparent space melee as warships paired off to engage each other, both sides seeking to attack a weaker counterpart rather than a more potent one. The time was 1310—right when Kendall had wanted to begin the diversion.
“Sir, the Triskellan just lost all shielding.”
He checked the labels on the floating display. Triskellan was up against…an equally-matched Prax cruiser. “Have them press forward with electro-guns before the Prax plasmas shred their hull. Full barrage.”
“The Captain reports heavy damage from projectile weapons. Engineering nonresponsive. Gravity systems down.”
Tarsa could well imagine the carnage and chaos erupting within that ship’s hull. Expelled blood floating around the compartments in zero-G clouds along with body parts and shattered bits of machinery. He’d seen it himself… “They need to close with their opponent and fire point-blank—now, Lieutenant!”
“Yes sir, calling them up again.”
Another staffer called, “Sir, two ships have collided.”
“Ours?”
“No, sir. Prax. Also, something’s happening nearer Earth. Several Prax destroyers are vectoring back that direction.”
Tarsa was grimly satisfied. The sudden deceleration within the colliding ships would’ve been catastrophic to flesh and bone not strapped in. He opened the command channel to all ships again. “Let’s keep up the pressure, people. Target those damaged Prax ships and have Magellan close for an electro-gun barrage before they effect any repairs.” As much as he could, he now needed to take advantage of any mishaps that went in his favor.
“Yes, sir!” replied the Magellan’s Captain on the channel.
“Sir, picking up confused communications between the Prax commanders on their narrow-band. They seem unhappy about the terms of this engagement.”
Tarsa lifted an eyebrow. “Well, let’s give them some more to be unhappy about.”
Prax Commander Xylan was pacing his own bridge, using comms to argue with his frustrated
ship captains. Unhappy with the new battle’s scenario, they were venting to each other over frequencies that he suspected were being monitored by the human fleet.
The tactical situation was unfolding reasonably well, despite the grumbling by his leadership. The humans were using a wedge tactic to split his forces, but the division allowed his ships the opportunity to close on their center and begin long-distance fire using energy and projectile weapons. Reports showed mounting damage on some larger human fleet units. But the Prime had recalled four—not three as agreed—destroyers to Earth, over Xylan’s repeated objections.
He found himself wondering what the humans were attempting to accomplish. Was there really a defector out there, trying to break through the lines? Even so, the cost seemed too high for Xylan. Many Prax and humans would yet die today.
“Commander! The second human division is moving to fill in behind the lead line of warships.”
Xylan nodded. “It is a tactic they have employed in the past. Adjust the defenses to accommodate the new incoming fire. Expect those ships to be actively targeting our sensor arrays with their energy blinders. Neutralize those first—we need to see what we’re firing at.”
The screen on the side of the bridge showed a dimensional view of the battle as it unfolded, human and Prax ships locked in death-dances as they fired on each other and dodged to avoid the worst of the barrages. Despite sophisticated targeting systems aboard both fleets, close proximity and rapidly-changing scenarios reduced the fighting to a series of intense volleys guided by the experience and instinct of the command crew aboard each ship. Xylan had much faith in his key commanders; most had been with him since the brutal Menhas Wars…before the war with the humans had begun in earnest.
The human commander out there knew his tactics as well, Xylan grudgingly admitted as he stopped to watch the new human phalanx crash into the Prax reserves wing, drawing nearly all of the remaining ships into the now-massive, swirling battle. If the human goal was to provide aid to some vessel departing their planet, they were certainly accomplishing it.
“Show me the four destroyers detached to the Prime on the screen,” he ordered the Prax working that station.
War Without Honor Page 17