“Alpha-One, Alpha-Five. Suspect activity on the streets outside your building.”
Katja paused. “Alpha-One, roger. Is the threat imminent?”
“Negative, but growing.”
Instead of asking for more detail, she chose to focus on the immediate task—retrieve the hostages. She addressed her assembled troopers.
“Bravo Team will strike first to draw their attention and take out the group at the stairs. Then Alpha Team will drop into the middle of the first floor—our objective is the hostages.”
Alpha Team thumped down the corridor to the midway point. Katja heard the explosions behind them as Bravo Team opened fire on the floor above their targets. There was a lot of shooting and shouting at that end of the building, and quantum revealed a flurry of activity below her, as more terrorists went to help in the defense of the stairs.
Katja and her team lined up their weapons and fired at the floor. Carefully placed explosive rounds struck the hard plastic and detonated in a storm of fire and smoke. Charred particles bounced harmlessly off her suit and mask, and she leaned in to look through the gap in the floor. There was room to jump.
She gestured emphatically. “Go!”
Alpha-Two and Alpha-Four dropped through the hole, and the thunder of gunfire echoed up. Katja and Hernandez were right behind.
The servos cushioned her fall, but she still winced as she hit the floor. Bullets thudded into her chest armor, and she fired off three rounds into the violent fray.
Already the entire floor was choked with dust and smoke. Katja used her quantum-flux to see through the haze, and spotted a small figure in an attack position. She fired, and saw the figure disintegrate as the round impacted flesh and exploded.
“This is Alpha-Two,” Assad said in a cool voice. “Tally-ho hostages, north end.”
Katja and Hernandez turned together and ran toward the north end of the building, their suits protecting them from the horror of battle. Through the chaos, they saw Assad and Jackson gathering up the hostages.
Katja did a quick survey. Five hostages. All wounded. Two critically. But alive. She even took an extra moment to survey the injuries on Jack, Breeze’s boy-toy. His face was badly bruised and his nose was broken, but his limbs were intact. Based on the footage alone Katja guessed that he had internal injuries. He was pale under the caked blood, but breathing.
He stared up at her with bleary eyes.
“Hey, you’re Astral Corps…”
She nodded. “And you’re a pilot. Can you stand?”
He winced as he shuffled onto his knees.
“I think so.”
Katja put an armored arm around his torso and lifted him gently to his feet. He winced, and leaned heavily on her.
“All units, Alpha-One. RV north end for hostage extraction. Pods, report to street level. Bravo-One, pilots.”
“Bravo-One.”
“Alpha-Five.”
“Bravo-Five.”
Switch freqs. “Mother, Alpha-One. Break away.”
“Mother, roger. We’re already en route—we have reports of armed insurgents closing your position.”
Bravo Team thundered through the broken walls, firing back as they came. Alpha Team broke out a pair of stretchers and loaded up Jack and the other badly injured hostage, a woman in her late thirties. The remaining hostages were assigned to carry the stretchers.
“Alpha-One, Alpha-Five.” It was Cohen’s voice. “There are hostiles in the streets, closing fast.”
“Alpha-One.” She pointed at the nearest wall. “Make a door!”
Troopers fired. The wall exploded outward. The heavy beams holding the second floor buckled dangerously.
“Move!”
With Bravo Team in the lead, the strike team burst out onto the street, fanning out in a circular pattern around the strike pods as they touched down.
Locals were fleeing in all directions. A truck swerved to avoid running into pedestrians and crashed into a building half a block away. Through the chaos, Katja heard the distinct sound of rifle fire.
“Bravo-One—sniper!”
Troopers opened fire in all directions. Explosions tore through the pre-fab structures. Dust and debris choked the street.
Katja hustled the hostages toward the pods.
“Cease fire! Find your targets!”
The hostages started loading up into the strike pods, but the Fleet crewmen weren’t as efficient as troopers, they were injured and they were carrying stretchers. It took longer than it should, and there was more hostile fire inbound. Katja ran through the smoke to where her troopers had formed a perimeter.
Beyond them, dim figures ran in the street.
Jackson fired several rounds. Screams echoed off of the buildings.
“Cease fire!” Katja commanded. “Target hostiles only!” She crouched as bullets whizzed by. Quantum-flux range was too limited. She switched to infrared. Dozens of warm bodies moved in frantic motion through the chaos. Mostly away from them.
But some weren’t running. She zeroed in on the cool, practiced movements of several figures on the third floor of the building to her right. They carried weapons, which weren’t raised. One appeared to be speaking into a radio.
“Alpha-One—tally-ho forward spotter. Building right, third floor!” She loosed three rounds into the structure. The infrared images of the enemy were lost in the ensuing explosions. They disappeared from sight.
“Alpha-One, Mother. Report of heavies inbound from the south. Get airborne!”
Katja hesitated. Neither team could go until the hostages were loaded.
“All units, Alpha-One. Heavies from the south. Form a barrier. On me!”
The streets were crowded with civilians, some throwing rocks but the others warily holding their distance as the entire strike team formed up in a battle line south of the pods. The dust was swirling, but clearing.
The first indication she had of the threat was a glint of metal around the corner to her left. Then a tall, silvery machine rolled into view on its armored tracks, a repeating cannon blasting to life from its humanoid shoulder. Katja gasped as she was knocked backward by the impact of heavy slugs. She stumbled to one knee and swung around to fire on fully automatic.
Her troopers joined her barrage, and within seconds the attacking robot slumped forward, its limb-weapons shattered. A Centauri anti-personnel robot.
Katja switched back to IR and saw five more robots rumbling forward, marked by their power sources, still blocked by the building. She rose to her feet, unable to stop herself from shuffling backward three steps. Centauri APRs. On Cerberus.
“Bravo loaded!”
She barely registered Alayan’s voice, her attention riveted on the approach of the Centauri war machines. She had been lucky with the first one—it hadn’t had the chance to fire its rockets. But her troopers stood no chance against five such opponents.
Then it sank in—Bravo’s hostages were loaded.
“Bravo Team, break away!”
Chang and his troopers backed up, still facing the threat as they climbed the ramp into their ship. Good troopers never fled, they only withdrew.
“Stand by for APR attack. Target weapon pods—use grenades!”
Three men stood with her, rifles raised. The five APRs were still around the corner, but coming. Ten seconds, at most. She dared not look back. The distant crowd of civilians was inching closer as well, shouting and waving their fists.
“Alpha-One, Mother. Report your status!”
“Bravo Team breaking away. Alpha Team still loading. We are engaging Centauri Alpha-Papa-Romeos at the drop zone. Request immediate assistance!”
“Mother, roger!”
As Katja saw the first of the APRs come around the corner, she prayed for the swift, dark form of Rapier to come roaring overhead, cannons blazing.
Rapier did not come, but Thomas didn’t let her down.
The air burned as meteors struck down from on high. Katja grunted and fell as the ground heaved b
eneath her. Orange fire filled her vision. Her external audio screamed and went dead.
She rolled over onto her belly, pointing her rifle toward the threat. But twisted heaps of molten metal were all that remained of the Centauri APRs. Crumbling heaps of rubble had replaced the corners of the buildings. Devastation reigned for a hundred meters in all directions from the blast.
Katja and her troopers had been protected by their armored suits, but not so the civilians who had been approaching the scene. Dozens of burned and blackened bodies littered the street. Those who could were fleeing. Those who couldn’t simply screamed in agony.
“Alpha-One, Mother. Report your status!”
Katja stared in horror at the carnage.
“This is Alpha-One… drop zone clear. Threat neutralized.”
“Roger. I’ll pass your compliments to Kristiansand!” There was a triumphant quality to Thomas’s voice.
Hernandez came up beside her. “What the fuck…?”
“Orbital bombardment,” Katja heard herself say, dimly aware that Hernandez was helping her to her feet. “Kristiansand looking out for us.”
“Alpha loaded!”
Katja barely heard Cohen’s scream over the radio. The entire length of the street was strewn with the bloody remains of blasted bodies. The last of the mob were fleeing in the distance, still easy targets if Kristiansand wished to follow up her attack.
Katja tore her eyes from the scene.
“Alpha Team, break away.”
Assad and Jackson moved on her order. Hernandez waited for her to follow. They climbed into the strike pod and hung on as Cohen lifted off to rendezvous with Rapier.
Katja pushed past her troopers and the hostages as they crowded together in the little ship. She sat down in her seat and strapped in.
“Mother, Alpha-One… mission accomplished.”
20
Rapier and Kristiansand had to run more than a million kilometers before the Cerberans finally gave up the chase.
Thomas leaned back in his seat, breathing deeply. He scanned his display one more time, just to assure himself that there were no more threats. The scope was clear. He exhaled again, his mind still too wired to properly take in what they had just done. With a single destroyer and a single FAC, they had taken on the most powerful hostile force in Sirius, and won.
And his ship had made the rescue.
“Hot damn, Cox’n,” he said, “if you were any better-looking I’d kiss you.”
Chief Tamma and Breeze both burst out laughing, the tension on the bridge easing. The last hour had strained the three of them to their limits as they conducted one of the craziest high-speed entries Thomas had ever seen, punched their way through the Cerberan ground defenses, and then taken fire for an eternity while Katja and her troops snatched the hostages. Rapier was pounded all to hell, but she was still flying.
He opened the inter-ship comms.
“Kristiansand, Rapier. My compliments on a fine bit of cover. We couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Well done, Rapier,” Commander Avernell replied. “Thank you for rescuing my people.”
Thomas checked the external view, and saw that his strike pods were disengaging from Kristiansand’s airlocks. The hostages had been held aboard the pods during the escape, and had only been transferred once the battle was over.
“Truly, my pleasure, ma’am.”
“Stay in formation. We’re plotting a course for Laika to RV with the fleet, point-zero-five-c. I’ll call in the report.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The admiral would be waiting to hear if their gambit had succeeded. Thomas was happy to let Avernell tell the tale. He wouldn’t want to be seen as boasting.
“Captain, Pilot,” Tamma said. “Pods are moving to dock.”
“Very good.”
Thomas was tempted to go aft to welcome his troopers home and congratulate each one of them on a fine job. But he knew that his place was the bridge—it wouldn’t be seemly to go running off through the ship with a big grin on his face. Instead, he sat quietly in his seat and practiced his image as the serene commander.
“NavO, secure from battle stations.”
“Yes, sir.” Breeze activated the ship-wide circuit. “Secure battle stations.” She flipped off the circuit, pausing in thought. “Damn. Whose watch is it, anyway?”
Tamma raised his hand. “Mine, I’m afraid. I have the conn.”
Breeze activated the circuit again. “Charlie watch, close up.” Then she unstrapped herself and climbed out of her spacesuit. She struggled slightly, and Thomas noticed that her hands were shaking. Her coveralls were soaked with sweat, but clinging to her figure in a way that highlighted the effects of zero-g. He forced himself to look away and think of Soma.
Breeze pulled herself past her own seat, spacesuit in tow. She looked quite pale.
“You okay, NavO?” he asked.
She rested a hand on his shoulder as she floated past, her expression instantly turning to one of casual good humor.
“Yeah,” she replied. “Thanks, boys, it was fun. Now I really need a shower.”
Tamma grinned over his shoulder.
Thomas did his best to roll his eyes.
Tamma looked back at his console. “Both pods are locked into place, Captain.”
“Very good.”
There was a long moment of quiet on the bridge. Thomas knew he should start drafting the inevitable report he would have to submit, but all he could come up with was, We did it, dammit! He suspected High Command would want something a bit more substantial than that.
A reflection in the bridge windows caught Thomas’s attention. In the reflection he saw the tiny, armored figure of his strike officer as she came through the hatch.
His face split into a grin. “OpsO! When we get back to Normandy I’m taking your whole team drinking!” He resisted the urge to get up and give her a hug, armor or no armor.
His good humor faded, though, as soon as he saw her face.
Katja moved slowly and carefully, the quiet whirrs of her suit accenting her every move. Her helmet and rifle were strapped to her waist, and she awkwardly hooked them both to her seat before meeting his gaze. Her blonde hair was plastered against her scalp, her skin was even paler than normal, and her large, pretty eyes had that vacant look soldiers had known for centuries as the “thousand-yard stare.”
“Captain, sir, OpsO,” she said quietly. “Strike team embarked, no casualties.”
She was looking at him, but right through him.
He’d seen this before. No doubt he’d looked like this himself after his first real combat. It was hard to know how to handle a trooper in shell shock—everyone reacted differently.
“Very good, OpsO,” he replied. “I understand five hostages were recovered alive.”
“Yes.”
“Then the mission was a success.”
“Yes.”
Tamma looked back, surprise and concern etched across his dark features. Thomas noticed, and subtly waved the cox’n away. Tamma returned his attention to the console.
“OpsO, did something go wrong during the mission?”
She seemed to hesitate. Her lips moved slightly, but no words came out.
“Katja?”
She blinked, and focused on him for the first time. “There were civilian casualties. We were attacked. We had no choice.”
Thomas nodded in understanding, trying to offer reassurance without the cumbersome words. She’d seen death—real death.
He vaguely heard the comms crackle to life.
“Captain, sir,” Tamma said. “Pilot.”
He tore his eyes from the haunted gaze of his OpsO. “Captain.”
“Kristiansand is reporting an inability to communicate with Fleet. They have no readings on EF beacons. Can we confirm?”
Thomas called up his communication status board. In peacetime, every Terran warship radiated a continuous, secure beacon. Undetectable to normal space traffic, it allowed the d
ifferent ships in the fleet to find one another in the vastness of the void. Before the Cerberan strike, Thomas had noted a large cluster of beacons near Laika, as EF 15 rendezvoused for their exercises.
Now the scope was completely blank.
He had experienced poor communications before, but never over such a short range. Anubis was barely a billion kilometers distant. Could the gas giant’s powerful magnetic field be interfering?
He didn’t think so.
“Chief, run a diagnostic on our beacon equipment.”
“Yes, sir.” Tamma’s fingers danced over his console. “Could it be because we stopped transmitting for the strike?”
Rapier had gone silent on her beacon before the strike, just in case the Cerberans had got their hands on Terran beacon codes.
“No, it shouldn’t make a difference,” Thomas said. “We often run silent, but can still receive.”
Tamma nodded. “Equipment checks out, sir.”
“Hmm.” A flurry of scenarios flashed through Thomas’s brain—none of them good. Despite what the recruiting posters said, Astral equipment didn’t always work perfectly, and daily life in the Fleet involved working around troublesome kit. The beacons, however, never failed. A ship’s beacon was its lifeline in case of distress. It was based on old, robust, proven technology, and after twenty years in the AF, Thomas had never heard of one malfunctioning.
For an entire expeditionary force to disappear off the scope…
“What’s wrong, sir?” Katja asked.
Thomas looked at her. She had lost her thousand-yard stare and was focused on the situation. It was as if she had just woken up.
“We’ve lost beacon with EF 15,” he said, “and there’s no reason why we should have.”
“Jamming?”
“Could be.”
“By the Cerberans?”
“Unlikely. They don’t have that kind of technology. Besides, we’re too far out of their range.”
“Laikans?”
“Possibly,” he acknowledged. “But why?”
Katja had no answer.
Thomas flipped the comms switch. “Engine room, bridge.”
“Engine room.”
Virtues of War Page 15