Juggernaut: The Ixan Prophecies Trilogy Book 2

by Scott Bartlett

  “Two minutes, sir. And the cruiser just launched twenty more.”

  Panic crept up Keyes’s body, constricting his throat, threatening to muddle his thoughts and shut down his brain. No. “Arsenyev, where’s my firing solution?” He knew it was far too soon to ask, but—

  “I have it, sir.”

  “Excellent work. Now, start firing Banshees to pick off some of the incoming missiles. The minute you’ve done that, ready point defense turrets.”

  “Captain, Condors just launched,” Werner said.

  Be careful, Fesky. “Put a tactical display on the main screen.”

  Keyes watched as the pilots chose their targets, engaging them in several perilous games of chicken. There was no time to come at the missiles from the side: his Condors were forced to run at each one head-on, and hope that if they missed, they would have the instincts to pull away at the right time.

  His eyes stayed glued to Fesky’s fighter as she took out one missile, then another, then rotated around her short axis to hit a third and a fourth. That didn’t surprise him. Airman Gaston was the next-most successful pilot, and he only accounted for two. Several of the others didn’t get any.

  Not good enough.

  “Sixty-five seconds to impact, sir.”

  Keyes’s lips tightened, and a tremor went through his jaw. He clamped his teeth together. “Tactical, prepare to discharge our primary laser.”

  Arsenyev glanced at him. “Sir, the Condors are in the way. We risk hitting them if we fire on the enemy.”

  “I know that. We may need to discharge it in another direction, just to release the energy.” This is a disaster. Larkspur was a heavily populated system, with lots of traffic, and he hesitated to fire the laser in a random direction. But letting a missile hit them with their main capacitor charged would be an outright catastrophe.

  The Roostship missiles arrived, then. Winger warships weren’t known for their artillery, but their missiles packed enough punch to explode the Banshees before they arrived. The cloud of Winger missiles collided with those targeting the Providence, taking out ten…fifteen…

  Still not enough.

  “Sir, the second group of missiles has been neutralized,” Werner said. “But nine still remain of the first group.”

  Arsenyev turned her full body to face Keyes. “Captain, if we don’t fire the primary now, our window will close. Our point defense turrets are only likely to destroy seven of the incoming missiles.”

  “You’re right. Fire…” He trailed off as something on the tactical display caught his eye. It was Fesky, breaking away from the other Condors and hurtling toward the Providence under full Ocharium boost.

  “Holy shit,” Werner said, and Keyes looked at him. “Sorry, sir. But she’s doing ten Gs.”

  “Hold, Arsenyev.” Keyes gripped his chair’s armrests so hard it hurt, but he couldn’t force himself to let go.

  The missiles had reached the range of the ship’s turrets, which proceeded to spray kinetic impactors at them. The front missile went down. Then the next. And the next.

  Fesky fired two Sidewinders while the point defense turrets took down three more missiles. Three left.

  Arsenyev leapt to her feet, and Keyes resisted the urge to do the same. “Sir, they’re going to—”

  The turrets took down one more missile, and Fesky’s Sidewinders slammed into the remaining two. Keyes knew their shrapnel would rain down on the Providence’s hull, but it wouldn’t be enough to make her main capacitor blow.

  “Coms, patch me through to Fesky’s Condor.”

  “You’re patched through, sir.”

  “Lieutenant Fesky, what is it with you and coming to the rescue at the last minute?”

  “Everyone has a hobby, sir,” she said. “Some people do crochet.”

  He chuckled, and told his Coms officer to cut the transmission. Turning to Arsenyev, he felt the corners of his lips curl upward. “Turn our primary on that cruiser and wipe it out.”

  His XO, Commander Laudano, cut in. “Captain, the Tucker is among the most advanced missile cruisers the UHF has ever developed.”

  “And it won’t be the last UHF ship we destroy today. I plan to obliterate every ship we don’t have enough personnel to commandeer. This is war, Commander.”

  Chapter 10

  Caesar

  Among the ships whose crews Ochrim had killed with his subversion of dark tech, the UHS Caesar was the most formidable. It was a destroyer, and had been the flagship. So it was the one Captain Keyes sent Husher to investigate, with a platoon of marines at his back. If the Gok had infiltrated the Tucker, they almost certainly had some sort of presence aboard the Caesar.

  “You all have access to the ship’s layout via your HUDs,” he said to the marines gathered in front of him in the destroyer’s shuttle bay. He’d posted two marines at the entrance, to give them ample warning if any Gok tried to take them unawares. “I’m splitting us into four squads to secure four important areas, with each squad taking a separate route that I’ll designate on your display. Wahlburg, I’m sending your squad to check out the cargo holds. Markov, you get the weapons lockers. Caine, Engineering. Proceed with caution, all of you. Don’t let the enemy take any tactical advantage, if you can help it. Meanwhile, my squad will double-time to the CIC, where we can access the cameras and see exactly where the Gok might be hiding. Questions?”

  There were none. A longstanding tradition of UHF marines involved ribbing squad members endlessly if they missed anything from a briefing, so they’d all learned to listen and understand the first time.

  There were Winger soldiers dotted throughout the platoon, too, but they also remained silent. Probably don’t want to give their new crewmates an excuse to taunt them.

  Caine’s squad was the last to roll out, and before she left, he touched her shoulder, switching to a two-way channel. “Hey. You okay for this?”

  “I’m fine.” She shrugged off his hand and took her squad into the corridor.

  Keyes had deemed her fit to lead a squad again—she’d proven that on the Winger orbital defense platform, although she’d gone on that mission without the captain’s permission, something he’d overlooked given the mission’s success.

  It wasn’t as though they had their pick of squad leaders, anyway. Markov had no experience with leadership, except he’d also proven himself in the fight over Spire, and Husher preferred not to dwell on how risky he considered putting Wahlburg in charge of anything. But with Davies dead, who else was there?

  Still, Caine hadn’t been cleared to resume her post as marine commander, and that had to bother her. Maybe that’s why she’s being so distant.

  Husher took point, his squad following behind, swift and silent. Two of the ten were Wingers, who the humans towered over, but the aliens’ upper body strength meant they could carry around medium to heavy machine guns without straining too much.

  As far as he knew, the Providence was the first military vessel in galactic history to deploy mixed-species squads. Figuring out the battle applications afforded by a more diversified marine contingent was at the top of Husher’s to-do list. If he was being honest with himself, he was looking forward to it.

  A hatch burst open as he passed by, and a towering Gok barged into the hallway. Husher had time to register its lighter armor, signifying it belonged to a raiding party. Not military. Then the alien reached for him, and Husher aimed his assault rifle at what he knew to be the armor’s weak points. He pulled the trigger.

  The bullets found their way into the giant’s forest-green flesh, and it listed to the left, but its charge didn’t slow. Husher fired again, his bullets lodging in the Gok’s left forearm, which didn’t stop it from lifting him off the ground, its hands like small boulders against Husher’s sides. Before he could react, he was airborne, followed by his head slamming into the bulkhead.

  His vision twinned, but he forced himself to regain his feet and run down the corridor, away from his assailant, to get a chance to clear his hea
d. I’m useless like this.

  A glance backward showed him two corridors, two marine squads, and two Gok attacks, with more of the aliens pouring in from adjoining compartments. He shook his head. Slowly, his mirrored sight merged into one reality. A tense reality. The Gok nearly matched his squad in number, which didn’t bode well for the squad, given the aliens’ incredible might.

  Worse, several of the newly arrived Gok wore the titanium-reinforced pressure suits of their military. Those Gok bore energy weapons similar to those Husher had faced on the orbital defense platform above Spire, and they’d make short work of the marines if Husher couldn’t find a way to end the engagement quickly.

  He raised his assault rifle to his shoulder, picked the nearest target, and fired. The Gok he’d shot fell forward, but it brought a marine down with it. Nothing I can do about that now. He drew a bead on another berserker and fired, simultaneously screaming over a wide channel: “Caine, Wahlburg—I need backup, now!”

  His marines held their own, taking down three more Gok. Husher’s mad dash down the corridor had afforded him some distance, and he was able to neutralize two more as he walked slowly back toward the fight.

  But that was all. Gok strength soon prevailed. One of them picked up a marine and charged at the wall, holding her like she was a battering ram. A sickening snap reached Husher’s ears, and a red smear remained on the bulkhead where the Gok had pounded her head against it. Then it threw her body at another marine.

  A private managed to sink his combat knife into a Gok, but it simply picked up its attacker by the neck with both hands. The marine’s back was to Husher, so he could do nothing to help. The Gok crushed the marine’s throat cartilage like it was paper mâché.

  The entire marine squad lay dead and dying, and now the four remaining Gok turned toward Husher. He doubted they wanted to talk, and so he opened fire on the one closest to him as all four enemies rushed toward him. His target came crashing down a few feet away, and he drew his combat knife, but the next Gok backhanded it out of his grasp and punched him in the chest, knocking him to the deck. His assault rifle skittered away.

  Instantly, he pushed against the metal flooring with his hands, scrabbling against it to try to gain enough distance and regain his footing. With one stride, the Gok who’d batted his knife away planted its foot on his chest and pointed an enormous energy weapon at his head.

  A bolt of energy lanced through the air, but not from his assailant’s gun. That Gok slumped forward, and Husher rolled out of the way just in time to avoid getting crushed.

  He turned onto his back again to see one of the surviving Gok wrestling with the other. Heaving himself to his feet, Husher spotted his assault rifle lying on the deck, and he crept toward it while the two berserkers warred with each other.

  As his hands closed around the gun, he heard a crash, and he looked around to see one Gok dragging the other to the floor. One of them saved my life. But which one? Who am I rooting for, here?

  The one who was pulled down regained the advantage, and gripping its opponent’s head in both hands, it slammed it against the deck over and over.

  Scarlet droplets sprayed both the deck and the Gok’s arms. The supine Gok had ceased moving, but still the other continued, rendering its victim’s head a bloody mess.

  “I think it’s dead,” Husher said, his assault rifle pointed at the beast, who’d dropped its own weapon at some point.

  The Gok stopped, its tiny black eyes settling on Husher. Then it rose to its full height, military-grade armor gleaming darkly under the corridor’s halogens.

  “Easy,” Husher said.

  Raising its dark-green arms toward him, the Gok took a step forward.

  Husher gestured with the assault rifle. “One more step and you’re done.”

  The Gok turned toward the bulkhead and pressed its forehead ridge to it. Then it reared back and smashed its face against the metal. Again. Again.

  Caine appeared around the corner where Husher’s squad had come from, her eyes darting from Husher to the Gok and back again. Her squad formed up behind her as she took in the bodies that littered the deck.

  “Come on,” Husher shouted, dropping his assault rifle and running to subdue the Gok. “Help me get this thing under control!”

  Chapter 11

  Tort

  Trying to keep his shock and revulsion from showing on his face, Keyes studied the Gok as it strained savagely against its chains. It had already broken one of the sick bay beds, and so they’d been forced to chain it to a steel pallet to prevent it from harming itself further. As for the energy weapon Husher had brought aboard for study, Keyes had ordered it stored well away from here, inside a secure weapons locker.

  Husher and Caine stood on the opposite side of the Gok, clearly struggling with their emotions as well. Especially Caine. She’d gone through a terrible ordeal, here. In fact, the Gok occupied the same space she had during her psychosis. It had broken the bed she’d been restrained in. She’s handling it well, all things considered. Keyes knew that she still experienced delusional thoughts, but she’d broken through the full-fledged fantasies her mind had concocted, and she was able to distinguish reality from delusion well enough. As well as we need her to, anyway. Hopefully.

  “Why did you try to kill yourself?” Keyes asked the alien.

  The Gok fell still for a moment, then it heaved upward against the chains once more. “Wasn’t trying that.” Its clipped words came out as a tortured yell.

  “What were you trying, then?”

  “Was trying not to kill your man.”

  Private Ryerson, who was still recovering from his bullet wound in a bed across the way, gave a humorless laugh through the maroon curtain. “That was a threat, Captain. The thing threatened you. We shouldn’t have it alive on our ship. You need to kill it.”

  “Not an it,” the Gok yelled, though Keyes detected no increase in its agitation. “Am a he.”

  “You’re done participating in this conversation,” Keyes told Ryerson. “Speak again, and I’ll have you moved to the corridor.” He returned his gaze to the Gok. “So you’re male, then.”

  “Yes.”

  “Explain to me what you meant. How did harming yourself stop you from killing my lieutenant?”

  “Only way. Needed to point rage somewhere. Was the only option.”

  “Why are you so angry?”

  “Was not always this way. Before Ixa, was calm. Slow to anger.”

  “Before the Ixa? They did something to you?”

  “To entire species. Play with brains. Using virophage. Make Gok more aggressive. Much more.”

  “When did they do that?”

  “Started in Great Fight. What human calls First Galactic War. Been getting worse ever since. Many Gok love what Ixa did.”

  “But not you.”

  “Hate it.”

  Husher ran a hand over his mouth. “What’s your name?”

  “Am Tort.”

  “You saved my life, Tort.” The young lieutenant’s voice wavered, reminding Keyes that Husher had just witnessed an entire squad slaughtered, and one under his command no less. I’ll need to monitor him for signs of psychological distress. Some talk therapy with Doctor Brusse is likely in order, too.

  “Hoped human could find a way to change back,” Tort shouted.

  Keyes cleared his throat. “Our ship’s doctor is the closest we have to the type of scientist who might be able to manage that, and she’s studied only human anatomy. In fact, our knowledge of Gok biology is extremely limited, given the general lack of contact between our two races.” Except to kill each other, he didn’t add. “I’m grateful you saved Lieutenant Husher’s life, but even if curing you were possible, I can’t afford the time or resources it would take to do it. We’re in the middle of a war.”

  Tort’s muscled bulged once more as he pushed against the chains. “Maybe you get motivated to help.” He fell back again, panting.

  “What do you mean by that?”


  “Maybe you learn more about virophage by fighting human version.”

  Caine squinted down at the Gok. “Human version? What are you talking about?”

  “Ardent-worshiper humans on planet Thessaly. Work for Ixa. Develop virophage for release into human population. Make humans even more aggressive than Gok. Never stop killing Wingers. Start killing one another, too. ”

  Keyes knelt at Tort’s side, so quickly that he caused the great alien to start, rattling the chains once more. He laid a hand on the giant’s green shoulder. The skin felt like rock to the touch. “How close are they to finishing their work?”

  “Almost done.”

  “Do you know exactly where on Thessaly they are?”

  Tort raised his head off the pallet in a nod. “Found out. Give you coordinates.”

  Keyes rose to his feet, locking eyes with Caine, then with Husher. “We’re going there. Now.”

  Chapter 12

  Command and Control

  Tennyson Steele studied Hurst across the unnecessarily mammoth table in a meeting room deep inside the presidential residence. She was older than him, but he had to admit that life had been friendlier to her, at least where appearance was concerned. No one would call Hurst beautiful, but she didn’t have the smooth fleshy protrusion that he had connecting his chin and neck.

  I suppose I could have looked after myself a little better. Barbara regularly urged him that it wasn’t too late to start, and that may have been true for a man one-quarter as busy as Steele.

  “Two meetings in as many days, Madam President,” he said, smiling over his folded hands. “I’m beginning to think you like me.”

  “I need your advice.”

  I imagine you do. Utter incompetence should give one a great thirst for advice. “Would this happen to have anything to do with our nosediving economy?” He parted his hands momentarily, to adjust his horn-rimmed glasses. Then he folded them again.

  “The markets are freaking out, Tennyson. My donors won’t stop harassing me.”