Search for Honor (The Tarvaax War Book 2)

by Tripp Ellis

  Apparently someone wasn't too happy about their little heist.

  21

  Zack

  Rex moved to the rear window of the van and knocked out the remaining shards of glass. He poked his plasma pistol through the window frame and took aim at the black sedan that was chasing after them. He squeezed off several plasma bursts. The sedan dodged and weaved while the passenger hung out of the window firing back at the van.

  Beams of plasma streaked through the sky in both directions. Blistering bolts pierced through the sheet-metal and rocketed through the van.

  Zack crouched low as he sliced his way through traffic. "Anybody want to tell me who we just ripped off?"

  Cyclops grabbed an M-679 machine gun and slapped in a magazine. He pulled the charging handle back and loaded the projectile into the chamber. It was a massive plasma rifle, capable of firing over 200 rounds per minute. The magazine held 1000 rounds. They were the size of toothpicks, and when fired, the superheated plasma charges burned at a temperature of over 1 million degrees. Even a near miss would be enough to seriously wound a person.

  Cyclops punched the barrel of the weapon through the remaining shards of glass in the window next to Rex. He unleashed a flurry of weapons fire at the pursuing vehicle. The air lit up with a steady stream of plasma charges. He sprayed the weapon from side to side, forming a continuous wall of hell. It tore the sedan in half. The car tumbled and twisted in a flaming ball of metal. The passenger’s mutilated body was thrown from the vehicle. The man's soft flesh hit the concrete and splattered open like a pumpkin. Blood and brains oozed out on the asphalt.

  The van sped away, leaving a trail of chaos behind them. But it wasn't over yet. Another vehicle was several car lengths back.

  Zack glanced in his rearview mirror and saw someone emerge through the sunroof with a machine gun. A stream of plasma bolts rifled toward the van, peppering it with holes. The vehicle was beginning to look like Swiss cheese. The air inside the van had a charged, ionized smell from the plasma bolts. It was sharp and bitter. You could almost taste it.

  Zack swerved the van onto Lamar, then turned right on McKinney. Tires squealed and horns honked. He traded paint with several vehicles as he snaked his way through the traffic. The scraping sound of metal on metal was piercing. Sideview mirrors were obliterated. Zack could hear a stream of obscenities fade into the distance as angry motorists cursed at him.

  "RPG!" Rex yelled. He ducked down and hit the deck.

  Zack could see the man in the chase car fire the rocket launcher from the sunroof. The missile spit fire and propellant from its tail, slicing down the avenue towards the van. It looked like certain doom.

  Zack swung a hard right into an alleyway. The van teetered on two wheels, then slammed back down to the ground on all four. Amber sparks showered as the quarter panel scraped against the wall. Rex's van was getting beat to hell.

  Most of the paint on both sides had been scraped away, revealing bare-metal. Zack plowed through several trash cans and piles of garbage. He weaved around larger dumpsters, then turned left on Sherman Street.

  The van launched out of the alley into a steady stream of traffic. Brakes squealed and horns honked as cars swerved to avoid the van.

  The rear of the van fishtailed around the corner, but Zack managed to bring it back in line. The tires were smoking.

  The chase car emerged from the alley behind them. Zack kept one eye on the road, and one eye on the rearview mirror. It looked like the passenger was about to fire another RPG.

  Zack could hear the rumble of an aerial vehicle overhead. He tried to get an angle on the vehicle. He ducked down, peering out the window at the sky. An instant later, a spotlight beam bathed the van in white light. It seemed they had attracted the attention of the police.

  You had to do a lot to get the attention of the authorities on Vega Lotrix. Firing machine guns and rocket propelled grenades would definitely do the trick.

  Once an aerial vehicle had locked on to you, there was no escaping. You couldn't out run it, so it was only a matter of time before you were caught.

  Zack glanced in the mirror again, but the sedan chasing them was gone. They had decided to cut bait and avoid the authorities.

  The brilliant beam of light from the aerial vehicle stayed on the van. It didn't matter how many turns or alleyways Zack took, it was always right there, highlighting them for all to see. He could hear the sound of sirens approaching in the distance. It wasn't going to be long before a slew of squad cars would be chasing after them. This was not how he had envisioned things. So far, the mission wasn't going according to plan.

  "Pull into that parking garage there," Rex said, pointing at the high-rise parking facility that was attached to a luxury shopping center.

  Zack hesitated.

  "Just do it!"

  Zack swerved into the garage. His foot slammed the accelerator against the floor. The van roared up several levels, the squealing tires echoing off the concrete walls.

  "Take that parking space," Rex yelled.

  Zack's face twisted up perplexed. "What are we going to do? Go shopping in the mall?"

  "Park the van. Now."

  Zack whipped into the space, threw the van in park, and cut the engine. He could hear the sound of sirens approaching from all directions. There had to be a dozen patrol cars on the way. The rumble of the aerial vehicle echoed overhead. Zack just knew this was going to end badly.

  22

  Zack

  Rex hopped out of the van and marched into the lane of traffic. An SUV was plunging down the ramp toward him. It slammed on its brakes as Rex took aim at the driver with his plasma pistol. "Out of the car. Now!"

  The wide-eyed driver flung open the door and jumped out of the vehicle. She held her hands high in the air.

  Rex marched to the vehicle as the woman watched with a mix of terror and anger on her face.

  “Do you mind if I get my bags out of the car? I just spent my entire afternoon looking for the perfect dress, and I seriously doubt you’re a size 6."

  Rex shoved the barrel of his pistol in her face as he entered the vehicle. "Back off, lady, or you're going to have a size 12 hole in your head."

  She stepped away, trembling.

  Zack and the others filed into the SUV with all the weapons and ammunition they could carry. Rex pulled his door shut and threw the car into gear. He casually drove down the ramp, spiraling his way out of the parking garage. He pulled onto the street just as several patrol cars were turning in.

  Zack’s heart was pounding. It was almost more intense than being in actual combat. At least he could justify that. This seemed completely out of the bounds of appropriate behavior. This would definitely qualify as conduct unbecoming a Marine.

  Rex fumbled with the radio and tuned it to an easy listening station. Soft saxophone music filtered out of the speakers. He had a calm peaceful look on his face, and was driving down the street like an old lady. He watched in his rearview mirror as blue and red lights bathed the area near the parking garage.

  "You stole that woman's car!" Zack admonished Rex.

  "She'll get it back. Would you rather we got a ride with the police?"

  Zack's face tensed with mixed feelings.

  "Didn't think so."

  “Whose weapons are these? Who owns that warehouse?"

  A sly smirk curled up on Rex's lips. “Tommy Meatballs.”

  "Who's Tommy Meatballs?"

  "The biggest crime boss in the city." Cyclops said.

  "Somebody we shouldn't have stolen from," Fester said.

  "Would you guys relax," Rex said without the slightest trace of concern in his voice. "Nobody's gonna trace this back to us."

  "What about your van?" Zack asked. "The cops are going to find it. Trace it back to you."

  Rex had that devious smirk again. "It's not my van. You think I'm stupid enough to go do shit like this in my own car?"

  23

  Zack

  "You have got to be kiddin
g me?" Zack said. He had a look of utter dismay on his face as he stared at the ancient rust bucket.

  "She may not look like much, but she’ll get the job done,” Rex said.

  "That's an old Spitfire. It's from before the Second Veskan War."

  "Time-tested. Battle hardened."

  "Does the cabin even pressurize?" Zack's tone was thick with sarcasm. But by the looks of it, the space-worthiness was definitely in question. It was more curvaceous than modern gunships. It certainly had the style and flair of a bygone era. Just hopefully not too bygone, Zack thought.

  “This thing has taken me to the edge of the galaxy and back," Rex said, growing frustrated. It was a blatant lie. "If you'd rather walk, be my guest."

  Zack's eyes narrowed at him.

  Rex and his crew marched up the loading ramp. Zack, Cole, and Diesel followed after them.

  "Tell me again where you found these guys?" Zack muttered to Sergeant Cole.

  "You'd be surprised how well these old Spitfires fly. There's a reason they dominated the Veskan War. Hell, most of the gadgets on modern ships are just gimmicks. Nothing beats powerful engines, a solid chassis, and a good pilot." Cole wasn't about to admit that he had doubts about Rex's crew. He wasn't the type of guy to second guess himself, and he certainly wasn't about to show anyone else his doubts or insecurities.

  Zack and Diesel exchanged a wary glance.

  The inside of the ship smelled like metal, grease, and ion exhaust. There were dust bunnies in nooks and crannies. The thing belonged in a museum. It was like stepping back in time. Zack hoped that the vehicle was well-maintained. He didn't want to think about the number of hoses and gaskets that were brittle and about to fail. About the hydraulic fluid that needed changing. About the quantum coils that were on the brink of burning out. So many things could go wrong on a ship this old.

  Cyclops and Fester stowed the weapons and ammunition. Ash slipped into the pilot seat, and Rex buckled into the copilot’s chair.

  Ash flicked switches and pressed buttons, and the instrument clusters came alive. The massive thrusters coughed and sputtered as he fired them up. The whole vehicle rumbled and shook for a moment. It was like when the pipes in an old house stuttered.

  Zack's leery eyes glanced around.

  "Might want to buckle up," Ash said. "This thing can get a little rough in the upper atmosphere."

  Just as Zack was about to head into the cargo area and take a seat the engines died. The high-pitched whine of the engines lowered, until they were finally silent.

  Ash’s face twisted up, perplexed. "What the hell?" He ran the system diagnostic. A moment ago, everything had come back green.

  "What's the matter?" Zack asked.

  "Nothing. She's just a little temperamental sometimes," Rex said, trying to dismiss the situation.

  "Slight problem with one of the modulator coils," Ash said. "It's not a big deal."

  Ash pushed out of his seat and marched out of the cockpit. There was a roof access hatch in the cargo hold. Ash needed to get atop the vehicle to access the maintenance panel of the port side thruster. He grabbed a replacement coil from a parts bin. Then he climbed up a ladder, pressed a button on the bulkhead, and the top hatch slid open. It was like the aperture of a camera lens.

  Ash climbed atop the vehicle. He made his way to the access panel and opened it. Sure enough, one of the modulator coils was burned out. It was charred and brittle. He tried to remove it, but jerked his hand away the moment he touched the searing hot metal. He shook his hand, trying to dissipate the pain. His fingertips were already starting to blister. He cursed under his breath. He knew better than to touch one of the modulator coils before the engines cooled down. But the modulator coil was the least of his worries. The plasma bolts that zipped past his head were more problematic.

  24

  Zack

  Ash took cover atop the Spitfire. Plasma projectiles streaked above him. Blasts impacted the side of the hull, showering sparks and blooming tufts of black smoke.

  Ash unholstered his pistol and returned fire. He recognized the attackers as underlings that worked for Tommy Meatballs.

  In the cockpit, Rex activated the weapons control system. He swung the turrets of the plasma cannons into action. The heavy cannons blasted at the thugs. The sizzling beams incinerated everything in their path, and most things nearby. Even at a foot away, flesh would melt off the bone. Screams of agony filled the hangar bay. Debris and sparks sprayed from the bulkheads as plasma bursts impacted. The thugs’ small arms fire was no match for the heavy cannons of the Spitfire.

  The surviving goons retreated out of the hangar bay. They took cover behind the door frame, angling their weapons back at the Spitfire. They continued to pepper the ship with plasma bolts.

  Ash crawled back to the maintenance access panel. He pulled the cuff of his shirt sleeve over his fingertips then yanked the burned out coil from its seat. The heat singed the fabric of his shirt. Small wisps of smoke wafted from the fibers. He tossed the blistering coil aside and replaced it. He kept his head low as plasma projectiles streaked overhead. He tugged on the coil to make sure it was secure in its seat and had a good connection. Then he closed the access panel and secured it. Ash scampered for the hatch. By this time, Rex had incinerated the remaining thugs.

  Ash crawled down into the Spitfire and sealed the hatch behind him. He raced to the cockpit and hopped into the pilot’s seat. Once again, he went through the preflight checks, and everything came back green. He powered up the Spitfire, and the engines rumbled to life.

  “I guess Tommy isn't too happy about us borrowing his weapons?" Rex said, innocently.

  “Whatever gave you that impression?" Ash said. He throttled up the engines, and the Spitfire rattled.

  The air beneath the massive thrusters rippled from heat distortion. The heavy craft lumbered into the air, pitching and rolling slightly.

  A voice crackled over the comm line, "Spitfire P-630, you have not been cleared for takeoff."

  "Copy that, control. Cleared for takeoff. Thank you," Ash said. He exchanged a grin with Rex.

  “Repeat. Spitfire P-630, you are not clear for takeoff. I say, you are not clear."

  “I'm sorry, you're breaking up," Ash said, making static noises with his mouth. He switched off the comm line. He engaged the thrusters, pulled the controls, and angled the vehicle skyward. The force of the massive Hughes & Kessler engines mashed him against his seat. His face was drawn tight against his skull as the Spitfire rocketed toward space at full throttle.

  The old ship rattled and quaked as it hit a patch of turbulence. It made your teeth chatter so hard, you risked a chipped tooth. It lasted a few moments, then settled down.

  Ash knew they were going to run into trouble once they left the atmosphere. There was no doubt traffic control had reported them to either the Federation Space Guard, or the Customs & Planetary Protection Agency.

  The bumpy ride became smooth as glass, and all of the rattles ceased. The weightlessness of space was calming. The quiet was a stark contrast from the deafening roar of the launch.

  Zack glanced around the cabin. So far, the old bird was holding together. It didn't seem to be leaking atmosphere. But he hadn't quite placed his full trust in the vehicle.

  Ash huddled over the control console, meticulously plotting jump coordinates. His intense gaze studied the calculations. You could almost see his brain straining. It looked painful.

  “You might want to hurry up with that," Rex said.

  “These things can’t be rushed."

  “Well, we’ve got company. And I don't think we're going to make the rest of the journey if we don't get out of here now.”

  "If I screw up on this, we’re not going to make the journey at all."

  Two customs enforcement ships harassed the Spitfire. They were ready to shoot it down. An officer's voice crackled over the comm line. It was the same agent that had searched the vehicle before. "Spitfire P-630, you are engaged in an unauthorized flight.
Return immediately to your point of departure and surrender yourself to the local authorities.”

  Ash was too busy making calculations to respond.

  “Say again?" Rex said, stalling for time.

  "I think you heard me the first time," the officer said. "Now turn around, or we’re going to shoot you down."

  “I don't see what the problem is. Tower cleared us for takeoff. There must be some kind of mixup."

  “Look, smart-ass. I'm looking at surveillance footage of your ship discharging its weapons within the city limits and killing five civilians. I think that qualifies as a violation of Federation law. I knew you weasels were up to no good. I should've arrested you when I had the chance."

  "But they were really, really bad people," Rex said in a lighthearted tone.

  The officer didn't respond.

  An alarm sounded. Rex surveyed the scanner. "I think they're moving into attack position. How are the jump coordinates coming along?"

  “I need a few more minutes."

  "We don't have a few more minutes."

  “Stall for more time.”

  Rex paused for a moment, contemplating his next move. He could swing the turrets into position and fire at the customs agents, but he didn't really think that was the best plan of action. “Okay. We are returning to the spaceport. We’re having a slight malfunction of our navigation oscillator. Give us a moment to sort the situation out."

  Ash gave him a sideways glance. "What the hell is a navigation oscillator?”

  Rex shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  A steady tone emitted from the scanner system.

  “He's arming missiles and has a target lock," Rex warned. "Perhaps you could speed things up a bit?"

  25