Battlecruiser Alamo: Spell of the Stars

by Richard Tongue

  Chapter 16

   The trio followed the curve of the river, dusk gradually seeping in as the forest began to settle into slumber for the night. The well-worn path showed frequent signs of human occupancy, but the uniforms the assault team had borrowed more than sufficed to camouflage their activities. One of the senior members of the garrison had gone so far as to report that he had dispatched a patrol along the riverbank, preferring treachery to being left alone with the dangerous Avdonin.

   Clarke had allowed the local man to take point, on the theory that he knew the environment far better than they, and had taken up the rear spot, watching Mortimer like a hawk. He still didn't truly trust her, thought that they might be walking right into a trap, but none of the rebels had anything like her combat training. If she was telling the truth, then he'd made the only choice he could. Even if she wasn't, he felt a little better keeping her close, in the event she decided to try some sort of treachery.

   Avdonin worried him far more than Mortimer. The thin, toothy smile hadn't left his face, and he held his knife in his hand in preference to his rifle, the blade catching the occasional gleam of moonlight. Even at this distance, he could make out the notches carved into it, each a measure of his constant search for revenge. Three of them might be moving into the attack, but something told him that only two of them would be heading back. Assuming any of them did.

   According to the borrowed datapad, they were only half a mile from the base, close enough that they'd be coming into the search pattern of the overhead drones. He risked a glance up, spotting the dots of light dancing in the air on their programmed flight paths, calculated to minimize gaps. There was little they could do to stop them, not until they had completed their mission, but they could hope for a distraction so that the operators would fail to notice anything strange.

   Glancing into the distance, he could make out a series of strange shapes on the hills above, twisted pylons reaching into the sky, dominating the landscape, the site of the archaeological mine that the slave workers were excavating. The few artificial sounds he could hear came from that direction, diggers and drills savaging the landscape in a bid to wrest free the ancient secrets within.

   Without warning, they turned from the path, pushing into the forest, Avdonin gesturing ahead as had been arranged hours ago. Anyone looking from above would hopefully think that he'd spotted something in the undergrowth, was leading his patrol in after some imagined prey. Sure enough, the drones continued on their original courses, none of them diving in to investigate. They were safe, at least for the moment.

   A low hum cut into the silence, the sound of the perimeter fence, twin beams of light sweeping between relay sections. One break in the beam would set off the alarm, but here again, Avdonin had come up with a plan, and the trio started to hunt around, looking at the trees close to the perimeter, trying to find one tall enough without exposing themselves to the patrolling guards.

   “Down,” Mortimer hissed, and the three of them carefully ducked into the undergrowth as a pair of men walked by, their muttered conversation a litany of complaints about the quality of the local food. Both wore technician's uniform, neither paying any attention to their surroundings. On paper, this installation might be well defended, but in reality, there were enough weak points to sneak in a platoon.

   “This one,” Avdonin said, gesturing at a tree that was almost a hundred feet high, branches sweeping out on all sides. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin vibrosaw, carefully carving chunks out of the base of the tree, sending a shower of leaves and debris dropping all around. While he worked, Mortimer and Clarke moved into position, ready to make their move when the opportunity arose.

   The low buzz of the vibrosaw fought with the hum of the fence, and at any second, Clarke knew that one of the guards might notice the noise, turn to investigate, and bring their stealth run to an end before it could truly begin. Their uniforms might pass a visual inspection, but they'd had no opportunity to procure forged identification. Even the most cursory check would reveal their intentions, especially given the backpack of explosives still slung over Avdonin's shoulder.

   “Ten seconds,” Avdonin said, completing his work. He paused, looked up at the fence, nodded, then returned to the base, making a trio of quick cuts that sent the tree falling, diving right at the perimeter, the branches sweeping around as, with an angry crack, it toppled into the barrier.

   Sirens echoed through the forest as the tree broke the beam, searchlights flashing into view as guards raced to investigate. It would take time for them to work out what had happened, and Clarke and the others made full use of it, moving in as though part of the usual patrol, joining the gathering troops as they struggled to reestablish the perimeter fence, trying to work out what could have happened.

   Slipping through the throng was easier than it should have been, and the trio quickly made their way into the heart of the compound, passing between the barrack blocks where the slave workers looked on, making for the drone control center. The plans they'd been able to examine were rudimentary sketches, guesswork at best, but they seemed to be holding for the good as they saw their goal, a cluster of antenna reaching into the sky.

   “Set the charges,” Clarke said. “We want a nice big explosion. I'll see if I can hack into the drones, crash the damn things into the ground. Ronnie, keep watch.”

   “On it,” Mortimer said, slipping into the shadows, while Avdonin, grin spreading across his face, reached into his backpack for the explosive charges he'd carried so lovingly from the meteorological station. Clarke knelt down behind an access terminal, hunched over as though completing a routine inspection, and pulled out his datapad. If he had the hacking software he was used to, this would have been child's play. As it was, he had to be sneakier.

   Interrupting the communications feed wouldn't be easy, but he didn't have to do anything other than realign the dish, a simple series of commands. Turning it towards Alamo, he tapped a control to link the datapad's own transmitter into the network, meshing its signal with the usual carrier frequency. Lieutenant Harper could do the rest by remote, though the time lag was going to be the greatest problem.

   “What are you doing down there?” a harsh voice said, a figure looming down at him. “There's a perimeter alert! This crap can wait. Go and report in.” He paused, then asked, “What's your name, anyway? I don't recognize you.”

   “Private Smith, sir,” Clarke replied.

   “Don't call me sir, you insignificant little moron! I work for a living!” The man's eyes fixed on him, a malevolent sneer emerging, and he added, “Show me your identification. I'm going to be having a nice long conversation with your squad leader, maggot, and you're going to wish you'd never left the farm!”

   “Trust me,” Clarke said, rising to his feet. “I already do.” Reaching into his pocket, he felt the handle of his obsidian knife, designed by Triplanetary Intelligence to avoid easy detection, and swung it free of his jacket, slicing into the uniform of the guard, an inch away from biting into skin. His opponent reacted quickly, kicking down into Clarke's groin, the young man barely diving out of the way in time. As the guard reached for his pistol, he hurled his knife at the figure, the hilt bouncing off the man's chest. Tensing for his last breath, he heard the crack of a bullet, and looked up to see his attacker dropping to the ground, a patch of blood spilling out from his chest.

   “Didn't anyone ever tell you not to bring a knife to a gunfight?” Mortimer asked.

   “I thought this was a covert operation, not the OK Corral,” he replied. “Thanks, though.”

   “You're welcome. How long?”

   Looking down at the datapad, Clarke replied, “Harper's made contact. It shouldn't take long.” Reaching for the dead man's pistol, he looked around, the sirens continuing their endless drone. The door opened up, the technician-operators finally noticing what was taking place outside, and the two of them fired at the same time, the bu
llets slamming into the unfortunate first man to emerge, sending his body collapsing into the arms of his retreating comrade.

   “That's done it,” Mortimer said, looking around. “They'll have the perimeter secured in a minute. We've got to pull out, or they'll catch us.”

   “Thirty seconds,” Clarke replied. “Lieutenant, hurry up!”

   Avdonin walked calmly around the perimeter, trailing a fuse, slamming explosives into position as he went, before replying, “Get out of here. I'll cover you.”

   “Not without you.”

   Shaking his head, he raised his gun towards Clarke and Mortimer, and said, “Your job takes you back to the weather station. Mine has me stay here. Now get moving, damn it, this isn't a conversation!”

   With one last glance at the datapad, Clarke sprinted for the perimeter, boots digging into the dirt as he raced for safety, Mortimer already moving ahead of him. Overhead, the drones collapsed to the ground, one after another, Harper's hacking software doing its work as their guidance systems faltered. Behind him, the last crashed into a guard tower, ripping a hole in the roof and exploding on impact, a creative touch that brought a smile to Clarke's face.

   It lasted for less than a second before the bullets began to fly, raining down all around him, as the garrison finally woke up to the realization that they were under attack. There was no point making a last stand, even raising his pistol. Their only safety lay in flight, and he waited for the roar behind him that would give the guards something more important to worry about.

   Avdonin had promised them a large explosion. He delivered.

   Heat burned the back of Clarke's neck as he continued charging towards the perimeter, a column of smoke and flame ripping into the sky, the force of the explosion almost enough to knock him off his feet. Fire jumped to nearby tents and barracks, and the tone of the siren changed, alerting the guards to the pumps. The pursuit force thinned out as the guard commanders opted to save the base rather than seek vengeance, only half a dozen troopers remaining on their tail, their bullets still slamming into the ground all around them.

   The laser fence was still out, the brute-force trick having worked better than they could have hoped for, and they passed through the barrier without notice, pushing deeper into the trees. Without the drones orbiting overhead, the bulk of the enemy surveillance had been knocked out, and judging from the shouted orders and panicked cries, the fire was only growing behind them, roaring out of control. He could barely see Mortimer over to the left, the two of them separating in a bid to split their opposition, an idea that seemed to have worked to her advantage. As far as Clarke could tell, he still had five figures following him, crunching their way through the forest.

   Back home, he'd only seen this sort of environment in old movies, the domed parks a poor reconstruction of the natural world. He wasn't used to the terrain, to the dense vegetation, to the thousand hazards lurking underfoot, ready to send him flying. It was almost surprising that he'd made as much progress as he had, when an outstretched root caught him in the ankle, sending him tumbling down the side of a bank, rolling into a burbling brook.

   The cold water chilled him to the bone, and he turned to see a pair of troopers advancing towards him, sensing an easy kill. Fumbling for his pistol, he feigned unconsciousness as they drew closer, finally drawing his sidearm, squeezing the trigger twice in quick succession, both shots on target, sending bodies rolling down after him. A sickening crack from the nearest as the man hit the water suggested that he'd knocked him out of the battle, and his comrade failed to rise from the rocky outcrop he had found, now stained with his blood.

   That still left three, but he'd blundered into a natural hiding place, and he sprinted along the stream, keeping down low, the shouts of his remaining pursuers ringing in his ears. He looked down at his pistol, the clip counter warning him that he only had four shots left. Reaching into his pocket, he cursed as his hand slipped through the material. Something must have cut it, and his two spare clips were somewhere in the darkness. He risked a quick glance back, but it was obviously hopeless, and instead, he pushed on.

   The stream curved into a low cavern, and he gratefully stepped inside, checking to make sure there was no other way in before turning with his back to the wall, sliding down to sit on a muddy rock. The half-formed idea of waiting until the darkness had settled in flooded into his mind, waiting for the pursuers to abandon their search.

   A new chorus of cries ended those hopes. Presumably they'd found the bodies of their friends upstream, and their footsteps drew closer, seeking the hiding place that was likely to become his tomb. Aside from the cover of the darkness, there was nowhere to hide, and while he might take one of them down with him, he didn't have anywhere to run. Raising his pistol to the entrance, he sat back and calmly waited for the inevitable.

   Three shots rang out in the night, and he peered out of the cave into the distance, watching the last of the soldiers collapse into the water. With nothing to lose, he scrambled out of the cave, pistol in hand, and walked over to see Mortimer standing in the stream, turning to face him as he approached.

   “Don't shoot,” he said. “I'm on your side.”

   “Then you've finally decided to trust me?”

   “I can think of three good reasons. Four, counting that guy back at the base.” Thick smoke was rising higher into the sky, and even this far out, they could hear the shouts and cries of the firefighters. “You think we might have gone a little far?”

   “I think they're going to have quite a night,” she replied. “We've set them up nicely for some fun in the morning. Speaking of which, do you think we should be getting out of here before they send someone else after us?”

   “Not a bad idea. Which way?”

   With a sigh, she replied, “You really aren't that good at this, are you. Over that little crypt of yours, then follow the stream for a few miles until it links back up with the river. Then we can get some rest. It's going to be a big day tomorrow.”

  Chapter 17

   Salazar stepped into his cabin, tossed his jacket onto a vacant chair, and collapsed onto the bed, lying back with a sigh as he sank into the soft mattress. The bathroom door opened, and Harper stepped inside, looking down at him with a smile on her face.

   “Good meeting?” she asked.

   “We just went around in circles for three hours,” he replied. “The upshot is that neither I, Max or Kat have any concrete ideas of exactly how we're going to beat Waldheim.” Glancing at his watch, he added, “And given that we're going into action in nine hours, that's not a good thing.”

   “You'll think of something,” she replied. “Did you see the footage from the surface? We picked up that explosion from orbit. Frank's getting the troops prepared for the attack right now.”

   “I'm glad one of us had a good day,” he said, rubbing his hand on his forehead. “Tell me again how I ended up running this madhouse?”

   “You turned down Logan's offer to transfer to Triplanetary Intelligence.” Sitting next to him, she continued, “Just think, right now the two of us could be fighting for our lives against raider gangs at Proxima Centauri, or sitting in some back office on Triton evaluating fleet movements.”

   “Suddenly, life doesn't seem so bad,” Salazar replied. “Though I'm beginning to think that it's going to come to an abrupt end in the near future.” Fumbling for a datapad, he continued, “Santiago's managed to get most of the pieces put back together, but if we get a missile hit in the wrong place, we're in real trouble. As it stands, we're going into an old-fashioned toe-to-toe battle.”

   “You're a better commander than Cruz, and we've got a better crew. That has to count for something, surely.”

   “It helps, but they've got superior firepower, and unless we can come up with something to even the odds a little, we're going to get shot to pieces.” He paused, then added, “I suppose we could evade, veer off, but that doesn't solve the pro
blem. It only postpones it, and probably not for long. I'm waiting for Cruz to start threatening to execute her hostages if we don't surrender. I'm almost surprised she hasn't tried that already.”

   “Would you?”

   He paused, shook his head, and replied, “No. I couldn't. And she knows it. It's psychological warfare, ripping the guts out of your opponent before a battle. Bad enough that I'm going to have to take shots at a ship full of civilians as it is. We've got one piece of good news, though. They're having systems malfunctions over there. Forward sensor array, by the looks of it.” With a shrug, he added, “They'll have time to fix it, but it should hold them back from something else. Maybe something that turns out to be critical.”

   Standing up, Harper walked over to the wall monitor, tapping a control to bring up a tactical display, and said, “There must be something here, somewhere. Some trick we can use.”

   “They'll be ready for us to try an atmospheric dive. We've tried that once too often, and I'm not sure the ship could take it in our current state. There aren't any close moons to use for cover, and no debris fields in orbit. If we tried the decoy trick again, they'll just ignore it. We don't have enough fighters to provide an effective screen.” With a deep sigh, he added, “They'll follow the book. Fighter launch to pull away our screen, take some shots at us, then a full-scale attack with lasers and missiles.”

   “That's what they're expecting,” Harper replied. “That won't necessarily be so.”

   “Maybe, but I still get the idea that we're all going to end up piling into the escape pods in a little over nine hours from now. We've still...” He paused, an idea forming in his mind, then sat bolt upright with a smile on his face. “That's it!”

   “What?”

   Fumbling for a control, he said, “Salazar to Francis. Meet me in Engineering, on the double! Scott, you as well. Move it!” Leaping from the bed, he raced to the door, ignoring his jacket, Harper barely able to keep up with him as he sprinted for the elevator. He pulled out his datapad, punching commands into the display, the smile spreading further across his face.